More Beetles 



against the perilous flood, they fish for their 

 favourite titbit. Here is a grub near the 

 bank, one not too large and for that reason 

 all the more tender. One of the gluttons 

 sees it, cautiously approaches the depths, 

 snaps with his mandibles and pulls, uproot- 

 ing his prey. The plump little sausage 

 emerges, wriggling. As soon as it is on dry 

 land, the victim is disembowelled and rap- 

 turously crunched up. Not a scrap is left. 

 The morsel is often shared, two collabora- 

 tors tugging in opposite directions, but with- 

 out a scuffle. 



Maggot-fishing is carried on in this way 

 at every point of the shore. The catch is 

 not abundant, for most of the fry are some 

 distance from the mainland, in deep waters 

 where the Saprini do not venture. They 

 never risk wetting their feet. However, the 

 tide withdraws by degrees, absorbed by the 

 sand and evaporated by the sun. The grubs 

 retreat under the corpse; the Saprini follow 

 them. The massacre becomes general. A 

 few days later, we remove the Snake. 

 There are no maggots left. Nor are there 

 any in the sand, making ready for the meta- 

 morphosis. The horde has disappeared: it 

 has been eaten. 



