‘I got one. Got one, see.’ She pulled quickly. ‘Got one Uncle. Got one Lizzie.’ She could see it now nearly at the top. Don't get away. Bigger than Lizzie's. Bigger than Uncle Kepa's. And Uncle Kepa, he was leaning over the side with a gaff hook. Don't … Her line was empty again. She saw her fish flip and dive. Then. Then there was a great crashing in the water and the sea had turned white. I had Uncle in it. ‘Uncle.’ Uncle Kepa's head popped out of the water. ‘I got it baby.’ And he held up the gaff with her fish flapping and gasping on it. Her fish. And it was bigger than Lizzie's. Bigger than Uncle's. He reached over the side and put the gaff with the fish on it into the boat. He turned the boat and took hold of the anchor rope and began easing himself up. Uncle was brave you know. What if a shark came and bit his legs off, or a whale, or a giant octopus like the one that picked up a whole submarine in the pictures. The back of the boat rose as he levered himself up over the bow. He was in. He made it and his legs were still on. The back of the boat came down with a slap and a wave whacked against its side and splashed in. ‘Bail out mates.’ Mereana and Lizzie took the bailing tins and began throwing the wave back. ‘We got it Uncle. We got my fish.’ ‘We got it baby. We got that big fullu.’ He was pulling up the anchor now. Never mind. ‘These funny fishermen are all wet,’ he said. Out from the point they watched him take his spinner from his fishing bag and let it for a hard pull homeward. Then shinning out into the water. He tied the end of the line to the seat and straightened the boat over the water, which now that they had rounded the corner was quiet and unruffled in a windless afternoon. Mereana watched the spinner sending out a fine white spray behind them. Would they catch a kahawai as Uncle said. Because fish don't eat paua shells. ‘Uncle, kahawai don't eat paua shells.’ With each big pull Uncle Kepa's breath was hissing out between his teeth, ‘The kahawai … he think … it … a herring.’ Gee Uncle. Anyone could see it was a paua shell with holes in it spinning on a line. Most of the time Uncle was clever and strong, and he could row fast, and he had jumped in the sea and saved her fish. But now … Uncle thought … The kahawai struck. There was a green-silver flash, and spray ribboned up and out as the boat dragged the fish through the water. ‘We got one. We got one. The kahawai he thought it was a herring. Gee he thought the bit of paua shell was a herring. Dumb ay Lizzie? Dumb ay Uncle?’ ‘Dumb ay Mereana.’ The lagoon was full of children, waiting to see how good the catch had been. Mereana and Lizzie were tired that night. They had been up early and out fishing. So many things had happened that the other kids hadn't believed them. They lay side by side on Lizzie's little bed. It was a warm night. They could hear the sea scrambling up the stones. ‘Mereana.’ ‘What?’ ‘I wonder where your sick is.’ ‘Something might've ate it.’ Because fish were dumb. They didn't know one thing from another. ‘I think it's still there on the water.’ But Mereana was tired. Her eyes closed. Away, away, in a dark place far at the back of her eyes there was a little nest drifting … Drifting. Somewhere far away on a dark, dark sea …