Green running along. Review: The book "Running on the Waves" - Alexander Green - A romantic love story

ALEXANDER GREEN

WAVE RUNNER

Annotation

The fate of the mysterious stranger worried the adventurer Harvey, the hero of Alexander Green's novel "Running on the Waves." This was the beginning of exciting and incredible events - with chases and dangers, intrigue and secrets, risk and fleeting love.

Chapter I

This is Desirada...
O Desirada, how little we rejoiced at you when your slopes grew out of the sea, covered with manzenil forests.
L.Shadurn

I was told that I ended up in Lisse thanks to one of those sudden illnesses that come on suddenly. This happened on the way. I was taken off the train while unconscious, high temperature and was admitted to the hospital.
When the danger had passed, Doctor Filatr, who entertained me in a friendly manner, lately before I left the ward, he took care to find an apartment for me and even found a woman for services. I was very grateful to him, especially since the windows of this apartment overlooked the sea.
Filater once said:
“Dear Harvey, it seems to me that I am unwittingly keeping you in our city. You could leave when you get better, without any embarrassment because I rented an apartment for you. Still, before you travel further, you need some comfort - a stop within yourself.
He was clearly hinting, and I remembered my conversations with him about the power of the Unfulfilled. This power weakened somewhat due to acute illness, but I still sometimes heard in my soul its steely movement, which did not promise to disappear.
Moving from city to city, from country to country, I obeyed a force more commanding than passion or mania.
Sooner or later, in old age or in the prime of life, the Unfulfilled calls us, and we look around, trying to understand where the call came from. Then, waking up in the midst of our world, painfully coming to our senses and cherishing every day, we peer into life, trying with all our being to discern whether the Unfulfilled is beginning to come true? Is his image not clear? Isn’t it now only necessary to reach out your hand to grab and hold his faintly flickering features?
Meanwhile, time passes, and we sail past the high, foggy shores of the Unfulfilled, talking about the affairs of the day.
I spoke with Filatr many times on this topic. But this nice man was not yet touched by the farewell hand of the Unfulfilled, and therefore my explanations did not bother him. He asked me about all this and listened quite calmly, but with deep attention, acknowledging my anxiety and trying to internalize it.
I had almost recovered, but was experiencing a reaction caused by the break in movement, and found Filatr's advice useful; Therefore, upon leaving the hospital, I settled in an apartment on the right corner of the street Amilego, one of the most beautiful streets of Lisse. The house stood at the lower end of the street, near the harbor, behind the dock, a place of ship debris and silence, broken, not too intrusively, by the language of the port day, softened by distance.
I occupied two large rooms: one with a huge window overlooking the sea; the second was twice as large as the first. The third, where the stairs led down, housed the servants. Antique, prim and clean furniture, old house and the whimsical arrangement of the apartment corresponded to the relative silence of this part of the city. The rooms, located at an angle to the east and south, were not left all day sun rays, which is why this Old Testament peace was full of bright reconciliation of long-past years with the inexhaustible, ever-new solar pulse.
I saw the owner only once, when I paid money. He was a heavyset man with the face of a cavalryman and quiet voices, pushed towards his interlocutor. blue eyes. When he came in to receive my payment, he showed neither curiosity nor animation, as if he saw me every day.
The servant, a woman of about thirty-five, slow and wary, brought me lunches and dinners from the restaurant, tidied up the rooms and went to her place, already knowing that I would not demand anything special and would not indulge in conversations that were mostly started just to, chatting and picking your teeth, giving in to the scattered flow of thoughts.
So I started living there; and I lived only twenty-six days; Doctor Filatr came several times.

