In the fishing village of Lanleki on the island of Alor, I met an old man who had seen a dragon. His name was Achmad. Sitting in the narrow front room of his small house, he told me his story. Forty years ago, long before he made the hajj pilgrimage to Mecca, he was walking along a narrow path that leads to the village when the dragon emerged from the sea and chased him through the trees. It had horns like a buffalo and seven flickering tongues.
