I rowed in the dark keeping the wind in my face. It 
was not a swell idea to force seven people into a small
wooden boat that should only hold four. My beautiful
Kate, the bald priest, the twins, two magicians and me.
Then there were the waves.

Kate waved at me from her end of the boat. "If we're
going to die, Papa, I think that I must tell you
things."

I looked away. There was ice in the sea. Big, grand,
glorious chunks of floating ice. They reminded me of my
last scotch on the rocks at Harry's Bar and American
Grill. A damned fine drink in a damned fine bar from
another place and time. A time when men fought the good
fight, women kept their secrets and ice knew its proper
place.

"Kiss me, Kate," I said. I stood up and rocked the
boat.

She kissed me like there was no tomorrow and I would
have to say farewell to her charms tonight. She kissed
me and there was no cold and there was no wind and we
were still on the big boat with all the good white
dishes.

Then the rain came. The waves were as big as elephants.
The sea swelled. In the dark of our night just before
the dawn I held Kate tight and I told everyone it would
be all right. I said it only trying to lie so that the
world would not feel so bad. Also so that nobody would
dare ask me who would have to go over first, and for
whom the swells rolled.

We sat down. The priest and the magicians were huddled
under the one blanket. I knew as sure as I knew the
fear of the blank white page that neither God nor magic
would save us from the big waves. It was a bad time.

"Save your secrets, Kate," I whispered. "It is too
late."

She began to cry, the tears that can make a man
remember hope. I made her look up into the wet rain and
I told her the story that the tall bullfighter in
Palermo told me so long ago. That there are nine
galaxies in this universe for every single one of us
and that in just our own Milky Way there are sixty-nine
suns for each person alive. That if we only face the
fear that is the raging bull with courage every single
day we will survive for one more day to find the light.

The twins sighed, the priest stopped praying, the
magicians smiled. Kate held my hand and we pressed
seven bodies into one on the floor of the tiny boat and
it was a fine and safe place. We slept the sleep of the
innocent until we heard the distant roar of the engine
that was big and strong.

Then the sun rose, also.