IV. On the eve

On the eve of that day and seven years after Egl, the collector of folk-songs, had told the little girl his tale about a ship with Scarlet Sails on the seashore, Asoule came back home after one of her weekly visits to the toyshop. She was upset and her face had a mournful expression. She brought her work back. She was distressed so much that she could not speak for a time. Only when she saw from Longren’s worried looks that he was expecting something much worse than it was in reality, she began her story. As she spoke, she stood by the window, passing her finger over the pane and observing the sea absent-mindedly.
That time the owner of the toyshop had begun with opening his account-book and demonstrating how much their debt was. She shuddered when she saw an impressive three-figure number.
“This is how much you’ve borrowed since December,” the tradesman said. “And now look for how much it has been sold.” And he pointed at another number of two figures already.
“It grieved me and hurt me to look at it. I saw from his look that he was rude and angry. I would have readily run away, but, honestly, I was so ashamed that I couldn’t. And he began saying: “This is not profitable for me any more, my dear. Foreign goods are in fashion today. All shops are full of them while these toys are not sold out.” That’s what he said. He said still a lot of things, but I’ve mixed up and forgotten everything. He must have taken pity on me, as he advised me to try “The Children’s Fair” and “Alladdin’s Lamp”.
Having told the main part of her story, the girl turned her head and looked timidly at the old man. Longren sat with his head lowered and with his fingers crossed between his knees, on which he leant with his elbows. Feeling her gaze he raised his head and sighed. Overcoming her low spirits, the girl ran up to him and sat down comfortably by his side. Pushing her light arm under the leather sleeve of his jacket, laughing and peering into her father’s face from below, she went on with forced animation: “Never mind, it’s all right. You just listen, please. So, I went there. Well, I came to a great and the most terrific store with heaps of people inside. I was jostled all over, but I got through the crowd and came up to a spectacled man dressed in black. I can’t remember whatever I said to him. Towards the end he grinned, rummaged in my basket, looked at one or two things, then wrapped them up again, as they had been, in a kerchief, and gave it back to me.”
Longren listened angrily. It seemed to him as if he saw his daughter struck dumb among a crowd of rich people, by a counter heaped up with valuable goods. A neat spectacled man explained to her condescendingly that he would certainly ruin himself if he began to sell Longren’s unpretentious handicrafts. Carelessly and dexterously he displayed collapsible models of buildings and railway bridges, accurate miniature motor cars, electric sets, toy aeroplanes and engines before her on the counter. All that smelt of paint and school. It followed from all his words that in their games present-day children only imitated what grown-ups used to do.
Asoule had also visited “Alladdin’s Lamp” and two other shops, but all was in vain.
Finishing her story, she got everything for supper. Having eaten and had a glass of strong coffee, Longren said: “Since we have no luck, we ought to look for something else. Maybe I’ll go to sea again – on the Fitzroy or the Palermo. Of course, they are right,” he went on thoughtfully, thinking of the toys. “Today children do not play, but study. They study and study all the time, and they’ll never begin to live. Everything goes this way, and it’s a pity, indeed. Will you manage to get along without me through the period of one passage? I can’t imagine how I can leave you alone.”
“I could also serve on the same ship as you – in a buffet, for instance.”
“No!” Longren sealed that word with a blow of his palm on the table and it shook. “As long as I live you will not serve. We still have time to think it over, though.”
He fell silent gloomily. Asoule perched herself by his side on the edge of his stool. He saw out of the corner of his eye, without turning his head, that she was trying to console him, and he very nearly smiled. But to smile meant to frighten off and confuse the girl. Saying something to herself, she smoothed out his entangled grey hair and kissed his moustache. Then she closed her father’s hairy ears with her little delicate fingers and said: “”Well, now you can’t hear that I love you”. While she was making him smart, Longren sat screwing up his face tightly as someone who held in his breath not to breathe out smoke. But when he heard her words, he shouted with deep laughter.
“You are a nice girl,” he said simply, patted her cheek and went to the shore to check the boat.
For some time Asoule stood in the middle of the room in hesitation, wavering between her desire to give herself up to gentle melancholy and the necessity of busying herself with housework. Then, having washed up, she revised the rest of their provisions in the cupboard. She did not need to weigh or measure anything to see that the flour would not last out till the end of the week; that the bottom of the sugar tin could be already seen; that the packets of tea and coffee were almost empty and there was no oil. The only thing that gladdened her eye but vexed it slightly with the exception was the sack of potatoes. Then she cleaned the floor and sat down to sew a frill on the skirt that she had altered out of some old clothes. But the next moment she recalled, that the scraps of the material were kept behind the mirror, so she came up to it and took the bundle. Then she cast a glance at her reflection.
