The shelving beach of black and yellow sand was peculiar to stand on, as if the surface was covered with grains of rubber. Solid land did not seem as firm as I had imagined it when airborne, and I felt as uneasy as if I had just stepped out of a prison. My joke about D Day found no takers. The steep slope to our left ended at a huge black cliff, while the rock-strewn land to the right, gentle at first, gathered itself sharply into the cleft of a watercourse. After the yellowing green of sparse vegetation, the sandy beach gave way to pumice and basalt. Only occasional groups of whalers and shipwrecked sailors had ever stayed on such terrain. No settled society had made a go of it, which was strange considering the world’s turmoil, and the fact that the island provided coal and cabbage, fish and fowl in fair quantity. But I suppose that basic sustenance wasn’t enough when contact with the rest of the world was lacking. Bennett paced senselessly along the sand, occasionally stopping to kick at the gravel.
What do You think about The Lost Flying Boat (2016)?
