it was very close-by), and then said confidently, "You know, our wind's
completely tame. It whips up storms in other places far away but it's
ever so kind and gentle when it reaches us..."
"And what about the other towers? Do scientists live in them as
well?"
"Why, of course, and, you see, each of them studies a different
wind."
Alex became more and more fascinated and even forgot he should be
hurrying to the station. He glanced now at the boy and now at the towers
and thought to himself, "So that's why the town's called Vetrogorsk..."
<Vetrogorsk - Windtown - Tr.>
But there were still many things he did not understand.
"But how come..." he began. "Well, the winds are all different. I
mean, they come from different directions. Don't they ever collide over
the square?"
The boy burst out laughing but not at all derisively. "I guessed
straightaway you weren't from here because you don't know things. Winds
never collide. You see, the towers aren't all the same height. Each wind
has its own altitude, sticks to its own course like a plane during a
flight."
He lifted his tanned palms and smoothly passed one over the other,
"Like this..."
Then all of a sudden as if he had been jolted, Alex remembered the
little Pilot. But then a wave rolled over their feet again and they ran
further back.
"A crab once bit my foot," said the boy, "It was this huge... May I
hold your clipper for a second?"
"Yes, do."
The boy took the clipper and rocked it in his hands.
"It's ever so light. It would race along even in a slight breeze."
"Yes," agreed Alex. "Only there isn't and wind at all down here."
"The wind's up there," explained the boy, and they looked up at the
sky.
"Now I understand why the winds over your town are blowing in all
directions at once," said Alex.
The boy gave the clipper back and, gazing cheerfully into Alex's
face, confided, "The lads and I once played a joke... We climbed up the
winter trade-wind's tower and raised its aerial to the level of the
sirocco's tower. All hell was let loose... The sirocco and the trade-wind
flew into one another and started fighting like tigers! The trade-wind's
quite even-tempered but the sirocco's terribly vicious... And that really
did it! There was a whirlwind over the sea, a thunderstorm over the town,
tin sheets flying off the roofs and gates banging... We got a terrible
ticking-off from our head-master..."
"It's better not to get on the wrong side of head-masters," said
Alex. "They don't give a straw about winds, just as long as everything's
as it should be."
"Yes, of course," replied the boy vaguely and glancing hesitantly at
Alex, asked, "You know what? If you like... I don't know if you're
interested or not... If you like, you can watch our north-westerly arrive
tonight. Don't worry, Granddad won't mind, he's kind. Do you know what
he's done? He's fixed an old drain-pipe to the window so that when the
wind flies in through the window, it goes down the pipe and starts
singing at once. It likes it there and sings all sorts of songs it's
heard in different countries... Would you like to listen?"
"I'd love to," said Alex. "I really would but I can't. I've got some
important business and now I really must get to the station and leave...
You don't happen to know how to get to the station?"
"The station?" the boy repeated. "Why, yes, I do. Behind that pointed
tower there's a side-street which leads straight to the station."
"Well, then... bye."
"Bye," the boy said and stood still for a little while, shook his
head and then walked down the wet slabs into the sea. When he was
waist-deep in water, he turned round and waved to Alex and then dived
into the waves and swam towards the white crests.
"Yes," said Alex. "It's a pity but never mind..."
He turned off the square and into the side-street and soon reached
the station.
The station was a small and cosy-looking brick building with tin
ships on its turrets and a round clock with a picture of a compass on its
face.
After finding out from the information desk that his train would be
arriving in forty minutes' time, he went out onto the platform to wait.
The sky was now overcast and the poplars were rustling in the
station's garden. A stifling off-shore wind was blowing a thunderstorm
towards the sea.
There were only a few passengers on the platform. An elderly sailor
with gold stripes on his sleeve came up to Alex, glanced first at the
clipper and then at him, sighed for some reason or other and asked, "Is
it yours?"
Alex nodded.
"It's an old piece of work," said the sailor. "I've dreamed of having
a model like that since my childhood."
Alex felt uneasy and somehow guilty. The sailor hung about beside him
and then asked embarrassedly, "Look here, lad... Do you really need this
frigate?"
"Of course, I do!" exclaimed Alex in surprise.
