Nell and the Second Start

Before the race began, Nell had already decided what she would call the bend.

She had not told anyone. She was a sensible duck, and sensible ducks did not announce the names of places they had not yet won the right to name.

They merely tried the names quietly in their heads.

Nell’s Corner.

It sounded extremely suitable.

Across the inlet, Pip was explaining that Pip’s Very Important Bend had the advantage of telling a visitor what to expect.

“A bend?” Fern asked.

“An important bend.”

Gideon stood on the bank.

“It was turning perfectly well before we arrived,” he said.

A name worth winning

The hard cold still held Mill Pond beyond the eastern rise.

At the sheltered river inlet, life had begun to fit around the alders. There were places for feeding, places for resting and one particular turn that everyone described differently.

“Past the root,” said Pip.

“Which root?” the neighbours asked.

“The one by the turn.”

This had become less useful each time he said it.

That morning, Fern suggested giving the turn a name.

“We could race for it,” Pip said.

Nell surprised herself by agreeing immediately.

Usually she was the bird asking where, how far and whether anyone had considered breakfast. Today breakfast was finished, the sheltered stretch was clear of ice, and she wanted to win something.

She wanted to hear the others say Nell’s Corner.

She was fond of finding the feeding patches and checking the banks. But when a neighbour said her name, a question usually followed it.

Nell, is this deep? Nell, where shall we go?

She wondered what it would feel like to hear it simply because she had been the fastest duck on a stretch of bright water.

“You look pleased,” Pip told her.

“I am allowed.”

“I know. I was going to ask what you were planning.”

“Then you will have to wait.”

Gideon checked the short stretch inside the inlet with them. They would stay behind the low bank, well away from the exposed main river. Three ducks would start beside a line of alder roots and finish level with a pale stone on the shore.

No flying. No pushing. Keep the water ahead clear.

“And the winner suggests a name,” Fern said. “She does not own the place.”

“Or he,” Pip added.

“Nor does he.”

The two other Mallard neighbours came to watch from the firm bank.

Fern was a little smaller than Nell. Her pale eyebrow made her look calmly interested, even when she was about to disagree. Pip looked as if he had swallowed the beginning of the race and was trying to keep it inside.

Nell stretched one wing, folded it and moved towards the start.

“That part is mine,” Pip said.

“You were on the bank.”

“Thinking about that part.”

“Thoughts do not reserve water.”

Fern laughed. Pip took the place nearest the roots. Fern moved beside him. Nell stayed a little farther out, where the surface looked smooth and inviting.

A small brown alder cone drifted past her breast.

She barely noticed it.

The easiest length

Gideon raised his head.

“Ready?”

Pip leaned forward.

“That was a question,” Gideon told him.

Pip leaned back.

The neighbours settled. A twig knocked softly against the bank.

“Go.”

Nell drove her feet through the water.

The inlet opened before her in a bright, narrow length. Beside the roots, Pip made an impressive amount of splash. Fern was quieter, her head low and steady.

Nell pulled ahead.

She felt strong. The cold air touched her bill; the water slipped cleanly along her sides. She found a rhythm and held it.

For once, nobody was asking her where to rest or what came next. She was a duck in a race, and she was winning.

At the pale stone, she was more than a body-length ahead.

“Nell,” Gideon called.

She let herself glide.

Fern came through next. Pip arrived with an expression that suggested the water had personally disappointed him.

One neighbour called out congratulations.

Nell tried to answer as if she had not been hoping very hard for exactly that sound.

“Thank you.”

“A clear finish,” Gideon said.

Pip looked back along the course.

“I had the slow bit.”

“We went the same distance,” Nell replied.

“It did not feel the same.”

“Losing rarely does.”

The answer came too easily. She saw his face change, and a little of her pleasure tightened into something less comfortable.

Fern shook water from her feathers.

“I would like to try her place,” she said.

“We cannot keep racing until somebody else wins.”

“I did not say that.”

Nell looked towards the pale stone. Nell’s Corner still sounded lovely.

“Gideon saw the finish,” she said.

“I did,” he answered.

His voice held nothing beyond those two words.

Two cones and a quiet choice

The others climbed onto the bank to settle the name.

Nell stayed on the water for another moment. It was pleasant to float at the place where she had won. She could feel the race still moving through her feet.

A brown cone passed her.

Another bobbed beside the roots.

The first was already travelling beyond the pale stone when the second caught against a stem and turned slowly in place.

Nell watched.

She had seen leaves move differently across the same pond. Pip had once followed a feather curling behind reeds and found the missing bell’s cord. Water could do more than one thing in a small space.

She paddled back towards the start.

Near the roots, her body needed little adjustments to keep moving straight. Farther out, the surface carried her in the direction of the finish.

She stopped paddling.

She went on moving.

“Coming?” called a neighbour.

Nell looked at the bank.

They were waiting for her name. She could go up, say it clearly and let the morning settle around her victory.

She had paddled hard. No one could say she had not.

She had followed the rules.

Both thoughts were true.

The cone beside the roots was still turning.

“Pip,” she called. “Fern. Come and look at something.”

Gideon stepped down to the edge with them.

Nell nudged two loose cones from the shallow margin into different parts of the starting area. They watched one drift down the smooth strip while the other hung back near the roots.

“The water helped me,” she said.

Pip lifted his head.

“I said I had the slow bit.”

“You did. I should not have answered like that.”

“So it was not my feet.”

“It might also have been your feet,” Fern said.

Pip considered this new difficulty.

