& O. queens, a container ship, stacked with the rectangles of various faded colors, which stopped at half a dozen ports along the way. On the ship—it was called the Romance—he imagined there would be silence. Not total silence: of all people, the specialist manufacturer Delage knew there was always a sound of some sort, however faint, even an echo, somewhere. One of the attractions for Delage was there would be just five other paying passengers. A priest who was supposed to join ship at La Spezia had canceled. Delage would have a cabin to himself. Aside from the occasional “Good morning!” and an occasional “Thank you,” he was looking forward, after what he had been through, to thirty-three days of peace without talking about himself, or having a significant conversation of any kind. Most things are not worth saying, yet continue to be said. What is said is a version in a different voice of what has already been said (many times before). From the moment Delage stepped onto European soil and began speaking or spruiking, he became aware his voice was only adding to what had long been there.
