Where most members of its class lie low under mud or cling tight to rock and wall, many scallops (and a few Lima clams) have rediscovered the joy of free living. After spending their youth adrift with the currents, the young shellfish settle on the seabed, issuing sticky byssal threads to ape the hug of mussels on firm substrates. At some point, the animal shakes itself loose and embarks on a grand tour of the reef.
As they help themselves to a soup of seaborne dust, scallops unclasp their shells to reveal a mantlepiece of small, bright eyes. Accompanying the gape is an unruly beard of fleshy tentacles, which are thought to help the scallop sense the approach of creatures with foul intentions. The double row of retinas provides the animal with both an early warning system as well as a visual guide to the portion size and palatability of the corner it occupies. If the service is found wanting, the scallop will happily sample the fare of other nooks by taking off in a burst of disapproving claps.
A number of these active bivalves dined at prime locations around Pulau Hantu on a balmy Monday night. Fussy to a fault, they preferred their suppers private and deferential. The glare of torchlight was greeted with rude squirts of water and a tight-lipped refusal to entertain untimely queries. And should the attention prove persistent, the scallop erupts in a huff, jetting off in a medley of hops that sends it over sand and stone. Every puff is an act of sinking faith, for the lights that glow next door are too cold to show where each leap will land and there are no assurances that the path you are forced to take will not lead you back to the beginning, where there are no ends in sight to a slow dance of missed steps and false chances.
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