“I’ve always heard that.”
“It is not,” said the Major wisely, “what you know, it is who you know.”
“You certainly are right.”
“Yes, that’s the way it is.” They pondered this great truth in silence. Martin finally got to his feet.
“I hope you’ll feel better tomorrow, Major. We’ll leave in the morning; it should be calm by then.”
“I hope so, good night.”
“Good night.” Martin walked slowly through the galley. The lights were still on. He snapped them off. Then he walked out on deck.
A pleasant breeze cooled his face. Water lapped quietly against the sides of the ship. The night sky was black. In another forty-eight hours, if all went well, they would be in Arunga.
As he stood there many dramatic speeches came to Martin. Plays he had read or had seen on the stage, came to him. The rolling periods of the Elizabethans flowed through him like water in a rock channel. He always enjoyed these moments when he could think of words and voices speaking words.
He walked about on the deck. He stood by the railing on the port side and breathed the clean air. In these islands there was no odor of earth and vegetation in the wind, only the scent of salt and stone. He raised his head and looked at the mountains. The snow still whirled seaward.