Behind the walnut frame, in the light emptiness of the reflected room there was a slender, not very tall girl, dressed in cheap white muslin decorated with little pink flowers. A grey silk kerchief lay on her shoulders. Her half childish face with its light sunburn was lively and expressive. Her beautiful eyes, somewhat serious for her age, looked with shy concentration so characteristic of deep souls. Her irregular features could move one with the delicate purity of its contours. Of course, every line, every prominence of that face could find its duplicates in the great number of women’s appearances. But their combination, their style was quite original – that is to say, it was sweet in an original way. We shall stop here. No words can describe the rest, except the word “charm”.
The reflected girl smiled as unconsciously as Asoule did. The smile turned out sad.  She noticed that and got worried as though she were looking at someone else. She pressed her cheek to the glass, closed her eyes and gently stroked the mirror where her reflection was. A swarm of vague, tender thoughts flashed across her mind. She drew herself up, laughed, sat down and began to sew.
While she is sewing, let us look inside of her more closely. There were two girls, two Asoules, within her, intermixed in remarkable and beautiful disorder. One was the sailor’s, the craftsman’s daughter who made toys. The other was a living poem with all its wonders of consonances and images, with its mysterious vicinity of words in all their mutual penetration of light and shade. She knew life within the limits set for her by her experience, but beyond everyday occurrences she could see reflected meaning of some other nature. Thus, when we observe things closely, we notice in them, not straightforwardly but with our impression, something definitely humanlike and, like in every human phenomenon, various in its meaning. Something like that which has been illustrated by this example (in case it succeeded) was also seen by her beyond visible things. Everything, that was simply clear without those quiet achievements of her soul, was alien to her. She could read and she loved it, but even in a book she read between the lines, just the way she lived. Instinctively, by means of some peculiar inspiration, she used to make lots of ethereal, delicate discoveries, which were hard to express but necessary as keeping oneself clean and warm. At times she even felt regenerated and it lasted for a number of days. Her physical life sensation collapsed like silence collapsed in a stroke of a fiddlestick. And everything that she saw, that she did, that surrounded her, became a lace of mysteries in the shape of everyday life. Not once, excited and timid, she would go by night to the seashore, where she waited till dawn and looked out for the ship with Scarlet Sails quite in earnest. Those moments made her happy. It may be difficult for us to be lost in a fairyland the way she could, while it would be no less difficult for her to find herself beyond its power and fascination.
Another time, reflecting upon all that, she would sincerely wonder at herself, not believing that she had believed, forgiving the sea with her smile and sadly coming back to reality. Then, gathering the frill, the girl recollected her life. There were plenty of boring and ordinary things in it. It used to happen that loneliness of the two of them oppressed her beyond all measure. But some trait of inward shyness, some little wrinkle of suffering, which did not let her introduce or get liveliness, had already formed within her. People mocked at her saying: “She is touched, she is not all there”. She got used to that sort of pain too. It even happened that the girl took insults and after that her chest ached as if from a stroke. As a woman she was unpopular in Kaperna. However many people suspected, though in some vague and barbarous way, that she was gifted more than others – only in some other language. The male inhabitants of Kaperna adored solidly built, corpulent women with oily skin of their thick calves and mighty arms. It was usual there to pay court slapping on the back and pushing one another, as if they were at a market. That kind of emotion resembled ingenuous simplicity of a roar. Asoule matched that straightforward society just as the company of a ghost matched persons of delicate nervous nature: even if it possessed the whole of Assuntha’s or Aspasia’s charm, everything concerning love would be impossible there. Thus, in the regular tune of an army trumpet, the charming sadness of a violin is unable to put a stern regiment out of action of its straight lines. The girl stood aloof from all what has been said in these lines.
While her head hummed the song of life, her small hands worked diligently and skillfully. Every time she bit off a thread, she looked far in front of her, but it did not prevent her from tucking up the hem evenly or applying looplike stitches with the accuracy of a sewing-machine. Though Longren did not come back, she did not worry about her father. Lately he used to put out to sea rather often at night to go fishing or just to take an airing.
She was not bothered with fear. She knew that no harm could happen to him. In this respect Asoule was still the same little girl who prayed her own way, prattling friendly: “Hello, God!” in the morning and: “Goodbye, God!” at night.
In her opinion such close terms with God were quite enough for Him to remove all misfortunes. She understood His position too: God was perpetually busy with the affairs of millions of people. And so, in her opinion, one should regard ordinary shades of life with tactful patience of a guest. Having found the house full of people, he waits for the host, who is run off his feet, and gets settled in conformity with the circumstances.
