There is no room for needles.  On the beach, in the streets, in the backyards, on the terraces, on the roofs, the fish were drying everywhere.  Anchovy embryo all over the ground.  The swordfish were lined up like silver swords on palm fronds.  Divided into two and salted, the big bar fish, the tuna fish ... and a variety of other fish.  They were drying in the rarely available Ipswich match sun.  Voices of women echoing incessantly on the carpet of fish chasing dogs, chickens and crows. 

 The village itself was mesmerized by the smell of the embryo.  Whenever the wind blew, the scent spread far and wide, mixing with the hyacinth scent of the sand dunes.  Consuming a lot of nutty smell in his chest, Dasan with a sort of negligent sin walked leaning against the drying fish.  "Pattappan shimmering like Potacha! Ozha chi is a coward who does not know how to make four coins! What kind of girl wants this? I - Have a tree and a huge bait ... he said proudly to himself. He was walking on the big street that stretches east from the Mata Kovil.  The huts were closed, and there was no one on the street except the dog-chasers.

His hut was hidden in a sand dune on the eastern edge of town.  When his mother died and his father married Taram II, Dasan fled.  He was then twelve years old.  When he returned home after five years of working in various places and growing his stomach, his father did not accept him.  He built this hut on the sand dune to the east and began to live alone.  In the yard, there was a jug of water in the shade of the Poovarasamarat.  He lifted the jug with both hands above his head and poured half the water over his head.  He put the jug down and rubbed his body like he was rubbing a black stone with his pale hands.  He lifted the jug again and poured the rest of the water on his head. 

 He put the jug down and with his hands drained the water from his face, head and chest.  He came to the hut and opened the door.  When we set out for the sea in the morning the unloaded dirt lungi lay on the ground.  He picked it up and left.  He wiped his head and body with that lungi.  Lungi wrapped around his body and untied Lagoda.  Came out and threw it on the roof to dry it.  He went inside, pulled on the blue shirt that hung on the flag, and put it on his shoulder.  He slammed the door shut.  Fifty feet from his house, on the west was Silverus' house.  Dasan Silver went home.  Silver is also missing.  He also missed his mother.  Inside, Sylvie stared at him, staring at herself in the mirror hanging on the wall.  Daddy Beachey said with a nervous laugh.    He slammed the door and spread his arms.  She tried to grab his hand as she pushed him away and ran.

Standing at a distance that was not caught by him, she stared at him.  Naughtiness, anger, joy and sadness were mixed in it. He said, "Come."  "Bole Taddia!" She frowned.  “Be careful!  After warning her, he headed west.