Oh Lord by Joyce Fuller ‘Georgie! Georgie! George Henry!’ Mrs Tumanaako's full voice rolled down the hill from her own rakish verandah to other verandahs, through the shabby meeting house, and on to the freshly-painted school; but no one noticed, for this was a mother's regular lunch-time halloo to her youngest and best-beloved. ‘George Henry, you tor-toyse! Soup's boiling away. Fried bread's cold. You'll be late back for school…. What d'you say, Lily?’ This last was directed to one of the three behind the table. ‘I saw him, Mum. He went to the lake.’ ‘… with Nuku.’ added Joe. ‘They took Uncle's old boat,’ said Mary Anne. Mrs Tumanaako's soup ladle froze midway to the pot. Her black eyes needled twelve-year-old Mary Anne. ‘And you didn't tell me? You didn't cuff your little brother home? You, his sister? Go, fetch him.’ Mary Anne slithered from her chair, muttering, ‘He's not so little. He's eight. He's with Nuku, and Nuku's his uncle, and he's thirteen.’ However, she took the verandah steps at a jump as her mother wheeled round with, ‘Nuku! That scamp.’ As, five minutes later, Mrs Tumanaako hustled the remaining two through the gate to afternoon school, her worry deepened to alarm. No sign of Mary Anne, and the torpor of morning had given way to a breeze. No! to a wind. The still lake was bestirring itself, its muscles rippling. Soon there would be angry dabs at the raupo fringes. ‘You,’ she scolded herself, ‘this is no time to be standing.’ As she turned, her troubled eyes met those of her husband. He had been dipping, and his bare torso shone with weariness and sweat. ‘Hi, Mere. What's the matter?’ ‘The little fellow. George Henry. He's out on the lake, and look at it.’ Ted gazed lakewards. Mrs Tumanaako had a great affection for her husband, but in this moment of anxiety his slowness exasperated her. ‘See here! He and Nuku took Uncle's old boat. I sent Mereana to fetch him. She hasn't come and the lake's getting up. Must get some folks out to look.’ Cupping her strong hands, she sent a rousing yell over the lethargic village. ‘Come here — haere mai katoa.’ They came, but it was only a small village, and shearing gangs and the high school twelve miles away had drained it of its man-power. At the foot of the hill were gathered mainly old people and toddlers. Mrs Tumanaako's heart sank. And George Henry and Nuku? Almost wordlessly, after clearly indicating their physical needs to their teacher, they had gravitated to the lake. ‘Where you going, Nuku?’ ‘On the lake. Coming, little feller?’ Silently George Henry climbed over the bow, and the other poled the old punt through the rushes. All was quiet save for the odd whirr of a duck's wing, or the asthmatic croak of a frog. George Henry leaned over, peering into the brown murkiness. ‘Hey! What you doing, feller? Want to capsize this boat?’ Startled, George Henry shuffled back to the middle of his seat, his thin arms clasping his knees. Was it nervousness, or that cool breath from the south that made him shiver? ‘Better now, eh?’ chattered Nuku. ‘We're out. Going faster.’ He sat down because he could no longer stand up, and anyway, the pole was no use. The gentle waves had become vicious buffs. ‘Pole us back, Nuku. Pole us back.’ George Henry, wide-eyed, knees knocking, feet splayed, couldn't believe that Nuku was no longer in control. But Mrs