When she finished sewing, Asoule put her work on the little corner table, undressed and went to bed. The light was put out. Soon she realized that she was not sleepy. Her consciousness was as clear as at the height of a day; even darkness seemed to be artificial; her body, as well as her consciousness, seemed to be light as if during a day. Her heart thumped at the speed of a pocket watch. It seemed to beat between the pillow and her ear. Asoule was angry, tossing and turning, first throwing off her blanket and then wrapping herself up in it from head to foot. At last she managed to provoke a habitual image that used to help her to fall asleep. In her mind’s eye she threw pebbles into bright water, looking at the lightest ripples dispersing from them in circles. Sleep really seemed to have been waiting for that sop. It came, whispered for a while with Mary, who stood at the head of her bed, and, obeying her smile, said: “Hush!” to all around. Asoule fell asleep immediately. She had her favourite dream: blossoming trees, yearning, fascination, songs and mysterious occurrences. When she woke up, the only thing she remembered was sparkling dark blue water with its cold waves of ecstasy coming up from her feet to her heart. Having seen all that, she stayed in the impossible land for some more time; then she awoke and sat up.
She was sleepless as if she had not been asleep at all. A feeling of novelty, joy and desire to do something inspired her. She looked about as though she saw the room for the first time. The dawn penetrated in – not with the whole of its bright illumination but with the vague effort in which one could make out the things around. The bottom part of the window was dark, while its top had become bright. The morning star shone outside, nearly at the edge of the window-frame. Realizing, that she would not fall asleep again, Asoule dressed, came up to the window, undid the hook and drew the frame aside. Outside the window there was expectant, sensitive silence. It seemed to have just fallen. There were the bushes glittering in the dark blue twilight and the trees slumbering a little farther on. The close air smelt of earth.
Holding on to the top of the window-frame, the girl looked out and smiled. Suddenly something similar to a distant call stirred her up from within and outside. She seemed to awake once again out of the obvious reality into something, which was more evident and indubitable. From that moment an exultant richness of consciousness did not leave her. Thus we listen to what people say and understand what they mean. And yet if what has been said is repeated, we understand it once again and see another, new meaning of it. The same happened to her.
Having taken her oldish silk kerchief, which always looked young on her head, she held it under her chin with her hand, locked the door and flitted out barefoot on the road. Though it was lonely and quiet around, it seemed to her that she was sounding like an orchestra and that she could be heard. All was dear to her, and all made her happy. The warm dust tickled her bare feet. The atmosphere was clear and bracing. The dark roofs and clouds loomed against the dusky clear space of the sky. The fences, dog roses, kitchen gardens, orchards and the hardly visible road slumbered. Another order of things, which was different from that of the daytime, became apparent everywhere. It was the same but in some accordance, that had been overlooked before. Everything was sleeping with open eyes, looking secretly at the girl passing by.
She went the further the faster, hurrying to leave the hamlet behind. There were meadows stretching beyond Kaperna. Beyond the meadows there were hazels, poplars and chestnuts growing along the slopes of the coastal hills. Where the road ended turning into an overgrown path, a fluffy black dog with a white front and speaking strained eyes began hovering about gently at Asoule’s feet. Having recognized Asoule, the dog, yelping from time to time and wagging her body with false modesty, went beside her in tacit consent with the girl in something as clear as “you” and “me”. Looking into her communicative eyes, Asoule was quite sure that the dog could speak to her if she had no secret reasons for keeping silence. Catching sight of her companion’s smile, the dog wrinkled its muzzle gaily, wagged her tail and ran ahead at an even pace. Suddenly she sat down apathetically, busily scratched her ear stung by her eternal enemy and ran backwards.
Asoule made her way into tall meadow grass sprinkling with dew. Keeping her palm downwards over its panicles, she walked on, smiling at their gliding touch. Peeping into the peculiar faces of flowers, into the confusion of stalks, she distinguished almost human traits in them – poses, efforts, movements, features and looks. Then she would not be surprised at a procession of field-mice, a ball of ground squirrels, or at gross gaiety of a hedgehog, frightening a sleeping gnome with its snorting. And indeed, a hedgehog, showing grey, rolled out in front of her on the path. “Puff-puff,” it said curtly in a temper, like a coachman annoyed with a pedestrian. Asoule talked to everything she saw and understood. “Hello, poor thing,” she said to the lilac iris, in which worms had made lots of holes. “You need to stay at home,” she addressed to the bush, which stuck in the middle of the path, so passers-by had torn it all over with their clothes. A large beetle was clinging to a bluebell, bending the plant with its weight and nearly falling down but moving its legs up and down stubbornly. “Shake off your fat passenger,” Asoule advised. The beetle really failed to hold on and flew away with a crackling sound. Thus, shining with excitement and trepidation, she came up to the slope of the hill. She lost herself in its thicket, leaving the vast meadows behind and being surrounded by her true friends who – and she knew that – spoke in a deep voice.
