Aлександр Грин - The Seeker of Adventure

Preserves my dream amidst this native place!

"Are you really forty-five years old?" asked Tonar, settling heavily into his armchair.

"Forty-five." Ammon approached the mirror. "Who is there to pull out my grey hairs for me? And will I indeed be travelling, travelling, travelling for a long time yet-perhaps forever?"

Early in the morning Ammon saw the blue and white snow of mountains from his train window; their jagged thrust stretched in a semicircle around a hilly plain. A sunny stripe of the sea was shining in the distance.

The white station-building, with wild grape vines entwined about its walls, cordially came running up to the train. Emitting puffs of exhaust steam, the engine came to a halt; the cars clanged, and Ammon disembarked.

He saw that Liliana was a truly beautiful place. The streets along which Ammon drove, in the carriage that he had hired to go to Dogger's, were not impeccably straight; their gentle winding caused the eye to constantly expect extensive vistas. Meanwhile Ammon was quite diverted by the buildings' gradually unfolding diversity. The houses were dotted with little balconies and stucco moulding, or they displayed semi-circular towers; grey arches against a white facade and roofs turned up or down, like the brim of a hat, provided diverse welcomes to the onlooker. All of this had quite an attractive appearance, immersed as it was in the majestically blooming gardens, the flower-beds, the sunlight, and the sky. The streets were lined with palms; their umbrella-like tops cast blue shadows onto the yellow midday earth. Now and then in the middle of a square there would be a fountain, as ancient as a granddad and full of water that rippled from the falling spray; in places a winding stone staircase rose in a side-street, and above it, shaped like an eyebrow, would arc a small bridge, as light as the arm of a girl held akimbo.

When he had ridden through the town Ammon caught sight of a garden and a tiled roof in the distance. The gravel-covered road led along an avenue of trees to a simple entrance that was in keeping with the entire house, which was built of light-coloured, unpainted wood. Ammon

walked up to the house. It was a one-storey log building with two projections on the sides and a terrace. The climbing greenery filled the facade's piers with flowers and leaves; there were many flowers everywhere – carnations, tulips, anemones, holly-hocks, asters, and gilly-flowers.

Dogger, who had been standing by a tree, approached Ammon with the relaxed, effortless steps of a powerful man. He was hatless; his strong neck, pink from sunburn, was hidden by his curly blond hair. Dogger was as powerful as a broad-chested statue of Hercules that had come to life, and he produced an impression of indestructible health. Ammon very much liked the bold features of his hearty face, his warm grey eyes, and his small beard and moustache. Dogger's outfit consisted of a canvas shirt and pants, a leather belt, and high boots of soft leather. His handshake was firm but quick, while his deep voice rang out clearly and freely.

"I'm Ammon Koot," said Ammon, bowing, "if you've received Tonar's letter, I'll have the honour of explaining to you the reason why I came."

"I received his letter, and you are first and foremost my guest," said Dogger with a courteous smile. "Let's go in; I'll introduce you to my wife. Then we'll talk about everything you wish to discuss."

Ammon followed him into a very simple living room with high windows and modest furniture. Nothing stuck out; on the contrary, everything was designed for subtle comfort. Here and in the other rooms that Ammon visited the furnishings were forgotten, as the body forgets pieces of clothing that have long since become familiar. There were no paintings or prints on the walls. Ammon did not notice this at first: the piers' emptiness seemed to be casually draped with the folds of the window curtains. The tidiness, cleanliness, and light imparted a nuance of tender solicitude for the things with which, like with old friends, people live their entire lives.

"Elma!" said Dogger, opening the hall door. "Come here."

Ammon was impatient to meet Dogger's wife. He was interested in seeing them as a couple. Before a minute had gone by a beautiful smiling woman in a smart open-sleeved house-dress emerged from the dim light of the hall. Her every movement spoke of overflowing good health. A blonde of about twenty-two, she sparkled with the refreshing calm of contented young blood, with the gaiety of a well-rested body, and with the majestic good nature of enduring happiness. Ammon thought that everything must be just as harmonious, beautiful, and joyful on the inside, where her body worked in mysterious ways: her heart of steel meticulously pumped scarlet blood through her blue veins, while her pink lungs vigorously inhaled air to refresh the blood, warmed amidst white ribs beneath the white breast.

Dogger, without ceasing to smile – which seemed to be more of a need than an effort for him – introduced Root to his wife; she began to speak freely and lustily, as though she had known Ammon for a long time.

"Being a traveller, you will be a little bored at our place, but that will only be good for you ... yes, good."

"I'm touched," said Ammon, bowing.

Everyone sat down. Dogger, like Elma, sat in silence, smiling ingenuously, and gazing directly into Ammon's face; their expressions said: "We see that you are also a very homely person; it is an easy matter to sit silently with you and not be bored." Despite the winning simplicity of his hosts and the furnishings, Ammon did not trust what he saw.

"I very much want to explain the purpose of my visit to you," he said, getting down to the necessary lie. "In the course of my travels I have become a zealous photographer. In my opinion this pastime can involve quite a bit of artistry."

"Artistry," Dogger nodded.

"Yes. Every landscape passes through hundreds of phases every day. Each time the sun, the time of day, the moon, the stars, or a human figure make it different: they either add to it or take something away. Tonar tempted me with his description of Liliana's charms: the city itself, the surroundings, and your marvellous estate. I feel that my camera is stirring impatiently in my suitcase and that the shutter is snapping by itself from impatience. Have you known Tonar for long, Dogger?"

"For a very long time. We became acquainted while we were both negotiating to buy this estate, but I outbid him. We're on most excellent terms, and sometimes he drops by. He likes country life very much."

"It's strange that he doesn't live like this himself," said Ammon.

"You know," rejoined Elma, putting her head onto her arms and her arms onto the back of the chair, "to do that you have to be born a person like myself and my husband. Am I right, dear?"

"You're right," said Dogger pensively. "But, Ammon, I'll show you the farm while dinner is being prepared. Will you come along, Elma?"

"No," the young woman refused with a laugh, "I'm the hostess, and I must look after things."

"In that case..." Dogger stood up. Ammon did so as well. "In that case we'll set off on our trip."

"A true seeker of adventure," Ammon said to himself as he walked alongside Dogger, "differs from a tritely curious person in that he thoroughly explores any obscure situation. Now I have to look into everything. I don't believe Dogger." Without further introspection he surrendered himself to his impressions. Dogger led Ammon along the garden's vaulted avenues to the backyard. Their conversation touched on nature, and Dogger, with a subtlety that one would not expect from his appearance, penetrated to the very core of the chaotic and contradictory feelings-as slight as the flicker of an eyelash – produced by natural phenomena. He spoke rather phlegmatically, and yet any general concept of nature suddenly ceased to exist for Ammon. Nature, like a house made of blocks, collapsed before his very eyes into its constituent parts. Then, just as carefully and imperceptibly, as though playing, Dogger restored what had been destroyed; he harmoniously and methodically fused the disintegrated concept back into its original form, and Ammon again saw the momentarily lost aggregate of the world's beauty.