Longren, a sailor of the Orion, a strong three-hundred-ton brig on which he served for ten years and to which he was more attached than another son to his own mother, had to finally leave this service.
It happened like this. On one of his rare returns home, he did not see, as always from afar, his wife Mary on the threshold of the house, throwing up her hands and then running towards him until she lost her breath. Instead, an excited neighbor stood by the crib - a new item in Longren's small house.
“I followed her for three months, old man,” she said, “look at your daughter.”
Dead, Longren bent down and saw an eight-month-old creature, looking intently at him. long beard, then sat down, looked down and began to twirl his mustache. The mustache was wet, as if from rain.
- When did Mary die? - he asked.
The woman told sad story, interrupting the story with touching gurgles to the girl and assurances that Mary is in heaven. When Longren found out the details, heaven seemed to him a little brighter than a woodshed, and he thought that the fire of a simple lamp - if all three of them were now together - would be an irreplaceable consolation for a woman who had gone to an unknown country.
Three months ago, the young mother’s economic affairs were very bad. Of the money left by Longren, a good half was spent on treatment after a difficult birth, on caring for health newborn; finally, the loss of a small but necessary amount for life forced Mary to ask Menners for a loan of money. Menners ran a tavern and a shop and was considered a wealthy man.
Mary went to see him at six o'clock in the evening. At about seven the narrator met her on the road to Liss. Mary, tearful and upset, said that she was going to the city to pawn her engagement ring. She added that Menners agreed to give money, but demanded love for it. Mary achieved nothing.
“We don’t even have a crumb of food in our house,” she told her neighbor. “I’ll go into town, and the girl and I will get by somehow until my husband returns.”
The weather was cold and windy that evening; the narrator tried in vain to persuade the young woman woman do not go to Liss by nightfall. “You’ll get wet, Mary, it’s drizzling, and the wind, no matter what, will bring downpour.”
Back and forth from the seaside village to the city was at least three hours of quick walking, but Mary did not listen to the narrator’s advice. “It’s enough for me to prick your eyes,” she said, “and there is almost not a single family where I would not borrow bread, tea or flour. I’ll pawn the ring and it’s over.” She went, returned, and the next day fell ill with fever and delirium; bad weather and evening drizzle struck her with double pneumonia, as the city doctor said, caused by the kind-hearted narrator. A week later, there was an empty space on Longren’s double bed, and a neighbor moved into his house to nurse and feed the girl. It was not difficult for her, a lonely widow. Besides,” she added, “it’s boring without such a fool.”
Longren went to the city, took payment, said goodbye to his comrades and began to raise little Assol. Until the girl learned to walk firmly, the widow lived with the sailor, replacing the orphan’s mother, but as soon as Assol stopped falling, lifting her leg over the threshold, Longren decisively announced that now he himself would do everything for the girl, and, thanking the widow for her active sympathy, lived the lonely life of a widower, concentrating all his thoughts, hopes, Love and memories on a small creature.
Ten years of wandering life left very little money in his hands. He started working. Soon his toys appeared in city stores - skillfully made small models of boats, cutters, single- and double-decker sailing ships, cruisers, steamships - in a word, everything that he knew intimately, which, due to the nature of the work, partly replaced for him the roar of port life and painting work swimming. In this way, Longren obtained enough to live within the limits of moderate economy. Unsociable by nature, after the death of his wife, he became even more withdrawn and unsociable. On holidays, he was sometimes seen in a tavern, but he never sat down, but hastily drank a glass of vodka at the counter and left, briefly throwing around: “yes”, “no”, “hello”, “goodbye”, “little by little” - at all the calls and nods from the neighbors. He could not stand guests, quietly sending them away not by force, but with such hints and fictitious circumstances that the visitor had no choice but to invent a reason not to allow him to sit longer.
He himself did not visit anyone either; Thus, a cold alienation lay between him and his fellow countrymen, and if Longren’s work—toys—had been less independent from the affairs of the village, he would have had to more clearly experience the consequences of such a relationship. He purchased goods and food supplies in the city - Menners could not even boast of the box of matches that Longren bought from him. He also did everything himself homework and patiently went through something unusual for a man complex art raising a girl.
Assol was already five years old, and her father began to smile softer and softer, looking at her nervous, kind face, when, sitting on his lap, she worked on the secret of a buttoned vest or amusingly hummed sailor songs - wild rhymes. When narrated in a child's voice and not always with the letter "r", these songs gave the impression of a dancing bear decorated with a blue ribbon. At this time, an event occurred, the shadow of which, falling on the father, covered the daughter as well.
It was spring, early and harsh, like winter, but of a different kind. For three weeks, a sharp coastal north fell to the cold earth.
Fishing boats pulled ashore formed a long row of dark keels on the white sand, reminiscent of the ridges of huge fish. No one dared to fish in such weather. On the only street of the village it was rare to see a person who had left the house; the cold whirlwind rushing from the coastal hills into the emptiness of the horizon made the “open air” a severe torture. All the chimneys of Kaperna smoked from morning to evening, spreading smoke over the steep roofs.
But these days of the Nord lured Longren out of his small warm house more often than the sun, which in clear weather covered the sea and Kaperna with blankets of airy gold. Longren went out onto a bridge built along long rows of piles, where, at the very end of this plank pier, he smoked a pipe blown by the wind for a long time, watching how the bottom exposed near the shore smoked with gray foam, barely keeping up with the waves, the thundering run of which towards the black, stormy horizon filled the space with herds of fantastic maned creatures, rushing in unbridled ferocious despair towards distant consolation. Moans and noises, the howling gunfire of huge upsurges of water and, it seemed, a visible stream of wind striping the surroundings - so strong was its smooth run - gave Longren's exhausted soul that dullness, stunnedness, which, reducing grief to vague sadness, is equal in effect to deep sleep .
On one of these days, Menners’s twelve-year-old son, Khin, noticing that his father’s boat was hitting the piles under the bridge, breaking the sides, went and told his father about it. The storm began recently; Menners forgot to take the boat out onto the sand. He immediately went to the water, where he saw Longren standing at the end of the pier, with his back to it, smoking. There was no one else on the shore except the two of them. Menners walked along the bridge to the middle, descended into the madly splashing water and untied the sheet; standing in the boat, he began to make his way to the shore, grabbing the piles with his hands. He did not take the oars, and at that moment, when, staggering, he missed to grab the next pile, a strong blow of the wind threw the bow of the boat from the bridge towards the ocean. Now, even with the entire length of his body, Menners could not reach the nearest pile. The wind and waves, rocking, carried the boat into the disastrous expanse. Realizing the situation, Menners wanted to throw himself into the water to swim to the shore, but his decision was late, since the boat was already spinning not far from the end of the pier, where the considerable depth of the water and the fury of the waves promised certain death. Between Longren and Menners, carried away into the stormy distance, there was no more than ten fathoms of still saving distance, since on the walkway at Longren’s hand hung a bundle of rope with a load woven into one end. This rope hung in case of a pier in stormy weather and was thrown from the bridge.
- Longren! - shouted the mortally frightened Menners. - Why have you become like a stump? You see, I'm being carried away; leave the pier!
Longren was silent, calmly looking at Menners, who was rushing about in the boat, only his pipe began to smoke more strongly, and he, after hesitating, took it out of his mouth in order to better see what was happening.
- Longren! - Menners cried, - you can hear me, I’m dying, save me!
But Longren did not say a single word to him; he did not seem to hear the desperate cry. Until the boat carried so far that Menners’ words and cries could barely reach him, he did not even shift from foot to foot. Menners sobbed in horror, begged the sailor to run to the fishermen, call for help, promised money, threatened and cursed, but Longren only came closer to the very edge of the pier so as not to immediately lose sight of the throwing and jumping boats. “Longren,” came to him muffledly, as if from the roof, sitting inside the house, “save me!” Then, taking a deep breath and taking a deep breath so that not a single word would be lost in the wind, Longren shouted:
“She asked you the same thing!” Think about this while you are still alive, Menners, and don’t forget!
Then the screams stopped, and Longren went home. Assol woke up and saw her father sitting in front of a dying lamp, deep in thought. Hearing the girl’s voice calling him, he went up to her, kissed her deeply and covered her with a tangled blanket.
“Sleep, honey,” he said, “the morning is still far away.”
- What are you doing?
“I made a black toy, Assol, sleep!”
The next day, all the residents of Kaperna could talk about was the missing Menners, and on the sixth day they brought him himself, dying and angry. His story quickly spread around the surrounding villages. Menners wore it until the evening; broken by shocks on the sides and bottom of the boat, during a terrible struggle with the ferocity of the waves, which, tirelessly, threatened to throw the maddened shopkeeper into the sea, he was picked up by the steamer Lucretia, heading to Kasset. A cold and shock of horror ended Menners' days. He lived a little less than forty-eight hours, calling upon Longren all the disasters possible on earth and in the imagination. Menners' story of how the sailor watched his death, refusing help, eloquent all the more so since the dying man was breathing with difficulty and groaning, amazed the residents of Kaperna. Not to mention the fact that few of them were able to remember an insult even more severe than that suffered by Longren, and to grieve as much as he grieved for Mary for the rest of his life - they were disgusted, incomprehensible, and amazed that Longren was silent. Silently, to your own last words sent after Menners, Longren stood; stood motionless, sternly and quietly, like a judge, showing deep contempt for Menners - there was more than hatred in his silence, and everyone felt it. If he had shouted, expressing with gestures or fussiness gloating, or in some other way his triumph at the sight of Menners’ despair, the fishermen would have understood him, but he acted differently from what they acted - he acted impressively, incomprehensibly, and thereby placed himself above others, in a word, did something that cannot be forgiven. No one else bowed to him, extended their hands, or cast a recognizing, greeting glance. He remained completely aloof from village affairs; The boys, seeing him, shouted after him: “Longren drowned Menners!” He didn't pay any attention to it. It also seemed that he did not notice that in the tavern or on the shore, among the boats, the fishermen fell silent in his presence, moving away as if from the plague. The case of Menners cemented the previously incomplete alienation. Having become complete, it caused lasting mutual hatred, the shadow of which fell on Assol.
