We were silent for a while. The edge of the horizon was a scarlet flame.

“It will be windy,” he said.

I nodded. I looked at the large sack next to him. He caught my glance. “Perhaps the gentleman would like to buy a scarf for his wife, or a turban for himself?”

Without waiting for my answer, he opened the bundle and showed me one thing after another, talking ceaselessly, and swearing by his children and his own life, that never were such goods sold at such a price,—that indeed such goods had never been made before.

I chose a few things, and paid him the price he asked. He was a little taken aback, and as he remade his bundle, he muttered in Hebrew: “What fools these Gentiles are!”

The moon hid her ghastly face behind a fan of clouds.

The azure waters of the Mediterranean changed to a dark ominous blue which at times appeared jet black. The waves which had ruffled gracefully like silk became gigantic hills dashing angrily against our boat.

Food became scarce.

Several members of the crew died from some mysterious malady.

To the east of us the clouds gathered like a gigantic black fist. The sailors, grumbling and taciturn, rushed up and down the deck.

Suddenly it occurred to me that I had not seen Abraham an entire day. We looked for him at his accustomed places. I asked one sailor after another “Where is Abraham?”

They glared at me.

I asked the captain. He shrugged his shoulders and made the sign of the cross. I was about to return to my cabin when I heard a piercing cry, followed immediately by the splash of a heavy body in the water.

“Adonai! Elohim! Ado– —”

The voice died in a gurgle.

Three more sailors died and were thrown into the ocean. The crew made the sign of the cross whenever they passed me or Kotikokura. “We must act quickly, Kotikokura. It is not pleasant to have a knife thrust through your body.” Kotikokura did not answer but his fist opened and shut spasmodically.

Next morning the deck was strewn with the corpses of the crew and of the captain. We threw them one by one into the ocean.

Kotikokura had a few cuts on his arm which a sailor not entirely asleep from my potion had managed to inflict. He licked his wounds like an animal. I was struck by the enormous size of his tongue.

At times we drifted. At other times I steered the vessel. Kotikokura scrubbed the deck, his immense muscles pressing against the hairy skin.

Kotikokura was shouting and dancing about me. His eyes, much keener than mine, had espied land. He had become very restless recently, and complained steadily against his work. He considered it a positive pain, and longed for the solid earth where he never overstrained his muscles. It was one thing to please a Princess, and another to keep a boat in good condition.

“We are reaching land, and you are overjoyed, Kotikokura. You shall be free.”

Kotikokura danced more wildly.

“Yes, my friend, but if you are free of the boat, you will be a slave to the earth. You will have to act in accordance with the foolish customs and notions of whatever country we may happen to live in. Who knows which is a worse slavery? Perhaps it were best to continue forever on the water, where we do not have to pretend any religion, or nationality. For such people as we– —”

Kotikokura shouted: “No! No! No!”

“You do not believe that– —”

“No! No! No!”

“All right. It shall be as you say. But where shall we land? And what shall we be? It is never sufficient to be a man, Kotikokura. It is not even essential. It is absolutely necessary, however, that we praise the right Prophet and shout ‘Long Live!’ to the right Emperor.”

Kotikokura was not in the mood for listening to me.

“Land! Land!” he exclaimed, pointing to the west. By this time, I had begun to see the gray peaks of a long stretch of rocks or mountains.

‘Where shall we land, and under what pretenses?’ I asked myself, again and again. But finally I burst out into laughter, which startled Kotikokura.

“Why should we trouble our minds about our welfare, my friend? The gods who are anxious to keep us alive as symbols of perversity will see to it that all things are adjusted in our favor. Are we not their perennial prisoners; and their eyes,—are they not a million times sharper than ours?”

Kotikokura grinned.

“God’s will be done!”

My words astounded me. I realized how close blasphemy was to prayer.

The sky darkened with heavy clouds, and the wind beat against our masts like iron whips. “Kotikokura, have we blasphemed the gods, or overestimated our importance?”

He looked worried. I patted his head.

“Come, be cheerful, Kotikokura. The storm will pass.”

“Ca-ta-pha! Ca-ta-pha!” His eyes filled with tears.

“We have no time for sentiment, my friend. We must be alert.”

He did what I ordered him to do, but he continued to be very sad. Was he afraid? Did he, as on previous occasions, feel a premonition of evil?”

The storm became more and more violent. The waves dashed against our boats, as if intent upon crushing it. We were approaching rocks. If the storm did not abate, or the wind change direction, the boat would be dashed to bits.

“Kotikokura, we must be ready for anything. Tie about you this belt, within which are hidden many precious stones. I shall do likewise with this belt. If we are shipwrecked, and survive, our jewels will buy us a cheerful welcome.”

The storm continued its mad career. All my efforts to save the boat were fruitless.

“In a few moments, Kotikokura, we shall have to battle against the waves. If this is to be the end, let it be.”

Kotikokura wept. “Ca-ta-pha! Ca-ta-pha!”

I embraced him. Then we leaped into the angry sea to escape the wreckage of our ship. We struggled with the ocean, bruising alike our dignity and our skin.

“Don’t give up, Kotikokura!” I shouted from time to time.

“Ca-ta-pha!” he replied.

“Keep your head up, Kotikokura.”

“Ca-ta-pha.”

At times, very near each other, at times barely within hearing distance, we battled against the waves that showed no mercy.

“Kotikokura,” I whispered. “Kotikokura.”

Was it merely my own imagination, or did I hear him answer: “Ca-ta-pha. Ca-ta-pha.”

“Ko-ti-ko– —”

The waters were quiet and still like a bed of feathers.

“Kot– —”

A SOFT hand caressed my forehead.

I looked up. I saw a young woman, with long braids the color of flax, and light blue eyes.

“Ulrica!” I whispered.

“I am Ulrica. How did you know my name?”

“Ulrica!” I whispered again, and closed my eyes. I tried to understand where I was, and how I happened to have gotten there. Slowly, painfully, I reconstructed my boat, the storm, the shipwreck. And who was this woman? Ulrica? Who was Ulrica? Oh, yes…my beloved…long, long ago…on the Rhine…my vineyards… But what was she doing here? Where was I? Was it really Ulrica? And Kotikokura…where was he? What had happened to him? I opened my eyes. The young woman was sitting near my bed, holding a cup out of which rose a thin vapor, delicately scented.

“Drink.”

I drank, breathed deeply, and stood up.

“Are you really Ulrica?”

“I am.”

“Where is Kotikokura?”

“Who is Kotikokura?”

“My friend…my brother.”

She patted my hand, and said very softly: “Everything will be all right, you will see. Don’t exert yourself too much.”

“Don’t be afraid, Ulrica. I am already well. Kotikokura is not a creature of my imagination. He is a real person. I understand everything now. I was shipwrecked, was I not?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Kotikokura was with me. We swam for a long while, and suddenly as I was about to lose consciousness, I felt someone or something lift me out of the water. I was saved! But life will be worth very little if my dear friend was drowned.”