Puslapio vaizdai
PDF
„ePub“

Except for its edges and eyebrows and other trifles that the sea-going persons were still dawdling over, the little house was done. It smelt ecstatically of clean, new forest lumber, had been wastefully doing it while I was yet cooped up in a city. For weeks the strong salt air had been tangibly rushing through it like a living thing; and at last I had contrived to get away, to spend one stealthy, precious night with this sea-swept creature of my heart and brain a fresh, bare, silent night, with only the tireless wind blowing from the marsh, and the tide chuckling at the foot of the dune.

In short, I meant to sleep in my house, or on it; for as yet it contained no aloof, disdainful beds, but just smooth, sweet-smelling, fawn-colored floors, and it seemed as if this first, symbolic occupying should be a thing between us two alone.

As my feet crunched into the wet, coarse sand of the flats, seaweedy, crabby, and delicious, I sniffed hungrily at the briny air. How good it was to be damp once more after these months of drying up-damp through and through, inside and out; damp hair, damp face, garments, lungs, soul! Here on my left lay the water of the upper harbor, which twisted itself oddly around toward the sea while shaping itself into creeks. Inland on the right -though that way, too, if one wallowed far enough, one met the sea-was a bushy and delightfully unproductive bog, full of suppositious cranberries and ditches and swamp-holes and wetness, stretching vaguely away among the dunes of the back country.

The easiest place in the world to be damp in. And the quiet of it! Instinctively I drew enormous breaths not merely of air, but of horizons and immenseness and silence and space.

Clambering up some rough log steps to the little terrace, a small oasis of flatness built out over the bushes of the dune-side, I saw marsh and creek and oceans in a glory of late light. Even the dull-hued bog was warmed to a brightness; of course the June marshgrass was hectic. Beyond, stood a tall, pale dune with a rim of illuminated green. Schooner-sails rounded the point,

making in, and a faint rat-tat came shoreward from returning "gasoleners," black dots on the shining water to the westward.

And behind me my love patiently waited. Its yellow boards, aglow with a rather awful, orangy color in this light, would not interrupt, I knew, one's joy in the air and sky, for they were full of sky, soaked with air. If its walls, even on the inside, should have their individual and cherished portraits done, they should be given blue high lights, I felt, like a face sketched out of doors.

With a happy sigh I turned to go in. To my amazement, the door was inhospitably locked. I stood quiet a moment, adjusting myself to this rebuff. Of course even these lackadaisical workmen of mine might lock doors occasionally; I had notified no one of my coming.

Feeling unpleasantly stealthy, I tiptoed around to the studio door. Locked, too! too! Absurdly thorough, these men were getting. I hastened round the corner and tried the third and last door; very much locked, and the window beside it heartlessly nailed down.

A cold dread began to take possession of me. "Why should they fasten up an empty thing so tight?" I thought indignantly. "Half-built houses are always left open." I stepped back to survey my beloved with irritation and with unspeakable, though frustrated, affection. Those upper rooms, so clean and wooden and inviolate! From where I stood I could hear the wind from the sea blowing maddeningly through them. Determindely, I raced around to the terrace again. I would get in. I would not be baffled by cautious idiots. This was my one undiscoverable chance to be alone with my house, the dune being pleasantly out of sight from the village, and my nearest neighbor a harmless pink revolving-light on a sand-bar across the bay; so I prowled devouringly along the house front, only to find every window hopelessly secured. I gave one of them a little shake

"I'd like to break you!" I muttered, then turned desolately away and wandered about the dune-top. The sun had set, and the sky was of green and gold, with copper-red clouds drifting low. The marsh still glowed, the pattern of