The girl grew up without friends. Two to three dozen children her age who lived in Kaperna, soaked like a sponge with water, rough family beginning, the basis of which was the unshakable authority of the mother and father, the overbearing ones, like all children in the world, once and for all crossed out little Assol from the sphere of their patronage and attention. This happened, of course, gradually, through suggestion and shouting from adults, it acquired character a terrible ban, and then, reinforced by gossip and rumors, fear of the sailor’s house grew in children’s minds.
In addition, Longren's secluded lifestyle has now freed the hysterical language of gossip; They used to say about the sailor that he had killed someone somewhere, which is why, they say, he is no longer hired to serve on ships, and he himself is gloomy and unsociable, because “he is tormented by remorse of a criminal conscience.” While playing, the children chased Assol if she approached them, threw dirt and teased her that her father ate human flesh and was now making counterfeit money. One after another, her naive attempts to get closer ended in bitter crying, bruises, scratches and other manifestations public opinion; She finally stopped being offended, but still sometimes asked her father: “Tell me, why don’t they like us?” “Eh, Assol,” said Longren, “do they know how to love? You have to be able to love, but that’s something they can’t do.” - “What is it like to be able to?” - "And like this!" He took the girl in his arms and deeply kissed her sad eyes, which were squinting with tender pleasure.
Assol’s favorite pastime was in the evenings or on holidays, when her father, putting away the jars of paste, tools and unfinished work, he sat down, taking off his apron, to rest, with a pipe in his teeth, to climb onto his lap and, turning in the careful ring of his father’s hand, touch various parts of the toys, asking about their purpose. Thus began a kind of fantastic lecture about life and people - a lecture in which, thanks to Longren’s previous way of life, accidents, chance in general, outlandish, amazing and extraordinary events were given the main place. Longren calling a girl names gear, sails, marine items, gradually became fascinated, moving from explanations to various episodes in which a windlass, a steering wheel, a mast or some type of boat, etc. played a role, and from individual illustrations of these he moved to wide pictures of sea wanderings, weaving superstitions into reality, and reality into the images of his imagination. Here appeared a tiger cat, a messenger of a shipwreck, and a talking flying fish, disobeying whose orders meant going off course, and the Flying Dutchman with his frantic crew; omens, ghosts, mermaids, pirates - in a word, all the fables that while away a sailor's leisure time in calm or in his favorite tavern. Longren also talked about the shipwrecked, about people who had gone wild and had forgotten how to speak, about mysterious treasures, convict riots and much more, which the girl listened to more attentively than perhaps she listened to Columbus’s story about the new continent for the first time. “Well, say more,” Assol asked when Longren, lost in thought, fell silent, and fell asleep on his chest with a head full of wonderful dreams.
It also gave her great, always materially significant pleasure, the appearance of the clerk of the city toy shop, who willingly bought Longren’s work. To appease the father and bargain for excess, the clerk took with him a couple of apples, a sweet pie, and a handful of nuts for the girl. Longren usually asked for the real price out of dislike for bargaining, and the clerk would reduce it. “Oh, you,” said Longren, “I spent a week working on this bot. — The boat was five vershoks. - Look at the strength, what about the draft, what about the kindness? This boat can withstand fifteen people in any weather.” The end result was that the quiet fuss of the girl, purring over her apple, deprived Longren of his stamina and desire to argue; he gave in, and the clerk, having filled the basket with excellent, durable toys, left, chuckling in his mustache.
Longren did all the housework himself: he chopped wood, carried water, lit the stove, cooked, washed, ironed clothes and, besides all this, managed to work for money. When Assol was eight years old, her father taught her to read and write. He began to occasionally take her with him to the city, and then send her even alone if there was a need to intercept money in a store or carry goods. This did not happen often, although Liss lay only four miles from Kaperna, but the road to it went through the forest, and in the forest there is a lot that can frighten children, in addition to physical danger, which, it is true, is difficult to encounter at such a close distance from the city, but still... it doesn't hurt to keep this in mind. Therefore only in good days, in the morning, when the thicket surrounding the road was full of sunny showers, flowers and silence, so that Assol’s impressionability was not threatened by phantoms of the imagination, Longren let her go into the city.
One day, in the middle of such a journey to the city, the girl sat down by the road to eat a piece of pie that had been placed in a basket for breakfast. While snacking, she sorted through the toys; two or three of them turned out to be new to her: Longren made them at night. One such novelty was a miniature racing yacht; This white boat carried scarlet sails made from scraps of silk, used by Longren for lining steamship cabins - toys for a rich buyer. Here, apparently, having made a yacht, he did not find suitable material on the sails, using what was available - scraps of scarlet silk. Assol was delighted. The fiery, cheerful color burned so brightly in her hand, as if she were holding fire. The road was crossed by a stream with a pole bridge across it; the stream to the right and left went into the forest. “If I put her in the water for a little swim,” Assol thought, “she won’t get wet, I’ll dry her later.” Moving into the forest behind the bridge, following the flow of the stream, the girl carefully launched the ship that had captivated her into the water near the shore; the sails immediately sparkled with a scarlet reflection in clear water; the light, penetrating the matter, lay as a trembling pink radiation on the white stones of the bottom. - “Where did you come from, captain? - Assol asked the imaginary face importantly and, answering herself, said: “I came... I came... I came from China.” - What did you bring? “I won’t tell you what I brought.” - Oh, you are so, captain! Well, then I’ll put you back in the basket.” The captain was just getting ready to humbly answer that he was joking and that he was ready to show the elephant, when suddenly the quiet retreat of the coastal stream turned the yacht with its bow towards the middle of the stream, and, like a real one, leaving the shore at full speed, it floated smoothly down. The scale of what was visible instantly changed: the stream seemed to the girl like a huge river, and the yacht seemed like a distant, large ship, to which, almost falling into the water, frightened and dumbfounded, she stretched out her hands. “The captain was scared,” she thought and ran after the floating toy, hoping that it would wash ashore somewhere. Hastily dragging the not heavy but annoying basket, Assol repeated: “Oh, Lord! After all, if something happened...” She tried not to lose sight of the beautiful, smoothly running triangle of sails, stumbled, fell and ran again.
Assol has never been so deep in the forest as she is now. She, absorbed in the impatient desire to catch the toy, did not look around; Near the shore, where she was fussing, there were quite a few obstacles that occupied her attention. Mossy trunks of fallen trees, holes, tall ferns, rose hips, jasmine and hazel trees interfered with her at every step; overcoming them, she gradually lost strength, stopping more and more often to rest or wipe the sticky cobwebs off her face. When sedge and reed thickets stretched out in wider places, Assol completely lost sight of the scarlet sparkle of the sails, but, running around a bend in the current, she again saw them, sedately and steadily running away. Once she looked around, and the forest mass with its diversity, passing from smoky pillars of light in the foliage to the dark crevices of the dense twilight, deeply struck the girl. Shocked for a moment, she remembered again about the toy and, letting out a deep “f-fu-u-u” several times, ran with all her might.
In such an unsuccessful and alarming pursuit, about an hour passed, when with surprise, but also with relief, Assol saw that the trees ahead freely parted, letting in the blue flood of the sea, clouds and the edge of a yellow sandy cliff, onto which she ran out, almost falling from fatigue. Here was the mouth of the stream; having spread not widely and shallowly, so that the flowing blue of the stones could be seen, it disappeared into the oncoming sea wave. From a low cliff, pitted with roots, Assol saw that by the stream, on a large flat stone, with his back to her, a man was sitting, holding a runaway yacht in his hands, and was carefully examining it with the curiosity of an elephant who had caught a butterfly. Partially reassured by the fact that the toy was intact, Assol slid down the cliff and, coming close to the stranger, looked at him with a searching gaze, waiting for him to raise his head. But the unknown man was so immersed in the contemplation of the forest surprise that the girl managed to examine him from head to toe, establishing that she had never seen people like this stranger.
But in front of her was none other than Egle, traveling on foot, famous collector songs, legends, stories and fairy tales. Gray curls fell in folds from under his straw hat; a gray blouse tucked into blue trousers and high boots gave him the appearance of a hunter; a white collar, a tie, a belt, studded with silver badges, a cane and a bag with a brand new nickel lock - showed a city dweller. His face, if one can call a face his nose, lips and eyes, looking out from a rapidly growing radiant beard and lush, fiercely raised mustache, would seem sluggishly transparent, if not for his eyes, gray as sand and shining like pure steel, with a bold look and strong.
“Now give it to me,” the girl said timidly. - You've already played. How did you catch her?
Egle raised his head, dropping the yacht, as Assol’s excited voice suddenly sounded. The old man looked at her for a minute, smiling and slowly letting his beard fall into a large, stringy handful. The cotton dress, washed many times, barely covered the girl’s thin, tanned legs to the knees. Her dark thick hair, pulled back into a lace scarf, tangled, touching her shoulders. Every feature of Assol was expressively light and pure, like the flight of a swallow. Dark eyes, tinged with a sad question, seemed somewhat older than the face; his irregular, soft oval was covered with that kind of lovely tan that is inherent in healthy white skin. The half-opened small mouth sparkled with a gentle smile.
“I swear by the Grimms, Aesop and Andersen,” said Egle, looking first at the girl, then at the yacht. - This is something special. Listen up, plant! Is this your thing?
“Yes, I ran after her all along the stream; I thought I was going to die. Was she here?
- At my very feet. The shipwreck is the reason why I, as a shore pirate, can give you this prize. The yacht, abandoned by the crew, was thrown onto the sand by a three-inch shaft - between my left heel and the tip of the stick. - He tapped his cane. -What's your name, baby?
“Assol,” said the girl, hiding the toy given by Egl in the basket.
“Okay,” the old man continued his incomprehensible speech, without taking his eyes off, in the depths of which a smile of a friendly disposition gleamed. “Actually, I didn’t need to ask.” your name. It’s good that it’s so strange, so monotonous, musical, like the whistle of an arrow or the noise of a sea shell; What would I do if you were called one of those euphonious, but unbearably familiar names that are alien to the Beautiful Unknown? Moreover, I don’t want to know who you are, who your parents are and how you live. Why break the spell? Sitting on this rock, I was engaged in a comparative study of Finnish and Japanese stories... when suddenly a stream splashed out this yacht, and then you appeared... Just as you are. I, my dear, am a poet at heart, although I have never composed anything myself. What's in your basket?
“Boats,” said Assol, shaking her basket, “then a steamer and three more of these houses with flags.” Soldiers live there.
- Great. You were sent to sell. On the way, you started playing. You let the yacht sail, but it ran away - right?
-Have you seen it? — Assol asked doubtfully, trying to remember if she had told this herself. - Did someone tell you? Or did you guess right?
- I knew it.
- What about it?
- Because I am the most important wizard.
Assol was embarrassed; Her tension at these words of Egle crossed the border of fear. The deserted seashore, the silence, the tedious adventure with the yacht, the incomprehensible speech of the old man with sparkling eyes, the majesty of his beard and hair began to seem to the girl as a mixture of the supernatural and reality. Now if Egle made a grimace or screamed something, the girl would rush away, crying and exhausted from fear. But Egle, noticing how wide her eyes opened, made a sharp volte-face.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” he said seriously. “On the contrary, I want to talk to you to my heart’s content.” “It was only then that he realized what was so closely marked by his impression in the girl’s face. “An involuntary expectation of a beautiful, blissful fate,” he decided. - Oh, why wasn’t I born a writer? What a glorious story." “Come on,” Egle continued, trying to round out the original position (the tendency toward myth-making, a consequence of constant work, was stronger than the fear of planting the seeds of a major dream on unknown soil), “come on, Assol, listen to me carefully.” I was in the village where you must be coming from; in a word, in Kaperna. I I love fairy tales and songs, and I sat in that village all day, trying to hear something no one had heard. But you don't tell fairy tales. You don't sing songs. And if they tell and sing, then, you know, these stories about cunning men and soldiers, with the eternal praise of cheating, these dirty, like unwashed feet, rough, like a rumbling stomach, short quatrains with a terrible motive... Stop, I’m lost. I'll speak again.
After thinking, he continued like this:
“I don’t know how many years will pass, but in Kaperna one fairy tale will bloom, memorable for a long time.” You will be big, Assol. One morning, in the distant sea, a scarlet sail will sparkle under the sun. The shining bulk of the scarlet sails of the white ship will move, cutting through the waves, straight towards you. This wonderful ship will sail quietly, without shouts or shots; a lot of people will gather on the shore, wondering and gasping; and you will stand there. The ship will approach majestically to the very shore to the sounds of beautiful music; elegant, in carpets, in gold and flowers, a fast boat will sail from him. - “Why did you come? Who are you looking for?" - people on the shore will ask. Then you will see a brave handsome prince; he will stand and stretch out his hands to you. - “Hello, Assol! - he will say. “Far, far from here, I saw you in a dream and came to take you to my kingdom forever.” You will live there with me in the deep pink valley. You will have everything you want; living with you we will become so friendly and cheerful that you will never soul will not know tears and sadness.” He will put you on a boat, bring you to the ship, and you will leave forever to a brilliant country where the sun rises and where the stars will descend from the sky to congratulate you on your arrival.
- It's all for me? — the girl asked quietly. Her serious eyes, cheerful, shone with confidence. A dangerous wizard, of course, would not talk like that; she came closer. - Maybe he has already arrived... that ship?
“Not so soon,” Egle objected, “first, as I said, you will grow up.” Then... What can I say? - it will be, and it’s over. What would you do then?
- I? “She looked into the basket, but apparently did not find anything there worthy of serving as a significant reward. “I would love him,” she said hastily, and added not quite firmly: “if he doesn’t fight.”
“No, he won’t fight,” said the wizard, winking mysteriously, “he won’t, I guarantee it.” Go, girl, and don’t forget what I told you between two sips of aromatic vodka and thinking about the songs of convicts. Go. May there be peace to your furry head!
Longren was working in his small garden, digging up potato bushes. Raising his head, he saw Assol running headlong towards him with a joyful and impatient face.
“Well, here...” she said, trying to control her breathing, and grabbed her father’s apron with both hands. - Listen to what I’ll tell you... On the shore, far away, there’s a wizard sitting...
She started with the wizard and his interesting prediction. The fever of her thoughts prevented her from conveying the incident smoothly. Next came a description of the wizard’s appearance and, in reverse order, the pursuit of the lost yacht.
Longren listened to the girl without interrupting, without smiling, and when she finished, his imagination quickly depicted an unknown old man with aromatic vodka in one hand and a toy in the other. He turned away, but, remembering that on great occasions in a child’s life it is proper for a person to be serious and surprised, he solemnly nodded his head, saying:
- So-so; according to all signs, there is no one else to be but a wizard. I would like to look at him... But when you go again, don’t turn aside; It's not difficult to get lost in the forest.
Throwing away the shovel, he sat down by the low brush fence and sat the girl on his lap. Terribly tired, she tried to add some more details, but the heat, excitement and weakness made her sleepy. Her eyes were stuck together, her head fell on her father’s hard shoulder, a moment - and she would have been carried away into the land of dreams, when suddenly, troubled by a sudden doubt, Assol sat up straight, with eyes closed and, resting her fists on Longren’s vest, she said loudly:
- Do you think the magic ship will come for me or not?
“He will come,” the sailor calmly answered, “since they told you this, then everything is correct.”
“When he grows up, he’ll forget,” he thought, “but for now... it’s not worth taking such a toy away from you. After all, you will have to see a lot in the future not of scarlet, but of dirty and predatory sails; from a distance - smart and white, up close - torn and arrogant. A passing man joked with my girl. Well?! Good joke! Nothing - just a joke! Look how tired you were - half a day in the forest, in the thicket. And about the scarlet sails, think like me: you will have scarlet sails.”
Assol was sleeping. Longren, taking out his pipe with his free hand, lit a cigarette, and the wind carried the smoke through the fence into the bush growing on the outside of the garden. A young beggar sat by a bush, with his back to the fence, chewing a pie. The conversation between father and daughter put him in a cheerful mood, and the smell of good tobacco put him in a prey mood.
“Give the poor man a smoke, master,” he said through the bars. “My tobacco versus yours is not tobacco, but, one might say, poison.”
- What a problem! He wakes up, falls asleep again, and a passerby just smokes.
“Well,” Longren objected, “you’re not without tobacco after all, but the child is tired.” Come back later if you want.
The beggar spat contemptuously, lifted the bag onto a stick and quipped:
- Princess, of course. You drove these overseas ships into her head! Oh, you eccentric, eccentric, and also the owner!
“Listen,” Longren whispered, “I’ll probably wake her up, but only to soap up your huge neck.” Go away!
Half an hour later the beggar was sitting in a tavern at a table with a dozen fishermen. Behind them, now tugging at their husbands’ sleeves, now lifting a glass of vodka over their shoulders—for themselves, of course—sat tall women with thick eyebrows and hands round like cobblestones. The beggar, seething with resentment, narrated:
- And he didn’t give me tobacco. “You,” he says, “will be one year of age, and then,” he says, “a special red ship... Behind you.” Since your destiny is to marry the prince. And that,” he says, “believe the wizard.” But I say: “Wake up, wake up, they say, get some tobacco.” Well, he ran after me halfway.
- Who? What? What is he talking about? - curious voices of women were heard. The fishermen, barely turning their heads, explained with a grin:
“Longren and his daughter have gone wild, or maybe they’ve lost their minds; Here's a man talking. They had a sorcerer, so you have to understand. They are waiting - aunts, you shouldn’t miss it! - an overseas prince, and even under red sails!
Three days later, returning from the city shop, Assol heard for the first time:
- Hey, gallows! Assol! Look here! Red sails are sailing!
The girl, shuddering, involuntarily looked from under her hand at the flood of the sea. Then she turned towards the exclamations; there, twenty paces from her, stood a group of guys; they grimaced, sticking out their tongues. Sighing, the girl ran home.
“Where did you come from, captain? – Assol asked the imaginary face importantly and, answering herself, said: “I came... I came... I came from China.” -What did you bring? – I won’t tell you what I brought. - Oh, you are so, captain! Well, then I’ll put you back in the basket.” The captain was just getting ready to humbly answer that he was joking and that he was ready to show the elephant, when suddenly the quiet retreat of the coastal stream turned the yacht with its bow towards the middle of the stream, and, like a real one, leaving the shore at full speed, it floated smoothly down. The scale of what was visible instantly changed: the stream seemed to the girl like a huge river, and the yacht seemed like a distant, large ship, to which, almost falling into the water, frightened and dumbfounded, she stretched out her hands. “The captain was scared,” she thought and ran after the floating toy, hoping that it would wash ashore somewhere. Hastily dragging the not heavy but annoying basket, Assol repeated: “Oh, my God! After all, if something happened...” She tried not to lose sight of the beautiful, smoothly running triangle of sails, stumbled, fell and ran again.
Assol has never been so deep in the forest as she is now. She, absorbed in the impatient desire to catch the toy, did not look around; Near the shore, where she was fussing, there were quite a few obstacles that occupied her attention. Mossy trunks of fallen trees, holes, tall ferns, rose hips, jasmine and hazel trees interfered with her at every step; Overcoming them, she gradually lost strength, stopping more and more often to rest or wipe the sticky cobwebs off her face. When sedge and reed thickets stretched out in wider places, Assol completely lost sight of the scarlet sparkle of the sails, but, running around a bend in the current, she again saw them, sedately and steadily running away. Once she looked around, and the forest mass with its diversity, passing from smoky pillars of light in the foliage to the dark crevices of the dense twilight, deeply struck the girl. Shocked for a moment, she remembered again about the toy and, letting out a deep “f-fu-u-u” several times, ran with all her might.
In such an unsuccessful and alarming pursuit, about an hour passed, when with surprise, but also with relief, Assol saw that the trees ahead freely parted, letting in the blue flood of the sea, clouds and the edge of a yellow sandy cliff, onto which she ran out, almost falling from fatigue. Here was the mouth of the stream; Having spread not wide and shallow, so that the flowing blue of the stones could be seen, it disappeared into the oncoming sea wave. From a low cliff, pitted with roots, Assol saw that by the stream, on a large flat stone, with his back to her, a man was sitting, holding a runaway yacht in his hands, and was carefully examining it with the curiosity of an elephant who had caught a butterfly. Partially reassured by the fact that the toy was intact, Assol slid down the cliff and, coming close to the stranger, looked at him with a searching gaze, waiting for him to raise his head. But the unknown man was so immersed in the contemplation of the forest surprise that the girl managed to examine him from head to toe, establishing that she had never seen people like this stranger.
But in front of her was none other than Aigle, traveling on foot, a famous collector of songs, legends, tales and fairy tales. Gray curls fell in folds from under his straw hat; a gray blouse tucked into blue trousers and high boots gave him the appearance of a hunter; a white collar, a tie, a belt, studded with silver badges, a cane and a bag with a brand new nickel lock - showed a city dweller. His face, if one can call a face his nose, lips and eyes, looking out from a rapidly growing radiant beard and a lush, fiercely raised mustache, would seem sluggishly transparent, if not for his eyes, gray as sand and shiny as pure steel, with a look that is bold and strong.
“Now give it to me,” the girl said timidly. -You've already played. How did you catch her?
Egle raised his head, dropping the yacht, as Assol’s excited voice suddenly sounded. The old man looked at her for a minute, smiling and slowly letting his beard fall into a large, stringy handful. The cotton dress, washed many times, barely covered the girl’s thin, tanned legs to the knees. Her dark thick hair, pulled back into a lace scarf, tangled, touching her shoulders. Every feature of Assol was expressively light and pure, like the flight of a swallow. Dark eyes, tinged with a sad question, seemed somewhat older than the face; his irregular, soft oval was covered with that kind of lovely tan that is inherent in healthy white skin. The half-opened small mouth sparkled with a gentle smile.
“I swear by the Grimms, Aesop and Andersen,” said Egle, looking first at the girl and then at the yacht. – This is something special. Listen up, plant! Is this your thing?
– Yes, I ran after her all over the stream; I thought I was going to die. Was she here?
- At my very feet. The shipwreck is the reason why I, as a shore pirate, can give you this prize. The yacht, abandoned by the crew, was thrown onto the sand by a three-inch shaft - between my left heel and the tip of the stick. – He tapped his cane. -What's your name, baby?
“Assol,” said the girl, hiding the toy given by Egl in the basket.
“Okay,” the old man continued his incomprehensible speech, without taking his eyes off, in the depths of which a smile of a friendly disposition gleamed. “Actually, I shouldn’t have asked your name.” It’s good that it’s so strange, so monotonous, musical, like the whistle of an arrow or the noise of a sea shell; What would I do if you were called one of those euphonious, but unbearably familiar names that are alien to the Beautiful Unknown? Moreover, I don’t want to know who you are, who your parents are and how you live. Why break the spell? Sitting on this rock, I was engaged in a comparative study of Finnish and Japanese stories... when suddenly a stream splashed out this yacht, and then you appeared... Just as you are. I, my dear, am a poet at heart, although I have never composed anything myself. What's in your basket?
“Boats,” said Assol, shaking her basket, “then a steamer and three more of these houses with flags.” Soldiers live there.
- Great. You were sent to sell. On the way, you started playing. You let the yacht sail, but it ran away - right?
-Have you seen it? – Assol asked doubtfully, trying to remember if she had told this herself. - Did someone tell you? Or did you guess right?
- I knew it.
- What about it?
- Because I am the most important wizard.
Assol was embarrassed; Her tension at these words of Egle crossed the border of fear. The deserted seashore, the silence, the tedious adventure with the yacht, the incomprehensible speech of the old man with sparkling eyes, the majesty of his beard and hair began to seem to the girl as a mixture of the supernatural and reality. Now if Egle made a grimace or screamed something, the girl would rush away, crying and exhausted from fear. But Egle, noticing how wide her eyes opened, made a sharp volte-face.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” he said seriously. “On the contrary, I want to talk to you to my heart’s content.” “It was only then that he realized what was so closely marked by his impression in the girl’s face. “An involuntary expectation of a beautiful, blissful fate,” he decided. - Oh, why wasn’t I born a writer? What a glorious story." “Come on,” Egle continued, trying to round out the original position (the tendency to create myths, a consequence of constant work, was stronger than the fear of planting the seeds of a major dream on unknown soil), “come on, Assol, listen to me carefully.” I was in the village where you must be coming from; in a word, in Kaperna. I love fairy tales and songs, and I sat in that village all day, trying to hear something no one had heard. But you don't tell fairy tales. You don't sing songs. And if they tell and sing, then, you know, these stories about cunning men and soldiers, with the eternal praise of cheating, these dirty, like unwashed feet, rough, like a rumbling stomach, short quatrains with a terrible motive... Stop, I’m lost. I'll speak again.
After thinking, he continued like this:
“I don’t know how many years will pass, but in Kaperna one fairy tale will bloom, memorable for a long time.” You will be big, Assol. One morning, in the distant sea, a scarlet sail will sparkle under the sun. The shining bulk of the scarlet sails of the white ship will move, cutting through the waves, straight towards you. This wonderful ship will sail quietly, without shouts or shots; a lot of people will gather on the shore, wondering and gasping; and you will stand there. The ship will approach majestically to the very shore to the sounds of beautiful music; elegant, in carpets, in gold and flowers, a fast boat will sail from him. “Why did you come? Who are you looking for?" - people on the shore will ask. Then you will see a brave handsome prince; he will stand and stretch out his hands to you. “Hello, Assol! - he will say. “Far, far from here, I saw you in a dream and came to take you to my kingdom forever.” You will live there with me in the deep pink valley. You will have everything you want; We will live with you so friendly and cheerfully that your soul will never know tears and sadness.” He will put you on a boat, bring you to the ship, and you will leave forever to a brilliant country where the sun rises and where the stars will descend from the sky to congratulate you on your arrival.
- It's all for me? – the girl asked quietly. Her serious eyes, cheerful, shone with confidence. A dangerous wizard, of course, would not talk like that; she came closer. - Maybe he has already arrived... that ship?
“Not so soon,” Egle objected, “first, as I said, you will grow up.” Then... What can I say? – it will be, and it’s over. What would you do then?
- I? “She looked into the basket, but apparently did not find anything there worthy of serving as a significant reward. “I would love him,” she said hastily and added, not quite firmly: “If he doesn’t fight.”
“No, he won’t fight,” said the wizard, winking mysteriously, “he won’t, I guarantee it.” Go, girl, and don’t forget what I told you between two sips of aromatic vodka and thinking about the songs of convicts. Go. May there be peace to your furry head!
Longren was working in his small garden, digging up potato bushes. Raising his head, he saw Assol running headlong towards him with a joyful and impatient face.
“Well, here...” she said, trying to control her breathing, and grabbed her father’s apron with both hands. “Listen to what I’ll tell you... On the shore, far away, there’s a wizard sitting...
She started with the wizard and his interesting prediction. The fever of her thoughts prevented her from conveying the incident smoothly. Next came a description of the wizard’s appearance and, in reverse order, the pursuit of the lost yacht.
Longren listened to the girl without interrupting, without smiling, and when she finished, his imagination quickly depicted an unknown old man with aromatic vodka in one hand and a toy in the other. He turned away, but, remembering that on great occasions in a child’s life it is proper for a person to be serious and surprised, he solemnly nodded his head, saying:
- So-so; according to all signs, there is no one else to be but a wizard. I would like to look at him... But when you go again, don’t turn aside; It's not difficult to get lost in the forest.
Throwing away the shovel, he sat down by the low brush fence and sat the girl on his lap. Terribly tired, she tried to add some more details, but the heat, excitement and weakness made her sleepy. Her eyes were stuck together, her head fell on her father’s hard shoulder, a moment - and she would have been carried away into the land of dreams, when suddenly, troubled by a sudden doubt, Assol sat up straight, with her eyes closed and, resting her fists on Longren’s vest, said loudly:
– Do you think the magic ship will come for me or not?
“He will come,” the sailor calmly answered, “since they told you this, it means everything is correct.”
“When he grows up, he’ll forget,” he thought, “but for now... it’s not worth taking such a toy away from you. After all, you will have to see a lot in the future not of scarlet, but of dirty and predatory sails; From a distance they are smart and white, but up close they are torn and brazen. A passing man joked with my girl. Well?! Good joke! Nothing - just a joke! Look how tired you were - half a day in the forest, in the thicket. And about the scarlet sails, think like me: you will have scarlet sails.”
Assol was sleeping. Longren, taking out his pipe with his free hand, lit a cigarette, and the wind carried the smoke through the fence into the bush growing on the outside of the garden. A young beggar sat by a bush, with his back to the fence, chewing a pie. The conversation between father and daughter put him in a cheerful mood, and the smell of good tobacco put him in a prey mood.
“Give the poor man a smoke, master,” he said through the bars. “My tobacco versus yours is not tobacco, but, one might say, poison.”
- What a problem! He wakes up, falls asleep again, and a passerby just smokes.
“Well,” Longren objected, “you’re not without tobacco after all, but the child is tired.” Come back later if you want.
The beggar spat contemptuously, lifted the bag onto a stick and quipped:
- Princess, of course. You drove these overseas ships into her head! Oh, you eccentric, eccentric, and also the owner!
“Listen,” Longren whispered, “I’ll probably wake her up, but only so I can soap up your huge neck.” Go away!
Half an hour later the beggar was sitting in a tavern at a table with a dozen fishermen. Behind them, now tugging at their husbands' sleeves, now lifting a glass of vodka over their shoulders - for themselves, of course - sat tall women with thick eyebrows and hands round like cobblestones. The beggar, seething with resentment, narrated:
“And he didn’t give me tobacco.” “You,” he says, “will be one year of age, and then,” he says, “a special red ship will follow you. Since your destiny is to marry the prince. And that,” he says, “trust the wizard.” But I say: “Wake up, wake up, they say, get some tobacco.”
Prehistory. Friends, if you remember, I already covered the topic of Frezi Grant. Running on the waves, my hand came to the turn of Scarlet Sails, I remember I had poems and about 15 songs collected on this topic and sketches and paintings, also in 2014 my mother was in St. Petersburg and brought calendars, so here’s 1 one of them gave me the impetus to return to this topic in more detail, the frigate with Scarlet Sails, he is with me “Scarlet Sails Festival on the Neva”, good luck!
SCARLET SAILS OF GREEN. Assol.
Little Assol’s favorite pastime was, in the evenings or on holidays, when her father, leaving jars of paste, tools and unfinished work, sat down, taking off his apron, to rest - climb onto his lap and, turning in the careful ring of his father’s hand, touch various parts toys, asking about their purpose. Thus began a kind of fantastic lecture about life and people - a lecture in which, thanks to Lohengren’s previous lifestyle, he was once a sailor of the ORION, a strong three-hundred-ton brig on which he served for ten years. In his lively story, accidents and chance in general, outlandish, amazing and extraordinary events were given the main place.
Longren, telling the girl the names of rigging, sails, and marine items, gradually became carried away, moving from explanations to various episodes in which a windlass, a steering wheel, a mast or some type of boat, and the like played a role, and from individual illustrations these moved on to broad pictures of sea wanderings, weaving superstitions into reality, and reality into the images of his imagination. Here appeared a tiger cat, a messenger of a shipwreck, and a talking flying fish, not to obey whose orders meant going off course, and the Flying Dutchman with his frantic crew, signs of ghosts, mermaids, pirates - in a word, all the fables that while away the sailor’s leisure time in calm or favorite tavern. Longren also talked about shipwrecked people, people who had gone wild and had forgotten how to speak, about mysterious sea treasures, convict riots and much more, which the girl listened to more attentively than, perhaps, the first time she listened to Columbus’s story about the new continent.
“Well, say more,” Assol asked when Lohengren, lost in thought, fell silent, and fell asleep on his chest with a head full of wonderful dreams.
It also gave her great, always materially significant pleasure, the appearance of the clerk of the city toy store, who willingly bought Lohengren’s work. To appease the father and bargain for excess, the cunning clerk took with him a couple of apples, a sweet pie, and a handful of nuts for the girl. Longren usually asked for the real price out of dislike for bargaining, and the clerk would reduce it.
“Oh, you,” said Lohengren, “I spent a week working on this bot. - The boat was five vershoks. - Look, what kind of strength, what kind of draft, what kindness? This boat can withstand fifteen people in any weather.”
It ended with the fact that the quiet fuss of the girl, purring over her apple, deprived Longren of stamina and the desire to argue, he willingly gave in, and the clerk, having filled the basket to capacity with excellent, durable, beautiful toys, left, rubbing his hands and chuckling into his mustache.
Lohengren did all the housework himself: he chopped wood, carried water, lit the stove, cooked, washed, ironed clothes and, besides all this, managed to work for money. When Assol was eight years old, her father taught her to read and write. He began to occasionally take her with him to the city, and then send her even alone if there was a need to intercept money in a store or carry goods.
One day, in the middle of such a journey to the city, the girl sat down by the road to eat a piece of pie that had been placed in a basket for breakfast. While eating, she sorted through the toys, two or three of them turned out to be new to her; Lohengren made them at night. One such novelty was a miniature racing yacht, a white boat that carried a MIRACLE, Scarlet Sails, made from scraps of silk, used by Longren for pasting sailing cabins - toys of a rich buyer. Here, apparently, having made a yacht, he did not find suitable material for the sails, using what he had - scraps of scarlet silk. Assol was greatly delighted. The fiery, cheerful color burned so brightly in her hand, as if she was holding a living, dancing FIRE. Her path was crossed by a stream with a pole bridge across it. The stream to the right and left went into the forest.
“If I lower the YACHT into the water for a swim,” Assol thought, “she won’t get wet or drown, and then I’ll dry her.”
Moving into the forest behind the bridge, following the flow of the stream, the girl carefully launched the ship that had captivated her into the water near the very shore, the sails immediately sparkled with a scarlet reflection in the clear water, clear light piercing the material, lay down as a trembling pink radiation on the white stones of the bottom.
“Where are you from, CAPTAIN? “Assol asked the imaginary face importantly and, answering herself, said: “I arrived... arrived.... I came from China." “What did you bring? “I won’t tell you what I brought.”
- “Oh, you are so, Captain!” Well, then I'll put you back in the basket."
The Captain had just prepared to humbly answer that he was joking and that he was ready to show the ELEPHANT, when suddenly the quiet retreat of the coastal stream of the stream turned the yacht with its bow towards the middle of the stream, and, like a real one, leaving the shore at full speed, it floated smoothly down. The scale of what was visible instantly changed: the stream now seemed to the girl like a huge river, and the yacht - a distant, large ship, to which, almost falling into the water, frightened and dumbfounded, she stretched out her hands.
“The captain was scared,” she thought and ran after the floating toy, hoping that it would wash ashore somewhere. Hastily dragging the not heavy but getting in the way basket, Assol repeated:
“Oh, Lord! After all, it happened..."
She tried not to lose sight of the beautiful, smoothly running scarlet triangle of sails, stumbled, fell and ran again. Assol has never been so deep in the forest alone as she is now...
…. In such an unsuccessful and alarming pursuit, about an hour passed, when with surprise, but also with relief, Assol saw that the trees ahead freely parted, letting in the blue flood of the sea, clouds and the edge of a yellow sandy cliff, onto which she ran out, almost falling from fatigue, her heart there was a pounding up and down in my chest... Here was the mouth of a stream, spreading not wide and shallow, so that the flowing blue of the stones could be seen; it disappeared into the oncoming sea wave.
From a low cliff, pitted with roots, Assol saw that a man was sitting by the stream, holding a runaway yacht in his hands, and was carefully examining it with the curiosity of an elephant who had caught a bright butterfly. Partially reassured by the fact that the toy was intact, Assol slid down the cliff and, coming close to the stranger, looked at him with a searching gaze, waiting for him to raise his head. But the unknown man was so immersed in the contemplation of the forest surprise that the girl managed to examine him from head to toe, establishing that she had never seen people like this stranger.
But in front of her was none other than Aigle, traveling on foot, a famous collector of songs, legends, tales and fairy tales. Gray curls fell in folds from under his straw hat, a gray blouse tucked into blue trousers and high boots gave him the appearance of a hunter, a white collar, tie, belt, studded with silver badges, an oak cane and a bag with a brand new nickel lock showed a city dweller. His face, if one can call it a face, nose, lips and eyes, looking out from a rapidly growing radiant beard, from a lush mustache, would seem limply transparent, if not for his eyes, gray as sand and shining like pure steel, with a look brave and strong.
“Now give it to me,” the girl said timidly. -You've already played.
- How did you catch her?
Egle raised his head, dropping the yacht, as Assol’s excited voice suddenly sounded. The old man looked at her for a minute...
