The Swede by Robert Karjel Read Free Book Online

who carelessly poked in the sand with his cane.
    O ne morning Vladislav walked up with an old shotgun over his shoulder.
    “Finish up those eggs,” he said to N., who had just been served breakfast. “I have organized everything. We’re going to have some fun.” N. had no idea what he was talking about. “In the meantime, I’ll get Mary.”
    N. ate quickly, and was just swallowing the last of his coffee when Vladislav returned with Mary in tow. She carried a folding deck chair in one hand and a paperback in the other. They brought along Reza as well—Vladislav had pounded on his door until he gave in and got up.
    Besides the gun, Vladislav had brought a few boxes of cartridges, a carton of clay pigeons, and an improvised device for throwing them. They divided the things among themselves and set off down the beach. It took them half an hour to get beyond the headland Vladislav had indicated.
    As soon as he said, “This is good,” Mary dropped her chair and opened her book. The strip of sand was narrow, and she sat in the shadows of the palms so that they would fan her in the breeze.
    Vladislav gave quick instructions to the other two and then loaded the double-barreled gun and fired the first shots. N., taking charge of the thrower, hurled the clay pigeons over the water. It took him a couple of tries to master the technique. Vladislav reloaded, and when N. managed to get the pigeons to make a wide arc through the air, they all came down in a shower of black chips. Four hits in a row, and then Vladislav handed over his gun to Reza. A throw, a shot, a single splash in the water—it went like that a few times before Reza began taking Vladislav’s advice seriously. At the first hit, he raised his arms and cheered. Mary looked up from her book. A couple of hits, and then it was N.’s turn. The hits came fast; he had listened to the advice.Reza wasn’t interested in throwing pigeons, but instead stood and fiddled impatiently with a few cartridges while he waited. Vladislav did the throwing and gave commentary.
    N. felt satisfied, hitting at least every other, and he let Reza and Vladislav take turns with the rest of the ammunition.
    Reza couldn’t get enough. He crouched with his gun as if wanting to pounce with every shot.
    “Did you ever get more than two in a row?” He grinned at N. when he did it. Vladislav was silent when he shot, just nodding sometimes when he got a hit. Reza imitated his way of reloading the gun with a violent jerk, so that the empty cases flew. N. hurled clay pigeons until his arm hurt—throw, shot, throw, shot.
    A flock of pelicans came flying along the beach. Reza and N. watched them, while Vladislav reloaded. They glided over the beach at the edge of the palm forest. Mary put the book in her lap and stretched her back.
    “Coming right at you,” she said unexpectedly.
    Reza looked at her, puzzled.
    “Well, why not?” she continued. The pelicans glided, without moving their wings at all.
    Vladislav caught on immediately and fired two shots. He dropped the first two birds, then reloaded quickly. He passed his gun over to Reza. “Here!”
    Reza licked his lips hesitantly. The birds flapped but stayed in a line, and then he fired. His first shot hit nothing, and the pelicans veered off in different directions. After the second shot was fired, a bird in the middle of the line winced and tumbled down in a spiral through the air. It landed in the sand a few meters behind Mary. She watched as it awkwardly flapped one wing, making it turn in a circle. Its large beak looked for something to peck.
    “You must finish it off,” said Vladislav. He took the gun back from Reza, who stood frozen, and reloaded it.
    “Here!”
    Reza took the gun again, walked a few steps toward the bird, hesitated. The pelican gave a hoarse cry. Mary remained sitting in her lounge chair, stroking her knee.
    Reza’s shot landed short, throwing a cloud of sand over the bird. Without the slightest flinch, Vladislav