The more I talked to him about life, spleen, travel and impressions, the more I understood the essence and type of my Unfulfilled. I won’t hide the fact that it was huge and, perhaps, that’s why it was so persistent. Its harmony, its almost architectural sharpness grew out of shades of parallelism. This is what I call the double game that we play with the phenomena of everyday life and feelings. On the one hand, they are naturally tolerant due to necessity: conditionally tolerant, like a banknote for which one should receive gold, but there is no agreement with them, since we see and feel their possible transformation. Paintings, music, books have long established this feature, and although the example is old, I take it for lack of a better one. All the melancholy of the world is hidden in his wrinkles. Such is the nervousness of the idealist, whom despair often forces him to sink lower than he stood - solely out of passion for emotions.
Among the ugly reflections of the law of life and its litigation with my spirit, I was looking, without suspecting it for a long time, for a sudden, distinct creation: a drawing or a wreath of events, naturally intertwined and as invulnerable to the suspicious gaze of spiritual jealousy, as the four lines of a favorite poem that most deeply struck us . There are always only four such lines.
Of course, I recognized my desires gradually and often did not notice them, thereby missing the time to tear out the roots of these dangerous plants. They grew and hid me under their shady foliage. It happened more than once that my meetings, my positions sounded like the deceptive beginning of a melody that it is so common for a person to want to listen to before he closes his eyes. Cities and countries from time to time brought closer to my pupils the already beginning to delight the light of a strange, distant banner, barely outlined by the lights - but all this developed into nothing; it tore like rotten yarn pulled by a swift shuttle. The unfulfilled thing to which I held out my hands could only rise up on its own, otherwise I would not have recognized it and, acting according to an exemplary model, I certainly risked creating soulless scenery. In a different way, but absolutely accurately, you can see this in artificial parks, in comparison with random forest visions, as if carefully taken out of a precious box by the sun.
Thus I understood my Unfulfilled and submitted to it.
My conversations with Filatr took place about all this and much more - on the topic of human desires in general - if he touched on this issue.
As I noticed, he never ceased to be interested in my hidden excitement directed at objects of imagination. To him I was like a kind of tulip endowed with fragrance, and although such a comparison may seem vain, it is nevertheless true in essence.
Meanwhile, Filatr introduced me to Sters, whose house I began to visit. While waiting for the money, about which I wrote to my attorney Lerch, I quenched my thirst for movement in the evenings at Steers and with walks to the harbor, where, under the shadow of the huge sterns hanging over the embankment, I looked at the exciting words, the signs of the Unfulfilled: “Sydney”, - “London”, - “Amsterdam” - “Toulon”... I was or could have been in these cities, but the names of the harbors meant for me a different “Toulon” and not at all the “Sydney” that really existed; the inscriptions of golden letters contained an undiscovered truth.

Morning always promises...
says Mons,
After the long-suffering day
The evening is sad and forgiving...

Just like the “morning” of Mons, the harbor always promises; her world is full of undiscovered meaning, descending from giant cranes in pyramids of bales, scattered among the masts, squeezed along the embankments by the iron sides of ships, where in the deep crevices between the tightly closed sides silently, like a closed book, lies in the shadow of a green sea water. Not knowing whether to rise or fall, clouds of smoke from huge chimneys billow; The force of the machines is tense and held in place by chains, one movement of which is enough for the calm water under the stern to rush into a mound.
Entering the port, it seems to me that I can discern on the horizon, beyond the cape, the shores of countries where the bowsprits of ships are directed, waiting in the wings; the hum, the screams, the song, the demonic wail of the siren - all full of passion and promise. And above the harbor - in the land of countries, in the deserts and forests of the heart, in the skies of thoughts - the Unfulfilled sparkles - the mysterious and wonderful deer of the eternal hunt.

