Hemingway Adventure
Cáorle (second day)

Alberto likes me because I'm not impatient. I don't like to tell him that I have followed Hemingway's example and brought a book to read, as well as a hip-flask. And opened both.
After an hour and a half there is sudden excitement. A flock is turning towards us, only fifty yards away and coming in low. To encourage them, Alberto is frantically giving his widgeon on the whistle. Then, just as they seem to be taking avoiding action, I hear a shot followed by the thwack of a bird skidding across the ice. A spent cartridge flies out of the magazine, narrowly missing my left ear. Alberto looks relieved. The duck flaps for a while and lies still.
And that's all we get. Though we remain in the barrels for a hopeful half-hour more, it seems the curse of Palin, that so frustrated our trout-fishing in Michigan, has struck again. Back at the casone the mood is subdued. No one in the party even shot double figures. Various theories are advanced. Weather too settled, end of the season, so ducks wiser. Alberto tries to make us feel better.
'Hemingway was not so good, you know.' He peels off a balaclava, smooths his hair back and goes on. 'At the end of the shoot, all the ducks would be arranged in the yard in front of the house, so everyone could see what everyone had caught. And it was a little embarrassing sometimes, because someone would have sixty, another fifty, and Hemingway only four.'
'Four?'
Alberto nods, and I detect a hint of barely suppressed satisfaction.' He was not a good shot but he was a great character.'
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PALIN'S GUIDES
- Series: Hemingway Adventure
- Chapter: Cáorle (second day)
- Country/sea: Italy
- Place: Cáorle
- Book page no: 68
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