V

Now it is time to explain why this person served as a living talisman for people whose profession was, so to speak, “organised risk”.

Contrary to minds that are logical and miserly in their attitude towards life, to minds that have displayed their tiny, grey flag over the majestic mass of the world, full of unresolved mysteries – in the faint – hearted and absurd hope that everyone who came, astounded, would direct his steps towards this flag-contrary to that, we say, there are lives that seem to have assumed the task of making others notice the stirrings and mysterious whispers of the unexplored. There are people who move in a black ring of pernicious coincidences. Their presence is depressing; their speech is filled with foreboding; their proximity brings on misfortune. On the other hand, there are certain expressions that are in everyday use among us to indicate a different, bright type of soul. We hear “a sunny person”, or “he brings luck”. However, let us not draw hasty conclusions or discuss the trustworthiness of our own conjectures. The fact is that in the company of lucky people the mood is lighter and brighter; they alter the course of our personal events through the slightest remark, a gesture, or a hint; their initiative in our affair indeed insures success. Sometimes these people are absentminded and carefree, but more often they are lively and serious. They bear one sure mark: simple laughter – laughter because something is funny and for no other reason; laughter that is not directed at those present.

The pilot Bitt-Boy, with his inexplicable and unerring power, was such a person. Everything that he undertook for others invariably came out well, no matter how difficult the circumstances, and sometimes even with an unexpected bonus. No vessel was wrecked on a voyage when he piloted it out of the harbour. The incident that Duke related about Beppo was no invention.

A ship given his personal counsel at parting was never subjected to epidemics, attacks, or other dangers; nobody on it fell overboard or committed any crimes. Bitt-Boy had a wonderful knowledge of Zurbagan, Liss, and Kasset, and of the peninsula’s entire coastline, but he did not get lost even in little-known channels. He had occasion to pilot ships through dangerous places in far-off countries where he had found himself only by chance and under his hand the rudder always turned in the right direction, as if Bitt-Boy could see the entire bottom with his own eyes. People trusted him blindly, and he blindly trusted himself. Let us call it keen instinct-what’s the difference? “Bitt-Boy, bearer of good fortune” – he was known by this name everywhere that he had been and worked.

Bitt-Boy walked across several ravines, skirted the Prickly ‘Pillow Hotel and set out along a path that wound among mighty gardens to a short, stony street. All the while he walked with his head lowered in deep reverie and at times would suddenly grow pale under the impact of his thoughts. He stopped beneath the shade of trees, near a small house with windows looking out into the yard, he sighed, straightened up, and walked through a gate in the low stone fence.

Apparently he was expected. No sooner had he, rustling through the grass, crossed the garden and begun to approach the windows, peering at the light glowing in their shadowy depths, than a young girl appeared at one of the windows brushing the opened curtain with her shoulder. The sight of the familiar figure did not deceive her expectations. She was about to run off to the doorway, but after impatiently measuring the two distances, she returned to the window, jumped through it, and ran to meet Bitt-Boy. She was about eighteen; two dark braids under a yellow and violet scarf fell along her graceful neck and almost her entire body, which was so lithe that in moving and turning it looked like a restless ray of light. Her irregular, childlike face with shyly proud eyes held the fascinating charm of budding feminine life.

“Regie, the Queen of Eyelashes,” said Bitt-Boy between kisses. “If you don’t smother me, I’ll have something to remember our evening by.”

“Ours, ours, my dear, my own dear!” said the girl. “Tonight I didn’t go to bed; after your letter I thought you’d come rushing yourself a minute later.”

“A girl should eat and sleep a lot,” Bitt-Boy absentmindedly objected.

But he shook off his depression at once. “Did I kiss both eyes?”

“You didn’t kiss either of them, you miser!”

“No, I think I kissed the left one… So the right eye must be offended. Let me have that little eye…” And he was given it along with its radiance.

But the essence of such conversations is not in our poor words, and we well know that. Try to listen in on such a conversation – you will feel sorry, envious, and sad: you will see two souls struggling, trying to transmit their aroma to each other through sounds. Regie and Bitt-Boy, however, continued this conversation to their heart’s content. Now they were sitting on a small garden settee. It grew dark.

