Sailors’ Shelter - Вадим Иванович Кучеренко

that I could hardly stand on my feet. Then she ran down the ladder and disappeared in the darkness, as if it were not a woman, but a spirit, a Spanish duende.

The old sailor got silent again and puffed with his pipe.

— And what about our captain? — asked the boatswain Misha impatiently. — What happened to him?

— The next morning he drowned himself, — Alexander Petrovich told his joke calmly, releasing a cloud of smoke. Have you forgotten?

There were chuckles all around. However, the boatswain did not let up.

— If you don’t know, just say that, — he urged the cook on.

It worked out well. Alexander Petrovich snorted dismissively, but satisfied his curiosity.

— Since that evening, our captain hasn't been to the Sailor's Shelter any more. He used to be a regular visitor there, but now he walks a mile around this tavern. But I see how hard it takes him. He got thin in his face, he never smiled. However, he holds tight. That's how he was born. Real sailor. For him, the ship is his home, and the sea is his wife. And it will always be like that, not another way. That's why he is Captain Luck. But if he betrayed the sea with an earthly woman — that would be the end of his luck. Then his ship would go to the bottom at once, or some even worse things would happen The sea is jealous, it does not forgive betrayal. There is a certain reason that in Spanish language the word "sea" is feminine…

The cook paused for a while, and then said with a conviction that made the hardened hearts of the sailors tremble with anticipation:

— So don’t forget, guys, to pray that our captain does not get along with that beauty. Well, the others are not harmful for him, he is not that type of person…

The sailors hummed excitedly, trying to comprehend what he had just said.

— What are they talking about? asked the chief mate, nodding at the talking sailors.

The captain adjusted his telescope and shrugged.

— They might be discussing which port tavern they will visit when they go ashore, — the chief mate took a guess himself. — And what would you advise, Anton Ivanovich?

— "Sailor's Shelter," the captain said briefly. And he kept examining the shore through his telescope. And when the chief mate was about to leave to join the crew considering the conversation was over, Platov unexpectedly added: — I am thinking of visiting this tavern myself. Maybe tonight…

But it was uttered very quietly, as if the captain was talking to himself. Therefore, the chief mate did not hear and asked him:

— What did you say, captain?

The captain didn't answer. Deep in his own thoughts, he did not even hear the question. And the chief mate left.

The waves were gently striking at the sides of the ship, rocking it like a baby's cradle. Well-fed seagulls lazily took off the sea and immediately descended, indifferent to everything in the world. The sun was shining, promising a fine warm evening.

A boat with a marine pilot approached the ship. The sailors, free from the watch, were looking forward to how they would go ashore to the port taverns in search of entertainment and love. They were joyfully talking about what would happen to them that evening, and how it would affect their future lives.

And the Lord God was looking from heaven at them laughing.