The Boat That Took the Long Way

After the rain, little lanes of water ran between the stones of Pip and Tala’s village. Pip spread a square of white paper on a dry step. He folded one corner, pressed it flat, and opened it again.

Tala watched from beneath her blue cap. ‘Is it finished?’

‘That was only the first fold.’

Pip’s green fingers worked along the next crease. At last he opened the paper into a small boat. One side leaned inward. Tala held the other side steady while he pressed the fold once more. Now their boat stood straight, with a pointed white sail waiting for something.

Tala fetched a short pencil. On the sail she drew two eyes, a tiny smile, and two enormous eyebrows.

‘Our captain,’ she announced.

Pip tipped his head. ‘He looks as if he knows where he’s going.’

‘He looks as if he knows where everybody is going.’

They laughed, but Tala checked the pencil lines for smudges before Pip lifted the boat. She put the pencil safely beneath the ribbon of her cap. They would need it again if the captain wanted a map. For now, he faced the water with the same stern eyebrows and the same very small smile.

From the step they could see the teal bridge beyond the next bend. A shallow stream ran towards it through the rainwater lane. Pip chose a place with a flat bank where they could walk beside the boat without entering the water.

‘We’ll meet him at the bridge,’ he said.

Tala pointed out a dry landing step beneath the railing. ‘That can be his harbour.’

Pip lowered the boat onto the water but kept two fingers against its side. It floated! Tala bent close to inspect the captain. His eyebrows remained extremely confident. Pip took his fingers away.

The captain sailed past three stones and a patch of tiny yellow flowers. Pip took long frog steps along the bank. Tala waddled beside him, keeping one eye on the sail and the other on the path.

Then the boat stopped. Its pointed bow had met a twig lying across the water.

Pip crouched and tested the twig with one finger. It lifted easily. He raised it clear of the paper, and the boat moved again.

‘Thank you, Captain Pip,’ said Tala.

Pip kept the dry end of the twig in his hand. ‘Assistant captain,’ he corrected. ‘Look at those eyebrows.’

At the next bend, a large curled leaf turned slowly in the current. The boat brushed its red edge. Instead of following the main lane towards the bridge, it slipped into a narrow side stream.

‘Captain!’ Pip called, as though eyebrows could hear.

Tala looked along the dry bank. There was a path beside this stream too. Beyond a cluster of stones, the water seemed to curl back towards the bridge.

‘We can follow,’ she said. ‘He has chosen the long way.’

Pip checked the boat was still upright, then followed her, carrying the useful twig. The bridge disappeared behind the bend.

Beyond the bend, the stream widened around a flat stone. On top sat a small snail, his house balanced on his back. He stretched one eye stalk towards the bank, then pulled it back. Water filled the gap where a dry path had been before the rain.

Tala caught the boat gently by its sides and held it against the bank.

‘Our captain can wait,’ she said.

Pip looked at the gap, then at the twig in his hand. He laid it on the ground beside the stone to compare the lengths. It was long enough to reach across, with room at both ends.

Pip rested one end of the twig on the flat stone and the other on the bank. It rolled a little. He turned it until a small fork caught against a pebble, then pressed it gently to make sure it stayed.

The snail stretched towards the new crossing.

‘Take your time,’ Tala told him. She kept the boat still, well away from the twig.

Pip left two fingers beside the bank end, not on the snail’s path. The snail reached forward, found the dry wood, and slowly began to cross. His house moved after him, without the smallest hurry.

Waiting for a snail gave Pip time to notice things. A drop hung from a blade of grass. The boat’s paper sides had become slightly soft. Tala’s cap sat crooked from bending over the water.

The snail’s head reached the bank. Pip almost lifted his hand, then saw that the rest of the snail was still on the twig. He held it steady a little longer.

At last the shell passed over, and the very last part of the small body followed. The snail disappeared beneath a broad leaf.

‘Safe harbour,’ Tala whispered. Only then did she release their boat.

The side stream joined the main lane beyond the stones, just as Tala had thought. Their captain sailed into the shadow of the teal bridge.

Pip knelt on the dry landing step and scooped the boat up before the current carried it farther. A little water dripped from the bottom. He rested it on the warm stone, careful not to squash the sail.

‘A longer voyage than we planned,’ he said.

Tala took the pencil from her cap. She looked back towards the bend where a snail was now enjoying a dry leaf. Then she looked at the empty space beside the captain.

Tala drew a tiny spiral beside the captain. She added a low body and two little eye stalks.

Pip smiled. ‘Now he’ll remember why we stopped.’

The captain’s eyebrows were still enormous, but he no longer stood alone on his sail. While the boat dried, the two friends sat on the step and watched the last rainwater slip beneath the bridge.

They had meant to travel straight from one place to another. Instead, they had found a bend, a twig, and someone who needed both of them to wait. Tala put away her pencil. Their captain had a good voyage to remember. The end.