Those were the big old trees that grew among honeysuckles and hazels. Their branches drooped and touched the upper leaves of the shrubs. On the large-leafed chestnuts, burdened placidly with its own foliage, there were white straight cones of blossoms. Their fragrance mixed with the smell of dew and resin. The path, all covered with bulges of slippery roots, first sank and then climbed up the slope. Asoule felt at home. She greeted the trees as if they were people, shaking them by their broad leaves. She walked along whispering sometimes to herself and sometimes aloud: “Here you are and here is another you. There are so many of you, old men! I am on my way, old men, and I am in a hurry, so let me go. I recognize you all and I remember and honour all of you”. “Old men” stroked her majestically with what they could – their leaves – and creaked intimately in reply. She got out, making her feet dirty in earth all over, to the steep coast above the sea and stood on its brink breathlessly because of her rapid walk. A deep invincible faith boiled up and resounded within her in exultation. Her glance scattered it beyond the horizon, from where it came back, proud of the purity of its flight, in the quiet sound of the surf. Meanwhile the sea, outlined in a golden thread along the horizon, was still sleeping. Only beneath the brink the water rose and fell in the pools of coastal pits. The colour of the sleeping ocean, which was steel-blue by the shore, turned dark blue and black in the distance. Beyond the golden thread the sky flared up and shone like a huge fan of light. The white clouds were touched with a faint glow. Delicate, divine colours played in them. The black distance had been already covered with a flickering snow-whiteness. The foam sparkled while the crimson break flashed in the middle of the golden thread and threw scarlet ripples across the ocean to Asoule’s feet.
She sat down, tucked her legs and put her arms round her knees. Leaning towards the sea with strained attention, she looked at the horizon with wide-open eyes, in which nothing of an adult was left – with eyes of a child. All, for what she had been waiting for so long and so zealously, was happening there, at the back of beyond. She saw a submerged rock in the land of distant deeps. Curly seaweeds flew upwards from its surface. Fantastic flowers gleamed among their round leaves pierced with stems at the edges. Their upper leaves glistened on the surface of the ocean. Those who knew nothing of what Asoule knew could see only flicker and lustre.
A ship rose from the mass of the water-plants. It came to the surface and stopped right in the middle of the dawn. At quite a distance it was seen as distinctly as the clouds. Spreading joy around, it blazed like wine, a rose, blood, lips, scarlet velvet, or crimson fire. The ship sailed straight to Asoule. Wings of foam fluttered under the strong force of its keel. The girl had already stood up and pressed her hands to her breast when the wonderful play of light turned into ripple. The sun rose and the bright plentitude of the morning pulled covers off everything that still enjoyed peace and comfort, stretching itself on the slumberous earth.
The girl heaved a sigh and looked around. The music in her ears had ceased, but Asoule was still swayed by its ringing chorus. Little by little the impression relaxed, then it became a recollection and finally turned into simple fatigue. She lay down on the grass, yawned, closed her eyes blissfully and fell asleep in the proper way. And her sleep was sound like a new nut, carefree and dreamless.
She was awakened by a fly strolling about her bare foot. Asoule turned her little foot uneasily and woke up. She sat up and began to pin up her dishevelled hair, so Gray’s ring made itself felt. But considering it no more than a little stalk stuck between her fingers, she unbent them. Since that something had not disappeared, she brought her hand impatiently to her eyes, sat upright and jumped to her feet with the force of a spurting fountain.
Gray’s radiant ring glittered on her finger like on a stranger’s one. At that moment she could not believe that it was her own finger, she did not feel it like that. “Whose joke is this? Whose?” she exclaimed impetuously. “Am I still asleep? May I have found it and forgotten?” She seized her right hand, where the ring was, with her left one and looked about with amazement, observing the sea and the green brushwood with her inquiring look. But nothing stirred, no one hid in the bushes and there was no omen in the dark blue sea lit up with the sun far ahead. And Asoule flushed red and the voice of her heart said a prophetic “yes”. There were no explanations of what had happened, but without words or thoughts she found them in her strange feeling, and the ring was already dear to her. Trembling all over, she pulled it off her finger. She held it in her cupped hands as if she held water and examined it with all her soul, with all her heart and with all her exultation and serene mystic belief of youth. Then, having hidden it in her bodice, Asoule buried her face in her palms from where she burst into an irrepressible smile, and, looking down, slowly started her way back.
Thus, by chance, as people who can read and write would say, Gray and Asoule found each other in the morning of a summer day full of inevitable things.