VISITORS FROM OVER THE SEA I99 



parents for months. They would hook fish and sharks with 

 their lines until summer, drifting around the islands of the 

 archipelago according to the winds and the occult rules of 

 fishermen. They would sleep on the beaches, and fish every 

 day that the weather was good. Then every ten days they 

 would go to Massawa and sell their catch at a discreet price 

 to an Italian middle-man. After reaching and sharing a 

 certain financial figure, sufficient to keep their families for 

 another year, they would go back home across the Red Sea 

 again, in the hope of finding everybody well, or at least alive. 

 Their habits and customs were strange. They used to sleep 

 in the open in separate beds which were big envelopes of 

 woven fibre. They lay on the ground, got inside the envelope 

 and pulled the flap over (just like a long postal envelope) . I 

 never understood how they managed to breathe. When they 

 ate they gathered together in a circle. A boy from each 

 group (the groups were in fact quite independent in every 

 respect and only moved across the sea together for reasons 

 of collective security) made every evening a frightful mixture 

 of black bread and water, added some fish heads and tails 

 that were more or less roasted, and stirred the whole mess 

 with his hands. When it was well mixed it was served on an 

 earthenware plate. The diners, squatting Arab fashion on the 

 ground, dabbed their hands in discreetly and gathered a 

 handful of the hash. They rolled this slowly into a sausage 

 shape and then placed it on their lips, sucking in and cleaning 

 their fingers at the same time. Then they moved straight on 

 to a dish of little pieces of burnt fish and circled back to the 

 potage. I must confess that this is the most unpleasant 

 memory I have of the Yemenites. We used to be together 

 every evening. We talked about the day's catch and ex- 

 changed generous compliments, always using the ars 

 eloquendi I have described. 



