Short interesting excerpts from the work Scarlet Sails. Scarlet Sails

“You have nothing to fear from me,” he said seriously. “On the contrary, I want to talk to you to my heart’s content.” “It was only then that he realized what was so closely marked by his impression in the girl’s face. “An involuntary expectation of a beautiful, blissful fate,” he decided. - Oh, why wasn’t I born a writer? What a glorious story."

“Come on,” Egle continued, trying to round out the original position (the tendency to create myths, a consequence of constant work, was stronger than the fear of planting the seeds of a major dream on unknown soil), “come on, Assol, listen to me carefully.” I was in that village - where you must be coming from, in a word, in Kaperna. I love fairy tales and songs, and I sat in that village all day, trying to hear something no one had heard. But you don't tell fairy tales. You don't sing songs. And if they tell and sing, then, you know, these stories about cunning men and soldiers, with the eternal praise of cheating, these dirty, like unwashed feet, rough, like a rumbling stomach, short quatrains with a terrible motive... Stop, I’m lost. I'll speak again. After thinking, he continued: “I don’t know how many years will pass, but in Kaperna one fairy tale will bloom, memorable for a long time.” You will be big, Assol. One morning, in the distant sea, a scarlet sail will sparkle under the sun. The shining bulk of the scarlet sails of the white ship will move, cutting through the waves, straight towards you. This wonderful ship will sail quietly, without shouts or shots; a lot of people will gather on the shore, wondering and gasping: and you will stand there. The ship will approach majestically to the very shore to the sounds of beautiful music; elegant, in carpets, in gold and flowers, a fast boat will sail from him. - “Why did you come? Who are you looking for?" - people on the shore will ask. Then you will see a brave handsome prince; he will stand and stretch out his hands to you. - “Hello, Assol! - he will say. “Far, far from here, I saw you in a dream and came to take you to my kingdom forever.” You will live there with me in the deep pink valley. You will have everything you want; We will live with you so friendly and cheerfully that your soul will never know tears and sadness.” He will put you on a boat, bring you to the ship, and you will leave forever to a brilliant country where the sun rises and where the stars will descend from the sky to congratulate you on your arrival.

- It's all for me? – the girl asked quietly. Her serious eyes, cheerful, shone with confidence. A dangerous wizard, of course, would not talk like that; she came closer. - Maybe he has already arrived... that ship?

“Not so soon,” Egle objected, “first, as I said, you will grow up.” Then... What can I say? – it will be, and it’s over. What would you do then?

- I? “She looked into the basket, but apparently did not find anything there worthy of serving as a significant reward. “I would love him,” she said hastily, and added, not quite firmly, “if he doesn’t fight.”

“No, he won’t fight,” said the wizard, winking mysteriously, “he won’t, I guarantee it.” Go, girl, and don’t forget what I told you between two sips of aromatic vodka and thinking about the songs of convicts. Go. May there be peace to your furry head!

Longren was working in his small garden, digging up potato bushes. Raising his head, he saw Assol running headlong towards him with a joyful and impatient face.

“Well, here...” she said, trying to control her breathing, and grabbed her father’s apron with both hands. – Listen to what I’ll tell you... On the shore, far away, there is a wizard sitting... She started with the wizard and his interesting prediction. The fever of her thoughts prevented her from conveying the incident smoothly. Next came a description of the wizard’s appearance and, in reverse order, the pursuit of the lost yacht.

Longren listened to the girl without interrupting, without smiling, and when she finished, his imagination quickly depicted an unknown old man with aromatic vodka in one hand and a toy in the other. He turned away, but, remembering that on great occasions in a child’s life it is proper for a person to be serious and surprised, he solemnly nodded his head, saying: “So, so; according to all signs, there is no one else to be but a wizard. I would like to look at him... But when you go again, don’t turn aside; It's not difficult to get lost in the forest.

Throwing away the shovel, he sat down by the low brush fence and sat the girl on his lap. Terribly tired, she tried to add some more details, but the heat, excitement and weakness made her sleepy. Her eyes stuck together, her head fell on her father’s hard shoulder, a moment - and she would have been carried away into the land of dreams, when suddenly, worried by a sudden doubt, Assol sat up straight, with her eyes closed and, resting her fists on Longren’s vest, said loudly: “What do you think?” , will the magic ship come for me or not?

“He will come,” the sailor calmly answered, “since they told you this, then everything is correct.”

“When he grows up, he’ll forget,” he thought, “but for now... it’s not worth taking such a toy away from you. After all, in the future you will have to see a lot of not scarlet, but dirty and predatory sails: from a distance - elegant and white, close up - torn and arrogant. A passing man joked with my girl. Well?! Good joke! Nothing - just a joke! Look how tired you were - half a day in the forest, in the thicket. And about the scarlet sails, think like me: you will have scarlet sails.”

Assol was sleeping. Longren, taking out his pipe with his free hand, lit a cigarette, and the wind carried the smoke through the fence and into the bush growing on the outside of the garden. A young beggar sat by a bush, with his back to the fence, chewing a pie. The conversation between father and daughter put him in a cheerful mood, and the smell of good tobacco put him in a prey mood. “Give the poor man a smoke, master,” he said through the bars. “My tobacco versus yours is not tobacco, but, one might say, poison.”

Dear friends, we invite you to the “brilliant world” of Alexander Green - bright and mysterious! In this world, unusual projects appear, the wildest fantasies come true. It is home to strong, courageous heroes who create miracles with their own hands, truly love and hate just as much. In the world of Alexander Green, love and justice most often triumph, and human happiness is realized. This is how the romantic writer is close to us, today's readers - eternal ideals always inspire people!

Excerpt from a book

It happened like this. On one of his rare returns home, he did not see, as always from afar, his wife Mary on the threshold of the house, throwing up her hands and then running towards him until she lost her breath. Instead, an excited neighbor stood by the crib - a new item in Longren's small house.

“I followed her for three months, old man,” she said, “look at your daughter.”

Dead, Longren bent down and saw an eight-month-old creature intently looking at his long beard, then he sat down, looked down and began to twirl his mustache. The mustache was wet, as if from rain.

- When did Mary die? - he asked.

The woman told a sad story, interrupting the story with touching gurgles to the girl and assurances that Mary was in heaven. When Longren found out the details, heaven seemed to him a little brighter than a woodshed, and he thought that the fire of a simple lamp - if all three of them were now together - would be an irreplaceable consolation for a woman who had gone to an unknown country.

Three months ago, the young mother’s economic affairs were very bad. Of the money left by Longren, a good half was spent on treatment after a difficult birth and on caring for the health of the newborn; finally, the loss of a small but necessary amount for life forced Mary to ask Menners for a loan of money. Menners ran a tavern and a shop and was considered a wealthy man.

