Nation

wanted on the journey.
    Daphne crouched down and put her hands over her head as a rain of bones and lumps of fish pattered down. Perhaps the noise was the worst part, but when you got down to it, it was all worst.
    A golden-brown shape leaped past her, with a coconut in each hand. It kicked and staggered its way through the panicking birds until it reached the big stone bowl, which was full of pantaloon birds like flowers in a vase. It raised shells high in the air over the bowl and in one sharp movement smashed them together.
    Beer poured out, filling the air with its scent. Instantly the birds’ beaks swung toward the bowl, seeking the beer like a compass needle seeks north. Daphne was immediately forgotten.
    “I wish I was dead,” she said to the world in general, pulling bones out of her hair. “No, I wish I was in a nice warm bath, with proper soap and towels. And after that I wish I was in another bath, because, believe me, this is a two-bath head. And then I wish I was dead. I think this is the worst thing”—she paused, because, yes, there had been something worse, and always would be, and went on—“the second-worst thing that has ever happened to me.”
    Mau crouched down beside her. “Men’s Place,” he said, grinning.
    “Yes, it looks like one,” snapped Daphne. She stared at Mau. “How are you?”
    Mau’s brow wrinkled, and she knew that one wasn’t going to work. They had got a language working pretty well now, thanks to Pilu and Cahle, but it was for simple everyday things, and “How are you?” was too complicated because it didn’t really ask the question you thought it asked. She could see Mau working it out.
    “Er, I am because one day my mother and my father—” he began, but she had been halfway ready for this.
    “I mean here !” she said loudly. There were several soft thumps while he thought about this. The pantaloon birds were falling over, like an elderly lady who has had too much sherry on Christmas Day. Daphne wondered if they were poisoned by the beer, because none of them had sung a song, but she didn’t think so. She had seen one eat a whole dead crab that had been lying in the sun for days. Besides, as they lay there, their beaks trembled and they made happy little pnap-pnap noises. As they fell over, thirsty ones took their places.
    “The little girl told me you had said something about a stone,” said Mau. “And then I had to have a bowl of beef. She insisted. And then I came as fast as I could, but she can’t run very fast.” He pointed. Blibi was walking up the valley, treading carefully in order to avoid snoring birds. “She said you told her she has to watch over me.”
    They sat and waited, avoiding each other’s gaze. Then Mau said: “Er, the way it works is that the birds drink the beer, but the spirit of the beer flies to the Grandfathers. That’s what the priests used to say.”
    Daphne nodded. “We have bread and wine at home,” she said, and thought, Oops, I won’t try to explain that one. They have cannibals down here. It could get…confusing.
    “I don’t think it’s true, though,” said Mau.
    Daphne nodded, and then thought a bit more. “Perhaps things can be true in special ways?” she suggested.
    “No. People say that when they want to believe lies,” Mau said flatly. “And they usually do.”
    There was another pause, which was filled by the parrot. With its mortal enemies paralyzed by the Demon Drink, it had swooped down and was industriously pulling their pants off them, which meant very neatly and carefully plucking out every white feather on their legs while making happy but fortunately muffled parrot noises.
    “They look very…pink,” said Daphne, glad of something innocent, more or less, to talk about.
    “Do you remember…running?” said Mau after a while.
    “Yes. Sort of. I remember the fish.”
    “Silver fish? Long and thin?”
    “Like eels, yes!” said Daphne. Feathers were drifting across the valley in clumps.
    “So it did happen, did it?”
    “I suppose so.”
    “I mean, was it a dream or was it real?”
    “Mrs. Gurgle says yes,” said Daphne.
    “Who is Mrs…. Gurgle, please?”
    “The very old woman,” Daphne explained.
    “You mean Mar-isgala-egisaga-gol?”
    “Probably.”
    “And she says yes to what?”
    “Your question. I think she means it wasn’t the right one. Look, does Locaha talk to you?”
    “Yes!”
    “Really?”
    “Yes!”
    “In your head? Like your dreams?”
    “Yes, but