They had all taken control of the previous night

Five of the extraordinarily heavy-handed men sat, the elbows on the table, drinking, in the dark, like a stallion that smelled of saltwater and sea. The eloquence that was too shallow for the sizable bulky men, narrowed down and looked like a big fish log from the hollow interior; it fluttered slowly, slowly as she dreamed, giving birth to the sound of the singing monk.

Outside, it might have been the sea and the night; the only hole that was in the roof was closed with a wooden deck, the old roof lamp alone lighted the swing back and forth.

The fire burned in the oven; wetted clothes drooped, they steamed, the steam interfered with the smoke that got into the chimneys.

The barn table filled almost the whole room, adjusting precisely to its shape, the best room left was so much that it could penetrate around when trying to sit on the narrow coffins attached to the oak wall. The ceiling was made of thick beams and so low that it was best to sit straight; Behind the back were dormants, who looked like a thick tree hollowed out; All the wood was unpainted and coarse, hardened by moisture and salt, worn out of the hands, and scratched by a smooth hand.

The men had been drinking wine and scallops from their branches, and the joy of life shone on their direct and honest face. Today they were sitting at the table and talking about women and married in the language of Brittany.

In the ultimate corner, a place of honor, there was a little shelf with the faience of the Virgin Mary. It was old-fashioned, the patron saint of sailors, and very simply it was painted. But faience people remain much more distant than the right people; and its red and blue costume looked almost new in a wooden shackle where everything else was gray and smoked. Many of the burning prayers have been heard to listen to the moments of danger; at the base of his feet were two booklets of artificial flowers and one prayer ribbon nailed.

All five men were in similar suits, thick, blue sweater covered the body, the lower edge of the blouse was pushed on the inside of the trousers; The headdress was made of oiled palatine , helmet-shaped, it is called suroîst (for lunch, for lunch, which I brought rain).

They were of different ages. “Captain” was about forty, three between twenty-five and thirty. The fifth, which they called Sylvestre, or Lurl, was only seventeen. He was already a man of his body and strength; black beard, fine fine and very curly, covered cheeks; The eyes were just a child, they were gray-blue, very gentle and innocent.

They seemed right to really enjoy themselves, sitting close to each other in their tight, dark land.

… Outside was the night and the sea, the black, the open, the infinite area of ​​water. The brass clock attached to the wall looked eleven – eleven in the evening without a doubt; the rain was against a crackling wooden roof.

When they were playing, they talked to each other about marriages, but without saying anything inappropriate. No, they knocked out the appropriate shops for those who were still unmarried, or told them about funny events from the country, from wedding parties. Some time they burst out laughing, they made a bit too clear references to the joy of love. But the love of people of this kind is always lustful, and in its most brutal forms there is always something almost pure.

Meanwhile, Sylvestre began to miss out on what else, which was called
Jean (the Bretonians say its name: Yann), still belonged.
And where it stayed with that Yann; Was she up at work?
Why didn’t he come down, he would take part in the party?
– Johan’s half time, said Captain.

And as he stood up, he opened a wooden door to call it Yunnan. At that time, the strange light flooded out of the cabin.

– Yann! Yann!… Man Oh!

The “man” answered out loud with the outside voice.

And the strange pale light that had been flooded for a moment through the door that was open was like the light of the day. – “There’s already a midnight point!” However, it was almost like the light of the sun, the obscure light of the old age, which was reflected far from the strange mirrors.

The hatch was closed, was again the night, the small roof lamp began to spread its yellow light again, and the “man” dressed in big boots was stepping down the wooden stairs.

He stepped in, but he had to bend almost twice to make him look like a big bear because he was almost a giant. First, he grinned and pinched his nose on his beak due to a bitter saline.

He was a much more immense man, especially his shoulders, who were straight when the wood was. If he was looking directly from the front, his shoulder muscles, which were visible under the blue dress, seemed to be out of the ordinary. He had big, brown lively eyes, the gaze proud and unbiased.

Sylvestre wrapped his hands around Yann’s neck, gently pulling him to the child; he was engaged with his sister Yann, and treated him as a great brother. The other gave herself a good-bye, lame lion, smiling as a response to her white teeth.