Mary went to see him at six o'clock in the evening. At about seven the narrator met her on the road to Liss. Mary, tearful and upset, said that she was going to the city to pawn her engagement ring. She added that Menners agreed to give money, but demanded love for it. Mary achieved nothing.

“We don’t even have a crumb of food in our house,” she told her neighbor. “I’ll go into town, and the girl and I will get by somehow until my husband returns.”

The weather was cold and windy that evening; The narrator tried in vain to persuade the young woman not to go to Lis before nightfall. “You’ll get wet, Mary, it’s drizzling, and the wind, no matter what, will bring downpour.”

Nina Nikolaevna Green
offers and dedicates
Author PBG, November 23, 1922

I
Prediction

Longren, a sailor of the Orion, a strong three-hundred-ton brig on which he served for ten years and to which he was more attached than another son to his own mother, had to finally leave this service. It happened like this. On one of his rare returns home, he did not see, as always from afar, his wife Mary on the threshold of the house, throwing up her hands and then running towards him until she lost her breath. Instead, an excited neighbor stood by the crib - a new item in Longren's small house. “I followed her for three months, old man,” she said, “look at your daughter.” Dead, Longren bent down and saw an eight-month-old creature intently looking at his long beard, then he sat down, looked down and began to twirl his mustache. The mustache was wet, as if from rain. - When did Mary die? - he asked. The woman told a sad story, interrupting the story with touching gurgles to the girl and assurances that Mary was in heaven. When Longren found out the details, heaven seemed to him a little brighter than a woodshed, and he thought that the fire of a simple lamp - if all three of them were now together - would be an irreplaceable consolation for a woman who had gone to an unknown country. Three months ago, the young mother’s economic affairs were very bad. Of the money left by Longren, a good half was spent on treatment after a difficult birth and on caring for the health of the newborn; finally, the loss of a small but necessary amount for life forced Mary to ask Menners for a loan of money. Menners ran a tavern and a shop and was considered a wealthy man. Mary went to see him at six o'clock in the evening. At about seven the narrator met her on the road to Liss. Mary, tearful and upset, said that she was going to the city to pawn her engagement ring. She added that Menners agreed to give money, but demanded love for it. Mary achieved nothing. “We don’t even have a crumb of food in our house,” she told her neighbor. “I’ll go into town, and the girl and I will get by somehow until my husband returns.” The weather was cold and windy that evening; The narrator tried in vain to persuade the young woman not to go to Liss at nightfall. “You’ll get wet, Mary, it’s drizzling, and the wind, no matter what, will bring downpour.” Back and forth from the seaside village to the city was at least three hours of quick walking, but Mary did not listen to the narrator’s advice. “It’s enough for me to prick your eyes,” she said, “and there is almost not a single family where I would not borrow bread, tea or flour. I’ll pawn the ring and it’s over.” She went, returned, and the next day fell ill with fever and delirium; bad weather and evening drizzle struck her with double pneumonia, as the city doctor said, caused by the kind-hearted narrator. A week later, there was an empty space on Longren’s double bed, and a neighbor moved into his house to nurse and feed the girl. It was not difficult for her, a lonely widow. Besides,” she added, “it’s boring without such a fool.” Longren went to the city, took payment, said goodbye to his comrades and began to raise little Assol. Until the girl learned to walk firmly, the widow lived with the sailor, replacing the orphan’s mother, but as soon as Assol stopped falling, lifting her leg over the threshold, Longren decisively announced that now he himself would do everything for the girl, and, thanking the widow for her active sympathy, lived the lonely life of a widower, focusing all his thoughts, hopes, love and memories on a small creature. Ten years of wandering life left very little money in his hands. He started working. Soon his toys appeared in city stores - skillfully made small models of boats, cutters, single- and double-decker sailing ships, cruisers, steamships - in a word, what he knew intimately, which, due to the nature of the work, partly replaced for him the roar of port life and painting work swimming. In this way, Longren obtained enough to live within the limits of moderate economy. Unsociable by nature, after the death of his wife, he became even more withdrawn and unsociable. On holidays, he was sometimes seen in a tavern, but he never sat down, but hastily drank a glass of vodka at the counter and left, briefly throwing around: “yes”, “no”, “hello”, “goodbye”, “little by little” - at all the calls and nods from the neighbors. He could not stand guests, quietly sending them away not by force, but with such hints and fictitious circumstances that the visitor had no choice but to invent a reason not to allow him to sit longer. He himself did not visit anyone either; Thus, a cold alienation lay between him and his fellow countrymen, and if Longren’s work—toys—had been less independent from the affairs of the village, he would have had to more clearly experience the consequences of such a relationship. He purchased goods and food supplies in the city - Menners could not even boast of the box of matches that Longren bought from him. He also did all the housework himself and patiently went through the difficult art of raising a girl, which is unusual for a man. Assol was already five years old, and her father began to smile softer and softer, looking at her nervous, kind face, when, sitting on his lap, she worked on the secret of a buttoned vest or amusingly hummed sailor songs - wild rhymes. When narrated in a child's voice and not always with the letter "r", these songs gave the impression of a dancing bear decorated with a blue ribbon. At this time, an event occurred, the shadow of which, falling on the father, covered the daughter as well. It was spring, early and harsh, like winter, but of a different kind. For three weeks, a sharp coastal north fell to the cold earth. Fishing boats pulled ashore formed a long row of dark keels on the white sand, reminiscent of the ridges of huge fish. No one dared to fish in such weather. On the only street of the village it was rare to see a person who had left the house; the cold whirlwind rushing from the coastal hills into the emptiness of the horizon made the “open air” a severe torture. All the chimneys of Kaperna smoked from morning to evening, spreading smoke over the steep roofs. But these days of the Nord lured Longren out of his small warm house more often than the sun, which in clear weather covered the sea and Kaperna with blankets of airy gold. Longren went out onto a bridge built along long rows of piles, where, at the very end of this plank pier, he smoked a pipe blown by the wind for a long time, watching how the bottom exposed near the shore smoked with gray foam, barely keeping up with the waves, the thundering run of which towards the black, stormy horizon filled the space with herds of fantastic maned creatures, rushing in unbridled ferocious despair towards distant consolation. Moans and noises, the howling gunfire of huge upsurges of water and, it seemed, a visible stream of wind striping the surroundings - so strong was its smooth run - gave Longren's exhausted soul that dullness, stunnedness, which, reducing grief to vague sadness, is equal in effect to deep sleep . On one of these days, Menners’s twelve-year-old son, Khin, noticing that his father’s boat was hitting the piles under the bridge, breaking the sides, went and told his father about it. The storm began recently; Menners forgot to take the boat out onto the sand. He immediately went to the water, where he saw Longren standing at the end of the pier, with his back to it, smoking. There was no one else on the shore except the two of them. Menners walked along the bridge to the middle, descended into the madly splashing water and untied the sheet; standing in the boat, he began to make his way to the shore, grabbing the piles with his hands. He did not take the oars, and at that moment, when, staggering, he missed to grab the next pile, a strong blow of the wind threw the bow of the boat from the bridge towards the ocean. Now, even with the entire length of his body, Menners could not reach