"Either I have lost my mind from this gin, or a ship is being wrecked near by. How they are crying!"

He looks out of the window.

"No, no one is here. It is the wind. The wind feels weary, and it plays all by itself. It has seen many shipwrecks, and now it is inventing. The wind itself is crying; the wind itself is scolding and sobbing; and the wind itself is laughing--the rogue! But if you think that this rag with which I have covered the window is a sail, and that this ruin of a castle is a three-masted brig, you are a fool! We are not going anywhere! We are standing securely at our moorings, do you hear?"

He pushes the sleeping man cautiously.

"Get up, Noni. I feel lonesome. If we must drink, let's drink together--I feel lonesome. Noni!"

Haggart awakens, stretches himself and says, without opening his eyes:

"Fire."

"Here it is."

"Something to drink."

"Here it is! A fine wind, Noni. I looked out of the window, and the sea splashed into my eyes. It is high tide now and the water-dust flies up to the tower. I feel lonesome, Noni. I want to speak to you. Don't be angry!"

"It's cold."

"Soon the fire will burn better. I don't understand your actions. Don't be angry, Noni, but I don't understand your actions! I am afraid that you have lost your mind."

"Did you drink again?"

"I did."

"Give me some."

He drinks from the mouth of the bottle lying on the floor, his eyes wandering over the crooked mutilated walls, whose every projection and crack is now lighted by the bright flame in the fireplace. He is not quite sure yet whether he is awake, or whether it is all a dream. With each strong gust of wind the flame is hurled from the fireplace, and then the entire tower seems to dance--the last shadows melt and rush off into the open door.

"Don't drink it all at once, Noni! Not all at once!" says the sailor and gently takes the bottle away from him. Haggart seats himself and clasps his head with both hands.

"I have a headache. What is that cry? Was there a shipwreck?"

"No, Noni. It is the wind playing roguishly."

"Khorre!"

"Captain."

"Give me the bottle."

He drinks a little more and sets the bottle on the table. Then he paces the room, straightening his shoulders and his chest, and looks out of the window. Khorre looks over his shoulder and whispers:

"Not a single light. It is dark and deserted. Those who had to die have died already, and the cautious cowards are sitting on the solid earth."

Haggart turns around and says, wiping his face:

"When I am intoxicated, I hear voices and singing. Does that happen to you, too, Khorre? Who is that singing now?"

"The wind is singing, Noni--only the wind."

"No, but who else? It seems to me a human being is singing, a woman is singing, and others are laughing and shouting something. Is that all nothing but the wind?"

"Only the wind."

"Why does the wind deceive me?" says Haggart haughtily.

"It feels lonesome, Noni, just as I do, and it laughs at the human beings. Have you heard the wind lying like this and mocking in the open sea? There it tells the truth, but here--it frightens the people on sh.o.r.e and mocks them. The wind does not like cowards. You know it."

Haggart says morosely:

"I heard their organist playing not long ago in church. He lies."

"They are all liars."

"No!" exclaims Haggart angrily. "Not all. There are some who tell the truth there, too. I shall cut your ears off if you will slander honest people. Do you hear?"

"Yes."

They are silent; they listen to the wild music of the sea. The wind has evidently grown mad. Having taken into its embrace a mult.i.tude of instruments with which human beings produce their music--harps, reed-pipes, priceless violins, heavy drums and bra.s.s trumpets--it breaks them all, together with a wave, against the sharp rocks. It dashes them and bursts into laughter--only thus does the wind understand music--each time in the death of an instrument, each time in the breaking of strings, in the snapping of the clanging bra.s.s. Thus does the mad musician understand music. Haggart heaves a deep sigh and with some amazement, like a man just awakened from sleep, looks around on all sides. Then he commands shortly:

"Give me my pipe."

"Here it is."

Both commence to smoke.

"Don't be angry, Noni," says the sailor. "You have become so angry that one can't come near you at all. May I chat with you?"

"There are some who do tell the truth there, too," says Haggart sternly, emitting rings of smoke.

"How shall I say it you, Noni?" answers the sailor cautiously but stubbornly. "There are no truthful people there. It has been so ever since the deluge. At that time all the honest people went out to sea, and only the cowards and liars remained upon the solid earth."

Haggart is silent for a minute; then he takes the pipe from his mouth and laughs gaily.

"Have you invented it yourself?"

"I think so," says Khorre modestly.

"Clever! And it was worth teaching you sacred history for that! Were you taught by a priest?"

"Yes. In prison. At that time I was as innocent as a dove. That's also from sacred scriptures, Noni. That's what they always say there."

"He was a fool! It was not necessary to teach you, but to hang you,"

says Haggart, adding morosely: "Don't talk nonsense, sailor. Hand me a bottle."

They drink. Khorre stamps his foot against the stone floor and asks: