As green scarlet sails. Alexander green - scarlet sails

Alexander Green's fairy tale "Scarlet Sails" is heard by many. Several film adaptations have been made based on it and many plays have been staged. This romantic story conquers the hearts of all sensitive people and is not forgotten until the end of life. She gives hope for the best. The writer tells touching story, through which he tries to say that miracles happen if you believe in them with all your heart. He says that a person himself is capable of creating a miracle. Despite the fact that the story was written in difficult times of hunger, illness and death, it is imbued with the warmth and love that was in the writer’s soul. And any reader will agree with this.

Assol was always considered a slightly strange girl, too thoughtful, unsociable, dreamy. She grew up without a mother, and her father was a retired sailor who tried to give her everything he could. However, in the fishing town they did not really like him, which also affected the attitude towards Assol. Once upon a time, the girl’s father did not help his neighbor in trouble and allowed him to die. Few people knew the truth why this happened, and all the residents of the town disliked Longren.

Since childhood, Assol believed in fairy tales and miracles. One day, an old man whom she accidentally met in the forest predicted to her that a ship with scarlet sails would come for her and take her to a better life. And Assol does not doubt this for a minute, although everyone around her mocks her dream. And far, far away lives a young guy, Arthur Gray, who also believes in miracles. And he decides to leave his rich family and go on a journey by sea to one day become a captain...

The work belongs to the genre Prose, Adventure. It was published in 1923 by Bustard Plus. The book is part of the series "List of school literature for grades 5-6". On our website you can download the book "Scarlet Sails" in epub, fb2, pdf, txt format or read online. The book's rating is 4.1 out of 5. Here, before reading, you can also turn to reviews from readers who are already familiar with the book and find out their opinion. In our partner's online store you can buy and read the book in paper form.

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 the 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 Lis before 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, everything that 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 hurriedly drank a glass of vodka at the counter and left, briefly throwing around “yes”, “no”, “hello”, “goodbye”, “little by little” - at everything addresses and nods from 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, Hin, 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 called. - 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 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 with gestures or fussiness gloating, 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 acted - he acted impressively, incomprehensibly, and thereby placed himself above others, in a word, he something that is not 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 or three dozen children 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, re-inherent, like all children in the world, once and for all erased 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 at rapprochement ended in bitter crying, bruises, scratches and other manifestations of 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, the 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, the appearance of the clerk of the 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, what kind of strength, what kind of draft, what 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 Lyse 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; the white boat raised scarlet sails made from scraps of silk, used by Longren for lining steamship cabins - toys for a wealthy buyer. Here, apparently, having made a yacht, he did not find a suitable material for the sail, 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 take her down to the water to swim a little,” 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, piercing the matter, lay as a trembling pink radiation on the white rocks of the bottom. - “Where did you come from, captain? - Assol asked the imaginary face importantly and, answering herself, said: “I came” 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 the 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-f-f-u-uu” several times, ran as fast as she could.
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 his nose, lips and eyes, looking out from a rapidly growing radiant beard and lush, fiercely raised mustache, a face, would seem sluggishly transparent, if not for his eyes, gray as sand and shining like pure steel, with a look brave 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 and 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 noise 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 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 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: “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. In the future, you will have to see a lot of not scarlet, but dirty and predatory sails: from a distance - elegant 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 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.”
“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 explained: “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 so I can 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 arched eyebrows and hands round like cobblestones. The beggar, seething with resentment, said: “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.

II. Gray

If Caesar found it better to be first in the country than second in Rome, then Arthur Gray might not envy Caesar his wise desire. He was born a captain, wanted to be one and became one.
The huge house in which Gray was born was gloomy on the inside and majestic on the outside. A flower garden and part of the park adjoined the front façade. The best varieties of tulips - silver-blue, purple and black with a pink shadow - wriggled in the lawn in lines of whimsically thrown necklaces. The old trees of the park dozed in the diffuse half-light above the sedge of the winding stream. The castle fence, since it was a real castle, consisted of twisted cast iron pillars connected by an iron pattern. Each pillar ended at the top with a lush cast-iron lily; These bowls were filled with oil on special days, blazing in the darkness of the night in a vast fiery formation.
Gray's father and mother were arrogant slaves of their position, wealth and the laws of that society, in relation to which they could say “we”. The part of their soul occupied by the gallery of their ancestors is little worthy of depiction, the other part - the imaginary continuation of the gallery - began with little Gray, doomed, according to a well-known, pre-drawn up plan, to live his life and die so that his portrait could be hung on the wall without damaging family honor. In this regard, a small mistake was made: Arthur Gray was born with a living soul who was not at all inclined to continue the family line.
This liveliness, this complete perversity of the boy began to affect him in the eighth year of his life; the type of knight of bizarre impressions, a seeker and a miracle worker, that is, a person who took from the countless variety of roles in life the most dangerous and touching - the role of providence, was outlined in Gray even when, putting a chair against the wall in order to get a painting depicting the crucifixion, he took the nails out of Christ’s bloody hands, that is, he simply covered them with blue paint stolen from the painter. In this form he found the picture more bearable. Carried away by his peculiar occupation, he began to cover the feet of the crucified man, but was caught by his father. The old man pulled the boy from the chair by the ears and asked: “Why did you ruin the picture?”
- I didn't spoil it.
— This is the work of a famous artist.
“I don’t care,” Gray said. “I can’t allow nails sticking out of my hands and blood flowing.” I do not want it.
In his son's answer, Lionel Gray, hiding a smile under his mustache, recognized himself and did not impose punishment.
Gray tirelessly studied the castle, making amazing discoveries. So, in the attic he found steel knightly trash, books bound in iron and leather, decayed clothes and hordes of pigeons. In the cellar where the wine was stored, he received interesting information regarding Lafite, Madeira, sherry. Here, in the dim light of pointed windows, pressed down by slanting triangles of stone vaults, stood small and large barrels; the largest, in the shape of a flat circle, occupied the entire transverse wall of the cellar; the hundred-year-old dark oak of the barrel was shiny as if polished. Among the barrels stood potbellied bottles of green and blue glass in wicker baskets. Gray mushrooms with thin stalks grew on the stones and on the earthen floor: mold, moss, dampness, a sour, suffocating smell were everywhere. A huge cobweb glowed golden in the far corner when, in the evening, the sun looked out for it with its last ray. In one place were buried two barrels of the best Alicante that existed in Cromwell's time, and the cellarer, pointing to an empty corner to Gray, did not miss the opportunity to repeat the story of the famous grave in which lay a dead man more alive than a pack of fox terriers. Starting the story, the narrator did not forget to try whether the tap of the large barrel was working, and walked away from it, apparently with a lighter heart, since involuntary tears of too strong joy sparkled in his cheerful eyes.
“Well,” Poldishok said to Gray, sitting down on an empty box and stuffing his sharp nose with tobacco, “do you see this place?” There lies such wine for which more than one drunkard would agree to cut out his tongue if he were allowed to grab a small glass. Each barrel contains one hundred liters of a substance that explodes the soul and turns the body into motionless dough. Its color is darker than cherry and it will not ooze out of the bottle. It's thick, like good cream. It is enclosed in ebony barrels, strong as iron. They have double hoops of red copper. On the hoops there is a Latin inscription: “Gray will drink me when he is in heaven.” This inscription was interpreted so extensively and contradictorily that your great-grandfather, the high-born Simeon Gray, built a dacha, called it “Paradise”, and thought in this way to reconcile the mysterious saying with reality through innocent wit. But what do you think? He died as soon as the hoops began to be knocked down, from a broken heart, so worried was the dainty old man. Since then this barrel has not been touched. There was a belief that precious wine would bring bad luck. In fact, the Egyptian Sphinx did not ask such a riddle. True, he asked one sage: “Shall I eat you, as I eat everyone else? Tell the truth, you will stay alive,” but even then, after mature reflection...
“It seems like the tap is dripping again,” Poldishok interrupted himself, rushing indirectly to the corner, where, having secured the tap, he returned with an open, bright face. - Yes. Having reasoned well, and most importantly, without haste, the sage could have said to the sphinx: “Come on, brother, let’s have a drink, and you will forget about these nonsense.” “Gray will drink me when he’s in heaven!” How to understand? Will he drink when he dies, or what? Strange. Therefore, he is a saint, therefore, he drinks neither wine nor plain vodka. Let's say that "heaven" means happiness. But since the question is posed this way, all happiness will lose half of its shiny feathers when the lucky one sincerely asks himself: is it heaven? That's the thing. To drink from such a barrel with a light heart and laugh, my boy, laugh well, you need to have one foot on the ground and the other in heaven. There is also a third assumption: that someday Gray will drink himself to a blissfully heavenly state and boldly empty the barrel. But this, boy, would not be the fulfillment of a prediction, but a tavern brawl.
Having once again made sure that the tap of the large barrel was in good condition, Poldishok finished with concentration and gloom: “These barrels were brought in 1793 by your ancestor, John Gray, from Lisbon, on the ship Beagle; Two thousand gold piastres were paid for the wine. The inscription on the barrels was made by gunsmith Veniamin Elyan from Pondicherry. The barrels are sunk six feet into the ground and filled with ash from the grape stems. No one has drunk this wine, tried it or will try it.
“I’ll drink it,” Gray said one day, stamping his foot.
- What a brave young man! - Poldishok noted. -Will you drink it in heaven?
- Certainly. This is paradise!.. I have it, see? — Gray laughed quietly, opening his small hand. The gentle but firm outline of his palm was illuminated by the sun, and the boy clenched his fingers into a fist. - Here he is!.. Then here, then again not...
As he spoke, he first opened and then closed his hand, and finally, satisfied with his joke, he ran out, ahead of Poldishok, along the gloomy stairs into the corridor of the lower floor.
Gray was strictly forbidden to visit the kitchen, but having already discovered this amazing world of steam, soot, hissing, bubbling boiling liquids, the knocking of knives and delicious smells, the boy diligently visited the huge room. In stern silence, like priests, the cooks moved; their white caps against the background of blackened walls gave the work the character of a solemn service; cheerful, fat scullery maids washed dishes by barrels of water, clinking porcelain and silver; the boys, bending under the weight, brought in baskets full of fish, oysters, crayfish and fruit. There on a long table lay rainbow pheasants, gray ducks, motley chickens: there was a pork carcass with a short tail and baby-closed eyes; there are turnips, cabbage, nuts, blue raisins, tanned peaches.
In the kitchen, Gray was a little timid: it seemed to him that everyone was being moved here. dark forces, whose power is the main spring of the life of the castle; the shouts sounded like a command and a spell; The movements of the workers, thanks to long practice, acquired that distinct, spare precision that seems to be inspiration. Gray was not yet tall enough to look into the largest saucepan, seething like Vesuvius, but he felt a special reverence for it; he watched in awe as two maids tossed her around; Smoky foam then splashed onto the stove, and steam, rising from the noisy stove, filled the kitchen in waves. Once, so much liquid splashed out that it scalded one girl’s hand. The skin instantly turned red, even the nails became red from the rush of blood, and Betsy (that was the name of the maid), crying, rubbed oil on the affected areas. Tears rolled uncontrollably down her round, confused face.
Gray froze. While other women fussed around Betsy, he experienced a feeling of acute other people's suffering, which he could not experience himself.
- Are you in a lot of pain? - he asked.
“Try it and you’ll find out,” answered Betsy, covering her hand with her apron.
Frowning his eyebrows, the boy climbed onto a stool, scooped up a long spoon of hot liquid (by the way, it was lamb soup) and splashed it onto the crook of his wrist. The impression was not weak, but weakness from severe pain made him stagger. Pale as flour, Gray approached Betsy, putting his burning hand in his panties pocket.
“It seems to me that you are in a lot of pain,” he said, keeping silent about his experience. - Let's go, Betsy, to the doctor. Let's go!
He diligently pulled her skirt, while supporters of home remedies vied with each other to give the maid life-saving recipes. But the girl, in great pain, went with Gray. The doctor eased the pain by applying a bandage. Only after Betsy had left did the boy show his hand. This minor episode made twenty-year-old Betsy and ten-year-old Gray true friends. She filled his pockets with pies and apples, and he told her fairy tales and other stories he had read in his books. One day he found out that Betsy could not marry the groom Jim, because they did not have the money to start a household. Gray smashed his porcelain piggy bank with fireplace tongs and shook out everything, which amounted to about a hundred pounds. Getting up early. when the dowry went into the kitchen, he snuck into her room and, putting the gift in the girl’s chest, covered it with a short note: “Betsy, this is yours. The leader of a band of robbers, Robin Hood." The commotion caused in the kitchen by this story assumed such proportions that Gray had to confess to the forgery. He didn't take the money back and didn't want to talk about it anymore.
His mother was one of those natures that life casts in a ready-made form. She lived in a half-sleep of security, providing for every desire of an ordinary soul, so she had no choice but to consult with the dressmakers, the doctor and the butler. But a passionate, almost religious attachment to her strange child was, presumably, the only valve of those inclinations of hers, chloroformed by upbringing and fate, which no longer live, but wander vaguely, leaving the will inactive. The noble lady resembled a peahen that hatched a swan's egg. She was painfully aware of her son's wonderful isolation; sadness, love and embarrassment filled her as she pressed the boy to her chest, where the heart spoke differently than the language, which habitually reflected the conventional forms of relationships and thoughts. Thus, a cloudy effect, intricately constructed by the sun's rays, penetrates the symmetrical setting of a government building, depriving it of its banal virtues; the eye sees and does not recognize the room: mysterious shades of light among the squalor create a dazzling harmony.
A noble lady, whose face and figure seemed to be able to respond only with icy silence to the fiery voices of life, whose subtle beauty rather repelled than attracted, since in her one felt an arrogant effort of will, devoid of feminine attraction - this Lillian Gray, left alone with the boy , became a simple mother, speaking in a loving, meek tone those very heartfelt trifles that cannot be conveyed on paper - their strength is in the feeling, not in them themselves. She absolutely could not refuse her son anything. She forgave him everything: staying in the kitchen, aversion to lessons, disobedience and numerous quirks.
If he did not want the trees to be trimmed, the trees would remain untouched; if he asked to forgive or reward someone, the person concerned knew that this would be the case; he could ride any horse, take any dog ​​into the castle; rummage through the library, run around barefoot and eat whatever he wants.
His father struggled with this for some time, but gave in—not to principle, but to his wife’s wishes. He limited himself to removing all the children of employees from the castle, fearing that, thanks to low society, the boy’s whims would turn into inclinations that were difficult to eradicate. In general, he was absorbed in countless family processes, the beginning of which was lost in the era of the emergence of paper mills, and the end - in the death of all the scoundrels. In addition, state affairs, estate affairs, dictation of memoirs, ceremonial hunting trips, reading newspapers and complex correspondence kept him at some internal distance from his family; He saw his son so rarely that he sometimes forgot how old he was.
Thus, Gray lived in his own world. He played alone - usually in the backyards of the castle, which in the old days had military significance. These vast wastelands, with the remains of high ditches, with stone cellars overgrown with moss, were full of weeds, nettles, burrs, thorns and modestly variegated wild flowers. Gray stayed here for hours, exploring mole holes, fighting weeds, stalking butterflies, and building forts out of scrap bricks, which he bombarded with sticks and cobblestones.
He was already in his twelfth year when all the hints of his soul, all the scattered features of the spirit and shades of secret impulses united in one strong moment and thus received a harmonious expression and became an indomitable desire. Before this, he seemed to have found only separate parts of his garden - an opening, a shadow, a flower, a dense and lush trunk - in many other gardens, and suddenly he saw them clearly, all in beautiful, amazing correspondence.
It happened in the library. Its tall door with cloudy glass at the top was usually locked, but the latch of the lock held loosely in the socket of the doors; pressed by hand, the door moved away, strained and opened. When the spirit of exploration forced Gray to enter the library, he was struck by a dusty light, all the strength and peculiarity of which lay in the colored pattern of the upper part of the window panes. The silence of abandonment stood here like pond water. Dark rows of bookcases in places adjoined the windows, half blocking them; between the cabinets there were passages littered with piles of books. There is an open album with the inner pages slipping out, there are scrolls tied with gold cord; stacks of gloomy-looking books; thick layers of manuscripts, a mound of miniature volumes that cracked like bark when opened; here are drawings and tables, rows of new publications, maps; a variety of bindings, rough, delicate, black, variegated, blue, gray, thick, thin, rough and smooth. The cupboards were densely packed with books. They seemed like walls that contained life in their very thickness. In the reflections of the cabinet glass, other cabinets were visible, covered with colorless shiny spots. A huge globe, enclosed in a copper spherical cross of the equator and meridian, stood on a round table.
Turning to the exit, Gray saw a huge picture above the door, its content immediately filling the stuffy numbness of the library. The painting depicted a ship rising onto the crest of a sea wall. Streams of foam flowed down its slope. He was depicted in the final moments of take-off. The ship was heading straight towards the viewer. The high bowsprit obscured the base of the masts. The crest of the shaft, spread out by the ship's keel, resembled the wings of a giant bird. Foam rushed into the air. The sails, dimly visible from behind the backboard and above the bowsprit, full of the frantic force of the storm, fell back in their entirety, so that, having crossed the shaft, straightened out, and then, bending over the abyss, rushed the ship towards new avalanches. Torn clouds fluttered low over the ocean. Low light Doomedly struggled with the approaching darkness of the night. But the most remarkable thing in this picture was the figure of a man standing on the forecastle with his back to the viewer. She expressed the whole situation, even the character of the moment. The man’s pose (he spread his legs, waving his arms) did not actually say anything about what he was doing, but made us assume extreme intensity of attention, directed towards something on the deck, invisible to the viewer. The folded skirts of his caftan fluttered in the wind; a white braid and a black sword were stretched out into the air; the richness of the costume showed him as a captain, the dancing position of his body - the swing of the shaft; without a hat, he was apparently absorbed in the dangerous moment and shouted - but what? Did he see a man falling overboard, did he order to turn on another tack, or, drowning out the wind, did he call for the boatswain? Not thoughts, but the shadows of these thoughts grew in Gray's soul while he looked at the picture. Suddenly it seemed to him that an unknown and invisible person approached from the left and stood next to him; as soon as you turned your head, the bizarre sensation would disappear without a trace. Gray knew this. But he did not extinguish his imagination, but listened. A silent voice shouted several abrupt phrases, as incomprehensible as the Malay language; there was the sound of what seemed like long landslides; echoes and a gloomy wind filled the library. Gray heard all this inside himself. He looked around: the instant silence that arose dispelled the sonorous web of fantasy; the connection with the storm disappeared.
Gray came to see this picture several times. She became for him that necessary word in the conversation between the soul and life, without which it is difficult to understand oneself. A huge sea gradually settled inside the little boy. He got used to it, rummaging through the library, looking for and eagerly reading those books whose golden doors revealed the blue glow of the ocean. There, sowing foam behind the stern, the ships moved. Some of them lost their sails and masts and, choking on the waves, sank into the darkness of the abyss, where the phosphorescent eyes of fish flickered. Others, caught by the breakers, crashed against the reefs; the subsiding excitement shook the hull menacingly; the depopulated ship with torn rigging experienced a long agony until a new storm blew it to pieces. Still others loaded safely at one port and unloaded at another; the crew, sitting at the tavern table, sang of sailing and lovingly drank vodka. There were also pirate ships, with a black flag and a scary, knife-waving crew; ghost ships shining with the deathly light of blue illumination; warships with soldiers, guns and music; ships of scientific expeditions looking out for volcanoes, plants and animals; ships with dark secrets and riots; ships of discovery and ships of adventure.
In this world, naturally, the figure of the captain towered above everything. He was the destiny, the soul and the mind of the ship. His character determined the leisure time and work of the team. The team itself was selected by him personally and largely corresponded to his inclinations. He knew the habits and family affairs of each person. In the eyes of his subordinates, he possessed magical knowledge, thanks to which he confidently walked, say, from Lisbon to Shanghai, across vast spaces. He repelled the storm with the counteraction of a system of complex efforts, killing panic with short orders; swam and stopped wherever he wanted; ordered the departure and loading, repairs and rest; it was difficult to imagine greater and more intelligent power in a living matter full of continuous movement. This power in isolation and completeness was equal to the power of Orpheus.
Such an idea of ​​the captain, such an image and such the true reality of his position occupied, by right of spiritual events, the main place in Gray’s brilliant consciousness. No profession other than this could so successfully fuse into one whole all the treasures of life, preserving intact the subtlest pattern of each individual happiness. Danger, risk, the power of nature, the light of a distant country, the wonderful unknown, flickering love, blooming with rendezvous and separation; a fascinating flurry of meetings, people, events; the immeasurable variety of life, while how high in the sky the Southern Cross, the Ursa Bear, and all the continents are in the watchful eyes, although your cabin is full of the never-leaving homeland with its books, paintings, letters and dried flowers, entwined with a silky curl in a suede amulet on a hard breasts In the autumn, in the fifteenth year of his life, Arthur Gray secretly left home and entered the golden gates of the sea. Soon the schooner Anselm left the port of Dubelt for Marseille, taking away a cabin boy with small hands and the appearance of a girl in disguise. This cabin boy was Gray, the owner of an elegant suitcase, thin, glove-like patent leather boots and cambric linen with woven crowns.
During the year, while Anselm visited France, America and Spain, Gray squandered part of his property on cake, paying tribute to the past, and lost the rest - for the present and future - at cards. He wanted to be the "devil" sailor. He drank vodka, choking, and while swimming, with a sinking heart, he jumped into the water head down from a two-foot height. Little by little he lost everything except the main thing - his strange flying soul; he lost his weakness, becoming broad-boned and strong-muscled, replaced his pallor with a dark tan, gave up the refined carelessness of his movements for the confident accuracy of his working hand, and his thinking eyes reflected a brilliance, like that of a man looking at the fire. And his speech, having lost its uneven, arrogantly shy fluidity, became brief and precise, like the blow of a seagull into a stream behind the tremulous silver of fish.
The captain of the Anselm was a kind man, but a stern sailor who took the boy out of some kind of gloating. In Gray’s desperate desire, he saw only an eccentric whim and triumphed in advance, imagining how in two months Gray would tell him, avoiding looking into his eyes: “Captain Gop, I skinned my elbows crawling along the rigging; My sides and back hurt, my fingers can’t straighten, my head is cracking, and my legs are shaking. All these wet ropes weigh two pounds; all these rails, shrouds, windlasses, cables, topmasts and sallings are designed to torture my tender body. I want to go to my mother." Having mentally listened to such a statement, Captain Gop made, mentally, the following speech: “Go wherever you want, my little bird. If you have tar stuck to your sensitive wings, you can clean it off at home with Rose Mimosa cologne. This cologne invented by Gop pleased the captain most of all and, having finished his imaginary rebuke, he repeated aloud: “Yes.” Go to Rose Mimosa.
Meanwhile, the impressive dialogue came to the captain’s mind less and less, as Gray walked towards the goal with clenched teeth and a pale face. He endured the restless work with a determined effort of will, feeling that it was becoming easier and easier for him as the harsh ship broke into his body, and inability was replaced by habit. It happened that the loop of the anchor chain knocked him off his feet, hitting him on the deck, that the rope that was not held at the bow was torn out of his hands, tearing the skin from his palms, that the wind hit him in the face with the wet corner of the sail with an iron ring sewn into it, and, in short, all the work was torture, requiring close attention, but no matter how hard he breathed, with difficulty straightening his back, a smile of contempt did not leave his face. He silently endured ridicule, mockery and inevitable abuse until he became “one of his own” in the new sphere, but from that time on he invariably responded to any insult with boxing.
One day, Captain Gop, seeing how he skillfully tied a sail on the yard, said to himself: “Victory is on your side, rogue.” When Gray went down to the deck, Gop called him into the cabin and, opening a tattered book, said: “Listen carefully!” Stop smoking! The training of the puppy to become a captain begins.
And he began to read - or rather, speak and shout - from the book the ancient words of the sea. This was Gray's first lesson. During the year he became acquainted with navigation, practice, shipbuilding, maritime law, pilotage and accounting. Captain Gop gave him his hand and said: “We.”
In Vancouver, Gray was caught by a letter from his mother, full of tears and fear. He replied: “I know. But if you saw like me; look through my eyes. If you could hear me: put a shell to your ear: there is the sound of an eternal wave in it; if you loved like I love everything, in your letter I would find, besides love and a check, a smile...” And he continued to swim until the Anselm arrived with its cargo in Dubelt, from where, using the stop, twenty-year-old Gray went to visit the castle. Everything was the same all around; as indestructible in detail and in the general impression as five years ago, only the foliage of the young elms became thicker; its pattern on the building's façade shifted and grew.
The servants who ran to him were delighted, perked up and froze in the same respect with which, as if only yesterday, they greeted this Gray. They told him where his mother was; he walked into a high room and, quietly closing the door, silently stopped, looking at a graying woman in a black dress. She stood in front of the crucifix: her passionate whisper sounded like a full heartbeat. “About those floating, traveling, sick, suffering and captured,” Gray heard, breathing briefly. Then it was said: “and to my boy...” Then he said: “I...” But he could no longer say anything. Mother turned around. She had lost weight: a new expression shone in the arrogance of her thin face, like restored youth. She quickly approached her son; a short chesty laugh, a restrained exclamation and tears in the eyes - that’s all. But at that moment she lived stronger and better than in her entire life. - “I recognized you immediately, oh, my dear, my little one!” And Gray really stopped being big. He listened to his father's death, then spoke about himself. She listened without reproach or objection, but to herself - in everything that he claimed as the truth of his life - she saw only toys with which her boy was playing. Such toys were continents, oceans and ships.
Gray stayed in the castle for seven days; on the eighth day, having taken a large sum of money, he returned to Dubelt and said to Captain Gop: “Thank you. You were a good friend. Farewell, senior comrade,” here he consolidated the true meaning of this word with a terrible, vice-like handshake, “now I will sail separately, on my own ship.” Gop flushed, spat, pulled out his hand and walked away, but Gray, catching up, hugged him. And they sat down in the hotel, all together, twenty-four people with the team, and drank, and shouted, and sang, and drank and ate everything that was on the buffet and in the kitchen.
A little time passed, and in the port of Dubelt the evening star sparkled over the black line of the new mast. It was The Secret, bought by Gray; a three-masted galliot of two hundred and sixty tons. So, Arthur Gray sailed as captain and owner of the ship for another four years, until fate brought him to Lys. But he had already forever remembered that short chesty laugh, full of heartfelt music, with which he was greeted at home, and visited the castle twice a year, leaving the woman with silver hair with an uncertain confidence that such a big boy would probably cope with his toys.

III. Dawn

A stream of foam thrown by the stern of Gray's ship "Secret" passed through the ocean like a white line and went out in the brilliance of the evening lights of Liss. The ship anchored in a roadstead not far from the lighthouse.
For ten days the “Secret” unloaded garlic, coffee and tea, the team spent the eleventh day on the shore, resting and drinking wine; on the twelfth day, Gray felt dully melancholy, without any reason, not understanding the melancholy.
Even in the morning, as soon as he woke up, he already felt that this day began in black rays. He dressed gloomily, reluctantly ate breakfast, forgot to read the newspaper and smoked for a long time, immersed in an inexpressible world of aimless tension; Among the vaguely emerging words, unrecognized desires wandered, mutually destroying themselves with equal effort. Then he got down to business.
Accompanied by the boatswain, Gray inspected the ship, ordered to tighten the shrouds, loosen the steering rope, clean the hawse, change the jib, tar the deck, clean the compass, open, ventilate and sweep the hold. But the matter did not amuse Gray. Full of anxious attention to the melancholy of the day, he lived it irritably and sadly: it was as if someone had called him, but he had forgotten who and where.
In the evening he sat down in the cabin, took a book and argued with the author for a long time, making notes of a paradoxical nature in the margins. For some time he was amused by this game, this conversation with the dead man ruling from the grave. Then, picking up the pipe, he drowned in the blue smoke, living among the ghostly arabesques that appeared in its unsteady layers. Tobacco is terribly powerful; just as oil poured into the galloping burst of waves pacifies their frenzy, so does tobacco: softening the irritation of the feelings, it brings them down a few tones; they sound smoother and more musical. Therefore, Gray’s melancholy, having finally lost its offensive meaning after three pipes, turned into thoughtful absent-mindedness. This state lasted for about an hour; when the mental fog disappeared, Gray woke up, wanted to move and went out onto the deck. Was full night; Overboard, in the sleep of black water, the stars and the lights of the mast lanterns were dozing. The air, warm as a cheek, smelled of the sea. Gray raised his head and squinted at the golden coal of the star; instantly, through the mind-boggling miles, the fiery needle of a distant planet penetrated his pupils. The dull noise of the evening city reached the ears from the depths of the bay; sometimes, with the wind, a coastal phrase would fly across the sensitive water, spoken as if on deck; Having sounded clearly, it died out in the creaking of the gear; A match flared on the tank, illuminating his fingers, round eyes and mustache. Gray whistled; the fire of the pipe moved and floated towards him; Soon the captain saw the hands and face of the watchman in the darkness.
“Tell Letika,” said Gray, “that he will go with me.” Let him take the fishing rods.
He went down into the sloop, where he waited for about ten minutes. Letika, a nimble, roguish guy, rattled his oars against the side and handed them to Gray; then he went down himself, adjusted the rowlocks and put the bag of provisions into the stern of the sloop. Gray sat down at the steering wheel.
-Where do you want to sail, captain? - Letika asked, circling the boat with the right oar.
The captain was silent. The sailor knew that words could not be inserted into this silence, and therefore, falling silent himself, he began to row vigorously.
Gray headed towards the open sea, then began to stick to the left bank. He didn't care where to go. The steering wheel made a dull noise; the oars clanked and splashed, everything else was sea and silence.
During the day, a person listens to so many thoughts, impressions, speeches and words that all this would fill more than one thick book. The face of the day takes on a certain expression, but Gray peered into this face in vain today. In his vague features shone one of those feelings, of which there are many, but to which no name is given. Whatever you call them, they will remain forever beyond words and even concepts, similar to the suggestion of aroma. Gray was now in the grip of such a feeling; He could, however, say: “I’m waiting, I see, I’ll soon find out...”, but even these words amounted to no more than individual drawings in relation to the architectural design. In these trends there was still the power of bright excitement.
Where they were swimming, the shore appeared on the left like a wavy thickening of darkness. Sparks from chimneys flew above the red glass of the windows; it was Caperna. Gray heard bickering and barking. The lights of the village resembled a stove door, burnt with holes through which glowing coals were visible. To the right was the ocean, as clear as the presence of a sleeping man. Having passed Kaperna, Gray turned towards the shore. Here the water washed quietly; Having illuminated the lantern, he saw the pits of the cliff and its upper, overhanging ledges; he liked this place.
“We’ll fish here,” Gray said, clapping the rower on the shoulder.
The sailor chuckled vaguely.
“This is my first time sailing with such a captain,” he muttered. — The captain is efficient, but different. Stubborn captain. However, I love him.
Having hammered the oar into the mud, he tied the boat to it, and both rose up, climbing over the stones that popped out from under their knees and elbows. A thicket stretched from the cliff. The sound of an ax cutting a dry trunk was heard; Having knocked down the tree, Letika lit a fire on the cliff. The shadows and the flames reflected by the water moved; in the receding darkness, grass and branches became visible; Above the fire, intertwined with smoke, the air trembled, sparkling.
Gray sat down by the fire.
“Come on,” he said, holding out the bottle, “drink, friend Letika, to the health of all teetotalers.” By the way, you didn’t take cinchona, but ginger.
“Sorry, captain,” the sailor answered, catching his breath. “Let me have a snack with this...” He bit off half of the chicken at once and, taking the wing out of his mouth, continued: “I know that you love cinchona.” Only it was dark, and I was in a hurry. Ginger, you see, hardens a person. When I need to fight, I drink ginger. While the captain ate and drank, the sailor looked sideways at him, then, unable to resist, said: “Is it true, captain, what they say that you come from a noble family?”
- This is not interesting, Letika. Take a fishing rod and fish if you want.
- And you?
- I? Don't know. May be. But after. Letika unwound the fishing rod, reciting in verse, which he was a master at, to the great admiration of the team: “I made a long whip from a cord and a piece of wood and, having attached a hook to it, let out a long whistle.” “Then he tickled the box of worms with his finger. - This worm wandered in the earth and was happy with its life, but now it’s caught on a hook
- and the catfish will eat him.
Finally, he left singing: “The night is quiet, the vodka is beautiful, tremble, sturgeons, faint, herring,” Letik is fishing from the mountain!
Gray lay down by the fire, looking at the water reflecting the fire. He thought, but without will; in this state, the thought, absent-mindedly holding onto the surroundings, dimly sees it; she rushes like a horse in a crowd, pressing, pushing and stopping; emptiness, confusion and delay alternately accompany it. She wanders in the soul of things; from bright excitement he rushes to secret hints; spins around the earth and sky, vitally converses with imaginary faces, extinguishes and embellishes memories. In this cloudy movement everything is alive and convex and everything is incoherent, like delirium. And the resting consciousness often smiles, seeing, for example, how, while thinking about fate, a guest is suddenly presented with a completely inappropriate image: some twig that was broken two years ago. Gray thought so at the fire, but he was “somewhere” - not here.
The elbow with which he rested, supporting his head with his hand, became damp and numb. The stars glowed palely, the darkness intensified by the tension preceding dawn. The captain began to fall asleep, but did not notice it. He wanted to drink, and he reached for the bag, untying it in his sleep. Then he stopped dreaming; the next two hours were no more than those seconds for Gray during which he leaned his head on his hands. During this time, Letika appeared at the fire twice, smoked and looked out of curiosity into the mouths of the caught fish - what was there? But, of course, there was nothing there.
When Gray woke up, he forgot for a moment how he got to these places. With amazement he saw the happy sparkle of the morning, the cliff of the bank among these branches and the blazing blue distance; hazel leaves hung above the horizon, but at the same time above his feet. At the bottom of the cliff - with the impression that right under Gray's back - a quiet surf was hissing. Flashing from the leaf, a drop of dew spread across the sleepy face like a cold slap. He got up. Light triumphed everywhere. The cooled firebrands clung to life with a thin stream of smoke. Its smell gave the pleasure of breathing the air of forest greenery a wild charm.
There was no letika; he got carried away; He, sweating, fished with the enthusiasm of a gambler. Gray walked out of the thicket into the bushes scattered along the slope of the hill. The grass smoked and burned; the wet flowers looked like children who had been forcibly washed with cold water. The green world breathed with countless tiny mouths, preventing Gray from passing through its jubilant closeness. The captain got out into an open place overgrown with motley grass, and saw a young girl sleeping here.
He quietly moved the branch away with his hand and stopped with a feeling of a dangerous discovery. Not more than five steps away, curled up, one leg tucked up and the other outstretched, the tired Assol lay with her head on her comfortably tucked arms. Her hair shifted in disarray; a button at the neck came undone, revealing a white hole; the flowing skirt exposed the knees; the eyelashes slept on the cheek, in the shadow of the delicate, convex temple, half-covered by a dark strand; little finger right hand, who was under his head, bent down to the back of his head. Gray squatted down, looking into the girl’s face from below and not suspecting that he resembled a faun from a painting by Arnold Böcklin.
Perhaps, under other circumstances, this girl would have been noticed by him only with his eyes, but here he saw her differently. Everything moved, everything smiled in him. Of course, he didn’t know her, her name, or, especially, why she fell asleep on the shore, but he was very pleased with it. He loved paintings without explanations or signatures. The impression of such a picture is incomparably stronger; its content, not bound by words, becomes limitless, confirming all guesses and thoughts.
The shadow of the foliage crept closer to the trunks, and Gray was still sitting in the same uncomfortable position. Everything slept on the girl: slept;! dark hair, the dress fell down and the folds of the dress; even the grass near her body seemed to fall asleep out of sympathy. When the impression was complete, Gray entered its warm, washing wave and swam away with it. Letika had been shouting for a long time: “Captain. Where are you?" - but the captain did not hear him.
When he finally stood up, his penchant for the unusual took him by surprise with the determination and inspiration of an irritated woman. Thoughtfully yielding to her, he took the expensive old ring off his finger, not without reason thinking that perhaps this was telling life something essential, like spelling. He carefully lowered the ring onto his little finger, which was white from under the back of his head. The little finger moved impatiently and drooped. Looking again at this resting face, Gray turned and saw the sailor’s eyebrows raised high in the bushes. Letika, with his mouth open, looked at Gray's activities with the same surprise with which Jonah probably looked at the mouth of his furnished whale.
- Oh, it’s you, Letika! - Gray said. - Look at her. What, good?
— Marvelous artistic canvas! - the sailor, who loved bookish expressions, shouted in a whisper. “There is something prepossessing in the consideration of circumstances.” I caught four moray eels and another one as thick as a bubble.
- Quiet, Letika. Let's get out of here.
They retreated into the bushes. They should now have turned to the boat, but Gray hesitated, looking at the distance of the low bank, where the morning smoke of Caperna’s chimneys poured over the greenery and sand. In this smoke he saw the girl again.
Then he turned decisively, going down along the slope; the sailor, without asking what happened, walked behind; he felt that the obligatory silence had fallen again. Already near the first buildings, Gray suddenly said: “Can you, Letika, determine with your experienced eye where the inn is?” “It must be that black roof over there,” Letika realized, “but, however, maybe it’s not that.”
- What is noticeable about this roof?
- I don’t know myself, captain. Nothing more than the voice of the heart.
They approached the house; it was indeed Menners' tavern. In the open window, on the table, a bottle was visible; Beside her, someone’s dirty hand was milking a half-gray mustache.
Although the hour was early, three people were seated in the common room of the inn. A coal miner, the owner of the drunken mustache we had already noticed, was sitting by the window; Between the buffet and the inner door of the hall, two fishermen sat behind scrambled eggs and beer. Menners, a tall young guy with a freckled, boring face and that special expression of sly agility in his blind eyes that is characteristic of merchants in general, was grinding dishes behind the counter. The sunny window frame lay on the dirty floor.
As soon as Gray entered the strip of smoky light, Menners, bowing respectfully, came out from behind his cover. He immediately recognized in Gray a real captain - a class of guests he rarely saw. Gray asked Roma. Having covered the table with a human tablecloth that had turned yellow in the bustle, Menners brought the bottle, first licking the tip of the peeling label with his tongue. Then he returned behind the counter, looking carefully first at Gray, then at the plate from which he was tearing off something dried with his fingernail.
While Letika, taking the glass with both hands, modestly whispered to him, looking out the window, Gray called Menners. Khin sat down complacently on the tip of his chair, flattered by this address and flattered precisely because it was expressed by a simple nod of Gray's finger.
“You, of course, know all the residents here,” Gray spoke calmly. “I’m interested in the name of a young girl in a headscarf, in a dress with pink flowers, dark brown and short, between the ages of seventeen and twenty. I met her not far from here. What is her name?
He said this with a firm simplicity of strength that did not allow him to evade this tone. Hin Menners inwardly spun and even grinned slightly, but outwardly he obeyed the nature of the address. However, before answering, he paused - solely out of a fruitless desire to guess what was the matter.
- Hm! - he said, looking up at the ceiling. - This must be “Ship Assol”, there is no one else. She's crazy.
- Indeed? — Gray said indifferently, taking a large sip. - How did this happen?
- When so, please listen. “And Khin told Gray about how seven years ago a girl spoke on the seashore with a song collector. Of course, this story, since the beggar confirmed its existence in the same tavern, took on the shape of crude and flat gossip, but the essence remained intact. “That’s what she’s been called since then,” said Menners, “her name is Assol Korabelnaya.”
Gray automatically glanced at Letika, who continued to be quiet and modest, then his eyes turned to dusty road, lying near the inn, and he felt something like a blow - a simultaneous blow to his heart and head. Walking along the road, facing him, was the same Ship Assol, whom Menners had just treated clinically. The amazing features of her face, reminiscent of the mystery of indelibly exciting, although simple words, appeared before him now in the light of her gaze. The sailor and Menners were sitting with their backs to the window, but so that they would not accidentally turn around, Gray had the courage to look away from Khin’s red eyes. As soon as he saw Assol’s eyes, all the inertia of Menners’ story dissipated. Meanwhile, suspecting nothing, Khin continued: “I can also tell you that her father is a real scoundrel.” He drowned my dad like some cat, God forgive me. He…
He was interrupted by an unexpected wild roar from behind. Rolling his eyes terribly, the coal miner, shaking off his drunken stupor, suddenly roared in song and so fiercely that everyone trembled.
Basket maker, basket maker, Charge us for the baskets!..
- You've loaded yourself up again, you damned whaleboat! - shouted Menners. - Get out!
... But just be afraid to get into our Palestines!..
- the coal miner howled and, as if nothing had happened, he drowned his mustache in the splashing glass.
Hin Menners shrugged his shoulders indignantly.
“Trash, not a person,” he said with the terrible dignity of a hoarder. - Every time such a story!
“Can’t you tell me anything more?” - Gray asked.
- Me? I'm telling you that my father is a scoundrel. Through him, your honor, I became an orphan and, even as a child, I had to independently support my mortal sustenance...
“You’re lying,” the coal miner said unexpectedly. “You lie so vilely and unnaturally that I sobered up.” “Khin didn’t have time to open his mouth when the coal miner turned to Gray: “He’s lying.” His father also lied; The mother also lied. Such a breed. You can rest assured that she is as healthy as you and me. I talked to her. She sat on my cart eighty-four times, or a little less. When a girl walks from the city, and I sold my coal, I will certainly imprison the girl. Let her sit. I say she has a good head. This is now visible. With you, Hin Menners, she, of course, will not say two words. But, sir, in the free coal business, I despise courts and discussions. She says how big but quirky her conversation is. Listening
- as if everything is the same as what you and I would say, but with her it’s the same, but not quite so. For example, once a case was opened about her craft. “I’ll tell you what,” she says and clings to my shoulder like a fly to a bell tower, “my work is not boring, but I always want to come up with something special. “I,” he says, “want to contrive so that the boat itself will float on my board, and the rowers will row for real; then they land on the shore, give up the pier and, honorably, as if alive, sit down on the shore to have a snack.” I burst out laughing, so it became funny to me. I say: “Well, Assol, this is your business, and that’s why your thoughts are like this, but look around: everything is at work, like in a fight.” “No,” she says, “I know that I know.” When a fisherman catches a fish, he thinks he will catch big fish, which no one has caught." - “Well, what about me?” - "And you? - she laughs, - you’re right, when you fill a basket with coal, you think that it will bloom.” That's the word she said! At that very moment, I confess, I was pulled to look at the empty basket, and it came into my eyes, as if buds were creeping out of the twigs; These buds burst, a leaf splashed across the basket and disappeared. I even sobered up a little! But Hin Menners lies and doesn’t take money; I know him!
Considering that the conversation had turned into an obvious insult, Menners pierced the coal miner with his gaze and disappeared behind the counter, from where he bitterly inquired: “Will you order something to be served?”
“No,” Gray said, taking out the money, “we get up and leave.” Letika, you will stay here, come back in the evening and be silent. Once you know everything you can, tell me. Do you understand?
“Good captain,” said Letika with some familiarity caused by the rum, “only a deaf person could fail to understand this.”
- Wonderful. Remember also that in none of the cases that may present itself to you, you can neither talk about me nor even mention my name. Goodbye!
Gray left. From that time on, the feeling of amazing discoveries did not leave him, like a spark in Berthold's powder mortar - one of those spiritual collapses from under which fire bursts out, sparkling. The spirit of immediate action took possession of him. He came to his senses and collected his thoughts only when he got into the boat. Laughing, he raised his hand, palm up, to the sultry sun, as he had once done as a boy in wine cellar; then he set sail and began rowing quickly towards the harbor.

IV. The day before

On the eve of that day and seven years after Egle, the collector of songs, told a girl on the seashore a fairy tale about a ship with Scarlet Sails, Assol, on one of her weekly visits to the toy store, returned home upset, with a sad face. She brought her goods back. She was so upset that she could not speak right away, and only after she saw from Longren’s alarmed face that he was expecting something much worse than reality, she began to talk, running her finger along the glass of the window where she stood, absentmindedly watching the sea.
The owner of the toy shop began this time by opening the account book and showing her how much they owed. She shuddered when she saw the impressive three-digit number. “This is how much you have taken since December,” said the merchant, “but look at how much it has been sold.” And he rested his finger on another number, already of two characters.
“It’s pitiful and offensive to watch.” I saw from his face that he was rude and angry. I would gladly run away, but, honestly, I didn’t have the strength from shame. And he began to say: “My dear, this is no longer profitable for me. Now foreign goods are in fashion, all the shops are full of them, but they don’t take these products.” That's what he said. He said a lot more, but I mixed it all up and forgot. He must have taken pity on me, because he advised me to go to the Children's Bazaar and Aladin's Lamp.
Having said the most important thing, the girl turned her head, timidly looking at the old man. Longren sat dejectedly, clasping his fingers between his knees, on which he rested his elbows. Feeling the gaze, he raised his head and sighed. Having overcome the heavy mood, the girl ran up to him, settled down to sit next to him and, putting her light hand under the leather sleeve of his jacket, laughing and looking into her father’s face from below, continued with feigned animation: “Nothing, it’s all nothing, you listen, please.” So I went. Well, I come to a big scary store; there are a lot of people there. I was pushed; however, I got out and approached the black man with glasses. What I told him, I don’t remember anything; in the end he grinned, rummaged through my basket, looked at something, then wrapped it up again, as it was, in a scarf and gave it back.
Longren listened angrily. It was as if he saw his dumbfounded daughter in a rich crowd at a counter littered with valuable goods. A neat man with glasses condescendingly explained to her that he would have to go broke if he started selling Longren’s simple products. Carelessly and deftly, he placed folding models of buildings and railway bridges on the counter in front of her; miniature distinct cars, electrical kits, airplanes and engines. The whole place smelled of paint and school. According to all his words, it turned out that children in games now only imitate what adults do.
Assol was also at Aladin's Lamp and two other shops, but achieved nothing.
Finishing the story, she got ready for dinner; After eating and drinking a glass of strong coffee, Longren said: “Since we are unlucky, we have to look.” Perhaps I will go to serve again - on the Fitzroy or Palermo. Of course, they are right,” he continued thoughtfully, thinking about toys. - Now children do not play, but study. They all study and study and will never begin to live. All this is true, but it’s a pity, really, a pity. Will you be able to live without me for the duration of one flight? It's unthinkable to leave you alone.
“I could also serve with you; say, in a buffet.
- No! - Longren sealed this word with a blow of his palm on the shaking table. “As long as I’m alive, you won’t serve.” However, there is time to think.
He fell silent gloomily. Assol sat down next to him on the corner of the stool; he saw from the side, without turning his head, that she was trying to console him, and he almost smiled. But to smile meant to frighten and confuse the girl. She, muttering something to herself, smoothed out his tangled gray hair, kissed his mustache and, plugging his father’s furry ears with her small thin fingers, said: “Well, now you don’t hear that I love you.” While she was preening him, Longren sat with his face tightly wrinkled, like a man afraid of breathing in smoke, but when he heard her words, he laughed thickly.
“You’re sweet,” he said simply and, patting the girl on the cheek, went ashore to look at the boat.
Assol stood thoughtfully in the middle of the room for some time, wavering between the desire to surrender to quiet sadness and the need for household chores; then, having washed the dishes, she listed the remaining provisions on a scale. She did not weigh or measure, but she saw that the flour would not last until the end of the week, that the bottom was visible in the tin of sugar, the tea and coffee wrappers were almost empty, there was no butter, and the only thing on which, with some annoyance at the exclusion, rested the eye - there was a bag of potatoes. Then she washed the floor and sat down to sew a frill for a skirt made from old clothes, but immediately remembering that the scraps of material lay behind the mirror, she went up to it and took the bundle; then she looked at her reflection.
Behind the walnut frame, in the bright emptiness of the reflected room, stood a thin, short girl, dressed in cheap white muslin with pink flowers. A gray silk scarf lay on her shoulders. The half-childish, light tanned face was mobile and expressive; Beautiful, somewhat serious eyes for her age looked with the timid concentration of deep souls. Her irregular face could touch one with its subtle purity of outline; every curve, every bulge of this face, of course, would have found a place in many female faces, but their totality, their style, was completely original, originally sweet; We'll stop there. The rest is beyond words, except for the word “charm.”
The reflected girl smiled as unconsciously as Assol. The smile came out sad; Noticing this, she became alarmed, as if she were looking at a stranger. She pressed her cheek to the glass, closed her eyes and quietly stroked the mirror with her hand where her reflection was. A swarm of vague, affectionate thoughts flashed through her; she straightened up, laughed and sat down, beginning to sew.
While she is sewing, let's take a closer look at her - inside. There are two girls in it, two Assols, mixed in a wonderful, beautiful irregularity. One was the daughter of a sailor, an artisan, who made toys, the other was a living poem, with all the wonders of its consonances and images, with the mystery of the proximity of words, in all the reciprocity of their shadows and light falling from one to another. She knew life within the limits set by her experience, but beyond the general phenomena she saw a reflected meaning of a different order. Thus, peering at objects, we notice in them something not linearly, but as an impression - definitely human, and - just like human - different. She saw something similar to what (if possible) we said with this example, even beyond the visible. Without these quiet conquests, everything simply understandable was alien to her soul. She knew how and loved to read, but even in a book she read mainly between the lines, as she lived. Unconsciously, through a kind of inspiration, she made at every step many ethereal-subtle discoveries, inexpressible, but important, like purity and warmth. Sometimes - and this continued for a number of days - she was even reborn; the physical confrontation of life fell away, like silence in the blow of a bow, and everything she saw, what she lived with, what was around her became a lace of secrets in the image of everyday life. More than once, worried and timid, she went at night to the seashore, where, after waiting for dawn, she quite seriously looked out for the ship with the Scarlet Sails. These minutes were happiness for her; It’s hard for us to escape into a fairy tale like that; it would be no less difficult for her to get out of its power and charm.
At other times, thinking about all this, she sincerely marveled at herself, not believing that she believed, forgiving the sea with a smile and sadly moving on to reality; Now, moving the frill, the girl recalled her life. There was a lot of boredom and simplicity. Loneliness together sometimes weighed heavily on her, but that fold of inner timidity had already formed in her, that suffering wrinkle with which it was impossible to bring or receive revival. They laughed at her, saying: “She’s touched, she’s not herself”; she got used to this pain; The girl even had to endure insults, after which her chest would ache as if from a blow. As a woman, she was unpopular in Caperna, but many suspected, albeit wildly and vaguely, that she had been given more than others - only in a different language. The Capernians adored thick, heavy women with oily skin, thick calves and powerful arms; Here they courted me, slapping me on the back with my palm and pushing me around, as if at a market. The type of this feeling resembled the artless simplicity of a roar. Assol suited this decisive environment in the same way as the society of a ghost would suit people of refined nervous life, if it had all the charm of Assunta or Aspasia: what comes from love is unthinkable here. Thus, in the even hum of a soldier’s trumpet, the lovely sadness of the violin is powerless to remove the stern regiment from the actions of its straight lines. The girl had her back turned to what was said in these lines.
While her head hummed the song of life, her small hands worked diligently and deftly; biting off the thread, she looked far in front of her, but this did not stop her from evenly turning up the scar and placing a buttonhole stitch with the clarity of a sewing machine. Although Longren did not return, she was not worried about her father. Lately He quite often swam out at night to fish or just get some air.
She was not bothered by fear; she knew that nothing bad would happen to him. In this respect, Assol was still that little girl who prayed in her own way, babbling in a friendly manner in the morning: “Hello, God!”, and in the evening: “Farewell, God!”
In her opinion, such a short acquaintance with God was completely enough for him to remove misfortune. She was also in his position: God was always busy with the affairs of millions of people, so the everyday shadows of life should, in her opinion, be treated with the delicate patience of a guest who, finding a house full of people, waits for the busy owner, huddling and eating according to the circumstances.
Having finished sewing, Assol put her work on the corner table, undressed and lay down. The fire was extinguished. She soon noticed that there was no drowsiness; consciousness was clear, as at the height of the day, even the darkness seemed artificial, the body, like consciousness, felt light, daytime. My heart was beating as fast as a pocket watch; it beat as if between the pillow and the ear. Assol was angry, tossing and turning, now throwing off the blanket, now wrapping her head in it. Finally, she managed to evoke the usual idea that helps her fall asleep: she mentally threw stones into the light water, looking at the divergence of the lightest circles. The dream, indeed, seemed to be just waiting for this handout; he came, whispered with Mary, standing at the head of the bed, and, obeying her smile, said around: “Shhh.” Assol immediately fell asleep. She dreamed of her favorite dream: flowering trees, melancholy, charm, songs and mysterious phenomena, from which, when she woke up, she remembered only the sparkling blue water, rising from her feet to her heart with coldness and delight. Having seen all this, she stayed for some more time in the impossible country, then woke up and sat up.
There was no sleep, as if she had not fallen asleep at all. The feeling of newness, joy and desire to do something warmed her. She looked around with the same look as one looks around a new room. The dawn penetrated - not with all the clarity of illumination, but with that vague effort in which one can understand the surroundings. The bottom of the window was black; the top brightened. From outside the house, almost on the edge of the frame, the morning star shone. Knowing that now she wouldn’t fall asleep, Assol got dressed, went to the window and, removing the hook, pulled back the frame. There was an attentive, sensitive silence outside the window; It’s as if it has just arrived. Bushes shimmered in the blue twilight, trees slept further away; it smelled stuffy and earthy.
Holding onto the top of the frame, the girl looked and smiled. Suddenly something like a distant call shook her from within and without, and she seemed to awaken once again from obvious reality to what is clearer and more undoubted. From that moment on, the jubilant wealth of consciousness did not leave her. So, understanding, we listen to people’s speeches, but if we repeat what has been said, we will understand again, with a different, new meaning. It was the same with her.
Taking an old, but always youthful silk scarf on her head, she grabbed it with her hand under her chin, locked the door and fluttered barefoot onto the road. Although it was empty and deaf, it seemed to her that she sounded like an orchestra, that they could hear her. Everything was sweet to her, everything made her happy. Warm dust tickled my bare feet; I was breathing clearly and cheerfully. Roofs and clouds darkened in the twilight sky; the hedges, rose hips, vegetable gardens, orchards and the gently visible road were dozing. A different order was noticed in everything than during the day - the same, but in a correspondence that had previously escaped. Everyone slept with their eyes open, secretly looking at the passing girl.
She walked, the further, the faster, in a hurry to leave the village. Beyond Kaperna there were meadows; beyond the meadows, hazel, poplar and chestnut trees grew on the slopes of the coastal hills. Where the road ended, turning into a remote path, a fluffy black dog with a white chest and a telling strain in its eyes softly twirled at Assol’s feet. The dog, recognizing Assol, squealed and coyly wagged its body, and walked alongside, silently agreeing with the girl in something understandable, like “I” and “you.” Assol, looking into her communicating eyes, was firmly convinced that the dog could speak if she did not have secret reasons to remain silent. Noticing the smile of her companion, the dog wrinkled her face cheerfully, wagged her tail and ran smoothly forward, but suddenly sat down indifferently, busily scraped her ear with her paw, bitten by her eternal enemy, and ran back.
Assol penetrated the tall, dew-sprinkling meadow grass; holding her hand palm down over her panicles, she walked, smiling at the flowing touch.
Looking into the special faces of flowers, into the tangle of stems, she discerned almost human hints there - postures, efforts, movements, features and glances; she would not be surprised now by a procession of field mice, a ball of gophers, or the rude joy of a hedgehog frightening a sleeping gnome with his farting. And sure enough, the gray hedgehog rolled out onto the path in front of her. “Fuk-fuk,” he said abruptly with his heart, like a cab driver at a pedestrian. Assol spoke with those whom she understood and saw. “Hello, sick man,” she said to the purple iris, pierced to holes by the worm. “You need to stay at home,” this referred to a bush stuck in the middle of the path and therefore torn by the clothes of passers-by. The large beetle clung to the bell, bending the plant and falling, but stubbornly pushing with its paws. “Shake off the fat passenger,” Assol advised. The beetle, of course, could not resist and flew to the side with a crash. So, worried, trembling and shining, she approached the hillside, hiding in its thickets from the meadow space, but now surrounded by her true friends, who - she knew this - spoke in a deep voice.
They were large old trees among honeysuckle and hazel. Their drooping branches touched the upper leaves of the bushes. In the calmly gravitating large foliage of the chestnut trees stood white cones of flowers, their aroma mixed with the smell of dew and resin. The path, strewn with protrusions of slippery roots, either fell or climbed up the slope. Assol felt at home; I greeted the trees as if they were people, that is, by shaking their wide leaves. She walked, whispering now mentally, now in words: “Here you are, here is another you; there are many of you, my brothers! I'm coming, brothers, I'm in a hurry, let me in. I recognize you all, remember and honor you all.” The “brothers” majestically stroked her with whatever they could - leaves - and creaked in kindred response. She got out, her feet dirty with earth, to the cliff above the sea and stood on the edge of the cliff, out of breath from hasty walking. Deep, invincible faith, jubilant, foamed and rustled within her. She scattered her gaze over the horizon, from where she returned back with the light sound of a coastal wave, proud of the purity of her flight. Meanwhile, the sea, outlined along the horizon by a golden thread, was still sleeping; Only under the cliff, in the puddles of the coastal holes, did the water rise and fall. The steely color of the sleeping ocean near the shore turned into blue and black. Behind the golden thread, the sky, flashing, shone with a huge fan of light; the white clouds were touched with a faint blush. Subtle, divine colors shone in them. A tremulous snowy whiteness lay in the black distance; the foam glittered, and a crimson gap, flashing among the golden thread, threw scarlet ripples across the ocean, at Assol’s feet.
She sat with her legs tucked up and her arms around her knees. Attentively leaning towards the sea, she looked at the horizon with large eyes, in which nothing adult was left - with the eyes of a child. Everything she had been waiting for so long and passionately was happening there - at the end of the world. She saw an underwater hill in the land of distant abysses; climbing plants flowed upward from its surface; Among their round leaves, pierced at the edge by a stem, fanciful flowers shone. The upper leaves glittered on the surface of the ocean; those who knew nothing, as Assol knew, saw only awe and brilliance.
A ship rose from the thicket; he surfaced and stopped in the very middle of dawn. From this distance he was visible as clear as clouds. Scattering joy, he burned like wine, rose, blood, lips, scarlet velvet and crimson fire. The ship went straight to Assol. The wings of foam fluttered under the powerful pressure of its keel; Having already stood up, the girl pressed her hands to her chest, when a wonderful play of light turned into a swell; the sun rose, and the bright fullness of the morning tore the covers off everything that was still basking, stretching on the sleepy earth.
The girl sighed and looked around. The music fell silent, but Assol was still in the power of its sonorous choir. This impression gradually weakened, then became a memory and, finally, just fatigue. She lay down on the grass, yawned and, blissfully closing her eyes, fell asleep - truly, soundly, like a young nut, sleep, without worries and dreams.
She was awakened by a fly wandering over her bare foot. Restlessly turning her leg, Assol woke up; sitting, she pinned up her disheveled hair, so Gray's ring reminded her of herself, but considering it nothing more than a stalk stuck between her fingers, she straightened them; Since the obstacle did not disappear, she impatiently raised her hand to her eyes and straightened up, instantly jumping up with the force of a spraying fountain.
Gray's radiant ring shone on her finger, as if on someone else's - she could not recognize it as hers at that moment, she did not feel her finger. - “Whose joke is this? Whose joke? - she quickly cried. - Am I dreaming? Maybe I found it and forgot?” Grasping the right hand with her left hand, on which there was a ring, she looked around in amazement, torturing the sea and green thickets with her gaze; but no one moved, no one hid in the bushes, and in the blue, far-illuminated sea there was no sign, and a blush covered Assol, and the voices of the heart said a prophetic “yes.” There were no explanations for what had happened, but without words or thoughts she found them in her strange feeling, and the ring already became close to her. Trembling, she pulled it off her finger; holding it in a handful like water, she examined it with all her soul, all her heart, all the jubilation and clear superstition of her youth, then, hiding it behind her bodice, Assol buried her face in her palms, from under which a smile burst uncontrollably, and, lowering her head, slowly I went the opposite way.
So, by chance, as people who can read and write say, Gray and Assol found each other on the morning of a summer day full of inevitability.

V. Combat preparations

When Gray climbed onto the deck of the Secret, he stood motionless for several minutes, stroking his head with his hand on the back of his forehead, which meant extreme confusion. Absent-mindedness - a cloudy movement of feelings - was reflected in his face with the emotionless smile of a sleepwalker. His assistant Panten was walking along the quarterdeck with a plate of fried fish; Seeing Gray, he noticed the captain's strange state.
- Are you hurt, perhaps? - he asked carefully. - Where were you? What did you see? However, this is, of course, your business. The broker offers favorable freight; with a bonus. What's the matter with you?..
“Thank you,” Gray said, sighing, “as if relieved.” “I just missed the sounds of your simple, intelligent voice.” It's like cold water. Panten, tell the people that today we are raising anchor and moving to the mouth of the Liliana, about ten miles from here. Its current is interrupted by continuous shoals. You can only get into the mouth from the sea. Come get the map. Don't take a pilot. That's all for now... Yes, I need profitable freight like I need last year's snow. You can give this to the broker. I'm going to the city, where I'll stay until evening.
- What happened?
- Absolutely nothing, Panten. I want you to take note of my desire to avoid any questions. When the moment comes, I'll let you know what's going on. Tell the sailors that repairs are to be made; that the local dock is busy.
“Okay,” Panten said senselessly to the departing Gray’s back. - Will be done.
Although the captain’s orders were quite clear, the mate widened his eyes and restlessly rushed with the plate to his cabin, muttering: “Panten, you’ve been puzzled. Does he want to try smuggling? Are we marching under the pirate’s black flag?” But here Panten got entangled in the wildest assumptions. While he was nervously destroying the fish, Gray went down to the cabin, took the money and, having crossed the bay, appeared in the trading districts of Liss.
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 subtle pleasure 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, giving special meaning accuracy of choice, since in my mind I 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 be on fire. 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 thing 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. Meanwhile, across the street from where the shop was, a wandering musician, tuning his cello, made it speak sadly and well with a quiet bow; his comrade, the flutist, showered the singing of the stream with the babble of a throaty whistle; the simple song with which they announced the yard dormant in the heat reached Gray’s ears, and he immediately understood what he should do next. In general, all these days he was at that happy height of spiritual vision from which he clearly noticed all the hints and clues of reality; Hearing the sounds muffled by the carriages driving, he entered the center of the most important impressions and thoughts caused, in accordance with his character, by this music, already feeling why and how what he had come up with would turn out well. Having passed the alley, Gray walked through the gates of the house where the musical performance took place. By that time the musicians were about to leave; the tall flutist, with an air of downtrodden dignity, waved his hat gratefully at the windows from which the coins were flying out. The cello had already returned under its owner's arm; he, wiping his sweaty brow, waited for the flutist.
- Bah, it's you, Zimmer! - Gray told him, recognizing the violinist, who in the evenings amused the sailors and guests of the Money for a Barrel tavern with his beautiful playing. - How did you cheat on the violin?
“Reverend Captain,” Zimmer countered smugly, “I play everything that sounds and cracks.” When I was young I was a musical clown. Now I am drawn to art, and I see with grief that I have ruined an extraordinary talent. That’s why, out of late greed, I love two at once: the viola and the violin. I play the cello during the day, and the violin in the evenings, that is, it’s like I’m crying, sobbing about my lost talent. Would you like me to treat you to some wine, eh? The cello is my Carmen, and the violin.
“Assol,” said Gray. Zimmer didn't hear.
“Yes,” he nodded, “solos on cymbals or copper pipes are another matter.” However, what do I need?! Let the clowns of art act - I know that fairies always rest in the violin and cello.
- What’s hidden in my “tur-lu-rlu”? - asked the approaching flutist, a tall fellow with sheep's blue eyes and a blond beard. - Well, tell me?
- Depending on how much you drank in the morning. Sometimes it’s a bird, sometimes it’s alcohol fumes. Captain, this is my companion Duss; I told him how you waste gold when you drink, and he is in love with you in absentia.
“Yes,” said Duss, “I love gesture and generosity.” But I am cunning, do not believe my vile flattery.
“That’s it,” Gray said, laughing. “I don’t have much time, but I’m impatient.” I suggest you make good money. Assemble an orchestra, but not from dandies with the ceremonial faces of the dead, who are in musical literalism or
- what’s even worse is that in sound gastronomy they have forgotten about the soul of music and are quietly killing the stages with their intricate noises - no. Gather yours who make you cry simple hearts cooks and footmen; gather your vagabonds. The sea and love do not tolerate pedants. I would love to sit with you, and not even with just one bottle, but I have to go. I have a lot to do. Take this and sing it to the letter A. If you like my proposal, come to the “Secret” in the evening, it is located not far from the head dam.
- Agree! - Zimmer cried, knowing that Gray was paying like a king. - Duss, bow, say “yes” and twirl your hat for joy! Captain Gray wants to get married!
“Yes,” Gray said simply. “I’ll tell you all the details on The Secret.” You...
- For the letter A! — Duss, nudging Zimmer with his elbow, winked at Gray. - But... there are so many letters in the alphabet! Please give me something for fit...
Gray gave more money. The musicians left. Then he went into the commission office and gave a secret order for a large sum - to carry it out urgently, within six days. While Gray returned to his ship, the office agent was already boarding the ship. 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 river bed.
Panten, of course, informed them of Gray's orders; when he entered, his assistant was finishing his sixth cigar, wandering around the cabin, stunned by the smoke and bumping into chairs. Evening was coming; through the open porthole protruded a golden beam of light, in which the lacquered visor of the captain’s cap flashed.
“Everything is ready,” Panten said gloomily. - If you want, you can raise the anchor.
“You should know me a little better, Panten,” Gray remarked softly.
- There is no secret in what I do. As soon as we anchor at the bottom of Liliana, I will tell you everything, and you will not waste so many matches on bad cigars. Go ahead and weigh anchor.
Panten scratched his eyebrow, smiling awkwardly.
“That’s true, of course,” he said. - However, I’m okay. When he left, Gray sat for some time, motionless, looking at the half-open door, then moved to his room. Here he sat and lay down; then, listening to the crack of the windlass, rolling out a loud chain, he was about to go out to the forecastle, but thought again and returned to the table, drawing a straight line on the oilcloth with his finger fast line. Punching the door brought him out of his manic state; he turned the key, letting Letika in. The sailor, breathing heavily, stopped with the air of a messenger who had warned the execution in time.
“Letika, Letika,” I said to myself,” he spoke quickly, “when I saw from the cable pier how our guys were dancing around the windlass, spitting in their palms. I have an eye like an eagle. And I flew; I breathed so hard on the boatman that the man began to sweat from excitement. Captain, did you want to leave me on shore?
“Letika,” Gray said, looking closely at his red eyes, “I expected you no later than morning.” Have you poured cold water on the back of your head?
- Lil. Not as much as was taken orally, but it poured. Done.
- Speak. - No need to talk, captain; everything is written down here. Take it and read it. I tried very hard. I'll leave.
- Where?
“I can see from the reproach in your eyes that you haven’t poured enough cold water on the back of your head yet.”
He turned and walked out with the strange movements of a blind man. Gray unfolded the piece of paper; the pencil must have been amazed when it drew these drawings on it, reminiscent of a rickety fence. Here’s what Letika wrote: “According to the instructions. After five o'clock I walked along the street. A house with a gray roof, two windows on the side; he has a vegetable garden. The said person came twice: once for water, twice for wood chips for the stove. When darkness fell, I looked out the window, but didn’t see anything because of the curtain.”
Then followed several instructions of a family nature, obtained by Letika, apparently through table conversation, since the memorial ended, somewhat unexpectedly, with the words: “I contributed a little of my own towards expenses.”
But the essence of this report spoke only of what we know from the first chapter. Gray put the piece of paper on the table, whistled for the watchman and sent for Panten, but instead of the mate, boatswain Atwood appeared, pulling at his rolled up sleeves.
“We moored at the dam,” he said. - Panten sent to find out what you want. He is busy: he was attacked there by some people with trumpets, drums and other violins. Did you invite them to “The Secret”? Panten asks you to come, he says he has a fog in his head.
“Yes, Atwood,” said Gray, “I definitely called the musicians; go, tell them to go to the cockpit for now. Next we will see how to arrange them. Atwood, tell them and the crew that I'll be on deck in a quarter of an hour. Let them gather; you and Panten, of course, will also listen to me.
Atwood cocked his left eyebrow like a trigger, stood sideways by the door and walked out. Gray spent these ten minutes covering his face with his hands; he wasn’t preparing for anything and wasn’t counting on anything, but he wanted to be mentally silent. Meanwhile, everyone was waiting for him, impatiently and with curiosity, full of guesses. He went out and saw in their faces the expectation of incredible things, but since he himself found what was happening to be quite natural, the tension of other people’s souls was reflected in him with slight annoyance.
“Nothing special,” Gray said, sitting down on the bridge ladder. “We will stand at the mouth of the river until we replace all the rigging.” You saw that red silk was brought; from it, under the leadership of the sailing master Blent, new sails will be made for the Secret. Then we will go, but I won’t say where; at least not far from here. I'm going to see my wife. She is not my wife yet, but she will be. I need scarlet sails so that from afar, as agreed with her, she will notice us. That's all. As you can see, there is nothing mysterious here. And enough about that.
“Yes,” said Atwood, seeing from the smiling faces of the sailors that they were pleasantly puzzled and did not dare to speak. - So that’s the thing, captain... It’s not for us, of course, to judge this. As you wish, so it will be. I congratulate you.
- Thank you! - Gray squeezed the boatswain’s hand tightly, but he, making an incredible effort, responded with such a squeeze that the captain yielded. After that, everyone came up, replacing each other with shy warmth of their gaze and muttering congratulations. No one shouted or made any noise—the sailors felt something not entirely simple in the captain’s abrupt words. Panten sighed with relief and became cheerful - his emotional heaviness melted away. One ship's carpenter remained dissatisfied with something: limply holding Gray's hand, he asked gloomily: “How did this come into your head, captain?”
“Like the blow of your ax,” Gray said. - Zimmer! Show your kids.
The violinist, slapping the musicians on the back, pushed out seven people dressed extremely sloppily.
“Here,” said Zimmer, “this is a trombone; doesn't play, but fires like a cannon. These two beardless fellows are a fanfare; As soon as they start playing, you immediately want to fight. Then clarinet, cornet-a-piston and second violin. All of them are great masters of hugging the frisky prima, that is, me. And here is the main owner of our cheerful craft - Fritz, the drummer. Drummers, you know, usually look disappointed, but this one beats with dignity, with passion. There is something about his playing that is as open and direct as his sticks. Is everything done like that, Captain Gray?
“Amazing,” Gray said. - All of you have a place in the hold, which this time will be filled with various “scherzos”, “adagios” and “fortissimos”. Go your separate ways. Panten, take off the mooring lines and move on. I'll relieve you in two hours.
He did not notice these two hours, since they all passed in the same inner music that did not leave his consciousness, just as the pulse does not leave the arteries. He thought about one thing, wanted one thing, strived for one thing. A man of action, he was mentally ahead of the course of events, regretting only that they could not be moved as simply and quickly as checkers. Nothing in his calm appearance spoke of that tension of feeling, the roar of which, like the roar of a huge bell striking overhead, rushed through his entire being with a deafening nervous groan. This finally brought him to the point where he began to count mentally: “One,” two... thirty...” and so on until he said “a thousand.” This exercise worked: he was finally able to look at the whole enterprise from the outside. Here he was somewhat surprised by the fact that he could not imagine the inner Assol, since he had not even spoken to her. He read somewhere that you can, at least vaguely, understand a person if, imagining yourself as that person, you copy the expression on his face. Gray's eyes had already begun to take on a strange expression that was unusual for them, and his lips under his mustache were forming into a weak, meek smile, when, having come to his senses, he burst out laughing and went out to replace Panten.
It was dark. Panten, raising the collar of his jacket, walked around the compass, saying to the helmsman: “To port is a quarter of a point; left. Wait: another quarter." The "Secret" sailed with half sail and a fair wind.
“You know,” Panten said to Gray, “I’m pleased.”
- How?
- The same as you. I got it. Right here on the bridge. “He winked slyly, shining his smile with the fire of his pipe.
“Well,” said Gray, suddenly realizing what was going on, “what did you understand?” “The best way to smuggle contraband,” Panten whispered. - Anyone can have the sails they want. You have a brilliant head, Gray!
- Poor Panten! - said the captain, not knowing whether to be angry or laugh. “Your guess is witty, but lacks any basis.” Go to sleep. I give you my word that you are wrong. I'm doing what I said.
He sent him to bed, checked the heading and sat down. Now we will leave him, as he needs to be alone.

VI. Assol is left alone

Longren spent the night at sea; he did not sleep, did not fish, but sailed without certain direction, listening to the splash of water, looking into the darkness, becoming weather-beaten and thinking. In the difficult hours of his life, nothing restored the strength of his soul more than these lonely wanderings. Silence, only silence and solitude - that’s what he needed so that all the weakest and most confused voices inner world sounded clear. That night he thought about the future, about poverty, about Assol. It was extremely difficult for him to leave her even for a while; in addition, he was afraid of resurrecting the subsided pain. Perhaps, having entered the ship, he will again imagine that there, in Kaperna, a friend who never died is waiting for him, and returning, he will approach the house with the grief of dead expectation. Mary will never leave the door of the house again. But he wanted Assol to have something to eat, and therefore decided to do as his care ordered.
When Longren returned, the girl was not home yet. Her early walks did not bother her father; this time, however, there was a slight tension in his anticipation. Walking from corner to corner, he suddenly saw Assol at a turn; Having entered quickly and silently, she silently stopped in front of him, almost frightening him with the light of her gaze, which reflected excitement. It seemed that her second face had been revealed
- that true face of a person, which usually only speaks of the eyes. She was silent, looking into Longren’s face so incomprehensibly that he quickly asked: “Are you sick?”
She didn't answer right away. When the meaning of the question finally touched her spiritual ear, Assol perked up like a branch, touched by hand, and laughed a long, even laugh of quiet triumph. She needed to say something, but, as always, she didn’t need to figure out what exactly; she said: “No, I’m healthy... Why are you looking like that?” I'm having fun. It's true, I'm having fun, but that's because the day is so good. What did you think? I can already see from your face that you have thought of something.
“Whatever I think,” Longren said, sitting the girl on his lap, “I know you will understand what’s going on.” There is nothing to live with. I will not go on a long voyage again, but will join the mail steamer that sails between Kasset and Liss.
“Yes,” she said from afar, trying to enter into his worries and business, but horrified that she was powerless to stop rejoicing. - This is very bad. I will be bored. Come back quickly. - Saying this, she blossomed with an irrepressible smile. - Yes, hurry up, dear; I'm waiting.
- Assol! - Longren said, taking her face with his palms and turning her towards him. - Tell me, what happened?
She felt that she had to allay his anxiety, and, having overcome her glee, she became seriously attentive, only new life shone in her eyes.
“You’re strange,” she said. - Absolutely nothing. I was collecting nuts."
Longren would not have fully believed this if he had not been so busy with his thoughts. Their conversation became businesslike and detailed. The sailor told his daughter to pack his bag; He listed all the necessary things and gave some advice.
“I’ll return home in ten days, and you pawn my gun and stay at home.” If anyone wants to offend you, say: “Longren will return soon.” Don't think or worry about me; nothing bad will happen.
After that, he ate, kissed the girl deeply and, throwing the bag over his shoulders, went out onto the city road. Assol looked after him until he disappeared around the bend; then returned. She had a lot of homework to do, but she forgot about it. With the interest of slight surprise, she looked around, as if already a stranger to this house, so ingrained in her consciousness from childhood that she seemed to always carry it within herself, and now looking like her native places, visited a number of years later from the circle of another life. But she felt something unworthy in this rebuff, something amiss. She sat down at the table on which Longren was making toys and tried to glue the steering wheel to the stern; looking at these objects, she involuntarily saw them large, real; everything that had happened in the morning rose again in her with a trembling of excitement, and a golden ring, the size of the sun, fell across the sea at her feet.
Without sitting still, she left the house and went to Lys. She had absolutely nothing to do there; She didn’t know why she was going, but she couldn’t help but go. On the way, she met a pedestrian who wanted to scout out some direction; she sensibly explained to him what was needed, and immediately forgot about it.
She walked the entire long road unnoticed, as if she were carrying a bird that had absorbed all her tender attention. Near the city, she was a little amused by the noise flying from his huge circle, but he did not have power over her, as before, when, frightening and hammering, he made her a silent coward. She confronted him. She slowly walked along the circular boulevard, crossing the blue shadows of the trees, trustingly and easily looking at the faces of passersby, with an even gait, full of confidence. A breed of observant people during the day repeatedly noticed an unknown, strange-looking girl walking among the bright crowd with an air of deep thoughtfulness. In the square, she extended her hand to the stream of the fountain, running her fingers among the reflected splashes; then, sitting down, she rested and returned to the forest road. She made the return journey with a fresh soul, in a peaceful and clear mood, like an evening river that had finally replaced the colorful mirrors of the day with an even shine in the shadows. Approaching the village, she saw the same charcoal miner who imagined that his basket was blooming; he stood near a cart with two unknown gloomy people covered in soot and dirt. Assol was delighted. - Hello. Philip,” she said, “what are you doing here?”
- Nothing, fly. The wheel fell off; I corrected him, now I smoke and scribble with our guys. Where are you from?
Assol did not answer.
“You know, Philip,” she said, “I love you very much, and therefore I will only tell you.” I will leave soon; I'll probably leave completely. Don't tell anyone about this.
- Is it you who wants to leave? Where are you going? — the coal miner was amazed, opening his mouth questioningly, causing his beard to grow longer.
- Don't know. - She slowly looked around the clearing under the elm tree where the cart stood,
- green grass in the pink evening light, black silent coal miners and, after thinking, added: “All this is unknown to me.” I don’t know the day or the hour and I don’t even know where. I won't say anything more. Therefore, just in case, goodbye; you often took me around.
She took the huge black hand and brought it into a state of relative shaking. The worker's face cracked into a fixed smile. The girl nodded, turned and walked away. She disappeared so quickly that Philip and his friends did not have time to turn their heads.
“Wonderful,” said the coal miner, “come and understand it.” “There’s something wrong with her today... such and such.”
“That’s right,” supported the second one, “it’s either she’s saying or she’s persuading.” It's none of our business.
“It’s none of our business,” said the third, sighing. Then all three got into the cart and, the wheels crackling along the rocky road, disappeared into the dust.

VII. Scarlet "Secret"

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 briefly 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. New soul He will have a new one for you too. 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 - said in time, the right word. To own this is to own everything. As for me, our beginning - mine and Assol's - will remain for us forever in the scarlet reflection 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 resolutely blow the guest into the 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 left side; soft music flowed into the blue day from the white deck under the fire of scarlet silk; music of rhythmic modulations, 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 stupefied 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 radiant 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 a game sunbeams on the 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 after his iron “yes” that she laughed.
Now we will walk away from them, knowing that they need to be together alone. There are a lot of words in the world different languages and different dialects, but with all of them, even remotely, you cannot convey what they said to each other on 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 keg surpassed everything that happens on great holidays.
- How did you like it? - Gray asked Letika.
- Captain! - said the sailor, searching for words. “I don’t know if he liked me, but I need to think about my impressions.” Beehive and garden!
- What?!
“I want to say that a beehive and a garden were shoved into my mouth.” Be happy, captain. And may she be happy, which I call the “best cargo”, the best prize of the “Secret”!
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...

Alexander Stepanovich Green

Scarlet Sails

Offered and dedicated to Nina Nikolaevna Green by the Author

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 the 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, paradise seemed to him a little brighter than a woodshed, and he thought that the fire of a simple lamp - if now they were all together, the three of them - would be an irreplaceable consolation for the 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.”

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 hurriedly drank a glass of vodka at the counter and left, briefly throwing around “yes”, “no”, “hello”, “goodbye”, “little by little” - at everything addresses and nods from 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.

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 the 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, paradise seemed to him a little brighter than a woodshed, and he thought that the fire of a simple lamp - if now they were all together, the three of them - would be an irreplaceable consolation for the 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.”

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 hurriedly drank a glass of vodka at the counter and left, briefly throwing around “yes”, “no”, “hello”, “goodbye”, “little by little” - at everything addresses and nods from 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, stupefaction, which, reducing grief to vague sadness, is equal in effect to deep sleep .

On one of these days, Menners’s twelve-year-old son, Hin, 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, dear,” 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 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 than they acted - he acted impressively, incomprehensibly, and thereby placed himself above others, in a word, he something that is not 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 or 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 mother and father, re-inherent, like all children in the world, once and for all erased 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 at rapprochement ended in bitter crying, bruises, scratches and other manifestations of 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.” - “How is it 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, the 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, the appearance of the clerk of the 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,” Longren said, “I spent a week working on this bot. - The bot was five vershkov. - Look, what kind of strength, what kind of draft, what 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 Lyse 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; the white boat raised scarlet sails made from scraps of silk, used by Longren for lining steamship cabins - toys for a wealthy buyer. Here, apparently, having made a yacht, he did not find a suitable material for the sail, 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 take her down to the water to swim a little,” 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, piercing the matter, lay as a trembling pink radiation on the white rocks 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 the 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 it 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-f-f-u-uu” several times, ran as fast as she could.

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 his nose, lips and eyes, looking out from a rapidly growing radiant beard and lush, fiercely raised mustache, a face, would seem sluggishly transparent, if not for his eyes, gray as sand and shining like pure steel, with a look brave 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, - this is how 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 and then at the yacht. - This is something special. Listen up, plant! Is this your thing?

Yes, I ran after her all along 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,” Assol said, 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 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 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 - 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.

What a disaster! 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 explained: “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 so I can 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 arched eyebrows and hands round like cobblestones. The beggar, seething with resentment, said: “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 have lost their minds; Here's a man talking. They had a sorcerer, so you have to understand. They are waiting - ladies, 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.

If Caesar found it better to be first in the country than second in Rome, then Arthur Gray might not envy Caesar his wise desire. He was born a captain, wanted to be one and became one.

The huge house in which Gray was born was gloomy on the inside and majestic on the outside. A flower garden and part of the park adjoined the front façade. The best varieties of tulips - silver-blue, purple and black with a pink shadow - wriggled in the lawn in lines of whimsically thrown necklaces. The old trees of the park dozed in the diffuse half-light above the sedge of the winding stream. The castle fence, since it was a real castle, consisted of twisted cast iron pillars connected by an iron pattern. Each pillar ended at the top with a lush cast-iron lily; These bowls were filled with oil on special days, blazing in the darkness of the night in a vast fiery formation.

Gray's father and mother were arrogant slaves of their position, wealth and the laws of that society, in relation to which they could say “we”. The part of their soul occupied by the gallery of their ancestors is little worthy of depiction, the other part - the imaginary continuation of the gallery - began with little Gray, doomed, according to a well-known, pre-drawn up plan, to live his life and die so that his portrait could be hung on the wall without damaging family honor. In this regard, a small mistake was made: Arthur Gray was born with a living soul who was not at all inclined to continue the family line.

This liveliness, this complete perversity of the boy began to affect him in the eighth year of his life; the type of knight of bizarre impressions, a seeker and a miracle worker, that is, a person who took from the countless variety of roles in life the most dangerous and touching - the role of providence, was outlined in Gray even when, putting a chair against the wall in order to get a painting depicting the crucifixion, he took the nails out of Christ’s bloody hands, that is, he simply covered them with blue paint stolen from the painter. In this form he found the picture more bearable. Carried away by his peculiar occupation, he began to cover the feet of the crucified man, but was caught by his father. The old man pulled the boy from the chair by the ears and asked: “Why did you ruin the picture?”

I didn't spoil it.

This is the work of a famous artist.

“I don’t care,” Gray said. “I can’t allow nails sticking out of my hands and blood flowing.” I do not want it.

In his son's answer, Lionel Gray, hiding a smile under his mustache, recognized himself and did not impose punishment.

Gray tirelessly studied the castle, making amazing discoveries. So, in the attic he found steel knightly trash, books bound in iron and leather, decayed clothes and hordes of pigeons. In the cellar where the wine was stored, he received interesting information regarding Lafite, Madeira, and sherry. Here, in the dim light of pointed windows, pressed down by slanting triangles of stone vaults, stood small and large barrels; the largest, in the shape of a flat circle, occupied the entire transverse wall of the cellar; the hundred-year-old dark oak of the barrel was shiny as if polished. Among the barrels stood potbellied bottles of green and blue glass in wicker baskets. Gray mushrooms with thin stalks grew on the stones and on the earthen floor: mold, moss, dampness, a sour, suffocating smell were everywhere. A huge cobweb glowed golden in the far corner when, in the evening, the sun looked out for it with its last ray. In one place were buried two barrels of the best Alicante that existed in Cromwell's time, and the cellarer, pointing to an empty corner to Gray, did not miss the opportunity to repeat the story of the famous grave in which lay a dead man more alive than a pack of fox terriers. Starting the story, the narrator did not forget to try whether the tap of the large barrel was working, and walked away from it, apparently with a lighter heart, since involuntary tears of too strong joy sparkled in his cheerful eyes.

“Well,” Poldishok said to Gray, sitting down on an empty box and stuffing his sharp nose with tobacco, “do you see this place?” There lies such wine for which more than one drunkard would agree to cut out his tongue if he were allowed to grab a small glass. Each barrel contains one hundred liters of a substance that explodes the soul and turns the body into motionless dough. Its color is darker than cherry and it will not ooze out of the bottle. It's thick, like good cream. It is enclosed in ebony barrels, strong as iron. They have double hoops of red copper. On the hoops there is a Latin inscription: “Gray will drink me when he is in heaven.” This inscription was interpreted so extensively and contradictorily that your great-grandfather, the high-born Simeon Gray, built a dacha, called it “Paradise”, and thought in this way to reconcile the mysterious saying with reality through innocent wit. But what do you think? He died as soon as the hoops began to be knocked down, from a broken heart, so worried was the dainty old man. Since then this barrel has not been touched. There was a belief that precious wine would bring bad luck. In fact, the Egyptian Sphinx did not ask such a riddle. True, he asked one sage: “Shall I eat you, as I eat everyone else? Tell the truth, you will stay alive,” but even then, after mature reflection...

It seems like the tap is dripping again,” Poldishok interrupted himself, rushing with indirect steps to the corner, where, having strengthened the tap, he returned with an open, bright face. - Yes. Having reasoned well, and most importantly, without haste, the sage could have said to the sphinx: “Come on, brother, let’s have a drink, and you will forget about these nonsense.” “Gray will drink me when he’s in heaven!” How to understand? Will he drink when he dies, or what? Strange. Therefore, he is a saint, therefore, he drinks neither wine nor plain vodka. Let's say that "heaven" means happiness. But since the question is posed this way, all happiness will lose half of its shiny feathers when the lucky one sincerely asks himself: is it heaven? That's the thing. To drink from such a barrel with a light heart and laugh, my boy, laugh well, you need to have one foot on the ground and the other in heaven. There is also a third assumption: that someday Gray will drink himself to a blissfully heavenly state and boldly empty the barrel. But this, boy, would not be the fulfillment of a prediction, but a tavern brawl.

Having once again made sure that the tap of the large barrel was in good condition, Poldishok finished with concentration and gloom: “These barrels were brought in 1793 by your ancestor, John Gray, from Lisbon, on the Beagle ship; Two thousand gold piastres were paid for the wine. The inscription on the barrels was made by gunsmith Veniamin Elyan from Pondicherry. The barrels are sunk six feet into the ground and filled with ash from the grape stems. No one has drunk this wine, tried it or will try it.

“I’ll drink it,” Gray said one day, stamping his foot.

What a brave young man! - Poldishok noted. -Will you drink it in heaven?

Certainly. This is paradise!.. I have it, see? - Gray laughed quietly, opening his small hand. The gentle but firm outline of his palm was illuminated by the sun, and the boy clenched his fingers into a fist. - Here he is, here!.. Then here, then again not...

As he spoke, he first opened and then closed his hand, and finally, satisfied with his joke, he ran out, ahead of Poldishok, along the gloomy stairs into the corridor of the lower floor.

Gray was strictly forbidden to visit the kitchen, but having already discovered this amazing world of steam, soot, hissing, bubbling boiling liquids, the knocking of knives and delicious smells, the boy diligently visited the huge room. In stern silence, like priests, the cooks moved; their white caps against the background of blackened walls gave the work the character of a solemn service; cheerful, fat scullery maids washed dishes by barrels of water, clinking porcelain and silver; the boys, bending under the weight, brought in baskets full of fish, oysters, crayfish and fruit. There on a long table lay rainbow pheasants, gray ducks, motley chickens: there was a pork carcass with a short tail and baby-closed eyes; there are turnips, cabbage, nuts, blue raisins, tanned peaches.

In the kitchen, Gray was a little timid: it seemed to him that everyone here was driven by dark forces, whose power was the main spring of the life of the castle; the shouts sounded like a command and a spell; The movements of the workers, thanks to long practice, acquired that distinct, spare precision that seems to be inspiration. Gray was not yet tall enough to look into the largest saucepan, seething like Vesuvius, but he felt a special reverence for it; he watched in awe as two maids tossed her around; Smoky foam then splashed onto the stove, and steam, rising from the noisy stove, filled the kitchen in waves. Once, so much liquid splashed out that it scalded one girl’s hand. The skin instantly turned red, even the nails became red from the rush of blood, and Betsy (that was the name of the maid), crying, rubbed oil on the affected areas. Tears rolled uncontrollably down her round, confused face.

Gray froze. While other women fussed around Betsy, he experienced a feeling of acute other people's suffering, which he could not experience himself.

Are you in a lot of pain? - he asked.

Try it and you’ll find out,” answered Betsy, covering her hand with her apron.

Frowning his eyebrows, the boy climbed onto a stool, scooped up a long spoon of hot liquid (by the way, it was lamb soup) and splashed it onto the crook of his wrist. The impression was not weak, but weakness from severe pain made him stagger. Pale as flour, Gray approached Betsy, putting his burning hand in his panties pocket.

It seems to me that you are in a lot of pain,” he said, keeping silent about his experience. - Let's go, Betsy, to the doctor. Let's go!

He diligently pulled her skirt, while supporters of home remedies vied with each other to give the maid life-saving recipes. But the girl, in great pain, went with Gray. The doctor eased the pain by applying a bandage. Only after Betsy had left did the boy show his hand. This minor episode made twenty-year-old Betsy and ten-year-old Gray true friends. She filled his pockets with pies and apples, and he told her fairy tales and other stories he had read in his books. One day he found out that Betsy could not marry the groom Jim, because they did not have the money to start a household. Gray smashed his porcelain piggy bank with fireplace tongs and shook out everything, which amounted to about a hundred pounds. Getting up early. when the dowry went into the kitchen, he snuck into her room and, putting the gift in the girl’s chest, covered it with a short note: “Betsy, this is yours. The leader of a band of robbers, Robin Hood." The commotion caused in the kitchen by this story assumed such proportions that Gray had to confess to the forgery. He didn't take the money back and didn't want to talk about it anymore.

His mother was one of those natures that life casts in a ready-made form. She lived in a half-sleep of security, providing for every desire of an ordinary soul, so she had no choice but to consult with the dressmakers, the doctor and the butler. But a passionate, almost religious attachment to her strange child was, presumably, the only valve of those inclinations of hers, chloroformed by upbringing and fate, which no longer live, but wander vaguely, leaving the will inactive. The noble lady resembled a peahen that hatched a swan's egg. She was painfully aware of her son's wonderful isolation; sadness, love and embarrassment filled her as she pressed the boy to her chest, where the heart spoke differently than the language, which habitually reflected the conventional forms of relationships and thoughts. Thus, a cloudy effect, intricately constructed by the sun's rays, penetrates the symmetrical setting of a government building, depriving it of its banal virtues; the eye sees and does not recognize the room: mysterious shades of light among the squalor create a dazzling harmony.

A noble lady, whose face and figure seemed to be able to respond only with icy silence to the fiery voices of life, whose subtle beauty rather repulsed than attracted, since in her one felt an arrogant effort of will, devoid of feminine attraction - this Lillian Gray, left alone with a boy , became a simple mother, speaking in a loving, meek tone those very heartfelt trifles that cannot be conveyed on paper - their strength is in the feeling, not in them themselves. She absolutely could not refuse her son anything. She forgave him everything: staying in the kitchen, aversion to lessons, disobedience and numerous quirks.

If he did not want the trees to be trimmed, the trees would remain untouched; if he asked to forgive or reward someone, the person concerned knew that this would be the case; he could ride any horse, take any dog ​​into the castle; rummage through the library, run around barefoot and eat whatever he wants.

His father struggled with this for some time, but gave in - not to principle, but to his wife's wishes. He limited himself to removing all the children of employees from the castle, fearing that, thanks to low society, the boy’s whims would turn into inclinations difficult to eradicate. In general, he was absorbed in countless family processes, the beginning of which was lost in the era of the emergence of paper mills, and the end - in the death of all the scoundrels. In addition, state affairs, estate affairs, dictation of memoirs, ceremonial hunting trips, reading newspapers and complex correspondence kept him at some internal distance from his family; He saw his son so rarely that he sometimes forgot how old he was.

Thus, Gray lived in his own world. He played alone - usually in the backyards of the castle, which in the old days had military significance. These vast wastelands, with the remains of high ditches, with stone cellars overgrown with moss, were full of weeds, nettles, burrs, thorns and modestly variegated wild flowers. Gray stayed here for hours, exploring mole holes, fighting weeds, stalking butterflies, and building forts out of scrap bricks, which he bombarded with sticks and cobblestones.

He was already in his twelfth year when all the hints of his soul, all the scattered features of the spirit and shades of secret impulses united in one strong moment and thus received a harmonious expression and became an indomitable desire. Before this, he seemed to have found only separate parts of his garden - an opening, a shadow, a flower, a dense and lush trunk - in many other gardens, and suddenly he saw them clearly, all in beautiful, amazing correspondence.

It happened in the library. Its tall door with cloudy glass at the top was usually locked, but the latch of the lock held loosely in the socket of the doors; pressed by hand, the door moved away, strained and opened. When the spirit of exploration forced Gray to enter the library, he was struck by a dusty light, all the strength and peculiarity of which lay in the colored pattern of the upper part of the window panes. The silence of abandonment stood here like pond water. Dark rows of bookcases in places adjoined the windows, half blocking them; between the cabinets there were passages littered with piles of books. There is an open album with the inner pages slipping out, there are scrolls tied with gold cord; stacks of gloomy-looking books; thick layers of manuscripts, a mound of miniature volumes that cracked like bark when opened; here are drawings and tables, rows of new publications, maps; a variety of bindings, rough, delicate, black, variegated, blue, gray, thick, thin, rough and smooth. The cupboards were densely packed with books. They seemed like walls that contained life in their very thickness. In the reflections of the cabinet glass, other cabinets were visible, covered with colorless shiny spots. A huge globe, enclosed in a copper spherical cross of the equator and meridian, stood on a round table.

Turning to the exit, Gray saw a huge picture above the door, its content immediately filling the stuffy numbness of the library. The painting depicted a ship rising onto the crest of a sea wall. Streams of foam flowed down its slope. He was depicted in the final moments of take-off. The ship was heading straight towards the viewer. The high bowsprit obscured the base of the masts. The crest of the shaft, spread out by the ship's keel, resembled the wings of a giant bird. Foam rushed into the air. The sails, dimly visible from behind the backboard and above the bowsprit, full of the frantic force of the storm, fell back in their entirety, so that, having crossed the shaft, straightened out, and then, bending over the abyss, rushed the ship towards new avalanches. Torn clouds fluttered low over the ocean. The dim light fought doomedly against the approaching darkness of the night. But the most remarkable thing in this picture was the figure of a man standing on the forecastle with his back to the viewer. She expressed the whole situation, even the character of the moment. The man’s pose (he spread his legs, waving his arms) did not actually say anything about what he was doing, but made us assume extreme intensity of attention, directed towards something on the deck, invisible to the viewer. The folded skirts of his caftan fluttered in the wind; a white braid and a black sword were stretched out into the air; the richness of the costume showed him as a captain, the dancing position of his body - the swing of the shaft; without a hat, he was apparently absorbed in the dangerous moment and shouted - but what? Did he see a man falling overboard, did he order to turn on another tack, or, drowning out the wind, did he call for the boatswain? Not thoughts, but the shadows of these thoughts grew in Gray's soul while he looked at the picture. Suddenly it seemed to him that an unknown and invisible person approached from the left and stood next to him; as soon as you turned your head, the bizarre sensation would disappear without a trace. Gray knew this. But he did not extinguish his imagination, but listened. A silent voice shouted several abrupt phrases, as incomprehensible as the Malay language; there was the sound of what seemed like long landslides; echoes and a gloomy wind filled the library. Gray heard all this inside himself. He looked around: the instant silence that arose dispelled the sonorous web of fantasy; the connection with the storm disappeared.

Gray came to see this picture several times. She became for him that necessary word in the conversation between the soul and life, without which it is difficult to understand oneself. A huge sea gradually settled inside the little boy. He got used to it, rummaging through the library, looking for and eagerly reading those books whose golden doors revealed the blue glow of the ocean. There, sowing foam behind the stern, the ships moved. Some of them lost their sails and masts and, choking on the waves, sank into the darkness of the abyss, where the phosphorescent eyes of fish flickered. Others, caught by the breakers, crashed against the reefs; the subsiding excitement shook the hull menacingly; the depopulated ship with torn rigging experienced a long agony until a new storm blew it to pieces. Still others loaded safely at one port and unloaded at another; the crew, sitting at the tavern table, sang of sailing and lovingly drank vodka. There were also pirate ships, with a black flag and a scary, knife-waving crew; ghost ships shining with the deathly light of blue illumination; warships with soldiers, guns and music; ships of scientific expeditions looking out for volcanoes, plants and animals; ships with dark secrets and riots; ships of discovery and ships of adventure.

In this world, naturally, the figure of the captain towered above everything. He was the destiny, the soul and the mind of the ship. His character determined the leisure time and work of the team. The team itself was selected by him personally and largely corresponded to his inclinations. He knew the habits and family affairs of each person. In the eyes of his subordinates, he possessed magical knowledge, thanks to which he confidently walked, say, from Lisbon to Shanghai, across vast spaces. He repelled the storm with the counteraction of a system of complex efforts, killing panic with short orders; swam and stopped wherever he wanted; ordered the departure and loading, repairs and rest; it was difficult to imagine greater and more intelligent power in a living matter full of continuous movement. This power in isolation and completeness was equal to the power of Orpheus.

