But I catch myself following in the Canadian’s footsteps. Look at me—in ecstasy over freshly grilled pork! Please grant me a pardon as I’ve already granted one to Mr. Land, and on the same grounds!
In short, dinner was excellent. Two ringdoves rounded out this extraordinary menu. Sago pasta, bread from the artocarpus, mangoes, half a dozen pineapples, and the fermented liquor from certain coconuts heightened our glee. I suspect that my two fine companions weren’t quite as clearheaded as one could wish.
“What if we don’t return to the Nautilus this evening?” Conseil said.
“What if we never return to it?” Ned Land added.
Just then a stone whizzed toward us, landed at our feet, and cut short the harpooner’s proposition.
CHAPTER 22
The Lightning Bolts of Captain Nemo
WITHOUT STANDING UP, we stared in the direction of the forest, my hand stopping halfway to my mouth, Ned Land’s completing its assignment.
“Stones don’t fall from the sky,” Conseil said, “or else they deserve to be called meteorites.”
A second well-polished stone removed a tasty ringdove leg from Conseil’s hand, giving still greater relevance to his observation.
We all three stood up, rifles to our shoulders, ready to answer any attack.