VI. Assol Remains Alone

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

When Longren returned the girl was not yet at home. Her early walks did not worry her father; this time, however, there was a trace of anxiety in his expectation. Pacing up and down, he turned to suddenly see Assol; having entered swiftly and soundlessly, she came up to him without a word and nearly frightened him by the brightness of her expression, which mirrored her excitement. It seemed that her second being had come to light – true being to which a person’s eyes alone usually attest. She was silent and looked into Longren’s face so strangely that he quickly inquired:

“Are you ill?”

She did not immediately reply. When the meaning of his words finally reached her inner ear Assol started, as a twig touched by a hand, and laughed a long, even peal of quietly triumphant laughter. She had to say something but, as always, she did not have to think of what it would be. She said:

“No. I’m well… Why are you looking at me like that? I’m happy. Really, I am, but it’s because it’s such a lovely day. What have you thought of? I can see by your look that you’ve thought of something.”

“Whatever I may have thought of,” Longren said, taking her on his lap, “I know you’ll understand why I’m doing it. We’ve nothing to live on. I won’t go on a long voyage again, but I’ll sign on the mailboat that plies between Kasset and Liss.”

“Yes,” she said from afar, making an effort to share his cares and worries, but aghast at being unable to stop feeling so gay. “That’s awful. I’ll be very lonely. Come back soon.” Saying this, she blossomed out in an irrepressible smile. “And hurry, dear. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Assol!” Longren said, cupping her face and turning it towards himself.

“Tell me what’s happened.”

She felt she had to dispel his fears and, overcoming her jubilation, became gravely attentive, all save her eyes, which still sparkled with a new life.

“You’re funny. Nothing at all. I was gathering nuts.”

Longren would not have really believed this had he not been so taken up by his own thoughts. Their conversation then became matter-of-fact and detailed. The sailor told his daughter to pack his bag, enumerated all he would need and had some instructions for her:

“I’ll be back in about ten days. You pawn my gun and stay at home. If anyone annoys you, say: ‘Longren will be back soon.’ Don’t think or worry about me: nothing will happen to me.”

He then had his dinner, kissed her soundly and, slinging the bag over his shoulder, went out to the road that led to town. Assol looked after him until he turned the bend and then went back into the house. She had many chores to do, but forgot all about them. She looked around with the interest of slight surprise, as if she were already astrangerto this house, so much a part of her for as far back as she could recall that it seemed she had always carried its image within her, and which now appeared like one’s native parts do when revisited after a lapse of time and from a different kind of life. But she felt there was something unbecoming in this rebuff of hers, something wrong. She sat down at the table at which Longren made his toys and tried to glue a rudder to a stern; as she looked at these objects she unwittingly imagined them in their true sizes, and real. All that had happened that morning once again rose up within her in trembling excitement, and a golden ring as large as the sun fell to her feet from across the sea.

She could not remain indoors, left the house and set out for Liss. She had no errand there at all, and did not know why she was going, yet could not but go. She met a man on the way who asked for directions; she explained all in detail to him, and the incident was immediately forgotten.

The long road slipped by as if she had been carrying a bird that had completely absorbed her tender attention. Approaching the town, she was distracted somewhat by the noise given off by its great circle, but it had no power over her as before, when, frightening and cowing her, it had made her a silent coward. She stood up to it. She passed along the circle of the boulevard leisurely, crossing the blue shadows of the trees, glancing up at the faces of passers-by trustingly and unselfconsciously, walking slowly and confidently. The observant had occassion during the day to note the stranger here, an unusual-looking girl who had passed through the motley crowd, lost in thought. In the square she held her hand out to the stream of water in the fountain, fingering the sparkling spray; then she sat down, rested a while and returned to the forest road. She traversed it in refreshed spirits, in a mood as peaceful and clear as a stream in evening that had finally exchanged the flashing mirrors of the day for the calm glow of the shadows.

Approaching the village, she saw the selfsame coalman who had imagined his basket sprouting blossoms; he was standing beside his cart with two strange, sullen men who were covered with soot and dirt. Assol was very pleased.

“Hello, Phillip. What are you doing here?”

“Nothing, Midge. A wheel got loose. I fixed it, and now I’m having a smoke and talking to my friends. Where were you?”

Assol did not reply.

“You know, Phillip, I like you very much, and that’s why you’re the only one I’m telling this to. I’ll be leaving soon. I’ll probably be going away for good. Don’t tell anyone, though.”

