in his last hour; a terrible curse must be upon you that you can speak thus.’
So saying he hurried away.
‘Go, priest,’ Manoel called after him, ‘I do not understand what you want of me.’
The priest had gone, and Manoel turned towards the wall to sleep. He dreamt he was walking through the streets of a town without knowing why or whither, until he was surprised to find himself standing by the water’s edge of a harbour. The water was dark, gently plashing against the flanks of black ships which seemed abandoned, with the exception of the one in the centre, from the deck of which lights were glimmering, and boats were dancing around it. Two men were standing close to him; they were whispering to each other; but Manoel tried in vain to remember who they were, nor could he catch a single word of their conversation, although they were speaking his own language. While they were talking, a powerful bell began to ring from the ship; it was clamorous and persistent. Then the two men got into a boat reluctantly, and hesitating as they went. Manoel asked: ‘Where are you going?’
One of them said distinctly, so that Manoel understood: ‘To hell.’
