"Alexander Green - Crimson Sails" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Alexander)

an uneasy awareness of the gloom of the day, he spent it irritably and
sadly: it was as if someone had called to him, but he had forgotten who it
was and whence.
Towards evening he settled back in his cabin, picked up a book and
argued with the author at length, making marginal notes of a paradoxical
nature. For a while he was amused by this game, this conversation with a
dead man holding sway from the grave. Then, lighting his pipe, he became
immersed in the blue smoke, living among the spectral arabesques that
appeared in its shifting planes.
 Tobacco is very potent; as oil poured onto the surging rent between the
waves allays their frenzy, so does tobacco soothe irritation and dull the
emotions by several degrees; they become calmer and more musical.
Therefore, after three pipes, Gray's depression finally lost its aggressive
nature and was transformed into thoughtful distraction. This state lasted
for about another hour; when the fog lifted from his soul, Gray came to
with a start, hungered for exercise and went up on deck. It was night;
alongside, in the slumbering black water, there dozed the stars and the
lights of the mast lanterns. The air, as warm as a cheek, brought in the
smell of the sea. Gray raised his head and squinted at the gold coal of a
star; instantly, through the dizzying distance, the fiery needle of a remote
planet penetrated his pupils. The muted noise of the town at evening
reached his ears from the depths of the bay; sometimes a phrase from the
shore was wafted in across the sensitive surface of the water; it would
sound clearly, as if spoken on deck and then be snuffed out by the creaking
of the rigging; a match flared on the forecastle deck, lighting up a hand, a
pair of round eyes and a moustache. Gray whistled; the lighted pipe
moved and floated towards him; soon, in the dark, the captain made out
the hands and face of the man on watch. "Tell Letika he's coming with
me," Gray said. "Tell him to take along the fishing tackle."
He went down into the rowboat where he waited for Letika for about
ten minutes; a nimble, shifty-eyed youth banged the oars against the side
as he handed them down to Gray; then he climbed down himself, fitted
them into the oarlocks and stuck a bag of provisions into the stern of the
rowboat. Gray sat at the tiller.
"Where to, Captain?" Letika asked, rowing in a circle with the right oar
alone.
The captain was silent. The sailor knew that one could not intrude upon
this silence and, therefore, falling silent as well, he began rowing swiftly.
Gray set their course out to sea and then steered them along the left
bank. He did not care where they were going. The tiller gurgled; the oars
creaked and splashed; all else was sea and silence.
In the course of a day a person heeds to so many thoughts, impressions,
speeches and words that together they would fill many a heavy tome. The
face of a day takes on a definite expression, but today Gray searched this
face in vain. Its obscure features glowed with one of those emotions of
which there are many, but which have not been given a name. No matter
what they are called, they will forever remain beyond the scope of words
and even concepts, so like the effect of an aroma. Gray was now at the
mercy of just such an emotion; true, he might have said: "I am waiting. I
see. I shall soon know,"--but even these words were equal to no more than