[graphic]

its creek a shining pink. The harbor, too was consolingly pink; a few latearriving schooners, anchored near together, had their mainsails up, and colored by the light. Even the tall dune across the bog was faintly rosy; and although dusk was creeping among the folds of the wooded dunes, above them the glory of the sky grew brighter. I strolled through a thick grove of young hornbeams to our little wooded hill, the last obstruction between us and the tide, and perched disconsolately on the low limb of a wild cherry, old and strong, gnarled by its resistance to the storms till it resembled a Japanese dwarf tree. Several of these stood together, overlooking the wide marsh. The tide lapped, the bell-buoy across the water sounded softly now and then--the Angelus of the sea. There was a protecting tenderness in its tone. The whole world seemed wrapped in gentleness and quiet. Gradually I settled back in the support of the cherry-limbs, feeling the mysterious, soothing quality of the evening, its calm and acquiescence, stealing over me. The color on marsh and sea deepened as dusk came down; one big solitary star shone in the east, its reflection making a tiny path on the bay, now glassy calm. And I sat serenely on in the cherry-tree, gazing and listening.

Where was one to sleep? Now that it could not be as I had dreamed, the

matter seemed commonplace and indifferent. There was an inn, of course. The evening crept imperceptibly along. Five lighthouses, bright or dim, white or yellow, blinked their messages over dune and sand-bar and sea. Opposite, my neighborly pink one threw a rosy lance on the dark waters. The air was inexpressibly balmy, sweet with the scent of the matted wild roses on the little hill. After a long wait, a long lightening of preliminary warmth on the horizon, the moon rose. It was enormous and red. Gradually the dunes awoke into a fairy-land of pale and vanishing tones; the creek in the marsh gleamed faintly; and seaward, as the moon ascended, a point of land stood out black in its glittering path.

The breath from the ocean grew ever so slightly chill. My cherry-limb was becoming uncomfortable; and, peering at my watch under the moon-rays, I was astounded to find that it was long past eleven. At the little inn they would be in bed and asleep. How could I have been dreaming so long? Now I must tramp the street of the old town and wake them up; surely an unpleasant time of night for a new-comer to be knocking at unfamiliar doors! I trudged unhappily through the sand of the flats, lamenting my absent-mindedness, and disliking even the innocent moon-gleams on the harbor. It was their fault, and the stars' and the light

houses' and the bell-buoy's. Under their compulsion I had spent four actual idiotic hours in that cherry-tree, and now it would be midnight when I reached the inn.

Through the village my ill-timed footsteps echoed frightfully. As I rounded a little hill, however, a rare perspective stretched away-moonlit street, huddled moonlit roofs, dark-blue splotches under the silvered masses of the willow-tops. There was not a light in any window, nor a soul astir in the whole village. It was sound asleep, as I knew it would be, innocent and sweet in the pale light. Even the boats out on the bay were motionless. I began to feel insidious and stealthy as I crept along, but reached at last, in a solitude which had grown to seem just the least bit oppressive, the quiet heart of the town, where empty wharves, so busy and alive by day, led out into the harbor.

Suddenly, instinctively, I wheeled, walking blindly out on one of them. Impossible to go on, and batter at an impenetrable and sleeping inn. I gripped my useless bag in dislike of the very thought. But how charming the wharf was at this hour, silver gray, empty, calm, and very long, its far end fading imperceptibly into the pale harborwater! I passed the fish-house, with its row of huge fish-pickling tubs tipped up to the air, clean and dry; and sat down in a sheltered nook at the very end of the wharf.

In the strip of sharply defined and jetblack shadow before me, beside another wharf, a white dory bobbed at its mooring-rope. Its slender lines, curving tenderly like the sea-swells they fitted, stood out purely against the shining, dancing dark of the under-wharf. I had never seen a shadow so alive, so sparkling, and yet so black. All around a wide stretch of moonlit water glittered, and the lance of red from my lighthouse on the bar threw itself rhythmically down. The moon-white dory gestured exultingly, while under my wharf the tide slopped and flip-flopped

unseen.