Such an idea of ​​the captain, such an image and such the true reality of his position occupied, by right of spiritual events, the main place in Gray’s brilliant consciousness. No profession other than this could so successfully fuse into one whole all the treasures of life, preserving intact the subtlest pattern of each individual happiness. Danger, risk, the power of nature, the light of a distant country, the wonderful unknown, flickering love, blooming with rendezvous and separation; a fascinating flurry of meetings, people, events; the immeasurable variety of life, while how high in the sky the Southern Cross, the Ursa Bear, and all the continents are in the watchful eyes, although your cabin is full of the never-leaving homeland with its books, paintings, letters and dried flowers, entwined with a silky curl in a suede amulet on a hard breasts In the autumn, in the fifteenth year of his life, Arthur Gray secretly left home and entered the golden gates of the sea. Soon the schooner Anselm left the port of Dubelt for Marseille, taking away a cabin boy with small hands and the appearance of a girl in disguise. This cabin boy was Gray, the owner of an elegant suitcase, thin, glove-like patent leather boots and cambric linen with woven crowns.

During the year, while Anselm visited France, America and Spain, Gray squandered part of his property on cake, paying tribute to the past, and lost the rest - for the present and future - at cards. He wanted to be the "devil" sailor. He drank vodka, choking, and while swimming, with a sinking heart, he jumped into the water head down from a two-foot height. Little by little he lost everything except the main thing - his strange flying soul; he lost his weakness, becoming broad-boned and strong-muscled, replaced his pallor with a dark tan, gave up the refined carelessness of his movements for the confident accuracy of his working hand, and his thinking eyes reflected a brilliance, like that of a man looking at the fire. And his speech, having lost its uneven, arrogantly shy fluidity, became brief and precise, like the blow of a seagull into a stream behind the tremulous silver of fish.

The captain of the Anselm was a kind man, but a stern sailor who took the boy out of some kind of gloating. In Gray’s desperate desire, he saw only an eccentric whim and triumphed in advance, imagining how in two months Gray would tell him, avoiding looking into his eyes: “Captain Gop, I skinned my elbows crawling along the rigging; My sides and back hurt, my fingers can’t straighten, my head is cracking, and my legs are shaking. All these wet ropes weigh two pounds; all these rails, shrouds, windlasses, cables, topmasts and sallings are designed to torture my tender body. I want to go to my mother." Having mentally listened to such a statement, Captain Gop made, mentally, the following speech: “Go wherever you want, my little bird. If there is tar stuck to your sensitive wings, you can wash it off at home with Rose Mimosa cologne.” This cologne invented by Gop pleased the captain most of all and, having finished his imaginary rebuke, he repeated aloud: “Yes.” Go to Rose Mimosa.

Meanwhile, the impressive dialogue came to the captain’s mind less and less, as Gray walked towards the goal with clenched teeth and a pale face. He endured the restless work with a determined effort of will, feeling that it was becoming easier and easier for him as the harsh ship broke into his body, and inability was replaced by habit. It happened that the loop of the anchor chain knocked him off his feet, hitting him on the deck, that the rope that was not held at the bow was torn out of his hands, tearing the skin from his palms, that the wind hit him in the face with the wet corner of the sail with an iron ring sewn into it, and, in short, all the work was torture, requiring close attention, but no matter how hard he breathed, with difficulty straightening his back, a smile of contempt did not leave his face. He silently endured ridicule, mockery and inevitable abuse until he became “one of his own” in the new sphere, but from that time on he invariably responded to any insult with boxing.

One day, Captain Gop, seeing how he skillfully tied a sail on the yard, said to himself: “Victory is on your side, rogue.” When Gray went down to the deck, Gop called him into the cabin and, opening a tattered book, said: “Listen carefully!” Stop smoking! The training of the puppy to become a captain begins.

And he began to read - or rather, speak and shout - from the book the ancient words of the sea. This was Gray's first lesson. During the year he became acquainted with navigation, practice, shipbuilding, maritime law, pilotage and accounting. Captain Gop gave him his hand and said: “We.”

In Vancouver, Gray was caught by a letter from his mother, full of tears and fear. He replied: “I know. But if you saw like me; look through my eyes. If you could hear me: put a shell to your ear: there is the sound of an eternal wave in it; if you loved like I did - everything, in your letter I would find, besides love and a check, a smile ... "And he continued to swim until the Anselm arrived with its cargo in Dubelt, from where, taking advantage of the stop, twenty-year-old Gray set off visit the castle. Everything was the same all around; as indestructible in detail and in the general impression as five years ago, only the foliage of the young elms became thicker; its pattern on the building's façade shifted and grew.

The servants who ran to him were delighted, perked up and froze in the same respect with which, as if only yesterday, they greeted this Gray. They told him where his mother was; he walked into a high room and, quietly closing the door, silently stopped, looking at a graying woman in a black dress. She stood in front of the crucifix: her passionate whisper sounded like a full heartbeat. “About floating, traveling, sick, suffering and captive,” Gray heard, breathing briefly. Then it was said: “and to my boy...” Then he said: “I...” But he could not say anything else. Mother turned around. She had lost weight: a new expression shone in the arrogance of her thin face, like restored youth. She quickly approached her son; a short chesty laugh, a restrained exclamation and tears in the eyes - that’s all. But at that moment she lived stronger and better than in her entire life. - “I recognized you immediately, oh my dear, my little one!” And Gray really stopped being big. He listened to his father's death, then spoke about himself. She listened without reproaches or objections, but to herself - in everything that he claimed as the truth of his life - she saw only toys with which her boy was playing. Such toys were continents, oceans and ships.

Gray stayed in the castle for seven days; on the eighth day, having taken a large sum of money, he returned to Dubelt and said to Captain Gop: “Thank you. You were a good friend. Farewell, senior comrade,” here he consolidated the true meaning of this word with a terrible, vice-like handshake, “now I will sail separately, on my own ship.” Gop flushed, spat, pulled out his hand and walked away, but Gray, catching up, hugged him. And they sat down in the hotel, all together, twenty-four people with the team, and drank, and shouted, and sang, and drank and ate everything that was on the buffet and in the kitchen.

A little time passed, and in the port of Dubelt the evening star sparkled over the black line of the new mast. It was The Secret, bought by Gray; a three-masted galliot of two hundred and sixty tons. So, Arthur Gray sailed as captain and owner of the ship for another four years, until fate brought him to Lys. But he had already forever remembered that short chesty laugh, full of heartfelt music, with which he was greeted at home, and visited the castle twice a year, leaving the woman with silver hair with an uncertain confidence that such a big boy would probably cope with his toys.

A stream of foam thrown by the stern of Gray's ship "Secret" passed through the ocean like a white line and went out in the brilliance of the evening lights of Liss. The ship anchored in a roadstead not far from the lighthouse.

For ten days the “Secret” unloaded garlic, coffee and tea, the team spent the eleventh day on the shore, resting and drinking wine; on the twelfth day, Gray felt dully melancholy, without any reason, not understanding the melancholy.

Even in the morning, as soon as he woke up, he already felt that this day began in black rays. He dressed gloomily, reluctantly ate breakfast, forgot to read the newspaper and smoked for a long time, immersed in an inexpressible world of aimless tension; Among the vaguely emerging words, unrecognized desires wandered, mutually destroying themselves with equal effort. Then he got down to business.

Accompanied by the boatswain, Gray inspected the ship, ordered to tighten the shrouds, loosen the steering rope, clean the hawse, change the jib, tar the deck, clean the compass, open, ventilate and sweep the hold. But the matter did not amuse Gray. Full of anxious attention to the melancholy of the day, he lived it irritably and sadly: it was as if someone had called him, but he had forgotten who and where.

In the evening he sat down in the cabin, took a book and argued with the author for a long time, making notes of a paradoxical nature in the margins. For some time he was amused by this game, this conversation with the dead man ruling from the grave. Then, picking up the pipe, he drowned in the blue smoke, living among the ghostly arabesques that appeared in its unsteady layers. Tobacco is terribly powerful; just as oil poured into the galloping burst of waves pacifies their frenzy, so does tobacco: softening the irritation of the feelings, it brings them down a few tones; they sound smoother and more musical. Therefore, Gray’s melancholy, having finally lost its offensive meaning after three pipes, turned into thoughtful absent-mindedness. This state lasted for about an hour; when the mental fog disappeared, Gray woke up, wanted to move and went out onto the deck. It was full night; Overboard, in the sleep of black water, the stars and the lights of the mast lanterns were dozing. The air, warm as a cheek, smelled of the sea. Gray raised his head and squinted at the golden coal of the star; instantly, through the mind-boggling miles, the fiery needle of a distant planet penetrated his pupils. The dull noise of the evening city reached the ears from the depths of the bay; sometimes, with the wind, a coastal phrase would fly across the sensitive water, spoken as if on deck; Having sounded clearly, it died out in the creaking of the gear; A match flared on the tank, illuminating his fingers, round eyes and mustache. Gray whistled; the fire of the pipe moved and floated towards him; Soon the captain saw the hands and face of the watchman in the darkness.

Tell Letika,” Gray said, “that he will go with me.” Let him take the fishing rods.

He went down into the sloop, where he waited for about ten minutes. Letika, a nimble, roguish guy, rattled his oars against the side and handed them to Gray; then he went down himself, adjusted the rowlocks and put the bag of provisions into the stern of the sloop. Gray sat down at the steering wheel.

Where do you want to sail, captain? - Letika asked, circling the boat with the right oar.

The captain was silent. The sailor knew that words could not be inserted into this silence, and therefore, falling silent himself, he began to row vigorously.

Gray headed towards the open sea, then began to stick to the left bank. He didn't care where to go. The steering wheel made a dull noise; the oars clanked and splashed, everything else was sea and silence.

During the day, a person listens to so many thoughts, impressions, speeches and words that all this would fill more than one thick book. The face of the day takes on a certain expression, but Gray peered into this face in vain today. In his vague features shone one of those feelings, of which there are many, but to which no name is given. Whatever you call them, they will remain forever beyond words and even concepts, similar to the suggestion of aroma. Gray was now in the grip of such a feeling; He could, however, say: “I’m waiting, I see, I’ll soon find out...”, but even these words amounted to no more than individual drawings in relation to the architectural design. In these trends there was still the power of bright excitement.

Where they were swimming, the shore appeared on the left like a wavy thickening of darkness. Sparks from chimneys flew above the red glass of the windows; it was Caperna. Gray heard bickering and barking. The lights of the village resembled a stove door, burnt with holes through which glowing coals were visible. To the right was the ocean, as clear as the presence of a sleeping man. Having passed Kaperna, Gray turned towards the shore. Here the water washed quietly; Having illuminated the lantern, he saw the pits of the cliff and its upper, overhanging ledges; he liked this place.

“We’ll fish here,” Gray said, clapping the rower on the shoulder.

The sailor chuckled vaguely.

This is my first time sailing with such a captain,” he muttered. - The captain is efficient, but different. Stubborn captain. However, I love him.

Having hammered the oar into the mud, he tied the boat to it, and both rose up, climbing over the stones that popped out from under their knees and elbows. A thicket stretched from the cliff. The sound of an ax cutting a dry trunk was heard; Having knocked down the tree, Letika lit a fire on the cliff. The shadows and the flames reflected by the water moved; in the receding darkness, grass and branches became visible; Above the fire, intertwined with smoke, the air trembled, sparkling.

Gray sat down by the fire.

Come on,” he said, holding out the bottle, “drink, friend Letika, to the health of all teetotalers.” By the way, you didn’t take cinchona, but ginger.

Sorry, captain,” the sailor answered, taking a breath. - Let me have a snack with this... - He bit off half of the chicken at once and, taking the wing out of his mouth, continued: - I know that you love cinchona. Only it was dark, and I was in a hurry. Ginger, you see, hardens a person. When I need to fight, I drink ginger. While the captain ate and drank, the sailor looked sideways at him, then, unable to resist, said: “Is it true, captain, what they say that you come from a noble family?”

This is not interesting, Letika. Take a fishing rod and fish if you want.

I? Don't know. May be. But after. Letika unwound the fishing rod, reciting in verse, which he was a master at, to the great admiration of the team: “I made a long whip from a cord and a piece of wood and, having attached a hook to it, let out a long whistle.” - Then he tickled the box of worms with his finger. - This worm wandered in the earth and was happy with its life, but now it’s caught on a hook - and the catfish will eat it.

Finally, he left singing: “The night is quiet, the vodka is beautiful, tremble, sturgeons, faint, herring,” Letika is fishing from the mountain!

Gray lay down by the fire, looking at the water reflecting the fire. He thought, but without will; in this state, the thought, absent-mindedly holding onto the surroundings, dimly sees it; she rushes like a horse in a crowd, pressing, pushing and stopping; emptiness, confusion and delay alternately accompany it. She wanders in the soul of things; from bright excitement he rushes to secret hints; spins around the earth and sky, vitally converses with imaginary faces, extinguishes and embellishes memories. In this cloudy movement everything is alive and convex and everything is incoherent, like delirium. And the resting consciousness often smiles, seeing, for example, how, while thinking about fate, a guest is suddenly presented with a completely inappropriate image: some twig that was broken two years ago. Gray thought so at the fire, but he was “somewhere” - not here.

The elbow with which he rested, supporting his head with his hand, became damp and numb. The stars glowed palely, the darkness intensified by the tension preceding dawn. The captain began to fall asleep, but did not notice it. He wanted to drink, and he reached for the bag, untying it in his sleep. Then he stopped dreaming; the next two hours were no more than those seconds for Gray during which he leaned his head on his hands. During this time, Letika appeared at the fire twice, smoked and looked out of curiosity into the mouths of the caught fish - what was there? But, of course, there was nothing there.

When Gray woke up, he forgot for a moment how he got to these places. With amazement he saw the happy sparkle of the morning, the cliff of the bank among these branches and the blazing blue distance; hazel leaves hung above the horizon, but at the same time above his feet. At the bottom of the cliff - with the impression that right under Gray's back - a quiet surf was hissing. Flashing from the leaf, a drop of dew spread across the sleepy face like a cold slap. He got up. Light triumphed everywhere. The cooled firebrands clung to life with a thin stream of smoke. Its smell gave the pleasure of breathing the air of forest greenery a wild charm.

There was no letika; he got carried away; He, sweating, fished with the enthusiasm of a gambler. Gray walked out of the thicket into the bushes scattered along the slope of the hill. The grass smoked and burned; the wet flowers looked like children who had been forcibly washed with cold water. The green world breathed with countless tiny mouths, preventing Gray from passing through its jubilant closeness. The captain got out into an open place overgrown with motley grass, and saw a young girl sleeping here.

He quietly moved the branch away with his hand and stopped with a feeling of a dangerous discovery. Not more than five steps away, curled up, one leg tucked up and the other outstretched, the tired Assol lay with her head on her comfortably tucked arms. Her hair shifted in disarray; a button at the neck came undone, revealing a white hole; the flowing skirt exposed the knees; the eyelashes slept on the cheek, in the shadow of the delicate, convex temple, half-covered by a dark strand; the little finger of the right hand, which was under the head, bent to the back of the head. Gray squatted down, looking into the girl’s face from below and not suspecting that he resembled a faun from a painting by Arnold Böcklin.

Perhaps, under other circumstances, this girl would have been noticed by him only with his eyes, but here he saw her differently. Everything moved, everything smiled in him. Of course, he didn’t know her, her name, or, especially, why she fell asleep on the shore, but he was very pleased with it. He loved paintings without explanations or signatures. The impression of such a picture is incomparably stronger; its content, not bound by words, becomes limitless, confirming all guesses and thoughts.

The shadow of the foliage crept closer to the trunks, and Gray was still sitting in the same uncomfortable position. Everything slept on the girl: slept;! dark hair, the dress fell down and the folds of the dress; even the grass near her body seemed to fall asleep out of sympathy. When the impression was complete, Gray entered its warm, washing wave and swam away with it. Letika had been shouting for a long time: “Captain. Where are you?" - but the captain did not hear him.

When he finally stood up, his penchant for the unusual took him by surprise with the determination and inspiration of an irritated woman. Thoughtfully yielding to her, he took the expensive old ring off his finger, not without reason thinking that perhaps this was telling life something essential, like spelling. He carefully lowered the ring onto his little finger, which was white from under the back of his head. The little finger moved impatiently and drooped. Looking again at this resting face, Gray turned and saw the sailor’s eyebrows raised high in the bushes. Letika, with his mouth open, looked at Gray's activities with the same surprise with which Jonah probably looked at the mouth of his furnished whale.

Oh, it's you, Letika! - Gray said. - Look at her. What, good?

Marvelous artistic canvas! - the sailor, who loved bookish expressions, shouted in a whisper. - There is something prepossessing in the consideration of circumstances. I caught four moray eels and another one as thick as a bubble.

Hush, Letika. Let's get out of here.

They retreated into the bushes. They should now have turned to the boat, but Gray hesitated, looking at the distance of the low bank, where the morning smoke of Caperna’s chimneys poured over the greenery and sand. In this smoke he saw the girl again.

Then he turned decisively, going down along the slope; the sailor, without asking what happened, walked behind; he felt that the obligatory silence had fallen again. Already near the first buildings, Gray suddenly said: “Can you, Letika, determine with your experienced eye where the inn is?” “It must be that black roof over there,” Letika realized, “but, however, maybe it’s not that.”

What is noticeable about this roof?

I don't know, captain. Nothing more than the voice of the heart.

They approached the house; it was indeed Menners' tavern. In the open window, on the table, a bottle was visible; Beside her, someone’s dirty hand was milking a half-gray mustache.

Although the hour was early, three people were seated in the common room of the inn. A coal miner, the owner of the drunken mustache we had already noticed, was sitting by the window; Between the buffet and the inner door of the hall, two fishermen sat behind scrambled eggs and beer. Menners, a tall young guy with a freckled, boring face and that special expression of sly agility in his blind eyes that is characteristic of merchants in general, was grinding dishes behind the counter. The sunny window frame lay on the dirty floor.

As soon as Gray entered the strip of smoky light, Menners, bowing respectfully, came out from behind his cover. He immediately recognized in Gray a real captain - a class of guests he rarely saw. Gray asked Roma. Having covered the table with a human tablecloth that had turned yellow in the bustle, Menners brought the bottle, first licking the tip of the peeling label with his tongue. Then he returned behind the counter, looking carefully first at Gray, then at the plate from which he was tearing off something dried with his fingernail.

While Letika, taking the glass with both hands, modestly whispered to him, looking out the window, Gray called Menners. Khin sat down complacently on the tip of his chair, flattered by this address and flattered precisely because it was expressed by a simple nod of Gray's finger.

“You, of course, know all the residents here,” Gray spoke calmly. - I am interested in the name of a young girl in a headscarf, in a dress with pink flowers, dark brown and short, aged from seventeen to twenty years. I met her not far from here. What is her name?

He said this with a firm simplicity of strength that did not allow him to evade this tone. Hin Menners inwardly spun and even grinned slightly, but outwardly he obeyed the nature of the address. However, before answering, he paused - solely out of a fruitless desire to guess what was the matter.

Hm! - he said, looking up at the ceiling. - This must be “Ship Assol”, there is no one else. She's crazy.

Indeed? - Gray said indifferently, taking a large sip. - How did this happen?

When so, please listen. - And Khin told Gray about how seven years ago a girl spoke on the seashore with a song collector. Of course, this story, since the beggar confirmed its existence in the same tavern, took on the shape of crude and flat gossip, but the essence remained intact. “Since then that’s what they’ve called her,” said Menners, “her name is “Assol Korabelnaya.”

Gray automatically glanced at Letika, who continued to be quiet and modest, then his eyes turned to the dusty road running near the inn, and he felt something like a blow - a simultaneous blow to his heart and head. Walking along the road, facing him, was the same Ship Assol, whom Menners had just treated clinically. The amazing features of her face, reminiscent of the mystery of indelibly moving, although simple words, now appeared before him in the light of her gaze. The sailor and Menners were sitting with their backs to the window, but so that they would not accidentally turn around, Gray had the courage to look away from Khin’s red eyes. As soon as he saw Assol’s eyes, all the inertia of Menners’ story dissipated. Meanwhile, suspecting nothing, Khin continued: “I can also tell you that her father is a real scoundrel.” He drowned my dad like some cat, God forgive me. He…

He was interrupted by an unexpected wild roar from behind. Rolling his eyes terribly, the coal miner, shaking off his drunken stupor, suddenly roared in song and so fiercely that everyone trembled.

Basket maker, basket maker,

Charge us for the baskets!..

You've loaded yourself up again, you damned whaleboat! - shouted Menners. - Get out!

...But just be afraid to get caught

To our Palestines!..

The coal miner howled and, as if nothing had happened, drowned his mustache in the splashing glass.

Hin Menners shrugged his shoulders indignantly.

Rubbish, not a person,” he said with the terrible dignity of a hoarder. - Every time such a story!

Can't you tell me anything more? - Gray asked.

Me? I'm telling you that my father is a scoundrel. Through him, your honor, I became an orphan and, even as a child, I had to independently support my mortal sustenance...

“You’re lying,” the coal miner said unexpectedly. - You lie so vilely and unnaturally that I sobered up. - Khin didn’t have time to open his mouth when the coal miner turned to Gray: “He’s lying.” His father also lied; The mother also lied. Such a breed. You can rest assured that she is as healthy as you and me. I talked to her. She sat on my cart eighty-four times, or a little less. When a girl walks from the city, and I sold my coal, I will certainly imprison the girl. Let her sit. I say she has a good head. This is now visible. With you, Hin Menners, she, of course, will not say two words. But, sir, in the free coal business, I despise courts and discussions. She says how big but quirky her conversation is. You listen - as if everything is the same as what you and I would say, but with her it’s the same, but not quite so. For example, once a case was opened about her craft. “I’ll tell you what,” she says and clings to my shoulder like a fly to a bell tower, “my work is not boring, but I always want to come up with something special. “I,” he says, “want to contrive so that the boat itself will float on my board, and the rowers will row for real; then they land on the shore, give up the pier and, honorably, as if alive, sit down on the shore to have a snack.” I burst out laughing, so it became funny to me. I say: “Well, Assol, this is your business, and that’s why your thoughts are like this, but look around: everything is at work, like in a fight.” “No,” she says, “I know that I know. When a fisherman fishes, he thinks that he will catch a big fish, the likes of which no one has ever caught.” - “Well, what about me?” - "And you? - she laughs, - you’re right, when you fill a basket with coal, you think that it will bloom.” That's the word she said! At that very moment, I confess, I was pulled to look at the empty basket, and it came into my eyes, as if buds were creeping out of the twigs; These buds burst, a leaf splashed across the basket and disappeared. I even sobered up a little! But Hin Menners lies and doesn’t take money; I know him!

Considering that the conversation had turned into an obvious insult, Menners pierced the coal miner with his gaze and disappeared behind the counter, from where he bitterly inquired: “Will you order something to be served?”

No,” Gray said, taking out the money, “we get up and leave.” Letika, you will stay here, come back in the evening and be silent. Once you know everything you can, tell me. Do you understand?

“Good captain,” said Letika with some familiarity brought on by the rum, “only a deaf person could fail to understand this.”

Wonderful. Remember also that in none of the cases that may present itself to you, you can neither talk about me nor even mention my name. Goodbye!

Gray left. From that time on, the feeling of amazing discoveries did not leave him, like a spark in Berthold's powder mortar - one of those spiritual collapses from under which fire bursts out, sparkling. The spirit of immediate action took possession of him. He came to his senses and collected his thoughts only when he got into the boat. Laughing, he raised his hand, palm up, to the sultry sun, as he had once done as a boy in the wine cellar; then he set sail and began rowing quickly towards the harbor.

The day before

On the eve of that day and seven years after Egle, the collector of songs, told a girl on the seashore a fairy tale about a ship with Scarlet Sails, Assol, on one of her weekly visits to the toy store, returned home upset, with a sad face. She brought her goods back. She was so upset that she could not speak right away, and only after she saw from Longren’s alarmed face that he was expecting something much worse than reality, she began to talk, running her finger along the glass of the window where she stood, absentmindedly watching the sea.

The owner of the toy shop began this time by opening the account book and showing her how much they owed. She shuddered when she saw the impressive three-digit number. “This is how much you have taken since December,” said the merchant, “but look at how much it has been sold.” And he rested his finger on another number, already of two characters.

It's pathetic and offensive to watch. I saw from his face that he was rude and angry. I would gladly run away, but, honestly, I didn’t have the strength from shame. And he began to say: “For me, dear, this is no longer profitable. Now foreign goods are in fashion, all the shops are full of them, but they don’t take these products.” That's what he said. He said a lot more, but I mixed it all up and forgot. He must have taken pity on me, because he advised me to go to the Children's Bazaar and Aladin's Lamp.

Having said the most important thing, the girl turned her head, timidly looking at the old man. Longren sat dejectedly, clasping his fingers between his knees, on which he rested his elbows. Feeling the gaze, he raised his head and sighed. Having overcome the heavy mood, the girl ran up to him, settled down to sit next to him and, putting her light hand under the leather sleeve of his jacket, laughing and looking into her father’s face from below, continued with feigned animation: “Nothing, it’s all nothing, listen, please.” So I went. Well, I come to a big scary store; there are a lot of people there. I was pushed; however, I got out and approached the black man with glasses. What I told him, I don’t remember anything; in the end he grinned, rummaged through my basket, looked at something, then wrapped it up again, as it was, in a scarf and gave it back.

Longren listened angrily. It was as if he saw his dumbfounded daughter in a rich crowd at a counter littered with valuable goods. A neat man with glasses condescendingly explained to her that he would have to go broke if he started selling Longren’s simple products. Carelessly and deftly, he placed folding models of buildings and railway bridges on the counter in front of her; miniature distinct cars, electrical kits, airplanes and engines. The whole place smelled of paint and school. According to all his words, it turned out that children in games now only imitate what adults do.

Assol was also at Aladin's Lamp and two other shops, but achieved nothing.

Finishing the story, she got ready for dinner; After eating and drinking a glass of strong coffee, Longren said: “Since we are unlucky, we have to look.” Perhaps I will go to serve again - on the Fitzroy or Palermo. Of course, they are right,” he continued thoughtfully, thinking about toys. - Now children do not play, but study. They all study and study and will never begin to live. All this is true, but it’s a pity, really, a pity. Will you be able to live without me for the duration of one flight? It's unthinkable to leave you alone.

I could also serve with you; say, in a buffet.

No! - Longren sealed this word with a blow of his palm on the shaking table. “As long as I’m alive, you won’t serve.” However, there is time to think.

He fell silent gloomily. Assol sat down next to him on the corner of the stool; he saw from the side, without turning his head, that she was trying to console him, and he almost smiled. But to smile meant to frighten and confuse the girl. She, muttering something to herself, smoothed out his tangled gray hair, kissed his mustache and, plugging his father’s furry ears with her small thin fingers, said: “Well, now you don’t hear that I love you.” While she was preening him, Longren sat with his face tightly wrinkled, like a man afraid of breathing in smoke, but when he heard her words, he laughed thickly.

“You’re sweet,” he said simply and, patting the girl on the cheek, went ashore to look at the boat.

Assol stood thoughtfully in the middle of the room for some time, wavering between the desire to surrender to quiet sadness and the need for household chores; then, having washed the dishes, she listed the remaining provisions on a scale. She did not weigh or measure, but she saw that the flour would not last until the end of the week, that the bottom was visible in the tin of sugar, the tea and coffee wrappers were almost empty, there was no butter, and the only thing on which, with some annoyance at the exclusion, rested the eye - there was a bag of potatoes. Then she washed the floor and sat down to sew a frill for a skirt made from old clothes, but immediately remembering that the scraps of material lay behind the mirror, she went up to it and took the bundle; then she looked at her reflection.

Behind the walnut frame, in the bright emptiness of the reflected room, stood a thin, short girl, dressed in cheap white muslin with pink flowers. A gray silk scarf lay on her shoulders. The half-childish, light tanned face was mobile and expressive; Beautiful, somewhat serious eyes for her age looked with the timid concentration of deep souls. Her irregular face could touch one with its subtle purity of outline; every curve, every bulge of this face, of course, would have found a place in many female faces, but their totality, style, was completely original, originally sweet; We'll stop there. The rest is beyond words, except for the word “charm.”

The reflected girl smiled as unconsciously as Assol. The smile came out sad; Noticing this, she became alarmed, as if she were looking at a stranger. She pressed her cheek to the glass, closed her eyes and quietly stroked the mirror with her hand where her reflection was. A swarm of vague, affectionate thoughts flashed through her; she straightened up, laughed and sat down, beginning to sew.

While she is sewing, let's take a closer look at her - inside. There are two girls in it, two Assols, mixed in a wonderful, beautiful irregularity. One was the daughter of a sailor, an artisan, who made toys, the other was a living poem, with all the wonders of its consonances and images, with the mystery of the proximity of words, in all the reciprocity of their shadows and light falling from one to another. She knew life within the limits set by her experience, but beyond the general phenomena she saw a reflected meaning of a different order. Thus, peering at objects, we notice in them something not linearly, but as an impression - definitely human, and - just like human - different. She saw something similar to what (if possible) we said with this example, even beyond the visible. Without these quiet conquests, everything simply understandable was alien to her soul. She knew how and loved to read, but even in a book she read mainly between the lines, as she lived. Unconsciously, through a kind of inspiration, she made at every step many ethereal-subtle discoveries, inexpressible, but important, like purity and warmth. Sometimes - and this continued for a number of days - she was even reborn; the physical confrontation of life fell away, like silence in the blow of a bow, and everything she saw, what she lived with, what was around her became a lace of secrets in the image of everyday life. More than once, worried and timid, she went at night to the seashore, where, after waiting for dawn, she quite seriously looked out for the ship with the Scarlet Sails. These minutes were happiness for her; It’s hard for us to escape into a fairy tale like that; it would be no less difficult for her to get out of its power and charm.

At other times, thinking about all this, she sincerely marveled at herself, not believing that she believed, forgiving the sea with a smile and sadly moving on to reality; Now, moving the frill, the girl recalled her life. There was a lot of boredom and simplicity. Loneliness together sometimes weighed heavily on her, but that fold of inner timidity had already formed in her, that suffering wrinkle with which it was impossible to bring or receive revival. They laughed at her, saying: “She’s touched, she’s not herself”; she got used to this pain; The girl even had to endure insults, after which her chest would ache as if from a blow. As a woman, she was unpopular in Caperna, but many suspected, albeit wildly and vaguely, that she had been given more than others - only in a different language. The Capernians adored thick, heavy women with oily skin, thick calves and powerful arms; Here they courted me, slapping me on the back with my palm and pushing me around, as if at a market. The type of this feeling resembled the artless simplicity of a roar. Assol suited this decisive environment in the same way as the society of a ghost would suit people of refined nervous life, if it had all the charm of Assunta or Aspasia: what comes from love is unthinkable here. Thus, in the even hum of a soldier’s trumpet, the lovely sadness of the violin is powerless to remove the stern regiment from the actions of its straight lines. The girl had her back turned to what was said in these lines.

While her head hummed the song of life, her small hands worked diligently and deftly; biting off the thread, she looked far in front of her, but this did not stop her from evenly turning up the scar and placing a buttonhole stitch with the clarity of a sewing machine. Although Longren did not return, she was not worried about her father. Lately he's been swimming out quite often at night to fish or just get some air.

She was not bothered by fear; she knew that nothing bad would happen to him. In this respect, Assol was still that little girl who prayed in her own way, babbling in a friendly manner in the morning: “Hello, God!”, and in the evening: “Farewell, God!”

In her opinion, such a short acquaintance with God was completely enough for him to remove misfortune. She was also in his position: God was always busy with the affairs of millions of people, so the everyday shadows of life should, in her opinion, be treated with the delicate patience of a guest who, finding a house full of people, waits for the busy owner, huddling and eating according to the circumstances.

Having finished sewing, Assol put her work on the corner table, undressed and lay down. The fire was extinguished. She soon noticed that there was no drowsiness; consciousness was clear, as at the height of the day, even the darkness seemed artificial, the body, like consciousness, felt light, daytime. My heart was beating as fast as a pocket watch; it beat as if between the pillow and the ear. Assol was angry, tossing and turning, now throwing off the blanket, now wrapping her head in it. Finally, she managed to evoke the usual idea that helps her fall asleep: she mentally threw stones into the light water, looking at the divergence of the lightest circles. The dream, indeed, seemed to be just waiting for this handout; he came, whispered with Mary, standing at the head of the bed, and, obeying her smile, said around: “Shhh.” Assol immediately fell asleep. She dreamed of her favorite dream: flowering trees, melancholy, charm, songs and mysterious phenomena, from which, when she woke up, she remembered only the sparkling blue water, rising from her feet to her heart with coldness and delight. Having seen all this, she stayed for some more time in the impossible country, then woke up and sat up.

There was no sleep, as if she had not fallen asleep at all. The feeling of newness, joy and desire to do something warmed her. She looked around with the same look as one looks around a new room. The dawn penetrated - not with all the clarity of illumination, but with that vague effort in which one can understand the surroundings. The bottom of the window was black; the top brightened. From outside the house, almost on the edge of the frame, the morning star shone. Knowing that now she wouldn’t fall asleep, Assol got dressed, went to the window and, removing the hook, pulled back the frame. There was an attentive, sensitive silence outside the window; It’s as if it has just arrived. Bushes shimmered in the blue twilight, trees slept further away; it smelled stuffy and earthy.

Holding onto the top of the frame, the girl looked and smiled. Suddenly something like a distant call shook her from within and without, and she seemed to awaken once again from obvious reality to what is clearer and more undoubted. From that moment on, the jubilant wealth of consciousness did not leave her. So, understanding, we listen to people’s speeches, but if we repeat what has been said, we will understand again, with a different, new meaning. It was the same with her.

Taking an old, but always youthful silk scarf on her head, she grabbed it with her hand under her chin, locked the door and fluttered barefoot onto the road. Although it was empty and deaf, it seemed to her that she sounded like an orchestra, that they could hear her. Everything was sweet to her, everything made her happy. Warm dust tickled my bare feet; I was breathing clearly and cheerfully. Roofs and clouds darkened in the twilight sky; the hedges, rose hips, vegetable gardens, orchards and the gently visible road were dozing. A different order was noticed in everything than during the day - the same, but in a correspondence that had previously escaped. Everyone slept with their eyes open, secretly looking at the passing girl.

She walked, the further, the faster, in a hurry to leave the village. Beyond Kaperna there were meadows; beyond the meadows, hazel, poplar and chestnut trees grew on the slopes of the coastal hills. Where the road ended, turning into a remote path, a fluffy black dog with a white chest and a telling strain in its eyes softly twirled at Assol’s feet. The dog, recognizing Assol, squealed and coyly wagged its body, and walked alongside, silently agreeing with the girl in something understandable, like “I” and “you.” Assol, looking into her communicating eyes, was firmly convinced that the dog could speak if she did not have secret reasons to remain silent. Noticing the smile of her companion, the dog wrinkled her face cheerfully, wagged her tail and ran smoothly forward, but suddenly sat down indifferently, busily scraped her ear with her paw, bitten by her eternal enemy, and ran back.

Assol penetrated the tall, dew-sprinkling meadow grass; holding her hand palm down over her panicles, she walked, smiling at the flowing touch.

Looking into the special faces of flowers, into the tangle of stems, she discerned almost human hints there - postures, efforts, movements, features and views; she would not be surprised now by a procession of field mice, a ball of gophers, or the rude joy of a hedgehog frightening a sleeping gnome with his farting. And sure enough, the gray hedgehog rolled out onto the path in front of her. “Fuk-fuk,” he said abruptly with his heart, like a cab driver at a pedestrian. Assol spoke with those whom she understood and saw. “Hello, sick man,” she said to the purple iris, pierced to holes by the worm. “You need to stay at home,” this referred to a bush stuck in the middle of the path and therefore torn by the clothes of passers-by. The large beetle clung to the bell, bending the plant and falling, but stubbornly pushing with its paws. “Shake off the fat passenger,” Assol advised. The beetle, of course, could not resist and flew to the side with a crash. So, worried, trembling and shining, she approached the hillside, hiding in its thickets from the meadow space, but now surrounded by her true friends, who - she knew this - spoke in a deep voice.

They were large old trees among honeysuckle and hazel. Their drooping branches touched the upper leaves of the bushes. In the calmly gravitating large foliage of the chestnut trees stood white cones of flowers, their aroma mixed with the smell of dew and resin. The path, strewn with protrusions of slippery roots, either fell or climbed up the slope. Assol felt at home; I greeted the trees as if they were people, that is, by shaking their wide leaves. She walked, whispering now mentally, now in words: “Here you are, here is another you; there are many of you, my brothers! I'm coming, brothers, I'm in a hurry, let me in. I recognize you all, remember and honor you all.” The “brothers” majestically stroked her with whatever they could - with leaves - and creaked in kindred response. She got out, her feet dirty with earth, to the cliff above the sea and stood on the edge of the cliff, out of breath from hasty walking. Deep, invincible faith, jubilant, foamed and rustled within her. She scattered her gaze over the horizon, from where she returned back with the light sound of a coastal wave, proud of the purity of her flight. Meanwhile, the sea, outlined along the horizon by a golden thread, was still sleeping; Only under the cliff, in the puddles of the coastal holes, did the water rise and fall. The steely color of the sleeping ocean near the shore turned into blue and black. Behind the golden thread, the sky, flashing, shone with a huge fan of light; the white clouds were touched with a faint blush. Subtle, divine colors shone in them. A tremulous snowy whiteness lay in the black distance; the foam glittered, and a crimson gap, flashing among the golden thread, threw scarlet ripples across the ocean, at Assol’s feet.

She sat with her legs tucked up and her arms around her knees. Attentively leaning towards the sea, she looked at the horizon with large eyes in which there was nothing adult left - the eyes of a child. Everything she had been waiting for so long and passionately was happening there - at the end of the world. She saw an underwater hill in the land of distant abysses; climbing plants flowed upward from its surface; Among their round leaves, pierced at the edge by a stem, fanciful flowers shone. The upper leaves glittered on the surface of the ocean; those who knew nothing, as Assol knew, saw only awe and brilliance.

A ship rose from the thicket; he surfaced and stopped in the very middle of dawn. From this distance he was visible as clear as clouds. Scattering joy, he burned like wine, rose, blood, lips, scarlet velvet and crimson fire. The ship went straight to Assol. The wings of foam fluttered under the powerful pressure of its keel; Having already stood up, the girl pressed her hands to her chest, when a wonderful play of light turned into a swell; the sun rose, and the bright fullness of the morning tore the covers off everything that was still basking, stretching on the sleepy earth.

The girl sighed and looked around. The music fell silent, but Assol was still in the power of its sonorous choir. This impression gradually weakened, then became a memory and, finally, just fatigue. She lay down on the grass, yawned and, blissfully closing her eyes, fell asleep - truly, soundly, like a young nut, sleep, without worries and dreams.

She was awakened by a fly wandering over her bare foot. Restlessly turning her leg, Assol woke up; sitting, she pinned up her disheveled hair, so Gray's ring reminded her of herself, but considering it nothing more than a stalk stuck between her fingers, she straightened them; Since the obstacle did not disappear, she impatiently raised her hand to her eyes and straightened up, instantly jumping up with the force of a spraying fountain.

