life
has
been taken away, no more stories, and it turns out it’s a very good thing that I’m a photocopy of Pam. I don’t have to wonder if I’m brave or clever. I know I am. So you don’t have to worry. I can do this. I can get us through.”
Inside her a voice was crying that she had not been able to save Donny’s life. She had not been able to save Clint, or Lucia, or Mum and Dad. But that was because she had not been remembering that she was really Pam Taylor. Taylor Walker was a helpless kid. Now the copy of Pam Taylor would take over, and she’d be able to do anything.
“That’s why they called me Taylor, because I’m Pam’s clone. I wished I had been called Mary after my mum, but I never told them, because it would have upset everyone. I think they decided it was only fair to call me after her, because I was with Mum all the time, and they didn’t want to call me Pam, because it would cause confusion. That’s what I worked out. But I never asked. I don’t like asking awkward questions. It might lead to talking about things . . . that . . . hurt.”
Uncle was watching her carefully.
“Don’t look so worried, Uncle. I’m going to save us. I’m thinking—”
The metal ropes that had guided the ferry were still stretched across the huge gray-brown face of the water. Tay selected a raft, a small raft that didn’t seem to have been damaged. She didn’t trust the motorboats, and she didn’t think she could handle one of the heavy dugout canoes. She got Uncle to haul the raft along the mud to the waterline beside the ferry pier and searched around until she found a length of rope. She slung her rope over one of the metal hawsers, brought both ends to the raft, and threaded one end between the bound poles that made the raft’s raised side.
“Now we make a really good knot.” She was trying to knot the rope as she spoke—but she wasn’t doing very well, because it was thick and hard and her hands were small. “We push our raft into the water, and we pole it across. I know how to do that. But we’ll be fastened to the ferry hawser all the time, like the harness Pam made in Vietnam. So we can’t get swept away. You’ll be quite safe. Do you see?”
Uncle looked closely at the really good knot, stuck his lip out and started to undo it.
“Hey! Stop that!”
But he was tying the knot again, and doing it much better than Tay.
“Oh, I see. I’m sorry, thank you.”
The rucksack was on the boardwalk. Uncle had been carrying it. After Donny died, Tay had forgotten that orangutans don’t carry rucksacks. She’d been letting him take turns. He was part of the team, after all. She fetched it and put it on her own back, making sure the waistband was clipped tight. They shoved the raft out into the water—Uncle did most of the shoving—and scrambled on board. At once, caught by a powerful eddy, it began to swing around like a live thing. But it couldn’t get free; and the looped rope slid along the hawser, just the way it was supposed to do.
“Aru Batur,” whispered Tay, staring passionately at the shore she was leaving. “I’ll come back, Donny. We’ll come back for you, my little brother.”
Then the river took over, and she could think of nothing except trying to keep the raft steady and keep that rope moving along. Uncle sat clinging to the side, staring at the rushing water with an expression of horror. Tay stood in the middle with her pole. The river was deep, deeper than Tay could guess, and the current was fierce. She fought doggedly, gritting her teeth and muttering,
“I’m a copy of a remarkable person!”
But her arms got very tired: and this time Uncle couldn’t help.
About two-thirds of the way across they met with disaster. A massive tree trunk came racing toward them from upstream. Tay thought it was going to swing by without touching them, but there were branches sticking out, hidden under the surface. A snag caught them and dragged the raft sideways. Tay lost her
has
been taken away, no more stories, and it turns out it’s a very good thing that I’m a photocopy of Pam. I don’t have to wonder if I’m brave or clever. I know I am. So you don’t have to worry. I can do this. I can get us through.”
Inside her a voice was crying that she had not been able to save Donny’s life. She had not been able to save Clint, or Lucia, or Mum and Dad. But that was because she had not been remembering that she was really Pam Taylor. Taylor Walker was a helpless kid. Now the copy of Pam Taylor would take over, and she’d be able to do anything.
“That’s why they called me Taylor, because I’m Pam’s clone. I wished I had been called Mary after my mum, but I never told them, because it would have upset everyone. I think they decided it was only fair to call me after her, because I was with Mum all the time, and they didn’t want to call me Pam, because it would cause confusion. That’s what I worked out. But I never asked. I don’t like asking awkward questions. It might lead to talking about things . . . that . . . hurt.”
Uncle was watching her carefully.
“Don’t look so worried, Uncle. I’m going to save us. I’m thinking—”
The metal ropes that had guided the ferry were still stretched across the huge gray-brown face of the water. Tay selected a raft, a small raft that didn’t seem to have been damaged. She didn’t trust the motorboats, and she didn’t think she could handle one of the heavy dugout canoes. She got Uncle to haul the raft along the mud to the waterline beside the ferry pier and searched around until she found a length of rope. She slung her rope over one of the metal hawsers, brought both ends to the raft, and threaded one end between the bound poles that made the raft’s raised side.
“Now we make a really good knot.” She was trying to knot the rope as she spoke—but she wasn’t doing very well, because it was thick and hard and her hands were small. “We push our raft into the water, and we pole it across. I know how to do that. But we’ll be fastened to the ferry hawser all the time, like the harness Pam made in Vietnam. So we can’t get swept away. You’ll be quite safe. Do you see?”
Uncle looked closely at the really good knot, stuck his lip out and started to undo it.
“Hey! Stop that!”
But he was tying the knot again, and doing it much better than Tay.
“Oh, I see. I’m sorry, thank you.”
The rucksack was on the boardwalk. Uncle had been carrying it. After Donny died, Tay had forgotten that orangutans don’t carry rucksacks. She’d been letting him take turns. He was part of the team, after all. She fetched it and put it on her own back, making sure the waistband was clipped tight. They shoved the raft out into the water—Uncle did most of the shoving—and scrambled on board. At once, caught by a powerful eddy, it began to swing around like a live thing. But it couldn’t get free; and the looped rope slid along the hawser, just the way it was supposed to do.
“Aru Batur,” whispered Tay, staring passionately at the shore she was leaving. “I’ll come back, Donny. We’ll come back for you, my little brother.”
Then the river took over, and she could think of nothing except trying to keep the raft steady and keep that rope moving along. Uncle sat clinging to the side, staring at the rushing water with an expression of horror. Tay stood in the middle with her pole. The river was deep, deeper than Tay could guess, and the current was fierce. She fought doggedly, gritting her teeth and muttering,
“I’m a copy of a remarkable person!”
But her arms got very tired: and this time Uncle couldn’t help.
About two-thirds of the way across they met with disaster. A massive tree trunk came racing toward them from upstream. Tay thought it was going to swing by without touching them, but there were branches sticking out, hidden under the surface. A snag caught them and dragged the raft sideways. Tay lost her
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