watered only one minute, others for three minutes, or five minutes, until Papa’s egg timer rang and he turned off the precious supply.
Obviously, he could not spare any water for the rest of the island, and it slowly turned brown. The island’s own turf dried out and turned up its edges like slices of old sausage, several spruces died, and every morning the weather was just as relentlessly beautiful. In along the coast, thunderstorms ranged back and forth one after the other, with torrents of rain, but they never made it out to sea. The water in the big basin sank lower and lower.
Sophia prayed to God, but it didn’t help. And then one evening while Papa was doing the watering, the pump made a dreadful gurgling noise and the hose went slack. The basin was completely empty, and the plastic cover stuck to the bottom in a million wrinkled folds.
Sophia’s father walked around thinking for one whole day. He made calculations and drew plans and took the boat in to the shop to use the phone. A great heatwave settled over the island, which looked more and more exhausted every day. Papa went in to the shop to use the phone again. Finally he took the bus into town, and Sophia and Grandmother understood that the situation had become catastrophic.
When Papa came back, he brought the enormous plastic sausage with him. It was the colour of old oranges, and its heavy folds filled half the boat. It was specially constructed. There was clearly no time to be lost, so the pump and the hoses were loaded aboard and they set off immediately.
The sea lay glossy and listless in a shroud of heat, and over the coast towered the usual wall of deceitful clouds. The gulls barely lifted as they drove by. It was a very important expedition. By the time they reached Bog Skerry, the boat was so hot the tar was running, and the plastic sausage stank horribly. Papa carried the pump up to the bog, which was large and deep and full of sedge and cotton grass. He screwed the hoses together, heaved the sausage into shallow water, and started the pump. The hose filled and straightened out across the rock, and very, very slowly the plastic sausage began to grow. Everything went according to plan and expectation, but no one dared tempt fate by talking. It grew into a colossal, shiny balloon, an orange raincloud, ready to burst with the thousands of litres of water in its belly.
“Dear God, don’t let it burst,” Sophia prayed.
And it didn’t. Papa turned off the pump and carried it down to the boat. He stowed away the hoses. He moored the sausage firmly to the stern and placed the family on the middle seat. Finally, he started the motor. The lines drew taut and the motor pulled, but the sausage didn’t move.
Papa went ashore and tried to push, but nothing happened.
“Dear God who loves little children,” Sophia whispered, “please make it come loose.”
Papa tried again and nothing happened. Then he took a run and threw himself at the plastic sausage and they both began to glide across the slippery sea grass and right on into the water in one long, gulping flow. And Sophia started to scream.
“Now don’t blame God,” said Grandmother, who was very interested in the whole procedure.
Sophia’s father climbed into the boat and started the motor with a jerk. The boat took a leap forward, pulling Sophia and Grandmother off their seat, and the enormous plastic sausage sank slowly down into the water, straining at its lines. Papa hung over the stern and tried to see what it was doing. It crept through the seaweed, and where the bay deepened it disappeared completely and pulled the motor down into the water until it spit. The family shifted their weight quickly forwards: there was less than four inches from the gunwales to the water.
“I’m not going to pray to Him again,” said Sophia.
“He knows, anyway,” said Grandmother, who was lying on her back in the bow. The thing about God, she thought, is that He usually does help, but not until
Obviously, he could not spare any water for the rest of the island, and it slowly turned brown. The island’s own turf dried out and turned up its edges like slices of old sausage, several spruces died, and every morning the weather was just as relentlessly beautiful. In along the coast, thunderstorms ranged back and forth one after the other, with torrents of rain, but they never made it out to sea. The water in the big basin sank lower and lower.
Sophia prayed to God, but it didn’t help. And then one evening while Papa was doing the watering, the pump made a dreadful gurgling noise and the hose went slack. The basin was completely empty, and the plastic cover stuck to the bottom in a million wrinkled folds.
Sophia’s father walked around thinking for one whole day. He made calculations and drew plans and took the boat in to the shop to use the phone. A great heatwave settled over the island, which looked more and more exhausted every day. Papa went in to the shop to use the phone again. Finally he took the bus into town, and Sophia and Grandmother understood that the situation had become catastrophic.
When Papa came back, he brought the enormous plastic sausage with him. It was the colour of old oranges, and its heavy folds filled half the boat. It was specially constructed. There was clearly no time to be lost, so the pump and the hoses were loaded aboard and they set off immediately.
The sea lay glossy and listless in a shroud of heat, and over the coast towered the usual wall of deceitful clouds. The gulls barely lifted as they drove by. It was a very important expedition. By the time they reached Bog Skerry, the boat was so hot the tar was running, and the plastic sausage stank horribly. Papa carried the pump up to the bog, which was large and deep and full of sedge and cotton grass. He screwed the hoses together, heaved the sausage into shallow water, and started the pump. The hose filled and straightened out across the rock, and very, very slowly the plastic sausage began to grow. Everything went according to plan and expectation, but no one dared tempt fate by talking. It grew into a colossal, shiny balloon, an orange raincloud, ready to burst with the thousands of litres of water in its belly.
“Dear God, don’t let it burst,” Sophia prayed.
And it didn’t. Papa turned off the pump and carried it down to the boat. He stowed away the hoses. He moored the sausage firmly to the stern and placed the family on the middle seat. Finally, he started the motor. The lines drew taut and the motor pulled, but the sausage didn’t move.
Papa went ashore and tried to push, but nothing happened.
“Dear God who loves little children,” Sophia whispered, “please make it come loose.”
Papa tried again and nothing happened. Then he took a run and threw himself at the plastic sausage and they both began to glide across the slippery sea grass and right on into the water in one long, gulping flow. And Sophia started to scream.
“Now don’t blame God,” said Grandmother, who was very interested in the whole procedure.
Sophia’s father climbed into the boat and started the motor with a jerk. The boat took a leap forward, pulling Sophia and Grandmother off their seat, and the enormous plastic sausage sank slowly down into the water, straining at its lines. Papa hung over the stern and tried to see what it was doing. It crept through the seaweed, and where the bay deepened it disappeared completely and pulled the motor down into the water until it spit. The family shifted their weight quickly forwards: there was less than four inches from the gunwales to the water.
“I’m not going to pray to Him again,” said Sophia.
“He knows, anyway,” said Grandmother, who was lying on her back in the bow. The thing about God, she thought, is that He usually does help, but not until
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