Sailing with an ever-favorable wind was astonishing. The young man would look at his gray-haired father with admiration as he dozed under the awning at the stern. How much could possibly fit inside that old, wise head of his?
For a whole year, under the guise of buying fish and shellfish, they went to the docks, where the father questioned sailors about winds and currents. Then he would hurry home and draw something in a sand-filled box, always erasing the fruits of his reasoning before going to sleep so that they would not catch the eyes of strangers.
They spent another year making kites and model boats. People laughed at them, thinking the old man had gone senile, and the overseer, who had already been appearing less and less often, had completely abandoned his duties. And then, from a fisherman so greedy that he did not fear breaking the royal decree, they bought a boat for a couple of copper lamps.
For several months, the young man, hiding from prying eyes in a narrow cove well concealed by an overhanging cliff, rebuilt the old craft according to his father’s instructions. The old man himself tried to spend as much time among people as possible—he carved wheeled toys in the shape of half-human, half-animal figures and gave them to children, thereby finally convincing everyone of his madness.
And then the miracle-boat carried the fugitives away from their prolonged captivity. The unprecedented sail structure, resembling four white wings hanging over the water on both sides, could extract speed even from the faintest breeze. This boat needed no oars—the main thing was to firmly hold the levers controlling the rigid wings and, at the first sign of losing speed, begin raising and lowering them, catching the wind at a different height.
Watching the wondrous sails, the young man began to speak aloud of how one day his father would make wings with which one could fly to the sun. Hearing his naive thoughts, the old man, without opening his eyes, chuckled, rejoicing in their newfound freedom.
A sudden jolt to the hull and a cry broke his rest. Leaping to his feet, the old man saw in horror that he was alone in the boat. A sudden wave, born from the surf of one of the many small islands, had thrown his son—who, in youthful recklessness, had not lashed himself to a lifeline—overboard. And no matter how Daedalus, having furled the wings, scanned the greenish-blue expanse of the water, he could not make out his son within it—the sea glittering under the bright sun had taken its price for the escape.