What a night! A g.ow of happiness came over me at thought of that house waiting on the dune, with all the wonderful nights to come in its keeping, the

was

rich twilights, the stars, the dawns, the midnight beat and drift of storms. "Prrr-ow!" sounded astonishingly at my elbow, and there beside me a cat, a snow-white and most indubitably domestic cat, tail in air, courtesying and purring ecstatically, somehow restoring, by her household presence, a sense of the accustomed and the decorous in one's aquatic surroundings. She was a pretty, round, creature, balancing on the very edge of the wharf, her whiteness curved against the same jetblack shadow in which the dory delicately swung. Around her fur was a shining, iridescent ring of light. She rubbed and courtesied, caressing the planks, making evanescent designs of herself against the darkness of the water. Hearth-loving pussies and cold water do not usually coincide; there was a subtle charm in her ungrudging happiness thus on the brink of the inimic tide.

I looked from dory to cat, both of them moon-white-that delusive, fairydream color that makes an angel out of a girl in a garden; and wondered which was lovelier. They both curved and gestured as exquisitely as if they had done nothing else all their lives. I stretched out a hand to the creature near me, and she promptly stood on her head with rapture, performing marvelous and very Japanese contortions, mingled with soft sounds of appreciation-a midnight cordiality, after the stolidity and silence of the village streets, that I found pleasing. The dory, too, demanding my attention, slapped musically at the end of its rope, showing how deftly it could courtesy when little waves came along, and keeping itself artfully against the becoming black of the under-wharf. The cat convoluted joyously, and I marveled at her devotion to the stiff board-ends; her nose was constantly in them.

"I should think, Cat, you would find it fishy enough if you sat up occasionally," I remarked. "I do."

For a wonderful reek seeped out from the fish-house at my back, and the wharf floor, I reflected, must be even more intense and gratifying-to a fishlover. Luckily, I was fond of longshore odors, and so leaned on contentedly

staring at the twinkling expanse of sil ver-gray before me, and the two moonwhite things curvetting. The strong slap of the water beneath matched the strong salt breath now beginning to blow in from the sea. A sudden yawn, however, tore into my satisfaction. I realized that even silver-gray, moonlit wharf-boards belie their appearance and become hard; and that for all the poetry of the pale and airy world with which I was surrounded, I deeply and materialistically wanted to lie down. The friendly cat had spirited herself away. The harbor looked suddenly blank and empty, the black wharfshadows dreary.

So I rose stiffly, and picked my way cautiously along by the fish-house. There was, of course, the same wearisome necessity of being always very quiet. On the shore lay the silvered water-line of the old town, magical under the light; but no invitation came from there. My hand, as I passed, rested for an instant on the rim of one of the tipped-up tubs, great things, cavernous with shadow, and I wondered to find how velvet-soft it was inside. I stopped, feeling it with pleasure. It was absolutely dry, as soft as a peach, and very similar in touch. The fibers had been scrubbed until they were furry. I bent, putting my head in. How fresh and clean it smelled! It was as large as a tiny house.

And then an impulse seized me violently. I laughed, my head still in the tub; a broad gurgle of sound surrounded me. Quickly smothering the laugh, I gave one swift glance around at the empty night, and stepped into the tub, sliding unexpectedly far down. It rocked gently, then subsided. Smiling at my small quarters, I wriggled around; head-room was low, but cozy. As I turned, a perfect circle of moonlit harbor confronted me, framed by the dark edge of the tub. It contained three neat boats at anchor, and one point of land sticking out, an adequately furnished view, and, like everything I was destined to see that night, immoderately Japanese. Its roundness made it extraordinarily charming, after all, more a Botticelli of a landscape; and, still crumpled in the bottom of the

slanted tub, I stared out at it absorbedly.

