164 DAHLAK 



valid for the real giants. Yet I suspect that legends have been 

 built up around this colourful sea-character. I do not 

 doubt, as I have already mentioned, that some unfortunate 

 pearlfisher may have ended up in that deadly embrace 

 because it is impossible to open the jaws of even these small 

 types. But I wonder if the giant clam would really be in- 

 terested in the limb of a gastronomic ally unpalatable big 

 animal which must have been pretty blind to fall right into 

 that trap. In addition, it has no real enemies at the bottom 

 of the sea, so the hypothesis of self-defence is unconvincing. 

 I infer in consequence that an isolated case or two has 

 given rise to the legend — so moving, terrible, justifiable and 

 romantic but unfounded. 



Dahlak Kebir. The sun had slipped behind the sea some time 

 since. I was on my way back to Nasi's house, having been 

 hunting for the past two hours. Gigi was unwell and had to 

 be given a good supper — pigeon-breast. Four turtle doves 

 huddled in my shirt, and the gentle warmth of their feathers 

 was against my skin. I took a short cut across a wide beach, 

 avoiding the rocks. They say that the snakes come out at 

 night and they're easy to tread on. 



The moon was rising and the beach was white. The sea 

 was far away at low tide. I could just see the silhouettes of 

 numerous birds chattering and hopping around the salt 

 pools. One near to me unexpectedly flapped away. Then 

 there was a scream and a plop on the water and a gruff 

 chuckle. Was someone following me or was I imagining 

 things? The beach narrowed and the rocks came down to 

 the sea. Here I should most likely have to wet my feet. No, 

 there was a strip of sand and then the beach opened out 

 again. 