“I swear by the Grimms, Aesop and Andersen,” said Egle, looking first at the girl, then at the yacht—this is something special. Listen up, little flower! Is this your thing?
- Yes, I ran after her all over the stream, I thought I was going to die. Was she here?
- At my very feet. The cause of the shipwreck, as a coastal pirate, I can give you this prize. The yacht, abandoned by the crew, was thrown onto the sand by a three-meter shaft - between my left heel and the tip of the stick. – He tapped loudly with his cane. -What is your name, dear baby?
“Assol,” said the girl, hiding the toy given by Egl in the basket.
“Okay,” the old man continued his speech, without taking his eyes off. “Actually, I shouldn’t have asked your name.” It’s good that it’s so strange, so monotonous, musical, like the whistle of an arrow or the noise of a sea shell...
After thinking, he continued like this:
“I don’t know how many years will pass, only one fairy tale will bloom, memorable for a long time.” You will be big, Assol. One morning, in the distance of the sea, a SCARLET SAIL will sparkle under the sun. The shining bulk of the scarlet sails of the white ship will move, cutting through the waves, straight towards You. This wonderful ship will sail quietly, without screams or shots. A lot of people will gather on the shore, wondering and gasping, and you will stand there. The ship will approach majestically to the very shore to the sounds of beautiful music. Decorated, in carpets, in gold, and flowers, a fast boat will float from him.
“Why did you come? Who are you looking for?" - people on the shore will ask.
Then you will see a brave prince, he will stand and stretch out his hands to you.
“Hello, ASSOL! - he will say: Far, far from here, I saw you in a dream and came to take you to my kingdom forever. You will live there with me in a pink, deep, flowering valley. You will have everything you want, we will live with you so friendly and cheerfully that your soul will never know tears and sadness.”
He will put you on a boat, bring you to the ship, and you will leave forever to a brilliant country where the sun rises and where the stars will descend from the sky to congratulate you on your arrival.
- It's all for me? – the girl asked quietly.
Her serious, radiant eyes, cheerful, shone with confidence.
- Maybe he has already arrived... that ship?
“Not so soon,” Egle objected, “first, as I said, you will grow up.” Then... What can I say? This will be the end.
(This is an inaccurate copy of the book, I transformed it, added adjectives to the text, everything was done by me to convey the solemn mood of Scarlet Sails and so that you yourself would want to pick up the book and re-read it)
Scarlet Sails of Green. Gray.
If Caesar found it better to be first in the country than second in Rome, then Arthur Gray might not envy Caesar his wise desire. He was born a captain, wanted to be one and became one.
The huge house in which Gray was born was gloomy on the inside and majestic on the outside. A flower garden and part of the park adjoined the front façade.
Gray's father and mother were arrogant slaves of their position, wealth and the laws of that society, in relation to which they could say “we”. The part of their soul occupied by the gallery of their ancestors is little worthy of depiction, the other part - the imaginary continuation of the gallery - began with little Gray, doomed, according to a well-known, pre-drawn up plan, to live his life and die so that his portrait could be hung on the wall without damaging family honor. A small mistake was made in this regard. Arthur Gray was born with a living soul, completely disinclined to continue the family line.
This liveliness, this complete perversion of the boy began to affect him in the eighth year of his life; the type of knight of bizarre impressions, seeker and miracle worker, that is, a person who took from the countless variety of roles in life the most dangerous and touching - the role of providence, was emerging in Gray even when, placing a chair against the wall to get a painting depicting the crucifixion, he took the nails out of the bloody hands of Christ, that is, he simply covered them with blue paint stolen from the painter. In this form he found the picture more bearable. Carried away by his peculiar occupation, he began to cover the feet of the crucified man, but was caught by his father. The old man lifted the boy from the chair by the ears and asked:
-Why did you ruin the picture?
– I didn’t spoil it.
– This is the work of a famous artist.
“I don’t care,” Gray said. “I can’t allow nails sticking out of my hands and blood flowing.” I do not want it.
In response to his son, Lionel Gray, hiding a smile under his mustache, recognized himself and did not impose punishment.
Gray tirelessly studied the castle, making amazing discoveries. So in the attic he found steel knightly trash, books bound in iron and leather, decayed clothes and hordes of pigeons...
Gray was strictly forbidden to visit the kitchen, but having already discovered this amazing world of steam, soot, hissing, bubbling boiling liquids, the knocking of knives and delicious smells, the boy diligently visited the room.
In the kitchen, Gray was a little timid: it seemed to him that dark forces were moving everyone here...
Gray was not yet tall enough to look into the largest saucepan, seething like Vesuvius, but he felt a special respect for it, he watched as two maids turned it, then smoky foam splashed onto the stove, and steam, rising from the noisy stove, in waves filling the kitchen. Once so much liquid splashed out that it scalded the hand of one beautiful girl. The skin instantly turned red, even the nails became red from the rush of blood, and Betsy (that was the name of the maid), crying, rubbed oil on the affected areas. Tears rolled uncontrollably down her round, frightened face.
Gray froze. While other women fussed around poor Betsy, he experienced a feeling of acute other people's suffering, which he could not experience himself.
-Are you in a lot of pain? - he asked.
“Try it and you’ll find out,” answered Betsy, covering her hand with her apron.
Frowning his brows, the boy climbed onto a stool, scooped up a long spoon of hot liquid and splashed it onto the crook of his wrist. The impression turned out to be not weak, but weakness from severe pain made him reel. Pale as flour, Gray approached Betsy, putting his burning hand in his panties pocket.
“It seems to me that it’s very painful,” He said, “keeping silent about his experience.” - Let's go, Betsy, to the doctor. Let's go quickly!
He diligently pulled her skirt, while supporters of home remedies vied with each other to give the maid life-saving recipes. But the girl, in great pain, went with Gray. The doctor eased the pain by applying a bandage. Only after Betsy had left did the boy show his hand.
This minor episode made twenty-year-old Betsy and ten-year-old Gray true friends. She filled his pockets with pies and apples, and he told her fairy tales and other stories he had read in his books. One day he found out that Betsy could not marry the groom Jim, because they did not have the money to start a household. Gray smashed his porcelain piggy bank with stone tongs and shook everything out of it - which amounted to about a hundred pounds. Rising early, when the dowry had retired to the kitchen, he snuck into her room and, putting the gift into the girl’s chest, covered it with a short note: “Betsy, this is yours. The leader of a band of robbers, Robin Hood." The commotion caused in the kitchen by this story reached such proportions that Gray had to confess to the forgery. He didn’t take the money back and didn’t want to talk about it anymore...
Scarlet Sails of Green. Meeting.
Gray walked out of the thicket into the bushes scattered along the slope of the hill.
He quietly moved the branch away with his hand and stopped with a feeling of a very unexpected, wonderful FIND.
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 moved in disarray, a button at her neck came undone, revealing a white hole, her spread out skirt exposed her knees, her eyelashes slept on her cheek, in the shadow of her delicate, convex temple, half-covered by a dark strand, her little finger right hand, who was under his head, bent down to the back of his head. Gray sat down on the cards, looking into the girl’s face from below...
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 didn’t know her, her name, or, especially, why she fell asleep on the shore, but he was very pleased with it. He loved paintings without explanations or signatures. 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: the dark ones slept long hair, the dress and folds of the dress fell off, even the grass near her body seemed to doze off due to sympathy. When the impression was complete, Gray entered its warm, washing wave and swam away with it.
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 off the expensive old ring from his finger and carefully lowered the ring onto his small 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...
Scarlet Sails of Green. Scarlet "SECRET"
\ I’m still writing the continuation and I’ll think about when to give it... SAIL OUR UNITED SHIP to a BEAUTIFUL FUTURE!
SCARLET SAILS
Words and music by Vladimir Lanzberg
Not three eyes, because this is not a dream.
And the scarlet sail, however, flies proudly
In the bay where brave Gray found his Assol,
In the bay where Assol waited for Gray.
It's easier to cross the sea with friends
And eat the sea salt that we got.
And without friends in the world it would be very difficult to live
And even the scarlet sail would turn gray.
Guys, you have to believe in miracles!
Someday early in the spring morning
Scarlet sails will rise above the ocean,
And the violin will sing over the ocean.
Reviews
Yes, the main thing is to convey it colorfully so that the Ship of another person raises the sails and runs freshly and fluently with a fair wind, with warmth and respect! Let's fill the Sails of Rus' PA PY father's sails of Rus', for RUSSIA (Shining DEW).... thank you!
Alexander Stepanovich Green [real name Grinevsky; 11(23).VIII.1880, Slobodskaya Vyatka province, - 8.VII.1932, Old Crimea] - Russian neo-romantic writer. Born into the family of an exiled Pole, a participant in the Polish uprising of 1863. In 1896, after graduating from the 4-year Vyatka City School, he left for Odessa. He wandered around Russia, was a sailor, a gold miner, and a sword swallower in a traveling circus show. As a student and sailor, he sailed on the ships “Platon” and “Tsesarevich” on the Black Sea (1896-1897), and visited Alexandria. In 1902 he voluntarily joined military service; in the regiment he became close to the Social Revolutionaries; deserted. In 1903-1910. He was repeatedly arrested for revolutionary propaganda, was in exile, escaped, and lived on false passports.
The first story, “The Merit of Private Panteleev” (1906, propaganda brochure signed by A. S. G.) was confiscated and the circulation was burned. For the first time the signature “A. S. Green" (part of the real name of the author, who escaped from exile and was wanted) appeared under the story "Oranges" (1908). Green's first collection of stories, entitled "The Invisible Cap", was published in 1908, the next collection - "The Navigator of the Four Winds" - in 1910. By the end of his life, the writer had published more than two dozen such collections and cycles.
