Maude steamed away from Diego Garcia (and Mauritius) as Raphael waited. The Nordvaer negotiated the treacherous shoals and currents around the Great Chagos Bank and dumped her passengers in Peros Banhos, the most southerly of the Chagos islands, 125 miles from Diego Garcia.
Peros Banhos is made up of over 30 different islands, arranged in an oblique circle to enclose 120 square miles of ocean. The transported Ilois, surprised that their destination wasn’t Mauritius, looked at their new home while the Ilois whose home it was already looked back. A separate breed – Diego Garcia was a foreign country to them – but they showed the newcomers to vacant huts and gave them food and beds, knowing as much about what was going on as anyone.
Nothing; confusion spun invisible webs in the air, blocked out sense and frightened people. Children cried for no reason, bananas refused to ripen and dogs ate their puppies in frenzies with cats helping.
Peros Banhos was similar to Diego Garcia in many ways. Coconuts, fishermen, coral beaches. Its jungles weren’t so tangled, though, and hid illegal dens. Toddy was brewed from fermented coconut milk in these and sold to the islanders cheap. Georges settled Maude on some sacks and went to meet a man who’d said, ‘You want to taste?’
‘Yes.’
‘Meet me here, later?’
‘I’ll be here.’
He walked. He had been on the island long enough to know one’s way around. Women in donkey carts nodded, others hung washing from trees. They didn’t have the brooding look of Diego Garcian Ilois. No people had told them they had no right to stay. Their islands didn’t enclose a perfect harbour. There was no room for an airstrip. They had heard stories from Diego Garcia and Mauritius but had plantations to tend, doormats to make and gardens to dig. The days grew shorter, stacks of firewood appeared against the walls and on the verandas of every home.
The toddy-makers were Seychellois. They kept apart from the other islanders and weren’t interested in vegetable gardens, livestock, fishing or making doormats. ‘Come,’ one said, and took Georges’ arm. ‘You want to taste?’
‘Yes.’
‘I could tell.’ He pointed. ‘There’s somewhere we’ll go’
‘Here?’
‘No. Come with me.’
The Seychellois led him to a hut in a grove as a gang of mynahs screamed in breadfruit trees, took off and flew over the bay. Waves hit outcrops of rock, sprayed and fell. ‘There,’ said the brewer. He drained a bottle and passed a mug.
Georges drank to his people’s rarity, switched from year to year, flipped dreams from hand to hand, whistled a tune, picked his nose and waited for another mug. He let thoughts rush through his head, stop, turn and turn into other thoughts. Maude – life changing – sour toddy – holes in his shoes – Leonard and Odette shouting so loud they shook coconuts from trees as ships with outriding motor boats, helicopter escorts and sailors lining rails flipped by. Flags flying. Signals. Depth charges. Jet pilots throttling up, trailing across the sky and leaving ribbons of smoke. Submarines surfacing, guns blasting.
Another mug and his face collapsed, his eyes closed, waves hit the same rocks. The mynah birds flew back. He drank until the evening, thanked the Seychellois and walked back to the others.
Leonard and Odette were talking when he got back, sat down and fell asleep. ‘Georges?’ said Leonard, but he got no answer.
‘He’s drunk,’ said Odette.
‘Why’s he always drunk? Why doesn’t he do anything?’
‘He can’t.’
‘Father would have. He wouldn’t be like that if he was with us.’ Leonard pointed.
‘How do you know? If someone offered him something he’d take it. But who’s offering?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘He does the best he can.’
‘The best he can?’ Leonard laughed but stopped when his sister shouted, ‘We all do the best we can! Don’t stop thinking that!’
On Peros Banhos, Odette did the best of any of them. She was eleven but older to look at and in her attitude. A straight back. Straight eyes.
‘Mother?’ she said.
No answer.
Maude’s morbid silences and lack of interest worried Odette. She still cooked, but burnt food regularly. She never burnt food on Diego Garcia but on Peros Banhos the wind seemed to blow stronger and fan the fire uncontrollably.
‘Mother? I’ll be digging…’
Odette’s maturity displayed itself in a vegetable garden – an old plot was attached to their hut so she borrowed a fork. She made Leonard stand with a sack to collect weeds and stones.
‘Why do I have to do this?’ he said.
‘So we can grow vegetables. Use your head!’ She pointed at her own. ‘Can’t you work anything out for yourself?’
‘Yes. But…’
‘No! One day you’re complaining that Georges doesn’t do anything, the next you’re complaining because you have to do something!’
‘I wasn’t!’
‘You were!’
‘But…’
‘Hold the sack open!’
‘Alright!’
‘And stop doing that!’
‘I wasn’t doing anything.’
Odette the boss. Leonard was older, stronger and thought he knew things but she had the mind to see beyond tomorrow, though she hadn’t learnt how to see months ahead. Maude sat and stared because she had seen months ahead. The sight had blinded her, though, so everything was fugged and she felt buried. ‘We’ll eat this tonight,’ her daughter would say, and she’d cook without thinking. Automatically, not noticing. Georges snoring off something he’d done earlier.
Odette, tired of Leonard’s whingeing, said, ‘Why don’t you go fishing! Make a rod, find some line! I’ll give you some bait. Someone’ll give you a hook.’
‘I haven’t got a boat.’
‘You don’t need a boat. Look!’ She pointed to someone who stood on a rock, casting into the lagoon, letting his line drift, waiting for a meal. A fish, distracted by the smell, saw the bait and took it. The fisherman struck, whipped the rod up and caught the fish as it swung out of the water towards him. ‘See!’ said Odette, and Leonard said, ‘I suppose so.’
‘Do more than that!’
‘Would he mind?’
‘You don’t know unless you ask. Go on!’
He asked Georges to help but the man shook his head and tipped a hat over his eyes. The sun had been strong all day. He didn’t want any bother. It was enough to find his way home. Children wanting to do things were a problem. ‘Ask someone else.’ he mumbled, and lit a cigarette. A dog strolled into the hut and out again with a piece of carrot in its mouth. Leonard said, ‘Alright.’
He asked a man he found fishing the pools on the seaward side of the island. The man said, ‘Why not?’ and, ‘I’m Paul.’
‘Leonard.’
‘You’re from Diego.’
‘You’ll show me what to do?’ said Leonard. He was shy, felt abroad and coughed. ‘My father used to fish at home. I know some things…’
‘Watch.’
Paul cut a rod from the jungle, spliced it and bound the tip, fetched some line and attached a hook. He talked about bait and taught Leonard to cast. ‘Here’ he said, ‘flip the rod like this… wait, tug back, wait again…’
A surgeon fish waited in the shallows. It moved its body to compensate for a strengthening current, sucked at nothing and watched the surface. This moved in unpredictable eddies and ripples. The fish flashed blue scales, rose through the water and waited at a different spot.
Leonard cast. His bait hit the water and floated for a second before sinking. The fish measured the disturbance, sucked at nothing, blew and moved forwards. Eighteen inches long and fat; it flipped its tail and looked at the surface before accelerating, lunging, taking Leonard’s bait, and the line screamed from the rod, picked the boy up and threw him in the water.
‘WHAA!’
‘Hang on!’ Paul dived in and grabbed Leonard’s legs. A wave smashed into them, the sea calmed, the fish pulled again.
‘Hang on!’ Paul shouted again.
‘I am! I am!’ Another wave, another tug. The man stood the boy upright and said, ‘Steady! Steady…’ The rod bent double. ‘Head for the beach!’
‘I can’t.’
‘You will! Come on!’
Paul helped Leonard hold the rod as they stumbled through the surf. They fell on a heap of seaweed as the fish twisted in the water and flipped out of a cloud of spindrift before breaking the line. Leonard fell on Paul, dropped his rod and yelled with laughter. He showed all his teeth. They were yellow, and brown stains traced their edges. His eyes watered. He wanted to do it again.
‘Let’s catch another!’ he said.
‘We didn’t catch that one!’
‘I know. But we nearly did.’
‘Nearly,’ said Paul, ‘isn’t worth anything. Nearly doesn’t feed anyone. You can’t go home to Mother and say, “I nearly caught a fish”.’
‘No, but…’
‘But you did well.’ Paul patted Leonard on the head. ‘Well enough. You want to come again tomorrow?’
‘Yes!’
‘Same time?’
‘I’ll be here. I’ll make my own rod.’
‘You can keep this.’ Paul handed him the one he’d made. ‘A proper one.’
‘A present?’
‘You can call it that, if you like.’
A single bird soared over their hut and spiralled down to the trees behind it. Maude decided it meant something. Leonard came back with a bag of fish. Odette yawned and boiled a pan of lentils. ‘Where’ve you been?’ she said.
‘Fishing.’
‘Catch anything?’
‘Yes.’ Leonard held up the bag. ‘Paul’s good.’ Odette smiled. ‘Plenty,’ he said.
‘It was you that caught them, not Paul…’
He raised his voice. He could prove himself as easily as his sister. ‘Of course!’
‘Then we’ll have them with tomatoes. Have a look.’ She showed him a bowl.
‘They’re big.’ Leonard smiled. ‘Did you grow them?’
‘What?’ Odette looked at him. He winked. ‘Of course I did! There’s no one else!’
‘Odette?’
‘What?’
‘I was joking.’
‘Joking?’
He shrugged. ‘Why not?’ he said, and sat down with Maude and Georges and told them about fishing on Peros Banhos.