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"What is this word, Oh Toby?" says Abraham Lincoln. "Is it a word of Crake?"
"He's tired," says Toby. "No. Not this word."
"Shit," says Jimmy. "Where's Oryx? She was here. She was in the fire."
"You've been sick," says Toby.
"Did I kill anyone? One of those ... I think I had a nightmare."
"No," she says. "You didn't kill anyone."
"I think I killed Crake," he says. "He had hold of Oryx, he had a knife, he cut ... Oh God. There was blood all over the pink butterflies. And then I, then ... I shot him."
Toby's alarmed. What does he mean? More importantly, what will the Crakers make of such a tale? Nothing, she hopes. It will make no sense to them, it will sound like gibberish, because Crake lives in the sky and cannot possibly be dead. "You've had a nightmare," she says gently.
"No. I didn't. Not about that. Oh fuck." Jimmy lies back, closes his eyes. "Oh fuck."
"Who is this Fuck?" says Abraham Lincoln. "Why is he talking to this Fuck? That is not the name of anyone here."
It takes Toby a moment to figure it out. Because Jimmy said "Oh fuck" rather than plain "fuck," they think it's a term of address, like "Oh Toby." How to explain to them what "Oh fuck" means? They would never believe that the word for copulation could mean something bad: an expression of disgust, an insult, a failure. To them, as far as she can tell, the act is pure joy.
"You can't see him," says Toby a little desperately. "Only Jimmy, only Snowman-the-Jimmy can see him. He's -"
"Fuck is a friend of Crake's?" asks Abraham Lincoln.
"Yes," says Toby. "And a friend of Snowman-the-Jimmy."
"This Fuck is helping him?" says one of the women.
"Yes," says Toby. "When something goes wrong, Snowman-the-Jimmy calls on him for help." Which is true, in a way.
"Fuck is in the sky!" says Blackbeard triumphantly. "With Crake!"
"We would like to hear the story of Fuck," says Abraham Lincoln politely. "And of how he has helped Snowman-the-Jimmy."
Jimmy opens his eyes again, squints. Now he's looking at the quilt covering him, with its Hey-Diddle-Diddle motifs. He strokes the cat and the fiddle, the smiling moon. "What's this? Fucking cow. Brain spaghetti." He raises his hand to blot out the light.
"He would like you to move back a little," says Toby. She leans in close, hoping she'll block out whatever Jimmy says next.
"I fucked it up, didn't I," he says. Luckily he's almost whispering. "Where's Oryx? She was right here."
"You need to sleep," says Toby.
"Fucking pigoons almost ate me."
"You're safe now," says Toby. It's not uncommon for someone waking from a coma to hallucinate. But how to describe "hallucinate" to the Crakers? It's when you see something that isn't there. But if it isn't there, Oh Toby, how can you see it?
"What almost ate you?" she says patiently.
"Pigoons," says Jimmy. "The giant pigs. I think they did; sorry. It's all spaghetti. Inside of my head. Who were those guys? The ones I didn't shoot."
"You don't need to worry about anything right now," says Toby. "Are you hungry?" They'll have to start with small quantities, it's best after a fast. If only there were some bananas.
"Fucking Crake. I let him fuck me over. I fucking fucked up. Shit."
"It's okay," says Toby. "You did fine."
"Fucking not," says Jimmy. "Can I have a drink?"
