office, nodding to his secretary and his aide as he passed their desks, and turned down the broad corridor to the boardroom, trying to fix his mind on the discussion ahead. There were a number of crises demanding his attention, all more serious than his personal troubles. Months had passed since he left Australia, since the morning he woke to find Isabel gone. But then, Simon reflected, like stubbing your toe or scorching your tongue, pain was often disproportionate to the gravity of the injury.
He managed a silent laugh at his own expense before he turned into the boardroom.
*
OA TREMBLED EACH time Doctor appeared in the window that she now understood was not a mirror. She made herself small in her corner, and listened to Doctor argue with Isabel.
Three days in a row, Isabel won the battle, and Doctor went away with the strange pale woman whose face jerked and crawled as if insects wriggled beneath her skin. Since Isabel came, Oa had not once had to submit to the spider machine. The second day, Isabel went into the central surgery where the medicator lurked, and she did something to the machine, something bad. Oa sniffed a complex perfume of anger and triumph as Isabel came out.
“There, Oa,” Isabel said. “That will need some repair.”
Oa crept to the little room and peered in. The machine’s looping wires and tubes now hung free, trailing to the floor.
Isabel came to stand beside her. “I broke it. They can fix it, but it will take time.”
“Fix?” Oa’s lips and tongue struggled with the new word.
“Yes, fix. Repair. Do you know what a wavephone is, Oa?”
Oa pointed to the wavephone on the wall.
“That’s right.” Isabel’s smile made Oa think of sunlight flashing on the face of Mother Ocean, or the glow from the nuchi shell lamps of the people. “That wavephone doesn’t work. Someone broke it so I couldn’t use it.” Isabel’s smile faded, and she looked tired again. “And I don’t need the medicator. What I need to know, only you can tell me.”
“No more spider machine?” A surge of hope washed over Oa. If there was no more spider machine, maybe Isabel wouldn’t find out.
“Not for now.”
“Oa is not liking it.”
“I know.” Isabel sat down in one of the not-wood chairs. It was too small for her, and her knees poked up beside the low table. “Do you know, Oa, I have dozens and dozens of medicator reports. They tell me a great deal about your body, but they don’t tell me very much about you.”
The brief flare of hope died in Oa’s breast. She wished Isabel wouldn’t go on.
Isabel rubbed her hand over her scalp. “Do you think you could tell me some things, Oa? Some things about your home, or your parents. About the island, and the other children.”
Oa knew the word “parents” because it had been in the books. She knew it meant “mother” and “father” together. She knew the word “children.” In fact, she understood almost everything Isabel said to her. Isabel spoke clearly, and not fast.
Oa dropped her eyes to her toes. She would have liked to tell Isabel, tell her everything. She had not talked to anyone in a very long time. But she was afraid.
Oa remembered a night when a boat had come from the people, not after the tatwaj, but just a night. Some men had been drinking beera, which the people made with fermented fruit. The men decided to come to the anchens’ island. The anchens’ nest was too close to the shore, and they were caught by surprise. They were sleeping, and the men found them .
The men were young and wild, in the first fire of their manhood. It was tabu for them to use girls of the people. But Bibi and Ette and Oa and Likaki were only anchens.
Micho tried to fight them off, because he was the tallest, but he was too thin and weak. The men hit Micho until he didn’t get up anymore. The men didn’t care if Micho ever got up again, because Micho was not a person. But afterward, Oa and the others grieved for Micho just as if he were a
He managed a silent laugh at his own expense before he turned into the boardroom.
*
OA TREMBLED EACH time Doctor appeared in the window that she now understood was not a mirror. She made herself small in her corner, and listened to Doctor argue with Isabel.
Three days in a row, Isabel won the battle, and Doctor went away with the strange pale woman whose face jerked and crawled as if insects wriggled beneath her skin. Since Isabel came, Oa had not once had to submit to the spider machine. The second day, Isabel went into the central surgery where the medicator lurked, and she did something to the machine, something bad. Oa sniffed a complex perfume of anger and triumph as Isabel came out.
“There, Oa,” Isabel said. “That will need some repair.”
Oa crept to the little room and peered in. The machine’s looping wires and tubes now hung free, trailing to the floor.
Isabel came to stand beside her. “I broke it. They can fix it, but it will take time.”
“Fix?” Oa’s lips and tongue struggled with the new word.
“Yes, fix. Repair. Do you know what a wavephone is, Oa?”
Oa pointed to the wavephone on the wall.
“That’s right.” Isabel’s smile made Oa think of sunlight flashing on the face of Mother Ocean, or the glow from the nuchi shell lamps of the people. “That wavephone doesn’t work. Someone broke it so I couldn’t use it.” Isabel’s smile faded, and she looked tired again. “And I don’t need the medicator. What I need to know, only you can tell me.”
“No more spider machine?” A surge of hope washed over Oa. If there was no more spider machine, maybe Isabel wouldn’t find out.
“Not for now.”
“Oa is not liking it.”
“I know.” Isabel sat down in one of the not-wood chairs. It was too small for her, and her knees poked up beside the low table. “Do you know, Oa, I have dozens and dozens of medicator reports. They tell me a great deal about your body, but they don’t tell me very much about you.”
The brief flare of hope died in Oa’s breast. She wished Isabel wouldn’t go on.
Isabel rubbed her hand over her scalp. “Do you think you could tell me some things, Oa? Some things about your home, or your parents. About the island, and the other children.”
Oa knew the word “parents” because it had been in the books. She knew it meant “mother” and “father” together. She knew the word “children.” In fact, she understood almost everything Isabel said to her. Isabel spoke clearly, and not fast.
Oa dropped her eyes to her toes. She would have liked to tell Isabel, tell her everything. She had not talked to anyone in a very long time. But she was afraid.
Oa remembered a night when a boat had come from the people, not after the tatwaj, but just a night. Some men had been drinking beera, which the people made with fermented fruit. The men decided to come to the anchens’ island. The anchens’ nest was too close to the shore, and they were caught by surprise. They were sleeping, and the men found them .
The men were young and wild, in the first fire of their manhood. It was tabu for them to use girls of the people. But Bibi and Ette and Oa and Likaki were only anchens.
Micho tried to fight them off, because he was the tallest, but he was too thin and weak. The men hit Micho until he didn’t get up anymore. The men didn’t care if Micho ever got up again, because Micho was not a person. But afterward, Oa and the others grieved for Micho just as if he were a
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