At Ease
By John Vinocur
The kid has a sharp eye. Look, mom, he says, pointing, there's a crazy-man on that roof.
What he sees, about an hour past nightfall, is a guy on the second-floor roof-terrace of a small white building, holding what in the just-short-of-blackness probably resembles a small silvery box attached to a fishing rod.
He is facing the sea, about 30 yards distant, and moving the rod as if he were angling for something. His box has a slightly greenish glow. In the trace of light that's left, he could seem to be fiddling with one of those remote controls that power model racecars.
More on this story from International Herald Tribune-Americas
http://www.iht.com/articles/2008/02/08/america/letter.php?page=1
By John Vinocur
The kid has a sharp eye. Look, mom, he says, pointing, there's a crazy-man on that roof.
What he sees, about an hour past nightfall, is a guy on the second-floor roof-terrace of a small white building, holding what in the just-short-of-blackness probably resembles a small silvery box attached to a fishing rod.
He is facing the sea, about 30 yards distant, and moving the rod as if he were angling for something. His box has a slightly greenish glow. In the trace of light that's left, he could seem to be fiddling with one of those remote controls that power model racecars.
More on this story from International Herald Tribune-Americas
http://www.iht.com/articles/2008/02/08/america/letter.php?page=1