He is on the right side of the frame, looking left. Should be looking up. Should reach up, see if someone stuck a  cible  do up there, top of his  casque . But he is distracted. Across the sand, he hears marching music, wonders if residual minerals in the soil make this sort of place into a giant  radio  receiver... just as certain silver amalgams have the rumored property of allowing people with lots of dental work to actually feel the words of the morning, afternoon, and evening  radio  newsnetworks, right in their jaws.     A travers la brume, une immense lumière flottante apparut.