For living on someone else's passport in the summer of 1910, Green was again arrested and sentenced to two years of exile in the Arkhangelsk province. In May 1912 he returned to St. Petersburg. He lived on his income as a writer. Collaborated in more than 60 periodicals; Until 1917, he published more than 350 stories, novellas, poems, poems and satirical miniatures. IN art world Green whimsically combine reality, which has absorbed the difficult, sometimes tragic life experience the author, and the author's fantasy, which embodied the writer's dream of human happiness. Courageous, noble and free people inhabit the seaside cities he invented - Lise, Zurbagan, Gel-Gyu, covered in the romance of wanderings and adventures.
From the end of 1916, Green was forced to hide in Finland, but, having learned about the February Revolution, he returned to Petrograd. However, the post-revolutionary reality soon disappointed the writer. After October revolution he was typing satirical notes and feuilletons in the magazine “New Satyricon”. In the spring of 1918, the magazine, along with all other opposition publications, was banned. Green was arrested and only miraculously escaped execution.
In the summer of 1919, Green was drafted into the Red Army as a signalman, but soon fell ill with typhus. After recovery, with the assistance of Gorky, he managed to obtain academic rations and housing - a room in the “House of Arts” in Petrograd. There was written a story-“extravaganza” “Scarlet Sails” (published in 1923). The story is dedicated to Nina Nikolaevna Green (née Mironova), whom the writer married in 1921. Name main character extravaganza - Assol - became especially popular after the release of the film “Scarlet Sails” (1961), in which the role of Assol was played by Anastasia Vertinskaya.
First Soviet years Green was almost never published, but with the beginning of the NEP, private publishing houses appeared, and he managed to publish new collection“White Fire” (1922), which, in particular, included the story “Ships in Lisse,” which Green himself considered one of the best.
In 1921-1923 Green writes his first novel, “The Shining World.” Main character- the flying superman Drood convinces people to abandon momentary values in favor of the higher values of the Shining World. In 1923, the novel was published in the magazine "Krasnaya Niva", and in next year with large abbreviations and changes, it was published as a separate publication.
In 1924, Green and his wife moved to Feodosia, and in 1930 to Old Crimea (Green’s literary and memorial museums now operate in both cities). In the fall of 1926, Greene completed his main work, the novel “Running on the Waves,” which combined best features his writing talent: the desire to make dreams come true, subtle psychologism, a fascinating adventurous and romantic plot. For two years the author tried to publish the novel, and only at the end of 1928 the book was published by the publishing house "Earth and Factory", which had previously published "Scarlet Sails".
In 1929-1930 managed to publish with great difficulty latest novels Green's "Jesse and Morgiana" and "The Road to Nowhere". In 1930, Green's last collection of stories, Fire and Water, was published, which included texts from 1909-1929. Since 1930, Glavlit introduced a ban on reprinting Green's old works and restrictions on the publication of new ones. Greene's only book published after the ban was “Autobiographical Tale” (1932), which describes the events of the early 1900s.
Green died in Stary Krym at the age of 52 from stomach cancer. Unconditional recognition came posthumously, in the 1960s.
I.P.
Based on materials from “Brief literary encyclopedia", 3rd edition "Big Soviet encyclopedia", "Wikipedia" and the bio-bibliographic dictionary "Russian Writers. 1800-1917"
Assol's favorite pastime was in the evenings or on holidays, when her father, having put aside the jars of paste, tools and unfinished work, sat down, taking off his apron, to rest, with a pipe in his teeth - climb onto his lap and, spinning in the careful ring of his father's hand , touch various parts of toys, asking about their purpose. Thus began a kind of fantastic lecture about life and people - a lecture in which, thanks to Longren's previous way of life, accidents, chance in general - outlandish, amazing and extraordinary events were given the main place. Longren, telling the girl the names of rigging, sails, and marine items, gradually became carried away, moving from explanations to various episodes in which either a windlass, or a steering wheel, or a mast or some type of boat, etc. played a role, and then From these individual illustrations he moved on to broad pictures of sea wanderings, weaving superstition into reality, and reality into the images of his imagination. Here appeared a tiger cat, a messenger of a shipwreck, and a talking flying fish, disobeying whose orders meant going off course, and the Flying Dutchman with his frantic crew; omens, ghosts, mermaids, pirates - in a word, all the fables that while away a sailor's leisure time in calm or in his favorite tavern. Longren also talked about the shipwrecked, about people who had gone wild and had forgotten how to speak, about mysterious treasures, convict riots and much more, which the girl listened to more attentively than perhaps she listened to Columbus’s story about the new continent for the first time. “Well, say more,” Assol asked when Longren, lost in thought, fell silent, and fell asleep on his chest with a head full of wonderful dreams.
It also gave her great, always materially significant pleasure, the appearance of the clerk of the city toy shop, who willingly bought Longren’s work. To appease the father and bargain for excess, the clerk took with him a couple of apples, a sweet pie, and a handful of nuts for the girl. Longren usually asked for the real price out of dislike for bargaining, and the clerk would reduce it. - “Eh, you,” said Longren, “yes, I sat on this boat for a week.” “The boat was five inches long.” “Look, what kind of strength, and draft, and kindness? This boat will withstand fifteen people in any weather.” ". The end result was that the quiet fuss of the girl, purring over her apple, deprived Longren of his stamina and desire to argue; he gave in, and the clerk, having filled the basket with excellent, durable toys, left, chuckling in his mustache. Longren did all the housework himself: he chopped wood, carried water, lit the stove, cooked, washed, ironed clothes and, besides all this, managed to work for money. When Assol was eight years old, her father taught her to read and write. He began to occasionally take her with him to the city, and then send her even alone if there was a need to intercept money in a store or carry goods. This did not happen often, although Lyse lay only four miles from Kaperna, but the road to it went through the forest, and in the forest there is much that can frighten children, in addition to physical danger, which, it is true, is difficult to encounter at such a close distance from the city, but still... it doesn't hurt to keep this in mind. Therefore, only on good days, in the morning, when the thicket surrounding the road is full of sunny showers, flowers and silence, so that Assol’s impressionability was not threatened by phantoms of the imagination, Longren let her go into the city.
One day, in the middle of such a journey to the city, the girl sat down by the road to eat a piece of pie that had been placed in a basket for breakfast. While snacking, she sorted through the toys; two or three of them turned out to be new to her: Longren made them at night. One such novelty was a miniature racing yacht; the white boat raised scarlet sails made from scraps of silk used by Longren to cover steamship cabins—toys for a wealthy buyer. Here, apparently, having made a yacht, he did not find a suitable material for the sail, using what he had - scraps of scarlet silk. Assol was delighted. The fiery, cheerful color burned so brightly in her hand as if she were holding fire. The road was crossed by a stream with a pole bridge across it; the stream to the right and left went into the forest. “If I take her down to the water to swim a little,” Assol thought, “she won’t get wet, I’ll dry her later.” Moving into the forest behind the bridge, following the flow of the stream, the girl carefully launched the ship that had captivated her into the water near the shore; the sails immediately sparkled with a scarlet reflection in the clear water: the light, piercing the matter, lay as a trembling pink radiation on the white rocks of the bottom. “Where did you come from, captain?” Assol asked the imaginary face importantly and, answering herself, said: “I came,” I came... I came from China. -What did you bring? - I won’t tell you what I brought. - Oh, you are so, captain! Well, then I’ll put you back in the basket.” The captain had just prepared to humbly answer that he was joking and that he was ready to show the elephant, when suddenly the quiet retreat of the coastal stream turned the yacht with its bow towards the middle of the stream, and, like a real one, leaving the shore at full speed, she swam smoothly down. The scale of what was visible instantly changed: the stream seemed to the girl like a huge river, and the yacht seemed like a distant, large ship, towards which, almost falling into the water, frightened and dumbfounded, she stretched out her hands, “The captain was scared,” she thought. She ran after the floating toy, hoping that it would wash up somewhere on the shore. Hastily dragging the light, but getting in the way, basket, Assol repeated: “Oh, my God! After all, if it happened..." - She tried not to lose sight of the beautiful, smoothly running triangle of sails, stumbled, fell and ran again.
Assol has never been so deep in the forest as she is now. She, absorbed in the impatient desire to catch the toy, did not look around; Near the shore, where she was fussing, there were quite a few obstacles that occupied her attention. Mossy trunks of fallen trees, holes, tall ferns, rose hips, jasmine and hazel trees interfered with her at every step; overcoming them, she gradually lost strength, stopping more and more often to rest or wipe the sticky cobwebs off her face. When sedge and reed thickets stretched out in wider places, Assol completely lost sight of the scarlet sparkle of the sails, but, running around a bend in the current, she again saw them, sedately and steadily running away. Once she looked around, and the forest mass with its diversity, passing from smoky pillars of light in the foliage to the dark crevices of the dense twilight, deeply struck the girl. Shocked for a moment, she remembered again about the toy and, letting out a deep “f-f-f-u-uu” several times, ran as fast as she could.
