Ο αείμνηστος συγγραφέας διαπιστώνει στο κείμενο που αναρτούμε ότι οις ήρωες των δύο κειμένων παλεύουν όχι μόνο για την επιβίωση αλλά και την κοινωνική τους ανάδειξη , μέσα από την πάλη με τα "στοιχειά" της φύσης .
Όταν διάβασα για πρώτη φορά, στις αρχές της δεκαετίας του
‘60, τη νουβέλα του Χέμινγουεϊ «Ο γέρος
και η θάλασσα» το κείμενο μου φάνηκε
οικείο και τότε σκέφτηκα, ήρθε στο μυαλό μου, το διήγημα του Καρκαβίτσα «Το Γιούσουρι» που κλείνει τον τόμο «Λόγια της πλώρης».
THE BLACK CORAL - ΤΟ ΓΙΟΥΣΟΥΡΙ
Ο Γιάννος ο Γκάμαρος είναι ο κεντρικός ήρωας στο διήγημα «Το γιούσουρι» του Ανδρέα Καρκαβίτσα («Λόγια της πλώρης» 1899). Ο ήρωας αυτός συγκρίνεται
με τον Σαντιάγκο, τον γέρο ψαρά από το έργο «Ο Γέρος και η Θάλασσα» του
Έρνεστ Χέμινγουεϊ, καθώς και οι δύο ενσαρκώνουν την τιτάνια, μοναχική
πάλη του ανθρώπου με τα αμείλικτα στοιχεία της φύσης και το άπιαστο
όνειρο.
Yannos Gammaros is the chief character of the tale. He compares to Santiago in Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea,
as they both embody the lonely and giant struggle of humans against the
harsh forces of nature and the futile pursuit of an impossible dream.
Μετάφραση στα αγγλικά : Βασίλειος Μηλίτσης
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THE YOUSSOURI
 Rendered by Vassilis C. Militsis When I first heard of it, I was still wrappedin swaddling clothes. And as I grew up to be a twenty-year-old stout lad, people still referred to it, both in admiration and horror. It is about youssouri, the dauntless youssouri, which lies in the bottom of the gulf of Volos! The youssouri, which at times grows high and fierce reaching the surface of the sea, and at times retreats, becomes bloated and transforms itself into an impregnable tree-castle full of gnarls and boughs, roots and threads. On our island there is a long standing lore, handed down from generation to generation of sailors, from father to son, from son to grandson, about the great, ever admirable, hard like iron, strong like a lion, a mettlesome and immortal ghost. Those who had been the first to see it have now been deleted from people’s memory. Those who have dreamed to cut it off lie long under the ground or in the abysses of the sea. Those who sought to capture it have never reached their end. It is said to have something beguiling and insidious, for it is always changing shape, is slippery as an eel, impregnable as a castle and shimmering as an ocean fish which paralyzes the body at first glance. The blonde prince seeks in vain to embrace the princess of his desire. When in my childhood days I heard about it I would always be caught by a strange feeling: fear mixed with spite. There is, I said, the two-span tall Blackman who swallows seas and blocks rivers with his beard alone. There is the undead Gorgon, Alexander the Great’s mermaid sister who is constantly roaming the seas and at the bitter tidings of her brother’s death, she crushes ships with her tail and sinks them, with all hands aboard. There is Aristo who kills wild beasts, breaks mountains down and uprootstrees with his spear.And here we have a tree, a creature of the water, a nursling of the sand, which works miracles! Well, that is a shame! I heard men reared in bravery talk about it in such reverence as if they spoke of the Holy Trinity. What the devil! Those stalwart men who defied the cannons of the Turk blocking them with their torsos! Brandishing a torch they sprang upon his armories! They stared death right in the face but they did not dare to uproot a tree! I could not stomach it. “Can you tell me, father”, I once asked my old man, “What is this youssouri?” “Just wood, my son, like all other kinds of wood; seawood. If you want to have an idea, go and have a look at my pipe”. I went into the house, looked intothe wooden cabinet and found the pipe. It was a thick big one full of thorny knots and inky-black like ebony. “Well, so this is youssouri? They can cut it then?” “Of course they can. You have it in your hands, haven’t you? I had cut off several cubits of it when I worked as a sponger”. “Then why don’t you go and cut some from the youssouri of Volo?” His smiling lips turned immediately into stone; his face took on a