The sea is rocking the boat in the storm. The woman’s shrieks accompanied with the thunder tear God’s heart apart. The rag under her thighs is seeping blood with the rhythm of rocking boat. The poet next to her holds her hand and chants:

Sweet little soul, fickle,
Thy body's guest in close companionship,
Into what regions art thou coming now,
Thy little self so naked, florid and warm,
in the kingdom of a solitary whale.

The sound of the rain banging on the deck and her cries both fads. There is a smell of burning wood in the air. The baby comes out from the dark shadow, covered in a transparent membrane shaped like a balloon. The little arms lift close to the mouth, and both the big head and two little feet are resting on the two polar of the ellipse. The woman names the baby Otis.