Scarlet Sails III. Dawn. Scarlet Sails - Green A.S. The captain got out into the open

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 ruler of coffin for the dead. 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 fury, so does tobacco: softening the irritation of feelings, it brings them down a few tones; they sound smoother and more musical. Therefore, Gray’s melancholy, having finally lost its offensive significance 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. Dull noise 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 come with me.” Let him take the fishing rods.

He went down to 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 he could not insert words 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 clinked 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,” answered the sailor, 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 catch if you want.

I? Don't know. May be. But after. Letika unwound the fishing rod, chanting 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 has been 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,” 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 on 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; For Gray, the next two hours were no more than those seconds during which he leaned his head in 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 flaming 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 enthusiasm 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 being forcibly washed 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 did not know her, or her name, or, especially, why she fell asleep on the shore, but he was very pleased with it. He loved paintings without explanations or captions. The impression of such a picture is incomparably stronger; its content is not connected 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 and folds of the dress fell off; 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 inherent in merchants in general, was grinding dishes behind the counter. On dirty floor the sunny frame of the window lay.

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 removing 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 collector of songs. Of course, this story, since the beggar confirmed her 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 that 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 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? - asked Gray.

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 the girl is walking on foot from the city, and I sold my coal, I will certainly jail 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 I, sir, in the free coal business, 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,” she says, “want to be able to the boat itself floated on the board, and the rowers would row for real; then they would land on the shore, hand over the pier and, honorably, as if alive, they would sit 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 that he will catch big fish, which no one has caught." - "Well, what about me?" - "And you? - she laughs, “you must be, 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 so it entered my eyes , as if buds were creeping out of the twigs; these buds burst, the leaves splashed across the basket and disappeared. I even sobered up a little! And Khin Menners is lying and doesn’t take the money!

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 wine cellar; then he set sail and began rowing quickly towards the harbor.

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 fury, so does tobacco: softening the irritation of feelings, it brings them down a few tones; they sound smoother and more musical. Therefore, Gray’s melancholy, having finally lost its offensive significance 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,” said Gray, “that he will come with me.” Let him take the fishing rods.

He went down to 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 he could not insert words 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 clinked 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 catch 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

The elbow on 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; For Gray, the next two hours were no more than those seconds during which he leaned his head in 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 flaming 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 did not know her, or her name, or, especially, why she fell asleep on the shore, but he was very pleased with it. He loved paintings without explanations or captions. 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?

- Wonderful 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.

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 immense diversity of life, while how high in the sky is the Southern Cross, the Ursa Dipper, and all the continents - in 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 chest.

In the autumn, in his fifteenth year of 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 diabolical sailor He drank vodka, choking, and during the swim, 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 person, 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 created 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 off 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, bullying 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 I saw how I; look through my eyes. If you could hear me; put a shell to your ear: there is the sound of an eternal wave; if you loved like me, everything in your letter I would find, except 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; just as indestructible in detail and in general impression like 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 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 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, taking a large sum money, he returned to Dubelt and said to Captain Gop: “Thank you. You were a good comrade. Farewell, senior comrade,” here he cemented 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.

Not much 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 Liss. But he had already forever remembered that short chesty laugh, full of heartfelt music, with which he was greeted at home, and twice a year he visited the castle, leaving the woman with silver hair with the uncertain confidence that such big boy, perhaps, will cope with his toys.

Chapter 3
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 his pipe, he drowned in blue smoke, living among the ghostly arabesques appearing in its unsteady layers.

Tobacco is terribly powerful; just as oil poured into the galloping burst of waves pacifies their fury, so does tobacco: softening the irritation of feelings, it brings them down a few tones; they sound smoother and more musical. Therefore, Gray’s melancholy, having finally lost its offensive significance 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, raising his head, 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 come with me.” Let him take the fishing rods.

He went down to 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 he could not insert words into this silence, and therefore, falling silent, he himself began to row strongly.

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 clinked 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 am waiting, I see, I will 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 unlike. 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, entwined 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 was eating and drinking, the sailor looked at him sideways, 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 catch if you want.

- I? Don't know. May be. But after.

Letika unwound the fishing rod, reciting in verse what 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, attaching 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 on which he rested, supporting his head with his hand, became damp and numb. The stars glowed palely; the darkness was intensified by the tension that preceded the dawn. The captain began to fall asleep, but did not notice it. He wanted to drink, and he reached for the bag, untying it already in a dream e. Then he stopped dreaming; For Gray, the next two hours were no more than those seconds during which he leaned his head in 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 the bright branches and the flaming 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 it was right under Gray’s back—the quiet surf hissed. 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 eyes, but here he is otherwise saw her. Everything moved, everything smiled in him. Of course, he did not know her, or her name, or, especially, why she fell asleep on the shore, but he was very pleased with it. He loved paintings without explanations or captions. 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 had fallen off on the girl: her dark hair had fallen off, her dress and the folds of her dress had fallen off; 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 extraordinary 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 would suggest something essential to life, 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?

- Wonderful 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:

“Won’t you, Letika, with your experienced eye determine 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 sat in the common room of the inn. A coal miner sat at the window, the owner of the drunken mustache we had already noticed; 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 guessed Gray present The captain is a category of guests whom he rarely sees. 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 removing 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,” 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 Korabelnaya 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 talked on the seashore with a song collector. Of course, this story, since the beggar confirmed her 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 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 to whom Menners had just referred 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. After 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 singing 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.

“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 I, sir, in the free coal business, 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, “so 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 crawling out of the rods; 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!

Basket maker, basket maker,
Charge us for the baskets!..

This work has entered the public domain. The work was written by an author who died more than seventy years ago, and was published during his lifetime or posthumously, but more than seventy years have also passed since publication. It may be freely used by anyone without anyone's consent or permission and without payment of royalties.