You jumped to your feet. I turned to look in the direction in which you were pointing. I saw it and sat up with a start. It was a wonder to behold, drifting cloud-like on the water, shattering in a single moment our every notion of the universe and all it contained. My heart fairly leaped out of my chest at the sight of it. As you watched in silence, drinking in that most miraculous sight, I covered my eyes for a moment, for I could not be sure that what I was seeing wasn’t a dream. After a moment, I lowered my hands and looked once more; it was still there, floating on the becalmed water like an island of miracles. We were in such a state of wonder at the sight of it, our eyes could not look enough. I decided we should tell the others. I took your hand but you would not be moved. I pulled again and you told me to go without you. I ran back to the village while you stayed there on that hilltop overlooking the water.

I went to our chief, Otahu, and described what we had seen, you and I, out on the hilltop. He listened carefully and, when I’d finished, looked down at the ground and considered what he’d heard. He bade me follow him as he sought out our sage, Fetu, and had me repeat what I’d told him. Fetu also listened carefully, and stroked his beard, which he did whenever he was considering a delicate matter. Then Fetu and Otahu spoke to each other in murmurs. Otahu took the horn that hung around his neck and blew it to call all the people to council. When the people had gathered together to hear, I was once again asked to describe what I’d seen.

“The boat,” I told them, “is like one of our own, with masts and sails, but as if made for giants to sail in. Upon it, three great trees are fastened, the one in the middle being the tallest, as high as any tree on our island, but straightened and stripped of all leaves, twigs, and branches. Only the trunks remain, as well as three straight boughs, fastened crosswise to each. Sails of cloth are attached to them, but greater in size and number than our own, each one wide enough to hold within it one of our pirogues. There are so many of these sails fastened to the masts that, rather than calling them sails, one might imagine them a flock of great, captive birds, paler than the sun, the largest of them in the middle and the smaller ones on the outer branches, with their enormous wings outstretched and fastened by a tangled web of threads, pressing the birds into the service of the wind. These great wings, unfurled, drive the boat forth just as the sails of our own pirogues do, only without oars.”