The Amphibian Man, Alexander Belyaev: Read FREE Full Text Online (English Translation)

First published in 1928 by

state publishing house “Gosizdat”

This book is in the public domain

Reprint by Publishing House №10

Publication date July 13, 2025

Translation from Russian

299 Pages, Font 12 pt, Bookman Old Style

Electronic edition, File size 933 KB

Cover design, Translate by Yulia Basharova

Copyright© Yulia Basharova 2025. All rights reserved

 

Table of Contents

PART ONE

The Sea Devil 13

Riding a Dolphin. 27

Zurita’s Failure. 34

Doctor Salvator 44

Ailing Granddaughter 54

The Marvelous Garden. 60

The Third Wall 66

The Attack. 72

The Amphibious Man. 79

Ichthyander’s Day. 85

The Girl and the Swarthy Man. 102

Ichthyander’s Servant 106

In the City. 115

Back to the Sea. 120

A Small Revenge. 128

Zurita’s Impatience. 136

An Unpleasant Encounter 144

Battle with the Octopuses. 150

A New Friend. 157

PART TWO

En Route. 172

“It’s the Sea Devil!” 185

Full Steam Ahead. 195

The Unusual Captive. 204

Abandoned “Jellyfish” 216

The Sunken Ship. 221

PART THREE

The Newfound Father 232

The Legal Incident 244

A Genius Madman. 252

The Defendant’s Statement 260

In Prison. 272

The Escape. 290

 

PART ONE

 

The Sea Devil

 

It was a sultry January night in the Argentinian summer. The black sky was covered in stars. The “Jellyfish” lay calmly at anchor. The silence of the night was unbroken by the splash of a wave or the creak of rigging. The ocean seemed to be in a deep sleep.

On the schooner’s deck, half-naked pearl divers lay. Exhausted by their work and the hot sun, they tossed and turned, sighed, and cried out in heavy slumber. Their arms and legs twitched nervously. Perhaps in their dreams, they saw their enemies – sharks. On these hot, windless days, the men were so tired that, after the catch, they couldn’t even pull the boats onto the deck. Besides, it wasn’t necessary: nothing foretold a change in the weather. And so the boats remained on the water overnight, tied to the anchor chain. The yards were not squared, the rigging poorly tightened, and the uncleared jib shuddered slightly with the faintest breath of wind. The entire deck between the forecastle and the poop was cluttered with heaps of pearl oyster shells, fragments of coral limestone, ropes the divers used to descend to the bottom, canvas bags where they put the collected shells, and empty barrels. Near the mizzenmast stood a large barrel of fresh water with an iron dipper on a chain. Around the barrel on the deck was a dark stain from spilled water.

From time to time, one or another diver would rise, swaying in a half-sleep, and stepping on the arms and legs of the sleeping men, would stumble towards the water barrel. Without opening his eyes, he would drink a dipper of water and collapse wherever he landed, as if he had drunk not water but pure alcohol. The divers were tormented by thirst: it was dangerous to eat in the morning before work – a person experiences too much pressure in the water – so they worked all day on an empty stomach until it became dark in the water, and only before sleep could they eat, and they were fed salted meat.

At night, the Indian Balthazar was on watch. He was the closest assistant to Captain Pedro Zurita, owner of the schooner “Jellyfish.”

In his youth, Balthazar was a renowned pearl diver: he could stay underwater for ninety and even a hundred seconds – twice the usual time.

“Why? Because in our time, they knew how to teach, and they started training us from childhood,” Balthazar used to tell young pearl divers. “I was just a boy, about ten years old, when my father sent me to apprentice on a tender with Jose. He had twelve boy apprentices. He taught us like this: he’d throw a white stone or a shell into the water and order, ‘Dive, get it!’ And each time he’d throw it deeper and deeper. If you didn’t get it, he’d whip you with a line or a rope and throw you into the water like a puppy. ‘Dive again!’ That’s how he taught us to dive. Then he started accustoming us to staying underwater longer. An old experienced diver would go to the bottom and tie a basket or net to the anchor. And then we’d dive and untie it underwater. And until you untied it, you weren’t to surface. And if you surfaced, you’d get the whip or the line.

They beat us mercilessly. Not many endured. But I became the best diver in the entire district. I earned well.”

Having grown old, Balthazar abandoned the dangerous trade of a pearl seeker. His left leg was disfigured by a shark’s teeth, and his side was torn by an anchor chain. He owned a small shop in Buenos Aires and traded in pearls, corals, shells, and sea rarities. But on shore, he was bored, and so he often went on pearl fishing expeditions. The industrialists valued him. No one knew the La Plata Gulf, its shores, and the places where pearl oysters lived better than Balthazar. The divers respected him. He knew how to please everyone – both the divers and the owners.

He taught young divers all the secrets of the trade: how to hold their breath, how to ward off shark attacks, and, when it was opportune, how to hide a rare pearl from the owner.

The industrialists, the schooner owners, knew and valued him because he could accurately assess pearls with a single glance and quickly select the best ones for the owner.

Therefore, industrialists readily took him with them as an assistant and advisor.

Balthazar sat on a barrel, slowly smoking a thick cigar. The light from the lantern attached to the mast fell on his face. It was elongated, not high-cheekboned, with a regular nose and large, beautiful eyes – the face of an Araucanian. Balthazar’s eyelids dropped heavily and slowly rose. He was dozing. But if his eyes slept, his ears did not. They were awake and warned of danger even during deep sleep. But now Balthazar heard only the sighs and murmuring of the sleeping men. From the shore came the smell of decaying pearl mollusks – they were left to rot to make it easier to extract the pearls: the shell of a living mollusk is not easy to open. This smell would have seemed repulsive to an unaccustomed person, but Balthazar inhaled it with pleasure. To him, a wanderer, a pearl seeker, this smell reminded him of the joys of a free life and the exciting dangers of the sea.

After the pearls were extracted, the largest shells were transferred to the “Jellyfish.”

Zurita was shrewd: he sold the shells to a factory where they made buttons and cufflinks from them.

Balthazar was sleeping. Soon, the cigar fell from his weakened fingers. His head slumped onto his chest.

But then some sound reached his consciousness, coming from far out in the ocean. The sound repeated closer. Balthazar opened his eyes. It seemed as if someone was blowing a horn, and then a cheerful young human voice cried out: “Ah!” – and then an octave higher: “Ah-ah!..”

The musical sound of the horn was not like the sharp sound of a steamboat siren, and the cheerful exclamation did not at all resemble the cry for help of a drowning person. It was something new, unknown. Balthazar rose; it seemed to him as if the air had suddenly freshened. He went to the railing and keenly surveyed the ocean’s surface. Deserted. Silent. Balthazar nudged a sleeping Indian on the deck with his foot, and when the man rose, he quietly said:

“It’s crying. It’s probably him.”

“I don’t hear anything,” the Huron Indian replied just as quietly, kneeling and listening. And suddenly, the silence was again broken by the sound of the horn and the cry:

“Ah-ah!..”

The Huron, hearing this sound, crouched as if under a whip.

“Yes, it’s probably him,” the Huron said, his teeth chattering with fear. Other divers also woke up. They crawled towards the lantern-lit area, as if seeking protection from the darkness in the weak rays of yellowish light. They all sat huddled together, listening intently. The sound of the horn and the voice were heard once more in the distance, and then everything fell silent.

“It’s him…”

“The sea devil,” the fishermen whispered.

“We can’t stay here any longer!”

“It’s scarier than a shark!”

“Call the owner here!”

The slapping of bare feet was heard. Yawning and scratching his hairy chest, the owner, Pedro Zurita, emerged onto the deck. He was shirtless, wearing only canvas trousers; a revolver holster hung from his wide leather belt. Zurita approached the men. The lantern lit up his sleepy face, bronzed by the sun, his thick curly hair falling in strands over his forehead, black eyebrows, bushy, upturned mustache, and a small, grizzled beard.

“What happened?”

His rough, calm voice and confident movements reassured the Indians.

They all spoke at once. Balthazar raised his hand as a sign for them to be silent and said:

“We heard his voice… the sea devil’s.”

“You imagined it!” Pedro replied sleepily, his head dropping to his chest.

“No, we didn’t imagine it. We all heard ‘ah-ah!…’ and the sound of a horn!” the fishermen cried out.

Balthazar silenced them with the same hand gesture and continued:

“I heard it myself. Only the devil can make such a sound. No one at sea cries or blows a horn like that. We need to leave here quickly.”

“Fairy tales,” Pedro Zurita replied just as sluggishly.

He didn’t want to bring the still-rotting, foul-smelling shells from the shore onto the schooner or weigh anchor.

But he couldn’t persuade the Indians. They were agitated, waving their arms and shouting, threatening that they would go ashore tomorrow and walk to Buenos Aires if Zurita didn’t raise the anchor.

“Damn this sea devil along with you! Alright. We’ll raise anchor at dawn.” And, continuing to grumble, the captain went to his cabin.

He no longer felt like sleeping. He lit a lamp, lit a cigar, and began to pace back and forth in the small cabin. He thought about the incomprehensible creature that had recently appeared in these waters, scaring fishermen and coastal residents.

No one had yet seen this monster, but it had made its presence known several times. Legends were made about it. Sailors told them in whispers, looking around fearfully, as if afraid that this monster might overhear them.

This creature harmed some and unexpectedly helped others. “It’s a sea god,” old Indians would say, “it emerges from the depths of the ocean once every millennium to restore justice on earth.”

Catholic priests assured superstitious Spaniards that it was “the sea devil.” It had begun appearing to people because the populace was forgetting the holy Catholic church.

All these rumors, passed by word of mouth, reached Buenos Aires. For several weeks, “the sea devil” was the favorite topic of chroniclers and feuilletonists in tabloid newspapers. If schooners or fishing boats sank under unknown circumstances, or fishing nets were damaged, or caught fish disappeared, “the sea devil” was blamed. But others said that “the devil” sometimes threw large fish into fishermen’s boats and once even saved a drowning man.

At least one drowning man claimed that as he was sinking into the water, someone grabbed him from below by the back and, supporting him in this way, swam to shore, disappearing into the breaking waves the moment the rescued man stepped onto the sand.

But the most surprising thing was that no one had actually seen “the devil” itself. No one could describe what this mysterious creature looked like. Of course, there were eyewitnesses – they endowed “the devil” with a horned head, a goat’s beard, lion’s paws, and a fish tail, or depicted it as a giant horned toad with human legs.

Government officials in Buenos Aires initially paid no attention to these stories and newspaper articles, considering them idle fiction.

But the unrest – mainly among fishermen – intensified. Many fishermen hesitated to go out to sea. Catches decreased, and residents felt a shortage of fish. Then the local authorities decided to investigate this story. Several police coast guard steam launches and motorboats were sent along the coast with orders to “detain the unknown individual sowing discord and panic among the coastal population.” The police scoured the La Plata Gulf and the coast for two weeks, detaining several Indians as malicious spreaders of false, alarming rumors, but “the devil” was elusive.

The police chief published an official statement declaring that no “devil” existed, that it was all just fabrications of ignorant people who had already been detained and would receive due punishment, and urged fishermen not to trust rumors and to resume fishing.

For a time, this helped. However, “the devil’s” tricks did not cease.

One night, fishermen who were quite far from shore were awakened by the bleating of a kid goat, which had miraculously appeared on their bark. Other fishermen found their pulled-up nets cut.

Delighted by the new appearance of “the devil,” journalists now awaited explanations from scientists.

The scientists did not make them wait long.

Some believed that an unknown marine monster, capable of human-like actions, could not exist in the ocean. “It would be different,” scientists wrote, “if such a creature appeared in the little-explored depths of the ocean.” But scientists still could not allow that such a creature could act rationally. Scientists, along with the head of the maritime police, believed that it was all the antics of some prankster.

But not all scientists thought this way.

Other scientists referred to the famous Swiss naturalist Konrad Gessner, who described a sea maiden, a sea devil, a sea monk, and a sea bishop.

“After all, much of what ancient and medieval scholars wrote has been confirmed, despite the fact that modern science did not recognize these old teachings. Divine creation is inexhaustible, and for us, scientists, modesty and caution in our conclusions are more appropriate than for anyone else,” wrote some older scientists.

However, it was difficult to call these modest and cautious people scientists. They believed in miracles more than in science, and their lectures resembled sermons. Eventually, to resolve the dispute, a scientific expedition was dispatched. The members of the expedition were not fortunate enough to meet “the devil.” Instead, they learned much new about the actions of the “unknown person” (the old scientists insisted that the word “person” be replaced by the word “creature”).

In a report published in newspapers, the expedition members wrote:

“1. In some places on sandy shoals, we observed traces of narrow human footprints. The tracks came from the sea and led back to the sea. However, such tracks could have been left by a person who came to shore by boat.

2. The nets we examined had cuts that could have been made by a sharp cutting instrument. It is possible that the nets caught on sharp underwater rocks or iron debris from sunken ships and tore.
3. According to eyewitnesses, a dolphin, washed ashore by a storm a considerable distance from the water, was dragged back into the water by someone during the night. Footprints and what appeared to be long claw marks were found on the sand. It is likely that some compassionate fisherman dragged the dolphin back into the sea.

It is known that dolphins, while hunting for fish, help fishermen by herding fish towards the shallows. Fishermen, in turn, often rescue dolphins from distress. The claw marks could have been made by human fingers. Imagination gave the marks the appearance of claws.

4. The kid goat could have been brought on a boat and left by some prankster.”

Scientists found other, equally simple, reasons to explain the origin of the traces left by “the devil.”

Scientists concluded that no sea monster could perform such complex actions.

Yet, these explanations did not satisfy everyone. Even among the scientists themselves, there were those for whom these explanations seemed doubtful. How could the most agile and persistent prankster carry out such things without being seen by people for so long? But the main thing the scientists omitted in their report was that “the devil,” as it was established, performed its feats within a short period in various, widely separated locations. Either “the devil” could swim with unheard-of speed, or it had some special devices, or finally, “the devil” was not one, but several. But then all these tricks became even more incomprehensible and threatening.

Pedro Zurita recalled this whole mysterious story, pacing incessantly in his cabin. He didn’t notice dawn breaking, and a pink ray entered through the porthole. Pedro extinguished the lamp and began to wash himself. As he poured warm water over his head, he heard frightened shouts coming from the deck. Zurita, without finishing his washing, quickly climbed the ladder.

The naked divers, with canvas wraps around their hips, stood by the railing, waving their arms and shouting chaotically. Pedro looked down and saw that the boats, left on the water overnight, were untied. The night breeze had carried them quite far into the open ocean. Now the morning breeze was slowly carrying them towards the shore. The oars of the skiffs, scattered on the water, floated in the bay.

Zurita ordered the divers to gather the boats. But no one dared to leave the deck. Zurita repeated the order.

“Go into the devil’s claws yourself,” someone retorted.

Zurita reached for his revolver holster. The crowd of divers backed away and huddled by the mast. The divers looked at Zurita with hostility. A confrontation seemed inevitable. But then Balthazar intervened.

“An Araucanian fears no one,” he said. “The shark didn’t finish me, and the devil will choke on old bones.” And, clasping his hands over his head, he threw himself from the railing into the water and swam towards the nearest boat.

Now the divers came to the railing and watched Balthazar with fear. Despite his age and bad leg, he swam excellently. In a few strokes, the Indian reached the boat, retrieved a floating oar, and climbed into the boat.

“The rope was cut with a knife,” he shouted, “and cut well! The knife was sharp as a razor.”

Seeing that nothing terrible had happened to Balthazar, several divers followed his example.

Riding a Dolphin

 

The sun had just risen, but it was already beating down mercilessly. The silvery-blue sky was cloudless, the ocean still. The “Jellyfish” was already twenty kilometers south of Buenos Aires. On Balthazar’s advice, the anchor was dropped in a small bay, near a rocky shore that rose from the water in two tiers.

The boats scattered across the bay. On each boat, as was customary, there were two divers: one dived, the other pulled the diver up. Then they switched roles.

One boat approached the shore quite closely. The diver gripped a large piece of coral limestone, tied to the end of a rope, with his legs and quickly descended to the bottom.

The water was very warm and transparent – every stone on the seabed was clearly visible. Closer to the shore, corals rose from the bottom – motionless, solidified bushes of underwater gardens. Small fish, shimmering with gold and silver, darted between these bushes.

The diver reached the bottom and, bending down, began to quickly gather shells and place them in a small bag tied to a strap at his side. His working partner, a Huron Indian, held the end of the rope and, leaning over the side of the boat, looked into the water.

Suddenly, he saw the diver jump to his feet as quickly as he could, wave his arms, grab the rope, and pull it so hard that he almost pulled the Huron into the water. The boat rocked. The Huron Indian hurriedly pulled his comrade up and helped him climb into the boat. The diver, with his mouth wide open, was breathing heavily, his eyes wide. His dark bronze face had turned gray – he was so pale.

“Shark?”

But the diver couldn’t answer anything; he fell to the bottom of the boat.

What could have frightened him so much at the bottom of the sea? The Huron bent down and began to peer into the water. Yes, something was wrong there. Small fish, like birds spotting a kite, hurried to hide in the dense thickets of underwater forests.

And suddenly, the Huron Indian saw something like crimson smoke appear from behind a protruding underwater rock. The smoke slowly spread in all directions, coloring the water pink. And then something dark appeared. It was the body of a shark. It slowly turned and disappeared behind the rock outcrop. The crimson underwater smoke could only be blood spilled on the ocean floor. What happened there? The Huron looked at his comrade, but he lay motionless on his back, gasping for air with his mouth wide open and staring blankly at the sky. The Indian grabbed the oars and hurried to take his suddenly ill comrade aboard the “Jellyfish.”

Finally, the diver came to his senses, but it was as if he had lost the power of speech – he only grunted, shook his head, and puffed out his lips.

The divers on the schooner surrounded the diver, eagerly awaiting his explanation.

“Speak!” a young Indian finally shouted, shaking the diver. “Speak, unless you want your cowardly soul to fly out of your body!” The diver shook his head and said in a muffled voice:

“I saw… the sea devil.”

“Him?”

“Come on, speak, speak!” the divers cried impatiently.

“I see a shark. A shark is swimming right at me. This is the end for me! Big, black, already opened its mouth, about to eat me. I look – something else is swimming…”

“Another shark?”

“The devil!”

“What’s he like? Does he have a head?”

“A head? Yes, I think so. Eyes like glasses.”

“If it has eyes, it must have a head,” the young Indian confidently declared. “Eyes are attached to something. And does it have paws?”

“Paws like a frog’s. Long, green fingers with claws and webs. It shines itself, like a fish with scales. It swam to the shark, flashed its paw – zap! Blood from the shark’s belly…”

“And what about its legs?” one of the divers asked.

“Legs?” the diver tried to recall. “No legs at all. There’s a big tail. And at the end of the tail, two snakes.”

“Who were you more afraid of — the shark or the monster?”

“The monster,” he answered without hesitation. “The monster, even though it saved my life. It was him…”

“Yes, it was him.”

“The sea devil,” the Indian said.

“The sea god who comes to the aid of the poor,” an old Indian corrected. This news quickly spread among the boats in the bay. The divers rushed back to the schooner and pulled their boats aboard.

Everyone crowded around the diver, saved by “the sea devil.” And he repeated that red flames shot from the monster’s nostrils, and its teeth were sharp and long, the size of a finger. Its ears moved, it had fins on its sides, and a tail at the back, like an oar.

Pedro Zurita, stripped to the waist, in short white trousers, barefoot in slippers, and with a tall, wide-brimmed straw hat on his head, shuffled across the deck, listening to the conversations.

The more engrossed the storyteller became, the more Pedro was convinced that it was all fabricated by the diver, who had been frightened by the approaching shark.

“However, maybe not everything is made up. Someone did cut open the shark’s belly: the water in the bay turned pink, after all. The Indian is lying, but there’s some truth to all of this. A strange story, damn it!”

Here, Zurita’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a horn, suddenly echoing from behind the rock.

This sound struck the crew of the “Jellyfish” like a clap of thunder. All conversations ceased at once, faces paled. The divers stared with superstitious dread at the rock from which the horn sound had emanated.

Not far from the rock, a pod of dolphins played on the ocean’s surface. One dolphin separated from the pod, snorted loudly, as if answering the horn’s call, swam quickly towards the rock, and disappeared behind the cliffs. A few more moments of tense anticipation passed. Suddenly, the divers saw a dolphin emerge from behind the rock. On its back sat, as if on a horse, a strange creature – “the devil” the diver had just spoken of. The monster had the body of a human, and on its face were enormous eyes, like old pocket watches, gleaming in the sun’s rays like car headlights. Its skin shimmered with a delicate blue-silver, and its hands resembled those of a frog – dark green, with long fingers and webbing between them. Its legs below the knees were in the water. Whether they ended in tails, or were ordinary human legs, remained unknown. The strange creature held a long, twisted conch shell in its hand. It blew into the shell once more, laughed a cheerful human laugh, and then suddenly cried out in pure Spanish:

“Faster, Liding, forward!” It patted the dolphin’s glossy back with its froglike hand and spurred its sides with its feet. And the dolphin, like a good horse, increased its speed.

The divers involuntarily cried out.

The unusual rider turned around. Seeing the humans, it slid off the dolphin with the speed of a lizard and disappeared behind its body. A green hand appeared from behind the dolphin’s back, striking the animal’s back. The obedient dolphin submerged with the monster.

The strange pair made a semicircle underwater and disappeared behind the submerged rock…

This entire unusual appearance lasted no more than a minute, but the spectators were long unable to recover from their astonishment.

The divers shouted, ran around the deck, and clutched their heads. The Indians fell to their knees and begged the sea god to spare them. A young Mexican, terrified, climbed the mainmast and screamed. The Black sailors scurried into the hold and huddled in a corner.

Thinking about diving was out of the question. Pedro and Balthazar with difficulty restored order. The “Jellyfish” weighed anchor and headed north.

Zurita’s Failure

 

The captain of the “Jellyfish” went down to his cabin to think about what had happened.

“I could go mad!” Zurita muttered, pouring a pitcher of warm water over his head. “A sea monster speaking the purest Castilian dialect! What is this? Devilry? Madness? But madness can’t suddenly seize the entire crew. Not even an identical dream can be dreamed by two people. But we all saw the sea devil. That’s undeniable. So, he really does exist, as incredible as it seems.”

Zurita doused his head with water again and looked out the porthole to refresh himself.

“Whatever it is,” he continued, somewhat calmer, “this monstrous creature is endowed with human reason and can perform rational actions. It apparently feels equally at home in the water and on the surface. And it can speak Spanish – which means I can communicate with it. What if… What if I could catch the monster, tame it, and force it to dive for pearls! This one ‘toad,’ capable of living in water, could replace an entire crew of divers. And then, what profit! After all, each pearl diver has to be given a quarter of the catch. But this ‘toad’ wouldn’t cost anything. Why, this way I could make hundreds of thousands, millions of pesos in the shortest time!”

Zurita began to dream. Until now, he had hoped to get rich by searching for pearl oysters where no one else had harvested them. The Persian Gulf, the western coast of Ceylon, the Red Sea, Australian waters – all these pearl-rich areas were far away, and people had been searching for pearls there for a long time. Going to the Gulf of Mexico or California, to the islands of Tomas and Margarita? Zurita couldn’t sail to the coasts of Venezuela, where the best American pearls were harvested. For that, his schooner was too dilapidated, and he lacked divers – in short, he needed to expand his operations significantly. But Zurita didn’t have enough money. So he remained off the coast of Argentina. But now! Now he could become rich in a single year, if only he could catch “the sea devil.”

He would become the richest man in Argentina, perhaps even in America. Money would pave his way to power. Pedro Zurita’s name would be on everyone’s lips. But he had to be very careful. And first and foremost, keep it a secret.

Zurita went up on deck and, gathering the entire crew, down to the cook, said:

“Do you know what happened to those who spread rumors about the sea devil? The police arrested them, and they are in prison. I must warn you that the same will happen to each of you if you say even one word about seeing the sea devil. You’ll rot in prison. Do you understand? So, if your life is dear to you – not a word to anyone about the devil.”

“They wouldn’t believe them anyway: it all sounds too much like a fairy tale,” Zurita thought, and, calling Balthazar to his cabin, he confided his plan to him alone.

Balthazar listened carefully to his master and, after a silence, replied:

“Yes, this is good. The sea devil is worth hundreds of divers. It would be good to have the devil in one’s service. But how do we catch him?”

“With a net,” Zurita replied.

“He’ll cut through the net, just like he cut open the shark’s belly.”

“We can order a metal net.”

“And who will catch him? Just say ‘devil’ to our divers, and their knees buckle. They wouldn’t agree even for a bag of gold.”

“What about you, Balthazar?”

The Indian shrugged. “I’ve never hunted sea devils before. Stalking him probably won’t be easy, but killing him, if he’s made of flesh and bone, won’t be difficult. But you need a live devil.”

“Aren’t you afraid of him, Balthazar? What do you think of the sea devil?”

“What can I think of a jaguar that flies over the sea, or a shark that climbs trees? An unknown beast is scarier. But I love hunting scary beasts.”

“I’ll reward you handsomely.” Zurita shook Balthazar’s hand and continued to outline his plan:

“The fewer participants in this venture, the better. You talk to your Araucanians. They are brave and clever. Choose about five men, no more. If ours don’t agree, find others. The devil stays near the shores. First, we need to track down his lair. Then it will be easy for us to catch him in nets.”

Zurita and Balthazar quickly set to work. At Zurita’s order, a wire fish trap was made, resembling a large barrel with an open bottom. Inside the trap, Zurita stretched hemp nets so that “the devil” would get tangled in them like in a cobweb. The divers were dismissed. From the “Jellyfish”‘s crew, Balthazar managed to persuade only two Araucanian Indians to participate in the “devil” hunt. He recruited three more in Buenos Aires.

They decided to start tracking “the devil” in the bay where the “Jellyfish”‘s crew first saw him. So as not to arouse “the devil’s” suspicion, the schooner anchored a few kilometers from the small bay. Zurita and his companions occasionally fished, as if that were the sole purpose of their voyage. At the same time, three of them took turns, hiding behind rocks on the shore, keeping a sharp eye on what was happening in the bay’s waters.

The second week was drawing to a close, and “the devil” showed no sign of himself.

Balthazar struck up acquaintances with coastal residents, Indian farmers, selling them fish cheaply and, chatting with them about various things, subtly steered the conversation to “the sea devil.” From these conversations, the old Indian learned that they had chosen the right hunting ground: many Indians living near the bay had heard the sound of the horn and seen footprints on the sand. They insisted that “the devil’s” heel was human-like, but its toes were significantly elongated. Sometimes, on the sand, the Indians noticed an indentation from its back – it had been lying on the shore.

“The devil” did not harm the coastal residents, and they stopped paying attention to the tracks it left from time to time, reminding them of its presence. But no one had seen “the devil” itself.

For two weeks, the “Jellyfish” stood at anchor in the bay, ostensibly fishing. For two weeks, Zurita, Balthazar, and the hired Indians watched the ocean surface without a break, but “the sea devil” did not appear. Zurita was worried. He was impatient and stingy. Every day cost money, and this “devil” made them wait. Pedro began to doubt. If “the devil” was a supernatural being, no nets would catch him. And it was dangerous to deal with such a demon – Zurita was superstitious. Should he invite a priest with a cross and holy offerings aboard the “Jellyfish,” just in case? New expenses. But perhaps “the sea devil” was not a devil at all, but some prankster, a good swimmer, dressed up as a devil to scare people? A dolphin? But it, like any animal, could be tamed and trained. Should he abandon this whole endeavor?

Zurita offered a reward to whoever first spotted “the devil” and decided to wait a few more days.

To his joy, at the beginning of the third week, “the devil” finally began to appear.

After the day’s catch, Balthazar left a boat full of fish near the shore. Early in the morning, buyers were supposed to come for the fish.

Balthazar went to a farm to visit a familiar Indian, and when he returned to the shore, the boat was empty. Balthazar immediately decided that “the devil” had done it.

“Did he really eat so much fish?” Balthazar wondered.

That same night, one of the on-duty Indians heard the sound of a horn south of the bay. Two days later, early in the morning, a young Araucanian reported that he had finally managed to track “the devil.” He had arrived on a dolphin. This time, “the devil” was not riding it, but swimming next to the dolphin, holding onto a “harness” – a wide leather collar. In the bay, “the devil” removed the collar from the dolphin, patted the animal, and disappeared into the depths of the bay, at the base of a sheer rock. The dolphin swam to the surface and vanished.

Zurita, having listened to the Araucanian, thanked him, promised a reward, and said:

“The devil is unlikely to emerge from his hiding place this afternoon. Therefore, we need to inspect the bottom of the bay. Who will undertake this?”

But no one wanted to descend to the ocean floor, risking a face-to-face encounter with the unknown monster.

Balthazar stepped forward.

“Here I am!” he said curtly. Balthazar was true to his word. The “Jellyfish” was still at anchor. Everyone, except the watchmen, went ashore and headed to the sheer rock by the bay. Balthazar tied himself with a rope so he could be pulled out if he was injured, took a knife, clamped a stone between his legs, and descended to the bottom.

The Araucanians eagerly awaited his return, peering into the flickering spot in the bluish haze of the rock-shaded bay. Forty, fifty seconds passed, a minute – Balthazar did not return. Finally, he tugged the rope, and he was pulled to the surface. After catching his breath, Balthazar said:

“A narrow passage leads to an underwater cave. It’s as dark as a shark’s belly in there. The sea devil could only have hidden in this cave. Around it is a smooth wall.”

“Excellent!” Zurita exclaimed. “It’s dark there – even better! We’ll set our nets, and the fish will be caught.”

Soon after sunset, the Indians lowered the wire nets on strong ropes into the water at the cave’s entrance. The ends of the ropes were secured on the shore. Balthazar tied bells to the ropes, which would ring at the slightest touch of the net.

Zurita, Balthazar, and five Araucanians sat on the shore and waited in silence.

No one remained on the schooner.

Darkness quickly deepened. The moon rose, and its light reflected on the ocean’s surface. It was quiet. Everyone was gripped by extraordinary excitement. Perhaps now they would see the strange creature that had terrified fishermen and pearl seekers.

The night hours slowly passed. People began to doze.

Suddenly, the bells rang. The people jumped up, rushed to the ropes, and began to pull up the net. It was heavy. The ropes trembled. Someone was thrashing in the net.

Then the net appeared on the ocean’s surface, and within it, in the pale moonlight, thrashed the body of a half-human, half-animal. In the moonlight, huge eyes and silver scales gleamed. “The devil” made incredible efforts to free its hand, which was tangled in the net. It succeeded. It took out a knife, which hung from its hip on a thin strap, and began to cut the net.

“You won’t cut through that, you scamp!” Balthazar quietly said, engrossed in the hunt.

But to his surprise, the knife overcame the wire barrier. With nimble movements, “the devil” enlarged the hole, while the divers hurried to pull the net ashore.

“Harder! Heave-ho!” Balthazar was now shouting.

But at that very moment, when it seemed their prey was in their hands, “the devil” slipped through the cut hole, fell into the water, raising a cascade of sparkling splashes, and disappeared into the depths.

The divers dropped the net in despair.

“Good knife! Cuts wire!” Balthazar exclaimed with admiration. “Underwater blacksmiths are better than ours.”

Zurita, head bowed, stared at the water as if all his wealth had just sunk.

Then he lifted his head, tugged his bushy mustache, and stomped his foot.

“No, no, I won’t give up!” he cried. “You’ll die in your underwater cave before I retreat. I won’t spare any money; I’ll send for divers, I’ll cover the entire bay with nets and traps, and you won’t escape my grasp!”

He was brave, persistent, and stubborn. It was no coincidence that the blood of Spanish conquerors flowed in Pedro Zurita’s veins. And there was indeed something worth fighting for.

“The sea devil” turned out not to be a supernatural, omnipotent being. He was, evidently, made of flesh and bone, as Balthazar had said. This meant he could be caught, chained, and forced to retrieve wealth from the ocean floor for Zurita. Balthazar would get him, even if Neptune himself, the god of the sea, with his trident, came to the “sea devil’s” defense.

Doctor Salvator

 

Zurita was carrying out his threat. He built many wire fences at the bottom of the bay, stretched nets in all directions, and set traps. But his victims so far were only fish; “the sea devil” seemed to have vanished into thin air. He no longer appeared and gave no sign of his presence. In vain, the tamed dolphin appeared every day in the bay, diving and snorting, as if inviting his extraordinary friend for a swim. His friend did not show himself, and the dolphin, snorting angrily one last time, swam into the open sea.

The weather worsened. An easterly wind churned the ocean’s surface; the bay’s waters became cloudy with sand risen from the bottom. Foaming wave crests hid the seabed. No one could see what was happening underwater.

Zurita could stand on the shore for hours, looking at the rows of waves. Huge, they came one after another, crashing down in noisy waterfalls, while the lower layers of water hissed further over the wet sand, turning pebbles and shells, rolling up to Zurita’s feet.

“No, this won’t do,” Zurita said. “We need to come up with something else. The devil lives at the bottom of the sea and doesn’t want to leave his hiding place. So, to catch him, we need to go to him – descend to the bottom. That’s clear!”

And, turning to Balthazar, who was crafting a new, complex trap, Zurita said:

“Go to Buenos Aires immediately and bring back two diving suits with oxygen tanks. A regular diving suit with a hose for air supply won’t do. The devil could cut the hose. Besides, we might have to make a small underwater journey. And don’t forget to bring electric torches.”

“You wish to visit the devil?” Balthazar asked.

“With you, of course, old man.” Balthazar nodded and set off. He brought not only diving suits and torches but also a pair of long, intricately curved bronze knives.

“They don’t make these anymore,” he said. “These are ancient Araucanian knives, which my great-grandfathers once used to slit the bellies of white men – your great-grandfathers, no offense meant.”

Zurita didn’t like this historical note, but he approved of the knives.

“You are very thoughtful, Balthazar.”

The next day, at dawn, despite the heavy waves, Zurita and Balthazar put on their diving suits and descended to the seabed. With some difficulty, they untangled the nets at the entrance to the underwater cave and squeezed into the narrow passage. Complete darkness surrounded them. Standing up and drawing their knives, the divers turned on their torches. Frightened by the light, small fish darted away, then swam back to the torch, fluttering in its bluish beam like a swarm of insects.

Zurita waved them away with his hand; their shimmering scales blinded him. It was a fairly large cave, at least four meters high and five to six meters wide. The divers examined the corners. The cave was empty and uninhabited. Only schools of small fish apparently sheltered there from the rough sea and predators.

Stepping carefully, Zurita and Balthazar moved forward. The cave gradually narrowed. Suddenly, Zurita stopped in amazement. The torchlight illuminated a thick iron grating blocking the path.