“You mean you want to go away? Where to?” The coalman was so surprised he gaped, which made his beard still longer than it was.

“I don’t know.” Slowly, she took in the clearing, the elm under which the cart stood, the grass that was so green in the pink twilight, the silent, grimy coalmen and added after a pause: “I don’t know. I don’t know the day or the hour, or even where it’ll be. I can’t tell you any more. That’s why I want to say goodbye, just in case. You’ve often given me a lift.”

She took his huge, soot-blackened hand and more or less managed to give it a shake. The worker’s face cracked in a stiff smile. The girl nodded, turned and walked off. She disappeared even before Phillip and his friends had a chance to turn their heads.

“Ain’t it a wonder?” the coalman said. “How’s a body to understand that? There’s something about her today… funny, like, I mean.”

“You’re right,” the second man agreed. “You can’t tell whether she was just saying that or trying to make us believe her. It’s none of our business.”

“It’s none of our business,” said the third and sighed.

Then the three of them got into the cart and, as the wheels clattered over the rocky road, disappeared in a cloud of dust.

VII. The Crimson Secret

It was a white hour of morning; a faint mist crowded with strange phantoms filled the great forest. An unnamed hunter, having just left his campfire, was making his way parallel to the river; the light of its airy emptiness glimmered through the trees, but the cautious hunter did not approach the river as he examined the fresh tracks of a bear that was heading for the mountains.

A sudden sound rushed through the trees with the unexpectedness of an alarming chase; it was the clarinet bursting into song. The musician, having come up on deck, played a passage full of sad and mournful repetition. The sound trembled like a voice concealing grief; it rose, smiled in a sad trill and ended abruptly. A distant echo hummed the same melody faintly.

The hunter, marking the tracks with a broken twig, made his way to the water. The fog had not yet lifted; it obscured the silhouette of a large ship turning slowly out of the river. Its furled sails came to life, hanging down in festoons, coming unfurled and covering the masts with the helpless shields of their huge folds; he could hear voices and the sound of steps. The off-shore wind, attempting to blow, picked at the sails lazily; finally, the sun’s warmth had the desired effect; the pressure of the wind increased, lifted the fog and streamed along the yards into the light crimson shapes so full of roses. Rosy shadows slipped along the white of the masts and rigging, and everything was white except the unfurled, full-blown sails which were the colour of true joy.

The hunter, staring from the bank, rubbed his eyes hard until he was finally convinced that what he was seeing was indeed so and not otherwise. The ship disappeared around a bend, but he still stood there, staring; then, shrugging, he went after his bear.

While the Secret sailed along the river, Gray stood at the helm, not trusting it to the helmsman, for he was afraid of shoals. Panten sat beside him, freshly-shaven and sulking resignedly, and wearing a new worsted suit and a shiny new cap. As before, he saw no connection between the crimson magnificence and Gray’s intentions.

“Now,” said Gray, “when my sails are glowing, the wind is fair and my heart is overflowing with joy that is greater than what an elephant experiences at the sight of a small bun, I shall try to attune you to my thoughts as I promised back in Liss. Please bear in mind that I don’t consider you dull-witted or stubborn, no; you are an exemplary seaman and this means a lot. But you, as the great majority of others, hear the voices of all the simple truths through the thick glass of life; they shout, but you will not hear them. What I’m doing exists as an old-fashioned belief in the beautiful and unattainable, and what, actually, is as attainable and possible as a picnic. You will soon see a girl who cannot, who must not marry otherwise than in the manner I am following and which you are witnessing.”

He related in short that which we know so well, concluding thus:

“You see how closely entwined here are fate, will and human nature; I’m going to the one who is waiting and can wait for me alone, while I do not want any other but her, perhaps just because, thanks to her, I’ve come to understand a simple truth, namely: you must make so-called miracles come true yourself. When a person places the most importance on getting a treasured copper it’s not hard to give him that copper, but when the soul cherishes the seed of an ardent plant – a miracle, make this miracle come true for it if you can. This person’s soul will change and yours will, too. When the chief warden releases a prisoner of his own free will, when a billionaire gives his scribe a villa, a chorus girl and a safe, and when a jockey holds back his horse just once to let an unlucky horse pass him, – then everyone will understand how pleasant this is, how inexpressibly wonderful. But there are miracles of no less magnitude: a smile, merriment, forgiveness and… the right word spoken opportunely. If one possesses this – one possesses all. As for me, our beginning – Assol’s and mine – will forever remain to us in a crimson glow of sails, created by the depths of a heart that knows what love is. Have you understood me?”

