The shipbuilder climbed onto the back of one of the three ships that had not yet touched the water. He had put the final touches on them only two days ago and had come to the palace this morning, where he handed the letter to Abu Bakr. He approached the bow of the ship, inspecting every detail, searching for even the smallest defect. He moved toward the helm, brushing his hand across it without turning it, feeling the weight of the moment. It was an extraordinary sensation to stand in that place, knowing the ship was about to be launched.
Closing his eyes, he allowed the cool breeze to hit his cheeks and ruffle his hair, imagining the strong waves crashing against the hull, trying to break through. "I am a skilled shipbuilder, like no other," he whispered, though his voice barely carried. When he opened his eyes, he found himself turning the helm, and for a moment, it felt as if his earlier words had betrayed him. No shipbuilder, no matter how skilled, had ever piloted a ship before. It was something his father had never taught him—how to navigate the ship, how to face the storms that could sink it in an instant.
His father had taught him everything else: how to cut trees from the forest, how to select the best wood for the mast, and how to treat the wood with a magical recipe from Arabic manuscripts. The process made the wood more durable, allowing the ship to glide over the water like an arrow. But his father had never once shown him how to turn the rudder, how to navigate the ship through dangerous seas.
Reluctantly, he let go of the rudder, gazing at the ships once more. He had always loved this work, especially the times he spent with his father. He remembered the day he built his first ship at twelve years old. "You see, father, my first ship!" he had said excitedly. His father laughed, "It's a huge ship, it can carry thousands of soldiers on its back." In truth, that huge ship was no more than a boat that couldn't even support the weight of a child. His father had instilled in him a spirit of perseverance, a passion for creating, and that had kept him in the craft all these years—until he built the third ship alone, after his father's death. That was the moment when he felt disconnected from it all, as though the rudder had become a symbol of his isolation.
Standing before the rudder again, he ran his hand across it, his voice rising as he declared, "I will sail with the king. I will leave everything behind and embark on an adventure where I feel like I belong."
The next day, Abu Bakr visited the ships, and he marveled at their size, inspecting them for hours as if they were masterpieces. The shipbuilder beamed with pride, knowing the king was impressed. But before he could speak of joining the crew, the king spoke up, saying, "We will not sail anywhere. The time of my father's dreams has passed."