He builds a ship as if it were the last thingholding him together, as if, when he stops,his body will fall onto the plate-glass waterand shatter into sand. To keep his morale uphe whistles and sings, but the wind whistles louderand taunts him: Your ship will build itselfif you throw yourself into the sea; timehas a way of growing your beard for you.Soon, you’ll find yourself on a rocking chairon some porch made from your ship’s timbers.The window behind you is made from a sail, thickcanvas, and no one inside will hear your callingfor milk or a chamberpot. Your childrenwill have all sailed to the New World and left you.But he tries not to listen, continues to hammernail after nail into timber after timber,but the wind finally blows him into the growling oceanand the ship falls apart on its own.
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