My Year in No Man's Bay
“The large birds surrounding the painter now in midafternoon are not ravens; they also have beaks too straight and too long for vultures; are they pelicans?—one of them is holding a fish crosswise—flamingos? no, they are storks, which, with their heads bent over their backs, burst out in squawks, one after the other, so that in the deserted and quiet river landscape it echoes like the so-called Ratschen back home on the Jaunfeld, the rattles that replace the church bells during Holy Week until t...he celebration of the Resurrection.
At some distance from the painter, down there by the bend in the river, on the almost white, almost glassy expanse of flintstone (I have a few lumps of it here on my desk and can smell the sparks in them), are lying fat dead fish, carp and pike, both gleaming gold from the solid coats of flies covering them; the gills of one of the fish are still pulsing, but they, too, are already swarming with flies.
Every morning, upon making his way down from Toro, the painter wanted to ask the fishermen why they simply left some of their catch lying on the bank, and precisely the finest specimens; to this day he does not know.MoreLess
At some distance from the painter, down there by the bend in the river, on the almost white, almost glassy expanse of flintstone (I have a few lumps of it here on my desk and can smell the sparks in them), are lying fat dead fish, carp and pike, both gleaming gold from the solid coats of flies covering them; the gills of one of the fish are still pulsing, but they, too, are already swarming with flies.
Every morning, upon making his way down from Toro, the painter wanted to ask the fishermen why they simply left some of their catch lying on the bank, and precisely the finest specimens; to this day he does not know.MoreLess
Read book My Year in No Man's Bay for free
Write Review:
Guest
Read Also
7 / 10
User Reviews: