«Walk?»
«As a matter of fact, I'm in no special hurry.»
«Well, why go to all that trouble?» He suddenly became loquacious. «You can see this is a poor village,» he said in an accommodating tone. «There isn't a decent house in it, but if it's all right with you I'll put in a good word and see what I can do to help you out.»
He did not seem to bear any ill will. They were just being cautious — perhaps on the lookout for some prefectural official who was scheduled to come on a tour of inspection. With their sense of caution appeased, they were merely good, simple fisherfolk.
«I should be very grateful if you would. Of course, I will expect to show my appreciation… I am particularly fond of staying in village houses.»
4
The sun had set and the wind had slackened somewhat. He walked along the dunes until he could no longer distinguish the pattern hewn by the wind in the sand.
There seemed to be nothing that faintly resembled crops.
Orthoptera — small-winged crickets and white-whiskered earwigs.
Rhynchota — red-striped soldier bugs. He was not certain of the name, but surely it was a type of soldier bug.
Of the sheath-winged insects which he sought: white-backed billbugs and long-legged letter-droppers.
He had not been able to spot a single one of the beetle family that was his real aim. And indeed for that very reason he was anticipating the fruits of the next day's battle.
His fatigue brought faint spots of light dancing on his retina. Then, in spite of himself, he stopped walking and fixed his eyes on the surface of the darkening dunes. It was no use; anything that moved looked like a beetle.
As he had promised, the old man was waiting for him in front of the cooperative offices.
«I'm sorry for all this trouble.»
«Not at all. I only hope you'll like what I found for you.»
A meeting seemed to be in session in the offices. Four or five men were sitting in a circle, from which shouts of laughter rose. On the front of the entry hung a horizontal plaque with large lettering: LOVE YOUR HOME. The old man said something; abruptly the laughing stopped, and he walked out leading the others. The shell-strewn road floated vague and white in the twilight.
He was escorted to one of the cavities on the ridge of the dunes at one end of the village.
From the ridge a narrow path went down the slope to the right. After they had walked on awhile, the old man leaned over into the darkness and, clapping his hands, shouted in a loud voice: «Hey! Granny! Hey, there!»
From the depths of the darkness at their feet a lamp flickered, and there was an answer.
«Here I am! Here! There's a ladder over by the sandbags.»
Indeed, without the ladder he could not possibly have got down. He would have had to catch hold on the cliff with his bare hands. It was almost three times the height of the house top, and even with the ladder it was still not easy to manage. In the daytime, he recalled, the slope had seemed to him rather gentle, but as he looked at it now, it was close to perpendicular. The ladder was an uncertain thing of rope, and if one lost one's balance it would get hopelessly tangled up. It was quite like living in a natural stronghold.
«You needn't worry about anything. Have a good rest.»
The old man turned around and went back, without going all the way to the bottom.
Sand poured down from overhead. The man had a feeling of curiosity, as if he had returned to his childhood. He wondered whether the woman was old; she had been called granny. But the person who came to meet him, holding up a lamp, was a smallish, nice sort of woman around thirty. Perhaps she was wearing powder; for someone who lived by the sea, she was amazingly white. Anyway, he was extremely grateful for her cheerful welcome, from which she could not conceal her own pleasure.
Indeed, if it had not been for the warm reception, the house itself would have been difficult to put up with at all. He would have thought they were making a fool of him and would doubtless have gone back at once. The walls were peeling, matting had been hung up in place of sliding doors, the upright supports were warped, boards had replaced all the windows, the straw mats were on the point of rotting and when one walked on them they made a noise like a wet sponge. Moreover, an offensive smell of burned, moldering sand floated over the whole place.
Well, everything depended on one's attitude. He was disarmed by the woman's manner. He told himself that this one night was a rare experience. And, if he were lucky, he might run up against some interesting insects. It was certainly an environment in which insects would gladly live.
His premonition was right. No sooner had he taken the seat offered him beside the hearth, which was sunk in the earthen floor, than all around there was the sound of what seemed to be the pitter-patter of rain. It was an army of fleas. But he was not one to be overwhelmed by such things. An insect collector is always prepared. He had dusted the inside of his clothing with DDT, and it would be wise, before he went to sleep, to daub some insecticide on the exposed parts of his body.
«I'm just fixing something to eat. If you'll just wait a few minutes more…» the woman said, half standing and taking the lamp. «Can you get along without the light for a moment, please?»
«Do you only have one lamp?»
«I'm sorry, yes.»
She laughed, a little embarrassed. On her left cheek a dimple appeared. Apart from her eyes, she had undeniable charm, he thought. Perhaps the look in her eyes was the result of some affliction. No matter how much make-up she used, she could not conceal the inflamed corners. Before going to bed, he decided, he would without fail apply some eye medicine too.
«It doesn't make any difference, but first I would rather like a bath.»
«A bath?»
«Don't you have one?»
«I'm terribly sorry, but could you put it off until the day after tomorrow?» «The day after tomorrow? But I won't be here the day after tomorrow.» In spite of himself he laughed aloud.
«Oh?»
She turned her face away with a drawn-up expression. She was disappointed, he supposed, and, of course, with country folk there is no attempt at pretense. He ran his tongue several times over his lips with a feeling of embarrassment.
«If you don't have a bath, some water that I could pour over me would do just fine. My whole body's covered with sand.»
«I'm sorry, but we don't have more than a bucketful of water either. The well is pretty far away.»
She looked quite abashed, and he decided to say no more. He was soon to realize, unpleasantly, the uselessness of bathing.
The woman brought in the meaclass="underline" clam soup with boiled fish. Very much a shore meal, it seemed. That was all right, but as he began to eat she opened a large paper umbrella and put it over him.
«What's that thing for?» He wondered if it were some kind of custom of the region.
«Well, if I don't put this up, the sand will get in your food.»
«How is that?» he said, looking up in surprise at the ceiling, where, however, there were no holes at all.
She followed his eyes to the ceiling. «The sand sifts in everywhere. Almost an inch piles up if I don't sweep it up every day.»
«Is the roof faulty?»
«Yes, pretty much so. But even if the thatching was brand-new, the sand would sift in anyway. It's really terrible. It's worse than a wood borer.» «A wood borer?»
«An insect that eats holes in wood.» «That's probably a termite, isn't it?» «No, no. It's about this big… with a hard skin.» «Ah. Well, it's a long-horned saw beetle then.» «A saw beetle?»
«Long whiskers and reddish, isn't it?»
«No, it's sort of bronze-colored and shaped like a grain of rice.» «I see. Then it's an iridescent beetle.»
«If you let it go on, beams like these rot away to nothing, you know.» «You mean the iridescent beetle?»