Zurita couldn’t believe his eyes. He grabbed the iron bars and began to pull at them, trying to open the iron barrier. But the grating wouldn’t budge. Lighting it with his torch, Zurita saw that the grating was firmly set into the hewn walls of the cave and had hinges and an internal lock.

This was a new mystery.

“The sea devil” must be not only intelligent but also an exceptionally gifted creature.

He managed to tame a dolphin, he knows how to process metals. Finally, he could have created strong iron barriers at the bottom of the sea to guard his dwelling. But that’s incredible! He couldn’t have forged iron underwater. That means he doesn’t live in the water, or at least he comes out of the water onto land for long periods.

Zurita’s temples throbbed, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in his diving helmet, even though he had only been in the water for a few minutes.

Zurita signaled to Balthazar, and they emerged from the underwater cave – there was nothing more for them to do there – and ascended to the surface.

The Araucanians, who had been impatiently waiting for them, were very relieved to see the divers unharmed.

Taking off his helmet and catching his breath, Zurita asked:

“What do you say to this, Balthazar?” The Araucanian spread his hands.

“I say we’ll have to wait here for a long time. The devil probably feeds on fish, and there’s enough fish there. We won’t starve him out of the cave. We’ll just have to blast the grating with dynamite.” “And don’t you think, Balthazar, that the cave might have two exits: one from the bay and another from the surface?” Balthazar hadn’t thought of that.

“Then we need to think about it. How did we not think to examine the surroundings before?” Zurita said.

Now they began to examine the shore.

On the shore, Zurita stumbled upon a high white stone wall, encircling a huge plot of land – no less than ten hectares. Zurita walked around the wall. In the entire wall, he found only one gate, made of thick sheets of iron. In the gate was a small iron door with a spinner mechanism covered from the inside.

“A real prison or fortress,” Zurita thought. “Strange! Farmers don’t build such thick and high walls. There’s not a single opening or crack in the wall to peek through.”

All around was a deserted, wild landscape: bare gray rocks, sparsely covered with thorny bushes and cacti. Below lay the bay.

For several days, Zurita roamed along the wall, observing the iron gate for long stretches. But the gate remained closed; no one entered or left; not a sound reached him from beyond the wall.

Returning to the “Jellyfish”‘s deck in the evening, Zurita called Balthazar and asked:

“Do you know who lives in the fortress above the bay?”

“Yes, I’ve already asked the Indians working on the farms about it. Salvator lives there.”

“Who is he, this Salvator?”

“A god,” Balthazar replied.

Zurita raised his thick black eyebrows in astonishment.

“Are you joking, Balthazar?” The Indian smiled almost imperceptibly.

“I’m repeating what I’ve heard. Many Indians call Salvator a deity, a savior.”

“What does he save them from?”

“From death. They say he is omnipotent. Salvator can work miracles. He holds life and death in his fingers. He gives new legs, living legs, to the lame, sharp, eagle-like eyes to the blind, and even resurrects the dead.”

“Damn it!” Zurita grumbled, stroking his bushy mustache upwards with his fingers. “A sea devil in the bay, a god above the bay. Don’t you think, Balthazar, that the devil and the god might be helping each other?”

“I think we should get out of here as soon as possible, before our brains curdle like sour milk from all these miracles.”

“Have you seen anyone yourself whom Salvator has healed?”

“Yes, I have. They showed me a man with a broken leg. After visiting Salvator, that man runs like a mustang. I also saw an Indian resurrected by Salvator. The whole village says that this Indian, when he was carried to Salvator, was a cold corpse – his skull split open, brains exposed. But he came back from Salvator alive and cheerful. He even married after death. Took a good girl. And I’ve also seen Indian children…”

“So, Salvator receives outsiders?”

“Only Indians. And they come to him from everywhere: from Tierra del Fuego and the Amazon, from the Atacama Desert and Asunción.”

Having received this information from Balthazar, Zurita decided to go to Buenos Aires.

There he learned that Salvator healed Indians and was renowned among them as a miracle worker. Inquiring with doctors, Zurita found out that Salvator was a talented and even brilliant surgeon, but a man with great eccentricities, like many outstanding people. Salvator’s name was widely known in scientific circles of the Old and New Worlds. In America, he gained fame for his daring surgical operations. When patients’ conditions were deemed hopeless and doctors refused to operate, Salvator was called. He never refused. His courage and resourcefulness were boundless. During the imperialist war, he was on the French front, where he dealt almost exclusively with skull operations. Many thousands of people owed their salvation to him. After the peace treaty, he returned to his homeland, Argentina. Medical practice and successful land speculations brought Salvator an enormous fortune. He bought a large plot of land near Buenos Aires, surrounded it with a huge wall – one of his peculiarities – and, settling there, ceased all practice. He engaged only in scientific work in his laboratory. Now he treated and received Indians, who called him a god descended to earth.

Zurita managed to learn one more detail concerning Salvator’s life. Where Salvator’s extensive estate now stood, before the war there was a small house with a garden, also enclosed by a stone wall. All the time Salvator was at the front, this house was guarded by a Black man and several huge dogs. Not a single person was allowed into the yard by these incorruptible guards.

Recently, Salvator had surrounded himself with even greater mystery. He didn’t even receive former university colleagues.

Learning all this, Zurita decided:

“If Salvator is a doctor, he has no right to refuse a patient. Why shouldn’t I fall ill? I’ll get to Salvator under the guise of being sick, and then we’ll see.”

Zurita went to the iron gate guarding Salvator’s estate and began to knock. He knocked long and hard, but no one opened. Enraged, Zurita picked up a large stone and began to pound it against the gate, making a noise that could wake the dead.

Far behind the wall, dogs barked, and finally, the peep-hole in the door opened slightly.

“What do you want?” someone asked in broken Spanish.

“I’m sick, open up quickly,” Zurita replied.

“Sick people don’t knock like that,” the same voice calmly retorted, and an eye appeared in the peep-hole. “The doctor isn’t seeing anyone.”

“He doesn’t dare refuse help to a sick person,” Zurita flared.

The peep-hole closed, and the footsteps receded. Only the dogs continued to bark desperately.

Zurita, having exhausted his entire supply of curses, returned to the schooner. Complain about Salvator in Buenos Aires? But that would lead nowhere. Zurita trembled with rage. His bushy black mustache was in serious danger, as in his agitation he kept tugging at it, and it drooped downwards like a barometer needle indicating low pressure.

Gradually, he calmed down and began to ponder his next move.

As he thought, his tan fingers more and more frequently brushed his disheveled mustache upwards. The barometer was rising.

Finally, he went up on deck and, unexpectedly for everyone, gave the order to weigh anchor.

The “Jellyfish” set course for Buenos Aires.

“Good,” Balthazar said. “What a waste of time! To hell with this devil and god alike!”

Ailing Granddaughter

 

The sun beat down mercilessly.

Along a dusty road, winding through fields heavy with wheat, corn, and oats, walked an old, emaciated Indian man. His clothes were torn. In his arms, he carried a sick child, covered from the sun’s rays by a worn blanket. The child’s eyes were half-closed. A large swelling was visible on its neck. From time to time, when the old man stumbled, the child would groan hoarsely and partly open its eyelids. The old man would stop, carefully blowing on the child’s face to refresh it.

“Just to get there alive!” the old man whispered, quickening his steps.

Reaching the iron gate, the Indian shifted the child to his left arm and struck the iron door four times with his right hand. The small flap in the wicket gate opened slightly, an eye flickered in the opening, bolts creaked, and the wicket gate opened.

The Indian timidly stepped over the threshold. Before him stood an old Black man dressed in a white robe, with completely white curly hair.

“To the doctor, the child is sick,” the Indian said.

The Black man nodded silently, locked the door, and motioned for him to follow.

The Indian looked around. They were in a small courtyard paved with wide stone slabs. This courtyard was enclosed on one side by a high outer wall, and on the other by a lower wall separating the courtyard from the inner part of the estate. No grass, no green bush — a real prison yard. In the corner of the courtyard, by the gate of the second wall, stood a white house with large, wide windows. Near the house, Indians — men and women — sat on the ground. Many were with children.

Almost all the children looked perfectly healthy. Some played “odds and evens” with seashells, others wrestled silently — the old Black man with white hair strictly ensured the children didn’t make noise.

The old Indian meekly sat on the ground in the shade of the house and began to blow on the child’s motionless, bluish face. Next to the Indian sat an old Indian woman with a swollen leg. She looked at the child lying on the Indian’s lap and asked:

“Daughter?”

“Granddaughter,” the Indian replied. Shaking her head, the old woman said:

“A swamp spirit has entered your granddaughter. But he is stronger than evil spirits. He will drive out the swamp spirit, and your granddaughter will be well.”

The Indian nodded affirmatively.

The Black man in the white robe walked around the sick, looked at the Indian’s child, and pointed to the house door.

The Indian entered a large room with a stone slab floor. In the middle of the room stood a narrow, long table covered with a white sheet. A second door, with frosted glass, opened, and Doctor Salvator entered the room, wearing a white robe, tall, broad-shouldered, dark-skinned. Except for his black eyebrows and eyelashes, Salvator had no hair on his head. Apparently, he shaved his head constantly, as the skin on his head was as tanned as on his face. A rather large, aquiline nose, a somewhat protruding, sharp chin, and tightly compressed lips gave his face a cruel, even predatory expression. His brown eyes gazed coldly. Under this gaze, the Indian felt uneasy.

The Indian bowed low and extended the child. Salvator, with a quick, confident yet gentle movement, took the sick girl from the Indian’s hands, unwrapped the rags the child was bundled in, and threw them into the corner of the room, skillfully landing them in a box standing there. The Indian hobbled towards the box, wishing to retrieve the rags, but Salvator strictly stopped him:

“Leave them, don’t touch!”

Then he placed the girl on the table and leaned over her. He stood in profile to the Indian. And suddenly, it seemed to the Indian that it was not a doctor, but a condor leaning over a small bird. Salvator began to palpate the swelling on the child’s throat with his fingers. These fingers also struck the Indian. They were long, extraordinarily mobile fingers. It seemed they could bend at the joints not only downwards, but also sideways and even upwards. The far-from-timid Indian tried not to succumb to the fear that this incomprehensible man instilled in him.

“Excellent. Magnificent,” Salvator said, as if admiring the swelling and feeling it with his fingers.

Having finished the examination, Salvator turned his face to the Indian and said:

“It’s a new moon now. Come back in a month, at the next new moon, and you will have your girl healthy.”

He carried the child through the glass door, where the bathroom, operating room, and patient wards were located. And the Black man was already ushering a new patient into the reception room — an old woman with a sore leg.

The Indian bowed low to the glass door that closed behind Salvator and left.

Exactly twenty-eight days later, the same glass door opened.

In the doorway stood a girl in a new dress, healthy and rosy-cheeked. She looked timidly at her grandfather. The Indian rushed to her, grabbed her hands, kissed her all over, and examined her throat. There was no trace of the swelling. Only a small, barely visible reddish scar remained to remind him of the operation.

The girl pushed her grandfather away with her hands and even cried out when he, having kissed her, pricked her with his unshaven chin. He had to put her down on the floor. Salvator entered right after the girl. Now the doctor even smiled and, patting the girl’s head, said:

“Well, take your girl. You brought her just in time. A few more hours, and even I wouldn’t have been able to save her life.”

The old Indian’s face was covered with wrinkles, his lips twitched, and tears streamed from his eyes. He lifted the girl again, pressed her to his chest, fell to his knees before Salvator, and said in a voice choked with tears:

“You saved my granddaughter’s life. What can a poor Indian offer you as a reward, besides his life?”

“What do I need your life for?” Salvator asked, surprised.

“I am old, but still strong,” the Indian continued, without rising from the floor. “I will take my granddaughter to her mother — my daughter — and return to you. I want to give you the rest of my life for the good you have done for me. I will serve you like a dog. Please, do not refuse me this favor.”

Salvator thought for a moment.

He was very reluctant and cautious about taking on new servants. Although there would be work. A lot of work, in fact — Jim wasn’t managing in the garden. This Indian seemed like a suitable person, though the doctor would have preferred a Black man.

“You are giving me your life and asking, as a favor, for me to accept your gift. Very well. Have it your way. When can you come?”

“Before the first quarter moon ends, I will be here,” the Indian said, kissing the hem of Salvator’s robe.

“What is your name?”

“Mine?… Kristo — Christopher.”

“Go, Kristo. I will wait for you.”

“Let’s go, granddaughter!” Kristo said to the girl and picked her up again.

The girl cried. Kristo hurried away.

The Marvelous Garden

 

When Kristo arrived a week later, Doctor Salvator looked intently into his eyes and said:

“Listen carefully, Kristo. I’m taking you into my service. You will receive room and board and a good salary…” Kristo waved his hands:

“I need nothing, only to serve you.”

“Be silent and listen,” Salvator continued. “You will have everything. But I will demand one thing: you must be silent about everything you see here.”

“I would sooner cut out my tongue and throw it to the dogs than say a single word.”

“See to it that such misfortune does not befall you,” Salvator warned. And, summoning the Black man in the white robe, the doctor ordered:

“Lead him to the garden and hand him over to Jim.”

The Black man bowed silently, led the Indian out of the white house, through the courtyard Kristo already knew, and knocked on the iron gate of the second wall.

From behind the wall, the barking of dogs was heard. The gate creaked and slowly opened.

The Black man pushed Kristo through the gate into the garden, gutturally shouted something to another Black man standing behind the gate, and left.

Kristo, startled, pressed himself against the wall: with barks resembling roars, unknown, reddish-yellow beasts with dark spots ran towards him. If Kristo had met them in the pampas, he would have immediately recognized them as jaguars. But the beasts running towards him barked like dogs. At that moment, Kristo didn’t care what animals were attacking him. He rushed to a nearby tree and began to climb its branches with unexpected speed. The Black man hissed at the dogs like an angry cobra. This immediately calmed the dogs. They stopped barking, lay on the ground, and rested their heads on their outstretched paws, glancing sidelong at the Black man.

The Black man hissed again, this time addressing Kristo, who was sitting in the tree, and waved his hands, inviting the Indian to come down.

“Why are you hissing like a snake?” Kristo said, not leaving his refuge. “Swallowed your tongue?” The Black man only grunted angrily.

“He must be mute,” Kristo thought, remembering Salvator’s warning. Did Salvator cut out the tongues of servants who revealed his secrets? Perhaps this Black man also had his tongue cut out… And Kristo suddenly felt so terrified that he nearly fell from the tree. He wanted to escape from there at all costs and as quickly as possible. He mentally calculated the distance from the tree he was in to the wall. No, he couldn’t jump… But the Black man approached the tree and, grabbing the Indian by the leg, impatiently pulled him down. Kristo had to obey. He jumped from the tree, smiled as politely as he could, extended his hand, and asked in a friendly tone:

“Jim?”

The Black man nodded.

Kristo firmly shook the Black man’s hand. “If I’ve ended up in hell, I might as well get along with the devils,” he thought, and continued aloud:

“Are you mute?” The Black man remained silent.

“No tongue?”

The Black man was still silent.

“How can I look into his mouth?” Kristo wondered. But Jim apparently had no intention of engaging even in mimed conversation. He took Kristo’s hand, led him to the reddish-brown beasts, and hissed something at them. The beasts rose, approached Kristo, sniffed him, and calmly walked away. Kristo felt a little relief.

Waving his hand, Jim led Kristo to inspect the garden.

After the gloomy, stone-paved courtyard, the garden was astonishing in its abundance of greenery and flowers. The garden stretched eastward, gradually sloping down towards the seashore. Paths, strewn with reddish crushed shells, branched in different directions. Along the paths grew whimsical cacti and bluish-green succulent agaves, with plumes of numerous yellowish-green flowers. Entire groves of peach and olive trees shaded dense grass with colorful, bright flowers. Amidst the green grass gleamed ponds, lined with white stones. Tall fountains refreshed the air.

The garden was filled with a cacophony of cries, singing, and chirping of birds, roars, squeaks, and squeals of animals. Never before had Kristo seen such unusual animals. Unseen beasts lived in this garden.

Here, a six-legged lizard, gleaming with copper-green scales, scurried across the path. From a tree hung a two-headed snake. Kristo, startled, leaped sideways from the two-headed reptile, which hissed at him with two red mouths. The Black man answered it with a louder hiss, and the snake, waving its heads in the air, fell from the tree and disappeared into the dense thickets of reeds. Another long snake crawled off the path, clinging with two paws. Behind a wire mesh, a piglet grunted. It stared at Kristo with a single large eye set in the middle of its forehead.

Two white rats, fused at the sides, ran along the pink path like a two-headed, eight-legged monster. Sometimes this two-in-one creature began to fight with itself: the right rat pulled to the right, the left to the left, and both squeaked discontentedly. But the right one always won. Next to the path grazed conjoined “Siamese twins” — two fine-wooled sheep. They didn’t quarrel like the rats. Between them, apparently, a complete unity of will and desires had long been established. One deformity particularly struck Kristo: a large, completely naked pink dog. And on its back, as if emerging from the dog’s body, was a small monkey — its chest, arms, head. The dog approached Kristo and wagged its tail. The monkey twisted its head, flailed its arms, patted the dog’s back, with which it formed a single entity, and screamed, looking at Kristo. The Indian reached into his pocket, took out a piece of sugar, and offered it to the monkey. But someone quickly moved Kristo’s hand aside. A hiss was heard behind him. Kristo looked around — Jim. The old Black man explained to Kristo with gestures and facial expressions that the monkey could not be fed. And immediately, a sparrow with the head of a small parrot snatched the piece of sugar from Kristo’s fingers in flight and disappeared behind a bush. In the distance on the lawn, a horse with a cow’s head mooed.

Two llamas galloped across the clearing, wagging horse tails. From the grass, from the thickets of bushes, from the branches of trees, unusual reptiles, beasts, and birds looked at Kristo: dogs with cat heads, geese with rooster heads, horned wild boars, rheas with eagle beaks, rams with puma bodies…

Kristo felt as if he were delirious. He rubbed his eyes, moistened his head with cold fountain water, but nothing helped. In the ponds, he saw snakes with fish heads and gills, fish with frog legs, huge toads with bodies as long as lizards…

And Kristo again wanted to escape from there.

But then Jim led Kristo to a wide, sand-strewn platform. In the middle of the platform, surrounded by palm trees, stood a villa of white marble, built in Moorish style. Arches and columns were visible through the palm trunks. — Copper fountains in the form of dolphins cast cascades of water into transparent ponds with golden fish playing in them. The largest fountain in front of the main entrance depicted a young man sitting on a dolphin like the mythical Triton, with a twisted horn at his mouth.

Behind the villa were several residential buildings and outbuildings, and further on were dense thickets of thorny cacti, reaching to the white wall.

“Another wall!” Kristo thought.

Jim led the Indian into a small, cool room. With gestures, he explained that this room was for him, and left, leaving Kristo alone.

The Third Wall

 

Little by little, Kristo grew accustomed to the extraordinary world that surrounded him. All the animals, birds, and reptiles that filled the garden were well-tamed. Kristo even formed friendships with some of them. The jaguar-skinned dogs, which had so frightened him on his first day, now followed him closely, licked his hands, and nuzzled him. The llamas ate bread from his hands. Parrots flew down to perch on his shoulder.

The garden and its animals were cared for by twelve Black men, as silent or mute as Jim. Kristo had never heard them speak, not even to each other. Each silently went about his work. Jim was something of a manager. He oversaw the Black men and assigned their duties. And Kristo, to his own surprise, was appointed Jim’s assistant. Kristo didn’t have much work, and he was well-fed. He couldn’t complain about his life. One thing bothered him — the ominous silence of the Black men. He was convinced that Salvator had cut out all their tongues. And when Salvator occasionally summoned Kristo, the Indian always thought: “Time to cut my tongue.” But soon Kristo became less afraid for his tongue.

One day Kristo saw Jim sleeping in the shade of the olive trees. The Black man was lying on his back, mouth open. Kristo took advantage of this, cautiously peered into the sleeping man’s mouth, and confirmed that the old Black man’s tongue was in place. Then the Indian felt somewhat relieved.

Salvator strictly scheduled his day. From seven to nine in the morning, the doctor received sick Indians; from nine to eleven, he operated; then he retreated to his villa and worked in his laboratory. He operated on animals and then studied them extensively. When his observations concluded, Salvator sent these animals to the garden. Kristo, sometimes tidying the house, would sneak into the laboratory. Everything he saw there astonished him. Various organs pulsed in glass jars filled with some solutions. Severed hands and legs continued to live. And when these living parts, detached from the body, began to ache, Salvator treated them, restoring their fading life.

All of this filled Kristo with dread. He preferred to be among the living deformities in the garden.

Despite the trust Salvator placed in the Indian, Kristo dared not venture beyond the third wall. And this greatly interested him. One midday, when everyone was resting, Kristo ran to the high wall. From beyond the wall, he heard children’s voices — he distinguished Indian words. But sometimes, even finer, squealing voices joined the children’s, as if arguing with the children and speaking in some incomprehensible dialect.

One day, meeting Kristo in the garden, Salvator approached him and, as was his custom, looking directly into his eyes, said:

“You’ve been working for me for a month now, Kristo, and I am pleased with you. One of my servants in the lower garden has fallen ill. You will replace him. You will see many new things there. But remember our agreement: keep your tongue firmly in your teeth, if you don’t want to lose it.”

“I’ve almost forgotten how to speak among your mute servants,” Kristo replied.

“All the better. Silence is golden. If you keep silent, you will receive many gold pesos. I hope to have my sick servant back on his feet in two weeks. By the way, do you know the Andes well?”

“I was born in the mountains.”

“Excellent. I will need to replenish my menagerie with new animals and birds. I will take you with me. Now go. Jim will lead you to the lower garden.”

Kristo had grown accustomed to many things. But what he saw in the lower garden surpassed his expectations.

In a large, sunlit meadow, naked children and monkeys frolicked. These were children from different Indian tribes. Among them were very young ones — no more than three years old; the oldest were about twelve. These children were Salvator’s patients. Many of them had undergone serious operations and owed their lives to Salvator. The convalescing children played and ran in the garden, and then, when their strength returned, their parents took them home.

Besides the children, monkeys lived here. Tailless monkeys. Monkeys with no trace of fur on their bodies.

Most surprisingly, all the monkeys, some better than others, could speak. They argued with the children, cursed, and squealed in high-pitched voices. Yet, the monkeys coexisted peacefully with the children and quarreled with them no more than the children among themselves.

Kristo sometimes couldn’t decide whether they were real monkeys or humans.

When Kristo became acquainted with the garden, he noticed that this garden was smaller than the upper one and sloped even more steeply towards the bay, ending at a sheer, wall-like rock.

The sea was probably not far beyond this wall. The roar of the sea surf drifted from behind the wall.

After exploring this rock a few days later, Kristo confirmed that it was artificial. In dense thickets of wisteria, Kristo discovered a gray iron door, painted to match the rocks, perfectly blending with them.

Kristo listened. No sound, except the surf, reached him from beyond the rock. Where did this narrow door lead? To the seashore?

Suddenly, an excited child’s cry was heard. The children were looking at the sky. Kristo looked up and saw a small red child’s balloon slowly flying across the garden. The wind carried the balloon towards the sea.

A common child’s balloon flying over the garden greatly agitated Kristo. He began to worry. And as soon as the recovered servant returned, Kristo went to Salvator and said:

“Doctor! We are going to the Andes soon, perhaps for a long time. Allow me to see my daughter and granddaughter.”

Salvator disliked his servants leaving the estate and preferred to have single ones. Kristo waited silently, looking into Salvator’s eyes.

Salvator, looking coldly at Kristo, reminded him:

“Remember our agreement. Guard your tongue! Return no later than three days. Wait!”

Salvator withdrew to another room and brought out a chamois pouch from which golden pesos jingled.

“Here for your granddaughter. And for your silence.”

 

The Attack

 

“If he doesn’t come today, I’ll refuse your help, Balthazar, and invite more skillful and reliable men,” Zurita said, impatiently twitching his bushy mustache.

Zurita was now dressed in a white city suit and a Panama hat. He met Balthazar on the outskirts of Buenos Aires, where the cultivated fields ended and the pampas began.

Balthazar, in a white blouse and blue striped trousers, sat by the road and remained silent, nervously plucking at the sun-scorched grass.

He himself was beginning to regret sending his brother Kristo to Salvator as a spy.

Kristo was ten years older than Balthazar. Despite his age, Kristo remained a strong and agile man. He was cunning as a pampas cat. Yet, he was an unreliable person. He had tried farming — found it boring. Then he ran a tavern in the port, but, becoming addicted to wine, he quickly went bankrupt.

In recent years, Kristo had been involved in the darkest affairs, employing his extraordinary cunning and at times treachery. Such a man was a suitable spy, but he could not be trusted. If it benefited him, he could betray even his own brother. Balthazar knew this and was therefore no less worried than Zurita.

“Are you sure Kristo saw the balloon you released?”

Balthazar vaguely shrugged, wishing he could abandon this whole scheme, go home, quench his thirst with cold water and wine, and turn in early.

The last rays of the setting sun illuminated plumes of dust rising from behind the hill. At the same time, a sharp, prolonged whistle cut through the air.

Balthazar perked up.

“It’s him!”

“Finally!”

Kristo approached them with a brisk stride, no longer resembling the emaciated old Indian. With another jaunty whistle, Kristo reached them and greeted Balthazar and Zurita.

“Well, have you met the sea devil?” Zurita asked him.

“Not yet, but he’s there. Salvator keeps the devil behind four walls. The main thing is done: I serve Salvator, and he trusts me. The sick granddaughter worked out perfectly for me,” Kristo chuckled, narrowing his cunning eyes. “She almost ruined it when she recovered. I hugged and kissed her, as a loving grandfather should, and that silly girl started kicking and nearly cried.” Kristo laughed again.

“Where did you get your granddaughter?” Zurita inquired.

“Money’s hard to find, girls are easy,” Kristo replied. “The child’s mother is happy. I got five paper pesos from her, and she got a healthy girl.”

Kristo discreetly omitted the fact that he’d received a hefty pouch of gold pesos from Salvator. Of course, he had no intention of giving that money to the girl’s mother.

“There are wonders at Salvator’s. A real menagerie.” Kristo then proceeded to recount everything he had seen.

“This is all very interesting,” Zurita said, lighting a cigar, “but you haven’t seen the main thing: the devil. What do you plan to do next, Kristo?”

“Next? Take a short trip to the Andes.” Kristo then explained that Salvator was preparing for an animal hunt.

“Excellent!” Zurita exclaimed. “Salvator’s estate is far from other settlements. In his absence, we’ll attack his property and kidnap the sea devil.”

Kristo shook his head negatively.

“Jaguars will rip your head off, and you won’t be able to find the devil. You won’t find him even with your head, if I couldn’t.”

“Then here’s what,” Zurita said, after a moment’s thought, “we’ll set an ambush when Salvator goes hunting; we’ll capture him and demand a ransom — the sea devil.”

With a deft movement, Kristo plucked the cigar protruding from Zurita’s side pocket.

“Thank you. An ambush is better. But Salvator will deceive us: he’ll promise a ransom and won’t deliver. These Spaniards…” Kristo coughed.

“What do you propose then?” Zurita asked, now with irritation.

“Patience, Zurita. Salvator trusts me, but only up to the fourth wall. The doctor needs to trust me as much as he trusts himself, and then he’ll show me the devil.”

“Well?”

“Well, this is it. Bandits will attack Salvator,” — and Kristo poked Zurita’s chest with his finger — “and I,” — he struck his own chest — “an honest Araucanian, will save his life. Then there will be no secrets for Kristo in Salvator’s house. (“And my wallet will be filled with gold pesos,” he finished to himself.) “Well, that’s not bad.”

They then agreed on the road Kristo would take Salvator.

“The day before we leave, I’ll throw a red stone over the fence. Be ready.”

Despite the meticulous planning of the attack, one unforeseen circumstance almost ruined everything.

Zurita, Balthazar, and ten thugs recruited from the port, dressed as gauchos and well-armed, waited on horseback for their victim far from any habitation.

It was a dark night. The riders listened, expecting to hear the thud of horse hooves. But Kristo didn’t know that Salvator no longer went hunting in the same way he had years ago.

The bandits suddenly heard the rapidly approaching roar of an engine. From behind a hill, dazzling headlights flashed. A huge black car sped past the riders before they could even grasp what had happened.

Zurita cursed desperately. Balthazar found it amusing.

“Don’t be upset, Pedro,” the Indian said. “It’s hot during the day; they drive at night — Salvator has two suns on his car. They’ll rest during the day. We can catch up with them at a stop.” And, spurring his horse, Balthazar galloped after the car.

The others followed him.

After riding for about two hours, the horsemen unexpectedly spotted a campfire in the distance.

“That’s them. Something must have happened to them. Wait, I’ll crawl over and find out. Wait for me.”

And, dismounting, Balthazar crawled like a snake. An hour later, he returned.

“The car’s broken down. They’re fixing it. Kristo is on watch. We need to hurry.”

Everything else happened very quickly. The bandits attacked. Before Salvator could react, he, Kristo, and three of the Black men had their hands and feet tied.

One of the hired bandits, the gang leader — Zurita preferred to stay in the shadows — demanded a sizable ransom from Salvator.

“I will pay, release me,” Salvator replied.

“That’s for you. But you must pay the same amount for your three companions!” the bandit quickly added.

“I can’t give such a sum at once,” Salvator responded after thinking.

“Then death to him!” the bandits shouted.

“If you don’t agree to our terms, we will kill you at dawn,” the bandit stated.

Salvator shrugged and replied, “I don’t have that amount on hand.”

Salvator’s calmness surprised even the bandit.

Leaving the bound captives behind the car, the bandits began to search and found supplies of alcohol meant for collections. They drank the alcohol and, drunk, collapsed to the ground.

Shortly before dawn, someone cautiously crawled up to Salvator.

“It’s me,” Kristo whispered quietly. “I managed to untie the straps. I crept up to the bandit with the rifle and killed him. The others are drunk. The chauffeur fixed the car. We need to hurry.”

Everyone quickly got into the car, the Black chauffeur started the engine, and the car surged forward, speeding down the road.

Behind them, shouts and disorganized gunfire were heard.

Salvator firmly shook Kristo’s hand.

Only after Salvator’s departure did Zurita learn from his bandits that Salvator had agreed to pay the ransom. “Wouldn’t it have been simpler,” Zurita mused, “to get the ransom than to try to kidnap the sea devil, who knows what he even is?” But the opportunity was missed; all that remained was to await news from Kristo.

The Amphibious Man

 

Kristo hoped that Salvator would approach him and say, “Kristo, you saved my life. Now there are no secrets for you in my domain. Come, I’ll show you the sea devil.”

But Salvator had no intention of doing so. He generously rewarded Kristo for his rescue and immersed himself in his scientific work.

Without wasting time, Kristo began to study the fourth wall and the secret door. It resisted for a long time, but eventually, Kristo managed to discover its secret. One day, while feeling the door, he pressed a small bulge. Suddenly, the door gave way and opened. It turned out to be as heavy and thick as a safe door. Kristo quickly slipped through the door, which immediately closed behind him. This somewhat puzzled him. He examined the door, pressed the protrusions, but the door would not open.

“I’ve locked myself in a trap,” Kristo grumbled.

But there was nothing to be done. All that remained was to explore this last, unknown garden of Salvator.

Kristo found himself in a densely overgrown garden. The entire garden was a small hollow, surrounded on all sides by a high wall of artificially stacked rocks. He could hear not only the roar of the waves but also the rustling of pebbles on the sandy shallows.

There were trees and shrubs that typically grow in moist soil. Among the large, shady trees, which provided good protection from the sun’s rays, numerous streams flowed. Dozens of fountains scattered water droplets, humidifying the air. It was damp, like the low-lying banks of the Mississippi. In the middle of the garden stood a small stone house with a flat roof. Its walls were completely covered with ivy. The green blinds on the windows were down. The house seemed uninhabited.

Kristo reached the end of the garden. At the wall separating the estate from the bay, there was an enormous square pool, thickly planted with trees, occupying an area of no less than five hundred square meters and at least five meters deep.

As Kristo approached, some creature, startled, rushed out of the thickets and plunged into the pool, raising a cloud of spray. Kristo stopped in excitement. It was him! The “sea devil.” At last, Kristo would see him.

The Indian approached the water, peered into the clear water.

At the bottom of the pool, on white stone slabs, sat a large monkey. With fright and curiosity, it gazed from under the water at Kristo. Kristo couldn’t recover from his surprise: the monkey was breathing underwater. Its sides alternately fell and rose.

Recovering from his astonishment, Kristo involuntarily laughed: the “sea devil” that had terrified fishermen turned out to be an amphibious monkey. “What wonders there are in the world,” the old Indian thought.

Kristo was pleased: he had finally managed to uncover everything. But now he was disappointed. The monkey didn’t at all resemble the monster described by eyewitnesses. What fear and imagination can do!

But he had to think about returning. Kristo went back to the door, climbed a tall tree near the fence, and, risking breaking his legs, jumped down from the high wall.

Hardly had he landed than he heard Salvator’s voice:

“Kristo! Where are you?”

Kristo grabbed the rake lying on the path and began to rake dry leaves.

“I’m here.”

“Come, Kristo,” Salvator said, approaching the camouflaged iron door in the rock. “See, this door opens like this.” And Salvator pressed the bulge on the rough surface of the door, already known to Kristo.

“The doctor is too late — I’ve already seen the devil,” Kristo thought.

Salvator and Kristo entered the garden. Bypassing the ivy-covered house, Salvator headed for the pool. The monkey was still sitting in the water, blowing bubbles.

Kristo cried out in surprise, as if seeing it for the first time. But what followed truly surprised him.

Salvator paid no attention to the monkey. He merely waved his hand at it, as if it were bothering him. The monkey immediately swam out, climbed out of the pool, shook itself off, and climbed a tree. Salvator bent down, felt the grass, and pressed a small green plate firmly. A muffled sound was heard. Hatches opened in the floor around the edges of the pool. After a few minutes, the pool was empty. The hatches closed. From somewhere on the side, an iron ladder extended, leading to the bottom of the pool.

“Come, Kristo.”

They descended into the pool. Salvator stepped on one slab, and immediately a new hatch opened — in the middle of the pool — a square meter in width. Iron steps led somewhere underground.

Kristo followed Salvator into this underground passage. They walked for quite a while. Only diffused light penetrated from above through the hatch. But soon it disappeared. Complete darkness surrounded them. Their footsteps echoed dully in this underground corridor.

“Don’t stumble, Kristo, we’re almost there.”

