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This friend of mine is afraid of the sea.
When he sees himself before him, he feels the urge to escape, and if at night he hears the ebb and flow of the waves it seems to him that an enemy is knocking on the door of his hotel room.
I am surprised by that fear of my friend. I remember that in his room as a young man he had the picture of a ship sailing at full sail, and I do not forget that in his library were “Moby Dick” by Melville, and “Two Years at the Foot of the Mast” by Dana.
One afternoon, with three or four drinks between his chest and back he, and five or six myself, I asked him the cause of that strange fear. He said it to me in a low voice:
-When I am facing the sea I seem to be facing a woman, and when I am facing a woman I seem to be facing the sea.
I still don’t understand my friend’s fear.
Maybe I’ll understand when I have nine drinks between my chest and back, or ten. Because now that I think about it, I’m afraid of the sea too.