The captain is lying next to me on the bench. Knees drawn up, binoculars to his eyes. I stand at the helm and gaze with him at the stars. “Look, there’s the Milky Way,” he says. “And that cloud there, that’s the Andromeda galaxy. Through the binoculars, you can even see the stars.”
For the first time since we left Salvador, we have a clear night again. The stars are countless. Somewhere below, close to the horizon, I discern a bow and arrow. Is that the Southern Cross, I ask him. “Yes, indeed. The lowest point points south.”
I tilt my head back and search for my friend Orion. He should be directly above us now. I quickly find the three stars of his belt. After that, the three fainter stars of his sword are not difficult to spot either.
I follow the line of the sword downwards and arrive at the exact same point where the bow of the Southern Cross is pointing. Thankfully, it still aligns.
A moment later, we see the light of a ship on the horizon, precisely in line with the bow and the sword. As if it wants to confirm: this is south. And that’s where we need to go. Only, that’s exactly the direction the wind is coming from. And so, reluctantly, we head west.