Salvator stopped, feeling along the wall with his hand. A switch clicked, and bright light spread around them. They stood in a stalactite cave, before a bronze door with lion heads holding rings in their teeth. Salvator pulled one ring. The heavy door smoothly opened, and the travelers entered a dark hall. The switch clicked again. A frosted globe illuminated a vast cave, one wall of which was glass. Salvator switched the light: the cave plunged into darkness, and powerful spotlights illuminated the space beyond the glass wall. It was an enormous aquarium — or rather, a glass house at the bottom of the sea. Algae and coral bushes rose from the seabed, and fish frolicked among them. And suddenly, Kristo saw a human-like creature with large webbed hands emerging from the thickets. The unknown being’s body gleamed with bluish-silver scales. With quick, agile movements, this creature swam to the glass wall, nodded its head at Salvator, entered a glass chamber, closing the door behind it. The water quickly drained from the chamber. The unknown opened a second door and entered the grotto.

“Take off your glasses and gloves,” Salvator said. The unknown obediently removed its glasses and gloves, and Kristo saw before him a slender, handsome young man.

“Meet Ichthyander, the fish-man, or rather, an amphibian, also known as the sea devil,” Salvator introduced the young man.

The young man, smiling kindly, extended his hand to the Indian and said in Spanish:

“Hello!”

Kristo silently shook the extended hand. Stunned, he could not utter a word.

“Ichthyander’s Black servant fell ill,” Salvator continued. “I will leave you with Ichthyander for a few days. If you cope with your new duties, I will make you Ichthyander’s permanent servant.”

Kristo silently nodded his head.

Ichthyander’s Day

 

It’s still night, but dawn will break soon.

The air is warm and humid, filled with the sweet scent of magnolias, tuberoses, and mignonette. Not a single leaf stirs. Silence. Ichthyander walks along the sandy garden path. On his belt, a dagger, goggles, and hand and foot fins — “frog’s paws” — sway rhythmically. Only the shell-laden sand crackles under his feet. The path is barely visible. Bushes and trees surround it like black, shapeless blobs. Mist rises from the ponds. Occasionally, Ichthyander brushes against a branch. Dew sprinkles his hair and warm cheek.

The path curves sharply right and descends. The air grows progressively fresher and more humid. Ichthyander feels stone slabs underfoot, slows his pace, and stops. Leisurely, he puts on his large, thick-lensed goggles, and his hand and foot fins. He exhales the air from his lungs and leaps into the water. The water envelops his body with a pleasant coolness, a chill permeating his gills. His gill slits begin to move rhythmically — the man has transformed into a fish.

With a few strong movements of his hands, Ichthyander reaches the bottom of the reservoir.

The young man swims confidently in complete darkness. He extends his hand, finding an iron bracket in the stone wall. Nearby, another, then a third bracket… This is how he navigates to the tunnel, filled to the brim with water. He walks along the bottom, overcoming the cold counter-current. Pushing off the bottom, he surfaces — and it’s as if he’s immersed in a warm bath. The water, heated in the garden reservoirs, flows at the top of the tunnel towards the open sea. Now Ichthyander can let the current carry him. He crosses his arms over his chest, lies on his back, and floats headfirst.

The end of the tunnel is near. There, near the very exit to the ocean, below, a hot spring bursts forth with strong pressure from a rock crevice. Pebbles and shells rustle in its streams along the bottom.

Ichthyander lies on his chest and looks forward. It’s dark. He extends his hand forward. The water freshens slightly. His palms touch an iron grate, its bars covered with soft, slippery marine vegetation and rough shells. Clinging to the grate, the young man finds a complex latch and opens it. The heavy, round grated door, blocking the tunnel’s exit, slowly creaks open. Ichthyander slips through the created gap. The grate door slams shut.

The amphibious man heads into the ocean, propelling himself with his hands and feet. The water is still dark. Only here and there in the black depths do bluish sparks of noctiluca flicker and dull red jellyfish. But dawn is approaching, and the luminous animals extinguish their lights one by one.

Ichthyander feels thousands of small pricks in his gills — it becomes harder to breathe. This means he has passed the rocky cape. Beyond the cape, seawater is always contaminated with alumina particles, sand, and various waste substances. The water is desalinated, as a river flows into the ocean nearby.

“It’s amazing how river fish can live in muddy, fresh water,” Ichthyander thinks. “Their gills probably aren’t as sensitive to sand grains and silt particles.”

Ichthyander rises a little higher, sharply turns right, to the south, then descends into the depths. Here, the water is cleaner. Ichthyander has entered a cold underwater current that runs along the coast from south to north, up to the point where the Parana River flows in, deflecting the cold current eastward. This current runs at a great depth, but its upper boundary is fifteen to twenty meters from the surface. Now Ichthyander can again let himself be carried by the current — it will carry him far into the open ocean.

He can doze off for a bit. There’s no danger: it’s still dark, and marine predators are asleep. Before sunrise, it’s so pleasant to doze. His skin senses how the water temperature and underwater currents change.

Then his ear catches a muffled thudding sound, followed by another, a third. These are anchor chains clanking: in the bay, a few kilometers from Ichthyander, fishing schooners are weighing anchor. Dawn is near. And there’s a distant, rhythmic rumble. It’s the propeller and engines of the “Gorrocks” — a large English ocean steamer making a voyage between Buenos Aires and Liverpool. The “Gorrocks” is still about forty kilometers away. And how clearly it’s heard! Sound travels one and a half thousand meters per second in seawater. How beautiful the “Gorrocks” is at night — a real floating city, bathed in lights! But to see it at night, you have to swim far out into the open sea in the evening. In Buenos Aires, the “Gorrocks” arrives at sunrise with its lights already extinguished. No, there will be no more dozing: the propellers, rudders, and engines of the “Gorrocks”, the vibrations of its hull, the lights of its portholes and searchlights will awaken the ocean’s inhabitants. The dolphins probably heard the approach of the “Gorrocks” first and, diving, raised a slight ripple a few minutes ago that made Ichthyander wary. And they have probably already rushed to meet the steamer.

The drumbeat of ship motors resounds from different directions: the port and the bay are awakening. Ichthyander opens his eyes, shakes his head, as if shaking off the last lingering drowsiness, waves his arms, pushes off with his legs, and surfaces.

He cautiously poked his head out of the water, looking around. No boats or schooners nearby. He emerged up to his waist and held himself there, slowly treading water.

Cormorants and gulls fly low over the water, sometimes brushing the mirrored surface with their chests or wingtips, leaving slowly expanding circles. The cries of white gulls resemble a child’s cry. With huge, whistling wings, an enormous snow-white albatross-petrel flew over Ichthyander’s head, buffeting him with wind. Its flight feathers are black, its beak red with a yellow tip, and its feet orange. It heads towards the bay. Ichthyander watches it with some envy. The bird’s mournful wingspan is at least four meters. If only he had such wings!

To the west, night recedes behind the distant mountains. The east is already reddening. On the surface of the ocean, a barely noticeable calm swell has appeared, with golden streaks on it. White gulls, rising higher, turn pink. Colorful, blue, and navy paths serpentine across the pale surface of the waters: these are the first gusts of wind. The blue paths multiply. The wind strengthens. On the sandy shore, feathery yellow-white tongues of surf are already appearing. The water near the shore turns green.

A whole flotilla of fishing schooners approaches. Father ordered him not to be seen by people. Ichthyander dives deep into the water, finds the cold current. It carries him even further from the shore to the east, into the open ocean. All around is the blue-violet darkness of the sea depths. Fish swim, appearing light green, with dark spots and stripes. Red, yellow, lemon, brown fish constantly dart about, like swarms of colorful butterflies.

A rumble comes from above, and the water darkens. A military seaplane has flown low over the water.

Once, such a seaplane landed on the water. Ichthyander imperceptibly grabbed onto the iron support of the floats and… nearly paid with his life: the seaplane unexpectedly took off from the water. Ichthyander jumped from a height of ten meters.

Ichthyander raises his head. The sunlight is visible almost directly overhead. Noon is approaching. The water’s surface no longer appears as a mirror reflecting the shallow stones, large fish, or Ichthyander himself. Now the mirror is distorted, bulging, continuously moving.

Ichthyander surfaces. Waves rock him. He emerges from the water. He rose on the crest of a wave, descended, and rose again. Oh, what’s happening around! Near the shore, the surf is already roaring, raging, and shifting stones. The water near the shore has turned yellowish-green. A sharp southwest wind is blowing. The waves are growing. Whitecaps flash on the wave crests. Spray constantly falls on Ichthyander. He enjoys it.

“Why is it,” Ichthyander ponders, “that if I swim towards the waves, they appear dark blue, but if I look back, they are pale?”

From the crests of the waves, schools of flying fish, the longfins, burst forth. Rising and falling, passing over wave crests and through the troughs between them, the flying fish soar for a hundred meters before descending, only to leap out of the water again a minute or two later. White gulls flutter and cry. The fastest birds, frigatebirds, cut through the air with their wide wings. An enormous curved beak, sharp claws, dark brown feathers with a greenish metallic sheen, an orange gular pouch. This is a male. Not far away is another frigatebird, lighter in color, with a white breast — a female. She drops like a stone into the water, and a second later, a blue-silvery fish struggles in her hooked beak. Albatross-petrels also fly. A storm is brewing. A wonderful, brave bird, the palamedea, is probably already rushing towards the storm cloud. It always greets a storm with its song. Meanwhile, fishing schooners and elegant yachts race towards the shore under full sail to seek shelter from the tempest.

A greenish twilight prevails, but through the thick water, one can still discern the sun’s location — a large, bright spot. This is enough to determine direction. He must reach the shallow before the cloud covers the sun, otherwise — farewell, breakfast! And he has been hungry for a long time. In the darkness, he won’t find the shallow nor the underwater rocks. Ichthyander works his hands and feet with force — he swims like a frog.

From time to time, he lies on his back and checks his course by the barely perceptible glimmer in the dense blue-green gloom. Sometimes he peers intently forward, looking for the shallow. His gills and skin sense how the water changes: near the shallow, the water is less dense, it’s less salty, and it has more oxygen — pleasant, light water. He tastes the water — on his tongue. Just as an old, experienced sailor, without yet seeing land, knows of its approach by signs known only to him.

Gradually, it grows lighter. To the right and left, the familiar outlines of underwater cliffs loom. Between them is a small plateau, and beyond it, a stone wall. Ichthyander calls this place the underwater bay. It’s quiet here even during the strongest storms.

So many fish have gathered in the calm underwater bay! They teem like a boiling pot of fish soup. Small, dark ones, with a yellow transverse stripe in the middle of their bodies and a yellow tail, with oblique dark stripes, red, blue, navy. They suddenly disappear, only to reappear just as unexpectedly in the same place. If you float up and look around, the fish are teeming, but below, they’ve vanished, as if they’ve fallen through. For a long time, Ichthyander couldn’t understand why this happened until he once caught a fish with his hands. Its tiny body was the size of a palm, but completely flat. That’s why it was difficult to spot the fish from above.

Here’s breakfast. On a flat area near a sheer cliff, there are many oysters. Ichthyander swims over, lies down on the platform right next to the shells, and begins to eat. He removes the oysters from their shells and puts them into his mouth. He is accustomed to eating underwater: after putting a piece in his mouth, he deftly expels water from his mouth through his partially closed lips. He swallows a little water with his food, but he is used to seawater.

Around him, algae sway — green agar leaves pockmarked with holes, feathery green leaves of Mexican caulerpa, delicate pink nitophyllum. But now they all appear dark gray: the light in the water is dim — the storm and tempest continue. Occasionally, distant thunder is heard. Ichthyander looks up.

Why did it suddenly get so dark? A dark spot appeared directly above Ichthyander’s head. What could it be? Breakfast is over. He can look at the surface. Ichthyander cautiously rises towards the dark spot above his head, gliding along the sheer cliff. It turns out a huge albatross has landed on the water. The bird’s orange feet are very close to Ichthyander. He reaches his hands up and grasps the albatross’s legs. The frightened bird spreads its powerful wings and rises, pulling Ichthyander out of the water. But in the air, Ichthyander’s body immediately grows heavy, and the albatross, along with him, falls heavily onto a wave, burying the young man with its feathery, soft breast. Ichthyander doesn’t wait for the petrel to peck his head with its red beak; he dives and, a few seconds later, surfaces in another spot. The albatross flies eastward and disappears beyond the watery mountains of the raging storm.

Ichthyander lies on his back. The storm has passed. Thunder rumbles somewhere far to the east. But the rain is pouring down in sheets. Ichthyander squints his eyes with pleasure. Finally, he opens his eyes, stands, remaining half-submerged in the water, and looks around. He is on the crest of the highest wave. Around him, the sky, the ocean, the wind, the clouds, the downpour, the waves — everything has merged into a wet, spinning tangle that hums, rushes, roars, and thunders. Foam curls on the crests and angrily snakes along the wave ribs. Watery mountains rush upwards and cascade down like avalanches, swells rise, the rain roars, the furious wind howls.

What terrifies a land-dweller brings joy to Ichthyander. Of course, he must be careful, otherwise a watery mountain will crash down on him. But Ichthyander knows how to handle waves no worse than fish. He just needs to understand them: one carries you up and down, another might just toss you over. He also knew what happened under the wave, knew how waves disappeared when the wind stopped: he knew that small waves vanished first, then large ones, but the rhythmic dead swell remained for a long time. He loved to tumble in the coastal waves but knew it was dangerous. Once, a wave unexpectedly flipped Ichthyander over, he hit his head hard on the bottom and lost consciousness. An ordinary person would have drowned, but Ichthyander simply rested in the water.

The rain stopped. It had been carried away eastward, along with the storm. The wind changed. Warmth blew from the tropical north. Through the clouds, patches of blue sky appeared. Sunlight broke through and struck the waves. To the southeast, on the still dark, gloomy sky, a double rainbow appears. The ocean is unrecognizable. Now it is not leaden-dark, but blue, with bright green patches where the sun’s rays have broken through.

The sun! In an instant, the sky and the ocean, the shore and the distant mountains became different. What wonderful, light, moist air after the storm and tempest! Ichthyander alternately inhales the clean, healthy sea air into his lungs and breathes intensely with his gills. Among humans, only Ichthyander alone knows how easy it is to breathe after a storm, thunder, wind, waves, and rain have mingled the sky with the ocean, air with water, and thoroughly saturated the water with oxygen. Then all the fish, all the sea creatures, come alive.

After the storm and tempest, small fish emerge from the thickets of marine jungles, from the narrow crevices of rocks, from the depths of bizarre corals and sponges; they are followed by large fish that had been hiding in the depths, and finally, when everything is completely calm, delicate, weak jellyfish, transparent, almost weightless crustaceans, siphonophores, ctenophores, and Venus’s girdles surface.

Now, a sunbeam falls on a wave. The water around immediately turns green, tiny water bubbles sparkle, foam hisses… Not far from Ichthyander, his friends, the dolphins, frolic, looking at him with cheerful, cunning, curious eyes. Their glossy dark backs flash among the waves. They splash, snort, and chase each other. Ichthyander laughs, catches the dolphins, swims, and dives with them. He feels as if this ocean, these dolphins, this sky, and the sun were created just for him.

Ichthyander raises his head, squinting at the sun. It’s leaning toward the west. Evening will be here soon. Today, he doesn’t feel like returning home early. He’ll just keep swaying like this until the blue sky darkens and the stars appear.

However, he soon grows tired of inaction. Not far from him, small sea creatures are perishing. He can save them. He rises slightly and looks at the distant shore. There, to the shallow by the sand spit! That’s where his help is most needed. The sea surf rages there.

This furious surf, after every storm, casts ashore piles of seaweed and marine inhabitants: jellyfish, crabs, starfish, and sometimes even an unwary dolphin. Jellyfish perish very quickly; some fish manage to reach the water, but many die on the shore. Almost all crabs return to the ocean. Sometimes they even come out of the water onto the shore themselves to feast on the surf’s victims. Ichthyander loves to rescue stranded marine animals.

For hours after a storm, he would wander along the shore, saving whoever could still be saved. He rejoiced, seeing a fish, tossed back into the water, swim away with a cheerful flick of its tail. He rejoiced every time semi-dormant fish, swimming sideways or belly-up in the water, eventually revived. Picking up a large fish on the shore, Ichthyander would carry it to the water; the fish would tremble in his hands, and he would laugh and persuade it not to struggle and to endure a little longer. Of course, he would have gladly eaten that very fish if, hungry, he had caught it in the ocean. But that was an unavoidable evil. Here, on the shore, he was the patron, friend, and savior of the sea’s inhabitants.

Usually, Ichthyander returned to the shore the same way he departed, using the underwater currents. But today, he didn’t want to dive underwater for long — the ocean and sky were simply too beautiful. The young man would dive, swim underwater, and then reappear on the surface, much like seabirds hunting for fish.

The last rays of the sun faded. In the west, a yellow streak still glowed. Gloomy waves, like dark gray shadows, chased each other.

After the cool air, the water felt so warm. It was dark all around, but not frightening. No one attacks at this hour. Daytime predators had already fallen asleep, and nighttime hunters had not yet emerged.

Here’s what he needs: the northern current, located very close to the ocean’s surface. The unsettled dead swell slightly rocks this underwater river up and down, but it continues to flow slowly from the hot north to the cold south. Much deeper lies the reverse, cold current — from south to north. Ichthyander often uses these currents when he needs to swim a long distance along the coast.

Today, he swam far north. Now this warm current will carry him to the tunnel. He just has to avoid falling asleep and drifting past it, as he once did. He sometimes puts his hands behind his head, sometimes stretches them out to the sides, slowly spreads and then contracts his legs — doing exercises. The current carries him south. The warm water and slow movements of his hands and feet have a calming effect on him.

Ichthyander looks up — before him is an archway completely covered with tiny, dust-like stars. These are noctiluca lighting their lanterns and rising to the ocean’s surface. Here and there in the darkness, bluish and pinkish luminous nebulae are visible — dense clusters of tiny luminous animals. Slowly, globes emitting a soft greenish light float by. Quite close to Ichthyander, a jellyfish glows — it looks like a lamp covered with an intricate lampshade with lace and long fringe. The fringe sways slowly, as if by a gentle breeze, with every movement of the jellyfish. On the shallows, starfish have already lit up. In the great depths, the lights of large nocturnal predators move swiftly. They chase each other, circle, extinguish, and flare up again.

Another shallow. The whimsical trunks and branches of corals are illuminated from within by blue, pink, green, and white light. Some corals glow with a pale, flickering light, others — like metal heated to white-hot.

On land at night, there are only small, distant stars in the sky, sometimes the moon. But here there are thousands of stars, thousands of moons, thousands of small, colorful suns, burning with a soft, gentle light. The night in the ocean is incomparably more beautiful than the night on land.

And, to compare, Ichthyander surfaces.

The air has warmed. Above him, a dark blue vault of sky, studded with stars. Above the horizon hangs the silvery disk of the moon. From the moon, a silver path stretches across the entire ocean.

From the port, a low, thick, prolonged horn blares. It’s the giant “Gorrocks” preparing for its return journey. But how late it is! Dawn will break soon. Ichthyander has been absent for almost a full day. Father will probably scold him.

Ichthyander heads for the tunnel, slides his hand between the bars, opens the iron grate, and swims through the tunnel in complete darkness. On this return journey, he has to swim at the bottom, in the cold current that flows from the sea to the garden pools.

A gentle nudge on his shoulder awakens him. He is in the pool. He quickly rises. He begins to breathe with his lungs, inhaling the air infused with the familiar scents of flowers.

A few minutes later, he is fast asleep in his bed, as his father had commanded.

The Girl and the Swarthy Man

 

One day, he was swimming in the ocean after a storm.

Surfacing, Ichthyander noticed an object not far from him on the waves, resembling a piece of white sail torn from a fishing schooner by the storm. Swimming closer, he was surprised to see that it was a person — a woman, a young girl. She was tied to a board.

Could this beautiful girl really be dead? Ichthyander was so agitated by his discovery that, for the first time, he felt a hostile emotion toward the ocean.

Perhaps the girl had only lost consciousness? He adjusted her helplessly slumped head, grasped the board, and swam towards the shore.

He swam quickly, exerting all his strength, only occasionally making brief stops to adjust the girl’s head, which kept slipping off the board.

He whispered to her, like a fish in distress: “Hold on a little longer!” He wanted the girl to open her eyes, but he feared it. He wanted to see her alive, but he was afraid she would be frightened by him. Should he remove his goggles and fins? But that would take time, and swimming without the fins would be harder. So he hurried to swim again, pushing the board with the girl towards the shore.

Here was the surf line. He had to be careful here. The waves themselves carried him to shore. Ichthyander occasionally lowered a foot — feeling the bottom. Finally, he reached the shallows, carried the girl ashore, untied her from the board, moved her into the shade of a dune overgrown with bushes, and began to revive her — performing artificial respiration.

It seemed to him that her eyelids fluttered, her eyelashes twitched. Ichthyander put his ear to the girl’s heart and heard a faint beat. She was alive… He wanted to shout with joy.

The girl’s eyes fluttered open, she looked at Ichthyander, and an expression of terror appeared on her face. Then she closed her eyes. Ichthyander was both saddened and overjoyed. He had, after all, saved the girl. Now he had to leave — not to frighten her. But could he leave her alone, so helpless? As he pondered, he heard heavy, rapid footsteps. There was no time for further hesitation.

Ichthyander plunged headfirst into the surf, dived, swam underwater towards the rocky ridge, surfaced, and, hiding among the rock fragments, began to observe the shore.

From behind the dune emerged a swarthy man with a mustache and goatee, wearing a wide-brimmed hat. He said quietly in Spanish, “Here she is, praise Jesus!” — then almost ran to her, only to suddenly turn sharply towards the ocean and plunge into the surf. Completely soaked, he ran up to the girl, began to perform artificial respiration (why now?), bent over the girl’s face… and kissed her. He started speaking quickly and passionately. Ichthyander only caught isolated words:

“I warned you… It was madness… Good thing I thought to tie you to the board…”

The girl opened her eyes, lifted her head. Fear appeared on her face, replaced by surprise, then anger, and displeasure. The man with the goatee continued to speak passionately about something, helping the girl to stand. But she was still weak, and he gently lowered her back onto the sand. Only half an hour later did they set off. They passed close to the rocks where Ichthyander was hidden. The girl, frowning, said, addressing the man in the sombrero:

“So, you saved me? Thank you. May God reward you!”

“Not God, but only you can reward me,” the swarthy man replied.

The girl seemed not to hear these words. She remained silent for a moment, then said:

“Strange. I thought, or imagined, that there was some kind of monster near me.”

“Of course, you imagined it,” her companion replied. “Or perhaps it was the devil, who thought you were dead and wanted to claim your soul. Say a prayer and lean on me. With me, no devil will touch you.”

And they walked on — the wonderful girl and this unpleasant swarthy man, who had convinced the girl that he had saved her. But Ichthyander could not expose his lie. Let them do as they please — Ichthyander had done his part.

The girl and her companion disappeared behind the dunes, and Ichthyander still watched them go. Then he turned his head to the ocean. How vast and deserted it was!

The surf cast a blue fish with a silvery belly onto the sand. Ichthyander looked around — no one. He rushed out of his hiding place, grabbed the fish, and threw it back into the sea. The fish swam away, but Ichthyander felt a strange sadness. He wandered along the deserted shore, picking up fish and starfish and returning them to the water. The work gradually absorbed him. His usual good mood returned. He continued this until dusk, only occasionally immersing himself in the water when the coastal wind burned and dried his gills.

Ichthyander’s Servant

 

Salvator decided to go to the mountains without Kristo, who was successfully serving Ichthyander. This greatly pleased the Indian: in Salvator’s absence, he could see Balthazar more freely. Kristo had already managed to inform Balthazar that he had found the “sea devil.” All that remained was to figure out how to kidnap Ichthyander.

Kristo now lived in the small white, ivy-covered house and often saw Ichthyander. They quickly became friends. Ichthyander, deprived of human company, grew attached to the old Indian, who told him about life on land. Ichthyander knew more about marine life than famous scientists, and he initiated Kristo into the secrets of the underwater world. Ichthyander knew geography quite well; he was familiar with oceans, seas, and major rivers; he had some knowledge of astronomy, navigation, physics, and botany, and zoology. But he knew little about people: he had a vague idea about the races inhabiting the earth and the history of peoples, but he knew no more than a five-year-old child about political and economic relations between people. During the day, when the heat set in, Ichthyander would descend into the underground grotto and swim away somewhere. He would return to the white house when the heat subsided and stay there until morning. But if it rained or a storm brewed at sea, he would spend the entire day in the house. In damp weather, he felt quite well remaining on land.

The house was small, with only four rooms. Kristo was accommodated in one room, near the kitchen. Next to it was the dining room, then a large library: Ichthyander knew Spanish and English. Finally, in the last, largest room was Ichthyander’s bedroom. In the middle of the bedroom was a pool. A bed stood by the wall. Sometimes Ichthyander slept on the bed, but he preferred the comfort of the pool. However, Salvator, before leaving, ordered Kristo to ensure that Ichthyander slept in a regular bed at least three nights a week. In the evenings, Kristo would come to Ichthyander and grumble like an old nanny if the young man refused to sleep in the bed.

“But it’s much more pleasant and comfortable for me to sleep in the water,” Ichthyander protested.

“The doctor ordered you to sleep in the bed — you must obey your father.”

Ichthyander called Salvator “father,” but Kristo doubted their kinship. Ichthyander’s skin on his face and hands was quite fair, but perhaps it had lightened from prolonged time underwater. The regular oval of Ichthyander’s face, his straight nose, thin lips, and large radiant eyes resembled the face of an Araucanian Indian, to which Kristo himself belonged.

Kristo was very curious to see the color of Ichthyander’s skin on his body, which was tightly covered by a scale-like suit made of some unknown material.

“You don’t take off your shirt at night,” he addressed the young man.

“Why? My scales don’t bother me; they’re very comfortable. They don’t hinder my gill and skin breathing, and at the same time, they provide reliable protection: neither shark teeth nor a sharp knife can cut through this armor,” Ichthyander replied, settling into bed.

“Why do you wear goggles and gloves?” Kristo asked, examining the unusual gloves lying near the bed.

They were made of greenish rubber, the fingers elongated with articulated reeds embedded in the rubber, and equipped with webbing. For his feet, these fingers were even more elongated.

“Gloves help me swim fast. And goggles protect my eyes when a storm stirs up sand from the bottom. I don’t always wear them. But with goggles, I see better underwater. Without goggles, everything underwater is hazy.” And, smiling, Ichthyander continued:

“When I was little, Father allowed me to sometimes play with children who lived in the neighboring garden. I was very surprised to see them swimming in the pool without gloves: ‘Is it possible to swim without gloves?’ I asked them. And they didn’t understand what kind of gloves I was talking about, as I didn’t swim when they were around.”

“Do you still swim out into the bay?” Kristo inquired.

“Of course. I just use the side underwater tunnel. Some bad people almost caught me in a net, and now I’m very careful.”

“Hmm… So, there’s another underwater tunnel leading to the bay?”

“Even several. It’s a shame you can’t swim with me underwater! I’d show you amazing things. Why can’t all people live underwater? We could ride my sea horse together.”

“Your sea horse? What’s that?”

“A dolphin. I tamed him. Poor thing! A storm once threw him ashore, and he badly injured his fin. I dragged him into the water. It was hard work: dolphins on land are much heavier than in water. In general, everything here is heavier for you. Even your own body. Life is easier in the water. So, I dragged the dolphin in, but he couldn’t swim — which meant he couldn’t eat. I fed him fish for a long time, a month. During that time, he not only got used to me but also grew attached. We became friends. Other dolphins also know me. How joyful it is to frolic in the sea with dolphins! Waves, spray, sun, wind, noise! It’s also good at the bottom. It’s like swimming in thick blue air. Quiet. You don’t feel your body. It becomes free, light, obedient to every movement of yours… I have many friends in the sea. I feed small fish, like you feed birds — they follow me in schools everywhere.”

“And enemies?”

“There are enemies too. Sharks, octopuses. But I’m not afraid of them. I have a knife.”

“What if they sneak up on you?” Ichthyander was surprised by the question.

“I hear them from afar.”

“You hear underwater?” Kristo was surprised in turn. “Even when they swim quietly?”

“Of course. What’s so hard to understand? I hear with my ears and my whole body. They create vibrations in the water — these oscillations precede them. Feeling these vibrations, I look around.”

“Even when you’re sleeping?”

“Of course.”

“But fish…”

“Fish don’t die from sudden attacks, but because they can’t defend themselves against a stronger enemy. And I am stronger than all of them. And marine predators know this. They don’t dare to approach me.”

“Zurita is right: this sea fellow is worth the effort,” Kristo thought. “But catching him in the water isn’t easy. ‘I hear with my whole body!’ Unless he falls into a trap. I’ll have to warn Zurita.”

“How beautiful the underwater world is!” Ichthyander continued to exclaim. “No, I will never trade the sea for your stuffy, dusty land!”

“Why ‘our’ land? You are also a son of the land,” Kristo said. “Who was your mother?”

“I don’t know…” Ichthyander said uncertainly. “Father says my mother died when I was born.”

“But she was, of course, a woman, a human, not a fish.”

“Perhaps,” Ichthyander agreed. Kristo laughed.

“Now tell me, why did you play tricks, bother the fishermen, cut their nets, and throw fish out of their boats?”

“Because they caught more fish than they could eat.”

“But they caught fish for sale.” Ichthyander didn’t understand.

“So that other people could eat too,” the Indian explained.

“Are there really so many people?” Ichthyander wondered. “Don’t they have enough land birds and animals? Why do they come to the ocean?”

“That’s not something you can explain right away,” Kristo said, yawning. “Time for bed. And look, don’t get into your bath: Father will be displeased.” And Kristo left.

Early in the morning, Kristo did not find Ichthyander. The stone floor was wet.

“Slept in the bath again,” the Indian grumbled. “And then, probably, went to the sea.”

Ichthyander arrived very late for breakfast. He was somewhat upset. He poked a piece of steak with his fork and said:

“Fried meat again.”

“Again,” Kristo replied strictly. “The doctor ordered it. And did you again fill up on raw fish in the sea? You’ll completely lose the habit of fried food. And you slept in the bath. You don’t want to sleep in the bed — your gills will get out of the habit of air, and then you’ll complain about a tingling in your sides. And you were late for breakfast. When the doctor arrives, I’ll complain to him about you. You don’t listen at all.”

“Don’t tell him, Kristo. I don’t want to upset him.” Ichthyander lowered his head and became thoughtful. Then he suddenly raised his large, this time sad, eyes to the Indian and said:

“Kristo, I saw a girl. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful — not even at the bottom of the ocean…”

“Then why were you complaining about our land?” Kristo said.

“I was swimming on my dolphin along the shore and saw her on the bank not far from Buenos Aires. She has blue eyes and golden hair.” And Ichthyander added:

“But she saw me, got scared, and ran away. Why did I wear goggles and gloves?” After a pause, he spoke very quietly:

“Once I saved a girl who drowned in the ocean. Then I didn’t notice what she looked like. What if it was her? I think that one also had golden hair. Yes, yes… I remember…” The young man became thoughtful, then approached the mirror, examining himself for the first time in his life.

“And what did you do next?”

“I waited for her, but she didn’t come back. Kristo, will she really never come to the shore again?”

“Perhaps it’s good that he likes the girl,” Kristo thought. Until now, no matter how much Kristo praised the city, he couldn’t persuade Ichthyander to visit Buenos Aires, where Zurita could easily capture the young man.

“The girl might not come to the shore, but I will help you find her. You’ll put on a city suit and come with me to the city.”

“And I’ll see her?” Ichthyander exclaimed.

“There are many girls there. Maybe you’ll see the one who sat on the shore.”

“Let’s go now!”

“It’s too late now. It’s not easy to get to the city on foot.”

“I’ll swim on the dolphin, and you’ll walk along the shore.”

“How quick you are,” Kristo replied. “We’ll go together tomorrow, at dawn. You’ll swim into the bay, and I’ll be waiting for you with a suit on the shore. And I still need to get a suit. (“I’ll have time to see my brother overnight,” Kristo thought.) So, tomorrow at dawn.”

In the City

 

Ichthyander swam out of the bay and came ashore. Kristo was already waiting for him, holding a white city suit. Ichthyander looked at the suit as if he’d been presented with snakeskin, and with a sigh, began to get dressed. Evidently, he rarely had to wear a suit. The Indian helped the young man tie his tie and, after examining Ichthyander, was pleased with his appearance.

“Let’s go,” Kristo said cheerfully.

The Indian wanted to impress Ichthyander and led him through the main streets of the city — Avenida Alvar, Vertis — showed him Victoria Square with its cathedral and the Moorish-style town hall, Fuerto Square and Twenty-Fifth of May Square with its Obelisk of Liberty surrounded by beautiful trees, and the presidential palace.

But Kristo was mistaken. The noise, the movement of the big city, the dust, the stuffiness, the hustle and bustle completely overwhelmed Ichthyander. He tried to find the girl in the crowd, often grabbing Kristo’s arm and whispering:

“It’s her!…” — but immediately realized he was wrong again. “No, it’s another one…” Noon arrived. The heat became unbearable. Kristo suggested they go into a small restaurant located in a basement to have breakfast. It was cool there, but noisy and stuffy. Dirty, poorly dressed people smoked foul-smelling cigars. Ichthyander gasped for air from the smoke, and then there were loud arguments, with people shaking crumpled newspapers and shouting incomprehensible words. Ichthyander drank a lot of cold water but didn’t touch his breakfast and sadly said:

“It’s easier to find a familiar fish in the ocean than a person in this human whirlpool. Your cities are disgusting! It’s stuffy here and smells bad. My sides are starting to prickle. I want to go home, Kristo.”

“Alright,” Kristo agreed. “We’ll just stop by a friend of mine — and then we’ll go back.”

“I don’t want to go inside to see people.”

“It’s on the way. I won’t be long.”

After paying, Kristo exited onto the street with Ichthyander. With his head down, breathing heavily, Ichthyander followed Kristo past white houses, past gardens with cacti, olive, and peach trees. The Indian was leading him to his brother, Balthazar, who lived in the New Port.

By the sea, Ichthyander greedily inhaled the moist air. He longed to tear off his clothes and throw himself into the sea.

“We’re almost there,” Kristo said, glancing nervously at his companion.

They crossed the railroad tracks.

“Here we are. It’s here,” Kristo said, and they descended into a dimly lit shop.

When Ichthyander’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he looked around in amazement. The shop resembled a corner of the seabed. Shelves and even part of the floor were covered with shells — small, large, spiral, bivalve. From the ceiling hung strands of coral, starfish, stuffed marine fish, dried crabs, and wondrous sea creatures. On the counter, under glass, pearls lay in boxes. In one box were pink pearls — “angel’s skin,” as the divers called them. Ichthyander felt somewhat calmer amidst the familiar objects.

“Rest, it’s cool and quiet here,” Kristo said, seating the young man on an old wicker chair.

“Balthazar! Guttiere!” the Indian called out.

“Is that you, Kristo?” a voice replied from another room. “Come here.”

Kristo bent down to enter the low doorway leading to the other room.

This was Balthazar’s laboratory. Here he restored the lost color of pearls, dulled by dampness, with a weak acid solution. Kristo closed the door tightly behind him. A faint light fell through a small window near the ceiling, illuminating vials and glass trays on an old, blackened table.

“Hello, brother. Where’s Guttiere?”

“She went to the neighbor for an iron. Only laces and bows on her mind. She’ll be back soon,” Balthazar replied.

“And Zurita?” Kristo asked impatiently.

“He’s disappeared somewhere, the accursed man. We had a bit of a quarrel yesterday.”

“All because of Guttiere?”

“Zurita was writhing like a snake in front of her. And all she said in response was: ‘I don’t want to and I don’t want to!’ What can you do with her? Capricious and stubborn. Thinks too highly of herself. Doesn’t understand that any Indian girl, no matter how beautiful, would consider it a blessing to marry such a man. He has his own schooner, a team of divers,” Balthazar grumbled, washing pearls in the solution. “He’s probably drinking wine out of spite again.”

“What are we to do now?”

“Did you bring him?”

“He’s sitting.”

Balthazar, approaching the door, curiously peeked through the keyhole.

“I don’t see him,” he said quietly.

“He’s sitting on the chair, by the counter.”

“I don’t see him. Guttiere is there.”

Balthazar quickly opened the door and entered the shop with Kristo. Ichthyander was not there. In the dark corner stood a girl, Balthazar’s adopted daughter. Guttiere. The girl was known for her beauty far beyond the New Port. But she was shy and willful. Most often, she spoke in a melodious but firm voice: “No!”

Guttiere had taken Pedro Zurita’s fancy. He wanted to marry her. And old Balthazar was not averse to marrying into the family of a schooner owner and joining his company. But to all of Zurita’s proposals, the girl consistently replied: “No.” When her father and Kristo entered the room, the girl stood with her head bowed.

“Hello, Guttiere,” Kristo said.

“Where is the young man?” Balthazar asked.

“I don’t hide young men,” she replied, smiling. “When I came in, he looked at me so strangely, as if he was scared, got up, suddenly clutched his chest, and ran away. Before I could look around, he was already out the door.”

“It was her,” Kristo thought.

Back to the Sea

 

Ichthyander, gasping for breath, ran along the seashore. Breaking free from that terrifying city, he sharply veered off the road and headed straight for the water’s edge. He found shelter among the coastal rocks, looked around, quickly undressed, hid his suit among the stones, ran to the water, and plunged in.

Despite his exhaustion, he had never swum so swiftly before. Fish darted away from him in fright. Only after swimming a few miles from the city did Ichthyander rise closer to the surface and swim near the shore. Here, he felt at home. Every underwater rock, every indentation in the seabed was familiar to him. Here, flattened on the sandy bottom, lived the homebody flounder; further on, red coral bushes grew, sheltering small red-finned fish in their branches. Two families of octopi had settled in this sunken fishing barge; they had recently hatched their young. Under the gray stones lived crabs. Ichthyander loved to observe their lives for hours. He knew their small joys of a successful hunt and their sorrows — the loss of a claw or an octopus attack. And near the coastal cliffs, there were many oyster shells.

Finally, not far from the bay, Ichthyander raised his head above the water’s surface. He saw a school of dolphins frolicking among the waves and let out a loud, prolonged cry. A large dolphin snorted cheerfully in response and quickly swam towards his friend, diving and reappearing above the wave crests, showing his black, glistening back.

“Faster, Liding, faster!” Ichthyander shouted, swimming to meet him. He grabbed hold of the dolphin. “Let’s swim faster, onward!”

And, obeying the young man’s hand, the dolphin quickly swam into the open sea, against the wind and waves. Raising foam, it cut through the waves with its chest and sped along, but this speed still seemed insufficient to Ichthyander.

“Come on, Liding! Faster, faster!”

Ichthyander completely exhausted the dolphin, but this ride on the waves did not calm him. He left his friend in complete bewilderment, suddenly sliding off its glistening back and descending into the sea. The dolphin waited, snorted, dived, surfaced, snorted discontentedly once more, and, sharply turning its tail, headed towards the shore, looking back from time to time. His friend did not reappear on the surface, and Liding rejoined the herd, joyfully greeted by the young dolphins. Ichthyander descended deeper and deeper into the twilight depths of the ocean. He wanted to be alone, to recover from the new impressions, to sort out everything he had learned and seen. He swam far, without thinking of the danger. He wanted to understand why he was not like everyone else — alien to both the sea and the land.

He descended more and more slowly. The water became denser; it was already pressing on him, and breathing became increasingly difficult. Here, a thick greenish-gray twilight reigned. There were fewer marine inhabitants, and many of them were unknown to Ichthyander — he had never descended so deep before. And for the first time, Ichthyander felt eerie in this silent, twilight world. He quickly rose to the surface and swam towards the shore. The sun was setting, piercing the water with red rays. In the water, these rays, mixing with the blue of the waters, shimmered in delicate lilac-pink and greenish-blue tones.

Without his goggles, Ichthyander saw the sea surface from below as fish perceive it: from underwater, the surface appeared not flat, but conical — as if he were at the bottom of a huge funnel. The edges of this cone, it seemed, were surrounded by red, yellow, green, blue, and violet fringes. Beyond the cone lay the glistening water surface, in which, as in a mirror, underwater objects were reflected: rocks, seaweed, and fish.

Ichthyander flipped onto his stomach, swam to the shore, and settled underwater among the rocks, not far from the shallows. Fishermen stepped out of their boat into the water and pulled the boat ashore. One of them lowered his legs knee-deep into the water. Ichthyander saw a legless fisherman above the water, and in the water — only his legs, which were again reflected in the mirror of the water’s surface. Another fisherman immersed himself up to his shoulders in the water. And in the water appeared a strange, headless, but four-legged creature, as if the heads of two identical people had been cut off and one person’s shoulders placed on another’s. When people approached the shore, Ichthyander saw them as fish see them: reflected as if in a sphere. He saw them from head to toe before they came close to the shore. That’s why he always managed to swim away before people could notice him.

These strange headless torsos with four arms and heads without torsos now seemed unpleasant to Ichthyander. People… They make so much noise, smoke terrible cigars, smell bad. No, dolphins are better — they’re clean and cheerful. Ichthyander smiled; he remembered how he once drank dolphin milk.

Far to the south, there is a small bay. Sharp underwater rocks and a sand spit block access to it for vessels from the sea. The shore there is rocky and steep. This bay is not visited by fishermen or pearl seekers. The shallow bottom is covered with a thick carpet of plants. There are many fish in the warm water. For many years in a row, a female dolphin would come here, and here, in this warm bay, she would give birth to dolphin calves — two, four, sometimes even six. Ichthyander was greatly amused by the young dolphins, and he would watch them for hours, hiding motionless in the thickets. The dolphin calves would either comically somersault on the surface or suckle their mother’s teats, pushing each other away with their snouts. Ichthyander began to cautiously tame them: he caught small fish and offered them to the dolphin calves. Gradually, the young dolphins and the female grew accustomed to Ichthyander. He already frolicked with the little ones, catching them, tossing them up, tugging at them. They apparently enjoyed it — they never left his side and always rushed to him in a crowd as soon as he appeared in the bay with gifts — tasty fish or even tastier small, delicate octopuses.

One day, when the familiar female dolphin gave birth and her offspring were still very young sucklings — they weren’t yet eating, only feeding on their mother’s milk — Ichthyander thought: why shouldn’t he try dolphin milk himself?

And so, he imperceptibly found himself beneath the female dolphin, embraced her with his hands, and began to suckle milk. The dolphin did not expect such an attack and in horror darted out of the bay. Ichthyander immediately released the frightened animal. The milk had a strong fishy taste. The frightened female, breaking free from the unexpected suckler, rushed into the watery abyss somewhere; her infants were disoriented and aimlessly nudged in all directions. For a long time, Ichthyander herded the small, foolish dolphin calves until their mother appeared and led them to a neighboring bay. Only after many days was their trust and friendship restored.

Kristo was genuinely worried.

Ichthyander had not shown himself for three days. He appeared tired, pale, but content.

“Where have you been?” the Indian asked strictly, relieved by Ichthyander’s appearance.

“At the bottom,” Ichthyander replied.

“Why are you so pale?”

“I… I almost died,” Ichthyander lied for the first time in his life and told Kristo a story that had happened to him much earlier.

In the depths of the ocean, a rocky plateau rises, and at the top, in the middle of the plateau, there is a large oval depression — a true underwater mountain lake.

Ichthyander swam above this underwater lake. Its unusually light gray bottom color struck him. Descending lower and looking closer, Ichthyander was amazed: beneath him was a real cemetery of various marine animals — from small fish to sharks and dolphins. There were recent victims. But unlike usual, no small predators — crabs and fish — teemed around them. Everything was dead and motionless. Only here and there, gas bubbles rose from the bottom to the surface. Ichthyander swam above the edge of the depression. He descended even lower and suddenly felt a sharp pain in his gills, suffocation, dizziness. Almost losing consciousness, he fell helplessly and finally landed on the edge of the basin. His temples pounded, his heart throbbed, his eyes were clouded with a red mist. And there was no one from whom to expect help. Suddenly, he noticed that next to him, convulsing, a shark was descending. It had probably been hunting him until it itself fell into these terrible, poisonous, dead waters of the underwater lake. Its belly and sides swelled and deflated, its mouth was open, its white, chiseled teeth plates exposed. The shark was dying. Ichthyander shuddered. Clenching his jaws, trying not to take in water through his gills, Ichthyander crawled out of the lake onto the bank on all fours, then stood up, and walked. His head spun, and he fell again. Then he pushed off the gray stones with his feet, swung his arms, and now he was ten meters from the edge of the lake…

Finishing his story, Ichthyander added what he had once learned from Salvator.

“Probably some harmful gases have accumulated in this basin,” Ichthyander said, “perhaps hydrogen sulfide or carbonic anhydride. You see, on the ocean surface, these gases oxidize, and you don’t feel them, but in the basin itself, where they are released, they are still highly concentrated. Well, now give me breakfast, I’m hungry.”

After a quick breakfast, Ichthyander put on his goggles and fins and headed for the door.

“Is that all you came for?” Kristo asked, pointing to the goggles. “Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong with you?”

A new trait appeared in Ichthyander’s character: he became secretive.

“Don’t ask, Kristo, I don’t know myself what’s wrong with me.” And the young man quickly left the room.

A Small Revenge

 

Upon unexpectedly encountering the blue-eyed girl in the pearl seller Balthazar’s shop, Ichthyander became so flustered that he rushed out of the shop and fled to the sea. Now, however, he longed to meet the girl again, but didn’t know how. The easiest way would be to call on Kristo for help and go with him. But he didn’t want to meet her in Kristo’s presence.

Every day, Ichthyander swam to the seashore, to the place where he first met the girl. He would spend from morning till evening, hidden behind coastal rocks, hoping to see her. Arriving at the shore, he would remove his goggles and fins and change into his white suit so as not to frighten the girl. Often, he would spend full days and nights on the shore, submerging himself in the sea at night, feeding on fish and oysters, falling asleep uneasily, and then, early in the morning, even before sunrise, he would be back at his lookout post.

One evening, he decided to go to the pearl seller’s shop. The doors were open, but an old Indian was sitting at the counter — the girl was not there. Ichthyander returned to the shore.

A girl in a light white dress and a straw hat stood on the rocky shore. Ichthyander stopped, hesitant to approach. The girl was waiting for someone. Impatiently, she walked back and forth, glancing at the road from time to time. She didn’t notice Ichthyander, who had stopped by a rock outcrop.

But then the girl waved to someone. Ichthyander looked around and saw a tall, broad-shouldered young man rapidly approaching along the road. Ichthyander had never before seen such fair hair and eyes as this stranger possessed. The giant approached the girl and, extending his large hand, affectionately said:

“Hello, Guttiere!”

“Hello, Olsen!” she replied. The stranger firmly shook Guttiere’s small hand. Ichthyander watched them with aversion. He felt sad and almost burst into tears.

“Did you bring it?” the giant asked, looking at Guttiere’s pearl necklace.

She nodded.

“Father won’t find out?” Olsen asked.

“No,” the girl replied. “These are my own pearls; I can do with them as I please.”

Guttiere and Olsen walked to the very edge of the rocky shore, talking quietly. Then Guttiere unclasped the pearl necklace, held it by one end of the string, raised her hands, and, admiring the necklace, said:

“Look how beautifully the pearls shimmer in the sunset. Take it, Olsen…”

Olsen had already extended his hand, but suddenly the necklace slipped from Guttiere’s grasp and fell into the sea.

“What have I done!” the girl cried out.

Distressed, Olsen and Guttiere remained standing by the sea.

“Perhaps it can be retrieved?” Olsen said.

“It’s very deep here,” Guttiere said and added:

“What a misfortune, Olsen!”

Ichthyander saw how distressed the girl was. He immediately forgot that the girl intended to give the pearls to the fair-haired giant. Ichthyander could not remain indifferent to her sorrow: he emerged from behind the rock and resolutely approached Guttiere.

Olsen frowned, while Guttiere looked at Ichthyander with curiosity and surprise — she recognized him as the young man who had so abruptly fled the shop.

“You seem to have dropped a pearl necklace into the sea?” Ichthyander asked. “If you wish, I can retrieve it.”

“Even my father — the best pearl diver — couldn’t retrieve it here,” the girl retorted.

“I will try,” Ichthyander humbly replied. And, to the surprise of Guttiere and her companion, the young man, without even undressing, plunged into the sea from the high bank and disappeared into the waves. Olsen didn’t know what to think.

“Who is that? Where did he come from?”

A minute passed, then a second, and the young man did not return.

“He’s dead,” Guttiere said anxiously, looking at the waves. Ichthyander did not want the girl to know that he could live underwater. Engrossed in his search, he misjudged the time and stayed underwater a little longer than a diver could endure. Surfacing, the young man said, smiling:

“A little patience. There are many rock fragments on the bottom — it’s hard to search. But I will find it.” And he dived again.

Guttiere had often been present during pearl diving. She was surprised that the young man, after being underwater for almost two minutes, was breathing steadily and did not appear tired.

After two more minutes, Ichthyander’s head reappeared on the surface. His face shone with joy. He raised his hands above the water and showed the necklace.

“It caught on a rock outcrop,” Ichthyander said in a completely even voice, without gasping for breath, as if he had just walked in from another room. “If the pearl had fallen into a crevice, it would have taken longer.”

He quickly climbed the rocks, approached Guttiere, and handed her the necklace. Water streamed from his clothes, but he paid no attention.

“Take it.”

“Thank you,” Guttiere said, looking at the young man with renewed curiosity.

Silence fell. All three did not know what to do next. Guttiere hesitated to hand the necklace to Olsen in Ichthyander’s presence.

“You seemed to want to give him the pearls,” Ichthyander said, pointing to Olsen.

Olsen blushed, and a flustered Guttiere said:

“Yes, yes,” and extended the necklace to Olsen, who silently took it and put it in his pocket.

Ichthyander was pleased. From his side, it was a small revenge. The giant received the lost pearls as a gift from Guttiere’s hands, but they came from him — Ichthyander.

And, bowing to the girl, Ichthyander quickly walked away along the road.

But Ichthyander’s triumph was short-lived. New thoughts and questions arose within him. He barely knew people. Who was this fair-haired giant? Why was Guttiere giving him her necklace? What were they talking about on the cliff?

That night, Ichthyander again raced across the waves with the dolphin, scaring fishermen in the dark with his cries.

The entire next day, Ichthyander spent underwater. Wearing goggles but no fins, he crawled along the sandy bottom in search of pearl shells. In the evening, he visited Kristo, who greeted him with grumbling reproaches. The next morning, already dressed, the young man was at the rock where he had met Guttiere and Olsen. In the evening at sunset, just like last time, Guttiere arrived first.

Ichthyander emerged from behind the rocks and approached the girl. Seeing him, Guttiere nodded to him as if to an acquaintance and, smiling, asked:

“Are you following me?”

“Yes,” Ichthyander replied simply, “ever since I first saw you…” And, flustered, the young man continued:

“You gave your necklace to that… Olsen. But you admired the pearls before giving them away. Do you like pearls?”

“Yes.”

“Then take this… from me.” And he held out a pearl to her.

Guttiere knew the value of pearls well. The pearl resting on Ichthyander’s palm surpassed everything she had ever seen or heard about pearls from her father’s stories. Of impeccable shape, the enormous pearl of the purest white color weighed no less than two hundred carats and was probably worth no less than a million gold pesos. Amazed, Guttiere looked alternately at the extraordinary pearl and at the handsome young man standing before her. Strong, flexible, healthy, yet somewhat shy, dressed in a crumpled white suit, he did not resemble the wealthy youths of Buenos Aires. And he was offering such a gift to her, a girl he barely knew.

“Take it,” Ichthyander repeated, now more insistently.

“No,” Guttiere replied, shaking her head. “I cannot accept such a valuable gift from you.”

“It’s not a valuable gift at all,” Ichthyander hotly retorted. “There are thousands of such pearls at the bottom of the ocean.”

Guttiere smiled. Ichthyander became flustered, blushed, and after a short silence added:

“Please, take it.”

“No.”

Ichthyander frowned; he was offended.

“If you don’t want to take it for yourself,” Ichthyander insisted, “then take it for him… for Olsen. He won’t refuse.” Guttiere grew angry.

“He doesn’t take things for himself,” she replied sternly. “You know nothing.”

“So, no?”

“No.”

Then Ichthyander threw the pearl far into the sea, silently nodded, turned, and walked towards the road.

This act stunned Guttiere. She remained standing motionless. To throw a fortune worth millions into the sea like a common pebble! She felt ashamed. Why had she upset this strange young man?

“Wait, where are you going?”

But Ichthyander continued to walk, his head bowed low. Guttiere caught up to him, took his hands, and looked into his face. Tears streamed down the young man’s cheeks. He had never cried before and was now perplexed as to why objects had become hazy and blurry, as if he were swimming underwater without his goggles.

“Forgive me, I upset you,” the girl said, taking both his hands.

Zurita’s Impatience

 

After this event, Ichthyander swam to the shore every evening near the city, retrieved the suit hidden among the rocks, dressed, and appeared at the rock where Guttiere would come. They would walk along the shore, conversing animatedly.

Who was Guttiere’s new friend? She couldn’t say. He wasn’t stupid, was witty, knew many things Guttiere didn’t, and at the same time didn’t understand simple things that every city boy knew. How to explain this? Ichthyander spoke reluctantly about himself. He didn’t want to tell the truth. The girl only learned that Ichthyander was the son of a doctor, a man apparently very wealthy. He had raised his son away from the city and people and had given him a very peculiar and one-sided education.

Sometimes they would linger on the shore for a long time. The surf rustled at their feet. Stars twinkled. Conversation would cease. Ichthyander was happy.

“It’s time to go,” the girl would say.

Ichthyander would reluctantly rise, escort her to the outskirts, then quickly return, shed his clothes, and swim home.

In the morning, after breakfast, he would take a large white loaf of bread and head to the bay. Sitting on the sandy bottom, he would begin to feed the fish with bread. They would swim to him, surround him in a swarm, glide between his hands, and eagerly snatch the softened bread directly from his hands. Sometimes large fish would burst into this swarm and chase the small ones. Ichthyander would rise and drive the predators away with his hands, while the small fish would hide behind his back.

He began to collect pearls and store them in an underwater grotto. He worked with pleasure and soon gathered a whole pile of selected pearls.

Unbeknownst to himself, he was becoming the wealthiest man in Argentina — perhaps even all of South America. If he wanted to, he could become the richest person in the world. But he didn’t think about wealth.

Thus, peaceful days passed. Ichthyander only regretted that Guttiere lived in the dusty, stuffy, noisy city. If only she too could live underwater, away from the noise and people! How wonderful that would be! He would show her a new, unknown world, the beautiful flowers of underwater fields. But Guttiere couldn’t live underwater. And he couldn’t live on land. He was already spending too much time in the air. And it wasn’t without consequences: his sides began to ache more and more frequently and intensely while he sat with the girl on the seashore. But even if the pain became unbearable, he wouldn’t leave the girl before she left herself. And one more thing bothered Ichthyander: what did Guttiere talk about with the fair-haired giant? Ichthyander intended to ask Guttiere every time, but he was afraid of offending her.

One evening, the girl told Ichthyander that she wouldn’t be coming tomorrow.

“Why?” he asked, frowning.

“I’m busy.”

“With what?”

“You can’t be so curious,” the girl replied, smiling. “Don’t walk me home,” she added and left.

Ichthyander plunged into the sea. He lay on the mossy rocks all night. He was not happy. At dawn, he swam home.

Not far from the bay, he saw fishermen shooting dolphins from their boats. A large dolphin, wounded by a bullet, leaped high above the water and fell heavily.

“Liding!” Ichthyander whispered in horror.

One of the fishermen had already jumped from the boat into the sea and was waiting for the wounded animal to surface. But the dolphin surfaced almost a hundred meters from the hunter and, breathing heavily, went back underwater.

The fisherman swam quickly towards the dolphin. Ichthyander rushed to his friend’s aid. The dolphin surfaced once more, and at that very moment, the fisherman grabbed the dolphin by its fin and dragged the exhausted animal towards the boat.

Ichthyander, swimming underwater, caught up with the fisherman and bit his leg with his teeth. The fisherman, thinking he had been grabbed by a shark, began to frantically thrash his legs. In self-defense, the fisherman haphazardly slashed at his attacker with a knife he held in his other hand. The knife strike hit Ichthyander on the neck, which was not covered by scales. Ichthyander released the fisherman’s leg, and the fisherman quickly swam to the boat. The wounded dolphin and Ichthyander headed towards the bay. The young man ordered the dolphin to follow him and dived into an underwater cave. The water here only reached halfway into the cave. Air penetrated through the crevices. Here, the dolphin could breathe in safety. Ichthyander examined its wound. It was not a dangerous wound. The bullet had entered beneath the skin and lodged in the blubber. Ichthyander managed to pull the bullet out with his fingers. The dolphin patiently endured it.

“It will heal,” Ichthyander said, gently patting his friend’s back.

Now, he had to think about himself. Ichthyander quickly swam through the underwater tunnel, rose into the garden, and entered the white house. Kristo was frightened to see his charge wounded.

“What happened to you?”

“Fishermen wounded me when I was defending a dolphin,” Ichthyander said.

But Kristo didn’t believe him.

“Were you in the city without me again?” he asked suspiciously, bandaging the wound. Ichthyander remained silent.

“Lift your scales,” Kristo said and partially exposed Ichthyander’s shoulder.

On the shoulder, the Indian noticed a reddish spot. The sight of this spot frightened Kristo.

“Hit by an oar?” he asked, feeling the shoulder. But there was no swelling. Evidently, it was a birthmark.

“No,” Ichthyander replied.

The young man went to rest in his room, while the old Indian cupped his head in his hands and became thoughtful. He sat for a long time, then rose and left the room.

Kristo quickly headed for the city, gasping for breath, entered Balthazar’s shop, and, looking suspiciously at Guttiere sitting at the counter, asked:

“Is father home?”

 

“There,” the girl replied, nodding towards the door to the other room.

Kristo entered the laboratory and closed the door behind him. He found his brother among his flasks, washing pearls. Balthazar was irritated, just as before.

“You’ll drive me mad with you two!” Balthazar began to grumble. “Zurita is angry because you still haven’t brought the sea devil, Guttiere is leaving for the whole day. She doesn’t even want to hear about Zurita. She just keeps saying: ‘No! No!’ And Zurita says: ‘I’m tired of waiting! I’ll just take her by force. She’ll cry — and then she’ll get over it.’ You can expect anything from him.”

Kristo listened to his brother’s complaints and then said:

“Listen, I couldn’t bring the sea devil because, like Guttiere, he often leaves the house for the whole day without me. And he doesn’t want to go to the city with me. He’s stopped listening to me altogether. The doctor will scold me for not looking after Ichthyander properly…”

“So, we need to capture or kidnap Ichthyander quickly, you’ll leave Salvator before he returns, and…”

“Wait, Balthazar. Don’t interrupt me, brother. We don’t need to rush with Ichthyander.”

“Why not rush?”

Kristo sighed, as if hesitant to voice his plan.

“You see…” he began.

But at that very moment, someone entered the shop, and they heard Zurita’s loud voice.

“Oh, no,” Balthazar muttered, tossing pearls into a basin, “him again!”

Zurita ripped open the door and entered the laboratory.

“Both brothers are here. How long will you keep fooling me?” he asked, shifting his gaze from Balthazar to Kristo. Kristo rose and, smiling amiably, said:

“I’m doing everything I can. Patience. The sea devil is not a simple fish. You can’t just pull him out of the whirlpool. I managed to bring him here once — you weren’t around; the devil saw the city, he didn’t like it, and now he doesn’t want to come here.”

“If he doesn’t want to, then so be it. I’m tired of waiting. This week, I’ve decided to take care of two matters at once. Salvator hasn’t arrived yet?”

“He’s expected any day now.”

“Then we must hurry. Expect guests. I’ve found reliable men. You’ll open the doors for us, Kristo, and I’ll handle the rest myself. I’ll tell Balthazar when everything is ready.” And, turning to Balthazar, he said:

“I’ll talk to you again tomorrow. But remember, that will be our last conversation.”

The brothers bowed silently. When Zurita turned his back on them, the amiable smiles vanished from the Indians’ faces. Balthazar quietly swore. Kristo, it seemed, was pondering something.

In the shop, Zurita was quietly speaking to Guttiere about something.

“No!” the brothers heard Guttiere’s reply. Balthazar shook his head in resignation.

“Kristo!” Zurita called. “Come with me, I’ll need you today.”

An Unpleasant Encounter

 

Ichthyander felt very ill. The wound on his neck ached. He had a fever. It was difficult for him to breathe in the air.

But in the morning, despite his indisposition, he went to the shore by the rock to meet Guttiere. She arrived at noon.

The heat was unbearable. From the scorching air and fine white dust, Ichthyander began to gasp for breath. He wanted to stay on the seashore, but Guttiere was in a hurry; she had to return to the city.

“Father is leaving on business, and I must stay in the shop.”

“Then I’ll walk you,” the young man said, and they set off along the sloping, dusty road leading to the city.

Walking towards them, with his head bowed low, was Olsen. He seemed preoccupied and walked past, not noticing Guttiere. But the girl called out to him.

“I just need to say two words to him,” Guttiere said, addressing Ichthyander, and, turning back, approached Olsen.

They spoke quietly and quickly about something. It seemed the girl was pleading with him.

Ichthyander walked a few steps behind them.

“Alright, tonight after midnight,” he heard Olsen’s voice. The giant shook the girl’s hand, nodded, and quickly continued on his way.

When Guttiere approached Ichthyander, his cheeks and ears were burning. He wanted to finally talk to Guttiere about Olsen, but he couldn’t find the words.

“I can’t,” he began, gasping for breath, “I must know… Olsen… you’re hiding some secret from me. You have to meet him tonight. Do you love him?”

Guttiere took Ichthyander’s hand, looked at him affectionately, and, smiling, asked:

“Do you believe me?”

“I believe… You know, I love you,” Ichthyander now knew this word, “but I… but it’s so hard for me.”

It was true. Ichthyander was suffering from uncertainty, but at that moment, he also felt a sharp, cutting pain in his sides. He was suffocating. The blush left his cheeks, and now his face was pale.

“You’re quite ill,” the girl said anxiously. “Calm down, please. My dear boy. I didn’t want to tell you everything, but to calm you down, I will. Listen.”

A horseman galloped past them, but, catching sight of Guttiere, he sharply turned his horse and rode up to the young people. Ichthyander saw a swarthy, no longer young man, with bushy, upturned mustache and a small goatee.

Somewhere, sometime, Ichthyander had seen this man. In the city? No… Yes, there, on the shore.

The horseman tapped his boot with his whip, looked at Ichthyander suspiciously and hostilely, and offered his hand to Guttiere.

Catching her hand, he unexpectedly lifted the girl towards the saddle, kissed her hand, and laughed.

“Caught you!” Releasing a frowning Guttiere’s hand, he continued mockingly and at the same time irritably:

“Where is it seen that brides wander around with young men on the eve of their wedding?”

Guttiere grew angry, but he didn’t let her speak:

“Father has been waiting for you for a long time. I’ll be at the shop in an hour.” Ichthyander no longer heard the last words. He suddenly felt his vision darken, a lump rose in his throat, and his breathing stopped. He could no longer remain in the air.

“So you… still deceived me…” he gasped through blue lips.

He wanted to speak — to express all his hurt or to know everything — but the pain in his sides became unbearable; he was almost losing consciousness.

Finally, Ichthyander broke away, ran to the shore, and plunged into the sea from a steep cliff.

Guttiere cried out and staggered. Then she rushed to Pedro Zurita:

“Quickly… Save him!” But Zurita didn’t move.

“I am not in the habit of preventing others from drowning if they wish to,” he said.

Guttiere ran to the shore, intending to throw herself into the water. Zurita spurred his horse, caught up with the girl, seized her by the shoulders, lifted her onto his horse, and galloped down the road.

“I’m not in the habit of interfering with others, if others don’t interfere with me. That’s better! Now, come to your senses, Guttiere!”

But Guttiere didn’t reply. She had fainted. She only came to near her father’s shop.

“Who was that young man?” Pedro asked.

Guttiere, looking at Zurita with unconcealed anger, said:

“Let me go.”

Zurita frowned. “Nonsense,” he thought. “Her hero threw himself into the sea. All the better.” And, turning to the shop, Zurita shouted:

“Father! Balthazar! Hey! Hey!…” Balthazar rushed out.

“Take your daughter. And thank me. I saved her; she almost threw herself into the sea after a pleasant-looking young man. This is the second time I’ve saved your daughter’s life, and she still shies away from me. Well, all this stubbornness will soon end.” He laughed loudly. “I’ll be back in an hour. Remember our agreement!”

Balthazar, bowing subserviently, received his daughter from Pedro.

The horseman spurred his horse and rode away.

Father and daughter entered the shop. Guttiere sank onto a chair, exhausted, and covered her face with her hands.

Balthazar closed the door and, pacing the shop, began to speak excitedly and passionately about something. But no one was listening to him. Balthazar might as well have been preaching to the dried crabs and scorpions lying on the shelves.

“He threw himself into the water,” the girl thought, recalling Ichthyander’s face. “Poor boy! First Olsen, then this absurd encounter with Zurita. How dared he call me his bride! Now everything is lost…”

Guttiere cried.

She felt sorry for Ichthyander. Simple, shy — how could he be compared to the empty, arrogant young men of Buenos Aires?

“What should I do now?” she wondered. “Throw myself into the sea, like Ichthyander? End it all?”

And Balthazar talked and talked:

“Do you understand, Guttiere? This is utter ruin. Everything you see in our shop belongs to Zurita. My own goods wouldn’t make up even a tenth. We receive all the pearls on commission from Zurita. But if you refuse him again, he’ll take all the goods and won’t deal with me anymore. This is ruin! Complete ruin! Now, be a good girl, pity your old father…”

“Finish it: ‘…and marry him.’ No!” Guttiere sharply retorted.

“Damn it!” Balthazar cried out, enraged. “If that’s how it is, then… then… if not me, then Zurita himself will deal with you!” And the old Indian retreated into the laboratory, slamming the door loudly.

Battle with the Octopuses

 

Ichthyander, plunging into the sea, momentarily forgot all his earthly misfortunes. After the hot and stuffy land, the cool water calmed and refreshed him. The stinging pains ceased. He breathed deeply and evenly. He needed complete rest and tried not to think about what had happened on land.

Ichthyander wanted to work, to move. What could he do? He loved to dive headfirst from high cliffs into the water on dark nights, aiming to reach the bottom immediately. But now it was midday, and the black undersides of fishing boats flickered on the sea.

“Here’s what I’ll do. I need to tidy up the grotto,” Ichthyander thought. In the sheer cliff of the bay was a grotto with a large arch that offered a beautiful view of the underwater plain, gently sloping into the depths of the sea.

Ichthyander had long ago chosen this grotto as his own. But before settling in, he needed to evict the grotto’s long-time inhabitants — numerous families of octopuses.

Ichthyander put on his goggles, armed himself with a long, slightly curved sharp knife, and boldly swam towards the grotto. Entering the grotto was a little frightening, so Ichthyander decided to lure the enemies out. Near a sunken boat, he had long ago noticed a long harpoon. He took it in his hand and, standing at the grotto’s entrance, began to wield the harpoon. The octopuses, displeased by the unknown intrusion, stirred. Long, writhing tentacles appeared at the edges of the arch. Cautiously, they approached the harpoon. Ichthyander pulled the harpoon back before the octopus tentacles could grasp it. This game continued for several minutes. Now, dozens of tentacles, like Jellyfish Gorgon’s hair, stirred at the edge of the arch. Finally, an old, enormous octopus, driven out of patience, decided to deal with the audacious intruder. The octopus crawled out of the crevice, menacingly waving its tentacles. Slowly, it swam towards its enemy, changing color to intimidate Ichthyander. Ichthyander swam aside, threw the harpoon, and prepared for battle. Ichthyander knew how difficult it was for a human with two hands to fight when the opponent had eight long legs. Before you could cut off one octopus leg, seven others would grab and bind a person’s hands. And the young man aimed to direct his knife’s blow to strike the octopus’s body. Letting the monster approach close enough for the ends of its tentacles to reach him, Ichthyander unexpectedly lunged forward, into the very tangle of writhing tentacles, towards the octopus’s head.

This extraordinary maneuver always caught the octopus by surprise. It took at least four seconds for the animal to gather the ends of its tentacles and wrap them around its enemy. But in that time, Ichthyander managed to slice through the octopus’s body with a swift, unerring strike, pierce its heart, and sever its motor nerves. And the huge tentacles, already coiling around his body, suddenly lifelessly unfurled and drooped downwards.

“One down!”

Ichthyander again took up the harpoon. This time, two octopuses swam towards him at once. One swam directly at Ichthyander, while the other attempted a flanking maneuver to attack from behind. This was becoming dangerous. Ichthyander bravely rushed at the octopus in front of him, but before he could kill it, the second octopus, from behind, wrapped its tentacles around his neck. The young man quickly severed the octopus’s leg, piercing it with his knife right by his neck. Then he turned to face the octopus and severed its tentacles. The mutilated octopus, slowly swaying, sank to the bottom. And Ichthyander was already dealing with the octopus that had been in front of him.

“Three,” Ichthyander continued to count.

However, the battle had to be paused. A whole detachment of octopuses floated out of the grotto, but the spilled blood muddied the water. In this murky brownness, the advantage could be on the side of the octopuses, who could feel their way to the enemy, while Ichthyander could not see them. He swam away from the battle site to where the water was clear, and there he dispatched another octopus that had swum out of the bloody cloud.

The battle, with interruptions, lasted several hours.

