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The captain shouted in a rough voice: ‘To your stations!’ The crew remained still, intoxicated just as I was. The captain shouted louder, and in a very harsh fashion: ‘To your stations, now!’ I shook my head, and the island vision dissipated. We were still in the boat. The crew members moved almost mechanically to the repeated commands from the helmsman. And when he ordered the sails to be reset for us to sail north, their old habits took over. We the passengers were still in thrall of an untouched paradise, still intoxicated. I saw the eyes of Antinoē and of Philodemus cast back towards the place from which we had turned. But no land could be seen.
The wind had freshened, and the sails began to work. The rose-coloured paradise had evaporated behind us.
After some time, the captain said to me:
‘Hallucinations can happen in a sea-voyage. Even hallucinations of a whole crew. Even myself.’ He grimaced. I saw that he too had been touched by the yearnings and visions which the rest of us had experienced. ‘The thing is to get over them. Now we are on our way to Athens.’
He was surely a good ship’s captain. But I still sometimes dream about that African island on which I never truly set foot, and which perhaps did not even exist.
(3/3)