The Discovery Of Slowness by Sten Nadolny Page A

single place at the same time: it was something for science.
    The casks were refilled with water, and Matthew bought beef. He explained to his midshipmen that one can tell the meat of an old cow from that of a young one by its bluish color. Madeira wine was too expensive for him. A barrel for forty-two pounds sterling – that was piracy by other means! Those prices might be paid by tubercular English lords and ladies who rode in ox carts and read novels.
    The scientists tried to climb Pico Ruivo, a high mountain on the edge of an ancient, expansive volcanic crater. They never reached the peak because of blisters on their feet. On their way back their boat filled with water, and they lost their collection of insects. ‘What a shame! Nowhere in the world are there more interesting bugs than in Madeira,’ sighed Dr Brown.
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    When under a gentle southerly breeze the ship left the island again, only Franklin and Taylor were on the quarterdeck; the others were eating. Taylor saw a red dust cloud sweeping over the water from the north-east. Neither of them at first drew any conclusions. John thought: desert. He imagined how the wind lifted the red sand of the Sahara, how it chased the sand beyond the shore and over the dark sea, perhaps as far as South America. Something seemed odd to John. ‘Stop!’ he said, then a few minuteslater, ‘but the cloud has …’ A little later all sails were taken back; a violent squall raced from the north-east and slammed into the weak south wind, plucking the rigging of the Investigator . One of the spars came down, crashing on the deck, and a huge chunk of elm crushed one of the cats – but not Trim the tomcat. Still, the whole thing passed without severe damage. They all feasted on a giant turtle they had fished out, and drank some Malmsey to the dead cat.
    John pondered. He had seen it coming, and yet he had stood around not knowing what to do. What was needed in action was unreflective knowledge instilled by practice – the blindness. Instead of shouting, ‘Stop, the cloud …’ he should have shouted, ‘The wind is veering!’ A good six minutes would have remained for them to protect the spars by dropping and bracing them. They might even have been able to strike the topgallants. John became convinced that he had to practise the unforeseen. One of these days he wanted to save a ship by acting quickly and correctly.
    Sherard asked him set questions: ‘There’s a storm and there isn’t enough space to leeward for jibbing.’ Or: ‘Man overboard on a course close to the wind.’ Each time, John took exactly five seconds to visualise the whole thing well in his inner eye. Then came the answer: ‘Call out “Man overboard!” Toss the man a daytime life buoy but not on top of him – makes no difference with night-time life buoys, since it’s dark anyway. Heave to. Lower boat into water to leeward. One person always keeps an eye on the man.’ ‘Good,’ said Sherard. ‘Now you see flames on the foredeck.’ Five seconds. Take a breath. Then: ‘Change course to leeward at once. Batten down hatches. Unload guns. Ammunition overboard. Shut magazine. Throw bolts. Hoist boats onto and lower to water level! …’ Matthew had been standing behind him for some time. ‘Not bad,’ he commented. ‘But perhaps you’re starting a little late to put out the fire.’ John understood slowly, then turned red. In a small voice he mumbled: ‘To the buckets …’
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    No land for weeks. By now it had become so warm that people didn’t run around in jackets even at night. John was completelyat ease with the calm of the sea, a calm quite distinct from the strength of the wind. The crew worked better and more steadily. Even gun master Colpits became friendlier, although he could use his ammunition only for peaceful ends. When Stanley