WATERS-EDGE IN HAITI 



cuckoo of Haiti and in his pursuit of saurians he was 

 as regardless of direction and feathers and ultimate 

 balance as his ebony cousins the black witch 

 cuckoos, who, at this very moment "whaleeped" 

 in an adjoining thicket. While he preened his 

 remaining feathers I stuck my mementos in my 

 helmet and waited for my next Haitian adventure. 



Solitude is impossible in this human-ridden 

 land and I could hear the soft French patois of 

 blacks working in the sugar-cane behind, while 

 on the reef before me two men bailed their leaky 

 boats almost all the time, and in brief intervals 

 of safety examined their wicker fish-traps and 

 stabbed sea-urchin bait with nails on long poles. 



The right of present possession and force of con- 

 centrated interest having made this my very own 

 beach, I leaned back with a feeling of contented 

 ownership and watched for all comers. The first 

 was a slender beauty, a shadow-thin Louisiana 

 heron which paced slowly past in the shallows, eye- 

 ing my boat with suspicion, but paying me the 

 compliment of not distinguishing me from the 

 surrounding rotting boards and lichened roots. 

 Once he stopped and snatched a tiny, flickering 

 fish and again pecked vainly at a dark spot which 

 I knew was a live conch. Then he spread his 

 wings and left my beach without sound or track. 

 My next visitor was a trespasser, a Haitian, half- 

 clad in a garb of filthy rags, unwashed and un- 

 pleasant. Shining through these was the most 

 beautiful copper mahogany skin, perfectly temp- 



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