“Yes, Captain.” Panten cleared his throat and wiped his moustache with a neatly-folded, clean handkerchief. “I understand everything. You’ve touched my heart. I’ll go below and tell Nicks I’m sorry I cursed him for sinking a pail yesterday. And I’ll give him some tobacco – he lost his at cards yesterday.”

Before Gray, who was somewhat surprised at the quick practical effect his words had had, was able to reply, Panten had clattered down the ladder and heaved a sigh in the distance. Gray looked up over his shoulder; the crimson sails billowed silently above him; the sun in their seams shone as a purple mist. The Secret was heading out to sea, moving away from the shore. There was no doubt in Gray’s ringing soul – no dull pounding of anxiety, no bustle of small worries; as calmly as a sail was he straining towards a heavenly goal, his mind full of those thoughts which forestall words.

The puffs of smoke of a naval cruiser appeared on the horizon. The cruiser changed its course and, from a distance of half a mile, raised the signal that stood for “lie to”.

“They won’t shell us, boys,” Gray said. “Don’t worry! They simply can’t believe their eyes.”

He gave the order to lie to. Panten, shouting as if there were a fire, brought the Secret out of the wind; the ship stopped, while a steam launch manned by a crew and lieutenant in white gloves sped towards them from the cruiser; the lieutenant, stepping aboard the ship, looked around in amazement and followed Gray to his cabin, from which he emerged an hour later, smiling as if he had just been promoted and, with an awkward wave of his hand, headed back to his blue cruiser. This time Gray had apparently been more successful than he had with the unsophisticated Panten, since the cruiser, pausing shortly, blasted the horizon with a mighty salvo whose swift bursts of smoke, ripping through the air in great, flashing balls, furled away over the still waters. All day long there was an air of half-festive bewilderment on board the cruiser; the mood was definitely not official, it was one of awe – under the sign of love, of which there was talk everywhere, – from the officers’ mess to the engine room; the watch on duty in the torpedo section asked a passing sailor:

“How’d you get married, Tom?”

“I caught her by the skirt when she tried to escape through the window,” Tom said and twirled his moustache proudly.

For some time after the Secret plied the empty sea, out of sight of the shore; towards noon they sighted the distant shore. Gray lifted his telescope and trained it on Kaperna. If not for a row of roofs, he would have spotted Assol sitting over a book by the window in one of the houses. She was reading; a small greenish beetle was crawling along the page, stopping and rising up on its front legs, looking very independent and tame. It had already been blown peevishly onto the window-sill twice, from whence it had reappeared as trustingly and unafraid as if it had had something to say. This time it managed to get nearly as far as the girl’s hand which was holding the corner of the page; here it got stuck on the word “look”, hesitated as if awaiting a new squall and, indeed, barely escaped trouble, since Assol had already exclaimed: “Oh! That… silly bug!” – and was about to blow the visitor right into the grass when a chance shifting of her eyes from one rooftop to another revealed to her in the blue strip of sea at the end of the street a white ship with crimson sails.

She started visibly, leaned back and froze; then she jumped up, her heart sinking dizzily, and burst into uncontrollable tears of inspired shock. Meanwhile, the Secret was rounding a small cape, its port side towards the shore; soft music wafted over the light-blue hollow, coming from the white deck beneath the crimson silk; the music of a lilting melody expressed not too successfully by the well-known words: “Fill, fill up your glasses – and let us drink to love… ” In its simplicity, exulting, excitement unfurled and rumbled.

Unmindful of how she had left the house, Assol ran towards the sea, caught up by the irresistible wind of events; she stopped at the very first corner, nearly bereft of strength; her knees buckled, her breath came in gasps and consciousness hung by a thread. Beside herself from fear of losing her determination, she stamped her foot and ran on. Every now and then a roof or a fence would hide the crimson sails from view; then, fearful lest they had disappeared like some ordinary mirage, she would hurry to pass the tormenting obstacle and, sighting the ship once again, would stop to heave a sigh of relief.

Meanwhile, there was such commotion, such an uproar and such excitement in Kaperna as was comparable to the effect of the famous earthquakes. Never before had a large ship approached this shore; the ship had the very same sails whose colour sounded like a taunt; now they were blazing brightly and incontestably with the innocence of a fact that refutes all the laws of being and common sense. Men, women and children were racing helter-skelter towards the shore; the inhabitants shouted to each other over their fences, bumped into each other, howled and tumbled; soon a crowd had gathered at the water’s edge, and into the crowd Assol rushed.

