Sals's father
First appears in Chapter I
Never named, never present, and quoted more often than most of the living. He exists only in memory — a sailor on his own deck at dusk, rigging humming low, a boy beside him and the horizon going copper. He is the first person in the book to notice the thing Sals keeps noticing, and he handles it by doing almost nothing. When the wind changed near the Twilight Zone he didn't explain it. He stood very still, eyes narrowed, listening for something quiet underneath something loud, and then gave his son one sentence and stopped. Two of those sentences carry weight for everything after. One is what the wind brought: a presence, from beyond the boundary. The other is how such things are met at all — not hunted down, but answered, and only once you've become someone worth answering. Sophus's verdict on him is short and not offered as a compliment: he understood something most sailors never do.
No card. No account. Nothing to type.
Also in The World