144 DAHLAK 



In fact we stood and watched them, filled with wonder and 

 admiration. Strange, distorted, beautiful creatures, their 

 curved strawberry-ice beaks out of all proportion, their 

 bodies pure white, their huge wings a fiery red edged with 

 black, they are as tall as a youth when they stand on their 

 lanky tottering legs. When they take off, they give a few 

 heavy beats of their wings and are airborne; then the 

 awkward incongruity of their bodies falls into a perfect 

 aerodynamic line, and their thin, round, long, white necks 

 guide the way as if they were arrows shot from some fabulous 

 bow. 



Cecco shot one while it was flying away from the beach. 

 The bird dropped with a crash into the sea, opening wide 

 its wings of fire. It was like the shattering of a spell. 



It was evening. We had been working and messing around 

 in the water since eight o'clock that morning. My three 

 friends had already got into the boat, worn out and sun- 

 drunk, and were coming to pick me up on the west coast of 

 the island. I was alone in a narrow inlet of the gulf further 

 south, strategically hidden behind a block of madrepore, gun 

 in hand, watching and waiting in the turbid water for the 

 expected arrival of a shark in the lagoon. The tide was 

 slowly rising, bringing with it clouds of very fine sand. I 

 had been collecting shell-fish and other boring little animals 

 for hours and hours, and was longing for something more 

 diverting — such as a shot at a guitar fish, or perhaps even a 

 sturdy black-fin. 



Then I heard the familiar drone of the outboard-motor. I 

 forgot my shark schemes and placed myself on top of the 

 block which I had been uselessly hiding behind. As I stood 



