The summer the squid came back

Five years they were gone. The old fishermen blamed the water, the young ones blamed the old ones, and nobody blamed the moon — which is usually where the truth is hiding.

Then last Tuesday at 04:30 the boats came in low and heavy, and the whole of An Bàng smelled of ink and salt again. By six there were three grills going on the sand and someone had already started an argument about the correct amount of chilli.

We don't know if they'll stay. We rarely do, with anything worth having. But for one week the village ate like it remembered something, and that felt like plenty.