Whenever I touched the tub, I met a velvetiness; the whole tub smelled of wonder at the comfort of it, and finding a delicious curve whereby one's feet mildly ascended, following the halfcircle. The tub was offering its best hospitality, as my poor, bolted house had been rudely prevented from doing. Could there be a sweeter spot, a better outlook? Not even my wind-swept dune was more refreshingly bare and airy. After a moment's hesitation I leaned my cheek boldly against the soft curve, concluding that if the tubs of antiquity were as comfortable as this one, I should certainly waste no more pity on Diogenes, and wondering, with our easy distrust of older times, if the philospher's selected residence could indeed have been as roomy, as seemly, and as presentable as mine.

Below, among dark mysteries of the under-wharf, the water placidly slipslopped; the sea-wind blew gently in, fluffing a lock of hair across my face. In another instant I was asleep.

A sound, huge and vague, began to trouble my weary half-consciousness. It grew clearer and steadier, becoming at last loudly syllabic:

"Ker-chug, ker-chug, ker-chug!"

Waking, I listened tensely. It was a boat approaching! I could distinguish the wooden clop of oars on thole-pins, the short, hasty strokes of a fisherman accustomed to rowing in a sea. And it was coming horribly near; evidently he was rowing himself in from one of the schooners to land at this very fishhouse. He would have to pass close by my tub, for it was set in the only and narrow thoroughfare of the wharf, and as he passed, he would undoubtedly look in. At which somehow awful thought I shriveled far down into its depths. What were the embarrassments of a midnight inn to this! I dared not jump out or even glance out, for the tubs stood in a commanding position, and I should certainly be seen; so I continued to cower as low as possible, pulling my linen coat frantically down.

"Ker-chug, ker-chug-" but was that really any nearer? I listened, holding my breath. "Ker-chug, ker-chug, ker

[graphic]

chug-" Thank Heaven, it was going away, growing fainter and fainter!

That blessed and wholly delightful fisherman had betaken himself to some other wharf.

With a gasp of relief I sat up, my Panama very much over one eye, the sound of oars meanwhile drawing pleasantly farther and farther away. Peering cautiously from the Botticelli circle, I perceived a pallid rim of sky already showing to eastward, though a vigorous morning star was shining across the water, and my pink lighthouse still blinking on its bar. How lovely this dim hour before dawn! But soon,

I knew, more boats, more domestically minded fishermen, would be coming ashore; now was my time to climb out without being seen.

Woefully sleepy, I scrambled out, though with far more difficulty than I had coasted in. Was my tub a relative of Avernus, then, into which descent had ever been of classic ease? I stood upright on the wharf, 'feeling chilly and exposed, facing the dawnwind and the two lighthouse-eyes across the harbor. I glanced back into my comfortable refuge, giving it a grateful pat as I turned lingeringly away. Poor dear Diogenes! did etiquette ever rout you out of yours when you did n't want to go? Mine, I saw, had not budged from its original angle, but stood in a slanted row with the others,

empty and unremarkable. unremarkable. If early fishermen now visited the wharf or came ashore in their dories, they would see nothing to interest them in my night's establishment.

Perhaps, indeed, these special tubs, set up so insistently to the air, were soon to be used; perhaps they would pickle something in them this very day. Trying to choke back audible mirth at this diverting idea, I retreated along the wharf, on which there was now no revealing moonlight or any friendly blocks of shadows, either; for the moon had dipped low. My unique resting-place had given me at least an hour or two of solid, if circular, repose, and though I had never before been part of so Botticellish an arrangement, or slept in anything so engagingly simple and guileless as a tub, still, at the moment, weighed down by sleepiness, I could have obliterated myself gladly again within its rotund and kindly accommodation.

Soon the sandy road dimly led me around the point of our dune. The small house stood darkly, unrecognizably on its hill, a mere impersonal bump, making me feel oddly lonely as I stared up at it. The world seemed composed either of utter solitude, or else of a succession of places crowded with sleeping people, where one must try very hard to make no noise. Wearily I turned to the nearest dune-face, which

« AnkstesnisTęsti »