Oryx and Crake (MaddAddam, #1)(85)

“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.

“Maybe,” says Manatee. “But it wasn’t hanging from a tree. That’s what you’d do normally, to drain the blood.”

“The pigs told my blue buddies it was just lying on the path,” says Crozier. “In plain view.”

“You think it’s a message to us?” says Zunzuncito.

“Sort of like a challenge,” says Shackleton. “Like they’re calling us out.”

“Maybe that’s how come the rope. It was the rope on them last time,” says Ren.

“Nah,” says Crozier. “Why would they use a piglet for that?”

“Maybe like This will be you next time. Or Look how close we can get. They’re triple-time Painball vets, remember. That’s Painball style: freak you out,” says Shackleton.

“Right,” says Rhino. “They really want our stuff now. Must be running out of cellpack power, getting desperate.”

“They’ll try to sneak in at night,” says Shackleton. “We’ll have to double up on sentries.”

“Better check the fences,” says Rhino. “They’re still pretty makeshift.”

“They may have tools,” says Zeb. “From some hardware store. Knives, wire cutters, stuff like that.” He moves off, around the corner of the cobb house, with Rhino following.

“Maybe it’s not the Painballers who killed it. Maybe it’s persons unknown,” says Ivory Bill.

“Maybe it’s the Crakers,” says Jimmy. “Hey, just joking, I know they’d never do that.”

“Never say never,” says Ivory Bill. “Their brains are more malleable than Crake intended. They’ve been doing several things we didn’t anticipate during the construction phase.”

“Maybe it’s someone in our own group,” says Swift Fox. “Someone who wanted sausages.”

There’s an uneasy, guilty laugh round the circle. Then a silence. “So. What next?” says Ivory Bill.

“What next is, do we cook it or not?” says Rebecca. “Suckling pig?”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” says Ren. “It would be like eating a baby.” Amanda starts to cry.

“My dear lady, what’s all this about?” says Ivory Bill.

“I’m sorry,” says Ren. “I shouldn’t have said baby.”

“Okay, cards on the table,” says Rebecca. “Hands up, anyone here who didn’t know that Amanda’s pregnant?”

“I appear to be the only one left in gynecological ignorance,” says Ivory Bill. “Perhaps such intimate feminine material was considered unfit for my elderly ears.”

“Or maybe you weren’t listening,” says Swift Fox.

“Okay, so that’s clear,” says Rebecca. “Now I would like to open up the circle, as we used to say at the Gardeners … Ren, you want to do this?”

Ren takes a breath. “I’m pregnant too,” she says. She begins to sniffle. “I peed on the stick. It turned pink, it made a smiley face … Oh God.” Lotis Blue pats her. Crozier makes a move towards her, then stops.

“Three’s company,” says Swift Fox. “Count me in. Bun in the oven, up the spout. Farrow in the barrow.” At least she’s cheerful about it, thinks Toby. But whose bun?

There’s another silence. “I don’t suppose there is any point,” says Ivory Bill with heavy disapproval, “in speculating as to the paternity of these … these various imminent progenies.”

“None whatsoever,” says Swift Fox. “Or not in my case. I’ve been doing an experiment in genetic evolution. Reproduction of the fittest. Think of me as a petri dish.”

“I find that irresponsible,” says Ivory Bill.