Robert Wagman

CHAPTER XXVI

Thirty years ago I was sailing from Chios to Messina. We had passed Cape Maleas with the wind in our favor, when, after a long dead calm, a ferocious storm suddenly rose and began to toss us around. As it grew worse and worse, and the winds turned against us, we started to lose all hope of salvation. So we were waiting to die all together, drowned in the churning waves. While I was feeling sorry for myself and cursing the decision to make this voyage—when I could have been relaxing at home—I see the captain at the prow, making some kind of gesture with his hand and whispering something under his breath. He was considered very experienced and skilled in maritime affairs.  I go up to him and ask what he is doing. Although badly scared, the old man answered with a smile, ‘I am stopping the impact of the deadly wave, reciting some prayers and making the sign of the cross.’ I ask if he could really recognize, in the midst of so many rushing waves, the fatal one… Sure, he says; for although the ship was tossed by countless waves, no other wave but the ninth one could make it sink. Meanwhile our boat took a harder hit which made it spun around; it was buried by sea water, and unlike with other waves, it was unable to break free, but it remained underwater. ‘This is the ninth wave’, he said, ‘Keep count!, and, raising his voice, he began counting. It was truly amazing. When he counted nine, at the impact with that wave, as if by some stronger and more dangerous machine, the ship rocked so badly that the threat of destruction was obvious. But his whispered prayers and the sign of the cross seemed to sooth the wave, averting disaster. I could not make out the words he was saying; nor I thought it worthwhile to try and uncover the man’s secrets. I counted almost a thousand waves before the storm was finally over and each time was able to verify what the man had said: for the ship came on the verge of danger only with every ninth wave, the inauspicious one.

NOTES

Forthcoming