I don’t know what happened to Lerch, but I didn’t get as quick a response from him as I expected. Only towards the end of my stay in Lissa did Lerch respond, as was his custom, with a hundred pounds, without explaining the delay.
I visited Steers and found in these visits an innocent pleasure, akin to the coolness of a compress applied to a sore eye. Stere loved playing cards, so did I, and since someone came to see him almost every evening, I was heartily glad to transfer part of the thrill of my state to guessing the opponent’s cards.
On the eve of the day from which much began, for which I sat down to write these pages, my morning walk along the embankments was somewhat delayed, because, suddenly hungry, I sat down at an ordinary tavern, in front of its door, on a terrace entwined with plants like ivy with white and blue flowers. I ate fried whiting, washing it down with light red wine.
Only after satisfying my hunger did I notice that a steamer was mooring opposite the tavern, and, waiting until its passengers began to descend the gangway, I plunged into the contemplation of the bustle caused by the desire to quickly find myself at home or in a hotel. I observed a mixture of scenes, noticing the features of fatigue, irritation, suppressed or open frenzy that make up the soul of the crowd when the character of its movement changes abruptly. Among the carriages, relatives, porters, blacks, Chinese, passengers, commission agents and beggars, mountains of luggage and the sound of wheels, I saw an act of the greatest leisurelyness, self-fidelity to the last detail, a calmness, taking into account the circumstances, almost depraved - so inimitable, impeccable and There was a picturesque descent down the stairs of an unknown young girl, apparently not rich, but seemingly gifted with the secrets of subjugating a place, people and things.
I noticed her face as it appeared over the side among the suitcases and hats knocked to the side. She came down slowly, with a thoughtful interest in what was happening around her. Thanks to the flexible folding, or some other reason, she completely avoided the shocks. She didn’t carry anything, didn’t look back at anyone, and didn’t look for anyone in the crowd with her eyes. So they go down the stairs of a luxurious house to a respectfully open door. Her two suitcases floated behind her on the heads of dark-skinned porters. With a short movement of a quietly outstretched hand, indicating what to do, the suitcases were placed directly on the pavement, at a distance from the steamer, and she sat on them, looking ahead rationally and calmly, like a person who is quite confident that what is happening should continue to be done according to her wishes , but without any tedious participation on her part.
This trend, disastrous for many, immediately justified itself. Agents and several other individuals, both shabby and decent looking, ran up to the girl, creating an atmosphere of unbearable hubbub. It seemed that the same thing would happen to the girl that would happen to a dress if it - clean, ironed, calmly hanging on a hanger - was torn off with a hasty hand.
Not at all... Without changing herself in any way, with dignity moving her gaze from one figure to another, the girl said something to everyone a little, once she laughed, once she frowned, slowly extended her hand, took the card of one of the commission agents, read it, returned it dispassionately and, tilting her head sweetly, began read another. Her gaze fell on the glass of cold drink slipped by the street vendor; since it was really hot, she, after thinking, took the glass, drank and returned it with the same air of presence at home as in everything she did. Several hairy arms, stretched out over her suitcases, wandered through the air, waiting for the moment to grab and rush, but all this, apparently, concerned her little, since the question of the hotel had not yet been resolved. A group of helpful, selfish and curious people formed around her, to whom, as if by order, the lazy calm of the girl was communicated.
People of the bustling, day-tearing world stood, rolling their eyes, but she still sat on her suitcases, surrounded by the invisible protection that self-esteem gives if it is innate and so merged with us that the person himself does not notice it, like breathing.
I watched this scene without stopping. The noise around the girl gradually died down; it became so respectful and decent, as if the daughter of some fantastic commander of all the harbors of the world had come ashore. Meanwhile, she was wearing (the thought involuntarily connects power with pomp) a simple cambric hat, the same blouse with a sailor collar and a silk blue skirt. Her worn suitcases seemed shiny because she sat on them. The girl’s attractive face with a firm expression and long eyelashes of calmly cheerful dark eyes made one think about the direction of the feelings evoked by her appearance. Benevolent little hand placed on head shaggy dog, - such a comparison suggested itself to this scene, where the dull noise of the Unfulfilled was felt.
I had scarcely realized this when she stood up; her entire retinue, with exclamations and suitcases, rushed to the carriage, on the back of which was the inscription “Hotel Dover.” Approaching, the girl handed out some change and sat down with a smile of complete satisfaction. It seemed that she was absolutely occupied with everything that was happening around her.
The commission agent jumped into the seat next to the driver, the carriage set off, the ragamuffins who ran behind fell behind, and, looking at the dust rushing along the pavement, I thought, as I thought more than once, that perhaps the end of the thread leading to the hidden ball flashed before me again.
I won’t hide it - I was upset, and not only because in the face of the unknown girl I saw the attractive clarity of a being, marked by harmonious integrity, as I deduced from the impression. Her short stay on the suitcases touched the old longing for the wreath of events, for the wind singing melodies, for a beautiful stone found among the pebbles. I thought that her being might perhaps be marked by a special law, sorting through life with the power of a conscious process, and that, standing in the shadow of such a fate, I might finally be able to see the Unfulfilled. But sadder than these thoughts - sad because they were painful, like an old wound in bad weather - was the memory of many similar incidents, which should have been said that they did not really exist. Yes, deception was repeated many times, taking the form of a gesture, a word, a face, a landscape, an idea, a dream and hope, and, like a law, it left behind decay. If I wanted, I could find the girl very easily. I could find common interest, a natural reason not to let it out of your sight and somehow meet the desired flow of the undiscovered river. I could give both an intelligible and decent form to the most subtle movements of the daily soul of our soul. But I no longer trusted myself, nor others, nor any loud appearance of a sudden promise.

