Nation

ever wanted children she’d buy some ready-made.
    But this wasn’t something she could tell two new mothers, even if she knew how, so she tried to understand what Cahle was trying to tell her, and she even let the nameless woman do her hair, which gave the poor woman some comfort and, Daphne thought, looked pretty good but far too grown-up for thirteen. Her grandmother would not approve, in italics, although seeing to the other side of the world was probably too much even for her beady eyes.
    At any moment her father’s ship would come into view, of course. That was a certainty. It was taking some time because there were so many islands to search.
    And supposing he didn’t come?
    She pushed that thought out of her mind.
    It pushed back. She could see thoughts that were waiting on the other side of it, waiting to drag her down if she dared to think them.
    More people had arrived on the day after Guiding Star had been born, a small boy called Oto-I and a tiny wizened old lady, both of them parched and hungry.
    The old lady was about the same size as the boy and had taken over a corner of one of the huts, where she ate everything that was given to her and watched Daphne with small bright eyes. Cahle and the other women treated her with great respect and called her by a long name that Daphne couldn’t pronounce. She called her Mrs. Gurgle because she had the noisiest stomach Daphne had ever heard, and it was a good idea to keep upwind of her at all times.
    Oto-I, on the other hand, had recovered in the speedy way that children do, and she had sent him off to help Ataba. From here she could see the old man and the boy working on the pig fence, just below her, and if she walked to the edge of the fields, she could see a steadily growing pile of planks, spars, and sailcloth on the beach. Since there was going to be a future, it would need a roof over its head.
     
    The Judy was dying. It was sad, but they were only finishing what the wave had begun. It would take a long time, because a boat is quite hard to take to bits, even when you’ve found the carpenter’s toolbox. But what a treasure it was on an island that, before the wave, owned two knives and four small three-legged cauldrons. Together, Mau and the brothers pecked away at the boat like grandfather birds at a carcass, dragging everything to the shore and then all the way along the beach. It was hot work.
    Pilu swanked a bit about knowing the names of the tools in the box, but it seemed to Mau that when you got right down to it, a hammer was a hammer whether it was made of metal or stone. It was the same with chisels. And skateskin was as good as this sandpaper, wasn’t it?
    “All right, but what about pliers?” said Pilu, holding up a pair. “We’ve never had pliers.”
    “We could have,” said Mau, “if we’d wanted to. If we’d needed them.”
    “Yes, but that’s the interesting thing. You don’t know you need them until you haven’t got them.”
    “We’ve never had them to want to need!” said Mau.
    “You don’t have to get angry.”
    “I’m not angry!” snapped Mau. “I just think we manage all right!”
    Well, they did. The island always had. But the little galley of the Sweet Judy was annoying him in ways he didn’t quite understand, which was making him feel even worse. How did the trousermen get to have all this stuff? They’d piled it up where the low forest met the beach, and it was heavy . Pots, pans, knives, spoons, forks…there was a big fork that, with the simple addition of a shaft, would make the finest fishing spear ever , and there were lots like it, and knives as big as swords.
    It was all so…arrogant. The wonderful tools had been treated by the crew as if they were worth hardly anything, thrown in together to rattle around and get scratched. On the island, a fork like that would have been hung on a hut wall and cleaned every day.
    There was probably more metal on this one boat than there was in all the islands. And according to Milo there had been lots of boats in Port Mercia, and some of them had been much bigger than the Judy .
    Mau knew how make a spear, from picking a shaft to chipping a good sharp point. And when he’d finished, it was truly his, every part of it. The metal spear would be a lot better, but it would just be a…a thing. If it broke, he wouldn’t know how to make another one.
    It was the same with the pans. How were they made? Not even Pilu knew.
    So we’re not much better than the red