the nearest pile. The wind and waves, rocking, carried the boat into the disastrous expanse. Realizing the situation, Menners wanted to throw himself into the water to swim to the shore, but his decision was late, since the boat was already spinning not far from the end of the pier, where the considerable depth of the water and the fury of the waves promised certain death. Between Longren and Menners, carried away into the stormy distance, there was no more than ten fathoms of still saving distance, since on the walkway at Longren’s hand hung a bundle of rope with a load woven into one end. This rope hung in case of a pier in stormy weather and was thrown from the bridge. - Longren! - shouted the mortally frightened Menners. - Why have you become like a stump? You see, I'm being carried away; leave the pier! Longren was silent, calmly looking at Menners, who was rushing about in the boat, only his pipe began to smoke more strongly, and he, after hesitating, took it out of his mouth in order to better see what was happening. - Longren! - Menners cried, - you can hear me, I’m dying, save me! But Longren did not say a single word to him; he did not seem to hear the desperate scream. Until the boat carried so far that Menners’ words and cries could barely reach him, he did not even shift from foot to foot. Menners sobbed in horror, begged the sailor to run to the fishermen, call for help, promised money, threatened and cursed, but Longren only came closer to the very edge of the pier so as not to immediately lose sight of the throwing and jumping boats. “Longren,” came to him muffledly, as if from the roof, sitting inside the house, “save me!” Then, taking a deep breath and taking a deep breath so that not a single word would be lost in the wind, Longren shouted: “She asked you the same thing!” Think about this while you are still alive, Menners, and don’t forget! Then the screams stopped, and Longren went home. Assol woke up and saw that her father was sitting in front of a dying lamp, deep in thought. Hearing the girl's voice calling him, he went up to her, kissed her deeply and covered her with a tangled blanket. “Sleep, honey,” he said, “the morning is still far away.” - What are you doing? “I made a black toy, Assol, sleep!” The next day, all the residents of Kaperna could talk about was the missing Menners, and on the sixth day they brought him himself, dying and angry. His story quickly spread around the surrounding villages. Until the evening wore Menners; broken by shocks on the sides and bottom of the boat, during a terrible struggle with the ferocity of the waves, which, tirelessly, threatened to throw the maddened shopkeeper into the sea, he was picked up by the steamer Lucretia, heading to Kasset. A cold and shock of horror ended Menners' days. He lived a little less than forty-eight hours, calling upon Longren all the disasters possible on earth and in the imagination. Menners' story of how the sailor watched his death, refusing help, eloquent all the more so since the dying man was breathing with difficulty and groaning, amazed the residents of Kaperna. Not to mention the fact that very few of them were able to remember an insult even more severe than that suffered by Longren, and to grieve as much as he grieved for Mary for the rest of his life - they were disgusted, incomprehensible, and amazed that Longren was silent. Silently, until his last words sent after Menners, Longren stood; stood motionless, sternly and quietly, like a judge, showing deep contempt for Menners - there was more than hatred in his silence, and everyone felt it. If he had shouted, expressing his gloating with gestures or fussiness, or in some other way his triumph at the sight of Menners’ despair, the fishermen would have understood him, but he acted differently from what they did - he acted impressively, incomprehensibly, and thereby placed himself above others, in a word, did something that cannot be forgiven. No one else bowed to him, extended their hands, or cast a recognizing, greeting glance. He remained completely aloof from village affairs; The boys, seeing him, shouted after him: “Longren drowned Menners!” He didn't pay any attention to it. It also seemed that he did not notice that in the tavern or on the shore, among the boats, the fishermen fell silent in his presence, moving away as if from the plague. The case of Menners cemented the previously incomplete alienation. Having become complete, it caused lasting mutual hatred, the shadow of which fell on Assol. The girl grew up without friends. Two to three dozen children of her age who lived in Kaperna, soaked like a sponge with water, a rough family principle, the basis of which was the unshakable authority of the mother and father, overbearing, like all children in the world, once and for all crossed out little Assol from the sphere of their patronage and attention. This happened, of course, gradually, through suggestion and shouting from adults, it acquired the character of a terrible prohibition, and then, reinforced by gossip and rumors, it grew in children's minds with fear of the sailor's house. In addition, Longren's secluded lifestyle has now freed the hysterical language of gossip; They used to say about the sailor that he had killed someone somewhere, which is why, they say, he is no longer hired to serve on ships, and he himself is gloomy and unsociable, because “he is tormented by remorse of a criminal conscience.” While playing, the children chased Assol if she approached them, threw dirt and teased her that her father ate human flesh and was now making counterfeit money. One after another, her naive attempts to get closer ended in bitter crying, bruises, scratches and other manifestations public opinion; She finally stopped being offended, but still sometimes asked her father: “Tell me, why don’t they like us?” “Eh, Assol,” said Longren, “do they know how to love? You have to be able to love, but they can’t do that.” - “What is it like to be able to?” - "And like this!" He took the girl in his arms and deeply kissed her sad eyes, which were squinting with tender pleasure. Assol’s favorite pastime was in the evenings or on holidays, when her father, having put aside jars of paste, tools and unfinished work, sat down, taking off his apron, to rest, with a pipe in his teeth, to climb onto his lap and, spinning in the careful ring of his father’s hand, touch various parts of toys, asking about their purpose. Thus began a kind of fantastic lecture about life and people - a lecture in which, thanks to Longren’s previous way of life, accidents, chance in general, outlandish, amazing and extraordinary events were given the main place. Longren, telling the girl the names of rigging, sails, and marine items, gradually became carried away, moving from explanations to various episodes in which either a windlass, or a steering wheel, or a mast or some type of boat, etc. played a role, and then From these individual illustrations he moved on to broad pictures of sea wanderings, weaving superstition into reality, and reality into the images of his imagination. Here appeared a tiger cat, a messenger of a shipwreck, and a talking flying fish, disobeying whose orders meant going off course, and the Flying Dutchman with his frantic crew; omens, ghosts, mermaids, pirates - in a word, all the fables that while away a sailor's leisure time in calm or in his favorite tavern. Longren also talked about the shipwrecked, about people who had gone wild and had forgotten how to speak, about mysterious treasures, convict riots and much more, which the girl listened to more attentively than perhaps she listened to Columbus’s story about the new continent for the first time. “Well, say more,” Assol asked when Longren, lost in thought, fell silent, and fell asleep on his chest with a head full of wonderful dreams. It also gave her great, always materially significant pleasure, to see the clerk of a city toy shop who willingly bought Longren’s work. To appease the father and bargain for excess, the clerk took with him a couple of apples, a sweet pie, and a handful of nuts for the girl. Longren usually asked for the real price out of dislike for bargaining, and the clerk would reduce it. “Oh, you,” said Longren, “I spent a week working on this bot. — The boat was five vershoks. - Look at the strength, what about the draft, what about the kindness? This boat can withstand fifteen people in any weather.” The end result was that the quiet fuss of the girl, purring over her apple, deprived Longren of his stamina and desire to argue; he gave in, and the clerk, having filled the basket with excellent, durable toys, left, chuckling in his mustache. Longren did all the housework himself: he chopped wood, carried water, lit the stove, cooked, washed, ironed clothes and, besides all this, managed to work for money. When Assol was eight years old, her father taught her to read and write. He began to occasionally take her with him to the city, and then send her even alone if there was a need to intercept money in a store or carry goods. This did not happen often, although Liss lay only four miles from Kaperna, but the road to it went through the forest, and in the forest there is a lot that can frighten children, in addition to physical danger, which, it is true, is difficult to encounter at such a close distance from the city, but still... it doesn't hurt to keep this in mind. Therefore, only on good days, in the morning, when the thicket surrounding the road is full of sunny showers, flowers and silence, so that Assol’s impressionability was not threatened by phantoms of the imagination, Longren let her go into the city. One day, in the middle of such a journey to the city, the girl sat down by the road to eat a piece of pie that had been placed in a basket for breakfast. While snacking, she sorted through the toys; two or three of them turned out to be new to her: Longren made them at night. One such novelty was a miniature racing yacht; This white boat carried scarlet sails made from scraps of silk, used by Longren for lining steamship cabins - toys for a rich buyer. Here, apparently, having made a yacht, he did not find suitable material for the sails, using what he had - scraps of scarlet silk. Assol was delighted. The fiery, cheerful color burned so brightly in her hand, as if she were holding fire. The road was crossed by a stream with a pole bridge across it; the stream to the right and left went into the forest. “If I put her in the water for a little swim,” Assol thought, “she won’t get wet, I’ll dry her later.” Moving into the forest behind the bridge, following the flow of the stream, the girl carefully launched the ship that had captivated her into the water near the shore; the sails immediately sparkled with a scarlet reflection in the clear water; the light, penetrating the matter, lay as a trembling pink radiation on the white stones of the bottom. - “Where did you come from, captain? - Assol asked the imaginary face importantly and, answering herself, said: “I came... I came... I came from China.” - What did you bring? “I won’t tell you what I brought.” - Oh, you are so, captain! Well, then I’ll put you back in the basket.” The captain was just getting ready to humbly answer that he was joking and that he was ready to show the elephant, when suddenly a quiet retreat of the coastal stream turned the yacht with its bow towards the middle of the stream, and, like a real one, leaving the shore at full speed, it floated smoothly down. The scale of what was visible instantly changed: the stream seemed to the girl like a huge river, and the yacht seemed like a distant, large ship, to which, almost falling into the water, frightened and dumbfounded, she stretched out her hands. “The captain was scared,” she thought and ran after the floating toy, hoping that it would wash ashore somewhere. Hastily dragging the not heavy but annoying basket, Assol repeated: “Oh, Lord! After all, if something happened...” She tried not to lose sight of the beautiful, smoothly running triangle of sails, stumbled, fell and ran again. Assol has never been so deep in the forest as she is now. She, absorbed in the impatient desire to catch the toy, did not look around; Near the shore, where she was fussing, there were quite a few obstacles that occupied her attention. Mossy trunks of fallen trees, holes, tall ferns, rose hips, jasmine and hazel trees interfered with her at every step; overcoming them, she gradually lost strength, stopping more and more often to rest or wipe the sticky cobwebs off her face. When sedge and reed thickets stretched out in wider places, Assol completely lost sight of the scarlet sparkle of the sails, but, running around a bend in the current, she again saw them, sedately and steadily running away. Once she looked around, and the forest mass with its diversity, passing from smoky pillars of light in the foliage to the dark crevices of the dense twilight, deeply struck the girl. Shocked for a moment, she remembered again about the toy and, letting out a deep “f-fu-u-u” several times, ran with all her might. In such an unsuccessful and alarming pursuit, about an hour passed, when with surprise, but also with relief, Assol saw that the trees ahead freely parted, letting in the blue flood of the sea, clouds and the edge of a yellow sandy cliff, onto which she ran out, almost falling from fatigue. Here was the mouth of the stream; Having spread not wide and shallow, so that the flowing blue of the stones could be seen, it disappeared into the oncoming sea wave. From a low cliff, pitted with roots, Assol saw that by the stream, on a large flat stone, with his back to her, a man was sitting, holding a runaway yacht in his hands, and was carefully examining it with the curiosity of an elephant who had caught a butterfly. Partially reassured by the fact that the toy was intact, Assol slid down the cliff and, coming close to the stranger, looked at him with a searching gaze, waiting for him to raise his head. But the unknown man was so immersed in the contemplation of the forest surprise that the girl managed to examine him from head to toe, establishing that she had never seen people like this stranger. But in front of her was none other than Aigle, traveling on foot, a famous collector of songs, legends, tales and fairy tales. Gray curls fell in folds from under his straw hat; a gray blouse tucked into blue trousers and high boots gave him the appearance of a hunter; a white collar, a tie, a belt, studded with silver badges, a cane and a bag with a brand new nickel lock - showed a city dweller. His face, if one can call a face his nose, lips and eyes, looking out from a rapidly growing radiant beard and lush, fiercely raised mustache, would seem sluggishly transparent, if not for his eyes, gray as sand and shining like pure steel, with a bold look and strong. “Now give it to me,” the girl said timidly. - You've already played. How did you catch her? Egle raised his head, dropping the yacht, as Assol’s excited voice suddenly sounded. The old man looked at her for a minute, smiling and slowly letting his beard fall into a large, stringy handful. The cotton dress, washed many times, barely covered the girl’s thin, tanned legs to the knees. Her dark thick hair, pulled back into a lace scarf, tangled, touching her shoulders. Every feature of Assol was expressively light and pure, like the flight of a swallow. Dark eyes, tinged with a sad question, seemed somewhat older than the face; his irregular, soft oval was covered with that kind of lovely tan that is inherent in healthy white skin. The half-opened small mouth sparkled with a gentle smile. “I swear by the Grimms, Aesop and Andersen,” said Egle, looking first at the girl, then at the yacht. - This is something special. Listen up, plant! Is this your thing? - Yes, I ran after her all over the stream; I thought I was going to die. Was she here? - At my very feet. The shipwreck is the reason why I, as a shore pirate, can give you this prize. The yacht, abandoned by the crew, was thrown onto the sand by a three-inch shaft - between my left heel and the tip of the stick. - He tapped his cane. -What's your name, baby? “Assol,” said the girl, hiding the toy given by Egl in the basket. “Okay,” the old man continued his incomprehensible speech, without taking his eyes off, in the depths of which a smile of a friendly disposition gleamed. “Actually, I shouldn’t have asked your name.” It’s good that it’s so strange, so monotonous, musical, like the whistle of an arrow or the noise of a sea shell; What would I do if you were called one of those euphonious, but unbearably familiar names that are alien to the Beautiful Unknown? Moreover, I don’t want to know who you are, who your parents are and how you live. Why break the spell? Sitting on this rock, I was engaged in a comparative study of Finnish and Japanese stories... when suddenly a stream splashed out this yacht, and then you appeared... Just as you are. I, my dear, am a poet at heart, although I have never composed anything myself. What's in your basket? “Boats,” said Assol, shaking her basket, “then a steamer and three more of these houses with flags.” Soldiers live there. - Great. You were sent to sell. On the way, you started playing. You let the yacht sail, but it ran away - right? -Have you seen it? — Assol asked doubtfully, trying to remember if she had told this herself. - Did someone tell you? Or did you guess right?