This is Desirada...

O Desirada, how little we rejoiced at you when your slopes grew out of the sea, covered with manzenil forests.

Chapter 1

I was told that I ended up in Lisse thanks to one of those sudden illnesses that come on suddenly. This happened on the way. I was taken off the train due to unconsciousness and high fever and admitted to the hospital.

When the danger passed, Doctor Filatr, who had been entertaining me in a friendly manner all the last time before I left the ward, took care to find me an apartment and even found a woman for my services. I was very grateful to him, especially since the windows of this apartment overlooked the sea.

Filater once said:

“Dear Harvey, it seems to me that I am unwittingly keeping you in our city. You could leave when you get better, without any embarrassment because I rented an apartment for you. Still, before you travel further, you need some comfort - a stop within yourself.

He was clearly hinting, and I remembered my conversations with him about power unfulfilled. This power weakened somewhat due to acute illness, but I still sometimes heard in my soul its steely movement, which did not promise to disappear.

Moving from city to city, from country to country, I obeyed a force more commanding than passion or mania.

Sooner or later, in old age or in the prime of life, the Unfulfilled calls us, and we look around, trying to understand where the call came from. Then, waking up in the midst of our world, painfully coming to our senses and cherishing every day, we peer into life, trying with all our being to discern whether the Unfulfilled is beginning to come true? Is his image not clear? Isn’t it now only necessary to reach out your hand to grab and hold his faintly flickering features?

Meanwhile, time passes, and we sail past the high foggy shores of the Unfulfilled, talking about the affairs of the day.

I spoke with Filatr many times on this topic. But this nice man was not yet touched by the farewell hand of the Unfulfilled, and therefore my explanations did not bother him. He asked me about all this and listened quite calmly, but with deep attention, acknowledging my anxiety and trying to internalize it.

I had almost recovered, but was experiencing a reaction caused by the break in movement, and found Filatr's advice useful; Therefore, after leaving the hospital, I settled in an apartment on the right corner of the building on Amilego Street, one of the most beautiful streets of Lisse. The house stood at the lower end of the street, near the harbor, behind the dock - a place of ship debris and silence, broken by the not too intrusively softened, by distance, language of the port day.

I occupied two large rooms: one with a huge window overlooking the sea; the second was twice as large as the first. The third, where the stairs led down, housed the servants. The antique, prim and clean furniture, the old house and the intricate arrangement of the apartment corresponded to the relative quiet of this part of the city. From the rooms located at an angle to the east and south, the sun's rays did not leave all day, which is why this Old Testament peace was full of bright reconciliation of long-past years with the inexhaustible, ever-new solar pulse.

I saw the owner only once, when I paid money. He was a heavyset man with the face of a cavalryman and quiet blue eyes, focused on his interlocutor. When he came in to receive my payment, he showed neither curiosity nor animation, as if he saw me every day.

The servant, a woman of about thirty-five, slow and wary, brought me lunches and dinners from the restaurant, tidied up the rooms and went to her place, already knowing that I would not demand anything special and would not indulge in conversations that were mostly started just to, chatting and picking your teeth, giving in to the scattered flow of thoughts.

So I started living there; and I lived only twenty-six days; Doctor Filatr came several times.

Chapter 2

Among the ugly reflections of the law of life and its litigation with my spirit, I was looking, without suspecting it for a long time, for a sudden, distinct creation: a drawing or a wreath of events, naturally intertwined and as invulnerable to the suspicious gaze of spiritual jealousy, as the four lines of a favorite poem that most deeply struck us . There are always only four such lines.