In such an unsuccessful and alarming pursuit, about an hour passed, when with surprise, but also with relief, Assol saw that the trees ahead freely parted, letting in the blue flood of the sea, clouds and the edge of a yellow sandy cliff, onto which she ran out, almost falling from fatigue. Here was the mouth of the stream; Having spread not wide and shallow, so that the flowing blue of the stones could be seen, it disappeared into the oncoming sea wave. From a low cliff, pitted with roots, Assol saw that by the stream, on a large flat stone, with his back to her, a man was sitting, holding a runaway yacht in his hands, and was carefully examining it with the curiosity of an elephant who had caught a butterfly. Partially reassured by the fact that the toy was intact, Assol slid down the cliff and, coming close to the stranger, looked at him with a searching gaze, waiting for him to raise his head. But the unknown man was so immersed in the contemplation of the forest surprise that the girl managed to examine him from head to toe, establishing that she had never seen people like this stranger.
But in front of her was none other than Aigle, traveling on foot, a famous collector of songs, legends, tales and fairy tales. Gray curls fell in folds from under his straw hat; a gray blouse tucked into blue trousers and high boots gave him the appearance of a hunter; a white collar, a tie, a belt, studded with silver badges, a cane and a bag with a brand new nickel lock - showed that he was a city dweller. His face, if one can call his nose, lips and eyes, looking out from a rapidly growing radiant beard and lush, fiercely raised mustache, a face, would seem sluggishly transparent, if not for his eyes, gray as sand and shining like pure steel, with a look brave and strong.
Now give it to me,” the girl said timidly. - You've already played. How did you catch her?
Egle raised his head, dropping the yacht, as Assol’s excited voice suddenly sounded. The old man looked at her for a minute, smiling and slowly letting his beard fall into a large, stringy handful. The cotton dress, washed many times, barely covered the girl’s thin, tanned legs to the knees. Her dark thick hair, pulled back into a lace scarf, tangled, touching her shoulders. Every feature of Assol was expressively light and pure, like the flight of a swallow. Dark eyes, tinged with a sad question, seemed somewhat older than the face; his irregular, soft oval was covered with that kind of lovely tan that is inherent in healthy white skin. The half-opened small mouth sparkled with a gentle smile.
“I swear by the Grimms, Aesop and Andersen,” said Egle, looking first at the girl and then at the yacht. - This is something special. Listen up, plant! Is this your thing?
Yes, I ran after her all along the stream; I thought I was going to die. Was she here?
At my very feet. The shipwreck is the reason why I, as a shore pirate, can give you this prize. The yacht, abandoned by the crew, was thrown onto the sand by a three-inch shaft - between my left heel and the tip of the stick. - He tapped his cane. -What's your name, baby?
“Assol,” said the girl, hiding the toy given by Egl in the basket.
“Okay,” the old man continued his incomprehensible speech, without taking his eyes off, in the depths of which a smile of a friendly disposition gleamed. “Actually, I didn’t need to ask your name.” It’s good that it’s so strange, so monotonous, musical, like the whistle of an arrow or the noise of a sea shell: what would I do if you were called one of those euphonious, but unbearably familiar names that are alien to the Beautiful Unknown? Moreover, I don’t want to know who you are, who your parents are and how you live. Why break the spell? Sitting on this rock, I was engaged in a comparative study of Finnish and Japanese stories... when suddenly a stream splashed out this yacht, and then you appeared... Just as you are. I, my dear, am a poet at heart - although I have never composed anything myself. What's in your basket?
Boats,” said Assol, shaking her basket, “then a steamer and three more of these houses with flags.” Soldiers live there.
Great. You were sent to sell. On the way, you started playing. You let the yacht sail, but it ran away - right?
Have you seen it? - Assol asked doubtfully, trying to remember if she had told this herself. - Did someone tell you? Or did you guess right?
I knew it. - What about it?
Because I am the most important wizard. Assol was embarrassed: her tension at these words of Egle crossed the border of fear. The deserted seashore, the silence, the tedious adventure with the yacht, the incomprehensible speech of the old man with sparkling eyes, the majesty of his beard and hair began to seem to the girl as a mixture of the supernatural and reality. Now if Egle had made a grimace or screamed something, the girl would have rushed away, crying and exhausted from fear. But Egle, noticing how wide her eyes opened, made a sharp volte-face.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” he said seriously. “On the contrary, I want to talk to you to my heart’s content.” - It was only then that he realized what was so closely marked by his impression in the girl’s face. “An involuntary expectation of a beautiful, blissful fate,” he decided. “Oh, why wasn’t I born a writer? What a glorious plot.”
“Come on,” Egle continued, trying to round out the original position (the penchant for myth-making, a consequence of constant work, was stronger than the fear of planting the seeds of a major dream on unknown soil), “come on, Assol, listen to me carefully. I was in that village - where you must be coming from, in a word, in Kaperna. I love fairy tales and songs, and I sat in that village all day, trying to hear something no one had heard. But you don't tell fairy tales. You don't sing songs. And if they tell and sing, then, you know, these stories about cunning men and soldiers, with the eternal praise of cheating, these dirty, like unwashed feet, rough, like a rumbling stomach, short quatrains with a terrible motive... Stop, I’m lost. I'll speak again. After thinking, he continued: “I don’t know how many years will pass, but in Kaperna one fairy tale will bloom, memorable for a long time.” You will be big, Assol. One morning, in the distant sea, a scarlet sail will sparkle under the sun. The shining bulk of the scarlet sails of the white ship will move, cutting through the waves, straight towards you. This wonderful ship will sail quietly, without shouts or shots; a lot of people will gather on the shore, wondering and gasping: and you will stand there. The ship will approach majestically to the very shore to the sounds of beautiful music; elegant, in carpets, in gold and flowers, a fast boat will sail from him. - “Why did you come? Who are you looking for?” - people on the shore will ask. Then you will see a brave handsome prince; he will stand and stretch out his hands to you. “Hello, Assol!” he will say. “Far, far from here, I saw you in a dream and came to take you to my kingdom forever. You will live there with me in a deep pink valley. You will have everything, whatever you want; we will live with you so friendly and cheerful that your soul will never know tears and sadness.” He will put you on a boat, bring you to the ship, and you will leave forever to a brilliant country where the sun rises and where the stars will descend from the sky to congratulate you on your arrival.
The captain was just getting ready to humbly answer that he was joking and that he was ready to show the elephant, when suddenly the quiet retreat of the coastal stream turned the yacht with its bow towards the middle of the stream, and, like a real one, leaving the shore at full speed, it floated smoothly down. The scale of what was visible instantly changed: the stream seemed to the girl like a huge river, and the yacht seemed like a distant, large ship, to which, almost falling into the water, frightened and dumbfounded, she stretched out her hands. “The captain was scared,” she thought and ran after the floating toy, hoping that it would wash ashore somewhere. Hastily dragging the not heavy but annoying basket, Assol repeated: “Oh, Lord! After all, if it happened...” - She tried not to lose sight of the beautiful, smoothly running triangle of sails, stumbled, fell and ran again.
Assol has never been so deep in the forest as she is now. She, absorbed in the impatient desire to catch the toy, did not look around; Near the shore, where she was fussing, there were quite a few obstacles that occupied her attention. Mossy trunks of fallen trees, holes, tall ferns, rose hips, jasmine and hazel trees interfered with her at every step; overcoming them, she gradually lost strength, stopping more and more often to rest or wipe the sticky cobwebs off her face. When sedge and reed thickets stretched out in wider places, Assol completely lost sight of the scarlet sparkle of the sails, but, running around a bend in the current, she again saw them, sedately and steadily running away. Once she looked around, and the forest mass with its diversity, passing from smoky pillars of light in the foliage to the dark crevices of the dense twilight, deeply struck the girl. Shocked for a moment, she remembered again about the toy and, letting out a deep “f-f-f-u-uu” several times, ran as fast as she could.
In such an unsuccessful and alarming pursuit, about an hour passed, when with surprise, but also with relief, Assol saw that the trees ahead freely parted, letting in the blue flood of the sea, clouds and the edge of a yellow sandy cliff, onto which she ran out, almost falling from fatigue. Here was the mouth of the stream; Having spread not wide and shallow, so that the flowing blue of the stones could be seen, it disappeared into the oncoming sea wave. From a low cliff, pitted with roots, Assol saw that by the stream, on a large flat stone, with his back to her, a man was sitting, holding a runaway yacht in his hands, and was carefully examining it with the curiosity of an elephant who had caught a butterfly. Partially reassured by the fact that the toy was intact, Assol slid down the cliff and, coming close to the stranger, looked at him with a searching gaze, waiting for him to raise his head. But the unknown man was so immersed in the contemplation of the forest surprise that the girl managed to examine him from head to toe, establishing that she had never seen people like this stranger.
But in front of her was none other than Aigle, traveling on foot, a famous collector of songs, legends, tales and fairy tales. Gray curls fell in folds from under his straw hat; a gray blouse tucked into blue trousers and high boots gave him the appearance of a hunter; a white collar, a tie, a belt, studded with silver badges, a cane and a bag with a brand new nickel lock - showed a city dweller. His face, if one can call his nose, lips and eyes, looking out from a rapidly growing radiant beard and lush, fiercely raised mustache, a face, would seem sluggishly transparent, if not for his eyes, gray as sand and shining like pure steel, with a look brave and strong.
Now give it to me,” the girl said timidly. - You've already played. How did you catch her?
Egle raised his head, dropping the yacht, - this is how Assol’s excited voice suddenly sounded. The old man looked at her for a minute, smiling and slowly letting his beard fall into a large, stringy handful. The cotton dress, washed many times, barely covered the girl’s thin, tanned legs to the knees. Her dark thick hair, pulled back into a lace scarf, tangled, touching her shoulders.
