The 22 Letters by Richard; Clive; Kennedy King

holds you up with storms. All right, we make the best time we can, but there’s never anything certain about it.”
    â€œI speak of sun-time and star-time,” said the passenger. “These are always certain, for centuries ahead. We who watch the heavens in Chaldea know that in a short while certain stars and planets will meet. What this conjunction signifies is less certain, though we expect some great disaster. Nor do we know exactly where this will take place. My calculations lead me to the island of Crete, if Crete lies where they say it does: but it may be that when I get there I shall find it is not the place. I have already completed half my journey from Chaldea, and I trust you will let nothing delay me now. But since there is nothing interesting to see while the sun occupies the heavens, perhaps you will permit me to sleep.”
    So saying the stranger wrapped himself in his robe and stretched himself out on the deck. Nun was puzzled and irritated. Who was this overbearing foreigner with his urgency and concern for the future? It was enough to spoil the pleasure of any voyage—having to get there by a certain time, and wondering what was going to happen when you did. A Chaldean, did he say he was? A priest, or a magician, or one of those astrologers, Nun supposed. The sort of person one went to sea to get away from. Nun felt like throwing him overboard to feed the fishes. If there was any trouble with storms or calms he would not hesitate long to do so; but at present all was going well and the stranger had impressed him to such an extent that Nun found himself giving orders in a low voice so as not to disturb his daytime sleep.
    All day the east wind drove them on, and there was never even any need to make adjustment to the sail or the sheets. But as the sun sank toward the sea ahead of them, and Nun leaned on the steering oar and steered a little north of where it would disappear below the horizon, he could see that the crew were beginning to look anxiously around, and he could feel a slight anxiety beginning to form inside his own stomach. Darkness was coming, and still no sign of land. He had done this passage often enough before, but from Gebal to Cyprus was a good day’s sail from dawn to dusk. He sent a man up to the masthead and told him to keep a good look-out on the starboard bow, and it was not long before the cry came, “Land ho!”
    The passenger woke and got to his feet. “What land is this, Master?” he asked.
    Nun was busy altering course toward the land by leaning on the steering oar and giving orders to adjust the pull of the sheets.” He answered the passenger’s question shortly, “Cyprus.”
    â€œHave you business in Cyprus, Master?” asked the passenger.
    â€œNo,” replied Nun, “we’re buying no copper on this trip.”
    â€œWhy are we altering course, then?”
    â€œIt will soon be dark,” said Nun. “We must find a haven for the night.”
    The man from the East looked at the heavens. “It will not be dark,” he said. “There is no cloud, and the stars will soon be out.”
    â€œStarlight’s no good to me,” said Nun. “I like to see where I’m going.”
    The Chaldean came across the deck and stood close to Nun, putting his hand on the steering oar. “Listen,” he said. “I have traveled many nights across the desert already, under the stars. Why should we waste a night in haven when we have the open sea before us?”
    Nun looked at him and thought for a while. Then he said, “When you are traveling across the desert in the dark there is little danger of falling into the sea. But if you strike land while you are crossing the sea it can be fatal. That’s why we like to see where we are going.”
    But the passenger continued to argue. “You have made this passage by day?”
    â€œYes,” replied Nun.
    â€œDid you strike any