The sailor sighed again and said, "I know it's ridiculous offering
money for a thing like this, but I've got a mahogany steering-wheel from
the English privateer 'Witch'. And a bronze clock from the mess-room of
the sailing corvette 'Rurik'. Perhaps you'd swop? Well? Will you? At the
Ship Museum they begged and pleaded with me for them..."
"You see, I just can't," said Alex. "The model's not really mine any
more. It's a present for someone."
"Is it? What a pity."
The sailor stood there for a moment and then walked away.
The thunderstorm was getting very close. Lightning began to flash and
rolls of thunder rang out beyond the trees. Dusty, spiral whirlwinds tore
onto the platform and swept along the tracks.
Alex had an uneasy feeling that he had forgotten something important
and that something dreadful might happen if he did not remember.
But that was it? After all, everything was going according to plan.
He had the clipper in his hands and his train would soon be drawing in.
So why was he feeling alarmed?
The wind was spinning the little tin ships round on the station's
turrets. Alex looked at these turrets and recalled the large towers in
the square by the sea, and the tower of the midnight north-westerly and
the tanned little boy who had invited him to watch the wind arrive... But
the boy had swum out to sea, hadn't he!
And the wind was off-shore! What if the boy hadn't managed to get
back in time? Would he be able to swim ashore against the wind and waves?
Everyone has an inner self offering comforting advice in times of
trouble. This inner self at once began whispering to Alex, "Why do you
think he didn't make it? Why have you decided he won't swim ashore? He's
a splendid swimmer. Anyway, how can you help? You hardly managed to swim
across that stream back at home..."
These thoughts held Alex back for several seconds. Then he dashed
over to the elderly sailor and held the clipper out to him.
"Please hold it for a while! I'll be back very soon!" he cried and
ran off.
The wind pushed him forward slightly and large drops of rain lashed
his back like whips. He reached the end of the side-street and ran into
the square.
White horses were galloping across the grey sea. He raced past one
tower after another and at last came to the granite lighthouse tower
where the old scientist was studying the midnight north-westerly. Now he
simply had to beat against the door, call to the old man and tell him
about the boy. Perhaps there was a boat or launch nearby?
Alex flew up onto high porch... Standing by the bronze railings were
a shaggy grey-haired old man and the boy he had met.
The boy, wrapped in a large naval jacket, was cheerfully saying
something to his grandfather. Alex stopped and began panting so loudly
with relief and joy that they noticed him at once.
"Have you come to visit us?" the boy asked joyfully.
"Just for a minute," said Alex. "I've just dropped by on my way."
"Oh, I can see that," said the shaggy old man with a kind smile. He
had obviously seen through him...
It was awkward just standing there and saying nothing but it would
not be right to dash off straightaway either. So Alex said, "I wanted to
find out if you had a radio in your tower because I need to contact
someone."
"Ay, there's a transmitter," replied the old man. "What exactly did
you have in mind?"
"Well, can you contact a plane?" asked Alex, thinking to himself how
good it would be to find out if the cat had actually found Anton.
"What plane?" enquired the old man.
"There's a Pilot for Special Missions..."
"Yes, I know," said the old man. "But Captain Topolkov doesn't have a
radio aboard his plane."
"How's that? What if he needs to relay something important?"
"People say the lad's like a radio himself. His heart tells him where
he's needed and off he flies there."
"I see," said Alex. "Good-bye. It's time I was off."
The wind had died down. The thunderstorm had passed over the town and
rolled out to sea. Every now and then dark drops of rain dashed against
the stone slabs like disintegrating stars. In a crevice between the slabs
Alex spotted a small round shell, which was grey and bumpy outside and
pink inside. He slipped it into his pocket and ran to the station.
"Well, mate, you've had me on tenterhooks for the past five minutes.
The train was due in any second but you still weren't here. What would I
have done with your ship?"
"Thank you," said Alex, gasping for breath. You see, I had something
very important to attend to."
The train drew in and Alex climbed into a carriage and settled down
by the window. Bushes flashed past and the sea gleamed behind the houses
for the last time.
