Who are the women? First, there appears to be two of them. And both want this one man by the name of… ?
Strange, his name is never given. And the women? They are not named either, but described. One is the man's wife, a woman in black bathing suit, who laughed, and talked quietly to him. While the other is described as not resembling a man, or a woman, but had a woman's ways, who moved with a woman's grace, and was all the evil things of vain women.
On one sleepy afternoon, in the story's opening paragraphs, the man's wife has dreamt a horrible dream. She has sensed danger. But the man is only intrigued by singing he hears upon the quiet air.
Ray Bradbury again takes his incredible prose for a tour, and brings into sharp panorama the scope of the mysterious. We are taken off guard. The conversation between the husband and the wife is so natural we find ourselves pulled into the sea by the sheer power of the crafted words of the author.
Oh, how the sea plays with what it presumes it wants, and fetters away its desires on playthings. We don't expect the turns taken in the tides. Yet the terribleness of it all summed it in some of the last words of the story: …isn't that like a woman!
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