38 DAHLAK 



forget that we are in Africa', Cecco used to say censoriously 

 every now and again) we advanced more cautiously and 

 discovered that at high tide the stingrays were greatly at 

 home in the forest, and that they were always the same 

 species as the ones mentioned above. 



On one of our subsequent excursions into the mangroves 

 (it was on the first of February) we decided to go and visit 

 the vultures' nest and on the way collect kites' eggs. In the 

 numerous kites' nests on the more solid cross-branches we 

 found about a dozen eggs altogether, two or three in each 

 nest. We took away four in all and proceeded towards the 

 large mangrove already marked as bearing the nest of the 

 hooded vultures. This mangrove had reached the sky by 

 forcing apart those nearest it and it grew out of the water as 

 twisted as if a python were trapped in its trunk. Twenty-four 

 feet above, it formed a platform of branches and leaves, and 

 on this platform, a yard or more in diameter, was planted 

 the nest. 



Cecco, Priscilla, Gigi and I approached quietly. I had been 

 allotted the unhappy task of shooting one of the parent 

 birds. The others said I was the best shot, and when they 

 were being extra nice, or horribly sarcastic, they would call 

 me ^Buffalo Bill's father', ^Buffalo Bill's brother', 'Buffalo 

 Bill's grandson', or 'Buffalo Bill's bootblack' according to 

 the success of the shot. I advanced with my Beretta rifle at 

 the ready, peering through the leaves and sweating, sweating. 

 After a bit I caught sight, at the top of the tree, of a monstrous 

 blundering thing like a turkey. It was the vulture. It had a 

 wing span of at least two yards. As calmly as I could I took 

 aim, trying not to notice the sweat that trickled down my 

 nose, tickling it maddeningly. . . . Bang ! I heard something 

 that sounded like 'Buffalo Bill's grandmother', then laughter. 

 The vulture wagged his head far up in the sky. 



