One night we were driving through the bay. It was quiet, so quiet that it seemed: if a mosquito squeaked on the other side, we would hear it. There was not a single splash on the bay, the boat never rocked.
A light mist floated weightlessly. Through it, the half-blind dawn, which does not leave the sky on a summer night, and the unsteady lunar path, and the moon itself, and the stars were matte, as if someone had lightly powdered them.
I carefully lowered the oar, holding it as it entered the water.
At the stern an old man floated up like a vague, bulky shadow. Apparently, he didn’t want to break the silence either: he puffed on his pipe and didn’t say a word while we crossed the bay. And I didn’t see him swinging the stern oar, and only by the elastic pushes of the boat did I recognize the old man’s deep strokes.
A lot of time passed before I caught the lazy, creaky voice of a seagull, as if half asleep.
“Ke-ra, ke-ra, ke-ra, ke-ra,” as if she were persuading someone.
The old man stopped moving. I understand: he is listening. Then I heard him whisper:
- On the nest...
Soon we heard the voices of other seagulls, just as quiet and drowsy: we were passing by the island of Tyatr-ur - the island of Krachek.
The conversation of small light-winged gulls did not break the silence. It sounded like music in her, emphasizing peace and tranquility.
“They’re sitting on nests,” the old man said in a whisper, as before.
Suddenly there was an incredible hubbub, and a white cloud soared into the air, as if it had blown up the island.
I felt hot. Then it was like being dunked in cold water. I felt very uncomfortable in the fragile boat. I stared in horror and turned my head, but could not understand what was happening around me. I looked at the old man with hope: maybe he could help with something. But the old man also looked tensely at the island, dimly darkening away from us. The head of an old man in a canvas hat turned from side to side on a long thin neck and looked either like a question mark or like his own burnt pipe. I forgot about my fear for a moment and grinned at the ridiculous appearance of the old man. Of course, I didn’t even think about how I looked from the outside.
And then I shuddered: it was as if a rock had fallen into the water. The hubbub has turned to hell. Moaning, whistling, grinding, squealing...
And my old man suddenly waved his hands and loudly hit the boat with his oar. Hit. Another blow. And an incredible cry:
- U-lu-lu-lu! Ha-ha-ha! Hoo-hoo! Hoo-hoo-hoo!
The old man switched to treble. He waved his arms even more energetically and subtly yelled:
- I-gi-gi-i-i!
And he laughed madly:
- That's it! That's it! Ha-ha-ha-ha-a-a-a-a!
Only now did I notice: something large and dark was quickly swimming away from the island, snorting noisily. And above him, streaking through the darkness, thousands of white arrows with a piercing cry pierced the back of the large beast. And the beast, roaring helplessly and snorting heavily, swam away in panic into the night.
And the old man became more and more incensed. And he exclaimed in admiration:
- That's what they do! That's what the little bastards do when they're together: chase the bear away! Ay-ay-ay, the bear has been driven away!
The old man could not calm down for a long time. Finally he took a breath, fell silent, thinking about something. Then he rustled his hand under his canvas jacket - I understood: I reached for the pouch.
The old man was smoking, putting his oar in front of him. And I stopped rowing. But he remained silent, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe. I knew the old man: he was preparing for something. And I was not mistaken. This is what he told me.
Previously, seagulls did not live together. In fact, why should they live together! After all, each of them has strong wings, so strong that they can carry a seagull across the sea. Each of them has a strong beak to tenaciously grasp prey or fight off enemies.
The terns thought so too. They lived as they thought: each individual built a nest.
But it is not always easy to find fish: the sea is large, and the fish swim wherever they want.
And the seagulls each fly on their own. A black-headed tern flew over the foamy wave. No matter how vigilantly she peered into the wave, she did not find any silvery fish. So, with nothing, hungry, the black-headed tern flew away.
A red-billed tern flew over the same place. It was in vain that she flew here: the black-headed bird has no worse eyes than the red-billed one. And the red-billed one flew away empty-handed, hungry.
And many more terns flew over the foamy wave, because they did not know that others had already been here.
The black-headed tern returned to its nest in the dark, without finding the fish. And what he sees: a large crow sits by her nest and pecks at an egg.
A seagull started hovering and screaming in alarm.
A red-billed tern flew to the cry, all in tears. Complains:
— A mouse stole my egg.
The third tern arrives and also complains:
- Someone destroyed my nest.
And the crow already pecks the second egg.
The terns took off and screamed. Other seagulls came to their cry. They flew into a crow: only feathers flew from it.
And so the terns hold advice.
Blackhead says:
“It’s bad when we live on our own.” Even the crow offends us.
“It’s bad, it’s bad,” said the terns.
“It’s bad when we fly separately for food.” It’s hard to find fish alone in the big sea,” said the red-billed one.
“It’s bad, it’s bad,” said the terns.
- We need to live together. “When we are together, we are not afraid of any enemy,” said the black-headed girl.
- Together! Together! - said the terns.
Since then they have been living together. They live in large colonies. Together it is easier for them to find fish in the sea. A tern will find a flock of fish, scream, and other terns will flock to it. And everyone is full.
And if any enemy appears, the terns swoop down on him in clouds, and he runs headlong. Just their scream will make the devil's hair stand on end.
- I saw that they drove away the bear! - said the old man. — The bear wanted to eat the eggs, but that was not the case.
The light fog turned whitish and, just like an hour ago, hovered silently and weightlessly. The moon turned pale, as if she was chilly from the dampness, and floated towards the mountains to rest.
And behind us came a quiet, peaceful voice:
- Ke-ra, ke-ra, ke-ra, ke-ra...
The seagulls sat on their nests.
The old man plunged the stern oar into the water. And I swung my oars. It was pleasant to row: with each stroke, warmth spread through the chilled body.
We sailed into the dawn.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru