Alexander Grin - CRIMSON SAILS

When the man had finally run out of laudation, Gray arranged to have the silk delivered, paid his bill, including this service, and left. He was seen to the door by the shopkeeper with as much pomp as if he were a Chinese emperor. Meanwhile, somewhere nearby, a street musician, having tuned his cello, drew his bow gently across it, making it speak out sadly and wonderfully; his comrade, the flutist, showered the singing of the strings with a trilling of throaty whistling; the simple song with which they filled the sun-sleepy yard reached Gray's ears, and he knew instantly what he had to do. Actually, all these days he had existed at that propitious height of spiritual vision from which he could clearly note every hint and prompt offered by reality. Upon hearing the sounds, drowned out by passing carriages, he entered into the very heart of the most important impressions and thoughts brought forth, in keeping with his nature, by this music, and could foresee why and how that which he had thought of would turn out well. Passing the lane, Gray entered the gate of the house from where the music was coming. By this time the musicians were getting ready to move on; the tall flutist, with an air of dignity brought low, waved his hat gratefully at those windows from which coins were tossed. The cello was locked under its owner's arm again; he was mopping his wet brow and waiting for the flutist.

"Why, it's you, Zimmer!" Gray said to him, recognizing the violinist who entertained the seamen in the evenings with his magnificent playing at the Money on the Barrel Inn. "Why have you forsaken your violin?"

"Dear Captain," Zimmer objected smugly, "I play anything that makes sounds and rattles. In my youth I was a musical clown. I have now developed a passion for art, and I realize with a heavy heart that I've squandered away a real talent. That is why, from a feeling of late-come greed, I love two at once: the cello and the violin. I play the cello in the daytime and the violin in the evening, so that I seem to be weeping, to be sobbing over a lost talent. Will you offer me some wine? Hm? The cello is my Carmen, but the violin…"

"Is Assol," Gray said.

Zimmer misunderstood.

"Yes," he nodded, "a solo played on cymbals or brass pipes is something else again. However, what do I care? Let the clowns of art grimace and twitch – I know that fairies dwell within the violin and the cello."

"And what dwells in my tur-i-loo?" the flutist asked as he walked up. He was a tall fellow with a sheep's blue eyes and a curly blond beard. "Tell me that now."

"It all depends on how much you've had to drink since morning. Sometimes it's a bird, and sometimes it's liquor fumes. Captain, may I present my partner Duss? I told him about the way you throw your money around when you're drinking, and he's fallen in love with you, sight unseen."

"Yes," Duss said, "I love a grand gesture and generosity. But I'm a sly fellow, so don't trust my vile flattery."

"Well, now," Gray said and smiled, "I'm pressed for time, and the matter is urgent. I can offer you a chance to earn some good money. Put together an orchestra, but not one that's made up of fops with funeral parlour faces who've forgotten in theirmusical pedantry or,-worse still-in their gastronomical soundings, all about the soul of music and are slowly spreading a pall over the stage with their intricate noises,- no. Get together your friends who can make the simple hearts of cooks and butlers weep, get together your wandering tribe. The sea and love do not stand for pedants. I'd love to have a drink with you and polish off more than one bottle, but I must go. I've got a lot to attend to. Take this and drink to the letter A. If you accept my proposition, come to the Secret this evening. It's moored near the first dam."

"Right!" Zimmer cried, knowing that Gray paid like a king. "Bow, Duss, say 'yes' and twirl your hat from joy! Captain Gray has decided to get married!"

"Yes," Gray replied simply. "I'll tell you the details on board the Secret. As for you…"

"Here's to A!" Duss nudged Zimmer and winked at Gray. "But… there are so many letters in the alphabet! Won't you give us something for Z, too?"

Gray gave them some more money. The musicians departed. He then went to a commission agent and placed a secret order for a rush job, to be completed in six day's time, and costing an impressive amount. As Gray returned to his ship the agent was boarding a steamboat. Towards evening the silk was delivered; Letika had not yet returned, nor had the musicians arrived; Gray went off to talk to Panten.

It should be noted that in the course of several years Gray had been sailing with the same crew. At first, the captain had puzzled the sailors by the eccentric nature of his voyages and stops-which sometimes lasted for months-in the most trade-lacking, unpopulated places, but in time they were inspired by Gray's "grayism". Often he would sail with ballast alone, having refused to take on a profitable cargo for the sole reason that he did not like the freight offered. No one could ever talk him into taking on a load of soap, nails, machine parts or some such that would lie silently in the hold, evoking lifeless images of dull necessity. But he was always ready to take on fruit, china, animals, spices, tea, tobacco, coffee, silk and rare varieties of wood: ebony, sandalwood and teak. All this was in keeping with the aristocratism. of his imagination, creating a picturesque atmosphere; small wonder then that the crew of the Secret, having been nurtured thus in the spirit of originality, should look down somewhat upon all other ships, engulfed as they were in the smoke of plain, ordinary profit. Still and all, this time Gray noted their questioning looks: even the dumbest sailor knew that there was no need to put up for repairs in a forest river.

Panten had naturally passed Gray's orders on to them. When Gray entered his mate was finishing his sixth cigar and pacing up and down the cabin, dizzy from so much smoke and stumbling over chairs. Evening was approaching; a golden shaft of light protruded through the open porthole, and in it the polished visor of the captain's cap flashed.

"Everything's shipshape," Panten said sullenly. "We can weigh anchor now if you wish."

"You should know me by now," Gray said kindly. "There's no mystery about what I'm doing. As soon as we drop anchor in the Liliana I'll tell you all about it, and you won't have to waste so many matches on cheap cigars. Go on and weigh anchor."

Panten smiled uncomfortably and scratched an eyebrow.

"Yes, I know. Not that I… all right."

After he was gone Gray sat very still for a while, looking out of the door that was slightly ajar, and then went to his own cabin. There he first sat, then lay down and then, listening to the clatter of the windlass pulling up the loud chain, was about to go up to the forecastle deck but fell to pondering and returned to the table where his finger drew a quick, straight line across the oilcloth. A fist struck against the door brought him out of his maniacal trance; he turned the key, letting in Letika. The sailor, panting loudly, stood there looking like a messenger who has averted an execution at the very last moment.

"Let's go, Letika, I said to myself from where I stood on the pier," he said, speaking rapidly, "when I saw the boys here dancing around the windlass and spitting on their hands. I have an eagle-eye. And I flew. I was breathing down the boatman's back so hard he broke out in a nervous sweat. Did you want to leave me behind, Captain?"

"Letika," Gray said, peering at his bloodshot eyes, "I expected you back no later than this morning. Did you pour cold water on the back of your head?"

"Yes. Not as much as went down the hatch, but I did. I've done everything."

"Let's have it."

"There's no sense talking, Captain. It's all written down here. Read it. I did my best. I'm leaving."