I found myself on a large ship.
The ship plied forward relentlessly, day after day and night after night, billowing black smoke as it cut through the waves. The roar was tremendous. Yet I had no idea where this ship was headed. I only knew that the sun would appear like a hot iron from beneath the waves, rise up over the tall mast to hang there a moment, then quickly race ahead to quench itself again in the depths. Each time it did this, the blue waves in the distance would boil up ruddy brown. And the ship, unleashing its tremendous roar, would go chasing after in vain.
I once got hold of a crewman and asked, "Is this ship headed west?"
He looked at me suspiciously for a while. "Why?" he finally asked in return.
"It seems to follow the setting sun."
The crewman laughed loudly. Then, going on his way, he bantered, "Does the sun setting west end up in the east? Could it be true? Does the sun rising east sleep in the west? Could it be true? My body on the waves, rudder for a pillow, on I drift, on I drift."
Moving to the bow, I came upon a large group of sailors heaving in a thick halyard.
I felt terribly discouraged. I didn't know when I'd set foot on land again. I had no way of knowing where the ship was headed. All I knew was that it plied on, billowing black smoke as it cut through the waves. The blue waves seemed to stretch forth forever. Sometimes they were tinged with purple. The ship itself was encased in a pure white foam that spouted in its wake. I felt terribly discouraged. I wondered if I should rather throw myself overboard and perish.