At the far end of the alley was a fence with the graffiti:
THE SPIDER IS COMING
written in pink spray-paint.
“Looks like the town is preoccupied with the spider,” Nathan said.
“Aren't we all?”
As they walked, Nathan looked uneasily at the paintless walls of abandoned stores overrun by climbing ivy. The wood was peeling from a few of the nearby balconies. The cracked windows stared back at them like the eyeless sockets of a giant skull.
Soon Main Street changed direction and ran along the coast. The mood seemed to change as sharply as the direction of the street. A cool sea breeze tickled their hair, and Natalie said, “Ah.” Nathan took in a big breath of fresh air. Sand from the beaches came right up to the road, which glimmered like a great swatch of silk. On the side of the road away from the ocean there was grass.
They looked out toward the ocean and saw thousands of penguinlike murres and Atlantic puffins congregating on a faraway iceberg. When viewed from the air the dark birds formed a pointillistic canvas on the white ice. The puffins were probably feeding on small shrimp, krill, which populated the frigid North Atlantic waters in vast swarms. Many years ago, Nathan had heard, seafarers killed millions of puffins and boiled them, sometimes alive with wings flapping, for their oil. Babies and adults were thrown into steaming black caldrons, screaming for a few seconds, until shock and death overtook them. Today, near the top of the Newfoundland coastal food chain, the puffin’s primary land-based predator was man.
“I've found that each puffin has its own personality,” Natalie said as they paused to watch the noisy birds.
“You wouldn't want one as a pet.”
“I know, they bray and squawk—and produce a prodigious amount of smelly guano.”
“Of course, they're good to have around in Newfoundland. Did you know that the guano of puffins fertilizes the algae, and invigorates the ecosystem?”
“You're a wealth of facts,” Natalie said, sucking her mouth into a rosette. In repose, she was almost plain looking, but in animation she was beautiful. “What should we do about the giant sea spider?” she said, finally coming to the subject. “Tourism is declining. Everyone's a bit nervous. Some creeps at the north of Bonavista Bay are dropping randomly placed bombs into the sea, hoping to hit the monster. At the same time, they're destroying thousands of fish.”
“I think we have to wait for it to attack again and quickly get to the scene before it gets away. Probably we should also set some traps with bait. But it would be hard to trap something that large. Maybe big cage-like traps could be constructed and set on the ocean bottom.”
“Good idea. I'll make sure the police department sets up some huge spring-loaded cages with chunks of meat.”
Main Street started to break up: the asphalt had potholes, and sand covered vast stretches of road. Everywhere small weeds grew through the cracks in the pavement. After another few minutes of walking they could barely perceive the road. Oh, there were a few scattered pieces of asphalt here and there, a few charred board-ends, some road-litter, and an occasional hard patch of ground that delineated the road from the sand and weeds to give the tired traveler some guidance. But an occasional chunk of asphalt did not make a road any more than a few organs made a body. It was as if the street gradually grew weary and finally gave up, ending in a small gravel path.
Mists fell across the path like steam from a bubbling kettle. Itwas as if the entire coastline were boiling, and whole waves were turned to steam along a volcanic beach. Their footsteps echoed hollowly through a place where children once played and tourists once traveled. A few pieces of broken colored glass twinkled in the waning light. In the faraway western hills was a panorama of golden light that filled the lowlands as far south as they could see. Nearby long fingers of land stretched
THE SPIDER IS COMING
written in pink spray-paint.
“Looks like the town is preoccupied with the spider,” Nathan said.
“Aren't we all?”
As they walked, Nathan looked uneasily at the paintless walls of abandoned stores overrun by climbing ivy. The wood was peeling from a few of the nearby balconies. The cracked windows stared back at them like the eyeless sockets of a giant skull.
Soon Main Street changed direction and ran along the coast. The mood seemed to change as sharply as the direction of the street. A cool sea breeze tickled their hair, and Natalie said, “Ah.” Nathan took in a big breath of fresh air. Sand from the beaches came right up to the road, which glimmered like a great swatch of silk. On the side of the road away from the ocean there was grass.
They looked out toward the ocean and saw thousands of penguinlike murres and Atlantic puffins congregating on a faraway iceberg. When viewed from the air the dark birds formed a pointillistic canvas on the white ice. The puffins were probably feeding on small shrimp, krill, which populated the frigid North Atlantic waters in vast swarms. Many years ago, Nathan had heard, seafarers killed millions of puffins and boiled them, sometimes alive with wings flapping, for their oil. Babies and adults were thrown into steaming black caldrons, screaming for a few seconds, until shock and death overtook them. Today, near the top of the Newfoundland coastal food chain, the puffin’s primary land-based predator was man.
“I've found that each puffin has its own personality,” Natalie said as they paused to watch the noisy birds.
“You wouldn't want one as a pet.”
“I know, they bray and squawk—and produce a prodigious amount of smelly guano.”
“Of course, they're good to have around in Newfoundland. Did you know that the guano of puffins fertilizes the algae, and invigorates the ecosystem?”
“You're a wealth of facts,” Natalie said, sucking her mouth into a rosette. In repose, she was almost plain looking, but in animation she was beautiful. “What should we do about the giant sea spider?” she said, finally coming to the subject. “Tourism is declining. Everyone's a bit nervous. Some creeps at the north of Bonavista Bay are dropping randomly placed bombs into the sea, hoping to hit the monster. At the same time, they're destroying thousands of fish.”
“I think we have to wait for it to attack again and quickly get to the scene before it gets away. Probably we should also set some traps with bait. But it would be hard to trap something that large. Maybe big cage-like traps could be constructed and set on the ocean bottom.”
“Good idea. I'll make sure the police department sets up some huge spring-loaded cages with chunks of meat.”
Main Street started to break up: the asphalt had potholes, and sand covered vast stretches of road. Everywhere small weeds grew through the cracks in the pavement. After another few minutes of walking they could barely perceive the road. Oh, there were a few scattered pieces of asphalt here and there, a few charred board-ends, some road-litter, and an occasional hard patch of ground that delineated the road from the sand and weeds to give the tired traveler some guidance. But an occasional chunk of asphalt did not make a road any more than a few organs made a body. It was as if the street gradually grew weary and finally gave up, ending in a small gravel path.
Mists fell across the path like steam from a bubbling kettle. Itwas as if the entire coastline were boiling, and whole waves were turned to steam along a volcanic beach. Their footsteps echoed hollowly through a place where children once played and tourists once traveled. A few pieces of broken colored glass twinkled in the waning light. In the faraway western hills was a panorama of golden light that filled the lowlands as far south as they could see. Nearby long fingers of land stretched
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