His teeth, which had more space in his mouth to organize themselves than other people, were a little rare and looked small. His blond mustache was very short, even though they were never cut; they were firmly twisted into two small regular beaters on fine lips: their tips were cracked on both sides, with deep mouths. The rest of his beard had been driven away, and his reddish cheeks still had such a healthy velvet-like flair as the fruit that no one had touched yet.

The glasses were refilled when Yann was seated; The boy was shouted to fill and light the pipes. When he ignited, he could also burn a little. It was a small bastard boy, a bullfighter, a cousin to all these sailors who were more or less related; his work was really heavy, but besides that he was the favorite of all the crew. Yann let her drink from her glass and then she was sent to lie down.

Then again, the debate on the big marriage issue continued.

And you, Yann, Sylvestre asked, why are we going to spend your wedding?

– You are not ashamed, Captain, a man when you are, you are seven years old and you are not married yet. What do the girls think when they see you?

He responded with a terrible shoulder, in a way he showed great disdain for women.

– my wedding myself, I care, I spend those hours at night, or how to hurt.

Yann had recently stopped five years of military service. There he was, as a canoeist in a warship, learning to speak French and make suspicious speculations. – Then he began to tell about his last adventure, which seemed to last fifteen days.

It had been in Nantes, with a few singers, that one night, when he returned from the sea, he had been drunk in a restaurant. There was a woman in the door, who sold the impossibly large flowers of the twenty marks. He had bought one, barely knowing what he would do, as soon as he came in, he had tapped it against the face of the one who sang on the stage, – half as a wildly fond address, half to mock the painful, painted doll that was too red for him. At the same time, the woman had surrendered, and was almost full of three weeks adored by Yannia.

– Even as he left me, he donated this gold watch to me.

And to show them it, he knocked it on the table when it was a toy.

All of this he had told in rough words and self-made images. But this frivolity created by civilized life was hardly natural in the center of these original people;

This Yann’s way of talking worried and surprised Sylvestre. He was an innocent child who had been raised to honor the sacraments [the Catholics also consider the sacrament. His old grandmother, a fisherman’s widow from Ploubazlanek village. She was very small with her grandmother every day visiting her mother’s grave on her knees reading her prayer ribbon. From the tomb, which was by the sea, saw the Canal’s gray water, where his father’s ancestor had drowned in the shipwreck. – Because they, grandma and she, were poor, she had to start fishing early and she had already spent her childhood at sea. Every night he still read his prayer, and his sincerity remained in his eyes. He was also beautiful and after Yann he was the most handsome shipman in his body. His gentle voice and his childish way of speaking were somewhat in conflict with his high body and black beard. Because he had grown up very quickly, he almost seemed to be wondering when he had so suddenly become heavy and big. He was going to marry Yann’s sister, but she had never responded to any other girl’s gentle eyes.

There were only three dormants on board, one for two, and they lay alternately, in order, sharing the night with each other.

When they had finished their celebration – which they spent as a patron saint, the Virgin Mary in memory of the ascension of heaven – was already a little over half a day. Three of them crawled into their small black bedrests, like the tombs, and the other three stood on the deck to continue their major fishing work: they were Yann, Sylvestre and other Guillaume, on their home side.

Outside was day, eternal day.

But it was a pale light, pale, none of it anywhere else; it’s the objects of the veil as the reflections of the extinct sun. Immediately around them began an infinite fauna that was completely colorless, and their ship outside the planks looked all, translucent, incomprehensible, non-existent.

The eye could hardly realize what was the sea, at first it looked like a kind of gimmick, which had no image to be reflected; The more it seemed to turn into a mistake, and then there was nothing more, no skyline, no boundaries.

The fresh humidity of the air was more penetrating than the complete cold, and the breath soon felt a salty taste in the mouth. It was quite calm and no longer raining; in the top, the unformed and colorless clouds seemed to contain a hidden light that could not be understood; he could see clearly, though at the same time he felt that night, and the strange discipline of the objects had no such color that he would have found. These three men, who were there, had lived in this cold sea since their childhood, in the midst of the gloomy visions that are unclear when the ghosts are. They were used to seeing the strange play of this timeless infinity around their narrow planking, and their eyes were as accustomed to it as the big birds of the sea.