Of course, I learned my desires gradually and often did not notice them, thereby missing the time to pull out the roots of these dangerous plants. They grew and hid me under their shady foliage. It happened more than once that my meetings, my positions sounded like the deceptive beginning of a melody that it is so common for a person to want to listen to before he closes his eyes. Cities and countries from time to time brought closer to my pupils the already beginning to delight the light of a strange distant banner, barely outlined by the lights, - but all this developed into nothing; it tore like rotten yarn pulled by a swift shuttle. The unfulfilled thing to which I held out my hands could only rise up on its own, otherwise I would not have recognized it and, acting according to an exemplary model, I certainly risked creating soulless scenery. In a different way, but absolutely accurately, you can see this in artificial parks, in comparison with random forest visions, as if carefully taken out of a precious box by the sun.

Thus, I understood my Unfulfilled and submitted to it.

My conversations with Filatr took place about all this and much more - on the topic of human desires in general - if he touched on this issue.

As I noticed, he never ceased to be interested in my hidden excitement directed at objects of imagination. To him I was like a kind of tulip endowed with fragrance, and although such a comparison may seem vain, it is nevertheless true in essence.

Meanwhile, Filatr introduced me to Sters, whose house I began to visit. While waiting for the money, about which I wrote to my attorney Lerch, I quenched my thirst for movement in the evenings at Steers and with walks to the harbor, where, under the shadow of the huge sterns hanging over the embankment, I looked at the exciting words, the signs of the Unfulfilled: “Sydney” - “London” - “Amsterdam” “- “Toulon”... I was or could have been in these cities, but the names of the harbors meant to me a different “Toulon” and not at all the “Sydney” that actually existed; the inscriptions of golden letters contained an undiscovered truth.

Morning always promises... -

Mons says,

After the long-suffering day
The evening is sad and forgiving...

Entering the port, it seems to me that I can discern on the horizon, beyond the cape, the shores of countries where the bowsprits of ships are directed, waiting in the wings; the hum, the screams, the song, the demonic wail of the siren - all full of passion and promise. And above the harbor - in the land of countries, in the deserts and forests of the heart, in the skies of thoughts - the Unfulfilled sparkles - the mysterious and wonderful deer of the eternal hunt.

Chapter 3

I visited Steers and found in these visits an innocent pleasure, akin to the coolness of a compress applied to a sore eye. Steers loved playing cards, so did I, and since someone came to see him almost every evening, I was heartily glad to transfer part of the thrill of my fortune to guessing the opponent's cards.

On the eve of the day from which much began, for which I sat down to write these pages, my morning walk along the embankments was somewhat delayed, because, suddenly hungry, I sat down at an ordinary tavern, in front of its door, on a terrace entwined with plants like ivy with white and blue flowers. I ate fried whiting, washed down with light red wine.

Only after satisfying my hunger did I notice that a steamer was mooring opposite the tavern, and, waiting until its passengers began to descend the gangway, I plunged into the contemplation of the bustle caused by the desire to quickly find myself at home or in a hotel. I observed a mixture of scenes, noticing the features of fatigue, irritation, suppressed or open frenzy that make up the soul of the crowd when the character of its movement changes abruptly. Among the carriages, relatives, porters, blacks, Chinese, passengers, commission agents and beggars, mountains of luggage and the sound of wheels, I saw an act of the greatest leisurelyness, loyalty to oneself to the last detail, a calmness - considering the circumstances - almost depraved, so inimitable, flawless and picturesque An unknown young girl descended down the stairs, apparently not rich, but seemingly gifted with the secrets of subjugating a place, people and things.

I noticed her face as it appeared over the side among the suitcases and hats knocked to the side. She came down slowly, with a thoughtful interest in what was happening around her. Thanks to flexible folding or some other reason, she completely avoided the shocks. She didn’t carry anything, didn’t look back at anyone, and didn’t look for anyone in the crowd with her eyes. So they go down the stairs of a luxurious house to a respectfully open door. Her two suitcases floated behind her on the heads of dark-skinned porters. With a short movement of a quietly outstretched hand, indicating what to do, the suitcases were placed directly on the pavement, at a distance from the steamer, and she sat on them, looking ahead rationally and calmly, like a person who is quite confident that what is happening should continue to be done according to her wishes , but without any tedious participation on her part.

