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p For which no explanations are needed 

p March sun. Spring in the air.

p March sun over the Aral Sea, over a sweep of blue velvet. It caresses, it bites with hot little teeth, it stirs up the blood.

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p For three days, now, the lieutenant has taken the air.

p He sits outside the shed, warming himself in the sun, gazing about him with eyes that are alive and joyful, and blue as the deep blue sea.

p Maryutka has been exploring the island.

p From her last excursion she came back at sunset, elated.

p “Tomorrow we’re moving,” she said.

p “Where to?”

p “Over there—about eight versts from here.”

p “What’s there?”

p “A fisherman’s shanty. Like a palace! Dry, sound, even the glass in the windows is whole. It’s got a stove and some broken dishes—they’ll all come in handy. Best of all, it’s got sleeping-bunks—no more sprawling on the floor. If only we’d gone there in the first place!”

p “But we didn’t know about it.”

p “That’s just it. And I’ve discovered something else, too—a wonderful discovery.”

p “What?”

p “Some food behind the stove. I guess that’s where the fishermen kept their supplies, and they left the remains behind. Some rice and about half a pood of flour. Sort of mildewed, but it can be ate. Maybe they saw an autumn storm coming and rushed away without bothering to take it with them. We’ll get on like a house on fire now!”

p The next morning they set out for their new quarters. Maryutka walked ahead, loaded down like a camel. She wouldn’t let the lieutenant carry anything.

p “You mustn’t. It’ll put you down again. Not worth it. Never fear. I’ll manage. I’m skinny, but I’m strong.”

p By noon they were there. They dug away the snow, tied the door to its broken hinge, stuffed the 221 stove with carp, lighted it, and warmed themselves at the fire with happy smiles on their faces.

p “Swells, aren’t we? This is the life!”

p “You’re a wonder, Maryutka. I’ll be jrateful to you my whole life. I’d have died if it hadn’t been for you.”

p “Course you would, you mamma’s boy.”

p She held her hands out and warmed them at the fire.

p “Warm as warm. Well, what are we going to do now?”

p “Wait. What else?”

p “Wait for what?”

p “Spring. It won’t be long now. It’s the middle of March. In another week or two the fishermen will be coming for their fish and they’ll rescue us.”

p “I hope you’re right. You and me can’t last much longer on this fish and mildewed flour. Another two weeks and it’s the fish-pox for us!”

p “What’s that expression you’re always using—a fish-pox? Where did you get it?”

p “In Astrakhan. All our fishermen say it. Instead of real swearing. I don’t like dirty words, but when my dander’s up I’ve got to say something. That’s how I let off steam.”

p She stirred the fish in the stove with a ramrod.

p “You once said you knew a story about a desert island, remember? About Friday. Tell it to me now instead of just sitting here. It’s awful how I love to listen to stories! The village women used to come to my aunt’s house and bring old Gugnikha to tell stories. She must have been a hundred years old, or even more. Remembered Napoleon. I’d crouch in a corner and listen, afraid to breathe for fear I’d miss a word.”

p “You want to hear about Robinson Crusoe? I’ve forgotten half of it, it’s been so long since I read it.”

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p “Try to remember. Tell me whatever comes back to you.”

p “I’ll try.”

p The lieutenant half closed his eyes, searching his memory. Maryutka spread out her sheepskin jacket on the bunk and curled up in the corner nearest the stove.

p “Come and sit over here. It’s warmer here in the corner,” she said.

p The lieutenant sat down beside her. The fire gave off a cheering warmth.

p “Well, why don’t you begin? I can’t wait—there’s nothing I like better than a story.”

p The lieutenant put his chin in his hand and began:

p “Once upon a time a ricrj man lived in a town of Liverpool. His name was Robinson Crusoe. . . .”

p “Where’s that town?”

p “In England. As I was saying, there lived a rich man named—"

p “Wait. You say he was rich? Why is it all the stories are about rich folk, about princes and princesses? Why don’t they make up stories about poor folk?”

p “I don’t know,” said the lieutenant. "I never thought about it.”

p “I s’pose it’s because it’s the rich people themselves who make up the stories. Like with me. I want to write poetry, but I don’t have the learning. If I did, I’d write poetry about poor people. Oh, well, I’ll learn some day and I’ll write it.”

p “And so this Robinson Crusoe got the idea of setting off on a voyage that would take him round the world. He wanted to see how other people lived. One day he set out in a big sailing-vessel....”

p The stove crackled cheerily and the lieutenant’s words poured out in a steady stream.

p Little by little the story came back to him—every little detail.

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p Maryutka listened with bated breath, giving little gasps at the most exciting places.

p When the lieutenant described the shipwreck, she shrugged her shoulders incredulously.

p “And everybody but him got drowned?" she asked.

p “Everybody.”

p “The captain must’ve been a blockhead, or else he got soaked to the gills on the eve of the wreck. A good captain’d never let his whole crew get drowned. We’ve had lots of wrecks on the Caspian, but never more than two or three men got drowned. The rest always got saved.”

p “But we lost Semyanny and Vyakhir, didn’t we? Does that mean you were a bad captain? Or perhaps you were soaked to the gills?”

p Maryutka gasped.

p “Sharp, ain’t you, fish-pox! Get on with the story!”

p When he got to the place where man Friday put in an appearance, Maryutka interrupted him again:

p “So that’s why you called me Friday, is it? Like as if you was Robinson Crusoe. And you say Friday was black? A Negro? I saw a Negro once—at the circus in Astrakhan.”

p When the lieutenant described the attack of the pirates, Maryutka’s eyes flashed.

p “Ten against one? Dirty, wasn’t it?”

p At last the story was over.

p Maryutka sat silent for a while, nestling against his shoulder.

p “It was lovely,” she murmured at last. “I bet you know lots of stories, don’t you? Tell me one every day.”

p “Did you really enjoy it so?”

p “Lots and lots. Made the shiver run up and down my spine. You’ll tell me stories every evening, won’t you? It’ll make the time pass quicker.”

p The lieutenant yawned.

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p “Sleepy?”

p “No, I just haven’t got my strength back yet.”

p “Poor little boy!”

Again Maryutka stretched out her hand and gently stroked his hair. He turned astonished blue eyes on her. In their depths a spark of tenderness was kindled that flew to Maryutka’s heart. Dazed, she strained towards him and pressed her dry parched lips against his bristling wasted cheek.