THE CARGO SHIP 1$

was more really the Coast—the seedy Pole in a singlet
and a pair of dirty white trousers who came on board
at Konakry, couldn't speak any English or French
and wanted to learn the name of the suits in Bridge.
The Captain took his gun and shot a hawk which sat
in the rigging, the gulls scattered, twisting in the
glittering air, and the dusty body plunged through
them on to the deck, like a reminder of darkness.

The Shape of Africa

A reminder of darkness: the girl in the Queen's
Bar. I met her weeping across Leicester Square when
the leaves had dropped and made the pavements
slippery; she went into the vestibule of the Empire
Cinema and verged violently away again (that
wouldn't do), settled at last on a high chair in the
Queen's Bar, made up her face, had a gin and tonic;
I hadn't the nerve to say anything and find out the
details. Besides, it's always happening all the time
everywhere. You don't weep unless you've been
happy first; tears always mean something enviable.

The aeroplane rocked over Hanover, the last of the
storm scattering behind it, dipped suddenly down
five hundred feet towards the small air station, and
soared again eastwards. Behind the plane the sun set
along the clouds; we were above the sunset; looking
back it lay below, long pale ridges of stained clouds.
The air was grey above the lakes; they were sunk
in the ground, like pieces of lead; the lights of villages
in between. It was quite dark long before Berlin, and
the city came to meet the plane through the dark-
ness as a gorse fire does, links of flame through the