there is a flash of fire , a stream of smoke , a sharp report and catkin silver streaks out of the cannon into the night-sky where he seems to hang for an instant before going into a diver 's pike , hips twisting sharply , plunging to earth in a blur of starlight to bounce in the net and somersault with the grace and control of strelec , jezdec or vez on to the sawdust with his feet together and a sharp , crisp bow .