- I knew it. - What about it? - Because I am the most important wizard. Assol was embarrassed; Her tension at these words of Egle crossed the border of fear. The deserted seashore, the silence, the tedious adventure with the yacht, the incomprehensible speech of the old man with sparkling eyes, the majesty of his beard and hair began to seem to the girl as a mixture of the supernatural and reality. Now if Egle made a grimace or screamed something, the girl would rush away, crying and exhausted from fear. But Egle, noticing how wide her eyes opened, made a sharp volte-face. “You have nothing to fear from me,” he said seriously. “On the contrary, I want to talk to you to my heart’s content.” “It was only then that he realized what was so closely marked by his impression in the girl’s face. “An involuntary expectation of a beautiful, blissful fate,” he decided. - Oh, why wasn’t I born a writer? What a glorious story." “Come on,” Egle continued, trying to round out the original position (the penchant for myth-making, a consequence of constant work, was stronger than the fear of planting the seeds of a major dream on unknown soil), “come on, Assol, listen to me carefully.” I was in the village where you must be coming from; in a word, in Kaperna. I love fairy tales and songs, and I sat in that village all day, trying to hear something no one had heard. But you don't tell fairy tales. You don't sing songs. And if they tell and sing, then, you know, these stories about cunning men and soldiers, with the eternal praise of cheating, these dirty, like unwashed feet, rough, like a rumbling stomach, short quatrains with a terrible motive... Stop, I’m lost. I'll speak again. After thinking, he continued like this: “I don’t know how many years will pass, but in Kaperna one fairy tale will bloom, memorable for a long time.” You will be big, Assol. One morning, in the distant sea, a scarlet sail will sparkle under the sun. The shining bulk of the scarlet sails of the white ship will move, cutting through the waves, straight towards you. This wonderful ship will sail quietly, without shouts or shots; a lot of people will gather on the shore, wondering and gasping; and you will stand there. The ship will approach majestically to the very shore to the sounds of beautiful music; elegant, in carpets, in gold and flowers, a fast boat will sail from him. - “Why did you come? Who are you looking for?" - people on the shore will ask. Then you will see a brave handsome prince; he will stand and stretch out his hands to you. - “Hello, Assol! - he will say. “Far, far from here, I saw you in a dream and came to take you to my kingdom forever.” You will live there with me in the deep pink valley. You will have everything you want; We will live with you so friendly and cheerfully that your soul will never know tears and sadness.” He will put you on a boat, bring you to the ship, and you will leave forever to a brilliant country where the sun rises and where the stars will descend from the sky to congratulate you on your arrival. - It's all for me? — the girl asked quietly. Her serious eyes, cheerful, shone with confidence. A dangerous wizard, of course, would not talk like that; she came closer. - Maybe he has already arrived... that ship? “Not so soon,” Egle objected, “first, as I said, you will grow up.” Then... What can I say? - it will be, and it’s over. What would you do then? - I? “She looked into the basket, but apparently did not find anything there worthy of serving as a significant reward. “I would love him,” she said hastily, and added not quite firmly: “if he doesn’t fight.” “No, he won’t fight,” said the wizard, winking mysteriously, “he won’t, I guarantee it.” Go, girl, and don’t forget what I told you between two sips of aromatic vodka and thinking about the songs of convicts. Go. May there be peace to your furry head! Longren was working in his small garden, digging up potato bushes. Raising his head, he saw Assol running headlong towards him with a joyful and impatient face. “Well, here...” she said, trying to control her breathing, and grabbed her father’s apron with both hands. - Listen to what I’ll tell you... On the shore, far away, there’s a wizard sitting... She started with the wizard and his interesting prediction. The fever of her thoughts prevented her from conveying the incident smoothly. Next came a description of the wizard’s appearance and, in reverse order, the pursuit of the lost yacht. Longren listened to the girl without interrupting, without smiling, and when she finished, his imagination quickly depicted an unknown old man with aromatic vodka in one hand and a toy in the other. He turned away, but, remembering that on great occasions in a child’s life it is proper for a person to be serious and surprised, he solemnly nodded his head, saying: - So-so; according to all signs, there is no one else to be but a wizard. I would like to look at him... But when you go again, don’t turn aside; It's not difficult to get lost in the forest. Throwing away the shovel, he sat down by the low brush fence and sat the girl on his lap. Terribly tired, she tried to add some more details, but the heat, excitement and weakness made her sleepy. Her eyes were stuck together, her head fell on her father’s hard shoulder, a moment - and she would have been carried away into the land of dreams, when suddenly, worried by a sudden doubt, Assol sat up straight, with her eyes closed and, resting her fists on Longren’s vest, said loudly: - Do you think the magic ship will come for me or not? “He will come,” the sailor calmly answered, “since they told you this, then everything is correct.” “When he grows up, he’ll forget,” he thought, “but for now... it’s not worth taking such a toy away from you. After all, you will have to see a lot in the future not of scarlet, but of dirty and predatory sails; from a distance - smart and white, up close - torn and arrogant. A passing man joked with my girl. Well?! Good joke! Nothing - just a joke! Look how tired you were - half a day in the forest, in the thicket. And about the scarlet sails, think like me: you will have scarlet sails.” Assol was sleeping. Longren, taking out his pipe with his free hand, lit a cigarette, and the wind carried the smoke through the fence into the bush growing on the outside of the garden. A young beggar sat by a bush, with his back to the fence, chewing a pie. The conversation between father and daughter put him in a cheerful mood, and the smell of good tobacco put him in a prey mood. “Give the poor man a smoke, master,” he said through the bars. “My tobacco versus yours is not tobacco, but, one might say, poison.” “I would give it,” Longren answered in a low voice, “but I have tobacco in that pocket.” You see, I don’t want to wake up my daughter. - What a problem! He wakes up, falls asleep again, and a passerby just smokes. “Well,” Longren objected, “you’re not without tobacco after all, but the child is tired.” Come back later if you want. The beggar spat contemptuously, lifted the bag onto a stick and quipped: - Princess, of course. You drove these overseas ships into her head! Oh, you eccentric, eccentric, and also the owner! “Listen,” Longren whispered, “I’ll probably wake her up, but only to soap up your huge neck.” Go away! Half an hour later the beggar was sitting in a tavern at a table with a dozen fishermen. Behind them, now tugging at their husbands’ sleeves, now lifting a glass of vodka over their shoulders—for themselves, of course—sat tall women with thick eyebrows and hands round like cobblestones. The beggar, seething with resentment, narrated: - And he didn’t give me tobacco. “You,” he says, “will be one year of age, and then,” he says, “a special red ship... Behind you.” Since your destiny is to marry the prince. And that,” he says, “believe the wizard.” But I say: “Wake up, wake up, they say, get some tobacco.” Well, he ran after me halfway. - Who? What? What is he talking about? - curious voices of women were heard. The fishermen, barely turning their heads, explained with a grin: “Longren and his daughter have gone wild, or maybe they’ve lost their minds; Here's a man talking. They had a sorcerer, so you have to understand. They are waiting - aunts, you shouldn’t miss it! - an overseas prince, and even under red sails! Three days later, returning from the city shop, Assol heard for the first time: - Hey, gallows! Assol! Look here! Red sails are sailing! The girl, shuddering, involuntarily looked from under her hand at the flood of the sea. Then she turned towards the exclamations; there, twenty paces from her, stood a group of guys; they grimaced, sticking out their tongues. Sighing, the girl ran home.

