I had never especially liked the sea, because it came with the beach. Its few beautiful brown people and its masses of repulsive pink people, its noise and its smell and its glare, I felt disgust when I was there. He saw only clean, clear water rising to clean, clear sky. He heard only rhythm of waves. One side of them was like the underside of water, one side was the water’s top, he said, and the crests were yet another thing for him. We walked along the shore, away from the sound of people, and climbed the cliff to dark cormorants and white seagulls. We listened to the surge of sea and calling birds. He became unaware of me. Compared to waves and cliffs, birds and clouds, I was of no interest. He forgot to help me over the steep places. I followed him, feeling humbled, as a little sister would, tagging after a wise brother. He showed me the world he loved, and after that I loved the sea.