It was the middle of the night on the surgical ward, and Amara, the night nurse, was making her rounds. Most of the patients were asleep, but in room twelve a light was still on. Mr. Costa, an old fisherman, was lying with his eyes wide open. "I can't sleep," he admitted. "They are operating on me tomorrow, and I keep thinking about it."
Amara could have offered him a sleeping pill. Instead, she pulled a chair up to his bed and sat down. "Tell me about the sea," she said. His face changed. He began to talk about the dawn on the water, the smell of salt and wet nets, and his boat, which was called Maria. Amara dimmed the light and listened, and while he talked she checked his pulse and described how the waves sounded against a hull.
Somewhere in the middle of a sentence, he fell asleep. At seven o'clock the day shift arrived. Amara was exhausted. On Mr. Costa's tray she found a small note, written in careful handwriting: "Thank you for the sea."