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The sun rises higher. The wind has started to get strong. The wind rises, the sea water is fiercer. The vast expanse of noise spread further and further in. The sea wants to swallow the fragile dyke like a shark eats a small fish. A loud rumbling sound. Like a great school of whales, the waves swept over the tallest parrots, crashing against the body of the fenced dike. A fierce struggle ensued. On one side was the sea, the wind, in a frenzied fury. On one side are thousands of people with two hands and rudimentary tools, with a spirit of determination to resist. A loud shout arose, and then more than two dozen young men and women, each carrying a load of firewood and parrots, jumped into the raging water. They put each other's shoulders into a long rope, using their bodies to block the salty water. The water splashed in the face, in the chest, over the top of the living fence. They sink, rise, sink. Among the young people who were in shock, some fell, some suffocated. But their arms around each other's shoulders were still as hard as iron, and their bodies were wrapped tightly around bamboo poles that were hard and flexible. The girls' long hair was tightly wrapped around the boys' necks, sweat like streams, mixed with salty acrid water. The people who were not afraid of death saved the dyke to come back to life.
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