THE MANTA, THE GOOD DEVIL I25 



begin to know. Imagine a horizontal cloudburst of fish like 

 stainless steel each measuring more than a yard in length. I 

 do not even know how many times I uselessly took aim, 

 sometimes coming up to the surface, sometimes a yard 

 below, sometimes chasing them. Everything seemed to be 

 taking place in a yellow fog as the plankton absorbed and 

 dispersed the light. The fish came into view at ten yards 

 from all directions, unexpectedly and explosively. A shark 

 could appear in the same way and here I was on the surface, 

 nonplussed and with my reactions slowed down to a stand- 

 still. Then I realized why I felt so out of sorts. The whole of 

 my body was burning and itching, and getting unbearable. 

 The plankton had got me. It has irritating properties, and as 

 it was thicker than ever near the surface, it stuck on to my 

 lips. They swelled up painfully, and then were splattered 

 full on with something so burning hot that for a moment I 

 could neither shout nor swallow. Unable to stand it I swam 

 back to Gigi and got back into the boat where I lay prostrate. 



Gigi too went through the ritual, swimming among the 

 cefaloni and vainly trying to get one. He met two mantas 

 underwater, and with his heart in his mouth, pursued them, 

 but in vain. It was six o'clock in the evening. The sea was 

 still. I smoked my fourth cigarette and looked towards the 

 west. The sun was setting in a green light. The mantas, the 

 black phantoms, had stolen away one by one. The plankton 

 had thinned out. Some of it had been eaten but most of it 

 was being dispersed by the evening currents. The elusive 

 cefaloni were splashing about here and there, but they were 

 part of the rearguard. The sea was finding its peace. I could 

 feel my nervousness relaxing little by little as the sun got 

 greener, the sky a deeper blue and the surface of the sea 

 became sombre and still. 



At 6.15 Gigi gave a yell. I sprang round. He was ten yards 



