Falandro turned up with an empty toilet roll under his arm and announced that we were off to see something magnificent. He'd been banging on about the green flash for three days. Apparently, he knew exactly when it would happen. The sun was practically on his payroll.
We grabbed a blanket, a handful of olives and Berto, who'd nodded off halfway through Falandro's explanation of where the sun sets. Lirina brought a seashell to serve the snacks in. We were all set.
As soon as we reached the grassy hill above the sea, our expert climbed onto a rock and produced his equipment. Well, he pulled it out of his armpit. A cardboard toilet roll. No lenses. Nothing.
“Mate, this doesn't magnify a bloody thing,” said Berto, trying it out.
“It focuses your attention, you philistine. Different technology.”
Lirina turned the tube round and found a scrap of toilet paper still stuck to it. Falandro peeled it off with tremendous dignity. That was the filter, he explained. We laughed so hard that someone had to grab the shell before the olives went flying.
The Sky Doesn't Take Bookings
The green flash is real, you lovely lot. Sometimes, just as the sun finishes setting, a little flash of green appears for a fleeting moment. It can happen at sunrise too. The atmosphere bends the light and separates its colours, and certain conditions let that last green gleam show through. You need the right air conditions and a clear view of the horizon. Falandro reckoned having him along helped as well.
We spread out the blanket and left the tube on the rock. The sea was turning peachy. Berto handed out the olives, one each, then awarded himself another for doing the handing out. We took the shell away before he added a delivery charge.
A little while passed. Falandro studied the sky, adjusted his hat and glanced back at us, waiting for somebody to admire how well he was running the whole thing. We were enjoying the salty breeze. A gull landed nearby. He tried to shoo it away for ruining his concentration. The gull stayed put. So did we.
“Come on, sunshine. Get on with it, will you? We're losing the evening here.”
Then Falandro dropped his last olive. It rolled across the blanket and fell between two stones. He bent straight down, reached into the gap and stretched further until his arse was in the air. We heard him muttering that this was the biggest one.
And Then We Shut Up
That was the moment. A tiny, clear, beautiful green gleam appeared where the sea met the sky. It lasted just long enough for Lirina to squeeze Berto's hand. We went still. Getting us to shut our mouths usually takes some doing. For that one second, even we had nothing clever to say.
A green spark lingered between Lirina's fingers. That happens to us Magikitos when something touches us right inside. She cupped her other hand over it to keep the breeze out. Berto was smiling with watery eyes. We tucked the blanket round him without a word.
Falandro lifted his head with his rescued olive and saw our faces. He looked at the horizon. He looked at the tube. Very slowly, he sat up.
“What do you mean it's gone? That fucking olive!”
We folded up laughing. He tried to be furious, but soon he was laughing too, with dirt still on his nose. Lirina opened her hands and blew her spark towards his chest. One button on his waistcoat lit up. He stroked it with a fingertip and, for a little while, forgot to be the expert.
Then he picked up his telescope, stood up and announced that we'd be back tomorrow. Today had been a rehearsal. He gave us a solemn wink and held up the olive.
“But bring pitted ones tomorrow. If I miss another flash because I'm spitting a stone out, this telescope's going up someone's arse.”