Gray's radiant ring shone on her finger, as if on someone else's - she could not recognize it as hers at that moment, she did not feel her finger. - “Whose joke is this? Whose joke? - she quickly cried. - Am I dreaming? Maybe I found it and forgot?” Grasping the right hand with her left hand, on which there was a ring, she looked around in amazement, torturing the sea and green thickets with her gaze; but no one moved, no one hid in the bushes, and in the blue, far-illuminated sea there was no sign, and a blush covered Assol, and the voices of the heart said a prophetic “yes.” There were no explanations for what had happened, but without words or thoughts she found them in her strange feeling, and the ring already became close to her. Trembling, she pulled it off her finger; holding it in a handful like water, she examined it - with all her soul, with all her heart, with all the jubilation and clear superstition of youth, then, hiding it behind her bodice, Assol buried her face in her palms, from under which a smile burst uncontrollably, and, lowering her head, slowly I went the opposite way.

So, by chance, as people who can read and write say, Gray and Assol found each other on the morning of a summer day full of inevitability.

Combat preparations

When Gray climbed onto the deck of the Secret, he stood motionless for several minutes, stroking his head with his hand on the back of his forehead, which meant extreme confusion. Absent-mindedness - a cloudy movement of feelings - was reflected in his face with the emotionless smile of a sleepwalker. His assistant Panten was walking along the quarterdeck with a plate of fried fish; Seeing Gray, he noticed the captain's strange state.

Perhaps you hurt yourself? - he asked carefully. - Where were you? What did you see? However, this is, of course, your business. The broker offers favorable freight; with a bonus. What's the matter with you?..

“Thank you,” Gray said, sighing, “as if he was untied.” “I just missed the sounds of your simple, intelligent voice.” It's like cold water. Panten, tell the people that today we are raising anchor and moving to the mouth of the Liliana, about ten miles from here. Its current is interrupted by continuous shoals. You can only get into the mouth from the sea. Come get the map. Don't take a pilot. That's all for now... Yes, I need profitable freight like I need last year's snow. You can give this to the broker. I'm going to the city, where I'll stay until evening.

What happened?

Absolutely nothing, Panten. I want you to take note of my desire to avoid any questions. When the moment comes, I'll let you know what's going on. Tell the sailors that repairs are to be made; that the local dock is busy.

“Okay,” Panten said senselessly to the departing Gray’s back. - Will be done.

Although the captain’s orders were quite clear, the mate widened his eyes and restlessly rushed with the plate to his cabin, muttering: “Panten, you’ve been puzzled. Does he want to try smuggling? Are we marching under the pirate’s black flag?” But here Panten got entangled in the wildest assumptions. While he was nervously destroying the fish, Gray went down to the cabin, took the money and, having crossed the bay, appeared in the trading districts of Liss.

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 be on fire. 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. Meanwhile, across the street from where the shop was, a wandering musician, tuning his cello, made it speak sadly and well with a quiet bow; his comrade, the flutist, showered the singing of the stream with the babble of a throaty whistle; the simple song with which they announced the yard dormant in the heat reached Gray’s ears, and he immediately understood what he should do next. In general, all these days he was at that happy height of spiritual vision from which he clearly noticed all the hints and clues of reality; Hearing the sounds muffled by the carriages driving, he entered the center of the most important impressions and thoughts caused, in accordance with his character, by this music, already feeling why and how what he had come up with would turn out well. Having passed the alley, Gray walked through the gates of the house where the musical performance took place. By that time the musicians were about to leave; the tall flutist, with an air of downtrodden dignity, waved his hat gratefully at the windows from which the coins were flying out. The cello had already returned under its owner's arm; he, wiping his sweaty brow, waited for the flutist.

Bah, it's you, Zimmer! - Gray told him, recognizing the violinist, who in the evenings amused the sailors and guests of the Money for a Barrel tavern with his beautiful playing. - How did you cheat on the violin?

“Reverend captain,” Zimmer countered smugly, “I play everything that sounds and cracks.” When I was young I was a musical clown. Now I am drawn to art, and I see with grief that I have ruined an extraordinary talent. That’s why, out of late greed, I love two at once: the viola and the violin. I play the cello during the day, and the violin in the evenings, that is, it’s like I’m crying, sobbing about my lost talent. Would you like me to treat you to some wine, eh? The cello is my Carmen, and the violin.

“Assol,” said Gray. Zimmer didn't hear.

Yes,” he nodded, “soloing on cymbals or copper pipes is another matter.” However, what do I need?! Let the clowns of art act - I know that fairies always rest in the violin and cello.

And what is hidden in my “tur-lu-rlu”? - asked the approaching flutist, a tall fellow with sheep's blue eyes and a blond beard. - Well, tell me?

Depending on how much you drank in the morning. Sometimes it’s a bird, sometimes it’s alcohol fumes. Captain, this is my companion Duss; I told him how you waste gold when you drink, and he is in love with you in absentia.

Yes, said Duss, I love gesture and generosity. But I am cunning, do not believe my vile flattery.

That’s it,” Gray said, laughing. “I don’t have much time, but I’m impatient.” I suggest you make good money. Assemble an orchestra, but not from dandies with the ceremonial faces of the dead, who, in musical literalism or - even worse - in sound gastronomy, have forgotten about the soul of music and are quietly killing the stage with their intricate noises - no. Gather your cooks and footmen who make the simple hearts cry; gather your vagabonds. The sea and love do not tolerate pedants. I would love to sit with you, and not even with just one bottle, but I have to go. I have a lot to do. Take this and sing it to the letter A. If you like my proposal, come to the “Secret” in the evening, it is located not far from the head dam.

Agree! - Zimmer cried, knowing that Gray was paying like a king. - Duss, bow, say “yes” and twirl your hat for joy! Captain Gray wants to get married!

“Yes,” Gray said simply. - I will tell you all the details on “Secret”. You...

For the letter A! - Duss, nudging Zimmer with his elbow, winked at Gray. - But... there are so many letters in the alphabet! Please give me something for fit...

Gray gave more money. The musicians left. Then he went into the commission office and gave a secret order for a large sum - to carry it out urgently, within six days. While Gray returned to his ship, the office agent was already boarding the ship. 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 river bed.

Panten, of course, informed them of Gray's orders; when he entered, his assistant was finishing his sixth cigar, wandering around the cabin, stunned by the smoke and bumping into chairs. Evening was coming; through the open porthole protruded a golden beam of light, in which the lacquered visor of the captain’s cap flashed.

“Everything is ready,” Panten said gloomily. - If you want, you can raise the anchor.

You should know me a little better, Panten,” Gray remarked softly. - There is no secret in what I do. As soon as we anchor at the bottom of Liliana, I will tell you everything, and you will not waste so many matches on bad cigars. Go ahead and weigh anchor.

Panten scratched his eyebrow, smiling awkwardly.

This is certainly true,” he said. - However, I’m okay. When he left, Gray sat for some time, motionless, looking at the half-open door, then moved to his room. Here he sat and lay down; then, listening to the crack of the windlass, rolling out a loud chain, he was about to go out to the forecastle, but thought again and returned to the table, drawing a straight, quick line on the oilcloth with his finger. Punching the door brought him out of his manic state; he turned the key, letting Letika in. The sailor, breathing heavily, stopped with the air of a messenger who had warned the execution in time.

“Letika, Letika,” I said to myself,” he spoke quickly, “when I saw from the cable pier how our guys were dancing around the windlass, spitting in their palms. I have an eye like an eagle. And I flew; I breathed so hard on the boatman that the man began to sweat from excitement. Captain, did you want to leave me on shore?

Letika,” Gray said, looking closely at his red eyes, “I expected you no later than morning.” Have you poured cold water on the back of your head?

Lil. Not as much as was taken orally, but it poured. Done.

Speak. - No need to talk, captain; everything is written down here. Take it and read it. I tried very hard. I'll leave.

I can see from the reproach in your eyes that you haven’t poured enough cold water on the back of your head yet.

He turned and walked out with the strange movements of a blind man. Gray unfolded the piece of paper; the pencil must have been amazed when it drew these drawings on it, reminiscent of a rickety fence. Here’s what Letika wrote: “According to the instructions. After five o'clock I walked along the street. A house with a gray roof, two windows on the side; he has a vegetable garden. The said person came twice: once for water, twice for wood chips for the stove. When darkness fell, I looked out the window, but didn’t see anything because of the curtain.”

Then followed several instructions of a family nature, obtained by Letika, apparently through table conversation, since the memorial ended, somewhat unexpectedly, with the words: “I contributed a little of my own towards expenses.”

But the essence of this report spoke only of what we know from the first chapter. Gray put the piece of paper on the table, whistled for the watchman and sent for Panten, but instead of the mate, boatswain Atwood appeared, pulling at his rolled up sleeves.

We moored at the dam,” he said. - Panten sent to find out what you want. He is busy: he was attacked there by some people with trumpets, drums and other violins. Did you invite them to “The Secret”? Panten asks you to come, he says he has a fog in his head.

Yes, Atwood,” said Gray, “I certainly called the musicians; go, tell them to go to the cockpit for now. Next we will see how to arrange them. Atwood, tell them and the crew that I'll be on deck in a quarter of an hour. Let them gather; you and Panten, of course, will also listen to me.

Atwood cocked his left eyebrow like a trigger, stood sideways by the door and walked out. Gray spent these ten minutes covering his face with his hands; he wasn’t preparing for anything and wasn’t counting on anything, but he wanted to be mentally silent. Meanwhile, everyone was waiting for him, impatiently and with curiosity, full of guesses. He went out and saw in their faces the expectation of incredible things, but since he himself found what was happening to be quite natural, the tension of other people’s souls was reflected in him with slight annoyance.

“Nothing special,” Gray said, sitting down on the bridge ladder. - We will stand at the mouth of the river until we replace all the rigging. You saw that red silk was brought; from it, under the leadership of the sailing master Blent, new sails will be made for the Secret. Then we will go, but I won’t say where; at least not far from here. I'm going to see my wife. She is not my wife yet, but she will be. I need scarlet sails so that from afar, as agreed with her, she will notice us. That's all. As you can see, there is nothing mysterious here. And enough about that.

“Yes,” said Atwood, seeing from the smiling faces of the sailors that they were pleasantly puzzled and did not dare to speak. - So that’s the thing, captain... It’s not for us, of course, to judge this. As you wish, so it will be. I congratulate you.

Thank you - Gray squeezed the boatswain’s hand tightly, but he, making an incredible effort, responded with such a squeeze that the captain yielded. After that, everyone came up, replacing each other with shy warmth of their gaze and muttering congratulations. No one shouted or made any noise - the sailors felt something not entirely simple in the captain’s abrupt words. Panten sighed with relief and became cheerful - his emotional heaviness melted away. One ship's carpenter remained dissatisfied with something: limply holding Gray's hand, he asked gloomily: “How did this come into your head, captain?”

Like the blow of your axe,” Gray said. - Zimmer! Show your kids.

The violinist, slapping the musicians on the back, pushed out seven people dressed extremely sloppily.

Here,” said Zimmer, “this is a trombone; doesn't play, but fires like a cannon. These two beardless fellows are a fanfare; As soon as they start playing, you immediately want to fight. Then clarinet, cornet-a-piston and second violin. All of them are great masters of hugging the frisky prima, that is, me. And here is the main owner of our cheerful craft - Fritz, the drummer. Drummers, you know, usually look disappointed, but this one beats with dignity, with passion. There is something about his playing that is as open and direct as his sticks. Is everything done like that, Captain Gray?

Amazing,” Gray said. - All of you have a place in the hold, which this time will be filled with various “scherzos”, “adagios” and “fortissimos”. Go your separate ways. Panten, take off the mooring lines and move on. I'll relieve you in two hours.

He did not notice these two hours, since they all passed in the same inner music that did not leave his consciousness, just as the pulse does not leave the arteries. He thought about one thing, wanted one thing, strived for one thing. A man of action, he was mentally ahead of the course of events, regretting only that they could not be moved as simply and quickly as checkers. Nothing in his calm appearance spoke of that tension of feeling, the roar of which, like the roar of a huge bell striking overhead, rushed through his entire being with a deafening nervous groan. This finally brought him to the point where he began to count mentally: “One, two... thirty...” and so on until he said “a thousand.” This exercise worked: he was finally able to look at the whole enterprise from the outside. Here he was somewhat surprised by the fact that he could not imagine the inner Assol, since he had not even spoken to her. He read somewhere that you can, at least vaguely, understand a person if, imagining yourself as that person, you copy the expression on his face. Gray's eyes had already begun to take on a strange expression that was unusual for them, and his lips under his mustache were forming into a weak, meek smile, when, having come to his senses, he burst out laughing and went out to replace Panten.

It was dark. Panten, raising the collar of his jacket, walked around the compass, saying to the helmsman: “To port is a quarter of a point; left. Wait: another quarter." The "Secret" sailed with half sail and a fair wind.

You know,” Panten said to Gray, “I’m pleased.”

The same as you. I got it. Right here on the bridge. - He winked slyly, shining his smile with the fire of his pipe.

Well,” said Gray, suddenly realizing what was going on, “what did you understand?” “The best way to smuggle contraband,” Panten whispered. - Anyone can have the sails they want. You have a brilliant head, Gray!

Poor Panten! - said the captain, not knowing whether to be angry or laugh. - Your guess is witty, but lacks any basis. Go to sleep. I give you my word that you are wrong. I'm doing what I said.

He sent him to bed, checked the heading and sat down. Now we will leave him, as he needs to be alone.

Assol is left alone

Longren spent the night at sea; he did not sleep, did not fish, but sailed without a definite direction, listening to the splash of water, looking into the darkness, becoming weather-beaten and thinking. In the difficult hours of his life, nothing restored the strength of his soul more than these lonely wanderings. Silence, only silence and solitude - that’s what he needed in order for all the weakest and most confused voices of his inner world to sound clear. That night he thought about the future, about poverty, about Assol. It was extremely difficult for him to leave her even for a while; in addition, he was afraid of resurrecting the subsided pain. Perhaps, having entered the ship, he will again imagine that there, in Kaperna, a friend who never died is waiting for him, and returning, he will approach the house with the grief of dead expectation. Mary will never leave the door of the house again. But he wanted Assol to have something to eat, and therefore decided to do as his care ordered.

When Longren returned, the girl was not home yet. Her early walks did not bother her father; this time, however, there was a slight tension in his anticipation. Walking from corner to corner, he suddenly saw Assol at a turn; Having entered quickly and silently, she silently stopped in front of him, almost frightening him with the light of her gaze, which reflected excitement. It seemed that her second face had been revealed - that true face of a person, which only the eyes usually tell about. She was silent, looking into Longren’s face so incomprehensibly that he quickly asked: “Are you sick?”

She didn't answer right away. When the meaning of the question finally touched her spiritual ear, Assol perked up like a branch touched by a hand and laughed a long, even laugh of quiet triumph. She needed to say something, but, as always, she didn’t need to figure out what exactly; she said: - No, I’m healthy... Why are you looking like that? I'm having fun. It's true, I'm having fun, but that's because the day is so good. What did you think? I can already see from your face that you have thought of something.

“No matter what I think,” Longren said, sitting the girl on his lap, “I know you will understand what’s going on.” There is nothing to live with. I will not go on a long voyage again, but will join the mail steamer that sails between Kasset and Liss.

“Yes,” she said from afar, trying to enter into his worries and business, but horrified that she was powerless to stop rejoicing. - This is very bad. I will be bored. Come back quickly. - Saying this, she blossomed with an irrepressible smile. - Yes, hurry up, dear; I'm waiting.

Assol! - Longren said, taking her face with his palms and turning her towards him. - Tell me, what happened?

She felt that she had to allay his anxiety, and, having overcome her glee, she became seriously attentive, only new life shone in her eyes.

“You’re strange,” she said. - Absolutely nothing. I was collecting nuts."

Longren would not have fully believed this if he had not been so busy with his thoughts. Their conversation became businesslike and detailed. The sailor told his daughter to pack his bag; He listed all the necessary things and gave some advice.

I will return home in ten days, and you pawn my gun and stay at home. If anyone wants to offend you, say: “Longren will return soon.” Don't think or worry about me; nothing bad will happen.

After that, he ate, kissed the girl deeply and, throwing the bag over his shoulders, went out onto the city road. Assol looked after him until he disappeared around the bend; then returned. She had a lot of homework to do, but she forgot about it. With the interest of slight surprise, she looked around, as if already a stranger to this house, so ingrained in her consciousness from childhood that she seemed to always carry it within herself, and now looking like her native places, visited a number of years later from the circle of another life. But she felt something unworthy in this rebuff, something amiss. She sat down at the table on which Longren was making toys and tried to glue the steering wheel to the stern; looking at these objects, she involuntarily saw them large, real; everything that had happened in the morning rose again in her with a trembling of excitement, and a golden ring, the size of the sun, fell across the sea at her feet.

Without sitting still, she left the house and went to Lys. She had absolutely nothing to do there; She didn’t know why she was going, but she couldn’t help but go. On the way, she met a pedestrian who wanted to scout out some direction; she sensibly explained to him what was needed, and immediately forgot about it.

She walked the entire long road unnoticed, as if she were carrying a bird that had absorbed all her tender attention. Near the city, she was a little amused by the noise flying from his huge circle, but he did not have power over her, as before, when, frightening and hammering, he made her a silent coward. She confronted him. She slowly walked along the circular boulevard, crossing the blue shadows of the trees, trustingly and easily looking at the faces of passersby, with an even gait, full of confidence. A breed of observant people during the day repeatedly noticed an unknown, strange-looking girl walking among the bright crowd with an air of deep thoughtfulness. In the square, she extended her hand to the stream of the fountain, running her fingers among the reflected splashes; then, sitting down, she rested and returned to the forest road. She made the return journey with a fresh soul, in a peaceful and clear mood, like an evening river that had finally replaced the colorful mirrors of the day with an even shine in the shadows. Approaching the village, she saw the same charcoal miner who imagined that his basket was blooming; he stood near a cart with two unknown gloomy people covered in soot and dirt. Assol was delighted. - Hello. Philip, she said, what are you doing here?

Nothing, fly. The wheel fell off; I corrected him, now I smoke and scribble with our guys. Where are you from?

Assol did not answer.

You know, Philip,” she said, “I love you very much, and therefore I will only tell you. I will leave soon; I'll probably leave completely. Don't tell anyone about this.

Is it you who wants to leave? Where are you going? - the coal miner was amazed, opening his mouth questioningly, causing his beard to grow longer.

Don't know. - She slowly looked around the clearing under the elm tree where the cart stood - the green grass in the pink evening light, the black silent coal miners and, after thinking, added: - All this is unknown to me. I don’t know the day or the hour and I don’t even know where. I won't say anything more. Therefore, just in case, goodbye; you often took me around.

She took the huge black hand and brought it into a state of relative shaking. The worker's face cracked into a fixed smile. The girl nodded, turned and walked away. She disappeared so quickly that Philip and his friends did not have time to turn their heads.

Miracles, said the coal miner, come and understand it. - Something is wrong with her today... such and such.

That’s right,” the second one supported, “it’s either she’s saying or she’s persuading.” It's none of our business.

“It’s none of our business,” said the third, sighing. Then all three got into the cart and, the wheels crackling along the rocky road, disappeared into the dust.

Scarlet "secret"

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 at 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 resolutely blow the guest into the 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 left 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.

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.

What?! 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 after 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... - 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 keg surpassed everything that happens on great holidays.

How did you like it? - Gray asked Letika.

Captain! - said the sailor, searching for words. “I don’t know if he liked me, but I need to think about my impressions.” Beehive and garden!

What?! “I want to say that a beehive and a garden were shoved into my mouth.” Be happy, captain. And may she be happy, which I call the “best cargo”, the best prize of the “Secret”!

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...

A. S. Green

SCARLET SAILS

(extravaganza)

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 the 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 Lis before 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 hurriedly drank a glass of vodka at the counter and left, briefly throwing around “yes”, “no”, “hello”, “goodbye”, “little by little” - at everything addresses and nods from 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 .