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"The singing was not my idea," says Manatee sulkily. "We couldn't erase it without turning them into zucchinis."
"I have a question," says Toby. They turn and look at her, as if surprised that she's spoken.
"Yes, dear lady?" says Ivory Bill.
"They want me to tell them a story," says Toby. "About being made by Crake. But who do they think Crake was, and how do they think he made them? What were they told about that, back in the Paradice dome?"
"They think Crake is some sort of a god," says Crozier. "But they don't know what he looks like."
"How do you know that?" says Ivory Bill. "You weren't in Paradice with us."
"Because they fucking told me," says Crozier. "I'm their pal now. I even get to piss with them. It's, like, an honour."
"Good thing they can't ever meet Crake," says Tamaraw.
"No shit," says Swift Fox, who has now joined them. "They'd take one look at their lunatic of a creator and jump off a skyscraper. If there were still any skyscrapers to jump off," she adds morosely. She makes a show of yawning, stretching her arms up and behind her head, thrusting her breasts up and out. Her straw-coloured hair is pulled into a high ponytail, held in place by a powder-blue crocheted scrunchie. Her bedsheet has a dainty border of daisies and butterflies, cinched at the waist with a wide red belt. It's a startling touch: angel cloud meets butcher's cleaver.
"No point in repining, fair lady," says Ivory Bill, switching his gaze from Toby to Swift Fox. He'll be even more pompous, thinks Toby, once the beard he's working on grows in. "Carpe diem. Take every moment as it comes. Gather ye rosebuds." He smiles, a demi-leer; his eyes move down to the red belt. Swift Fox stares at him blankly.
"Tell them a happy story," says Manatee. "Vague on the details. Crake's girlfriend, Oryx, used to do that sort of thing in Paradice, it kept them placid. I just hope that fucker Crake doesn't start performing miracles from beyond the grave."
"Like turning everything to diarrhea," says Swift Fox. "Oh, excuse me, he's already done that. Is there any coffee?"
"Alas," says Ivory Bill, "we are bereft of coffee, dear lady."
"Rebecca says she has to roast some kind of root," says Manatee.
"And there won't be any real cream for it when we do get it," says Swift Fox. "Only sheep goo. It's enough to make you ice-pick your own temples."
The light is fading now, the moths are flying, dusky pink, dusky grey, dusky blue. The Crakers have gathered around Jimmy's hammock. This is where they want Toby to tell the story about Crake and how they came out of the Egg.
Snowman-the-Jimmy wants to listen to the story too, they say. Never mind that he's unconscious: they're convinced he can hear it.
They already know the story, but the important thing seems to be that Toby must tell it. She must make a show of eating the fish they've brought, charred on the outside and wrapped in leaves. She must put on Jimmy's ratty red baseball cap and his faceless watch and raise the watch to her ear. She must begin at the beginning, she must preside over the creation, she must make it rain. She must clear away the chaos, she must lead them out of the Egg and shepherd them down to the seashore.
At the end, they want to hear about the two bad men, and the campfire in the forest, and the soup with a smelly bone in it: they're obsessed by that bone. Then she must tell about how they themselves untied the men, and how the two bad men ran away into the forest, and how they may come back at any time and do more bad things. That part makes them sad, but they insist on hearing it anyway.
Once Toby has made her way through the story, they urge her to tell it again, then again. They prompt, they interrupt, they fill in the parts she's missed. What they want from her is a seamless performance, as well as more information than she either knows or can invent. She's a poor substitute for Snowman-the-Jimmy, but they're doing what they can to polish her up.
She's just at the part where Crake is clearing away the chaos for the third time when their heads all turn at once. They sniff the air. "Men are coming, Oh Toby," they say.
"Men?" she says. "The two men who ran away? Where?"
"No, not the ones who smell of blood."
"Other men. More than two. We must greet them." They all stand up.
Toby looks where they're looking. There are four - four silhouettes, coming nearer along the cluttered street that borders the cobb-house parkette. Their headlamps are on. Four dark outlines, each bringing a shining light.
Toby feels her body unclench, feels air flowing into her in a long, soundless breath. Can a heart leap? Can a person be dizzy with relief?
"Oh Toby, are you crying?"
Homecoming
It's Zeb. Her wish come true. Larger and shaggier than she remembers, and - although it's only been days since Toby last saw him - older. More bowed down. What's happened?
Black Rhino and Shackleton and Katuro are with him. Now that she's closer she can see how tired they are. They're setting down their packs, and the others are crowding around: Rebecca, Ivory Bill, Swift Fox, Beluga; Manatee, Tamaraw, Zunzuncito, White Sedge; Crozier and Ren and Lotis Blue; even Amanda, hanging back from the group.