This trend, disastrous for many, immediately justified itself. Agents and several other individuals, both shabby and decent looking, ran up to the girl, creating an atmosphere of unbearable hubbub. It seemed that the same thing would happen to the girl that would happen to a dress if it - clean, ironed, calmly hanging on a hanger - was torn off with a hasty hand.

Not at all... Without changing herself in any way, with dignity moving her gaze from one figure to another, the girl said something to everyone a little, once she laughed, once she frowned, slowly extended her hand, took the card of one of the commission agents, read it, returned it dispassionately and, tilting her head sweetly , began to read another. Her gaze fell on the glass of cold drink slipped by the street vendor; since it was really hot, she, after thinking, took the glass, drank and returned it with the same air of presence at home as in everything she did. Several hairy arms, stretched out over her suitcases, wandered through the air, waiting for the moment to grab and rush, but all this, apparently, concerned her little, since the question of the hotel had not yet been resolved. A group of helpful, selfish and curious people formed around her, to whom, as if by order, the lazy calm of the girl was communicated.

The people of the bustling world, tearing the day to shreds, stood, rolling their eyes, but she was still sitting on her suitcases, surrounded by the invisible protection that self-esteem gives if it is innate and so merged with us that the person himself does not notice it, like breathing .

I watched this scene without stopping. The noise around the girl gradually died down; it became so respectful and decent, as if the daughter of some fantastic commander of all the harbors of the world had come ashore. Meanwhile, she was wearing (the thought involuntarily connects power with pomp) a simple cambric hat, the same blouse with a sailor collar and a silk blue skirt. Her worn suitcases seemed shiny because she sat on them. The girl’s attractive face with a firm expression, long eyelashes and calmly cheerful dark eyes made one think about the direction of the feelings evoked by her appearance. A benevolent small hand lowered on the head of a shaggy dog - such a comparison suggested itself to this scene, where the dull noise of the Unfulfilled was felt.

I had scarcely realized this when she stood up; her entire retinue, with exclamations and suitcases, rushed to the carriage, on the back of which was the inscription “Hotel Dover.” Approaching, the girl handed out some change and sat down with a smile of complete satisfaction. It seemed that she was absolutely occupied with everything that was happening.

The commission agent jumped into the seat next to the driver, the carriage set off, the ragged people running behind fell behind, and, looking at the dust rushing along the pavement, I thought, as I thought more than once, that perhaps the end of the thread leading to the ball flashed before me again.

I won’t hide it - I was upset, and not only because in the face of the unknown girl I saw the attractive clarity of a being, marked by harmonious integrity, as I deduced from the impression. Her short stay on the suitcases touched the old longing for the wreath of events, for the wind singing melodies, for a beautiful stone found among the pebbles. I thought that her being might perhaps be marked by a special law, sorting through life with the power of a conscious process, and that, standing in the shadow of such a fate, I might finally be able to see the Unfulfilled. But sadder than these thoughts - sad because they were painful, like an old wound in bad weather - was the memory of many similar incidents, about which it should have been said that they really did not exist. Yes, deception was repeated many times, taking the form of a gesture, a word, a face, a landscape, and, like the law, it left behind decay. If I wanted, I could find the girl very easily. I would be able to find a common interest, a natural reason not to let her out of my sight and somehow meet the desired flow of the undiscovered river. I could give both an intelligible and decent form to the most subtle movements of the daily soul of our soul. But I no longer trusted myself, nor others, nor any loud appearance of a sudden promise.

For all these reasons I rejected the action and returned to my room, where I spent the rest of the day among books. I read inattentively, experiencing confusion that surged with the force of a through wind. Night came when, tired, I dozed off in my chair.

Between reality and sleep came the memory of those minutes in the carriage when I began to be poorly aware of my position. I remember the sunset waving a red handkerchief out the window as it rushed through the sandy steppes. I sat with my eyes half-closed and saw the strangely changing profiles of the satellites, protruding from one another, as if on a medal. Suddenly the conversation became loud, turning, it seemed to me, into a shout; After that, the lips of those talking began to move silently, their eyes sparkled, but I stopped thinking. The carriage floated up and disappeared.

I didn’t remember anything else - the heat darkened my brain.