We love fairy tales, but we don’t believe in them, giving our thoughts to everyday life.
On this quiet Sunday evening, when there is a chance to raise your eyes from the gray dust of worries and everyday life, I propose to re-read a couple of fragments from Alexander Green’s story “Scarlet Sails”.
Of course, everyone has seen the film, but these lines will help us remember that we, too, can do real miracles.
With my own hands.

Konstantin ZHUKOV

…
Now he acted decisively and calmly, knowing down to the last detail everything that lay ahead on the wonderful path. Every movement - thought, action - warmed him with the subtle pleasure of artistic work. His plan came together instantly and clearly. His concepts of life have undergone that last attack of the chisel, after which the marble is calm in its beautiful radiance.
Gray visited three shops, attaching particular importance to the accuracy of the choice, since in his mind he already saw the desired color and shade. In the first two shops he was shown silks of market colors, intended to satisfy simple vanity; in the third he found examples of complex effects. The owner of the shop happily fussed about, laying out stale materials, but Gray was as serious as an anatomist. He patiently sorted the packages, put them aside, moved them, unfolded them, and looked at the light with so many scarlet stripes that the counter, littered with them, seemed to burst into flames. A purple wave lay on the toe of Gray's boot; there was a pink glow on his hands and face. Rummaging through the light resistance of silk, he distinguished colors: red, pale pink and dark pink, thick boils of cherry, orange and dark red tones; here were shades of all powers and meanings, different - in their imaginary kinship, like the words: “charming” - “beautiful” - “magnificent” - “perfect”; hints were hidden in the folds, inaccessible to the language of vision, but the true scarlet color did not appear to the eyes of our captain for a long time; what the shopkeeper brought was good, but did not evoke a clear and firm “yes.” Finally, one color caught the buyer's disarmed attention; he sat down in a chair by the window, pulled out a long end from the noisy silk, threw it on his knees and, lounging, with a pipe in his teeth, became contemplatively motionless.
This absolutely pure color, like a scarlet morning stream, full of noble joy and royalty, was exactly the proud color that Gray was looking for. There were no mixed shades of fire, no poppy petals, no play of violet or lilac hints; there was also no blue, no shadow - nothing that gives rise to doubt. He blushed like a smile, with the charm of spiritual reflection. Gray was so lost in thought that he forgot about his owner, who was waiting behind him with the tension of a hunting dog who had made a stance. Tired of waiting, the merchant reminded himself of himself with the sound of a torn piece of cloth.
“Enough samples,” Gray said, standing up, “I’ll take this silk.”
- The whole piece? - the merchant asked respectfully doubting. But Gray silently looked at his forehead, which made the owner of the shop become a little more cheeky. - In that case, how many meters?
Gray nodded, inviting him to wait, and calculated the required amount with a pencil on paper.
- Two thousand meters. - He looked around the shelves doubtfully. - Yes, no more than two thousand meters.
- Two? - said the owner, jumping up convulsively, like a spring. - Thousands? Meters? Please sit down, captain. Would you like to take a look, captain, at samples of new materials? As you wish. Here are the matches, here is the wonderful tobacco; I ask you to. Two thousand... two thousand. - He said a price that had the same relation to the real one as an oath to a simple “yes,” but Gray was satisfied, since he did not want to bargain on anything. “Amazing, the best silk,” continued the shopkeeper, “a product beyond comparison, only you will find one like this from me.”
When he was finally overcome with delight, Gray agreed with him about the delivery, taking the costs into his own account, paid the bill and left, escorted by the owner with the honors of a Chinese king.

