Nation

seen the big wooden club in the chief’s hut. It was studded with shark teeth, and Mau hadn’t even been able to lift it the first time. It was a souvenir from the last time the Raiders came as far east as the Nation. After that, they knew better!
    Every boy tried to lift the trophy club. Every boy listened wide-eyed to the descriptions of the big dark canoes, their prows hung with bloody skulls, their oars rowed by captives who were near skeletons themselves, and tales of how those prisoners were lucky, because when they were too weak to row anymore, they were beheaded just for their skulls. The prisoners who were taken back to the Land of Fires weren’t treated quite so well, even before they got turned into dinner. You got told this in detail.
    At this point, when you were sitting there with your mouth open or perhaps your fingers over your ears, you were just trying not to wet yourself.
    But then you were told about Aganu, the chief who fought the leader of the Raiders in single combat, as was their custom, and took the shark-tooth club from his dead hand, and the Raiders had run back to their war canoes. They worshipped Locaha himself, and if He was not going to give them a victory, there was no point in staying, was there?
    After that you were given another chance to lift the club, and Mau had never heard of a boy failing to lift it this second time. And only now did he wonder: Was it really because the story made boys stronger, or did the old men have some way of making the club heavier?
    YOU INSULT THE MEMORY OF YOUR ANCESTORS!
    Aargh. They had been quiet all day. They hadn’t even said anything about him milking the pig.
    “It’s not insulting,” he said aloud. “I’d use a trick, if it was me. A trick to give them hope. The strong boys wouldn’t need it and the boys who are not so strong would feel stronger. Every one of us dreamed of being the one who’d beat their champion. Unless you believe that you might, you can’t! Weren’t you ever boys?”
    There was no grumbling roar in his head.
    I don’t think they think , he thought. Perhaps they used to really think, but the thoughts have worn out from being thought so often?
    “I will keep the baby alive if I have to milk every pig on this island,” he said, but it was horrible to think that he might have to.
    No reply.
    “I thought you might like to know that,” he said, “since he will be taught about you. Probably. He’ll be a new generation. He’ll call this place home. Like I do.”
    The reply came slowly and sounded grinding and cracked: YOU SHAME THE NATION! HE IS NOT OF OUR BLOOD….
    “Do you have any?” snapped Mau out loud.
    “Do you have any?” a voice echoed.
    He looked up into the ragged crown of a coconut tree. The gray parrot looked down on him with its mouth open. “Show us yer drawers! Do you have any? Do you have any?” it squawked.
    That’s what they are, Mau thought. They’re just parrots.
    Then he stood up, grasped his spear, turned to face the sea, and guarded the Nation from the darkness.
     
    He didn’t sleep, of course, but at some point Mau blinked, and when he opened his eyes again the stars were bright and it was not long before dawn. That was not too much of a problem. A snoring old sow would be easy enough to find. She wouldn’t ask any questions if she found a nice big beery mash in front of her, and when the time came to run, he might even be able to see where he was going.
    He told himself this to cheer himself up, but you couldn’t get away from it: Milking a pig would be much harder the second time, because you’d have to forget how horrible it had been the first time.
    In the dark the surf shone where it broke over the reef, and it was time to go through it all again. He’d rather have been going into battle.
    The Grandfathers certainly thought he should. They’d had time to pull some pig thoughts together. IS THIS THE WAY OF THE WARRIOR? they growled. DOES THE WARRIOR ROLL IN THE MUCK WITH HOGS? YOU SHAME US!
    Mau thought, as loudly as he could: This warrior is fighting Death.
    The baby was already whimpering. The young woman gave Mau a sad little smile when he took the empty calabash and washed it out. She never said anything even now.
    Once again, he didn’t bother to take the spear. It’d only slow him down.
    The old man was sitting on the slopes above the beach, staring up at the fading night. He nodded at Mau. “Going milking again, demon boy?” he said, and grinned. He had two