The ferry was a double-decked boat and Frank and I debated whether to sit above in the heat and the sun, or below in the heat and shade. “What’s the chances of it being air-conditioned?” Frank said. The air conditioner at the hotel barely worked and when Frank complained to the staff, they shrugged and said nothing could be done. “The Italians hate it,” Mr. Brit said. “But they don’t seem to be bothered by the heat like some.” Frank swears Mr. Brit took a disapproving glance at our sweaty t-shirts, but I don’t think so. “I know where to sit,” Mr. Brit said. “Stick with us.”

The ferry held about four hundred, and it seemed as if about twice that many people were standing on line, but when the time came to board, not that many left the pier. Mr. and Mrs. Brit led us to the left side of the upper deck, so we would have a better view of the coast, and in the shadow of the pilothouse, so we’d be out of the sun. We sat on aluminum benches, with Frank across from Mr. Brit and me across from his wife. “It beats the bus,” Mr. Brit said. He was absolutely right, until it went wrong.

We were on our way down the coast when the boat suddenly stopped. We didn’t know if they had cut off the engines or if they had gone out on their own, but we bobbed in the sea a hundred yards or so from the rocky shore. We sat there for fifteen minutes or more, with the boat bobbing around in the waves and the sun beating on the deck and the wind coming up from Africa. A couple of people got sick, throwing up over the side of the boat. “We’ve never seen this,” Mr. Brit said. Frank got a book out of his bag.

Mr. Brit took notice of the book and took it right out of Frank’s hands. “Tacitus!” he said and looked at the pages Frank was reading and began to read aloud. “In general, a black and shameful period lies before me.” He closed the book and looked at Frank. “Don’t read this book,” Mr. Brit said. “It is poison. I know Tacitus. In my college days he came near souring me into cynicism. I have long been of opinion that these classics are the bane of colleges. But Tacitus – he is the most extraordinary example of a heretic; not one iota of confidence in his kind. Without confidence himself, Tacitus destroys it in all his readers. Drop Tacitus. Come now, let me throw the book overboard.” Frank reached for his book, but Mr. Brit pulled it closer to himself, almost teasing Frank with it. “This book,” he said, “will you let me drown it for you?”