I don’t know why this memory presented itself to me so insistently that evening; but I was ready to admit that his tone was inexplicably connected with the scene on the embankment. Drowsiness forged a twilight pattern. I began to think about the girl, this time with late remorse.

Was banal caution appropriate in the game I was playing with myself? aimless pride? even doubt? Did I refuse to enter the already open door just because I remembered too well the big and small lies of the past? There was a full sound, a true tone - I heard it, but covered my ears, suspiciously remembering the previous cacophonies. What if the melody was suggested by a true orchestra this time?

After several hundred-year transitions, human desires will reach the clarity of artistic synthesis. The desire will avoid the torment of looking at the images of your world through a vague, poorly illuminated canvas of nervous turmoil. It will become as distinct as an insect in January. I, in comparison, had to appear to such people as “Durand” Lethierry will face the steel “Leviathan” of the Transatlantic line. The unfulfilled was hidden among the mountains, and I had to take into account all the roads in the direction of this side of the horizon. I should have caught every hint, taken advantage of every ray among the clouds and forests. In many ways - for the sake of many things - I had to play it safe.

I had barely consolidated some decision caused by this turn of thoughts when the telephone rang, and, having driven away my half-sleep, I began to listen. It was Filatr. He asked me several questions regarding my condition. He also invited me to meet tomorrow at Steers, and I promised.

When this conversation ended, I, in a strange crowd of feelings, shy as a held breath, called the Dover Hotel. In cases of this kind, it is common to think that everyone, even strangers, knows the secret of your mood. The most indifferent answers sound like evidence. Nothing can bring us closer to someone else’s life so suddenly as a telephone, leaving us invisible, and immediately, at our request, withdrawing us, as if we were not speaking at all. These considerations, pointless for the fact, will perhaps mark the slightly restless state with which I began the conversation.

He was brief. I asked to call Anna McPherson, who arrived today with the steamer Granville. After a short silence, the business-like voice of the employee announced to me that the said lady was not in the hotel, and I, knowing that I would receive such an answer, helped the misunderstanding by accurately describing the costume and entire appearance of the unknown girl.

My interlocutor thought silently. Finally he said:

“You are talking, therefore, about the young lady who recently left us for the station.” She signed up - “Bice Seniel”.

With more annoyance than I expected, I sent a note:

- Great. I got my name wrong while doing some errands. I was also asked to find out...

I cut off the sentence and put the phone back in place. It was a sudden cerebral aversion to the aimless words that I began to utter out of inertia. What would have changed if I had known where Bice Seniel had gone? So, she continued on her way - probably in the spirit of a serene command of life, as it was on the embankment - and I sank into a chair, internally buttoned up and trying to get carried away by the book, from the first lines of which I already saw that boredom lay ahead with a count of five hundred pages .

I was alone, in silence measured by the sound of the clock. Silence rushed by, and I went into a region of confused outlines. Sleep approached twice, and then I no longer heard or remembered its approach.

Having fallen asleep so imperceptibly, I woke up with the sunrise. My first feeling was a smile. I rose and sat down in a rush of deep admiration - an incomparable, pure pleasure caused by a spectacular surprise.

I slept in a room that I mentioned had a wall facing the sea that was essentially a huge window. It ran from the ceiling cornice to the frame in the floor, and on the sides was a foot short of the walls. Its doors could be moved apart so that the glass was hidden. Outside the window, below, there was a narrow ledge planted with flowers.

I woke up with the sun rising above the sea line, when its rays passed into the room along with the reflection of the waves falling on the screen of the back wall.

Sun ghosts danced on the ceiling and walls. The whirlwind of the golden net shone with mysterious patterns. Radiant fans, galloping ovals and fiery features rushing from corner to corner were like flying into the walls of a swift golden flock, visible only at the moment of touching the plane. These motley carpets of solar fairies, whose rushing trembling, without stopping for a moment to weave a dazzling arabesque, reached a frantic speed, were everywhere, around, under our feet, above our heads. The invisible hand drew strange letters, the meaning of which was impossible to understand, like in music when it speaks. The room came to life. It seemed that, unable to resist the onslaught of the sun bouncing off the water, she was about to begin to quietly spin. Even on my hands and knees, bright spots kept slipping off. All this changed subtly, as if transparent moths were beating in a shaking sparkling network. I was enchanted and sat motionless among the blue light of the sea and the golden light around the room. I was glad. I stood up and, with a light soul, with subtle and unaccountable confidence, said everything:“To you, signs and figures, who ran in with an unknown meaning and yet amused me with serious, lonely fun - while you have not yet disappeared - I entrust the rust of my Unfulfilled. Illuminate and erase it."

