After the prayer, the captain told those gathered on deck:
This night past, I saw Saint Germanus seven times. He appeared, as always, as a candle flame that could be described, if one wishes, as a distinct star. The flame might be bright one minute, then muted the next, the size of half the mast, always prominent. If you want, for example, to take the flame, it goes away; if you motionlessly recite Oure Father it will stay in place for about a quarter-hour, half an hour maximum, and when it appears, the wind always grows quieter and the waves smaller. When ships sail in a caravan, the ship to which Saint Germanus appears will be saved but he who does not see him will be wrecked. If two candles appear, which is a rarity, then the ship will certainly be lost, for two candles is a ghost, not an appearance from the saint.
That, said the pilgrim Wilhelm, is because demons never appear one at a time, but always in multitudes.
All that is Divine and true is one, said the pilgrim Friedrich, all that is demonic and false is in multiples.
The Brandenburg pilgrims no longer argued with the captain, for which he was glad.
Ambrogio was looking pensively to the north. He saw a gale in the White Sea on October 1, 1865. The Solovetsky Monastery’s steamer Faith was sailing from Anzer Island to Big Solovetsky Island. It was carrying pilgrims from Verkhny Volochok. Dinghies were ripped from the side of the boat and the bilge pump broke down. The ship was flung around like a twig. The pilgrims were nauseous. The gale was astonishing in that it arose under conditions of full visibility. A hurricane-force wind blew but there were neither clouds nor rain. And Big Solovetsky Island looked like a glistening white dot off the starboard side. One of the pilgrims asked the captain:
Why are we not sailing straight for the island?
Without moving from the ship’s wheel, the captain indicated that he could not hear the questioner.
Why are we sailing away from the island instead of sailing toward it? the pilgrim shouted directly into the captain’s ear.
Because we are tacking, answered the captain. Otherwise a lateral wave will smash us.
The Faith captain’s long beard fluttered in the wind.
The crew, composed of Solovetsky monks, was calm. This was the calm of those who do not even know how to swim. Sailors in the White Sea do not generally know how to swim. They do not need to know anyway. The water of the White Sea is so cold they could not endure for more than a few minutes.
The Saint Mark’s captain brushed aside a tear because he was mourning the lost mariners so immeasurably. The captain gave thanks to God and Saint Germanus that he had remained alive. He stood on the sun-drenched deck, delighting in the length and sharpness of a morning shadow. He inhaled the scent of drying wood. He felt like falling on the deck’s boards, lying there, and feeling their roughness on his cheek but he did not. As captain, he must be in possession of his own feelings. A captain should generally never be sentimental, he thought, otherwise the crew would mutiny. He took the decision to bring the ship to the nearest shore on her one remaining sail. The captain had no other choice. The Saint Mark, all gilded by the evening sun, approached the port of Jaffa after a day of quiet sailing.
This was the East. The East Arseny had heard so much about, though he had no definite image of it. He had seen goods from the East in Pskov. He had even seen Eastern people in Pskov, but those people had adapted to a northern-Russian way of life that was neither showy nor loud. Eastern people in Pskov were meek and well-groomed. They spoke in soft voices and smiled enigmatically. The smell of non-Russian herbs and fragrances accompanied them. They turned out to be completely different in Jaffa.
The Jaffaites who flocked around the travelers were primarily Arabs: they were noisy, guttural, and seemed to have many hands. They kept grabbing at the arrivals’ clothing, attempting to attract attention. They would open their holey robes and beat themselves on the chest. They wiped sweating foreheads and necks with grimy sleeves.
What do these people want? Arseny asked Ambrogio.
Ambrogio shrugged:
I think they want the same as everyone else: money.
One of the Arabs led a camel to Arseny and attempted to insert the camel’s reins into Arseny’s hand. He pressed on Arseny’s fingers with both hands but the reins kept slipping out because Arseny would not hold them. The Arab showed the price for the camel with his fingers. The number of fingers decreased each time he raised his hands. Arseny looked at the marvelous animal, and the animal looked at Arseny, from somewhere above. This creature sure has a haughty gaze, thought Arseny. The Arab pounded himself on the chest, finally inserting the reins in Arseny’s hands, and pretended to walk away.
Arseny tugged at the reins for some reason and the camel looked at him pensively. He was, in terms of character, the antithesis of his master, who seemed to have rather worn him out. The animal took the Arab’s unexpected disappearance as a blessing and did not look in the departed man’s direction. When he saw Arseny’s hand move, the Arab appeared again next to the camel and again showed his price. All the fingers that had been bent were back in their places. Arseny smiled. The Arab thought a bit and also smiled. The camel showed his teeth, too. Despite life’s less-than-simple circumstances, they were all capable of finding a reason to smile.
Life in Jaffa truly was less than simple. The city, which the Mamluks had turned into a heap of ruins two centuries ago, simply could not revive itself. It led a spectral, almost otherworldly, existence at the expense of occasional vessels that, for some reason or other, moored in what remained of the port. No, Jaffa was not a dead city. Spending two days in Jaffa, Arseny and Ambrogio noticed that a life with its own adventures and passions flowed along here, too, in the evenings. They also discovered that the residents of Jaffa, whose energy had struck them so much on the first evening, were no strangers to contemplation.
It was contemplation that defined Jaffaites’ lives during the daytime hours. These people spent the sweltering days in small yards outside earthen homes, their softened bodies catching faint sea breezes. They lay on the damaged port’s parapets and observed fishing boats and (much rarer) ships as they entered the bay. Sometimes they helped unload them. But only in the evenings were Jaffaites truly active and animated. The energy and warmth they accumulated during the day spilled over, spreading to one another and out-of-towners. All sales, barter, agreements, and murders were completed during the two hours preceding sunset.
During the pre-sunset time the next day, Arseny, Ambrogio, and the other pilgrims managed to come to an agreement with the Arabs about their passage to Jerusalem. They proposed the travelers hire a camel or donkey, their choice, for half a ducat. Many, including Arseny and Ambrogio, wanted to walk but they were told they would lag behind the caravan.
A caravan usually moves slowly, Ambrogio told the Arabs, through an interpreter.
Usually but not now, answered the Arabs. You will be there before you know it.
The proposal to hire donkeys and camels was obviously not a topic for discussion. Remembering Brother Hugo’s two donkeys, Arseny and Ambrogio had chosen camels. Friedrich and Wilhelm decided to ride donkeys, though.
There was still some time before the caravan’s departure but the pilgrims stayed in port rather than returning to the city. Several slept, leaning against stones that had warmed during the day. Others conversed or mended clothing that had worn through during their wanderings. Ambrogio took out the icon lamp and installed the adamants. He was already in the Holy Land and had decided to restore the lamp’s initial beauty. He placed each of the six stones in the bottom of the groove and squeezed the pins, as Mayor Gavriil had shown him.