As long as she was not there her name was tossed around with a nervous and sullen tenseness, with hateful fear. The men did most of the talking; the thunderstruck women sobbed in a choked, snake-like hissing, but if one did begin to rattle – the poison rose to her head. The moment Assol appeared everyone became silent, everyone moved away from her in fear, and she remained alone on the empty stretch of hot sand, at a loss, shamed and happy, with a face no less crimson than her miracle, helplessly stretching her hands towards the tall ship.

A rowboat manned by bronzed oarsmen detached itself from the ship; among them stood he whom she now felt she had known, had dimly recalled since childhood. He was looking at her with a smile which warmed and beckoned. But thousands of last-stand, silly fears gripped Assol; deathly afraid of everything – an error, misunderstanding, some mysterious or evil hindrance – she plunged waist-deep into the warm undulation of the waves, shouting: “I’m here, I’m here! It’s me!”

Then Zimmer raised his bow – and the very same melody struck the nerves of the crowd, but this time it was a full-voiced, triumphant choir. From excitement, the motion of the clouds and waves, the glitter of the water and the distance the girl was hardly able to discern what was moving: she herself, the ship or the rowboat, – everything was moving, spinning and falling.

But an oar slashed the water next to her; she raised her head. Gray bent down, and her hands gripped his belt.

Assol shut her eyes tight; then she opened them quickly, smiled boldly into his beaming face and said breathlessly:

“Just as I imagined you.”

“And you, too, my dear!” Gray said, lifting his wet treasure from the water. “I’ve come at last. Do you recognize me?”

She nodded, holding onto his belt, trembling with a reborn soul and eyes shut quiveringly tight. Happiness was as a soft kitten curled up inside of her. When Assol decided to open her eyes the rocking of the rowboat, the sparkle of the waves, the huge, approaching, moving side of the Secret – all was a dream, where the light and the water bobbed and spun like sun-sports cavorting on a sunshine-streaked wall. She did not remember how she was carried up the gangplank in Gray’s strong arms. The deck, covered and draped with rugs, engulfed by the crimson splashing of the sails, was like a heavenly garden. And soon Assol saw that she was in a cabin – in a room than which nothing could be better.

Then from above, rending and absorbing the heart in its triumphant cry, once again the thunderous music crashed. Once again Assol shut her eyes, fearful lest all this disappear if she were to look. Gray took her hands and, knowing now where safety lay, she buried her tear-stained face on the breast of her beloved, who had appeared so miraculously. Gently, but with a smile, for he, too, was overwhelmed and amazed by the coming of the inexpressible, precious minute, inaccessible to anyone else, Gray tilted up this face that had haunted him for so long, and the eyes of the girl finally opened wide. All that was best in a person was in them.

“Will you take my Longren with us?” she said.

“Yes.” And he kissed her so passionately after saying this firm “yes” that she laughed delightedly.

We shall leave them now, knowing that they should be alone. There are many words in the many languages and dialects of the world, but none of them can even faintly convey that which they said to each other that day.

Meanwhile, up on deck, by the mainmast the entire crew waited at the worm-eaten cask with the top knocked off to reveal the hundred-year old dark magnificence. Atwood stood by; Panten sat as primly blissful as a newborn babe. Gray came up on deck, signalled to the orchestra and, removing his cap, was the first to dip a glass, to the accompaniment of the golden horns, into the sacred wine.

“There…” he said, when he had drunk and then tossed down his glass.

“Now drink. Everybody, drink! Anyone who doesn’t drink is my enemy.”

He did not have to repeat his words. As the Secret proceeded at full speed, under full sail, away from Kaperna, which had been struck dumb forever, the jostling around the cask was greater than anything in this manner that occurs at great fetes.

“How did you like it?” Gray asked Letika.

“Captain,” the sailor said, searching for the right words, “I don’t know whether it liked me, but I’ll have to think over my impressions. Beehive and orchard!”

“What?”

“I mean it’s like having a beehive and an orchard put into my mouth. Be happy, Captain. And may she whom I will call ‘the best cargo’, the Secrets best prize, be happy, too!”

When dawn broke the following morning the ship was far from Kaperna. Part of the crew were asleep where they had stretched out on deck, overcome by Gray’s wine; only the helmsman, the watch and a thoughtful and tipsy Zimmer who sat near the prow with his chin resting on the finger-board of his cello were up. He sat there, drawing his bow across the strings softly, making them speak in a magic, heavenly voice, and was thinking of happiness.

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