Dans Papers - June 1, 2007 -

I got down to Main Beach in East Hampton at 5 p.m., at an hour when I knew they would be home. We were going to have it out.

"Are your mom and dad home? I asked.

"My mom is home," the kid said. "I'll get her."

And he skittered off.

That's too bad, I thought. I was hoping to have it out with the kid's dad. It had been a hot day, but now at 5 it was cooling off. I, however, remained hot.

Mom came over, a frail looking thing, her little chick following behind. Both of them had concerned looks on their faces.

"Where's your husband?" I asked.

"He's gone. Flew the coop. They're all the same."

"Well then, I'll take this up with you," I said. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"With making your nest exactly on the spot where the East Hampton fire department sets off the Fourth of July fireworks."

The little one hid behind his mom. He peered out from behind her tail feathers. "I'm making a nest. The beach belongs to everybody."

"The beach belongs to the PEOPLE. Not everybody and everyTHING."

"I can make my nest here if I want."

"You can make a nest here if you want. Yes, you can. You are an endangered species. You're absolutely right. But you know, come the Fourth of July, this is the ONLY spot that we can use to set up all the fireworks for all the people. The PEOPLE. The AMERICAN people. Get it?"

"Why not? There are twenty-five miles of empty beach. In both directions. You guys did this two years ago. And we had to cancel the GODDAMN fireworks so you could finish your namby pamby nesting. One hundred years of town fireworks, never a problem, and then there's this one year where you move in, and suddenly, there were no Fourth of July fireworks. Over five thousand people and no fireworks."

"We did send you a thank you note."

"Yeah. By carrier pigeon. And so we held the fireworks on the Saturday of Labor Day Weekend. We had bought $10,000 worth of fireworks over the winter. We had to do something. And you know what? Practically nobody came. Nobody could figure it out. It wasn't the Fourth of July. So we just fired them off. Zero. Nada."

"This is not my fault."

"The guys knock us up in March in South Carolina. We fly here. We need to be here for five months. We sit, the little ones hatch, we nurse them and help them along. That's the time it takes. I can't help it if your founding fathers decided on this particular day in July to found your country. Why didn't you found it in August? We are done and gone by then."

"We couldn't have predicted you would be an endangered species."

"And who endangered us? Who?"

"I don't want to go there."

"Well, it's survival of the fittest. It's evolution."

"It's the industrial revolution. It's carbon-based industries. It's guns and shooting at us. It's billions and billions of you. It's global warming. You're an infestation. We're endangered. And you want us to move?"

"Yeah. Just down the beach. Maybe five hundred yards. That way, to the east. But before you get to the cabanas at the Maidstone Club. You'll do just fine."

"For one thing, I can't just pick up and move. Some of the chicks are babies running around. Others haven't hatched. I have no help. I don't even have arms. I have WINGS."

"You'll scare everybody to death. Don't come near my babies."

"I would be very gentle."

"We just need you out by July 1. That's only two weeks before you would ordinarily leave. What if I sit on your eggs with you? We could divide things up. Get them hatched in half the time."

"You've got to be kidding."

"It would work. Hurry you along."

"What if I come around here some night and just kick you and all your kids off? What do you think of that?"

"Are you threatening me? Are you seriously threatening me? This is harassment. I'm going to call the police."

"Do you know what they will do to you for interfering with an endangered species like me? You will spend ten years in prison. They'll lock you up and throw away the key. You'll never work in this town again."

"All right, all right."

Mama held up one wing and pointed it at the back of the beach. "Now get out of here and don't come back. You want me to move my family out of here so you can shoot off some fireworks? You're such a big man, aren't you?"

"All right, all right."

And so I left the beach and walked back to the car. As I was getting in, she threw me this zinger from the other side of the dune.

"What's the matter with you PEOPLE?" she said.