When the last octopus was finally killed and the water cleared, Ichthyander saw the dead bodies of the octopuses and their twitching, severed tentacles lying on the bottom. Ichthyander entered the grotto. There were still a few small octopuses left — the size of a fist and with tentacles no thicker than a finger. Ichthyander wanted to kill them, but he felt sorry for them. “I should try to tame them. It wouldn’t be bad to have such guards.”

After clearing the grotto of the large octopuses, Ichthyander decided to furnish his underwater dwelling. He dragged a table with iron legs and a marble top, and two Chinese vases from home. He placed the table in the middle of the grotto, put the vases on the table, and filled the vases with earth and planted sea flowers. The earth, washed away by the water, fumed above the vases for a while like smoke, but then the water cleared. Only the flowers, swayed by the gentle currents, quietly rocked as if from a breath of wind.

A natural stone bench-like ledge was along the cave wall. The new owner of the cave happily stretched out on this bench. Although it was stone, his body in the water barely felt it.

It was a strange underwater room with Chinese vases on the table. Many curious fish came to see the unprecedented housewarming. They darted between the table legs, swam up to the flowers in the vases as if sniffing them, and scurried around Ichthyander’s head. A marble goby peered into the grotto, frightfully flicked its tail, and swam away. A large crab crawled out onto the white sand, raised and lowered its claw as if greeting the host, and settled under the table.

This endeavor amused Ichthyander. “What else could I use to decorate my dwelling?” he thought. “I’ll plant the most beautiful underwater plants at the entrance, strew the floor with pearls, and place shells along the walls, at the edges. What if Guttiere could see this underwater room… But she’s deceiving me. Or perhaps she’s not. She didn’t have time to tell me about Olsen.” Ichthyander frowned. As soon as he finished working, he again felt lonely, unlike other people. “Why can’t anyone live underwater? I’m alone. I wish Father would arrive soon! I’ll ask him…”

He wanted to show his new underwater dwelling to at least one living creature. “Liding,” Ichthyander remembered the dolphin. Ichthyander took a spiral shell, surfaced, and trumpeted. Soon, the familiar snort was heard — the dolphin always stayed near the bay.

When the dolphin arrived, Ichthyander affectionately hugged it and said:

“Come with me, Liding, I’ll show you a new room. You’ve never seen a table and Chinese vases.”

And, diving into the water, Ichthyander ordered the dolphin to follow him.

However, the dolphin turned out to be a very restless guest. Large and clumsy, it created such a commotion in the grotto that the vases rattled on the table. In addition, it managed to bump its snout against a table leg and overturn it. The vases fell, and if this were on land, they would have shattered. But here, everything turned out fine, apart from the fright of the crab, which with unusual speed somehow scurried sideways towards the rock.

“How clumsy you are!” Ichthyander thought about his friend, moving the table deeper into the grotto and picking up the vases.

And, embracing the dolphin, Ichthyander continued to talk to it:

“Stay here with me, Liding.”

But the dolphin soon began to shake its head and show unease. It couldn’t stay underwater for long. It needed air. And, flicking its fins, the dolphin swam out of the grotto and rose to the surface.

“Even Liding can’t live with me underwater,” Ichthyander thought sadly, left alone. “Only fish. But they’re stupid and timid…”

And he lay down on his stone couch. The sun had set. It was dark in the grotto. The gentle movement of the water lulled Ichthyander.

Weary from the day’s events and work, Ichthyander began to doze off.

A New Friend

 

Olsen sat on a large fishing barge, looking over the side into the water. The sun had just risen above the horizon, its slanted rays illuminating the transparent water of the small bay all the way to the bottom. Several Indians crawled on the white sandy bottom. From time to time, they would surface to catch their breath and then dive back into the water. Olsen watched the divers closely. Despite the early hour, it was already hot. “Why don’t I cool off — take a dive or two?” he thought, quickly undressed, and plunged into the water. Olsen had never dived before, but he enjoyed it and found that he could stay underwater longer than the experienced Indians. Olsen joined the pearl seekers and quickly became absorbed in this new pursuit.

Descending for the third time, he noticed that two Indians, who had been kneeling on the bottom, suddenly sprang up and surfaced with such speed as if they were being chased by a shark or a sawfish. Olsen looked back. A strange creature quickly swam towards him, a half-human, half-frog, with silvery scales, huge bulging eyes, and frog-like webbed feet. It propelled itself forward with powerful, frog-like kicks.

Before Olsen could rise from his knees, the creature was already upon him and grabbed his arm with its frog-like hand. A frightened Olsen still noticed that this creature had a beautiful human face, marred only by its bulging, gleaming eyes. This strange being, forgetting that it was underwater, began to speak about something. Olsen could not make out the words. He only saw its lips moving. The unknown creature held Olsen’s arm tightly with two hands. Olsen, with a strong kick of his legs, pushed off the bottom and quickly rose to the surface, working with his free arm. The creature followed, not letting go. Upon surfacing, Olsen grabbed the side of the barge, swung his leg over, climbed onto the barge, and flung the half-human with frog-like hands away from him, so that it fell into the water with a splash. The Indians sitting on the barge jumped into the water and hastily swam towards the shore.

But Ichthyander again approached the barge and addressed Olsen in Spanish:

“Listen, Olsen, I need to talk to you about Guttiere.” This address surprised Olsen no less than the underwater encounter. Olsen was a brave man, with a clear head. If the unknown creature knew his name and Guttiere’s, then it meant it was a human, not a monster.

“I’m listening,” Olsen replied.

Ichthyander climbed onto the barge, sat on the bow, with his legs tucked beneath him and his hands crossed over his chest.

“Goggles!” Olsen thought, scrutinizing the gleaming, bulging eyes of the unknown.

“My name is Ichthyander. Once, I retrieved a necklace for you from the bottom of the sea.”

“But then you had human eyes and hands.” Ichthyander smiled and shook his frog-like hands.

“They come off,” he replied curtly.

“I thought so.”

The Indians watched curiously from behind the coastal rocks this strange conversation, although they could not hear the words.

“Do you love Guttiere?” Ichthyander asked after a brief silence.

“Yes, I love Guttiere,” Olsen simply replied. Ichthyander sighed heavily.

“And she loves you?”

“And she loves me.”

“But she loves me.”

“That’s her business.” Olsen shrugged.

“How is it her business? She’s your fiancée.”

Olsen made a surprised face and replied with his usual calmness:

“No, she’s not my fiancée.”

“Are you lying?” Ichthyander flared up. “I myself heard the swarthy man on the horse say that she was a fiancée.”

“Mine?”

Ichthyander became flustered. No, the swarthy man didn’t say that Guttiere was Olsen’s fiancée. But a young girl can’t be the fiancée of that swarthy man, so old and unpleasant? Does it happen like that? The swarthy man is probably her relative… Ichthyander decided to pursue his questioning in another way.

“And what were you doing here? Looking for pearls?”

“I admit, I don’t like your questions,” Olsen replied gruffly. “And if I didn’t know a thing or two about you from Guttiere, I’d throw you off this barge, and that would be the end of the conversation. Don’t reach for your knife. I can smash your head with an oar before you even get up. But I don’t see the need to hide from you that I was indeed looking for pearls here.”

“The big pearl I threw into the sea? Guttiere told you about it?”

Olsen nodded. Ichthyander was triumphant.

“Well, you see. I told her you wouldn’t refuse that pearl. I offered her to take the pearl and give it to you. She didn’t agree, and now you’re looking for it yourself.”

“Yes, because now it doesn’t belong to you, but to the ocean. And if I find it, I won’t owe anyone anything.”

“You love pearls that much?”

“I’m not a woman to love trinkets,” Olsen retorted.

“But pearls can be… what’s the word? Oh, yes! Sold,” Ichthyander recalled the little-understood word, “and you get a lot of money.” Olsen nodded affirmatively again.

“So, you love money?”

“What exactly do you want from me?” Olsen asked, already irritated.

“I need to know why Guttiere gives you pearls. After all, you wanted to marry her?”

“No, I wasn’t going to marry Guttiere,” Olsen said. “And even if I was, it’s too late to think about it now. Guttiere has become someone else’s wife.”

Ichthyander paled and clutched Olsen’s hand.

“Not that swarthy man?” he asked, frightened.

“Yes, she married Pedro Zurita.”

“But she… I thought she loved me,” Ichthyander said quietly.

Olsen looked at him with sympathy and, slowly lighting a short pipe, said:

“Yes, I think she did love you. But you threw yourself into the sea before her eyes and drowned — or at least, that’s what she thought.”

Ichthyander looked at Olsen in surprise. The young man had never told Guttiere that he could live underwater. It had never occurred to him that his jump from the cliff into the sea could be interpreted by the girl as suicide.

“Last night I saw Guttiere,” Olsen continued. “Your death greatly saddened her. ‘I am to blame for Ichthyander’s death,’ that’s what she said.”

“But why did she marry another so quickly? After all, she… after all, I saved her life. Yes, yes! It’s long seemed to me that Guttiere resembles the girl who was drowning in the ocean. I carried her to shore and hid among the rocks. And then that swarthy man came — I recognized him immediately — and assured her that he had saved her.”

“Guttiere told me about that,” Olsen said. “She never knew who saved her — Zurita or the strange creature that flashed before her when she was coming to. Why didn’t you tell her yourself that it was you who saved her?”

“It’s awkward to talk about oneself. Besides, I wasn’t entirely sure that I had saved Guttiere until I saw Zurita. But how could she agree?” Ichthyander asked.

“How it happened,” Olsen said slowly, “I don’t understand it myself.”

“Tell me what you know,” Ichthyander requested.

“I work at a button factory as a shell receiver. That’s where I met Guttiere. She brought shells — her father sent her when he was busy. We met, became friends. Sometimes we’d meet at the port, walk on the seashore. She told me about her sorrow: a rich Spaniard was proposing to her.”

“This very one? Zurita?”

“Yes, Zurita. Guttiere’s father, the Indian Balthazar, very much wanted this marriage and tried every way to persuade his daughter not to refuse such an enviable groom.”

“Enviable in what way? Old, disgusting, bad-smelling,” Ichthyander couldn’t help but interject.

“For Balthazar, Zurita is an excellent son-in-law. Especially since Balthazar owed Zurita a large sum of money. Zurita could ruin Balthazar if Guttiere refused to marry him. Imagine how the girl lived. On one side — the persistent courtship of the groom, and on the other — eternal reproaches, reprimands, threats from her father…”

“Why didn’t Guttiere just kick Zurita out? Why didn’t you, being so big and strong, beat up this Zurita?”

Olsen smiled and looked surprised: Ichthyander isn’t stupid, yet he asks such questions. Where did he grow up and get his education?

“It’s not as simple as it seems to you,” Olsen replied. “The law, the police, the court would stand up for Zurita and Balthazar.” Ichthyander still didn’t understand. “In short, it couldn’t be done.”

“Well, then why didn’t she run away?”

“Running away was easier. And she decided to run away from her father, and I promised to help her. I myself had long intended to leave Buenos Aires for North America, and I offered Guttiere to come with me.”

“You wanted to marry her?” Ichthyander asked.

“What a peculiar fellow you are,” Olsen said, smiling again. “I already told you that we were just friends. What could have happened next — I don’t know…”

“Then why didn’t you leave?”

“Because we didn’t have enough money for the journey.”

“Is the journey on the ‘Gorrokx’ so expensive?”

“On the ‘Gorrokx’! Only millionaires can afford to travel on the ‘Gorrokx’. What are you, Ichthyander, did you fall from the moon?”

Ichthyander became flustered, blushed, and decided not to ask any more questions that would show Olsen he didn’t know the simplest things.

“We didn’t even have enough money for the journey on a cargo-passenger steamer. And there would be expenses upon arrival too. Work doesn’t just lie around in the street.”

Ichthyander again wanted to ask Olsen, but restrained himself.

“And then Guttiere decided to sell her pearl necklace.”

“If only I had known!” Ichthyander exclaimed, remembering his underwater treasures.

“Known what?”

“No, never mind… Continue, Olsen.”

“Everything was already prepared for the escape.”

“And I… How could this be? Forgive me… So, she intended to leave me too?”

“All this started before you two even met. And then, as far as I know, she wanted to warn you. Perhaps even offer you to come with her. Finally, she could have written to you on the way if she hadn’t managed to talk to you about the escape.”

“But why with you, and not with me? She consulted with you, she was going to leave with you!”

“I’ve known her for over a year, and you…”

“Speak, speak, don’t pay attention to my words.”

“Well, so. Everything was ready,” Olsen continued. “But then you plunged into the water before Guttiere’s eyes, and Zurita coincidentally met Guttiere with you. Early in the morning, before going to the factory, I stopped by Guttiere’s place. I often did this before. Balthazar seemed to be favorable towards me. Perhaps he feared my fists, or perhaps he saw me as a second suitor, should Zurita tire of Guttiere’s stubbornness. At least, Balthazar didn’t interfere with us and only asked us not to be seen together by Zurita. Of course, the old Indian didn’t suspect our plans. That morning, I wanted to inform Guttiere that I had bought tickets for the steamer and that she should be ready by ten o’clock in the evening. Balthazar met me; he was agitated. ‘Guttiere is not home. And she’s… not home at all,’ Balthazar told me. ‘Half an hour ago, Zurita drove up to the house in a brand-new, shiny automobile. Imagine that!’ Balthazar exclaimed. ‘An automobile is a rarity on our street, especially if it pulls up right to your house. Guttiere and I ran out into the street. Zurita was already standing on the ground by the open car door and offered to drive Guttiere to the market and back. He knew that Guttiere went to the market at that time. Guttiere looked at the shiny car. You understand what a temptation that is for a young girl. But Guttiere is cunning and distrustful. She politely refused. Have you ever seen such stubborn girls!’ Balthazar exclaimed with anger, but then burst out laughing. But Zurita didn’t lose his composure. ‘I see you’re shy,’ he said, ‘so allow me to help you.’ He grabbed her, seated her in the car, Guttiere only managed to cry out: ‘Father!’ — and they were gone without a trace.”

“I don’t think they’ll come back. Zurita took her to his place,” Balthazar finished his story, and it was clear he was very pleased with what had happened.

“Your daughter was abducted right before your eyes, and you’re telling me about it so calmly, even joyfully!” I indignantly said to Balthazar.

“What do I have to worry about?” Balthazar wondered. “If it were anyone else, that would be different, but I’ve known Zurita for a long time. If he, a miser, didn’t spare money for an automobile, it means he really likes Guttiere. He took her — so he’ll marry her. And it’s a lesson for her: don’t be stubborn. Rich people don’t just lie around on the road. She has nothing to cry about. Zurita has a hacienda called ‘Dolores,’ not far from the city of Parana. His mother lives there. That’s probably where he took my Guttiere.”

“And you didn’t beat up Balthazar?” Ichthyander asked.

“Listening to you, all I should do is fight,” Olsen replied. “To be honest, at first, I wanted to hit Balthazar. But then I decided I’d only make things worse. I thought all was not yet lost… I won’t go into details. As I already said, I managed to see Guttiere.”

“At the ‘Dolores’ hacienda?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t kill that scoundrel Zurita and free Guttiere?”

“Again with the hitting, and now killing! Who would have thought you were so bloodthirsty?”

“I’m not bloodthirsty!” Ichthyander exclaimed with tears in his eyes. “But it’s outrageous!” Olsen felt sorry for Ichthyander.

“You’re right, Ichthyander,” Olsen said, “Zurita and Balthazar are unworthy people; they deserve anger and contempt. They should be beaten. But life is more complicated than you apparently imagine. Guttiere herself refused to run away from Zurita.”

“Herself?” Ichthyander didn’t believe it.

“Yes, herself.”

“Why?”

“Firstly, she is convinced that you committed suicide — drowned because of her. Your death depresses her. Poor thing, she apparently loved you very much. ‘Now my life is over, Olsen,’ she told me. ‘Now I need nothing. I am indifferent to everything. I understood nothing when the priest invited by Zurita married us. “Nothing happens without God’s will,” the priest said, putting the wedding ring on my finger. “And what God has joined together, man must not separate.” I will be unhappy with Zurita, but I am afraid to incur God’s wrath, and therefore, I will not leave him.'”

“But that’s all nonsense! What God? Father says God is a fairy tale for little children!” Ichthyander exclaimed hotly. “Couldn’t you convince her?”

“Unfortunately, Guttiere believes this fairy tale. The missionaries managed to turn her into a zealous Catholic; I tried for a long time but couldn’t disabuse her. She even threatened to break off our friendship if I talked to her about the church and God. I had to wait. And at the hacienda, I didn’t have time to persuade her for long. I only managed to exchange a few words with her. Oh, and she also said something else. After marrying Guttiere, Zurita exclaimed with a laugh: ‘Well, one thing is done! The little bird has been caught and put in a cage; now all that’s left is to catch the fish!’ He explained to Guttiere, and she to me, what fish he was talking about. Zurita is going to Buenos Aires to catch the sea devil, and then Guttiere will be a millionaire. Isn’t that you? You can stay underwater without any harm to yourself, scaring pearl divers…”

Caution kept Ichthyander from revealing his secret to Olsen. He wouldn’t have been able to explain it anyway. And, without answering the question, he himself asked:

“Why does Zurita need the sea devil?”

“Pedro wants to force the devil to catch pearls. And if you are the sea devil, beware!…”

“Thank you for the warning,” the young man said. Ichthyander had no idea that his antics were known to everyone on the shore, that much had been written about him in newspapers and magazines.

“I can’t,” Ichthyander suddenly began, “I must see her. To see her at least one last time. The city of Parana? Yes, I know. The way there is up the Parana River. But how do I get from the city of Parana to the ‘Dolores’ hacienda?”

Olsen explained.

Ichthyander firmly shook Olsen’s hand:

“Forgive me. I thought you were an enemy, but unexpectedly, I found a friend. Goodbye. I’m going to look for Guttiere.”

“Now?” Olsen asked, smiling.

“Yes, without losing a single minute,” Ichthyander replied, jumping into the water and swimming towards the shore.

Olsen only shook his head.

 

 

 

 

 

 

PART TWO

 

En Route

 

Ichthyander quickly prepared for his journey. He retrieved his suit and shoes, hidden on the shore, and tied them to his back with the belt from which his knife hung. He put on his goggles and fins and set off.

In the Rio de la Plata bay, many ocean steamers and ships, schooners, and barges lay at anchor. Small coastal steam launches darted between them. From underwater, their hulls resembled water beetles moving in all directions on the surface. Anchor chains and cables rose from the bottom like thin trunks of an underwater forest. The bay’s bottom was covered with all sorts of refuse, scrap iron, piles of spilled coal and discarded slag, scraps of old hoses, pieces of sails, canisters, bricks, broken bottles, tin cans, and closer to the shore, the corpses of dogs and cats.

A thin layer of oil covered the surface. The sun hadn’t set yet, but a greenish-gray twilight hung here. The Parana River carried sand and silt, muddying the bay’s water.

Ichthyander could have gotten lost in this labyrinth of vessels, but the gentle current of the river flowing into the bay served as his compass. “It’s amazing how untidy people are,” he thought, looking fastidiously at the bottom, which resembled a garbage dump. He swam in the middle of the bay, below the keel of the ships. In the polluted waters of the bay, it was hard for him to breathe, like a person in a stuffy room.

In several places on the bottom, he encountered human corpses and animal skeletons. One corpse had a fractured skull, and a rope with a stone tied to it was visible around its neck. Someone’s crime was buried here. Ichthyander hurried to get out of these gloomy places.

But the higher he swam up the bay, the stronger the opposing current became. It was difficult to swim. There were currents in the ocean, but there they helped him: the young man knew them well. He used them like a sailor uses a favorable wind. Here, there was only one opposing current. Ichthyander was an experienced swimmer, but it annoyed him that he was moving so slowly.

Something suddenly flew very close, almost hitting him. It was an anchor dropped from a ship. “It’s not safe to swim here,” Ichthyander thought and looked around. He saw a large steamer catching up to him.

Ichthyander descended even lower, and when the ship’s bottom passed over him, he grabbed onto the keel. Barnacles clung to the iron in a rough mass that he could hold onto. Lying underwater in this position was not very comfortable, but at least now he was under cover and quickly moving along, carried by the steamer.

The delta ended, and the steamer sailed up the Parana River. The river’s waters carried a huge amount of silt. In this fresh water, Ichthyander breathed heavily. His hands grew numb, but he didn’t want to part with the steamer. “It’s a shame I couldn’t embark on this journey with Liding!” he remembered the dolphin. But the dolphin could be killed in the river. Liding couldn’t swim underwater the whole way, and Ichthyander was afraid to surface on the river, where there was too much traffic.

Ichthyander’s hands grew more and more tired. In addition, he was very hungry, as he hadn’t eaten all day. He had to stop. Parting with the steamer’s keel, he sank to the bottom.

Dusk was falling. Ichthyander inspected the silty bottom. But he found neither flattened flounders nor oyster shells. Freshwater fish darted near him, but he didn’t know their habits, and they seemed to him more cunning than marine fish. It was difficult to catch them. Only when night fell and the fish were asleep did Ichthyander manage to catch a large pike. Its meat was tough and tasted of slime, but the hungry young man ate it with appetite, swallowing whole pieces with bones.

He needed to rest. In this river, at least, he could sleep peacefully, fearing neither sharks nor octopuses. But he had to ensure that the current wouldn’t carry him downstream while he slept. Ichthyander found several stones on the bottom, arranged them in a ridge, and lay down, clasping one stone with his hand.

He didn’t sleep for long, however. Soon he felt a steamer approaching. Ichthyander opened his eyes and saw signal lights. The steamer was coming from downstream. The young man quickly rose and prepared to grab onto the steamer. But it was a motorboat with a completely smooth bottom. Ichthyander, making futile attempts to cling to the bottom, narrowly avoided getting caught in the propeller.

Several steamers passed downstream until finally Ichthyander managed to attach himself to a passenger steamer going upstream.

That’s how Ichthyander reached the city of Parana. The first part of his journey was over. But the most difficult part remained — the terrestrial one.

Early in the morning, Ichthyander swam from the city’s bustling harbor to a deserted area, cautiously looked around, and climbed onto the shore. He took off his goggles and fins, buried them in the coastal sand, dried his suit in the sun, and got dressed. In his wrinkled suit, he looked like a tramp. But he thought little of that.

Ichthyander set off along the right bank, as Olsen had instructed him, asking fishermen he met if they knew where Pedro Zurita’s hacienda “Dolores” was located.

The fishermen eyed him suspiciously and shook their heads negatively.

Hour after hour passed, the heat intensified, and the search yielded nothing. On land, Ichthyander was completely unable to find his way in unfamiliar places. The heat exhausted him; his head swam, and he thought poorly.

To refresh himself, Ichthyander undressed several times and immersed himself in the water.

Finally, around four o’clock in the afternoon, he was fortunate enough to meet an old peasant, seemingly a farmhand. After listening to Ichthyander, the old man nodded and said:

“Go straight along this road, through the fields. You’ll reach a large pond, cross the bridge, go up a small hill, and there you’ll find the mustachioed Doña Dolores.”

“Why mustachioed? ‘Dolores’ is a hacienda, isn’t it?”

“Yes, a hacienda. But the old mistress of the hacienda is also named Dolores. Dolores is Pedro Zurita’s mother. A stout, mustachioed old woman. Don’t even think of hiring yourself out to her. She’ll eat you alive. A real witch. They say Zurita brought a young wife. She won’t have a moment’s peace from her mother-in-law,” the talkative peasant recounted.

“That’s about Guttiere,” Ichthyander thought.

“Is it far?” he asked.

“You’ll get there by evening,” the old man replied, looking at the sun. Thanking the old man, Ichthyander quickly walked along the road past fields of wheat and corn. From walking fast, he began to tire. The road stretched like an endless white ribbon. Wheat fields were replaced by pastures with tall, thick grass, where flocks of sheep grazed.

Ichthyander was exhausted; the cutting pains in his sides intensified. Thirst tormented him. All around — not a drop of water. “If only the pond would come sooner!” Ichthyander thought. His cheeks and eyes were sunken; he breathed heavily. He wanted to eat. But what could he eat here for lunch? Far away in the meadow, a flock of sheep grazed, guarded by a shepherd and dogs. Peach and orange tree branches, laden with ripe fruit, hung over a stone fence. This wasn’t like the ocean. Here, everything was alien, everything was divided, everything was fenced off, everything was guarded. Only the free birds belonged to no one, flying and crying along the road. But they couldn’t be caught. And could these birds even be caught? Perhaps they also belonged to someone. Here, it was easy to die of hunger and thirst amidst water bodies, gardens, and herds.

Walking towards Ichthyander, with his hands clasped behind his back, was a fat man in a white tunic with shiny buttons, a white cap, and a holster on his belt.

“Excuse me, is the hacienda ‘Dolores’ far?” Ichthyander asked. The fat man looked suspiciously at Ichthyander.

“And what do you want? Where are you coming from?”

“From Buenos Aires…”

The man in the tunic became wary.

“I need to see someone there,” Ichthyander added.

“Hold out your hands,” the fat man said.

This surprised Ichthyander, but, suspecting nothing wrong, he held out his hands. The fat man took out “bracelets” (handcuffs) from his pocket and quickly snapped them onto Ichthyander’s wrists.

“Gotcha,” the man with the shiny buttons muttered and, pushing Ichthyander in the side, shouted:

“Go! I’ll take you to ‘Dolores’.”

“Why did you shackle my hands?” Ichthyander asked, bewildered, raising his hands and examining the “bracelets.”

“No talking!” the fat man yelled sternly. “Now, go!”

Ichthyander, head bowed, shuffled down the road. It was a good thing he wasn’t forced to go back. He didn’t understand what had happened to him. He didn’t know that a murder and robbery had occurred at a neighboring farm last night, and the police were now looking for the criminals. He also didn’t guess that in his wrinkled suit, he looked suspicious. His vague answer about the purpose of his journey ultimately sealed his fate.

The policeman arrested Ichthyander and was now taking him to the nearest village to send him to Parana, to prison.

Ichthyander understood only one thing: he was deprived of his freedom, and his journey had encountered an annoying delay.

He decided that he would regain his freedom at all costs at the first opportunity.

The fat policeman, pleased with his catch, lit a long cigar. He walked behind, blowing clouds of smoke at Ichthyander. Ichthyander was gasping for breath.

“Could you please not blow smoke? It’s hard for me to breathe,” he said, turning to his escort.

“What-what? Asking not to smoke? Ha-ha-ha!” The policeman laughed, his entire face creasing with wrinkles. “Fancy that, such sensitivities!” And, blowing clouds of smoke into the young man’s face, he yelled:

“Go!”

The young man obeyed.

Finally, Ichthyander saw a pond with a narrow bridge spanning it and involuntarily quickened his pace.

“Don’t rush to your Dolores!” the fat man shouted.

They stepped onto the bridge. In the middle of the bridge, Ichthyander suddenly leaned over the railing and plunged into the water.

The policeman had no expectation of such an act from a man with shackled hands.

But Ichthyander, on the other hand, did not expect what the fat man did in the next moment. The policeman plunged into the water after Ichthyander — he feared the criminal might drown. The policeman wanted to deliver him alive: an arrested man who drowned with handcuffs could cause a lot of trouble. The policeman followed Ichthyander so quickly that he managed to grab him by the hair and didn’t let go. Then Ichthyander, risking losing his hair, pulled the policeman to the bottom. Soon, Ichthyander felt the policeman’s hand uncurl and release his hair. Ichthyander swam a few meters to the side and peered out of the water to see if the policeman had surfaced. He was already flailing on the surface and, seeing Ichthyander’s head, shouted:

“You’ll drown, you scoundrel! Swim to me!”

“That’s an idea,” Ichthyander thought, and suddenly he cried out:

“Help! I’m drowning…” and sank to the bottom.

From underwater, he watched the policeman dive and search for him. Finally, apparently despairing of success, the policeman swam to shore.

“He’ll leave now,” Ichthyander thought. But the policeman didn’t leave. He decided to remain near the “corpse” until the investigative authorities arrived. The fact that the drowned man was at the bottom of the pond didn’t change things.

At that moment, a peasant rode across the bridge on a mule laden with sacks. The policeman ordered the peasant to drop the sacks and go to the nearest police station with a note. Things were taking a bad turn for Ichthyander. Moreover, there were leeches in the pond. They bit into Ichthyander, and he couldn’t tear them off his body fast enough. But he had to do it carefully so as not to stir the stagnant water and thus not attract the policeman’s attention.

Half an hour later, the peasant returned, pointed to the road, put his sacks back on the mule’s back, and hastily rode away. About five minutes later, three more policemen approached the shore. Two of them carried a light boat on their heads, and the third carried a grappling hook and an oar.

They lowered the boat into the water and began searching for the drowned man. Ichthyander was not afraid of the search. For him, it was almost a game — he simply moved from place to place. The entire bottom of the pond near the bridge was thoroughly searched with the grappling hook, but no corpse was found.

The policeman who had arrested Ichthyander spread his hands in bewilderment. Ichthyander even found this amusing. But soon things got bad for him. The policemen stirred up clouds of silt from the pond bottom with their grappling hook. The water became murky. Now Ichthyander couldn’t see anything at arm’s length, and this was already dangerous. But most importantly, it was difficult for him to breathe with his gills in this oxygen-poor water. And then there were these clouds of silt.

Ichthyander was suffocating and felt an increasing burning sensation in his gills. It was impossible to bear it any longer. An involuntary groan escaped him, and several bubbles flew from his mouth. What to do? Get out of the pond — there was no other way out. He had to get out, whatever the consequences. He would certainly be seized immediately, perhaps beaten, and sent to prison. But it didn’t matter. Ichthyander, staggering, waded towards the shallow water and raised his head above the water.

“Ah-ah-ah-ah!” the policeman screamed in an unnatural voice, throwing himself over the side of the boat into the water to swim to shore faster.

“Jesus Maria! Oh-oh!…” cried another, falling to the bottom of the boat.

The two policemen remaining on shore whispered prayers. Pale, they trembled with fear, trying to hide behind each other.

Ichthyander had not expected this and did not immediately understand the reason for their fright. Then he remembered that Spaniards are very religious and superstitious. The policemen probably imagined they were seeing a revenant from the other world. Ichthyander decided to frighten them even more: he bared his teeth, rolled his eyes, howled in a terrifying voice, slowly moving towards the shore; he rose onto the road intentionally slowly and walked away with measured steps.

Not a single policeman moved; none detained Ichthyander. Superstitious horror, the fear of a ghost, prevented them from performing their duty.

“It’s the Sea Devil!”

 

Pedro Zurita’s mother, Dolores, was a stout, well-fed old woman with a hooked nose and a prominent chin. A thick mustache gave her face a strange and unattractive appearance. This rare “ornament” for a woman had earned her the nickname Mustachioed Dolores in the vicinity.

When her son appeared with his young wife, the old woman unceremoniously scrutinized Guttiere. Dolores first and foremost looked for flaws in people. Guttiere’s beauty struck the old woman, though she showed no outward sign of it. But such was Mustachioed Dolores: after pondering in her kitchen, she decided that Guttiere’s beauty was a defect.

Left alone with her son, the old woman shook her head disapprovingly and said, “She’s good! Too good, even!” And, sighing, she added, “You’ll have trouble with such a beauty… Yes. You should have married a Spanish woman.” After more thought, she continued, “And she’s proud. Her hands are soft, tender; she’ll be a pampered creature.”

“We’ll break her,” Pedro replied and delved into his household accounts. Dolores yawned and, so as not to disturb her son, went out into the garden to breathe the evening cool. She loved to dream under the moon.

Mimosas filled the garden with a pleasant aroma. White lilies gleamed in the moonlight. The leaves of laurels and ficus trees stirred almost imperceptibly. Dolores settled onto a bench among the myrtles and indulged in her dreams: she would buy the neighboring plot, raise fine-wooled sheep, build new barns.

“Oh, bother you!” the old woman cried angrily, slapping her cheek. “These mosquitoes won’t even let a person sit in peace.”

Imperceptibly, clouds covered the sky, and the entire garden plunged into a dim light. On the horizon, a light blue strip stood out more sharply — the reflection of the lights of the city of Parana.

And suddenly, above the low stone fence, she saw a human head. Someone raised their shackled hands and cautiously leaped over the wall.

The old woman was frightened. “A convict has broken into the garden,” she decided. She wanted to scream but couldn’t, tried to get up and run, but her legs gave way. Sitting on the bench, she watched the unknown intruder.

And the man in handcuffs, cautiously making his way between the bushes, approached the house, peering into the windows.

And suddenly — or did she mishear — the convict quietly called:

“Guttiere!”

“So this is it, the beauty! This is who she’s friends with! Before you know it, this beauty will kill me and my son, rob the hacienda, and run off with the convict,” Dolores thought.

The old woman was suddenly seized by a feeling of deep hatred for her daughter-in-law and bitter malice. This gave her strength. She jumped up and ran into the house.

“Quick!” Dolores whispered to her son. “A convict has broken into the garden. He was calling Guttiere.”

Pedro ran out with such haste as if the house were ablaze, grabbed a shovel lying on the path, and ran around the house.

By the wall stood an unknown man in a dirty, wrinkled suit, with shackled hands, looking into the window.

“Damn it!…” Zurita muttered and brought the shovel down on the young man’s head.

Without a sound, the young man fell to the ground.

“He’s done for…” Zurita said quietly.

“Done for,” confirmed Dolores, who was following him, in a tone as if her son had crushed a poisonous scorpion. Zurita looked at his mother questioningly:

“Where to put him?”

“Into the pond,” the old woman pointed. “The pond is deep.”

“He’ll float up.”

“We’ll tie a stone to him. I’ll get it now…”

Dolores ran home and hurriedly began to search for a sack in which to put the corpse of the murdered man. But earlier that morning, she had sent all the sacks with wheat to the mill. Then she found a pillowcase and a long piece of twine.

“There are no sacks,” she told her son. “Here, put stones in the pillowcase and tie it with the twine to his handcuffs…”

Zurita nodded, hoisted the corpse onto his shoulders, and dragged it to the end of the garden, to a small pond.

“Don’t get dirty,” Dolores whispered, limping after her son with the pillowcase and twine.

“It’ll wash off,” Pedro replied, though he lowered the young man’s head so that the blood would drip onto the ground.

By the pond, Zurita quickly filled the pillowcase with stones, tied it firmly to the young man’s hands, and threw the body into the pond.

“Now I need to change.” Pedro looked at the sky. “It’s going to rain. It will wash away the bloodstains on the ground by morning.”

“In the pond… the water won’t turn pink from the blood?” asked Mustachioed Dolores.

“It won’t. The pond has a current… Oh, damn it!” Zurita rasped, heading towards the house, and shook his fist at one of the windows.

“There it is, the beauty!” the old woman whined, following her son.

