a perfect night of carnivory

Since it was the season, he took her to the mouth of the Roxelane where the sea came to suck on fresh water. They went there at night, camping right there, under lit shelters, among other water enthusiasts, drinking, singing, telling jokes. While he held her fingers, Oh Ninon I am happy about your existence, they waited for the wonderful return of the titiri fish. Magnetized by the moon, thousands of minnows deserted the ocean to wriggle up the river. Scintillating waves of them shook the fresh water or washed up on the sand. The other campers raked about with buckets, bags, nets, basins, sheets, or other things. The night was but phosphorescent lightning, milky glow, sparks. The silver commas spurted out of all the containers, jumped around ankles, glued frenzied mirrors everywhere. These living lights enchanted Ninon. You could size them and free them in a luminous broth.

- Patrick Chamoiseau, pg. 107, Texaco, trans. Rejouis & Vinokurov