The mooring lines creaked with strain as the ship leaned away from the dock. The afternoon sea wind drove long translucent ripples up the harbor’s main channel, and pennants bearing the name SS Catalina whipped back and forth on short poles beside the gangway. The wind blew the old man’s hair where he stood silent in the line of high-spirited tourists. He ran one hand over his face, already doubting what he had undertaken, tired from standing in the sun. When the chain was dropped, he handed his ticket into the vacuum of a steward’s inattention, followed the others into the lounge, and sat down with a sigh of relief.