"Well, this is where my fairy-tale ends," Alex said to himself. "How
strange it's been - without any dangers or obstacles. Everything's gone
so smoothly. Surely that's not possible?" This thought alarmed him for a
moment but the train's smooth motion soon lulled him to sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
When Alex awoke, familiar streets around the station, a pump-house
and a bridge were flashing by the windows. And three minutes later the
train drew into the station.
The station clock showed two-forty.
"I'll get to Masha's in time," he thought. "I've no time to drop by
home though."
There had been a short shower not long ago. The sky had already
cleared and the sun was burning hot but the puddles had not yet dried up.
Alex looked in one and caught sight of his reflection.
Auntie Dasha was bound to exclaim, "Lord, what a sight! You look like
a street-urchin." His shirt was crinkled, and its collar button was
missing; his trousers looked as if a crocodile had chewed them and their
bottoms were stained with sea salt.
"Oh, well, never mind, " Alex thought to himself. To make up for it,
in his hands he had a streamlined shiny clipper with gay white sails,
which was the best present for a girl like Masha, who almost certainly
dreamed of becoming a captain. And he was bringing her this present after
a wonderful long journey. And when travellers come home, they can't be
expected to look like young violinists in white shirts and bow-ties.
He sloshed through the sunny puddles towards Masha's house, feeling
in the best of moods, and ran up the staircase to Masha's door.
From the other side of the door came the sound of voices and a
scraping violin.
"Am I late? Oh well, a few minutes do not matter..." he thought.
He did not want to give the clipper to Masha straightaway in front of
everybody. He wanted them to be alone. He would then hand her the little
ship and she would slowly take it from him and quietly say, "Oh, Alex...
Oh, how wonderful. Thank you."
He glanced round and caught sight of a cupboard in the wall
containing a fire tap. He tugged at the door and it opened. He carefully
put the model into the cupboard (it only just fitted), shut the door and
rang the bell.
Masha opened it at once. Beaming happily, she was dressed in a sort
of shiny dress with red beads like cranberries. "Oh, Alex!" she exclaimed
joyfully, and then added in surprise, "Oh, you look so... messy..."
"Hello," he said. "If only you knew where I'd been! I've brought you
an incredible present!"
"Thank you!.. Well, come on in."
"Wait."
He wanted to go back for the little ship but over Masha's shoulder
caught sight of her guests - two girls with large bows and a fat boy in a
check jacket (holding a violin) and guess who else? - the lanky prince!
And Masha realised he had spotted him and decided that was why he had
said, "Wait."
"Oh, Alex," she began saying. "Don't get upset. I decided to invite
him because we are, after all, acting in the same play."
"Why not?" said Alex in a whisper.
"If you ask me, you're wrong to be angry with him. He's not bad at
all. I think you ought to make it up."
"I'm not a bit angry with him. No, not a bit," said Alex casually,
and he was telling the truth because during the last few days he had not
given the prince a single thought.
"Well then, come in. What's wrong?"
Alex grinned and asked, "How can I, looking like this? You're all
so... grand. And I'm a real mess."
"Well, so what?.." Masha glanced hesitantly at her guests. "You mean,
you've only just got back? You know what? You could run home and tidy
yourself up. We'll wait. All right?"
"She hasn't even asked where I've been" thought Alex and began
feeling not exactly sad but rather bored.
"All right," he said. "I'll go now."
"Wait..."
"Perhaps she's going to ask me?" he said to himself, cheering up at
the thought.
"What's the present you've brought? Don't think I'm greedy. You
mentioned it yourself, you see, and you've made me curious."
Alex simply could not bring himself to give her the clipper now so he
brought the shell out of his pocket.
"Here. I found it on a sea-shore a long way from here. You can always
hear the sea in it."
"Oh, isn't it wonderful! Daddy's got one, only smaller. He keeps it
on his writing-desk and sticks his cigarette butts into it."
"But I hope you won't stick cigarette butts into this one, will you?"
"Oh really! Do you think I smoke? I've never even tried. And when I
grow up, I won't either although it's considered the in-thing for girls
to smoke."
"What on earth is the matter?" wondered Alex. "Only five minutes ago
everything seemed so wonderful..."
"Masha..."
"What?"
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