“We certainly shall not! I refuse to give myself over to the malign hands of Fate so easily!” his father, Tullius, said. “The sea shall not become our burial shroud, nor shall I risk the well-being of hundreds of jugs of olive oil, whose sale will feed our family for many months.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Albus asked.
“Friday the thirteenth is a day for tragedies,” his father said. “Sit, and I will explain why you must never embark on a new venture on the thirteenth day of any month if it happens to fall on a Friday.”
His son sat down upon a patterned rug of maroon, purple, and green triangles that softened the hard stone floor, and beside a simple square chest on which a copy of the Bible rested, alongside a small painted image of Jesus performing a miracle.
“Let us hearken back to the beginning of time. It is said that Adam ate the forbidden fruit of knowledge on a Friday, and so it was on this day that humanity became corrupt. God then punished Eve, the coaxer, and future female generations to come with menstruation, a cycle which occurs thirteen times a year,” Tullius explained.
“It is also believed that Cain murdered his brother Able on Friday the thirteenth, and the Great Flood began on a Friday. The Tower of Babel, too, built to commemorate the victory of humanity after the flood, was destroyed on a Friday.”
“Are these dates for certain?” Albus asked, his brows raised with skepticism.
“I believe they are, but if you need further convincing, we can turn to more recent events—those surrounding Jesus himself!” his father said. “Thirteen was the number of people present at our Savior’s last supper, attended by Jesus and his twelve apostles. Judas, the thirteenth member to arrive at the table, betrayed Jesus, a wretched soul he was, leading to the death of our Lord, whose crucifixion occurred on…”
“A Friday!” Albus shouted.
“Yes!” his father said. “And even the dregs of our society agree the number thirteen to be cursed. Witches gather in groups of twelve, for the thirteenth is said to be the devil!”
“What is it about the number thirteen that is so cursed?” his son wondered.
“I shall tell you,” his father answered firmly. “The number twelve has always been judged a complete number. There are twelve tribes of Israel, twelve labors of Hercules, twelve apostles of Jesus, twelve Grecian gods on Olympus, twelve signs of the zodiac, twelve months in a year, and twelve numbers on a clock. In exceeding twelve by one, we are beyond complete, and surely, that brings ill luck.”
Albus looked at his father with astonishment.
“For this reason, you will not see many ships set sail this Friday the thirteenth, nor will you see many people embark on new ventures—for they fear they are doomed from the start.”
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