They flew so low you could almost make out the expressions on the faces of the pilots. The planes would appear offshore, bisect the space between the rafts, then zoom over the palm trees and disappear.
There was an American military base nearby, and the rafts lay right in the flight path of the helicopters returning to it. It was the end of June, still early in the tourist season, and there weren’t many people at the hotel or on the beach. Off to the right, the beach ended in a line of dark craggy rocks that led to the hotel cottages where my wife and I were staying. I liked to stand out there and look back at the shore, at the long white beach, the red lifeguard tower, the green row of palm trees-it was a gorgeous scene, maybe a little too picture-postcard perfect.
