....Nonsense, said the king, there are no longer any unknown islands. Who told you, king, that there are no longer any unknown islands? They are all on the maps. Maps only show the known islands. And what is this unknown island that you want to go and look for? If I could tell you, then it would no longer be unknown. Who has told you about it, asked the king, more soberly now. No one. In that case, why do you insist on saying that it does exist? Simply because it is impossible that an unknown island should not exist. And you have come here to ask me for a boat. Yes, I came to ask you for a boat. And who are you, that I should give you one? And who are you not to give me one? I am the king of this realm, and all the boats in the kingdom belong to me. You probably belong more to them than they to you. What do you mean, asked the king, troubled. That you, without them, are nothing, and that they, without you, can always sail. Only on my orders, with my pilots and my sailors. I am not asking you for pilots or sailors, I am only asking you for a boat. And this unknown island, should you find it, would be for me? You, king, are only interested in known islands. I am also interested in unknown islands when they are no longer unknown. Maybe this one will not let itself be known. Then I shall not give you the boat. You will.
......
Since the beginning of the journey to the unknown island, the helmsman hasn't been seen to eat. It must be because he is dreaming, only dreaming, and if in his dream he should feel like a piece of bread or an apple, it would be an imaginary meal, nothing more. The roots of the trees are already reaching into the timbers. Soon these hoisted sails will no longer be required. All the wind will have to do is to blow through the tree- tops and guide the caravel towards her destiny. She is a floating forest that sails and sways over the waves, a forest in which, who knows how, birds have started to sing. They must have been hidden somewhere and have suddenly decided to come out into the light, probably because the harvest is ripe and ready for reaping. The man locked the wheel and went down to the field holding a scythe, and it was when he had cut the first stems that he saw a shadow next to his shadow. He woke up clinging onto the cleaning-woman, and she onto him, their bodies as one, their bunks as one, and there was no knowing whether this bunk was the port or the starboard one. Then, as soon as the sun had risen, the man and the woman went to the prow of the boat to paint, in white letters on either side, the name that still had to be given to the caravel. At the midday hour, the Unknown Island went off to sea with the tide, looking for itself.
