Page:The Best Continental Short Stories of 1923–1924.djvu/87

 “Tare Tiiu’s.”

“Tiiu’s. . . Tiiu’s,” repeated Parbu-Jaan mechanically.

He began to walk excitedly to and fro. A new judge! What if he should be able to repeat his old trick.... But it was too well known ... the walls of every tavern in Saaremaa had heard it, the very forests had echoed it.... He was surprised himself now at his own daring, admiration for himself grew within him as for a stranger.... Then also he had sat awaiting trial, his feet itching to be off, his vessel eager for departure. It was then that he shut his lips to a narrow line, took on an expression grave as of one in a church and asked to be allowed to speak to the judge: “Merciful Judge-Lord, the wife is welcoming a little stranger—ale ought to be brewed, and then the baptism—couldn’t I go for a couple of weeks?” The judge hesitated—an old rascal, that Parbu-Jaan—but in the end consented. “See that you are back here in two weeks’ time.” He had raced to the Kihelkonna shore, hoisted sail, flown off to Memel for a load of rum and gunpowder. On the day agreed he had knocked at the prison door.

His thoughts returned to those old days, as if to gather strength from them. And in spite of his present plight laughter shook his frame, laughter that would free his spirit and restore his pride.

Memories tossed him up and down like a vessel tossed by the waves, tormenting and provoking him to laughter. This much he knew, that never would he be able to store too many such memories. He felt his craving for new adventures to string on to the old could never be slaked. He knew that never would he be himself again until he felt the deck planks sway again beneath his feet, with his hand upon the tiller.

An autumn evening, the land showing as a dark streak, looming up strange and unfriendly even for him, as he steers towards it. The moon unnaturally large, a rent torn in the sky, gleaming dimly instead of casting light. He can hardly trust his eyes, the spray clouds his sight as with a curtain of mist; as a rope creaks or taps against the mast he starts. He feels that the darkness that cloaks the shore is hiding something hostile, a danger of which his senses do