He had wedged himself into the V of the boat’s front, trying to feel himself the one parting the waters.  It took him a while to capture the sensation, and, the instant he did, a weariness drained from him.  As if “be yourself/get weary, be some other/become light” was a formula accessible to anyone at any time.  The sea was getting choppy; he let himself be thrown about with the boat, confident he’d react well to any turbulence.  He made himself envision this just as he was being escorted into the Minister’s inner office.  The Minister fell back into his chair.  I’m on stormy seas, he said.  No worries, he said back to the Minister, it’ll turn into an easy sail in the bay.  Deep waters, the Minister said with an urgency, a possible going under.  He stood up and then found himself leaning, almost over the Minister.  You have no choice, he said, don’t drown, there are no winds down under, only on the surface, stay as long as you can on the surface, fluttering around if you have to, you never know, you might catch a wind.  When the Minister a year later handed him his daughter’s hand at the wedding, and he was taking in her joy just before their kiss, he felt himself back on the boat, wedged deep into the V, cutting through a sea lane firmly enough to make it to the horizon too distant to see.