Guttiere was given a room on the mezzanine. She couldn’t sleep that night. It was stuffy, and mosquitoes tormented her. Unhappy thoughts filled Guttiere’s mind. She couldn’t forget Ichthyander, his death. She didn’t love her husband, and her mother-in-law disgusted her. And Guttiere was destined to live with this mustachioed old woman…

That night, Guttiere thought she heard Ichthyander’s voice. He was calling her name. Some noise, some muffled voices came from the garden. Guttiere decided she wouldn’t be able to sleep that night. She went out into the garden. The sun had not yet risen. The garden was immersed in the twilight of dawn. The clouds had cleared. Abundant dew sparkled on the grass and trees. In a light robe, barefoot, Guttiere walked on the grass. Suddenly, she stopped and began to carefully examine the ground. On the path, opposite her window, the sand was stained with blood. A bloody shovel lay nearby.

Some crime had occurred here during the night. Otherwise, where could these bloodstains have come from?

Guttiere involuntarily followed the tracks, and they led her to the pond.

“Could the last traces of the crime be hidden in this pond?” she thought, gazing with fear into the greenish surface.

From beneath the greenish water of the pond, Ichthyander’s face looked at her. The skin on his temple was cut. His face reflected suffering and, at the same time, joy.

Guttiere stared unblinkingly at the face of the drowned Ichthyander. Had she gone mad?

Guttiere wanted to run away. But she couldn’t leave, couldn’t tear her eyes away from him.

And Ichthyander’s face slowly rose from the water. It already appeared above the surface, stirring the quiet waters. Ichthyander extended his shackled hands towards Guttiere and, with a pale smile, said, addressing her with the familiar “ты” for the first time:

“Guttiere! My dearest! At last, Guttiere, I…” But he didn’t finish.

Guttiere clutched her head and cried out in fright:

“Vanish! Be gone, wretched ghost! For I know you are dead. Why do you appear to me?”

“No, no, Guttiere, I’m not dead,” the ghost hastily replied, “I didn’t drown. Forgive me… I hid it from you… I don’t know why I did it… Don’t go, listen to me. I’m alive — here, touch my hands…”

He stretched his shackled hands towards her. Guttiere continued to look at him.

“Don’t be afraid, I’m alive… I can live underwater. I’m not like other people. I alone can live underwater. I didn’t drown then, when I threw myself into the sea. I threw myself because it was hard for me to breathe in the air.”

Ichthyander staggered and continued just as hastily and incoherently:

“I was looking for you, Guttiere. Tonight, your husband hit me on the head when I approached your window and threw me into the pond. In the water, I came to my senses. I managed to remove the sack with the stones, but this,” Ichthyander pointed to the handcuffs, “I couldn’t remove…”

Guttiere began to believe that it wasn’t a ghost before her, but a living person.

“But why are your hands shackled?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you about that later… Run away with me, Guttiere. We’ll hide with my father; no one will find us there… And we’ll live together… Come on, take my hands, Guttiere. Olsen said that they call me the sea devil, but I am a human. Why are you afraid of me?”

Ichthyander emerged from the pond, covered in slime. He sank onto the grass, exhausted.

Guttiere leaned over him and, finally, took his hand.

“My poor boy,” she said.

“What a pleasant encounter!” a mocking voice suddenly rang out. They looked around and saw Zurita standing nearby. Zurita, like Guttiere, had not slept that night. He had come out into the garden at Guttiere’s scream and had heard the entire conversation. When Pedro realized that the “sea devil,” whom he had hunted for so long and unsuccessfully, was before him, he rejoiced and immediately decided to take Ichthyander to the “Jellyfish.” But, upon reflection, he decided to act differently.

“You won’t succeed, Ichthyander, in taking Guttiere to Doctor Salvator, because Guttiere is my wife. You yourself will hardly return to your father. The police are waiting for you.”

“But I am innocent!” the young man exclaimed.

“Without guilt, the police do not reward people with such bracelets. And if you have fallen into my hands, it is my duty to hand you over to the police.”

“Will you really do that?” Guttiere asked her husband with indignation.

“I am obliged to do it,” Pedro replied, shrugging.

“He’d be quite a fool,” Dolores, who had appeared, suddenly interjected, “if he let a convict go free! For what? Is it not for this shackled man to peek under other people’s windows and abduct other people’s wives?”

Guttiere approached her husband, took his hands, and said gently, “Let him go. I beg you. I am not at fault with you in any way…”

Dolores, afraid her son might give in to his wife, waved her hands and shouted, “Don’t listen to her, Pedro!”

“I am powerless before a woman’s plea,” Zurita said courteously. “I agree.”

“Barely married and already under his wife’s thumb,” the old woman grumbled.

“Wait, Mother. We’ll saw off your handcuffs, young man, get you into a more decent suit, and take you to the ‘Jellyfish.’ In Rio de la Plata, you can jump overboard and swim wherever you please. But I will let you go on one condition: you must forget Guttiere. And you, Guttiere, I’ll take with me. That will be safer.”

“You are better than I thought you were,” Guttiere said sincerely.

Zurita smugly twirled his mustache and bowed to his wife.

Dolores knew her son well; she quickly guessed he was planning some trick. But to play along, she feigned annoyance and grumbled, “Charmed! Now sit under her thumb!”

Full Steam Ahead

 

“Salvator arrives tomorrow. Fever delayed me, and you and I need to talk about many things,” Kristo said, addressing Balthazar. They were sitting in Balthazar’s shop. “Listen, brother, listen carefully and don’t interrupt me, so I don’t forget what I need to say.”

Kristo paused, collecting his thoughts, and continued:

“We’ve worked hard for Zurita, you and I. He’s richer than us, but he wants to be richer than himself. He wants to catch the sea devil…”

Balthazar made a move.

“Silence, brother, silence, or I’ll forget what I wanted to say. Zurita wants the sea devil to be his slave. And do you know what the sea devil is? It’s a treasure. It’s inexhaustible wealth. The sea devil can collect pearls from the seabed — many beautiful pearls. But the sea devil can get not only pearls from the bottom of the sea. There are many sunken ships with countless treasures at the bottom of the sea. He can get them for us. I say for us, not for Zurita. Do you know, brother, that Ichthyander loves Guttiere?”

Balthazar wanted to say something, but Kristo didn’t let him speak:

“Silence and listen. I can’t speak when I’m interrupted. Yes, Ichthyander loves Guttiere. Nothing can be hidden from me. When I found out, I said: ‘Good. Let Ichthyander love Guttiere even more. He will be a better husband and son-in-law than this Zurita.’ And Guttiere loves Ichthyander. I watched them, not interfering with Ichthyander. Let them meet.”

Balthazar sighed but didn’t interrupt the storyteller.

“And that’s not all, brother. Listen further. I want to remind you of what happened many years ago. I accompanied your wife — this was about twenty years ago — when she was returning from her relatives. Remember, she went to the mountains to bury her mother. On the way, your wife died in childbirth. The child also died. Back then, I didn’t tell you everything; I didn’t want to upset you. Now I will. Your wife died on the way, but the child was still alive, though very weak. It happened in an Indian village. An old woman told me that a great miracle worker, God Salvator, lived not far from them…”

Balthazar became wary.

“And she advised me to take the child to Salvator so he would save him from death. I followed the good advice and took the child to Salvator. ‘Save him,’ I said. Salvator took the boy, shook his head, and said: ‘It’s hard to save him.’ And he took him away. I waited until evening. In the evening, a black man came out and said: ‘The child died.’ Then I left. So,” Kristo continued, “Salvator said through his black man that the child died. On the newborn child — your son — I noticed a birthmark. I remember well the shape of that mark.” After a pause, Kristo continued:

“Not so long ago, someone wounded Ichthyander in the neck. While bandaging him, I opened the collar of his scales and saw a birthmark of exactly the same shape as your son’s.”

Balthazar looked at Kristo with wide eyes and, agitated, asked:

“Do you think Ichthyander is my son?”

“Silence, brother, silence and listen. Yes, I think so. I think Salvator lied. Your son didn’t die, and Salvator made him into the sea devil.”

“Oh-h-h!…” Balthazar cried out, beside himself. “How dare he! I will kill Salvator with my own hands.”

“Silence! Salvator is stronger than you. And besides, maybe I was mistaken. Twenty years have passed. A birthmark on the neck can be on another person too. Ichthyander is your son, or maybe he isn’t. You need to be careful here. You will go to Salvator and say that Ichthyander is your son. I will be your witness. You will demand that he give you your son. And if he doesn’t, you will say that you will report him to the court for maiming children. He will be afraid of that. If that doesn’t help, you will go to court. And if in court we fail to prove that Ichthyander is your son, then he will marry Guttiere; after all, Guttiere is your adopted daughter. You were longing for your wife and son then, and I found you this orphan, Guttiere…”

Balthazar jumped from his chair. He was now pacing the shop, bumping into crabs and shells.

“My son! My son! Oh, what a misfortune!”

“Why a misfortune?” Kristo wondered.

“I didn’t interrupt and listened carefully to you, now you listen to me. While you were suffering from fever, Guttiere married Pedro Zurita.”

This news stunned Kristo.

“And Ichthyander… my poor son…” Balthazar lowered his head. “Ichthyander is in Zurita’s hands!”

“Impossible,” Kristo objected.

“Yes, yes. Ichthyander is on the ‘Jellyfish.’ This morning Zurita came to me. He laughed at us, mocked us, and cursed us. He said we had deceived him. Think about it, he himself, without us, caught Ichthyander! Now he won’t pay us anything. But I won’t take money from him either. How can one sell his own son?”

Balthazar was in despair. Kristo looked at his brother disapprovingly. Now, decisive action was needed. But Balthazar was more likely to harm the cause than help it. Kristo himself didn’t truly believe in Ichthyander’s kinship with Balthazar. True, Kristo had seen a birthmark on the newborn. But was that undeniable proof? Upon seeing the birthmark on Ichthyander’s neck, Kristo decided to use this similarity to profit. But how could he have assumed that Balthazar would react to his story like this? The news delivered by Balthazar, however, frightened Kristo.

“Now is not the time for tears. We must act. Salvator arrives tomorrow early morning. Be courageous. Wait for me at sunrise on the pier. We must save Ichthyander. But look, don’t tell Salvator that you are Ichthyander’s father. Where did Zurita go?”

“He didn’t say, but I think to the north. Zurita has long intended to go to the shores of Panama.”

Kristo nodded.

“Remember: tomorrow morning, before sunrise, you must be on the shore. Sit, don’t leave, even if you have to wait until evening.”

Kristo hurried home. He spent the entire night thinking about the upcoming meeting with Salvator. He had to justify himself to Salvator.

Salvator arrived at dawn. Kristo, with a face expressing grief and loyalty, greeted the doctor and said:

“A misfortune has befallen us… Many times I warned Ichthyander not to swim in the bay…”

“What happened to him?” Salvator asked impatiently.

“He was stolen and taken away on a schooner… I…”

Salvator tightly gripped Kristo’s shoulder and stared intently into his eyes. It lasted for a moment, but Kristo involuntarily changed expression under that scrutinizing gaze. Salvator frowned, mumbled something, and, releasing his fingers from Kristo’s shoulder, quickly said:

“You’ll tell me about this in detail later.” Salvator called a black man, said a few words to him in a language Kristo didn’t understand, and, turning to the Indian, imperiously shouted:

“Follow me!”

Without resting or changing from his journey, Salvator left the house and quickly went into the garden. Kristo barely kept up with him. Two more black men caught up with them at the third wall.

“I guarded Ichthyander like a faithful dog,” Kristo said, breathless from the fast walking. “I didn’t leave his side…”

But Salvator wasn’t listening. The doctor was already standing by the pool, impatiently tapping his foot while the water drained into the open sluices in the pool.

“Follow me,” Salvator commanded again, descending the underground staircase.

Kristo and the two black men followed Salvator in complete darkness. Salvator leaped down several steps at a time, like someone intimately familiar with the underground labyrinth.

Reaching the lower platform, Salvator didn’t flip a light switch as he had the first time, but, fumbling in the dark with his hand, opened a door in the right wall and walked down a dark corridor. There were no steps here, and Salvator walked even faster, without lighting a lamp.

“What if I fall into some trap and drown in a well?” Kristo thought, trying to keep up with Salvator.

They walked for a long time, and finally, Kristo felt the floor sloping downwards. Sometimes Kristo thought he heard a faint splash of water. But then their journey ended. Salvator, who had gone ahead, stopped and turned on the light. Kristo saw that he was in a large, water-filled, long grotto with an oval vault. This vault, receding into the distance, gradually lowered towards the water. On the water, right at the edge of the stone floor they were standing on, Kristo saw a small submarine. Salvator, Kristo, and the two black men entered it. Salvator turned on the light in the cabin, one of the black men slammed the top hatch shut, and the other was already working at the engine. Kristo felt the boat shudder, slowly turn, descend, and then slowly move forward. No more than two minutes passed, and they surfaced. Salvator and Kristo went out onto the bridge. Kristo had never traveled in submarines before. But this boat, now gliding on the surface of the ocean, could have surprised even shipbuilders. It was of an unusual design, and its engine was obviously of immense power. The boat, not yet at full speed, was moving rapidly forward.

“Where did Ichthyander’s abductors go?”

“Along the coast to the north,” Kristo replied. “I would venture to suggest that you take my brother with you. I warned him, and he is waiting on the shore.”

“Why?”

“Ichthyander was stolen by the pearl diver Zurita.”

“How do you know this?” Salvator asked suspiciously.

“I described the schooner that captured Ichthyander in the bay to my brother, and my brother recognized it as Pedro Zurita’s ‘Jellyfish.’ Zurita probably stole Ichthyander for pearl diving. And my brother Balthazar knows the fishing grounds well. He will be useful to us.”

Salvator thought for a moment.

“All right. We’ll take your brother.”

Balthazar was waiting for his brother on the pier. The boat turned towards the shore. Balthazar on the shore, frowning, looked at Salvator, who had taken and disfigured his son. However, the Indian politely bowed to Salvator and swam to the boat.

“Full speed ahead!” Salvator commanded. Salvator stood on the captain’s bridge and keenly peered at the surface of the ocean.

The Unusual Captive

 

Zurita sawed off the handcuffs binding Ichthyander’s wrists, gave him a new suit, and allowed him to take his goggles and fins that were hidden in the sand. But as soon as the young man stepped onto the deck of the “Jellyfish,” Zurita’s Indians seized him and put him in the hold. Near Buenos Aires, Zurita made a brief stop to stock up on provisions. He met with Balthazar, boasted of his success, and then sailed further along the coast, heading towards Rio de Janeiro. He planned to round the eastern coast of South America and begin searching for pearls in the Caribbean Sea.

He placed Guttiere in the captain’s cabin. Zurita assured her that he had released Ichthyander into the Rio de la Plata bay. But this lie was soon exposed. In the evening, Guttiere heard cries and groans coming from the hold. She recognized Ichthyander’s voice. Zurita was on the upper deck at the time. Guttiere tried to leave the cabin, but the door was locked. Guttiere began pounding with her fists — no one responded to her shouts.

Zurita, hearing Ichthyander’s cries, swore loudly, descended from the captain’s bridge, and went into the hold with an Indian sailor. The hold was unusually stuffy and dark.

“Why are you shouting?” Zurita asked gruffly.

“I… I’m suffocating,” he heard Ichthyander’s voice. “I can’t live without water. It’s so stuffy here. Let me go into the sea. I won’t survive the night…”

Zurita slammed the hatch to the hold shut and went back on deck.

“He really might suffocate,” Zurita thought, concerned. Ichthyander’s death was not at all to his advantage.

At Zurita’s command, a barrel was brought into the hold, and the sailors brought in water.

“Here’s your bath,” Zurita said, addressing Ichthyander. “Swim! And tomorrow morning, I’ll let you go into the sea.”

Ichthyander hastily plunged into the barrel. The Indian sailors standing in the doorway looked at this bathing with bewilderment. They didn’t yet know that the “Jellyfish’s” prisoner was the “sea devil.”

“Get to the deck!” Zurita snapped at them.

It was impossible to swim in the barrel; he couldn’t even straighten himself to his full height. Ichthyander had to crouch to submerge himself. This barrel had once stored salted meat. The water quickly became saturated with this smell, and Ichthyander felt little better than in the stuffiness of the hold.

Above the sea, a fresh southeast wind was blowing at that time, carrying the schooner further and further north.

Zurita stood on the captain’s bridge for a long time and only came into the cabin towards morning. He assumed his wife had been sleeping for a long time. But she was sitting on a chair next to the narrow table, her head in her hands. As he entered, Guttiere rose, and in the dim light of the dying lamp hanging from the ceiling, Zurita saw her pale, frowning face.

“You deceived me,” she said hoarsely.

Under his wife’s angry gaze, Zurita felt uneasy and, to mask his involuntary embarrassment, adopted a nonchalant air, twirled his mustache, and jokingly replied, “Ichthyander preferred to stay on the ‘Jellyfish’ to be closer to you.”

“You lie! You are a despicable, vile man. I hate you!” Guttiere suddenly snatched a large knife hanging on the wall and lunged at Zurita.

“Oh-ho!…” Zurita exclaimed. He quickly grabbed Guttiere’s arm and squeezed so hard that Guttiere dropped the knife.

Zurita kicked the knife out of the cabin, released his wife’s hand, and said, “That’s better! You’re very agitated. Drink a glass of water.”

And he left the cabin, clicking the key, and went up to the upper deck.

The east was already turning pink, and the light clouds, illuminated by the sun hidden below the horizon, looked like flaming tongues. The morning wind, salty and fresh, filled the sails. Gulls flew above the sea, keenly watching for fish frolicking on the surface.

The sun had already risen. Zurita was still pacing the deck, his hands clasped behind his back.

“No matter, I’ll manage somehow,” he said, thinking of Guttiere. Turning to the sailors, he loudly commanded to furl the sails. The “Jellyfish,” swaying on the waves, was at anchor.

“Bring me a chain and bring the man from the hold,” Zurita ordered. He wanted to test Ichthyander as a pearl diver as soon as possible.

“By the way, he’ll get refreshed in the sea,” he thought.

Escorted by two Indians, Ichthyander appeared. He looked tired. Ichthyander looked around. He stood near the mizzenmast. Only a few steps separated him from the railing. Suddenly, Ichthyander lunged forward, ran to the railing, and was already crouching to jump. But at that moment, Zurita’s heavy fist landed on his head. The young man fell unconscious onto the deck.

“No need to rush,” Zurita said moralistically. There was a clank of iron, and a sailor handed Zurita a long, thin chain ending in an iron hoop.

Zurita encircled the unconscious young man with this hoop, locked the belt, and, turning to the sailors, said, “Now pour water on his head.”

Soon the young man regained consciousness and looked bewildered at the chain to which he was shackled.

“This way you won’t escape me,” Zurita explained. “I’ll let you go into the sea. You will find pearl oysters for me. The more pearls you find, the longer you will stay in the sea. If you don’t collect pearl oysters for me, then I’ll lock you in the hold, and you’ll sit in the barrel. Understood? Agreed?”

Ichthyander nodded.

He was ready to retrieve all the treasures of the world for Zurita, just to immerse himself in the clean seawater as quickly as possible.

Zurita, Ichthyander on the chain, and the sailors approached the schooner’s rail. Guttiere’s cabin was on the other side of the schooner: Zurita didn’t want her to see Ichthyander chained.

Ichthyander was lowered into the sea on the chain. If only he could break this chain! But it was very strong. Ichthyander submitted to his fate. He began collecting pearl oysters and putting them into a large bag hanging at his side. The iron hoop pressed against his sides and made breathing difficult. Yet, Ichthyander felt almost happy after the stuffy hold and the smelly barrel.

The sailors from the ship’s side watched the unprecedented spectacle with astonishment. Minute after minute passed, and the man lowered to the bottom of the sea showed no sign of rising. At first, air bubbles floated to the surface, but they soon stopped.

“May a shark eat me if there’s even a speck of air left in his chest. He obviously feels like a fish in water,” an old diver said with surprise, peering into the water.

On the seabed, the young man was clearly visible, crawling on his knees.

“Perhaps it is the sea devil himself?” a sailor quietly murmured.

“Whoever he is, Captain Zurita made a good acquisition,” the navigator replied. “One such diver can replace a dozen.”

The sun was close to noon when Ichthyander tugged the chain to be pulled up. His bag was full of shells. He needed to empty it to continue diving.

The sailors quickly brought the extraordinary diver onto the deck. Everyone wanted to know the catch as soon as possible.

Normally, pearl oysters are left for several days for the mollusks to decay — then it’s easier to remove the pearls — but now the impatience of the sailors and Zurita himself was great. And everyone immediately set about opening the shells with knives.

When the sailors finished their work, everyone immediately began to talk loudly. Unusual excitement reigned on deck. Perhaps Ichthyander had been lucky enough to find a good spot. But what he extracted in one catch surpassed all expectations. Among these pearls, about twenty were very heavy, of beautiful shape, and of the most delicate colors. The first haul already brought Zurita a fortune. One large pearl could buy a new, beautiful schooner. Zurita was on his way to wealth. His dreams had come true.

Zurita saw how eagerly the sailors looked at the pearls. He didn’t like this. He quickly poured the pearls into his straw hat and said, “It’s time for breakfast. And you, Ichthyander, are a good diver. I have a free cabin. I’ll put you there. You won’t feel stuffy there. And I’ll order a large zinc tank for you. Perhaps you won’t even need it, as you’ll be swimming in the sea every day. On a chain, it’s true, but what can be done? Otherwise, you’ll dive to your crabs and won’t return.”

Ichthyander didn’t want to talk to Zurita. But if he was a prisoner of this greedy man, he had to think about decent accommodation.

“A tank is better than a smelly barrel,” he told Zurita, “but for me not to suffocate, you’ll have to change the water frequently.”

“How often?” Zurita asked.

“Every half hour,” Ichthyander replied. “It’s even better to have a constant flow of water.”

“Eh, I see you’ve already grown arrogant. You were praised, and now you’re starting to demand, to be capricious.”

“These aren’t whims,” the young man retorted, offended. “I… understand, if you put a large fish in a bucket, it will soon fall asleep. A fish breathes oxygen in the water, and I… I’m a very big fish,” Ichthyander added with a smile.

“About oxygen, I don’t know, but that fish die if the water isn’t changed, I know that well. Perhaps you’re right. But if I assign people to constantly pump water into your tank, it will be too expensive, more expensive than your pearls. You’ll ruin me!”

Ichthyander didn’t know the price of pearls, nor that Zurita paid the divers and sailors paltry sums. The young man believed Zurita’s words and exclaimed, “If it’s not profitable for you to keep me, then let me go into the sea!” And Ichthyander looked at the ocean.

“What you are!…” Zurita burst out laughing.

“Please! I’ll voluntarily bring you pearls. I collected such a huge pile a long time ago.” And Ichthyander gestured from the deck to his knees. “Even, smooth, grain for grain, and each the size of a bean… I’ll give you everything, just let me go.”

Zurita held his breath.

“You’re just babbling!” Zurita retorted, trying to sound calm.

“I’ve never lied to anyone before,” Ichthyander said angrily.

“Where is your treasure?” Zurita asked, no longer concealing his excitement.

“In an underwater cave. No one but Liding knows where it is.”

“Liding? Who is that?”

“My dolphin.”

“Ah, I see! Indeed, some kind of delusion,” Zurita thought. “If this is true — and I must believe he’s not lying — then this surpasses everything I could ever imagine. I will be incredibly rich. The Rothschilds and Rockefellers will be paupers compared to me. And the young man seems trustworthy. Should I really let him go on his word of honor?”

But Zurita was a man of business. He wasn’t accustomed to taking anyone at their word. He began to consider how best to seize Ichthyander’s treasure. “If only Guttiere asks Ichthyander, he won’t refuse and will bring the treasure.”

“Perhaps I will release you,” Zurita said, “but for some time, you’ll have to stay with me. Yes. I have my reasons. I think you won’t regret the delay. And for now, as my guest, albeit an unwilling one, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Perhaps instead of a tank, which would be too expensive, it would be better to place you in a large iron cage. The cage will protect you from sharks, and in this cage, you will be lowered overboard into the water.”

“Yes, but I also need to be in the air.”

“Well, we’ll lift you up sometimes. It will be cheaper than pumping water into a tank. In short, we’ll arrange everything; you’ll be satisfied.”

Zurita was in an excellent mood. Unheard of: he ordered the sailors to be given a glass of vodka for breakfast.

Ichthyander was again taken to the hold — the tank was not yet ready. Zurita, not without excitement, opened the captain’s cabin door and, standing in the doorway, showed Guttiere his hat filled with pearls.

“I remember my promises,” he began, smiling. “A wife loves pearls, loves gifts. To get many pearls, one needs a good diver. That’s why I captured Ichthyander. Look — this is one morning’s catch.”

Guttiere briefly glanced at the pearls. With great difficulty, she suppressed an involuntary exclamation of surprise. However, Zurita noticed it and laughed self-contentedly.

“You will be the richest woman in Argentina, perhaps even all of America. You will have everything. I will build you a palace that kings will envy. And now, as a pledge of the future, accept half of these pearls from me.”

“No! I don’t want a single one of these pearls, obtained by crime,” Guttiere replied sharply. “And please, leave me in peace.”

Zurita was confused and annoyed: he had not expected such a reception.

“Just two more words. Do you wish,” he switched to the formal “вы” for emphasis, “for me to release Ichthyander?”

Guttiere looked at Zurita distrustfully, as if trying to guess what new trick he was planning.

“What then?” she asked coldly.

“Ichthyander’s fate is in your hands. You only need to order Ichthyander to bring to the ‘Jellyfish’ the pearls he keeps somewhere underwater, and I will release the sea devil to all four winds.”

“Remember well what I am about to say. I don’t believe a single word you utter. You will get the pearls and then chain Ichthyander again. That is as certain as the fact that I am the wife of the most deceitful and treacherous man. Remember it well and never try to involve me in your dark dealings. And once again — please, leave me in peace.”

There was nothing more to say, and Zurita left. In his cabin, he poured the pearls into a small bag, carefully placed it in his trunk, locked it, and went out on deck. The quarrel with his wife bothered him little. He saw himself rich, surrounded by honor.

He went to the captain’s bridge and lit a cigar. Thoughts of future wealth pleasantly agitated him. Always vigilant, this time he failed to notice the sailors, gathered in groups, quietly conversing about something.

Abandoned “Jellyfish”

 

Zurita stood by the railing, opposite the foremast. At the navigator’s signal, several sailors immediately pounced on Pedro. They weren’t armed, but there were many of them. Yet, overcoming Zurita proved not so easy. Two sailors grabbed Zurita from behind, clinging to his back. Zurita broke free from the crowd and, running a few steps, threw himself backward with all his might onto the edge of the railing.

With a groan, the sailors released their victim and fell onto the deck. Zurita straightened up and began to fend off the attack of new enemies with his fists. He never parted with his revolver, but the attack was so sudden that Zurita didn’t have time to pull the revolver from its holster. He slowly retreated to the foremast and suddenly, with the agility of a monkey, began to climb the shrouds.

A sailor grabbed his leg, but Zurita kicked him in the head with his free leg, and the stunned sailor fell onto the deck. Zurita managed to climb to the top and sat there, cursing desperately. Here he could feel relatively safe. He pulled out his revolver and shouted:

“To the first one who dares to climb up to me, I’ll smash their head!” The sailors were making noise below, discussing what to do next.

“There are rifles in the captain’s cabin!” shouted the navigator, trying to out-shout the others. “Let’s go, let’s break down the door!”

Several sailors headed for the hatch.

“I’m done for,” Zurita thought, “they’ll shoot me!”

He looked at the sea, as if seeking unexpected help. And, disbelieving himself, Zurita saw a submarine approaching the “Jellyfish” with extraordinary speed, cutting through the ocean’s surface.

“I just hope it doesn’t submerge!” Zurita thought. “There are people on the bridge. Will they really not notice me and pass by?”

“Help! Quick! They’re killing me!” Zurita shouted with all his might.

On the submarine, they evidently noticed him. Without slowing down, the submarine continued directly towards the “Jellyfish.”

Armed sailors were already emerging from the schooner’s hatch. They spilled onto the deck and now hesitated. An armed submarine was approaching the “Jellyfish” — likely a military one. They couldn’t kill Zurita in front of these uninvited witnesses.

Zurita triumphed. But his triumph was short-lived. Balthazar and Kristo stood on the submarine’s bridge, and next to them was a tall man with a predatory nose and eagle eyes.

From the submarine’s deck, he shouted loudly:

“Pedro Zurita! You must immediately hand over the Ichthyander you kidnapped! I give you five minutes, or I will sink your schooner.”

“Traitors!” Zurita thought, glaring hatefully at Kristo and Balthazar. “But it’s better to lose Ichthyander than my own head.”

“I’ll bring him now,” Zurita said, climbing down the shrouds. The sailors had already realized they needed to save themselves. They quickly lowered the lifeboats, jumped into the water, and swam to shore. Each man cared only for himself.

Zurita ran down the gangway to his cabin, hastily took out a small bag of pearls, tucked it into his shirt, and grabbed some straps and a handkerchief. The next moment, he opened the cabin door where Guttierre was, lifted her into his arms, and carried her onto the deck.

“Ichthyander isn’t entirely well. You’ll find him in the cabin,” Zurita said, not letting go of Guttierre. Rushing to the side, he placed her in the lifeboat, lowered the boat into the water, and jumped in himself.

Now the submarine couldn’t pursue the lifeboat; the water was too shallow. But Guttierre had already seen Balthazar on the submarine’s deck.

“Father, save Ichthyander! He is…” But she didn’t finish; Zurita gagged her with the handkerchief and hurried to tie her hands with a strap.

“Release the woman!” Salvator shouted, seeing this brutality.

“This woman is my wife, and no one has the right to interfere in my affairs!” Zurita shouted back, rowing vigorously.

“No one has the right to treat a woman like that!” Salvator exclaimed, irritated. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!” But Zurita continued to row.

Salvator fired his revolver. The bullet hit the side of the lifeboat. Zurita lifted Guttierre, using her as a shield, and shouted, “Go on!”

Guttierre struggled in his arms.

“An absolute scoundrel!” Salvator muttered, lowering his revolver.

Balthazar rushed from the submarine’s bridge and tried to swim after the lifeboat. But Zurita was already near the shore. He pulled hard on the oars, and soon a wave threw the lifeboat onto the sandy beach. Pedro grabbed Guttierre and disappeared behind the coastal rocks.

Seeing that Zurita couldn’t be caught, Balthazar swam to the schooner and climbed the anchor chain onto the deck. He went down the gangway and began to search everywhere for Ichthyander.

Balthazar searched the entire vessel, down to the hold. No one was left on the schooner.

“Ichthyander isn’t on the schooner!” Balthazar shouted to Salvator.

“But he’s alive and must be here somewhere! Guttierre said, ‘Ichthyander is…’ If that bandit hadn’t gagged her, we’d know where to look for him,” said Kristo.

Scanning the sea surface, Kristo noticed the tops of masts sticking out of the water.

A ship must have recently sunk here. Could Ichthyander be on that sunken ship?

“Perhaps Zurita sent Ichthyander to search for treasures from a sunken ship?” Kristo said.

Balthazar picked up a chain lying on the deck, with a hoop at the end.

“Zurita must have lowered Ichthyander on this chain. Without the chain, Ichthyander would have swum away. No, he cannot be on a sunken ship.”

“Yes,” Salvator said thoughtfully. “We defeated Zurita, but we didn’t find Ichthyander.”

The Sunken Ship

 

Zurita’s pursuers were unaware of the events that had transpired on the “Jellyfish” that morning.

All night, the sailors conspired, and by morning they had made a decision: at the first opportune moment, they would attack Zurita, kill him, and seize Ichthyander and the schooner.

Early in the morning, Zurita stood on the captain’s bridge. The wind had died down, and the “Jellyfish” slowly moved forward, making no more than three knots an hour.

Zurita gazed intently at a point on the ocean. Through his binoculars, he made out the radio masts of a sunken ship.

Soon, Zurita noticed a lifebuoy floating on the surface.

Zurita ordered a lifeboat to be lowered to retrieve the lifebuoy.

When the buoy was brought aboard, Zurita read “Mafalda” on it.

“The ‘Mafalda’ sank?” Zurita wondered. He knew this large American mail and passenger steamer. Such a steamer should hold considerable valuables. “What if Ichthyander could retrieve these valuables from the sunken steamer? But would the chain be long enough? Unlikely… If Ichthyander is lowered without a chain, he won’t return…”

Zurita pondered. Greed and the fear of losing Ichthyander battled within him.

The “Jellyfish” slowly approached the masts protruding from the water.

The sailors gathered at the side. The wind had completely died down. The “Jellyfish” stopped.

“I once served on the ‘Mafalda’,” one of the sailors said. “A big, good steamer. A whole city. And the passengers were rich Americans.”

“The ‘Mafalda’ must have sunk without managing to radio its distress,” Zurita mused. “Perhaps the radio station was damaged. Otherwise, fast boats, gliders, yachts would have swarmed from all surrounding ports, carrying authorities, correspondents, photographers, cinematographers, journalists, and divers. There’s no time to lose. I’ll have to risk letting Ichthyander go without a chain. There’s no other way out. But how can I make him return? And if I’m risking it, wouldn’t it be better to send Ichthyander for the ransom – the pearl treasure? But is that pearl treasure really so valuable? Is Ichthyander exaggerating?”

Of course, both the treasure and the valuables buried on the “Mafalda” should be obtained. The pearl treasure won’t go anywhere; no one will find it without Ichthyander, as long as Ichthyander himself remains in Zurita’s hands. And in a few days, or perhaps even a few hours, the “Mafalda’s” treasures will become inaccessible.

“So, the ‘Mafalda’ first,” Zurita decided. He ordered the anchor to be dropped. Then he went down to his cabin, wrote a note, and with this piece of paper, came to Ichthyander’s cabin.

“Can you read, Ichthyander? Guttierre sent you a note.” Ichthyander quickly took the note and read:

“Ichthyander! Please fulfill my request. There is a sunken steamer near the ‘Jellyfish’. Go down into the sea and bring back everything valuable you find from that ship. Zurita will let you go without a chain, but you must return to the ‘Jellyfish’. Do this for me, Ichthyander, and you will soon gain your freedom. Guttierre.”

Ichthyander had never received letters from Guttierre and didn’t know her handwriting. He was very happy to receive this letter but immediately became thoughtful. What if this was Zurita’s trick?

“Why didn’t Guttierre ask herself?” Ichthyander asked, pointing to the note.

“She’s not feeling well,” Zurita replied, “but you’ll see her as soon as you return.”

“Why does Guttierre need these valuables?” Ichthyander still asked distrustfully.

