“Feeshin,”I repeat thoughtfully. “I see.”
“And the way on Earth,” she goes on, “is to catch fish with nets.”
“Very wonderful on Earth,” I state. “Feeshandnets.”
“Yes,” she agrees cheerfully. “And I think, why not make nets? Is maybe easy!” She goes on to explain to me what those nets are, and they do seem to make a lot of sense.
I take the piece of iron out of the coals. It’s starting to glow, but I want it hotter, so I put it back in. “So you’ll need thin, but strong ropes for the net. What if you make a net yourself?”
“I was going to ask,” Callie says. “I try to make nets. I know there is rope in that hut.” She points to a storage shed. “Can take thick rope apart, and make it thin. Then turn it into net.”
I take the iron out again. It glows a bright, orangy red. “Go and do it. And stay at a distance from me. The hammering is not good for your ears.” I put the wad of seaweed back in my ear.
She smiles and hurries over to the hut while I keep hammering.
I smile to myself. Such a wonderful woman. Surely they can’t all be like her. Certainly they must be as different as one tribesman is from another. But I will probably never know.
As I keep working, I also keep an eye on Callie. She sits down on the planks and leans her back on the storage shed while she unravels the ropes and starts to make her nets. Once in a while she’ll lift her gaze and look over to me, then look back down with a beautiful little smile on her full lips.
No one troubles her. No one questions why she sits there, unravelling rope on our platform as if she has always done so. The boys pass by her without staring, the men step around her work with quick glances, but without comment. I feel something settle in my chest at the sight. This is how it should be. She is here, and the day bends itself to make room for her.
I find myself listening for danger without knowing why, alert in a way I usually am only in the jungle.
I can’t remember having ever been this happy before. Between each iron piece I hammer into something useful on my anvil, I look down at the ocean, and send the Deep a prayer of gratitude.
I wave a boy to me, and tell him to bring Callie food and drink. I know what she likes now. When he delivers the food a while later, Callie looks over at me and mouths ‘thank you’.
I just grin, sheer bliss filling me to the bursting point.
We both work until sunset. I leave the forge to cool down, and walk over to Callie.
She holds up her net. “Is small now. But I make it bigger. As big as this platform.”
The net is actually bigger than I thought, and now that I’m looking at it, it looks like it might work.
“So the splix come swimming,” I sum up as I examine the net. “And they swim towards the net. And they try to swim through. But then they get stuck.”
“That’s how it works,” Callie beams. “I think,” she adds, “I’ve never actually seen it myself.”
“Perhaps we shall try it first,” I suggest. “Not in the bay, but out on the ocean. On a day when there’s nice weather, and small waves only.”
Callie looks out towards the horizon. “That would be nice. Perhaps bring furs and skins in the boat.” She gives me a look.
There’s more pressure in my crotch, because I think I know what she means. And indeed, Mating with her in my boat, under the open sky, far away from Bigs and tribesmen, seems like a fantastic idea. “Tomorrow,” I decide immediately. “I will help you make the net.”
I sit down and have her show me how it works. I call for some boys to help us, too, and then we work and chat until the darkness makes it too difficult, and the smell of food being cooked becomes impossible to ignore.
Callie stands up and checks the net. “Very nice. I think usually the holes are the same size, but maybe the splix have different sizes. It’s ready to test.”
Indeed, the mesh is quite uneven. With their smaller hands, Callie and the boys have tied their parts of the net with smaller holes, while my part has holes three times as big.
“I prefer big splix,” I lie. “I hope we catch many big ones.”
“But the big ones don’t taste good,” a boy says, frowning. “They’re sour. And their meat is chewy. We’re always told to throw them back!”
“Yes, yes,” I grumble, annoyed. “Run along now. Prepare a place at the common table for Callie. Small splix only for her, please.”
“And a big one for you?” the boy asks.
