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"What's happening?" says Toby.
"They are talking, Oh Toby," says Blackbeard. "They are asking for help. They want to stop those ones. Those ones who are killing their pig babies." He takes a deep breath. "Two pig babies - one with a stick you point, one with a knife. The Pig Ones want those killing ones to be dead."
"They want help from ..." She can't say the Crakers, it isn't what they call themselves. "They want help from your people?"
If killing is the request, how can the Crakers help? she wonders. According to the MaddAddamites, Crakers are nonviolent by nature. They don't fight, they can't fight. They're incapable of it. That's how they're made.
"No, Oh Toby," says Blackbeard. "They want help from you."
"Me?" says Toby.
"All of you. All those standing behind the fence, those with two skins. They want you to help them with the sticks you have. They know how you kill, by making holes. And then blood comes out. They want you to make such holes in the three bad men. With blood." He looks a little ill: he isn't finding this easy. Toby wants to hug him, but that would be condescending: he has chosen this duty.
"Did you say three men?" Toby asks. "Aren't there only two?"
"The Pig Ones say there are three," says Blackbeard. "They have smelled three."
"That's not so good," says Zeb. "They've found a recruit." He and Black Rhino exchange sombre glances. "Changes the odds," says Rhino.
"They want you to make blood come out," says Blackbeard. "Three with holes in them, and blood."
"Us," says Toby. "They want us to do it."
"Yes," says Blackbeard. "Those with two skins."
"Then why aren't they talking to us?" says Toby. "Why are they talking to you?"
Oh, she thinks. Of course. We're too stupid, we don't understand their languages. So there has to be a translator.
"It is easier for them to talk to us," says Blackbeard simply. "And in return, if you help them to kill the three bad men, they will never again try to eat your garden. Or any of you," he adds seriously. "Even if you are dead, they will not eat you. And they ask that you must no longer make holes in them, with blood, and cook them in a smelly bone soup, or hang them in the smoke, or fry them and then eat them. Not any more."
"Tell them it's a deal," says Zeb.
"Throw in the bees and the honey," says Toby. "Make those off-limits too."
"Please, Oh Toby, what is a deal?" says Blackbeard.
"A deal means, we accept their offer and will help them," says Toby. "We share their wishes."
"Then they will be happy," says Blackbeard. "They want to go hunting for the bad men tomorrow, or else the next day. You must bring your sticks, to make the holes."
Something appears to have been concluded. The pigoons, who have been standing with ears cocked forward and snouts raised as if sniffing the words, turn away and head west, back from where they came. They've left the dead flower-strewn piglet on the ground.
"Wait," says Toby to Blackbeard. "They've forgotten their ..." She almost said their child. "They've forgotten the little one."
"The small Pig One is for you, Oh Toby," says Blackbeard. "It is a gift. It is dead already. They have already done their sadness."
"But we have promised not to eat them any more," says Toby.
"Not kill and then eat, no. But they say you would not be killing it yourselves. Therefore it is permitted. They say you may eat it or not eat it, as you choose. They would eat it themselves, otherwise."
Curious funeral rites, thinks Toby. You strew the beloved with flowers, you mourn, and then you eat the corpse. No-holds-barred recycling. Even Adam and the Gardeners never went that far.
Palaver
The Crakers have moved apart, over to the swing set, where they are chewing away at the kudzu vines and talking together in low voices. The dead piglet lies on the ground, flies settling on it, encircled by a ring of MaddAddamites, pondering over it as if holding an inquest.
"So, you think those pricks were butchering it?" says Shackleton.