“If you were a real man, you wouldn’t ask such questions. What woman doesn’t want to dress beautifully, wear expensive jewelry? And for that, you need money. A lot of money lies in the sunken steamer. It’s no one’s now – why don’t you get it for Guttierre? The main thing is to find gold coins. There should be postal leather bags there. Besides, passengers might have had gold items, rings…”

“Do you really think I’d search corpses?” Ichthyander asked indignantly. “And anyway, I don’t believe you. Guttierre isn’t greedy; she couldn’t have sent me on such a task…”

“Damn it!” Zurita exclaimed. He saw that his plan would fail if he couldn’t convince Ichthyander immediately.

Then Zurita composed himself, chuckled good-naturedly, and said, “I see you’re not easily deceived. I’ll have to be frank with you. Well, listen. It’s not Guttierre who wants the gold from the ‘Mafalda,’ it’s me. Will you believe that?”

Ichthyander involuntarily smiled. “Completely!”

“Excellent! You’re starting to believe me now — that means we can come to an agreement. Yes, I need the gold. And if there’s as much gold on the ‘Mafalda’ as your pearl treasure is worth, I’ll immediately release you into the ocean as soon as you bring me the gold. But here’s the problem: you don’t entirely trust me, and I don’t trust you. I’m afraid that if I let you go into the water without a chain, you’ll dive and…”

“If I give my word to return, I’ll keep it.”

“I haven’t had a chance to confirm that yet. You don’t like me, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t keep your word. But you love Guttierre, and you’ll do what she asks of you. Right? That’s why I made a deal with her. She, of course, wants me to release you. So, she wrote the letter and gave it to me, wanting to ease your path to freedom. Is everything clear to you now?”

Everything Zurita said seemed convincing and plausible to Ichthyander. But Ichthyander didn’t notice that Zurita promised to release him only when he saw that there was as much gold on the “Mafalda” as his pearl treasure was worth…

“To compare them,” Zurita reasoned to himself, “Ichthyander will have to — I’ll demand it of him — bring his pearls. And then I’ll have the ‘Mafalda’ gold, the pearl treasure, and Ichthyander in my hands.”

But Ichthyander couldn’t know what Zurita was thinking. Zurita’s frankness convinced him, and Ichthyander, after thinking it over, agreed.

Zurita breathed a sigh of relief. “He won’t deceive me,” he thought.

“Let’s go quickly.”

Ichthyander quickly went onto the deck and plunged into the sea.

The sailors saw Ichthyander jumping into the sea without a chain. They immediately understood that Ichthyander had gone for the sunken treasures of the “Mafalda.” Would Zurita really seize all the riches alone? There was no time to lose, and they rushed at Zurita.

While the crew pursued Zurita, Ichthyander began to explore the sunken ship.

Through a huge hatch on the upper deck, the young man swam down, over a gangway that resembled a grand staircase, and entered a spacious corridor.

It was almost dark here. Only a faint light penetrated through the open doors.

Ichthyander swam into one of these open doors and found himself in a salon. Large round portholes dimly lit the enormous hall, which could accommodate hundreds of people. Ichthyander settled onto a luxurious chandelier and looked around. It was a strange sight. Wooden chairs and small tables had floated upwards and swayed near the ceiling. On a small stage stood a grand piano with its lid open. Soft carpets covered the floor. The lacquered mahogany paneling on the walls was warped in places. Palms stood against one wall.

Ichthyander pushed off the chandelier and swam towards the palms. Suddenly, he stopped in amazement. A person was swimming towards him, mirroring his movements. “A mirror,” Ichthyander realized. This enormous mirror occupied the entire wall, dimly reflecting the interior of the salon in the water.

There was nothing to search for treasure here. Ichthyander swam out into the corridor, descended one deck lower, and entered a room as luxurious and enormous as the salon — evidently, a restaurant. On the buffet shelves and counters, and on the floor near the counters, lay bottles of wine, cans of preserves, and boxes. Due to water pressure, many corks had been pushed inside the bottles, and the tin boxes were dented. The table settings remained, but some of the dishes, silver forks, and knives lay on the floor.

Ichthyander began to make his way into the cabins.

He had already visited several cabins, furnished with the latest American comforts, but had not seen a single corpse. Only in one of the cabins on the third deck did he see a swollen corpse swaying near the ceiling.

“Probably many escaped in the lifeboats,” Ichthyander thought.

But, descending even lower, to the deck where third-class passengers were housed, the young man saw a terrible sight: men, women, and children had remained in these cabins. There were corpses of whites, Chinese, Negroes, and Indians.

The steamship crew had primarily aimed to save the rich first-class passengers, abandoning the rest to their fate. Ichthyander could not enter some cabins; the doors were tightly jammed with corpses.

In a panic, people crushed each other, crowded at the exit, hindering one another and cutting off their last path to salvation.

In the long corridor, people swayed slowly.

Water had penetrated the open portholes and rocked the swollen corpses. Ichthyander became scared, and he hurried to swim away from this underwater graveyard.

“Did Guttierre not know where she was sending me?” Ichthyander mused. Could she really make him, Ichthyander, turn out the pockets of drowned people and break open suitcases? No, she couldn’t have done that! Evidently, he had fallen into Zurita’s trap again. “I’ll surface,” Ichthyander decided, “and demand that Guttierre come onto the deck and confirm the request herself.”

Like a fish, the young man glided through endless passages from deck to deck and quickly rose to the surface. He rapidly approached the “Jellyfish.”

“Zurita!” he called. “Guttierre!”

But no one answered him. The silent “Jellyfish” swayed on the waves.

“Where did they all go?” the young man thought. “What else is Zurita planning?” Ichthyander cautiously swam up to the schooner and climbed onto the deck.

“Guttierre!” he shouted again.

“We’re here!” the young man heard Zurita’s voice, barely audible from the shore.

Ichthyander looked around and saw Zurita cautiously peeking out from the bushes on the shore.

“Guttierre is sick! Swim here, Ichthyander!” Zurita shouted. “Guttierre is sick! He will see her now.” Ichthyander jumped into the water and quickly swam towards the shore.

The young man had just emerged from the water when he heard Guttierre’s muffled voice: “Zurita is lying! Save yourself, Ichthyander!”

The young man quickly turned and swam underwater. When he was far from shore, he surfaced and looked back. He saw something white flash on the shore.

Perhaps Guttierre was celebrating his escape. Would he ever see her again?

Ichthyander quickly swam into the open sea. In the distance, a small vessel was visible. Surrounded by foam, the vessel headed south, its sharp bow cutting through the water.

“Further away from people,” Ichthyander thought, and diving deep, disappeared underwater.

 

 

 

 

 

 

PART THREE

 

The Newfound Father

 

Balthazar was in the gloomiest of moods after the unsuccessful submarine trip. Ichthyander was not found, and Zurita had disappeared somewhere with Guttierre.

“Cursed whites!” the old man grumbled, sitting alone in his shop. “They drove us from our land and made us their slaves. They cripple our children and kidnap our daughters. They want to exterminate us all, to the last one.”

“Hello, brother!” Balthazar heard Kristo’s voice. “News! Big news! Ichthyander is found.”

“What?!” Balthazar quickly rose. “Tell me quickly!”

“I will, just don’t interrupt me, or I’ll forget what I wanted to say. Ichthyander is found. I was right then: he was on the sunken ship. We sailed further, and he surfaced and swam home.”

“Where is he then? With Salvator?”

“Yes, with Salvator.”

“I’ll go to him, to Salvator, and demand that he return my son to me…”

“He won’t give him back!” Kristo objected. “Salvator forbids Ichthyander from swimming in the ocean. Sometimes I secretly let him go…”

“He will! If he doesn’t, I’ll kill Salvator. Let’s go right now.” Kristo fearfully waved his hands.

“Wait until tomorrow at least. I barely got Salvator’s permission to visit my ‘granddaughter.’ Salvator has become so suspicious. He looks you in the eye like he’s cutting you with a knife. Please, wait until tomorrow.”

“Alright. I’ll go to Salvator tomorrow. But now I’ll go there, to the bay. Maybe I can at least glimpse my son in the sea from afar…”

All night, Balthazar sat on the rock by the bay, peering into the waves. The sea was stormy. A cold southern wind swept in squalls, ripping foam from the wave crests and scattering it over the coastal cliffs. The surf roared on the shore. The moon, diving into the rapidly moving clouds across the sky, sometimes illuminated the waves, then disappeared. No matter how hard Balthazar tried, he could not make out anything in the foaming ocean. Dawn had already broken, but Balthazar still sat motionless on the coastal cliff. From dark, the ocean turned gray, but it was just as deserted and empty.

And suddenly, Balthazar started. His keen eyes noticed a dark object, swaying on the waves. A person! Perhaps a drowned man! No, he lay calmly on his back, hands behind his head. Could it be him?

Balthazar was not mistaken. It was Ichthyander. Balthazar stood up and, pressing his hands to his chest, shouted:

“Ichthyander! My son!” And the old man, raising his hands, plunged into the sea. Falling from the rock, he dove deep. And when he surfaced, no one was there. Desperately battling the waves, Balthazar dove again, but a huge wave caught him, overturned him, threw him onto the shore, and receded with a dull growl.

All wet, Balthazar stood up, looked at the waves, and sighed heavily. “Did I imagine it?”

When the wind and sun dried Balthazar’s clothes, he set off for the wall guarding Salvator’s estate and knocked on the iron gate.

“Who’s there?” asked a Black man, peering through the slightly open peephole.

“To the doctor, on important business.”

“The doctor is not seeing anyone,” the Black man replied, and the small window closed.

Balthazar continued to knock and shout, but no one opened the gate for him. Only the menacing barking of dogs could be heard from behind the wall.

“Just you wait, cursed Spaniard!” Balthazar threatened and headed for the city.

Not far from the courthouse was the pulqueria “Palm” — a squat, old white building with thick stone walls. In front of the entrance was a small veranda, covered by a striped awning, set with tables and cacti in blue enamel vases. The veranda came alive only in the evening. During the day, patrons preferred to sit in the cool, low-ceilinged rooms. The pulqueria was like an annex of the court. Plaintiffs, defendants, witnesses, and accused not yet taken into custody would come here during court sessions.

Here, sipping wine and pulque, they preferred to while away the tedious hours until their turn came. A quick boy, constantly shuttling between the courthouse and “Palm,” reported on what was happening in court. This was convenient. Shady legal fixers and perjurers, openly offering their services, also flocked here.

Balthazar had been to “Palm” many times on business for his shop. He knew that he could meet the right person here, write a petition. So, Balthazar headed there.

He quickly crossed the veranda, entered the cool vestibule, happily inhaled the coolness, wiped the sweat from his brow, and asked the boy bustling near him:

“Has Larra arrived?”

“Don Flores de Larra has arrived, sitting in his usual spot,” the boy replied briskly.

The one called by the grand name Don Flores de Larra was once a minor court clerk — he was fired for taking bribes. Now he had many clients: everyone with dubious cases eagerly turned to this great legal pettifogger. Balthazar had also dealt with him.

Larra sat at a table near a Gothic window with a wide sill. On the table before the petitioner sat a mug of wine and a plump, reddish briefcase. A fountain pen, always ready for work, was clipped to the pocket of his worn, olive-colored suit.

Larra was fat, bald, red-cheeked, red-nosed, clean-shaven, and proud. A breeze blowing through the window stirred the remnants of his gray hair. The judge himself could not receive his clients with greater majesty.

Seeing Balthazar, he nodded carelessly, gestured towards a wicker chair opposite him, and said:

“Please, sit down. What brings you here? Would you like some wine? Pulque?”

He usually ordered, but the client paid. Balthazar seemed not to hear.

“Big business. Important business, Larra.”

“Don Flores de Larra,” the petitioner corrected, sipping from his mug. But Balthazar paid no attention to the correction.

“What is your business?”

“You know, Larra…”

“Don Flores de…”

“Stop these tricks for newcomers!” Balthazar snapped angrily. “This is serious business.”

“Well, tell me then, quickly,” Larra replied in a different tone.

“Do you know the Sea Devil?”

“I haven’t had the honor of a personal acquaintance, but I’ve heard much,” Larra replied pompously, out of habit.

“Well then! The one called ‘the Sea Devil’ is my son, Ichthyander.”

“That can’t be!” Larra exclaimed. “You’ve had too much to drink, Balthazar.”

The Indian slammed his fist on the table: “Since yesterday, I’ve had nothing in my mouth but a few sips of seawater.”

“So, the situation is even worse…”

“Are you out of your mind? No, I’m perfectly sane. Be quiet and listen.” And Balthazar told Larra the whole story. Larra listened to the Indian, not uttering a word. His gray eyebrows rose higher and higher. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, forgot all his Olympian grandeur, slapped the table with his fat palm, and cried:

“A million devils!”

A boy in a white apron and with a dirty napkin ran up.

“What can I get you?”

“Two bottles of Sauternes with ice!” And, turning to Balthazar, Larra said:

“Magnificent! A splendid little business! Did you really think of it all yourself? Although, to be frank, the weakest point in all this is your paternity.”

“You doubt it?” Balthazar even reddened with anger.

“Now, now, don’t be angry, old man. I’m only speaking as a lawyer, from the point of view of the weight of judicial evidence: they’re a bit weak. But even that can be fixed. Yes. And make a lot of money.”

“I need my son, not money,” Balthazar objected.

“Everyone needs money, especially those with a growing family, like you,” Larra said instructively, and, cunningly narrowing his eyes, continued:

“The most valuable and reliable thing in Salvator’s whole affair is that we managed to find out what experiments and operations he was engaged in. We can plant such mines there that pesos will pour out of that golden sack — Salvator — like overripe oranges in a good storm.”

Balthazar barely touched the glass of wine Larra had poured and said: “I want my son back. You must write a complaint about this to the court.”

“No, no! Absolutely not!” Larra objected, almost with fright. “Starting with that would spoil everything. That’s only how you end it.”

“What do you advise then?” Balthazar asked.

“First,” Larra bent a thick finger, “we will send Salvator a letter, drafted in the most exquisite terms. We will inform him that we are aware of all his illegal operations and experiments. And if he wants us not to make this matter public, he must pay us a tidy sum. A hundred thousand. Yes, a hundred thousand — that’s the least.” Larra looked at Balthazar questioningly.

The latter frowned and remained silent.

“Second,” Larra continued. “When we receive the specified sum — and we will receive it — we will send Professor Salvator a second letter, drafted in even more exquisite terms. We will inform him that Ichthyander’s true father has been found and that we have undeniable proof. We will write to him that the father wishes to reclaim his son and will not shy away from a lawsuit, which could reveal how Salvator disfigured Ichthyander. If Salvator wishes to prevent the lawsuit and keep the child, he must pay one million dollars to the persons we specify, at the specified place and time.”

But Balthazar was not listening. He grabbed the bottle and was about to throw it at the petitioner’s head. Larra had never seen Balthazar in such a rage.

“Don’t be angry. Stop it, I was joking. Put the bottle down!” Larra exclaimed, covering his glistening scalp with his hand.

“You!… You!…” yelled the enraged Balthazar. “You’re offering me to sell my own son, to abandon Ichthyander! Do you have no heart? Are you not a man, but a scorpion, a tarantula, or are you completely unaware of fatherly feelings!”

“Five! Five! Five!” Larra cried, growing angry in turn. “Five fatherly feelings! I have five sons! Five little devils of all sizes! Five mouths! I know, I understand, I feel! And yours won’t leave you either. Just be patient and listen to the end.”

Balthazar calmed down. He put the bottle on the table, lowered his head, and looked at Larra: “Well, speak!”

“That’s it! Salvator will pay us a million. That will be your Ichthyander’s dowry. Well, and I’ll get something too. For my troubles and the author’s rights to the invention — some hundred thousand. We’ll come to an agreement. Salvator will pay the million. I guarantee it! And as soon as he pays…”

“We’ll sue.”

“Just a little more patience. We’ll offer the publishers and editors of the largest newspaper syndicate to pay us, say, twenty to thirty thousand — that’ll be useful for small expenses — for our report on this sensational crime. Perhaps we’ll get something from the secret funds of the secret police. After all, police agents can make their careers on such a case. When we’ve squeezed everything we can out of Salvator’s case, then, please, go to court, appeal there to your fatherly feelings, and may Themis herself help you prove your rights and receive your dear son into your paternal embrace.” Larra gulped down a glass of wine, clinked the glass on the table, and looked triumphantly at Balthazar.

“What do you say?”

“I don’t eat, I don’t sleep at night. And you’re suggesting endlessly dragging out the case,” Balthazar began.

“But for what reason?…” Larra interrupted him heatedly. “For what reason? For millions? Millions! Have you stopped understanding? You lived twenty years without Ichthyander.”

“I lived. And now… In short, write the complaint to the court.”

“He really has stopped thinking!” Larra exclaimed. “Come to your senses, wake up, get a grip, Balthazar! Understand! Millions! Money! Gold! You can buy everything in the world. The best tobacco, a car, twenty schooners, this very pulqueria…”

“Write the petition to the court, or I’ll go to another petitioner,” Balthazar declared decisively.

Larra understood that further objection was useless. He shook his head, sighed, took paper from his reddish briefcase, and unclipped his “everlasting pen” from his side pocket.

A few minutes later, the complaint to the court against Salvator, who had unlawfully appropriated and disfigured Balthazar’s son, was written.

“I tell you for the last time: think it over,” Larra said.

“Give it to me,” the Indian said, reaching out for the complaint.

“Hand it to the chief prosecutor. You know him?” Larra advised his client and grumbled under his breath: “May you stumble on the stairs and break your leg!”

Leaving the prosecutor’s office, Balthazar ran into Zurita on the large white staircase.

“What are you doing here?” Zurita asked, looking suspiciously at the Indian. “You weren’t complaining about me, were you?”

“One should complain about all of you,” Balthazar replied, referring to the Spaniards, “but there’s no one to complain to. Where are you hiding my daughter?”

“How dare you address me with ‘you’ (singular, informal)!” Zurita flared up. “If you weren’t my wife’s father, I’d beat you with a stick.”

Zurita, roughly pushing Balthazar aside with his hand, went up the stairs and disappeared behind a large oak door.

The Legal Incident

 

A rare visitor called on the prosecutor of Buenos Aires: the abbot of the local cathedral, Bishop Juan de Garcilasso.

The prosecutor, a stout, short, lively man with small, puffy eyes, closely cropped hair, and dyed mustache, rose from his chair, greeting the bishop.

The host carefully seated his esteemed guest in a heavy leather armchair by his desk.

The bishop and the prosecutor bore little resemblance to each other. The prosecutor’s face was fleshy and red, with thick lips and a broad, pear-shaped nose. His fingers resembled thick, short stumps, and the buttons on his round belly seemed ready to pop off at any moment, unable to restrain the undulating mass of fat.

The bishop’s face was striking in its thinness and pallor. A dry, hooked nose, a sharp chin, and thin, almost blue lips gave him the typical appearance of a Jesuit.

The bishop never looked his interlocutor in the eye, yet he observed him keenly. The bishop’s influence was enormous, and he willingly set aside spiritual matters to manage complex political games.

After greeting his host, the bishop wasted no time in stating the purpose of his visit.

“I would like to know,” the bishop quietly asked, “what is the status of Professor Salvator’s case?”

“Ah, so even you, Your Eminence, are interested in this case!” the prosecutor exclaimed cordially. “Yes, it’s an extraordinary process!” Taking a thick folder from his desk and turning the pages of the case, the prosecutor continued:

“Following a denunciation by Pedro Zurita, we searched Professor Salvator’s premises. Zurita’s statement that Salvator was performing unusual operations on animals was fully confirmed. In Salvator’s gardens, there was a veritable factory of animal deformities. It’s truly astonishing! Salvator, for example…”

“I know the results of the search from the newspapers,” the bishop gently interrupted. “What measures have you taken against Salvator himself? Is he arrested?”

“Yes, he is arrested. Furthermore, we brought to the city, as material evidence and a witness for the prosecution, a young man named Ichthyander — also known as the Sea Devil. Who would have thought that the famous Sea Devil, who has occupied us for so long, turned out to be one of the monsters from Salvator’s menagerie! Currently, experts, university professors, are studying all these monsters. Of course, we couldn’t transport the entire menagerie, all these living material evidences, to the city. But Ichthyander was brought and placed in the basement of the courthouse. He causes us considerable trouble. Imagine, we had to construct a large tank for him, as he cannot live without water. And he truly felt very ill. Evidently, Salvator performed some extraordinary changes in his organism, transforming the young man into an amphibian human. Our scientists are investigating this matter.”

“I am more interested in Salvator’s fate,” the bishop said just as quietly. “Under what article is he liable? And what is your opinion: will he be convicted?”

“Salvator’s case is a rare legal conundrum,” the prosecutor replied. “I confess, I haven’t yet decided which article to assign this crime to. The simplest, of course, would be to accuse Salvator of performing illegal vivisections and of the mutilation he inflicted on this young man…”

The bishop began to frown: “Do you believe that in all these actions of Salvator, there is no corpus delicti?”

“There is, or will be, but what kind?” the prosecutor continued. “I also received another statement — from an Indian named Balthazar. He claims that Ichthyander is his son. The evidence is weak, but we might be able to use this Indian as a witness for the prosecution if the experts establish that Ichthyander is indeed his son.”

“So, at best, Salvator will only be accused of violating medical regulations and will only be tried for performing an operation on a child without parental permission?”

“And perhaps for causing mutilation. That’s more serious. But there’s another complicating circumstance in this case. The experts — though this is not their final judgment — are inclined to believe that a normal person couldn’t even conceive of disfiguring animals in such a way and performing such an extraordinary operation. Salvator might be declared insane by the experts, as mentally ill.”

The bishop sat silently, his thin lips pressed together, gazing at the corner of the table. Then he said very quietly: “I did not expect this from you.”

“What, Your Eminence?” the puzzled prosecutor asked.

“Even you, a guardian of justice, seem to justify Salvator’s actions, finding his operations not devoid of purpose.”

“But what’s wrong with that?”

“And you find it difficult to define the crime. The judgment of the Church — the heavenly judgment — views Salvator’s actions differently. Allow me to assist you and offer advice.”

“Please do,” the prosecutor said, embarrassed. The bishop began to speak softly, gradually raising his voice, like a preacher, like an accuser:

“You say that Salvator’s actions are not devoid of purpose? You believe that the animals and the man he disfigured even gained some advantages they did not possess? What does that mean? Did the Creator, then, create humans imperfectly? Is some intervention by Professor Salvator necessary to give the human body a perfect appearance?”

The prosecutor sat with bowed head, unmoving. Before the Church, he found himself in the position of the accused. He had not expected this at all.

“Have you forgotten what is said in the Holy Scripture, in the Book of Genesis, chapter one, verse twenty-six: ‘And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness,’ — and further, verse twenty-seven: ‘So God created man in his own image’? And Salvator dares to distort this image and likeness, and you — even you! — find this expedient!”

“Forgive me, Holy Father…” was all the prosecutor could utter.

“Did the Lord not find His creation beautiful,” the bishop spoke inspiredly, “finished? You remember the articles of human laws well, but you forget the articles of divine laws. Remember verse thirty-one of the same first chapter of Genesis: ‘And God saw everything that he had made, and, behold, it was very good.’ And your Salvator believes that something needs to be corrected, remade, disfigured, that people should be amphibious creatures — and you also find all this clever and expedient. Is this not blasphemy against God? Is it not sacrilege? Is it not profanity? Or do civil laws no longer punish religious crimes in our country? What will happen if, following you, everyone starts repeating: ‘Yes, man was poorly created by God. Man needs to be given to Dr. Salvator for remaking’? Is this not a monstrous undermining of religion?… God found everything He created good — all His creations. And Salvator begins to rearrange animal heads, change skins, create truly abominable monsters, as if mocking the Creator. And you find it difficult to define the elements of a crime in Salvator’s actions!”

The bishop paused. He was pleased with the impression his speech had made on the prosecutor, remained silent for a moment, and then began to speak quietly again, gradually raising his voice:

“I said I was more interested in Salvator’s fate. But how can I be indifferent to Ichthyander’s fate? After all, this creature doesn’t even have a Christian name, for ‘Ichthyander’ in Greek means nothing more than ‘fish-man’. Even if Ichthyander himself is innocent, if he is only a victim, he is still an impious, blasphemous creation. His very existence can disturb thoughts, lead to sinful reflections, tempt the weak, and shake the wavering in faith. Ichthyander must not exist! It would be best if the Lord called him to Himself, if this unfortunate young man died from the imperfection of his disfigured nature,” the bishop looked meaningfully at the prosecutor. “In any case, he must be accused, seized, deprived of liberty. After all, he too committed some crimes: he stole fish from fishermen, damaged their nets, and in the end, he scared them so much that, remember, the fishermen abandoned their catch, and the city was left without fish. The godless Salvator and the abominable creation of his hands, Ichthyander, are a daring challenge to the Church, to God, to heaven! And the Church will not lay down its arms until they are destroyed.”

The bishop continued his accusatory speech. The prosecutor sat before him, subdued, his head bowed, making no attempt to interrupt this torrent of menacing words.

When the bishop finally finished, the prosecutor rose, approached the bishop, and said in a muffled voice: “As a Christian, I will bring my sin to the confessional for you to absolve it. And as an official, I thank you for the help you have given me. Now Salvator’s crime is clear to me. He will be accused and will suffer punishment. The sword of justice will not spare Ichthyander either.”

A Genius Madman

 

Doctor Salvator was not broken by the trial. In prison, he remained calm, self-assured, and spoke to investigators and experts with condescending arrogance, like an adult to children.

His nature could not tolerate idleness. He wrote extensively and performed several brilliant operations in the prison hospital. Among his prison patients was the warden’s wife. A malignant tumor threatened her with death. Salvator saved her life at the very moment when invited consulting doctors refused to help, stating that medicine was powerless here.

The day of the trial arrived.

The enormous courtroom could not accommodate all those wishing to attend the trial. The public crowded in the corridors, filled the square in front of the building, and peered into open windows. Many curious individuals climbed the trees growing near the courthouse.

Salvator calmly took his place in the dock. He carried himself with such dignity that to outsiders, it might have seemed as if he were not the accused but the judge. Salvator refused a defense lawyer.

Hundreds of living eyes stared at him. But few could withstand Salvator’s piercing gaze.

Ichthyander aroused no less interest, but he was not in the hall. In recent days, Ichthyander had felt unwell and spent almost all his time in the water tank, hiding from annoying curious eyes. In Salvator’s trial, Ichthyander was only a witness for the prosecution — rather, one of the material pieces of evidence, as the prosecutor put it.

The case accusing Ichthyander himself of criminal activity was to be heard separately, after Salvator’s trial.

The prosecutor had to proceed this way because the bishop was rushing Salvator’s case, while gathering evidence against Ichthyander required time. The prosecutor’s agents actively, but cautiously, recruited witnesses for the future trial at the “Palm” pulqueria, in which Ichthyander was to appear as the accused. However, the bishop kept hinting to the prosecutor that the best outcome would be for the Lord to take the unfortunate Ichthyander. Such a death would be the best proof that the hand of man is capable only of spoiling God’s creations.

Three scientific experts, university professors, read their conclusions.

With great attention, striving not to miss a single word, the court audience listened to the scientists’ opinion.

“At the court’s request,” began the speech of the already elderly Professor Shane, the chief expert of the court, “we examined the animals and the young man Ichthyander, who underwent operations performed by Professor Salvator in his laboratories. We surveyed his small but skillfully equipped laboratories and operating rooms. Professor Salvator applied in his operations not only the latest improvements in surgical techniques, such as electric knives, disinfecting ultraviolet rays, and the like, but also instruments not yet known to surgeons. Apparently, they were manufactured according to his instructions. I will not dwell long on Professor Salvator’s experiments on animals. These experiments amounted to operations of exceptionally daring design and brilliant execution: tissue and whole organ transplantation, the joining of two animals, the transformation of double-breathers into single-breathers and vice versa, the transformation of females into males, and new methods of rejuvenation. In Salvator’s gardens, we found children under fourteen years of age belonging to various Indian tribes.”

“In what condition did you find the children?” the prosecutor asked.

“All the children are healthy and cheerful. They frolic in the garden and play games. Many of them were saved from death by Salvator. The Indians trusted him and brought children from the most remote places — from Alaska to Tierra del Fuego: Eskimos, Yagans, Apaches, Taulipang, Sanapan, Botocudos, Pano, Araucanians.”

A muffled sigh was heard in the hall.

“All tribes brought their children to Salvator.”

The prosecutor began to worry. After his conversation with the bishop, when his thoughts had taken a new direction, he could not calmly listen to these praises of Salvator and asked the expert:

“Do you not think that Salvator’s operations were useful and expedient?”

But the presiding judge, a gray-haired old man with a stern face, fearing that the expert would answer affirmatively, hastened to intervene:

“The court is not interested in the expert’s personal views on scientific matters. Please continue. What did the examination of the young man Ichthyander from the Araucanian tribe reveal?”

“His body was covered with artificial scales,” the expert continued, “made of some unknown, flexible, but extremely durable substance. The analysis of this substance is not yet complete. In the water, Ichthyander sometimes used goggles with special lenses made of heavy flint glass, whose refractive index is almost two. This allowed him to see well underwater. When we removed his scales from Ichthyander, we discovered circular openings ten centimeters in diameter under both shoulder blades, covered by five thin strips resembling shark gills.”

A muffled voice of surprise was heard in the hall.

“Yes,” the expert continued, “it seems incredible, but Ichthyander possesses human lungs and, at the same time, shark gills. Therefore, he can live on land and underwater.”

“An amphibious man?” the prosecutor asked ironically.

“Yes, in a sense, an amphibious man — a bimodal amphibian.”

“But how could Ichthyander have shark gills?” the president asked.

The expert spread his hands wide and replied, “That is a mystery which Professor Salvator himself may wish to clarify for us. Our opinion was this: according to Haeckel’s biological law, every living creature in its development repeats all the forms that the given species of living creature has passed through during its long existence on Earth. It can be confidently said that man evolved from ancestors who at one time breathed with gills.”

The prosecutor leaned forward in his chair, but the president stopped him with a gesture.

“On the twentieth day of development, four gill arches appear in the human embryo, lying one behind the other. But later, in the human embryo, the gill apparatus transforms: the first gill arch turns into the auditory canal with auditory ossicles and the Eustachian tube; the lower part of the gill arch develops into the lower jaw; the third arch into the thyroid cartilage of the larynx. We do not think that Professor Salvator succeeded in arresting Ichthyander’s development at his embryonic stage. Science, it is true, knows cases where even a completely adult human retains an unclosed gill opening in the neck, under the jaw. These are so-called cervical fistulas. But with such remnants of gills, of course, one cannot live underwater. In the case of abnormal embryonic development, one of two things should have happened: either the gills would have continued to develop, but at the expense of the development of the organ of hearing and other anatomical changes. But then Ichthyander would have turned into a monster with an underdeveloped head of a half-fish, half-human, or normal human development would have prevailed, but at the expense of the destruction of the gills. However, Ichthyander is a normally developed young man with good hearing, a fully developed lower jaw, and normal lungs, but, in addition, he has fully formed gills. How exactly the gills and lungs function, what their relationship is to each other, whether water passes through the mouth and lungs into the gills, or whether water penetrates the gills through a small opening that we discovered on Ichthyander’s body above the round gill opening — we do not know. We could answer these questions if we performed an anatomical dissection. This, I repeat, is a mystery, the answer to which Professor Salvator himself must provide. Professor Salvator must explain to us how dogs resembling jaguars, strange, unusual animals, and amphibious monkeys — these doppelgängers of Ichthyander — came into being.”

“What is your overall conclusion?” the president asked the expert.

Professor Shane, himself a well-known scientist and surgeon, frankly replied: “I confess, I understand nothing in this case. I can only say that what Professor Salvator did is only within the power of a genius. Salvator evidently decided that in his surgical art he had reached such perfection that he could dismantle, assemble, and adapt the body of an animal and a human at his will. And although he brilliantly achieved this in practice, nevertheless, his audacity and breadth of ideas border on… madness.”

Salvator sneered disdainfully. He did not know that the experts had decided to lighten his sentence and raise the question of his insanity to be able to replace the prison regime with a hospital one.

“I am not asserting that he is insane,” the expert continued, noticing Salvator’s smile, “but, in any case, in our opinion, the accused should be placed in a sanatorium for the mentally ill and subjected to prolonged observation by psychiatrists.”

“The question of the defendant’s insanity has not been raised by the court. The court will discuss this new circumstance,” the president said. “Professor Salvator, do you wish to provide clarification on certain questions from the experts and the prosecutor?”

“Yes,” Salvator replied. “I will give explanations. But let this also be my final word.”

The Defendant’s Statement

 

Salvator calmly rose and surveyed the courtroom as if searching for someone. Among the spectators, Salvator noticed Balthazar, Kristo, and Zurita. The bishop sat in the first row. Salvator lingered on him for a moment. A barely perceptible smile appeared on Salvator’s face. Then Salvator began to search for someone with his gaze, carefully examining the entire hall.

“I do not find the injured party in this hall,” Salvator finally said.

“I am the injured party!” Balthazar suddenly cried, jumping from his seat. Kristo tugged his brother’s sleeve and made him sit back down.

“What injured party are you speaking of?” the president asked. “If you mean the animals you disfigured, the court did not deem it necessary to display them here. But Ichthyander, the amphibian man, is in the courthouse building.”

“I am referring to the Lord God,” Salvator replied calmly and seriously.

Hearing this answer, the president leaned back in his chair in bewilderment; “Has Salvator gone mad? Or has he decided to feign madness to avoid prison?”

“What do you mean by that?” the president asked.

“I think it should be clear to the court,” Salvator replied. “Who is the main and only injured party in this case? Obviously, the one Lord God. His authority, in the court’s opinion, I undermine with my actions, by intruding into his domain. He was pleased with his creations, and suddenly some doctor comes along and says: ‘This is poorly done. It needs redoing.’ And begins to reshape God’s creation in his own way…”

“This is blasphemy! I demand that the defendant’s words be entered into the record,” the prosecutor said with the air of a person whose sacred feelings had been offended.

Salvator shrugged: “I am only conveying the essence of the indictment. Isn’t that what the whole accusation boils down to? I read the case. Initially, I was only accused of supposedly performing vivisections and causing mutilation. Now I have been charged with another accusation — sacrilege. Where did this wind blow from? Was it not from the cathedral?”

And Professor Salvator looked at the bishop.

“You yourselves have created a process in which the Lord God is invisibly present on the side of the prosecution as the injured party, and in the dock — along with me — is Charles Darwin as the accused. Perhaps I will once again displease some sitting in this hall with my words, but I continue to assert that the organism of animals and even humans is not perfect and requires correction. I hope that the abbot of the cathedral, Bishop Juan de Garcilasso, who is present in this hall, will confirm this.”

These words caused surprise throughout the hall.

