# Read the first page of The Shell Collector by Anthony Doerr Read the opening of The Shell Collector by Anthony Doerr free, no signup. Doerr's debut stories of nature and wonder. - Page: https://uncovered.ink/read/the-shell-collector-anthony-doerr - Genre: Short stories - Year: 2002 - ISBN: 9781439190050 - Read it blind (cover and title hidden): https://uncovered.ink/?b=9780743212748&s=read-page - Buy: https://bookshop.org/a/125786/9781439190050 - Borrow: https://search.worldcat.org/search?q=9781439190050 ## The opening The shell collector was scrubbing limpets at his sink when he heard the water taxi come scraping over the reef. He cringed to hear it—its hull grinding the calices of finger corals and the tiny tubes of pipe organ corals, tearing the flower and fern shapes of soft corals, and damaging shells too: punching holes in olives and murexes and spiny whelks, in Hydatina physis and Turris babylonia. It was not the first time people tried to seek him out. He heard their feet splash ashore and the taxi motor off, back to Lamu, and the light singsong pattern of their knock. Tumaini, his German shepherd, let out a low whine from where she was crouched under his sleeping cot. He dropped a limpet into the sink, wiped his hands and went, reluctantly, to greet them. They were both named Jim, overweight reporters from a New York tabloid. Their handshakes were slick and hot. He poured them chai. They occupied a surprising amount of space in the kitchen. They said they were there to write about him: they would stay only two nights, pay him well. How did $10,000 American sound? He pulled a shell from his shirt pocket—a cerith—and rolled it in his fingers. They asked about his childhood: did he really shoot caribou as a boy? Didn’t he need good eyes for that? He gave them truthful answers. It all held the air of whim, of unreality. These two big Jims could not actually be at his table, asking him these questions, complaining of the stench of dead shellfish. Finally they asked him about cone shells and the strength of cone venom, about how many visitors had come. They asked nothing about his son. All night it was hot. Lightning marbled the sky beyond the reef. From his cot he heard siafu feasting on the big men and heard them claw themselves in their sleeping bags. Before dawn he told them to shake out their shoes for scorpions and when they did one tumbled out. It made tiny scraping sounds as it skittered under the refrigerator. He took his collecting bucket and clipped Tumaini into her harness, and she led them down the path to the reef. The air smelled like lightning. The Jims huffed to keep up. They told him they were impressed he moved so quickly. “Why?” “Well,” they murmured, “you’re blind. This path ain’t easy. All these thorns.” Far off, he heard the high, amplified voice of the muezzin in Lamu calling prayer. “It’s Ramadan,” he told the Jims. “The people don’t eat when the sun is above the horizon. They drink only chai until sundown. They will be eating now. Tonight we can go out if you like. They grill meat in the streets.” By noon they had waded a kilometer out, onto the great curved spine of the reef, the lagoon slopping quietly behind them, a low sea breaking in front. The tide was coming up. Unharnessed now, Tumaini stood panting, half out of the water on a mushroom-shaped dais of rock. The shell collector was stooped, his fingers middling, quivering, whisking for shells in a sandy trench. He snatched up a broken spindle shell, ran a fingernail over its incised spirals. “Fusinus colus,” he said. Automatically, as the next wave came, the shell collector raised his collecting bucket so it would not be swamped. As soon as the wave passed he plunged his arms back into sand, his fingers probing an alcove between anemones, pausing to identify a clump of brain coral, running after a snail as it burrowed away. One of the Jims had a snorkeling mask and was using it to look underwater. “Lookit these blue fish,” he gasped. “Lookit that blue.” ## Books with a similar feel - [So Late in the Day by Claire Keegan](https://uncovered.ink/read/so-late-in-the-day-claire-keegan.md) - [Mothers and Sons by Colm Tóibín](https://uncovered.ink/read/mothers-and-sons-colm-toibin.md) - [Nocturnes by Kazuo Ishiguro](https://uncovered.ink/read/nocturnes-kazuo-ishiguro.md) - [The Woman Who Gave Birth To Rabbits by Emma Donoghue](https://uncovered.ink/read/the-woman-who-gave-birth-to-rabbits-emma-donoghue.md) - [Men Without Women by Ernest Hemingway](https://uncovered.ink/read/men-without-women-ernest-hemingway.md) - [Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and Other Tales by Robert Louis Stevenson](https://uncovered.ink/read/strange-case-of-dr-jekyll-and-mr-hyde-and-other-tales-robert-louis-stevenson.md) --- Source: Uncovered (https://uncovered.ink). A short sample shown for reading and discovery. Rights holders can request removal at https://uncovered.ink/takedown.