I see dark, glittering eyes and a tangle of hair like seaweed. I hold my own hands out, palm up.“I won’t hurt you,” I say, and drop to my knees, keeping a distance. Surely he’ll see that I am not a threat.Slowly, slowly, the hand gripping the stone relaxes. Even more slowly, he lowers his arm.“Who are you?” I ask, keeping my voice soft and level, but then I remember that he probably doesn’t speak any English. His shirt and jacket must have been torn off in the struggle with the sea. He’s half-buried in sand, but I can see his bare arms and shoulders, in fact most of his body down to his waist. He is surrounded by flotsam and jetsam. Suddenly I realise what must have happened. There was a freak wave. It must have lifted him, hurled him over the beach and the dune, and half-buried him in the sand. He’ll be freezing cold. It’s amazing that he hasn’t died of hypothermia.“It’s all right,” I say again, “I’m a friend. I want to help you.” Then I have an idea.
