The town lay on a broad estuary, its old yellow plastered buildings
hugging the beach. And on the beach the white and blue canoes that came
from Nayarit were drawn up, canoes preserved for generations by a hard
shell-like waterproof plaster whose making was a secret of the fishing
people. They were high and graceful canoes with curving bow and stern
and a braced section midships where a mast could be stepped to carry a
small lateen sail.
The beach was yellow sand, but at the water's edge a rubble of shell
and algae took its place. Fiddler crabs bubbled and sputtered in their
holes in the sand, and in the shallows little lobsters popped in and
out of their tiny homes in the rubble and sand. The sea bottom was rich
with crawling and swimming and growing things. The brown algae waved in
the gentle currents and the green eel grass swayed and little sea
horses clung to its stems. Spotted botete, the poison fish, lay on the
bottom in the eel-grass beds, and the bright-colored swimming crabs
scampered over them.
On the beach the hungry dogs and the hungry pigs of the town searched
endlessly for any dead fish or sea bird that might have floated in on a
rising tide.
Although the morning was young, the hazy mirage was up. The uncertain
air that magnified some things and blotted out others hung over the
whole Gulf so that all sights were unreal and vision could not be
trusted; so that sea and land had the sharp clarities and the vagueness
of a dream. Thus it might be that the people of the Gulf trust things
of the spirit and things of the imagination, but they do not trust
their eyes to show them distance or clear outline or any optical
exactness. Across the estuary from the town one section of mangroves
stood clear and telescopically defined, while another mangrove clump
was a hazy black-green blob. Part of the far shore disappeared into a
shimmer that looked like water. There was no certainty in seeing, no
proof that what you saw was there or was not there. And the people of
the Gulf expected all places were that way, and it was not strange to
them. A copper haze hung over the water, and the hot morning sun beat
on it and made it vibrate blindingly.
hugging the beach. And on the beach the white and blue canoes that came
from Nayarit were drawn up, canoes preserved for generations by a hard
shell-like waterproof plaster whose making was a secret of the fishing
people. They were high and graceful canoes with curving bow and stern
and a braced section midships where a mast could be stepped to carry a
small lateen sail.
The beach was yellow sand, but at the water's edge a rubble of shell
and algae took its place. Fiddler crabs bubbled and sputtered in their
holes in the sand, and in the shallows little lobsters popped in and
out of their tiny homes in the rubble and sand. The sea bottom was rich
with crawling and swimming and growing things. The brown algae waved in
the gentle currents and the green eel grass swayed and little sea
horses clung to its stems. Spotted botete, the poison fish, lay on the
bottom in the eel-grass beds, and the bright-colored swimming crabs
scampered over them.
On the beach the hungry dogs and the hungry pigs of the town searched
endlessly for any dead fish or sea bird that might have floated in on a
rising tide.
Although the morning was young, the hazy mirage was up. The uncertain
air that magnified some things and blotted out others hung over the
whole Gulf so that all sights were unreal and vision could not be
trusted; so that sea and land had the sharp clarities and the vagueness
of a dream. Thus it might be that the people of the Gulf trust things
of the spirit and things of the imagination, but they do not trust
their eyes to show them distance or clear outline or any optical
exactness. Across the estuary from the town one section of mangroves
stood clear and telescopically defined, while another mangrove clump
was a hazy black-green blob. Part of the far shore disappeared into a
shimmer that looked like water. There was no certainty in seeing, no
proof that what you saw was there or was not there. And the people of
the Gulf expected all places were that way, and it was not strange to
them. A copper haze hung over the water, and the hot morning sun beat
on it and made it vibrate blindingly.
Comments (0)
The minimum comment length is 50 characters.
Information
Users of Guests are not allowed to comment this publication.
There are no comments yet. You can be the first!