Alexander Grin - CRIMSON SAILS

"Where to?"

"I can see by the look on your face that I didn't pour enough cold water on my head."

He turned and exited with the strange movements of a blind man. Gray unfolded the slip of paper; the pencil must have been surprised as it produced the scrawl that resembled a crooked fence. This is what Letika had written:

"Following orders. I went down the street after 5 p.m. A house with a grey roof and two windows on either side; it has a vegetable garden. The person in question came out twice: once for water and once for kindling for the stove. After dark was able to look into the window, but saw nothing on account of the curtain."

There followed several notations of a domestic nature which Letika had apparently gleaned in conversation over a bottle, since the memorandum ended rather abruptly with the words: "Had to add a bit of my own to square the bill."

However, the gist of the report stated but that which we know of from the first chapter. Gray put the paper in his desk, whistled for the watch and sent the man for Panten, but the boatswain Atwood showed up instead, hastily pulling down his rolled-up sleeves.

"We've tied up at the dam. Panten sent me down to see what the orders are. He's busy fighting off some men with horns, drums and other violins. Did you tell them to come aboard? Panten asked you to come up. He says his head's spinning."

"Yes, Atwood. I invited the musicians aboard. Tell them to go to the crew's quarters meanwhile. We'll see to them later. Tell them and the crew I'll be up on deck in fifteen minutes, I want everyone in attendance. I presume you and Panten will also listen to what I have to say."

Atwood cocked his left brow. He stood by the door for a few moments and then sidled out.

Gray spent the next ten minutes with his face buried in his hands; he was not preparing himself for anything, nor was he calculating. He simply wished to be silent for a while. In the meantime, everyone awaited him anxiously and with a curiosity full of surmise. He emerged and saw in their faces an expectation of improbable things, but since he considered that which was taking place to be quite natural, the tenseness of these other people's souls was reflected in his own as a slight annoyance.

"It's nothing out of the ordinary," said Gray, sitting down on the bridge ladder. "We'll lie to in the river till we change the rigging. You've all seen the red silk that's been delivered. The sail maker Blent will be in charge of making new sails from it for the Secret. We'll then set sail, but I can't say where to. At any rate, it won't be far from here. I am going for my wife. She's not my wife yet, but she will be. I must have red sails on my ship so that, according to the agreement, she can spot us from afar. That is all. As you see, there's nothing mysterious in all this. And we'll say no more about it."

"Indeed," said Atwood, sensing from the crew's smiling faces that they were pleasantly surprised but did not venture to speak. "So that's it, Captain… It's not for us to judge. We can only obey. Everything'll be as you wish. May I offer my congratulations." "Thank you!"

Gray gripped the boatswain's hand, but the latter through superhuman effort, returned the handshake so firmly the captain yielded. Then the crew came up, mumbling words of congratulations with one man's warm smile replacing another's. No one shouted, no one cheered – for the men had sensed something very special in the captain's short speech. Panten heaved a sigh of relief and brightened visibly – the weight that had lay on his heart melted away. The ship's carpenter was the only one who seemed displeased. He shook Gray's hand listlessly and said morosely:

"How'd you ever think of it, Captain?"

"It was like a blow of your axe. Zimmer! Let's see your boys."

The violinist, slapping the musicians on the back, pushed seven sloppily dressed men out of the crowd.

"Here," Zimmer said. "This is the trombone. He doesn't play, he blasts. These two beardless boys are trumpeters; when they start playing, everybody feels like going off to war. Then there's the clarinet, the cornet and the second fiddle. All of them are past masters at accompanying the lively prima, meaning me. And here's the headmaster of our merry band – Fritz, the drummer. You know, drummers usually look disappointed, but this one plays with dignity and fervour. There's something open-hearted and as straight as his drumsticks about his playing. Will there be anything else, Captain Gray?"

"Magnificent. A place has been set aside for you in the hold, which this time, apparently, will be filled with all sorts of scherzos, adagios and fortissimos. To your places, men. Cast off and head out, Panten! I'll relieve you in two hours."

He did not notice the passing of these two hours, as they slipped by to the accompaniment of the same inner music that never abandoned his consciousness, as the pulse does not abandon the arteries. He had but one thought, one wish, one goal. Being a man of action, in his mind's eye he anticipated the events, regretting only that they could not be manipulated as quickly and easily as chequers on a board. Nothing about his calm exterior bespoke the inner tension whose booming, like the clanging of a great bell overhead, reverberated through his body as a deafening, nervous moan. It finally caused him to begin counting to himself: "One… two… thirty…"-and so on, until he said: "One thousand." This mental exercise had its effect; he was finally able to take a detached view of the project. He was somewhat surprised at not being able to imagine what Assol was like as a person, for he had never even spoken to her. He had once read that one could, though incompletely, understand a person if, imaging one's self to be that person, one imitated the expression of his face. Gray's eyes had already begun to assume a strange expression that was alien to them, and his lips under his moustache were curling up into a faint, timid smile, when he suddenly came to his senses, burst out laughing and went up to relieve Panten.

It was dark. Panten had raised the collar of his jacket and was pacing back and forth by the compass, saying to the helmsman:

"Port, one quarter point. Port. Stop. A quarter point more."

The Secret was sailing free at half tack.

"You know," Panten said to Gray, "I'm pleased."

"What by?"

"The same thing you are. Now I know. It came to me right here on the bridge." He winked slyly as the fire of his pipe lighted his smile.

"You don't say?" Gray replied, suddenly understanding what he was getting at. "And what do you know?"

"It's the best way to smuggle it in. Anybody can have whatever kind of sails he wants to. You're a genius, Gray!"

"Poor old Panten!" the captain said, not knowing whether to be angry or to laugh. "Your guess is a clever one, but it lacks any basis in fact. Go to bed. You have my word for it that you're wrong. I'm doing exactly as I said."

He sent him down to sleep, checked their course and sat down. We shall leave him now, for he needs to be by himself.

Longren spent the night at sea; he neither slept nor fished, but sailed along without any definite course, listening to the lapping of the water, gazing into the blackness, holding his face up to the wind and thinking. At the most difficult times of his life nothing so restored his soul as these lonely wanderings. Stillness, stillness and solitude were what he needed in order to make the faintest, most obscure voices of his inner world sound clearly. This night his thoughts were of the future, of poverty and of Assol. It was unbearably difficult for him to leave her, if only for a short while; besides, he was afraid of resurrecting the abated pain. Perhaps, after signing up on a ship, he would again imagine that waiting for him in Kaperna was his beloved who had never died-and, returning, he would approach the house with the grief of lifeless expectation. Mary would never again come through the door. But he wanted to provide for Assol and, therefore, decided to do what his concern for her demanded he do.