of a shock. Being around lots of tanned skin I'd somehow assumed I was also tanned, but the ghost in the mirror corrected me. My whiteness was accentuated by my stubble, which, like my hair, is jet black. UV deprivation aside, I was in bad need of a shower. My T-shirt had the salty stiffness of material that has been sweated in, sun-dried, then sweated in again. I decided to head straight to the beach for a swim. I could kill two birds with one stone — soak up a few rays and get clean.
Chaweng was a travel-brochure photo. Hammocks slung in the shade of curving palm trees, sand too bright to look at, jet-skis tracing white patterns like jet-planes in a clear sky. I ran down to the surf, partly because the sand was so hot and partly because I always run into the sea. When the water began to drag on my legs I jumped up, and the momentum somersaulted me forwards. I landed on my back and sank to the bottom, exhaling. On the seabed I let myself rest, head tilted slightly forward to keep the air trapped in my nose, and listened to the soft clicks and rushes of underwater noise.
I'd been splashing around in the water for fifteen minutes or so when Étienne came down to join me. He also ran across the sand and somersaulted into the sea, but then leapt up with a yelp.
'What's up?' I called.
Étienne shook his head, pushing backwards through the water away from where he'd landed. 'This! This animal! This... fish!'
I began wading towards him. 'What fish?'
'I do not know the English — Aaah! Aaah! There are more! Aaah! Stinging!'
'Oh,' I said as I reached him. 'Jellyfish! Great!'
I was pleased to see the pale shapes, floating in the water like drops of silvery oil. I loved their straightforward weirdness, the strange area they occupied between plant and animal life.
I learnt an interesting thing about jellyfish from a Filipino guy. He was one of the only people my age on an island where I'd once stayed, so we became pals. We spent many happy weeks together playing Frisbee on the beach, then diving into the South China Sea. He taught me that if you pick up jellyfish with the palm of your hand, you don't get hurt - although then you had to be careful to scrub your hands, because if you rubbed your eyes or scratched your back the poison would lift off and sting like mad. We used to have jellyfish fights, hurling the tennis-ball-sized globs at each other. On a calm day you could skim them over the sea like flat pebbles, although if you chucked them too hard they tended to explode. He also told me that you can eat them raw, like sushi. He was right. Literally speaking, you can, as long as you don't mind a few days of stomach cramps and vomiting.
I looked at the jellyfish around us. They looked the same as the ones in the Philippines so I decided it was worth the risk of a sting, thinking how worldly and impressive it would seem to Étienne. The gamble paid off. His eyes opened wide as I plucked one of the quivering blobs from the sea.
'Mon Dieu!' he exclaimed.
I smiled. I didn't realize French people actually said 'Mon Dieu'. I always thought it was the same thing as English people supposedly saying 'what' at the end of every sentence.
'It is not hurting, Richard?'
'Nope. It's about how you hold it, like stinging nettles. You try.'
I held out the jellyfish.
'No, I do not want to.'
'It's fine. Go on.'
'Really?'
'Yeah, sure. Hold your hands like mine.'
I slid the jellyfish into his cupped hands.
'Oooh,' he said, a big grin spreading over his face.
'But you can only touch it with your palms. If you touch it anywhere else it'll sting.'
'Only the palm? Why is that?'
I shrugged. 'Don't know. That's the rule.'
'I think maybe the skin is more thick there.'
'Maybe.' I picked another one out of the water. 'They're weird, aren't they? Look, you can see right through them. They don't have any brains.'
Étienne nodded enthusiastically.
We peered at our jellyfish in silence for a few moments, then I noticed Françoise. She was on the beach, walking
Chaweng was a travel-brochure photo. Hammocks slung in the shade of curving palm trees, sand too bright to look at, jet-skis tracing white patterns like jet-planes in a clear sky. I ran down to the surf, partly because the sand was so hot and partly because I always run into the sea. When the water began to drag on my legs I jumped up, and the momentum somersaulted me forwards. I landed on my back and sank to the bottom, exhaling. On the seabed I let myself rest, head tilted slightly forward to keep the air trapped in my nose, and listened to the soft clicks and rushes of underwater noise.
I'd been splashing around in the water for fifteen minutes or so when Étienne came down to join me. He also ran across the sand and somersaulted into the sea, but then leapt up with a yelp.
'What's up?' I called.
Étienne shook his head, pushing backwards through the water away from where he'd landed. 'This! This animal! This... fish!'
I began wading towards him. 'What fish?'
'I do not know the English — Aaah! Aaah! There are more! Aaah! Stinging!'
'Oh,' I said as I reached him. 'Jellyfish! Great!'
I was pleased to see the pale shapes, floating in the water like drops of silvery oil. I loved their straightforward weirdness, the strange area they occupied between plant and animal life.
I learnt an interesting thing about jellyfish from a Filipino guy. He was one of the only people my age on an island where I'd once stayed, so we became pals. We spent many happy weeks together playing Frisbee on the beach, then diving into the South China Sea. He taught me that if you pick up jellyfish with the palm of your hand, you don't get hurt - although then you had to be careful to scrub your hands, because if you rubbed your eyes or scratched your back the poison would lift off and sting like mad. We used to have jellyfish fights, hurling the tennis-ball-sized globs at each other. On a calm day you could skim them over the sea like flat pebbles, although if you chucked them too hard they tended to explode. He also told me that you can eat them raw, like sushi. He was right. Literally speaking, you can, as long as you don't mind a few days of stomach cramps and vomiting.
I looked at the jellyfish around us. They looked the same as the ones in the Philippines so I decided it was worth the risk of a sting, thinking how worldly and impressive it would seem to Étienne. The gamble paid off. His eyes opened wide as I plucked one of the quivering blobs from the sea.
'Mon Dieu!' he exclaimed.
I smiled. I didn't realize French people actually said 'Mon Dieu'. I always thought it was the same thing as English people supposedly saying 'what' at the end of every sentence.
'It is not hurting, Richard?'
'Nope. It's about how you hold it, like stinging nettles. You try.'
I held out the jellyfish.
'No, I do not want to.'
'It's fine. Go on.'
'Really?'
'Yeah, sure. Hold your hands like mine.'
I slid the jellyfish into his cupped hands.
'Oooh,' he said, a big grin spreading over his face.
'But you can only touch it with your palms. If you touch it anywhere else it'll sting.'
'Only the palm? Why is that?'
I shrugged. 'Don't know. That's the rule.'
'I think maybe the skin is more thick there.'
'Maybe.' I picked another one out of the water. 'They're weird, aren't they? Look, you can see right through them. They don't have any brains.'
Étienne nodded enthusiastically.
We peered at our jellyfish in silence for a few moments, then I noticed Françoise. She was on the beach, walking
Similar Books
Love Inspired Historical October 2013 Bundle: A Family for Christmas\The Secret Princess\Taming the Texas Rancher\An Unlikely Union
Rhonda Gibson, Winnie Griggs, Rachelle McCalla, Shannon Farrington
Sacrificial Muse (A Sabrina Vaughn Novel)
Maegan Beaumont
Newborn Conspiracy
Delores Fossen
Deadly Lullaby
Robert McClure
The Divided Family
Wanda E. Brunstetter
Side Show
Rick Shelley
Mercy, A Gargoyle Story
Misty Provencher
The Carrot and the Stick
C. P. Vanner
Fade Back (A Stepbrother Romance Novella)
Stephanie Brother
Anita Blake 20bis - Beauty: An Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Outtake
Laurell K. Hamilton