In the evening the silk arrived; five sailing ships hired by Gray accommodated sailors; Letika had not yet returned and the musicians had not arrived; While waiting for them, Gray went to talk with Panten.
It should be noted that Gray sailed with the same team for several years. At first, the captain surprised the sailors with the vagaries of unexpected flights, stops - sometimes for months - in the most non-commercial and deserted places, but gradually they became imbued with Gray's "grayism". He often sailed with only ballast, refusing to take advantageous freight just because he did not like the cargo offered. No one could persuade him to carry soap, nails, machine parts and other things that are gloomily silent in the holds, evoking lifeless ideas of boring necessity. But he willingly loaded fruits, porcelain, animals, spices, tea, tobacco, coffee, silk, valuable tree species: black, sandalwood, palm. All this corresponded to the aristocracy of his imagination, creating a picturesque atmosphere; It is not surprising that the crew of the Secret, thus brought up in the spirit of originality, looked somewhat down on all other ships, shrouded in the smoke of flat profit. Still, this time Gray met questions in the faces; The stupidest sailor knew perfectly well that there was no need to make repairs in the forest riverbed.

It was a white morning hour; There was a thin vapor in the huge forest, full of strange visions. An unknown hunter, who had just left his fire, was moving along the river; the gap of its airy voids shone through the trees, but the diligent hunter did not approach them, examining the fresh trail of a bear heading towards the mountains.
The sudden sound rushed through the trees with the surprise of an alarming pursuit; it was the clarinet that sang. The musician, coming out on deck, played a fragment of a melody, full of sad, drawn-out repetition. The sound trembled like a voice hiding grief; intensified, smiled with a sad overflow and broke off. A distant echo dimly hummed the same melody.
The hunter, marking the trail with a broken branch, made his way to the water. The fog has not yet cleared; in it the outlines of a huge ship faded, slowly turning towards the mouth of the river. Its furled sails came to life, hanging in festoons, straightening out and covering the masts with helpless shields of huge folds; Voices and footsteps were heard. The coastal wind, trying to blow, lazily fiddled with the sails; Finally, the warmth of the sun produced the desired effect; the air pressure intensified, dissipated the fog and poured out along the yards into light scarlet forms full of roses. Pink shadows slid across the whiteness of the masts and rigging, everything was white except the outstretched, smoothly moving sails, the color of deep joy.
The hunter, looking from the shore, rubbed his eyes for a long time until he was convinced that he saw exactly this way and not otherwise. The ship disappeared around the bend, and he still stood and watched; then, silently shrugging his shoulders, he went to his bear.
While the "Secret" was moving along the riverbed, Gray stood at the helm, not trusting the sailor to take the helm - he was afraid of the shallows. Panten sat next to him, in a new cloth pair, in a new shiny cap, shaved and humbly pouting. He still did not feel any connection between the scarlet decoration and Gray's direct goal.
“Now,” said Gray, “when my sails are red, the wind is good, and my heart is more happy than an elephant at the sight of a small bun, I will try to tune you with my thoughts, as I promised in Lisse.” Please note - I do not think you are stupid or stubborn, no; you are an exemplary sailor, and that is worth a lot. But you, like the majority, listen to the voices of all the simple truths through the thick glass of life; they scream, but you won't hear. I do what exists as an ancient idea of the beautiful and unrealizable, and which, in essence, is as feasible and possible as a country walk. Soon you will see a girl who cannot and should not get married otherwise than in the way that I am developing before your eyes.
He concisely conveyed to the sailor what we know well, ending the explanation like this: “You see how closely fate, will and character traits are intertwined here; I come to the one who is waiting and can wait only for me, but I don’t want anyone else but her, maybe precisely because thanks to her I understood one simple truth. It is about doing so-called miracles with your own hands. When the main thing for a person is to receive the dearest nickel, it is easy to give this nickel, but when the soul conceals the seed of a fiery plant - a miracle, give him this miracle if you are able. He will have a new soul and you will have a new one. When the head of the prison himself releases the prisoner, when the billionaire gives the scribe a villa, an operetta singer and a safe, and the jockey at least once holds his horse for another horse who is unlucky, then everyone will understand how pleasant it is, how inexpressibly wonderful. But there are no less miracles: a smile, fun, forgiveness, and the right word spoken at the right time. To own this is to own everything. As for me, our beginning - mine and Assol's - will remain for us forever in the scarlet glow of the sails created by the depths of the heart, which knows what love is. Do you understand me?
- Yes captain. - Panten grunted, wiping his mustache with a neatly folded clean handkerchief. - I got it. You touched me. I’ll go downstairs and ask for forgiveness from Nix, whom I scolded yesterday for the sunken bucket. And I’ll give him tobacco - he lost his at cards.
Before Gray, somewhat surprised by such a quick practical result of his words, had time to say anything, Panten had already thundered down the ramp and sighed somewhere distantly. Gray turned around, looking up; the scarlet sails silently tore above him; the sun at their seams shone with purple smoke. The "Secret" was heading out to sea, moving away from the shore. There was no doubt about Gray's sonorous soul - no dull sounds of alarm, no noise of petty worries; calmly, like a sail, he rushed towards an amazing goal; full of those thoughts that are ahead of words.
By noon, the smoke of a military cruiser appeared on the horizon, the cruiser changed course and from a distance of half a mile raised a signal - “to drift!”
“Brothers,” Gray said to the sailors, “they won’t fire at us, don’t be afraid; they simply don't believe their eyes.
He ordered to drift. Panten, screaming as if on fire, brought the Secret out of the wind; the ship stopped, while a steam boat with a crew and a lieutenant in white gloves rushed away from the cruiser; The lieutenant, stepping onto the deck of the ship, looked around in amazement and went with Gray to the cabin, from where an hour later he went, strangely waving his hand and smiling, as if he had received a rank, back to the blue cruiser. Apparently, this time Gray had more success than with the simple-minded Panten, since the cruiser, after hesitating, hit the horizon with a mighty volley of fireworks, the rapid smoke of which, piercing the air with huge sparkling balls, dissipated in shreds over the calm water. All day long a certain semi-festive stupor reigned on the cruiser; the mood was unofficial, downcast - under the sign of love, which was talked about everywhere - from the salon to the engine hold, and the sentry of the mine compartment asked a passing sailor:
- "Tom, how did you get married?" “I caught her by the skirt when she wanted to jump out of the window from me,” said Tom and proudly twirled his mustache.