As often happens, silence fell: hearts are full and it is a signal for decisions, should they be urgent. Bitt-Boy felt it was convenient to begin speaking about the most important thing, without delay.

The girl unconsciously helped him.

“Arrange our wedding, Bitt-Boy. I’m going to have a baby.”

Bitt-Boy roared with laughter. His awareness of the situation poisoned it, and he shut it off with a short sigh.

“Now then,” he said in a different tone, “don’t interrupt me, Regie.”

He sensed her growing alarm and began to hurry. “I asked and went everywhere… there is no doubt… – I can’t be your husband, dear. Oh, don’t start crying right away! Wait, hear me out! Can’t we be friends? Regie… silly, you’re the very best! How could I make you unhappy? I’ll tell you more: I only came to say good-bye! I love you so much that even a giant’s heart would burst! My heart’s been killed, it’s already been killed, Regie! And besides, am I the only man on earth? There are lots of good and honest men! No, no, Regie; listen to me, try to understand everything, agree… how could it be otherwise?”

He continued to speak for a long time in the same vein, grinding with clenched teeth the painful tears that had been driven far away, until his agitation finally wrought complete confusion in his thoughts.

He fell silent, worn out physically and morally – he fell silent, and kissed the little hands that he forcibly pulled away from her eyes.

“Bitt-Boy…,” the sobbing girl began to speak. “Bitt-Boy, you’re a fool, a silly chatterer! Why, you don’t know me at all. I wouldn’t surrender you to either misfortune or fear. You see…” she continued, becoming more and more impassioned, “you’re upset… but I’ll calm you… now, now!” She took his head and pressed it to her breast. “Lie here calmly, my little one. Listen-if things are bad for you, I want them to be bad for me too. If things are good for you, let them be good for me. If you hang yourself, I’ll also hang myself. We’ll go halves in all that’s bitter, but give me the larger half. To me you will always be like porcelain, pure… I don’t know how to convince you: perhaps by dying?”

She straightened up and thrust her hand behind her bodice, where, according to the local custom, girls carried a stiletto or small dagger.

Bitt-Boy restrained her. He was silent, overwhelmed by his new awareness of a heart close to his own. Now his decision, which was still inexorable, took another form.

“Bitt-Boy,” continued the girl, under the spell of her own words and deceived by the unhappy man’s depression, “it’s wise of you to keep quiet and listen to me.”

She nestled against his shoulder and continued:

“Everything will be all right, believe me. Here’s what I think sometimes when I daydream or get angry at your absences. We’ll have a riding horse named Bitt-Boy; a dog, Wise; and a cat, Regie. You will have no reason to leave Liss any more. You will buy me new copper kitchenware. I’ll smile at you absolutely everywhere: in the company of enemies, friends, of all who come; let everyone see how you are loved. We’ll play at being bride and groom – how you wanted to slip away, you bad boy-but I won’t cry any more. Then, when you have your own brig we’ll sail around the world thirty-three times… ”

Her voice sounded sleepy and nervous, while her eyes kept opening and closing. For several minutes she drew a picture of the imaginary journey in confused images, then she pulled her legs underneath her to make herself comfortable and yawned gently. Now they were sailing in a starlit garden above bright underwater flowers.

“And there are many seals there, Bitt-Boy. People say that these seals are nice. They have human eyes. Don’t move, please, it’s more peaceful that way. You wouldn’t drown me, would you, Bitt-Boy, because of some… I don’t know… Turkish girl perhaps? You said that I’m the Queen of Eyelashes… Take them for yourself, dear, take them all, all… ”

The even breathing of sleep reached Bitt-Boy’s ear. The moon was shining. Bitt-Boy took a sidelong glance; the eyelashes were resting softly on her pale cheeks. Bitt-Boy smiled awkwardly, and then, concentrating all his movements in an effort at imperceptible smoothness, he freed himself, stood up, and lowered the girl’s head onto the settee’s oilcloth cushion. He felt neither dead nor alive. However, time was slipping by; the moon had risen higher… Bitt-Boy silently kissed Regie’s feet and went out into the street; in his heart was a stifled scream.

On his way to the harbour he dropped in at the Prickly Pillow for several minutes.