The ship floated slowly, always continuing with the same complaint, and it was a monk when the Breton song that the sleeping man sleeps in his sleep. Yann and Sylvestre had quickly put their hooks and wings in order, while the third man opened the salted salmon and sharpened his big knife to sit behind them to wait.

He didn’t have to wait for his time. They hardly threw their lines in the cold and hard water, so they already pulled up big fish, shiny, gray grains.

And still, the cod caught the hook without ceasing: quickly and without stopping this silent fishing was practiced. The third man burst with a big knife in his stomach, split, salted, read, and the salt fish that they had to make big money on their return, gathered in large heaps behind them, fresh, still wet fish.

The hours were spent in a monotonous way, and in great space the light slowly changed; now it seemed more real. What had been a light twilight, some kind of Nordic summer evening, now, without any intervening night, changed like a morning dawn, which all the mirrors of the sea reflected as flickering rays of pink…

– Indeed, Yann, you should get married, said Sylvestre suddenly, looking at the water, but full of truth this time. He seemed to feel good about someone in Brittany, who had been captured by his big brother’s brown eyes, but he seemed to sniff when touching this important point.

– Mine, … Yes, once I even spend my wedding – and she laughed, brings Yann, always as a sneer, – but I do not anyone on our side with the girl!; no, I spend the wedding with the sea, and I invite you all to the dances I like then …

They continued their fishing, because they could not waste their time talking: they were in the midst of an infinite fishworm, a moving pain that had passed their side for two days.

They had all taken control of the previous night and threw a thousand large cod in thirty hours; therefore their mighty hands were exhausted, and they were asleep. But their bodies overshadowed and continued fishing, while their souls, at times, fell into full sleep. But the sea air they breathe was clean when the first day of the world, and so refreshing that, despite their fatigue, they felt their breasts swell and their cheeks braid.

The morning light, the real light, had finally come; On the day of creation, it “had departed from the darkness,” which seemed to gather upon the heavens and stay in the great multitude. When it came so bright, I noticed that it had been a night, that the previous light had been unclear and weird when sleep.

There was a crack in the thick cloudy sky where there were gaps in the temple beds, through which large, reddish silver beams penetrated.

The lower clouds formed a thick shading zone along the skyline, making it more distant and obscure. They could imagine a closed space, a border; they were when the curtains were pulled to the infinity, the veils of the ages that were spread to cover up the superb secrets that could have confused the human imagination. This morning, the world, Yannia and Sylvestre, around the plagiarism of the plank, seemed completely submissive; it had turned into a temple, and the beams that penetrated through the vaults of the temple, lengthened to reflect in immobile water, like a marble floor. And then gradually began to see another ghost, somebody with a rose-high floating strip, and it was the extreme Kallioniemi of Iceland.

Yann’s wedding with the sea!… Sylvestre still thought about it, continuing fishing, but didn’t dare to talk about it. He had been sad when he heard about the great brother of the sacrament of a marvelous marriage; and so it was scared because he was a superstition.

He had long thought about these Yann’s weddings. He had dreamed that he would take them with Gaud Metei, who was Paimpol’s beauty, and that there should still be joy in these festivals, before he has to go to military service, a five-year exile, which he probably could not return to, and whose imminent approach began to weigh. his heart…

The clock was four in the morning. Others who had fallen asleep came all three to let them go. At first, they clenched their eyes, as the pale reflective light dazzled.

Then Yann and Sylvestre quickly ate the first crackling of the ship’s crutches; After crushing them with woodpeckers, they began to crack the bangs, laughing as they struggled. They had come to be happy when they were lying in their warm beds, and their forearms wedging on each other, they went to the ship’s door, waving their bodies according to the pace of the old song.

Before they went down, they stopped playing with the Turkish, a dog dog. It was a Newfoundland penis, and it had incredibly large, clumsy paws. They annoyed it with their hands, it teased when the wolf and finally the Puri them. Then Yann, a glimpse of anger in the eyes, put the dog too hard to fall and start to go.

He had a good heart, Yann, but his nature was a little bit raw, and when his bodily became victorious, he was often far from his gentle caress on the horror.