“In the fifteenth year, shortly before my departure for the front,” Salvator continued, “I had to make a small correction to the organism of the esteemed bishop — to remove his appendix, that useless and harmful appendage of the cecum. Lying on the operating table, my spiritual patient, I remember, did not object to the perversion of the image and likeness of God that I performed with my knife, cutting out a particle of the bishop’s body. Was this not so?” Salvator asked, looking directly at the bishop.

Juan de Garcilasso sat motionless. Only his pale cheeks faintly flushed, and his thin fingers trembled slightly.

“And was there not another instance, at a time when I was still in private practice and performing rejuvenation operations? Did not the venerable prosecutor Señor Augusto de… ask me to rejuvenate him?”

At these words, the prosecutor tried to protest, but his words were drowned out by the laughter of the public.

“I ask you not to stray from the topic,” the chairman said sternly.

“That request would be much more appropriate for the court itself,” Salvator replied. “It was not I, but the court, that posed the question. Were some here not frightened by the thought that everyone present here are yesterday’s monkeys or even fish, who gained the ability to speak and hear because their gill arches transformed into organs of speech and hearing? Well, if not monkeys, not fish, then their descendants.” And, turning to the prosecutor, who showed signs of impatience, Salvator said:

“Calm down! I am not here to argue with anyone or to lecture on the theory of evolution.” And, pausing, Salvator said:

“The misfortune is not that man descended from animals, but that he has not ceased to be an animal… Crude, evil, unreasonable. My learned colleague unnecessarily frightened you. He could have avoided speaking about embryonic development. I resorted neither to influencing embryos nor to crossbreeding animals. I am a surgeon. My only instrument was the knife. And as a surgeon, I had to help people, to treat them. When operating on the sick, I often had to perform tissue, organ, and gland transplants. To perfect this method, I engaged in experiments on tissue transplantation in animals.”

“For long periods, I observed the operated animals in my laboratory, striving to ascertain, to study, what happens to organs transferred to a new, sometimes even unusual, place. When my observations ended, the animal was moved to the garden. That is how this garden-museum of mine was created. I was particularly fascinated by the problem of tissue exchange and transplantation between distantly related animals: for example, between fish and mammals, and vice versa. And here I managed to achieve what scientists generally consider inconceivable. What is so extraordinary about that? What I did today, ordinary surgeons will do tomorrow. Professor Shane must be familiar with the latest operations of the German surgeon Sauerbruch. He managed to replace a diseased thigh with a lower leg.”

“But Ichthyander?” the expert asked.

“Yes, Ichthyander is my pride. In Ichthyander’s operation, the difficulty lay not only in the technique. I had to change the entire functioning of the human organism. Six monkeys perished in preliminary experiments before I achieved my goal and could operate on the child without fear for his life.”

“What exactly did this operation involve?” the chairman asked.

“I transplanted the gills of a young shark to the child, and the child gained the ability to live on land and underwater.”

Exclamations of surprise were heard among the public. Newspaper correspondents in the hall rushed to telephones, hurrying to report this news to their editors.

“Later, I managed to achieve even greater success. My latest work — the amphibious monkey you saw — can live without harm to its health for an indefinitely long time both on land and underwater. But Ichthyander can live without water for no more than three or four days. A long stay on land without water is harmful to him: his lungs become overstrained, and his gills dry out, and Ichthyander begins to experience sharp pains in his sides. Unfortunately, during my absence, Ichthyander violated the regime I had established. He stayed on land for too long, overstrained his lungs, and developed a serious illness. The balance in his organism is disturbed, and he must spend most of his time in water. From an amphibian man, he is turning into a fish-man…”

“May I ask the defendant a question?” the prosecutor said, addressing the chairman. “How did Salvator come up with the idea of creating an amphibian man, and what goals did he pursue?”

“The idea is still the same — man is not perfect. While gaining great advantages over his animal ancestors in the process of evolutionary development, man at the same time lost much of what he had at lower stages of animal development. Thus, life in water would give man enormous advantages. Why not return this possibility to man? From the history of animal development, we know that all terrestrial animals and birds originated from aquatic ones — they emerged from the ocean. We know that some terrestrial animals returned to the water. The dolphin was a fish, came onto land, became a mammal, but then returned to the water, although it remained, like the whale, a mammal. Both the whale and the dolphin breathe with lungs. The dolphin could have been helped to become a bimodal amphibian. Ichthyander asked me about this: then his friend — the dolphin Liding — could remain with him for a long time underwater. I was going to perform such an operation on the dolphin. The first fish among men and the first man among fish, Ichthyander could not but feel lonely. But if other people were to follow him into the ocean, life would become completely different. Then people would easily conquer the mighty element — water. Do you know what kind of element this is, what power it holds? Do you know that the area of the ocean is three hundred sixty-one million fifty thousand square kilometers? More than seven-tenths of the Earth’s surface is occupied by the space of the aquatic desert. But this desert, with its inexhaustible reserves of food and industrial raw materials, could accommodate millions, billions of people. More than three hundred sixty-one million square kilometers — that is only the area, the surface. But people could be located on several underwater floors. Billions of people could be accommodated in the ocean without crowding or jostling.

And its power! Do you know that the waters of the ocean absorb solar heat energy equal to the power of seventy-nine billion horsepower? If not for heat dissipation into the air and other heat losses, the ocean would have boiled long ago. A practically boundless supply of energy. How is it used by land-dwelling humanity? Almost not at all.

And the power of ocean currents! The Gulf Stream alone, along with the Florida Current, move ninety-one billion tons of water per hour. That is three thousand times more than a large river carries. And that is just one of the ocean currents! How are they used by land-dwelling humanity? Almost not at all.

And the power of waves and tides! Do you know that the force of impacts delivered by waves can be equal to thirty-eight thousand kilograms — thirty-eight tons per square meter of surface, the height of wave crests reaches forty-three meters, and a wave can lift up to a million kilograms — for example, fragments of rocks — and tides reach a height of more than sixteen meters — the height of a four-story building. How does humanity use these forces? Almost not at all.

On land, living creatures cannot rise high above the surface and do not penetrate very deeply into it. In the ocean, life is everywhere — from the equator to the poles, from the surface to depths of almost ten kilometers.

How, then, do we use the boundless riches of the oceans? We catch fish — I would say, we only take the catch from the very top film of the ocean, leaving the depths completely unused. We collect sponges, corals, pearls, algae — and that’s all.

We carry out some work underwater: installing supports for bridges and dams, salvaging sunken ships — and that’s it! But even this we do with great difficulty, with great risk, often with human casualties. The unfortunate land-dwelling human, who perishes underwater in the second minute! What kind of work can be done here?

It would be a different matter if humans could live and work underwater without diving suits, without oxygen equipment.

How many treasures they would uncover! Take Ichthyander. He told me… But I fear tempting the demon of human greed. Ichthyander brought me samples of rare metals and rocks from the seabed. Oh, don’t worry, he brought me very small samples, but their deposits in the ocean could be enormous.

And sunken treasures?

Consider, for example, the ocean liner “Lusitania.” In the spring of nineteen sixteen, it was sunk by the Germans off the coast of Ireland. Besides the jewels carried by the fifteen hundred perished passengers, the “Lusitania” contained one hundred and fifty million dollars in gold coins and fifty million dollars in gold bars. (Exclamations were heard in the hall.) Furthermore, the “Lusitania” held two caskets of diamonds that were supposed to be delivered to Amsterdam. Among the diamonds was one of the world’s finest — the “Caliph,” worth many millions. Of course, even a person like Ichthyander could not descend to great depths — for that, one would have to create a person (the prosecutor’s indignant exclamation), who could withstand high pressure, like deep-sea fish. However, I find nothing absolutely impossible in this either. But not everything at once.

“You seem to be attributing the qualities of an omnipotent deity to yourself?” the prosecutor remarked.

Salvator ignored this remark and continued: “If man could live in water, then the exploration of the ocean, the exploration of its depths, would proceed with gigantic strides. The sea would cease to be a formidable element for us, demanding human sacrifices. We would no longer have to mourn the drowned.

All those present in the hall seemed to envision an underwater world already conquered by humanity. What benefits did the conquest of the ocean promise! Even the chairman could not resist and asked:

“But then why did you not publish the results of your experiments?”

“I was not in a hurry to end up in the dock,” Salvator replied, smiling, “and besides, I was afraid that my invention, under the conditions of our social system, would bring more harm than good. A struggle had already begun around Ichthyander. Who denounced me out of revenge? This Zurita, who stole Ichthyander from me. And from Zurita, Ichthyander would, for all you know, be taken by generals and admirals to force the amphibian man to sink warships. No, I could not make Ichthyander and other ichthyanders common property in a country where struggle and greed turn the highest discoveries into evil, increasing the sum of human suffering. I was thinking about…”

Salvator fell silent and, abruptly changing his tone, continued: “However, I will not talk about it. Otherwise, I will be considered insane.” And Salvator looked at the expert with a smile. “No, I refuse the honor of being insane, even if brilliant. I am not insane, not a maniac. Did I not achieve what I wanted? You have seen all my works with your own eyes. If you find my actions criminal, judge me with the full severity of the law. I do not ask for leniency.”

In Prison

 

The experts who examined Ichthyander had to pay attention not only to the young man’s physical attributes but also to his mental state.

“What year is it? What month? Date? Day of the week?” the experts asked.

But Ichthyander replied, “I don’t know.”

He struggled to answer the most common questions. However, he could not be called abnormal. He was ignorant of many things due to the peculiar conditions of his existence and upbringing. He remained somewhat like a big child. And the experts concluded: “Ichthyander is incapacitated.” This freed him from legal responsibility. The court dismissed the case against Ichthyander and appointed a guardian for him. Two people expressed a desire to be Ichthyander’s guardian: Zurita and Balthazar.

Salvator was right in claiming that Zurita denounced him out of revenge. But Zurita was not only avenging himself on Salvator for the loss of Ichthyander. Zurita pursued another goal: he wanted to regain possession of Ichthyander and sought to become his guardian. Zurita did not spare a dozen valuable pearls and bribed members of the court and the guardianship council. Now Zurita was close to his goal.

Citing his fatherhood, Balthazar demanded that guardianship rights be granted to him. However, he was out of luck. Despite all of Larra’s efforts, the experts stated that they could not establish Ichthyander’s identity with Balthazar’s son, born twenty years ago, based solely on the testimony of one witness — Kristo; moreover, he was Balthazar’s brother and therefore did not inspire the experts’ full confidence.

Larra did not know that the prosecutor and the bishop had intervened in this matter. Balthazar, as an injured party, as a father whose son was stolen and disfigured, was needed by the court during the trial. But recognizing Balthazar’s paternity and giving Ichthyander to him was not part of the court’s and the church’s calculations: it was necessary to get rid of Ichthyander entirely.

Kristo, who had moved in with his brother, began to worry about him. Balthazar sat for hours in deep thought, forgetting sleep and food, then suddenly became extremely agitated, pacing his shop and shouting: “My son, my son!” At such moments, he would begin to curse the Spaniards with every derogatory word he could find in all the languages he knew.

One day, after such an outburst, Balthazar unexpectedly declared to Kristo: “Look, brother, I’m going to prison. I’ll give my best pearls to the guards so they let me see Ichthyander. I’ll talk to him. He himself will recognize me as his father. A son cannot but recognize his father. My blood must speak in him.”

No matter how Kristo tried to dissuade his brother, nothing helped. Balthazar was unshakeable.

Balthazar went to the prison.

Begging the guards, he cried, groveled at their feet, pleaded with them, and, strewing pearls along the path from the gate to the interior of the prison, he finally reached Ichthyander’s cell.

In this small cell, dimly lit by a narrow barred window, it was stuffy and smelled foul; the prison guards rarely changed the water in the tank and did not bother to clean up the rotting fish on the floor that fed the unusual prisoner.

An iron tank stood against the wall opposite the window.

Balthazar approached the tank and looked at the dark surface of the water that concealed Ichthyander beneath it.

“Ichthyander!” Balthazar said softly. “Ichthyander…” he called again.

The surface of the water rippled, but the young man didn’t emerge.

Waiting a little longer, Balthazar extended a trembling hand and submerged it into the warm water. His hand touched a shoulder.

Suddenly, Ichthyander’s wet head appeared from the tank. He rose up to his shoulders and asked: “Who is it? What do you want?”

Balthazar fell to his knees and, reaching out, quickly began: “Ichthyander! Your father has come to you. Your real father. Salvator is not your father. Salvator is a wicked man. He disfigured you… Ichthyander! Ichthyander! Look at me closely now. Don’t you recognize your father?”

Water slowly dripped from the young man’s thick hair onto his pale face and dropped from his chin. Sad, a little surprised, he looked at the old Indian.

“I don’t know you,” the young man replied.

“Ichthyander!” Balthazar cried. “Look at me closely!” And the old Indian suddenly grabbed the young man’s head, pulled him closer, and began covering him with kisses, shedding hot tears.

Ichthyander, defending himself from this unexpected display of affection, splashed in the tank, spilling water over the edge onto the stone floor.

Someone’s hand firmly grabbed Balthazar by the scruff of his neck, lifted him into the air, and threw him into a corner. Balthazar crashed to the floor, hitting his head painfully against the stone wall.

Opening his eyes, Balthazar saw Zurita standing over him. With his right fist tightly clenched, Zurita held a piece of paper in his left hand and waved it triumphantly.

“See? The order appointing me Ichthyander’s guardian. You’ll have to look for a rich son elsewhere. And this young man, I’ll take him with me tomorrow morning. Understand?”

Balthazar, lying on the ground, growled deeply and menacingly.

But the next moment, Balthazar sprang to his feet and, with a wild cry, lunged at his enemy, knocking him down. The Indian snatched the paper from Zurita’s hands, crammed it into his mouth, and continued to strike the Spaniard. A fierce struggle ensued.

The prison guard, standing at the door with keys in hand, considered it his duty to maintain strict neutrality. He had received good bribes from both combatants and did not wish to interfere. Only when Zurita began to strangle the old man did the guard become worried: “Don’t strangle him!”

However, the enraged Zurita paid no attention to the guard’s warning, and Balthazar would have fared badly had not a new person appeared in the cell.

“Excellent! Mr. Guardian is practicing his guardianship rights!” Salvator’s voice was heard. “What are you staring at? Don’t you know your duties?” Salvator snapped at the guard in a tone as if he were the prison warden.

Salvator’s shout worked. The guard rushed to break up the fight. Other guards ran up at the commotion, and soon Zurita and Balthazar were pulled apart.

Zurita could consider himself the victor in the struggle. But the defeated Salvator was still stronger than his rivals. Even here, in this cell, as a prisoner, Salvator continued to control events and people.

“Remove the brawlers from the cell,” Salvator ordered, addressing the guards. “I need to be alone with Ichthyander.” And the guards obeyed. Despite protests and curses, Zurita and Balthazar were led away. The cell door slammed shut.

When the receding voices in the corridor faded, Salvator approached the basin and said to Ichthyander, who had peeked out of the water: “Get up, Ichthyander. Come to the middle of the cell, I need to examine you.”

The young man obeyed.

“That’s right,” Salvator continued, “closer to the light. Breathe. Deeper. Again. Don’t breathe. Like so…”

Salvator tapped Ichthyander’s chest and listened to the young man’s shallow breathing.

“Are you suffocating?”

“Yes, Father,” Ichthyander replied.

“It’s your own fault,” Salvator answered. “You shouldn’t have stayed in the air for so long.”

Ichthyander lowered his head and thought. Then he suddenly looked up and, looking Salvator directly in the eye, asked: “Father, but why not? Why can everyone else, but I cannot?” To withstand that gaze, full of hidden reproach, was much harder for Salvator than answering in court. But Salvator endured.

“Because you possess something no other human possesses: the ability to live underwater… If you were given a choice, Ichthyander, to be like everyone else and live on land, or to live only underwater, what would you choose?”

“I don’t know…” the young man replied, after a moment’s thought. The underwater world and the land, and Guttierre, were equally dear to him. But Guttierre was now lost to him…

“Now I would prefer the ocean,” the young man said.

“You made your choice earlier, Ichthyander, by disrupting the balance of your body through your disobedience. Now you will only be able to live underwater.”

“But not in this horrible, dirty water, Father. I will die here. I want the open ocean!”

Salvator stifled a sigh.

“I will do everything to free you from this prison as soon as possible, Ichthyander. Be brave!” And, patting the young man encouragingly on the shoulder, Salvator left Ichthyander and went to his own cell.

Sitting on a stool at the narrow table, Salvator fell into deep thought. Like any surgeon, he knew failures. Many human lives had perished under his knife due to his own mistakes before he achieved perfection. However, he never dwelled on these sacrifices. Dozens perished, thousands saved. This arithmetic fully satisfied him.

But he considered himself responsible for Ichthyander’s fate. Ichthyander was his pride. He loved the young man as his best work. And besides, he had grown attached to Ichthyander and loved him like a son. And now Ichthyander’s illness and his future worried and concerned Salvator.

There was a knock on the cell door.

“Come in!” Salvator said.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you, Professor?” the prison warden quietly asked.

“Not at all,” Salvator replied, rising. “How are your wife and child?”

“Thank you, excellent. I sent them to my mother-in-law, far from here, in the Andes…”

“Yes, the mountain climate will be good for them,” Salvator replied. The warden didn’t leave. Glancing at the door, he approached Salvator and quietly addressed him:

“Professor! I owe you my life for saving my wife. I love her, as…”

“Don’t thank me, it’s my duty.”

“I cannot remain in your debt,” the warden replied. “And not only that. I am an uneducated man. But I read newspapers, and I know what Professor Salvator means. Such a man cannot be allowed to be held in prison with vagrants and robbers.”

“My learned friends,” Salvator said with a smile, “seem to have succeeded in having me placed in a sanatorium as a madman.”

“A prison sanatorium is still a prison,” the warden countered, “even worse: instead of robbers, you’ll be surrounded by madmen. Salvator among madmen! No, no, this must not happen!”

Lowering his voice to a whisper, the warden continued: “I’ve thought it all through. I sent my family to the mountains for a reason. I will arrange your escape now and disappear myself. Necessity drove me here, but I hate this job. They won’t find me, and you… you’ll leave this accursed country where priests and merchants run things. And there’s one more thing I wanted to tell you,” he continued after some hesitation. “I am revealing an official secret, a state secret…”

“You don’t have to reveal it,” Salvator interrupted.

“Yes, but… I myself cannot… first and foremost, I cannot carry out the terrible order I received. My conscience would torment me my whole life. But if I reveal this secret, my conscience will not torment me. You have done so much for me, and they… I owe nothing to the authorities, who, moreover, are pushing me into a crime.”

“Even?” Salvator asked briefly.

“Yes, I found out that Ichthyander will not be given to either Balthazar or Guardian Zurita, even though Zurita already has the paper. But even Zurita, despite generous bribes, will not get him, because… they decided to kill Ichthyander.”

Salvator made a slight movement. “Is that so? Continue!”

“Yes, to kill Ichthyander — the bishop insisted on this most of all, although he never once uttered the word ‘kill.’ I was given poison, apparently potassium cyanide. Tonight, I must mix the poison into the water in Ichthyander’s tank. The prison doctor has been bribed. He will determine that Ichthyander died due to the operation you performed, which turned him into an amphibian. If I don’t carry out the order, they will treat me very cruelly. And I have a family… Then they will kill me too, and no one will know it. I am completely in their hands. I have a crime in my past… a small one… almost accidental… Nevertheless, I have decided to escape and have already prepared everything for the escape. But I cannot, I do not want to kill Ichthyander. To save both in such a short time is difficult, almost impossible. But I can save you alone. I have thought it all through. I feel sorry for Ichthyander, but your life is more necessary. You will be able to create another Ichthyander with your art, but no one in the world will create another Salvator.”

Salvator approached the warden, shook his hand, and said: “Thank you, but I cannot accept this sacrifice for myself. You could be caught and tried.”

“No sacrifice! I’ve thought it all through.”

“Wait. I cannot accept this sacrifice for myself. But if you save Ichthyander, you will do more for me than if you freed me. I am healthy, strong, and will find friends everywhere who will help me break free. But Ichthyander must be freed immediately.”

“I accept this as your order,” the warden said. When he left, Salvator smiled and murmured: “That’s better. Let the apple of discord fall to no one.” Salvator paced the room, quietly whispered: “Poor boy!” — approached the table, wrote something, then went to the door and knocked.

“Call the prison warden to me.”

When the warden appeared, Salvator said to him: “One more request. Can you arrange for me to meet Ichthyander — a last meeting!”

“Nothing easier! No one from the authorities is here; the whole prison is at our disposal.”

“Excellent. Yes, one more request.”

“I’m all at your service.”

“By freeing Ichthyander, you will do a great deal for me.”

“But you, Professor, have rendered me such a service…”

“Let’s say we’re even,” Salvator interrupted him. “But I can and want to help your family. Here’s a note. It only has an address and one letter: ‘S’ — Salvator. Go to this address. He is a reliable man. If you need to temporarily hide, if you need money…”

“But…”

“No ‘buts.’ Take me to Ichthyander quickly.” Ichthyander was surprised when Salvator appeared in the cell. Ichthyander had never seen him so sad and gentle as this time.

“Ichthyander, my son,” Salvator said. “We will have to part sooner than I thought, and perhaps for a long time. Your fate has worried me. You are surrounded by thousands of dangers… If you stay here, you might perish, at best — end up a prisoner of Zurita or another such predator.”

“And you, Father?”

“The court, of course, will condemn me and lock me up in prison, where I will probably have to sit for about two years, and perhaps more. During this time, while I am in prison, you must be in a safe place and as far away from here as possible. Such a place exists, but it is very far from here, on the other side of South America, to the west of it, in the Great Ocean, on one of the Tuamotu Islands, or otherwise, the Low Islands. It will not be easy for you to get there, but all the dangers of the journey are incomparable to those to which you are exposed here, at home, in La Plata Bay. It is easier to reach and find these islands than to avoid the nets and traps of a cunning enemy here.”

“Which path should I outline for you? You can go there, to the west, rounding South America from the north or the south. Both paths have their advantages and disadvantages. The northern path is somewhat longer. Moreover, choosing this path, you would have to swim from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean through the Panama Canal, and that is dangerous: you could be caught, especially at the locks, or — with your slightest carelessness — you could be crushed by a ship. The canal is not too wide and not deep: the greatest width is ninety-one meters, the depth is twelve and a half meters. The latest deep-draft ocean steamers can almost touch the bottom with their keel.

However, you would swim in warm waters the whole time. In addition, from the Panama Canal, three large ocean routes go west: two to New Zealand, one to the Fiji Islands and beyond. Choosing the middle path and following the steamers, and perhaps even clinging to them, you would reach almost the destination. At least both routes to New Zealand pass through the Tuamotu Archipelago. You would only have to go a little further north.

The route through the southern tip is closer, but there you will swim in cold southern waters, near the border of floating ice, especially if you round Cape Horn in Tierra del Fuego — the southernmost tip of South America. The Strait of Magellan is unusually stormy. For you, of course, it is not as dangerous as for ships and steamers, but it is still dangerous. For sailing ships, it was a real graveyard. In the east, it is wide, in the west — narrow and strewn with rocks, islets. The strongest westerly winds drive water to the east — meaning, against you. In these whirlpools, even you can be dashed and drown underwater. Therefore, I advise you to better lengthen your journey and round Cape Horn than to swim through the Strait of Magellan. The ocean water becomes colder gradually, and, I hope, you will gradually get used to it and remain healthy. You don’t have to worry about food supplies — it is always at hand, as is water. You have been accustomed to drinking seawater since childhood without any harm to your health.”

“Finding your way from Cape Horn to the Tuamotu Islands will be somewhat harder than from the Panama Canal. From Cape Horn northward, there are no broad ocean routes with heavy steamship traffic. I will give you the precise longitude and latitude; you will determine them using special instruments made for you at my request. But these instruments will burden you a bit and restrict your freedom of movement…”

“I’ll take Liding with me. He’ll carry the load. How can I part with Liding? He’s probably missed me terribly anyway.”

“It’s unclear who misses whom more,” Salvator smiled again. “So, Liding. Excellent. You’ll reach the Tuamotu Islands. You’ll then need to find a secluded coral island. Here’s a clue: there’s a mast towering on it, and on the mast, in the form of a weather vane, there’s a large fish. Not hard to remember. Perhaps it will take you a month, or two, or three to find this island — no worries: the water there is warm, oysters are plentiful.”

Salvator had taught Ichthyander to listen patiently, without interrupting, but when Salvator reached this point in his explanations, Ichthyander couldn’t help himself: “And what will I find on the island with the fish-weather vane?”

“Friends. Loyal friends, their care and affection,” Salvator replied. “My old friend lives there — the scientist Armand Wilbois, a Frenchman, a famous oceanographer. I met and befriended him when I was in Europe many years ago. Armand Wilbois is a most interesting man, but I don’t have time to tell you about him now. I hope you will get to know him yourself and the story that led him to a lonely coral island in the Pacific Ocean. But he is not alone. His wife lives with him, a sweet, kind woman, a son, and a daughter — she was born on the island; she must be about seventeen now, and her son about twenty-five.”

“They know you from my letters and, I am sure, will welcome you into their family as if you were their own kin…,” Salvator stumbled. “Of course, you will now have to spend most of your time in the water. But for friendly visits and conversations, you can come ashore for a few hours a day. It’s possible that your health will improve, and you’ll be able to stay in the air as long as you do in the water, as before.”

“In Armand Wilbois, you will find a second father. And you will be an indispensable assistant to him in his scientific work in oceanography. What you already know about the ocean and its inhabitants would be enough for a dozen professors,” Salvator chuckled. “Those eccentric experts questioned you in court with a template, asking what day, month, and date it was, and you couldn’t answer simply because none of it interested you. If they had asked about underwater currents, water temperatures, or salinity in La Plata Bay and its surroundings, your answers could have filled an entire scientific volume. How much more you will be able to learn — and then convey your knowledge to people — if your underwater excursions are guided by such an experienced and brilliant scientist as Armand Wilbois. Both of you, I am sure, will create a work on oceanography that will mark an epoch in the development of this science, that will resound throughout the world. And your name will stand next to Armand Wilbois’s name — I know him, he himself will insist on it. You will serve science and thereby all humanity.”

“But if you stay here, you will be forced to serve the base interests of ignorant, greedy people. I am confident that in the pure, transparent waters of the atoll and in Armand Wilbois’s family, you will find a quiet haven and be happy.”

“One more piece of advice.”

“As soon as you find yourself in the ocean — and this could happen even tonight — swim immediately home through the underwater tunnel (only the faithful Jim is home now), take the navigational instruments, a knife, and other things, find Liding, and set off on your journey before the sun rises over the ocean.”

“Farewell, Ichthyander! No, good-bye!”

For the first time in his life, Salvator hugged Ichthyander tightly and kissed him. Then he smiled, patted the young man on the shoulder, and said: “Such a fine young man will never be lost!” — and quickly left the room.

The Escape

 

Olsen had just returned from the button factory and sat down for dinner. Someone knocked on the door.

“Who’s there?” Olsen shouted, annoyed at the interruption. The door opened, and Guttierre entered the room.

“Guttierre! You? Where from?” exclaimed a surprised and delighted Olsen, rising from his chair.

“Hello, Olsen,” Guttierre said. “Continue your dinner.” And, leaning against the door, Guttierre declared: “I can no longer live with my husband and his mother. Zurita… he dared to strike me… And I left him. I left for good, Olsen.” This news made Olsen stop eating.

“What an unexpected turn!” he exclaimed. “Sit down! You can barely stand. But what about it? You said, ‘What God has joined together, let no one separate’? Set aside? All the better. I rejoice. Have you returned to your father?”

“Father knows nothing. Zurita would find me at father’s and bring me back. I’m staying with a friend.”

“And… and what will you do next?”

“I’ll get a job at the factory. I came to ask you, Olsen, to help me find work at the factory… any kind of work…” Olsen shook his head, concerned: “It’s very difficult right now. Although I will, of course, try.” And, after thinking, Olsen asked: “How will your husband react to this?”

“I don’t want to know him.”

“But your husband will want to know where his wife is,” Olsen said, smiling. “Don’t forget you’re in Argentina. Zurita will find you, and then… You know yourself that he won’t leave you alone. The law and public opinion are on his side.”

Guttierre pondered, then said decisively: “Well then! In that case, I’ll go to Canada, Alaska…”

“Greenland, the North Pole!” And more seriously, Olsen said: “We’ll think about it. It’s not safe for you to stay here. I’ve been meaning to get out of here myself for a long time. Why did I come here, to Latin America? The priestly spirit is still too strong here. It’s a shame we couldn’t escape then. But Zurita managed to kidnap you, and our tickets and our money were lost. Now you probably don’t have money for a steamship ticket to Europe, just like me. But we don’t necessarily have to go directly to Europe. If we — I say ‘we’ because I won’t leave you until you’re safe — if we get at least to neighboring Paraguay, or even better, to Brazil, then it will be harder for Zurita to find you there, and we’ll have time to prepare for moving to the States or to Europe… Do you know Doctor Salvator is in prison with Ichthyander?”

“Ichthyander? He’s been found? Why is he in prison? Can I see him?” Guttierre bombarded Olsen with questions.

“Yes, Ichthyander is in prison, and he may become Zurita’s slave again. A ridiculous trial, a ridiculous accusation against Salvator and Ichthyander.”

“That’s terrible! And he can’t be saved?”

“I’ve been trying to do that all this time, but without success. But our unexpected accomplice turned out to be the prison warden himself. Tonight, we are to free Ichthyander. I just received two short notes: one from Salvator, the other from the prison warden.”

“I want to see Ichthyander!” Guttierre said. “Can I go with you?”

Olsen thought for a moment. “I don’t think so,” he replied. “And it would be better for you not to see Ichthyander.”

“But why?”

“Because Ichthyander is ill. He’s sick as a human, but healthy as a fish.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Ichthyander can no longer breathe air. What will happen if he sees you again? It will be very hard for him, and perhaps for you too. Ichthyander will want to see you, and life in the air will finally destroy him.”

Guttierre lowered her head. “Yes, perhaps you’re right…” she said, after thinking. “An insurmountable barrier — the ocean — has fallen between him and all other people. Ichthyander is doomed. From now on, water becomes his native and only element.”

“But how will he live there? Alone in the boundless ocean — a man among fish and sea monsters?”

“He was happy in his underwater world, until…” Guttierre blushed. “Now, of course, he won’t be as happy as before…”

“Stop, Olsen,” Guttierre said sadly.

“But time heals all wounds. Perhaps he will even find his lost peace. So he will live — among fish and fish-like sea creatures. And if a shark doesn’t eat him prematurely, he will live to old age, to grey hairs… And death? Death is the same everywhere…”

Dusk was gathering, and the room was almost dark.

“However, it’s time for me to go,” Olsen said, rising. Guttierre also stood up.

“But can I at least see him from a distance?” Guttierre asked.

“Of course, if you don’t reveal your presence.”

“Yes, I promise that.”

It was already completely dark when Olsen, dressed as a water carrier, drove into the prison yard from the Coronel Diaz side. The guard hailed him:

“Where are you going?”

“Bringing seawater to the devil,” Olsen replied, as the prison warden had taught him.

All the guards knew that an extraordinary prisoner, the “sea devil,” was confined in a tank filled with seawater, as he couldn’t tolerate fresh water. This seawater was changed from time to time, brought in a large barrel set on a dray.

Olsen drove up to the prison building, turned the corner where the kitchen was located and the door for staff entrance to the prison. The warden had already prepared everything. Guards, usually standing in the corridor and at the entrance, had been sent away on various pretexts. Ichthyander, accompanied by the warden, freely exited the prison.

“Well, jump into the barrel quickly!” the warden urged. Ichthyander didn’t hesitate.

“Go!”

Olsen cracked the reins, drove out of the prison yard, and slowly proceeded along Avenida Alvear, past the Retiro station, the freight station.

Behind him, not far away, the shadow of a woman flickered.

It was a dark night when Olsen drove out of the city. The road ran along the seashore. The wind grew stronger. Waves rolled onto the shore and crashed against the rocks with a roar.

Olsen looked around. No one was visible on the road. Only in the distance did the headlights of a rapidly approaching car shine. “Let it pass.”

Humming and blinding with its light, the car sped towards the city and disappeared into the distance.

“Time!” Olsen turned and signaled Guttierre to hide behind the rocks. Then he knocked on the barrel and shouted:

“We’re here! Get out!”

A head emerged from the barrel.

Ichthyander looked around, quickly climbed out, and leaped to the ground.

“Thank you, Olsen!” the young man said, tightly gripping the giant’s wet hand.

Ichthyander was breathing rapidly, as if having an asthma attack.

“You’re welcome. Farewell! Be careful. Don’t swim close to the shore. Beware of people, so you don’t fall into captivity again.”

Even Olsen didn’t know what orders Ichthyander had received from Salvator.

“Yes, yes,” Ichthyander said, gasping for breath. “I will swim far, far away, to the quiet coral islands where no ship comes. Thank you, Olsen!” And the young man ran towards the sea.

Already at the very waves, he suddenly turned around and shouted:

“Olsen, Olsen! If you ever see Guttierre, give her my regards and tell her I will always remember her!” The young man plunged into the sea and cried:

“Farewell, Guttierre!” — and disappeared into the water.

“Farewell, Ichthyander!…” Guttierre softly replied, standing hidden behind the rocks.

The wind grew stronger and almost knocked people off their feet. The sea raged, the sand hissed, and the stones roared.

Someone’s hand squeezed Guttierre’s hand.

“Let’s go, Guttierre!” Olsen gently commanded. He led Guttierre onto the road.

Guttierre looked back at the sea once more and, leaning on Olsen’s arm, headed towards the city.

Salvator served his sentence, returned home, and again took up scientific work. He is preparing for some distant journey.

Kristo continues to serve him.

Zurita acquired a new schooner and catches pearls in the Gulf of California. And although he is not the richest man in America, he still cannot complain about his fate. The ends of his mustache, like a barometer needle, show high pressure.

Guttierre divorced her husband and married Olsen. They moved to New York and work at a canning factory. On the coast of La Plata Bay, no one remembers the “sea devil.”

Only sometimes on muggy nights, old fishermen, hearing an unknown sound in the nocturnal silence, tell the young ones:

“That’s how the sea devil trumpeted in a conch shell,” and they begin to tell legends about him.

Only one person in Buenos Aires does not forget Ichthyander. All the boys in the city know the old, half-mad, impoverished Indian beggar.

“Here comes the sea devil’s father!”

But the Indian pays no attention to the boys.

Meeting a Spaniard, the old man always turns around, spits after him, and grumbles some curse.

But the police do not bother old Balthazar. His madness is quiet; he harms no one.

Only when a storm rises at sea does the old Indian become extraordinarily anxious.

He rushes to the seashore and, risking being swept away by the water, stands on the coastal rocks and shouts, shouts day and night, until the storm subsides:

“Ichthyander! Ichthyander! My son!…”

But the sea keeps its secret.