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Snoring is a talent, and mine once saved a fleet. We sat becalmed near Malta with limp sails. I lay down on the stern and slept after a heavy meal. My breath filled every sail. We made Naples in two days, with the crew tiptoeing around so as not to wake me.

Gold fell from the ceiling when the Sultan laughed, or so his guards swore. I told him the story of my uncle's wooden leg. He laughed for a day and a night. We swept up nine sacks, and I left before he thought to ask me for the ending.

Oysters at Ostend gave me a bright idea. I fed a hundred of them on my finest sand and whispered kind words. Each one made me a pearl the size of a plum. I strung them up for my mother, who used them as doorknobs and for rolling out dough.

Hannibal had it easy in the mountains. I crossed them with a piano, a bath, and my aunt. The piano went first and played its own farewell. My aunt stayed behind to run a small inn near the top. She has outlived two glaciers, and she still sends me jam.

Echoes in the Alps are lazy. I shouted my name at a cliff in.