Gideon watched the cones reach different places.

“I checked the distance,” he said. “I should have looked longer at the water.”

“I did win the race we started,” Nell said.

She needed the others to hear that, because giving it up was already making her feel foolish.

Fern nodded. “You did.”

Nell took a breath.

“I do not want to name the bend from that race.”

A better argument

Pip immediately suggested that he should take Nell’s place and race her again.

“Then you would have the help,” Fern pointed out.

“I have had very little help so far.”

“That does not make it a better race.”

The watchers proposed drawing new starting places, then swapping them, then racing until everyone had tried everything.

Gideon looked towards the low winter sun.

“I have other things to do before spring.”

Nell could have laughed and let the argument wear itself out. Soon everyone might agree that the first result was easier to keep.

Instead, she swam slowly along the sheltered stretch.

“We need a course we can all choose our way through,” she said.

They tried a route from the wide bank to a forked root, round the root and back. There were no reserved strips of water. Going out, each duck could look for the moving part. Coming back, each would have to choose a line against it or closer to the quiet edge.

Pip paddled half the route and returned.

“The turn is tight.”

“Then we move the turning point clear of the root,” Nell said.

Fern tried it next. One of the neighbours stood on the bank where everyone had agreed the turn would be, so no one needed to squeeze among the roots.

They checked the start. They checked the finish. Gideon asked each racer to describe the route.

“Out, round, back,” Pip said.

“Past the neighbour before turning,” Fern added.

“And the finish level with this wide root,” Nell said.

It was not a promise that the water would behave perfectly. It was a game whose choices they could see and agree on.

One watching neighbour looked from Nell to the course.

“We could still use your name for the place, if you like.”

For a moment, that seemed wonderfully easy. Nell could hear the name she wanted, and nobody would have to swim another length.

She looked at Pip and Fern, waiting beside the new start.

“That would be a name you gave me,” she said. “I wanted to win it.”

The neighbour nodded and stepped back.

Nell felt both foolish and relieved to have said it plainly.

Gideon looked at the three of them.

“Shall we set aside the first result and use this race for the name?”

Pip agreed. Fern agreed.

Nell looked at the turn she had nearly named.

“Yes.”

“And if you lose?” Pip asked.

She gave him a look. It was nearly her usual look, which made him smile.

“Then I shall try to be less unpleasant about it than you.”

“A low hurdle,” Gideon observed.

The length that counted

This time, Nell was nervous.

She had wanted the first race to prove she was good at something beyond knowing where everyone should stand. Now the others would see what happened without her particular piece of helpful water.

Fern came alongside.

“Still racing?”

“Very much.”

“Good.”

Pip took a place beside them. He was trying to look calm. His tail was failing.

Gideon waited until all three faces pointed down the course.

“Ready?”

Nobody moved.

“An improvement,” he said. “Go.”

They sprang forward.

Pip surged into the middle. Nell followed the smooth strip she had used before. Fern stayed a little nearer the bank, watching the space ahead.

The turning neighbour grew larger.

Nell reached her first.

For one bright instant, the old certainty returned. She was going to win this one too.

She turned quickly.

Too quickly.

Her own wake knocked against her breast, and she lost her straight line. Pip came round wide. Fern made a smaller, steadier turn and slipped between their disturbed water and the bank.

Now they were coming back.

Nell drove her feet harder. The moving strip that had helped her outward pushed against her return. She changed her angle towards the quieter margin.

Fern was ahead.

Pip was beside her.

The wide root waited at the finish.

Nell found her rhythm again. Her bill came level with Pip’s. Ahead, Fern was a brown shape on bright water, close enough that Nell could imagine passing her.

She tried.

The root reached them.

“Fern,” Gideon called.

Nell crossed next. Pip followed so closely that his splash reached her tail.

For a moment, she heard only her own breathing.

Fern had won.

Nell looked back along the course, searching almost without meaning to. A bad turn. A slower line home. Perhaps something she could explain.

She found the explanation easily.

She had made the bad turn. She had chosen the slower line.

Fern had raced better.

Nell went to her.

“That was a very good turn.”

Fern was still catching her breath.

“I hoped you would notice.”

The name on everyone’s tongue

They rested on the bank while Fern considered the name.

Pip offered several suggestions, most of which still contained Pip.

“A generous amount of assistance,” Gideon said.

“I have ideas left over.”

Fern looked towards the turning point.

“Fern’s Turn,” she said at last.

The neighbours tried it.

Fern’s Turn.

It was easy to say. It told them which turn they meant. Nell had to admit it was an extremely suitable name.

“Does that mean you live there now?” Pip asked.

“It means we call it that.”

“Can I still go round it?”

“I should prefer you did. Otherwise you may hit the bank.”

Nell laughed.

She still wished she had won. Laughing had not removed that wish, and she was relieved to discover she did not have to pretend it had.

Later, Fern went to feed with the neighbours. Gideon returned to his place near the inlet mouth.

Pip found Nell looking down the new course.

“You nearly had her at the end.”

“Nearly.”

“What name were you going to choose?”

She hesitated.

“Nell’s Corner.”

He looked at the bend, then back at her.

“That is quite good.”

“I thought so.”

They watched a cone travel along the edge.

“Another race tomorrow?” Pip asked.

“After breakfast. And we check the water first.”

He nodded.

Nell slipped down to the sheltered shallows. Before following her, Pip turned towards the neighbours.

“She is over by Fern’s Turn,” he called.

The name carried easily across the inlet.

Nell heard it, and went on practising her turn.