Chapter I

“I don’t see why we have to be here,” a crewman said. “He ain’t liable to say anything.”

“He shore better,” the man in front of him said loudly.

“Be still,” his wife said. “People’s lookin’ at ya.”

“I don’t care a smidgen,” he said, “if en they ayre.”

“Please,” she said.

“Joanne Marie,” he said, “you know that when I aims ta do somethin’, I’m jest natcher’lly bound to do hit. An’ iffen I aims ta talk...”

“Here comes the priest. Now, be still.”

The man looked up. “So he do; an’ I’ll tell ya, hit shore is time he’s a-gittin’ hyere. I ain’t got no all night fer ta sit.”

The crewman to his left bent over and whispered, “I’ll bet he’s gonna tell us it’s gonna be another postponement.”

“Iffen he does, I’m jest a-gonna stand up an’ yell right out that I ain’t gonna stand fer hit no longer.”

“Now, dear,” said Joanne Marie, “the captain can hear ya, if you’re gonna talk so loud.”

“I hope he does; I jest hope he does. He’s th’ one that’s a-keepin’ us all from our Reward, an’ I jest hope he does heyar me, so he’ll know I’m a-gittin’ mighty tyird uv waitin’.”

“You tell ‘im!” someone said from two rows behind him.

The captain, in the officer’s section, sat very straight and tall. He was studiously ignoring the crew. This confined his field of vision to the left half of the recreation area. While the priest stood before the speaker’s rostrum waiting for silence, the captain reached back with great dignity and scratched his right shoulder blade.

Nestir, the priest, was dressed out in the full ceremonial costume of office. His high, strapless boots glistened with polish. His fez perched jauntily on his shiny, shaven head. The baldness was symbolic of diligent mental application to abstruse points of doctrine. Cotian exentiati pablum re overum est: “Grass grows not in the middle of a busy thoroughfare.” The baldness was the result of the diligent application of an effective depilatory. His blood-red cloak had been freshly cleaned for the occasion, and it rustled around him in silky sibilants.

“Men,” he said. And then, more loudly, “Men!”

The hiss and sputter of conversation guttered away.

“Men,” he said.

“The other evening,” he said, “--Gelday it was, to be exact--one of the crew came to me with a complaint.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Joanne Marie’s husband said loudly.

Nestir cleared his throat. “It was about the Casting Off. That’s why I called you all together today.” He stared away, at a point over the head and to the rear of the audience.

“It puts me in mind of the parable of the six Vergios.”

Joanne Marie’s husband sighed deeply.

“Three, you will recall, were wise. When Prophet was at Meizque, they came to him and said, ‘Prophet, we are afflicted. We have great sores upon our bodies.’ The Prophet looked at them and did see that it was true. Then he blessed them and took out His knife and lay open their sores. For which the three wise Vergios were passing grateful. And within the last week, they were dead of infection. But three were foolish and hid their sores; and these three did live.”

The captain rubbed his nose.