For some time the "Secret" sailed on an empty sea, without shores; By noon the distant shore opened up. Taking the telescope, Gray stared at Caperna. If not for the row of roofs, he would have seen Assol in the window of one house, sitting behind a book. She read; A greenish bug crawled along the page, stopping and rising on its front legs with an independent and domestic look. Twice already he had been blown onto the windowsill without annoyance, from where he appeared again trustingly and freely, as if he wanted to say something. This time he managed to get almost to the girl’s hand holding the corner of the page; here he got stuck on the word “look”, stopped doubtfully, expecting a new squall, and, indeed, barely avoided trouble, since Assol had already exclaimed: “Again, the bug... fool!..” - and wanted to decisively blow the guest away grass, but suddenly a random transition of her gaze from one roof to another revealed to her a white ship with scarlet sails on the blue sea gap of the street space.
She shuddered, leaned back, froze; then she jumped up sharply with her heart sagging dizzily, bursting into uncontrollable tears of inspired shock. The "Secret" at this time was rounding a small cape, keeping to the shore at the angle of the port side; soft music flowed into the blue day from the white deck under the fire of scarlet silk; music of rhythmic overflows, conveyed not entirely successfully by the words known to everyone: “Pour, pour glasses - and let’s drink, friends, to love”... - In its simplicity, exultingly, excitement unfolded and rumbled.
Not remembering how she left the house, Assol fled to the sea, caught by the irresistible wind of the event; at the first corner she stopped almost exhausted; her legs were giving way, her breathing was faltering and extinguished, her consciousness was hanging on by a thread. Beside herself with fear of losing her will, she stamped her foot and recovered. At times the roof or the fence hid the scarlet sails from her; then, fearing that they had disappeared like a simple ghost, she hurried to pass the painful obstacle and, seeing the ship again, stopped to breathe a sigh of relief.
Meanwhile, such confusion, such excitement, such general unrest occurred in Caperna, which would not yield to the affect of the famous earthquakes. Never before had a large ship approached this shore; the ship had those same sails whose name sounded like a mockery; now they glowed clearly and irrefutably with the innocence of a fact that refutes all the laws of existence and common sense. Men, women, children rushed to the shore in a hurry, who was wearing what; the inhabitants called to each other from courtyard to courtyard, jumped on each other, screamed and fell; Soon a crowd formed by the water, and Assol quickly ran into this crowd. While she was away, her name flew among people with nervous and gloomy anxiety, with angry fear. The men did most of the talking; The stunned women sobbed in a strangled, snake-like hiss, but if one began to crack, the poison got into the head. As soon as Assol appeared, everyone fell silent, everyone moved away from her in fear, and she was left alone in the middle of the emptiness of the sultry sand, confused, ashamed, happy, with a face no less scarlet than her miracle, helplessly stretching out her hands to the tall ship.
A boat full of tanned oarsmen separated from him; among them stood someone whom, as it seemed to her now, she knew, vaguely remembered from childhood. He looked at her with a smile that warmed and hurried her. But thousands of last funny fears overcame Assol; mortally afraid of everything - mistakes, misunderstandings, mysterious and harmful interference - she ran waist-deep into the warm swaying waves, shouting: “I’m here, I’m here!” It's me!
Then Zimmer waved his bow - and the same melody rang through the nerves of the crowd, but this time in a full, triumphant chorus. From the excitement, the movement of clouds and waves, the shine of the water and the distance, the girl could almost no longer distinguish what was moving: she, the ship or the boat - everything was moving, spinning and falling.
But the oar splashed sharply near her; she raised her head. Gray bent down and her hands grabbed his belt. Assol closed her eyes; then, quickly opening her eyes, she boldly smiled at his shining face and, out of breath, said: “Absolutely like that.”
- And you too, my child! - Gray said, taking the wet jewel out of the water. - Here I come. Do you recognize me?
She nodded, holding onto his belt, with a new soul and tremulously closed eyes. Happiness sat inside her like a fluffy kitten. When Assol decided to open her eyes, the rocking of the boat, the shine of the waves, the approaching, powerfully tossing board of the Secret - everything was a dream, where the light and water swayed, swirling, like the play of sunbeams on a wall streaming with rays. Not remembering how, she climbed the ladder in Gray's strong arms. The deck, covered and hung with carpets, in the scarlet splashes of the sails, was like a heavenly garden. And soon Assol saw that she was standing in the cabin - in a room that could not be better.
Then from above, shaking and burying the heart in its triumphant cry, huge music rushed again. Again Assol closed her eyes, afraid that all this would disappear if she looked. Gray took her hands and, knowing now where it was safe to go, she hid her face, wet with tears, on the chest of her friend, who had come so magically. Carefully, but with laughter, himself shocked and surprised that an inexpressible, inaccessible precious minute had come, Gray lifted up by the chin this long-dreamed-of face, and the girl’s eyes finally opened clearly. They had all the best of a person.
- Will you take my Longren to us? - she said.
- Yes. - And he kissed her so hard following his iron “yes” that she laughed.
Now we will walk away from them, knowing that they need to be together alone. There are many words in the world in different languages and different dialects, but with all of them, even remotely, you cannot convey what they said to each other that day.
Meanwhile, on the deck near the mainmast, near a worm-eaten barrel with a broken bottom, revealing a hundred-year-old dark grace, the entire crew was waiting. Atwood stood; Panten sat decorously, beaming like a newborn. Gray rose up, gave a sign to the orchestra and, taking off his cap, was the first to scoop up holy wine with a cut glass, in the song of golden trumpets.
“Well, here...” he said, finishing drinking, then threw the glass. - Now drink, drink everyone; He who does not drink is my enemy.
He didn't have to repeat those words. While the "Secret" was moving away from Caperna, who had been horrified forever, at full speed, under full sail, the crush around the barrel surpassed everything that happens on great holidays.

When it began to get light the next day, the ship was far from Kaperna. Part of the crew fell asleep and remained lying on the deck, overcome by Gray’s wine; Only the helmsman and the watchman remained on their feet, and the pensive and intoxicated Zimmer, who sat in the stern with the neck of his cello under his chin. He sat, quietly moved his bow, making the strings speak in a magical, unearthly voice, and thought about happiness...

My english and Turkish friends are always asking me: why Russians became so inspired and dreamy looking on each yacht or gulet with red sails.
The answer is inside a story.
I"m proudly recommend this evergreen novel by Russian writer Alexander Grin about a little girl named Assol, who meets a wizard one day. The wizard tells her that a ship with red sails will arrive -- sometime in the future - to take her away to a new, happy life with a dashing young prince. She holds onto this prediction in spite of taunts and the ridicule of her neighbors. Meanwhile, the son of a local nobleman grows up to become a sea captain and falls in love with Assol. Sure enough, he decides the only way to win her heart is to unfurl red sails and head into port.

After reading you will have an opportunity to become more close to understanding of Russian soul.
Konstantin Zhukov

Short interesting excerpts from the work Scarlet Sails. Scarlet Sails

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