Fish Read Online Free Page B

the way he'd said “had.” Maybe they'd just grown up and moved away. Maybe then he
would
say, “I
had
four children.” But I wished I hadn't asked.
    “I lost them, and my wife, and my cousin. A missile hit the house. There was nothing left.” He said this in a matter-of-fact way, as he tied another bag onto the donkey. I was relieved he didn't sound as if he was going to cry.
    “But you—were you not in the house?” asked Mum.
    “Yes, I was there. But I am still here. I do not ask why.”
    “You were lucky,” said Dad, pulling his bag on his back.
    “That is what people say,” said the Guide, without feeling, as he concentrated on a knot, and Dad gritted his teeth, and you could see he wished he hadn't said it.
    Mum put her hand on the Guide's arm and looked into his eyes. “We are glad you are still here,” she said, very slowly and clearly, as if every word was very important. I can't explain it very well. It was like she wassaying something simple, but meant something— well, deeper.
    The Guide stopped his strap-pulling and looked back into her eyes for a moment, with a searching look. Then he gave a small smile, and a contented nod, as if they'd understood and agreed.
    Me and Dad just looked at each other, none the wiser. At least Mum seemed to have said the right thing.
    Having packed all the stuff together again and rubbed out the campfire, we set off along the main road again. I took this to mean we'd decided to try the easiest route first.

THREE
    The first day of walking hadn't been too bad at all. But one of the things that dragged you down was the landscape.
    It was boring—just dirt, dead bushes and rocks, and the mountains, which didn't seem to get closer, blocking the view ahead. Even the sky seemed to be the same brown as everything else.
    We passed piles of rubble and falling-down walls, which Dad explained were old farms, small villages even. You could still make out the edges of fields and tracks, he showed me, if you looked. And here, there had been grapevines in rows—an odd stump showed, blackened and blasted.
    “I thought you said the war hadn't reached here yet,” I said.
    “Just about everywhere in this country has been bombed and laid to waste already,” said the Guide,“which is why the people were coming to our village. There was chaos here years ago—then a powerful country took charge, and in doing so, much damage was done. Then the next people took control—and they ruined anything that was left. Now they in turn are being forced out … so it goes on.”
    Beyond thinking this seemed bad and unfair, which all the grown-ups knew already, I couldn't think of anything to say, and neither could anyone else—so I frowned and puzzled and put my head down and walked in silence, with the Guide's words left hanging.
    Nothing seemed to change, so you didn't feel as if you were getting anywhere. There was just the odd dead animal, tatty skin stretched like a tent over bits of old bone, dried out so it wasn't even shocking or revolting anymore. But this day showed me that there could be worse things than “boring” to deal with.
    We had been traveling for only an hour or so, I suppose, when the little gusts of wind, which were freezing, started to hit me in the back harder and harder. It made you stagger. Dad turned and noticed.
    “Hang on a minute,” he said to the Guide, and he stopped and turned too, and the next gust of wind smacked him with a faceful of dust. While he spluttered and wiped his eyes, Dad managed to get my blanket roll from the donkey's back, trying to keep his head behind his arm to keep the grit out of his eyes.
    He rigged it up around my back and shoulders, over the top of my bag with the cooking pot tied on. The blanket lashed around for a moment in the wind, but he managed to knot two corners under my chin, so well that it just about throttled me. Still, I was a lot warmer.
    “This wind isn't good,” said the Guide, spitting out dust. I thought, what