Alexander Grin - CRIMSON SAILS

The stream of foam cast off by the stern of Gray's Secret crossed the ocean as a white streak and faded in the glow of the evening lights of Liss. The ship dropped anchor near the lighthouse.

For the next ten days the Secret unloaded tussore silk, coffee and tea; the crew spent the eleventh day ashore, relaxing in alcoholic fumes; on the twelfth day, for no good reason, Gray was blackly despondent and could not understand this despondency.

He had barely come awake in the morning when he felt that this day had begun in a black shroud. He dressed glumly, ate breakfast half-heartedly, forgot to read the newspaper and smoked for a long while, plunged into an inexpressible mood of futile tension; among the vaguely emerging words unacknowledged desires roamed, destroying each other through equal effort. Then he got down to work.

Accompanied by the boatswain, Gray inspected the ship and ordered the guy ropes tightened, the tiller rope loosened, the hawse cleaned, the tack changed, the deck tarred, the compass wiped and the hold opened, aired and swept. However, this did not dispel his dark mood. Filled with an uneasy awareness of the gloom of the day, he spent it irritably and sadly: it was as if someone had called to him, but he had forgotten who it was and whence.

Towards evening he settled back in his cabin, picked up a book and argued with the author at length, making marginal notes of a paradoxical nature. For a while he was amused by this game, this conversation with a dead man holding sway from the grave. Then, lighting his pipe, he became immersed in the blue smoke, living among the spectral arabesques that appeared in its shifting planes.

Tobacco is very potent; as oil poured onto the surging rent between the waves allays their frenzy, so does tobacco soothe irritation and dull the emotions by several degrees; they become calmer and more musical. Therefore, after three pipes, Gray's depression finally lost its aggressive nature and was transformed into thoughtful distraction. This state lasted for about another hour; when the fog lifted from his soul, Gray came to with a start, hungered for exercise and went up on deck. It was night; alongside, in the slumbering black water, there dozed the stars and the lights of the mast lanterns. The air, as warm as a cheek, brought in the smell of the sea. Gray raised his head and squinted at the gold coal of a star; instantly, through the dizzying distance, the fiery needle of a remote planet penetrated his pupils. The muted noise of the town at evening reached his ears from the depths of the bay; sometimes a phrase from the shore was wafted in across the sensitive surface of the water; it would sound clearly, as if spoken on deck and then be snuffed out by the creaking of the rigging; a match flared on the forecastle deck, lighting up a hand, a pair of round eyes and a moustache. Gray whistled; the lighted pipe moved and floated towards him; soon, in the dark, the captain made out the hands and face of the man on watch. "Tell Letika he's coming with me," Gray said. "Tell him to take along the fishing tackle."

He went down into the rowboat where he waited for Letika for about ten minutes; a nimble, shifty-eyed youth banged the oars against the side as he handed them down to Gray; then he climbed down himself, fitted them into the oarlocks and stuck a bag of provisions into the stern of the rowboat. Gray sat at the tiller.

"Where to, Captain?" Letika asked, rowing in a circle with the right oar alone.

The captain was silent. The sailor knew that one could not intrude upon this silence and, therefore, falling silent as well, he began rowing swiftly.

Gray set their course out to sea and then steered them along the left bank. He did not care where they were going. The tiller gurgled; the oars creaked and splashed; all else was sea and silence.

In the course of a day a person heeds to so many thoughts, impressions, speeches and words that together they would fill many a heavy tome. The face of a day takes on a definite expression, but today Gray searched this face in vain. Its obscure features glowed with one of those emotions of which there are many, but which have not been given a name. No matter what they are called, they will forever remain beyond the scope of words and even concepts, so like the effect of an aroma. Gray was now at the mercy of just such an emotion; true, he might have said: "I am waiting. I see. I shall soon know,"-but even these words were equal to no more than are the separate drawings in relation to an architectural conception. Yet, there was the power of radiant excitement in these ideas.

The bank appeared to the left like a wavy thickening of darkness. Sparks from the chimneys danced above the red glass of the windows; this was Kaperna. Gray could hear shouting, wrangling and barking. The lights of the village resembled a firebox door that has burned through in tiny spots to let you see the flaming coal inside. To the right was the ocean, as real as the presence of a sleeping person. Having passed Kaperna, Gray steered towards the shore. The water lapped against it softly here; lighting his lantern, he saw the pits in the bluff and its upper, overhanging ledges; he liked the spot.

"We'll fish here," Gray said, tapping the oarsman on the shoulder.

The sailor harrumphed vaguely.

"This is the first time I've ever sailed with such a captain," he muttered. "He's a sensible captain, but no ordinary kind. A difficult captain. But I like him all the same."

He stuck the oar into the silt and tied the boat to it and they both scrambled up the stones that rolled out from under their knees and elbows. There was a thicket at the top of the bluff. The sound of an axe splitting a dry trunk followed; having felled the tree, Letika made a campfire on the bluff. Shadows moved, and the flames that were reflected in the water; in the receding gloom the grass and branches stood out; the air, mingled with smoke, shimmered and glowed above the fire.

Gray sat by the campfire.

"Here," he said, proffering a bottle, "drink to all teetotallers, my friend Letika. And, by the way, the vodka you brought along is flavoured with ginger, not quinine."

"I'm sorry, Captain," the sailor replied, catching his breath. "If you don't mind, I'll eat it down with this…" At which he bit off half a roast chicken and, extracting a wing from his mouth, continued: "I know you like quinine. But it was dark, and I was in a hurry. Ginger, you see, embitters a man. I always drink ginger vodka when I have to go. As the captain ate and drank, the sailor kept stealing glances at him and, finally, unable to contain himself any longer, he said, "Is it true, Captain, what they say? That you come from a noble family?"

"That's of no importance, Letika. Take your tackle and fish a while if you want to." "What about you?"

"Me? I don't know. Maybe. But… later." Letika unwound his line, chanting in rhyme, something he was a past master at, to the delight of the crew.

"From a string and piece of wood I made a very fine, long whip. Then I found a hook to fit it, and I whistled sharp and quick." He poked about in a tin of worms. "This old worm lived in a burrow and was happy as could be, but I've got him hooked real good now, and the perch will all thank me." Finally, he walked off, singing: "Moonlight shines, the vodka's perfect, fishes, harken, I draw near. Herrings, faint, and sturgeon skitter, Letika is fishing here!"

Gray lay down by the fire, gazing at the water and the reflection of the flames. He was thinking, but effortlessly; in this condition one's mind, while observing one's surroundings absently, comprehends them but dimly; it rushes on like a stallion in a jostling herd, crushing and shoving aside, and halting; emptiness, confusion and delay attend it in turn. It wanders within the souls of things; from bright agitation it hurries to secret intimations; passing from earth to sky, conversing on the subject of life with imaginary personages, snuffing out and embellishing one's memories. In this cloudy movement all is live and palpable, and all is as loosely hung together as a hallucination. And one's relaxing consciousness often smiles, seeing, for instance, one's thoughts on life suddenly accosted by a most inopportune visitor: perhaps a twig broken two years before. Thus was Gray thinking by the fire, but he was "somewhere else"-not there.