I had barely finished speaking, knowing that I would later remember this half-asleep prank with a smile, when the golden net faded; only in the lower corner, near the door, the semblance of a curved window, open to a stream of sparks, trembled for some time; but that too disappeared. The mood with which the morning began also disappeared, although its trace has not been erased to this day.

Alexander Green

Running on the waves

Chapter I

This is Desirada...

O Desirada, how little we rejoiced at you when your slopes grew out of the sea, covered with manzenil forests.
L.Shadurn

Filater once said:

Moving from city to city, from country to country, I obeyed a force more commanding than passion or mania.

Meanwhile, time passes, and we sail past the high, foggy shores of the Unfulfilled, talking about the affairs of the day.

I had almost recovered, but was experiencing a reaction caused by the break in movement, and found Filatr's advice useful; Therefore, upon leaving the hospital, I settled in an apartment on the right corner of the street Amilego, one of the most beautiful streets of Lisse. The house stood at the lower end of the street, near the harbor, behind the dock, a place of ship debris and silence, broken, not too intrusively, by the language of the port day, softened by distance.

The servant, a woman of about thirty-five, slow and wary, brought me from the restaurant

Thomas Harvey was stuck in Lissa due to serious illness. Having almost recovered, he whiled away the time playing cards at Steers's. It was on this evening that Thomas first heard an unfamiliar disembodied voice quietly but clearly pronouncing the phrase “Running on the Waves.”

Harvey remembered how shortly before this he had seen a girl getting off the ship. Something about her appearance and posture attracted him, and he decided that he must find out who this mysterious person was. After some investigation, he found out that her name was Biche Saniel. After Thomas found out her name, he saw a ship called the Wave Runner. Harvey felt that the voice he had heard the day before, Beach and this ship were somehow connected.

Harvey decided that he needed to get on this ship. His commander, Captain Guez, turned out to be rude and unpleasant person, and agreed to accept Thomas as a passenger only after he brought him a note from the ship’s owner, Mr. Brown.

Already on board, Thomas found out that the ship was built by Ned Saiel, the father of the very Biche whom main character I recently saw it from afar. The owner went bankrupt, and then Gez bought “Running”

Three girls boarded the ship at a stop and went to have fun with the captain. After some time, Thomas heard the frightened exclamations of one of them and the stern threats of Geza. Harvey stood up for the girl and got involved and beat the captain.

Gez decided to get rid of Harvey for this and sent him to the open sea in a boat. When Thomas was already sailing, one of the ladies jumped into his boat and they sailed away.

This girl's name is Frezi Grant, and Harvey immediately recognized her voice: it was this voice that he heard then, while playing cards. Frezi asked Harvey to sail south, promising that there he would meet a ship heading to Gel-Gyu. Frezi Grant also asked him never to tell anyone about her, and after that she got out of the boat and walked away, walking straight on the sea waves.

Harvey was left alone, and soon he was indeed picked up by a ship that was traveling along the course indicated by Frezi. The ship's crew told Thomas a beautiful tale about Frezi Grant. The superstitious say that she comes to those who have been shipwrecked at sea. There was a girl, Daisy, on the ship, and only she noticed how attentively the main character listened to the story.

Soon the ship arrived at the appointed city, where at that time a carnival full of colors and fun was taking place. This city was built by Captain William Hobbes, who, according to legend, was saved from certain death during the collapse of Frezi Grant.

Soon here he met Biche, who was suspected of murdering Captain Ghez. However, an investigation revealed that it was not her. Biche had long wanted to take the ship away from him. However, when after his death she learned that opium was transported on it, she refused to buy it.

Thomas decided to tell her that he met the Wave Runner, but she did not believe him. After a long time, Harvey married Daisy, who, on the contrary, believed Thomas's stories and came into contact with Frezi Grant.