grave aspect. He turned and looked at meabstractedly as if his mind left suddenly his head. “Ah”, he said shaking his head, “the youssouri of Volo is different. Once I also tried, but I almost left your mother a widow”. “But it can be cut…” “It can be cut when it is still small. Over in the Barbary Sea there are whole forests of them. While fishermen are diving for sponges, they break off a bough from a tree on occasion. Only stealthily while it is sleeping. But when it’s awake, it can’t be cut even by the Archangel’s sword”. “Doesn’t the Volo’s youssouri ever sleep?” “It does sleep – how can’t it help sleeping? But it has already grown supernatural! It has lived through ages – nobody knows since when. You should seethe bones of those reckless madmen who have dared it dangling from its branches like chandeliers!” And he stared frightened with a vague look at a broken water jug standing in the courtyard; his brow shrank and went waxy pale as though he was seeing an asp emerging from that place. “How did you go down, father? With a pump?” I asked again. “No, with a stone, like the Kalymno’s spongers. Where could pumps have been found in our time?” “When I’m a grown up one day, I’ll cut it myself” I said stubbornly. I thought that hewould not consent, that he would try to deter me, that he would relate frightful tales to dishearten me. Nothing of the sort! He looked over me wistfully for a moment as if he wanted to assess my stature. Then he smiled. “Fine. When you grow up, give it a try”, he saidrecovering his previous impassivity. Now that you’re still little, go and learn about the sea”. I went and learned about the sea. First I becamea deck-hand and then a sailor. I experienced tempests, snowfalls and foul weather. I even worked on sponge-fishing vessels on the Barberry coast. However, both as a deck-hand and as a full-fledged sailor and sponger I never forgot the haunted youssouri and my promise to my father. On the contrary, the more my body waxed bigger the more my desire burned inside me like hereditary seed and flowed in my blood. I was looking forward to cutting the youssouri and if necessary to root it out and drag it to our island behind my sloop. I would cast iton the beach, a useless carcass, and get the crier to announce my feat all over the land: “Hear, hear, fellow villagers; come and witness the great wonder! The sea ghost has been defeated by our island’s intrepid hero, Yianno Gamaro! Mountains trembleand grind! Come out fellows, see and marvel!” The whole folk would swarm around it at once; the old salts would cross themselves, the womenfolk would look in dread and the young lads would envy me the deed. The lithe, fair maidens would say in admiration: “Lo a fine valiant youth fit to be our husband!” A second Saint George, I would be glorified on the island. And a secret dread and yearning often tortured my soul lest some other might forestall and rob me of my laurels. You never know what is going to happen. And then I allayed my anxiety thinking that no worthier man than I could have been born for such a deed. I even believed that that tree had not lain in itssunless dwelling for so many ages unless it became my own triumph and praise one day. Thus I completed my twentieth year of my age. I was fishing on the Captain Strapatso’s motor ship in Evripo Sound. We gradually arrived in the gulf of Volo. I jumped at the opportunity. “What do you say, captain? Shall we make the attempt?” “Which attempt?” “Shall we go and cut the youssouri?” Captain Strapatso burst out laughing; so did the others; finally, I did, too. I did not dare to be serious. “What are you talking about?” he said, “are you out of your mind? Shall I send for a priest to cast out your demon?” “But why not go? Are we such duffers? Now let me tell you this: those old salts dived with the stone. All the way down and the up at once. What use is just one dive?” “Oh man, let’s try to earn our bread and leave your dreams aside!” the captain ended the discussion. “I did not give up hope. “I’ll talk him into it later on” I mused. And indeed, I tried very hard and I persuaded him one Sunday when we were not fishing. “How about it, shall we go?” “Oh gosh, where?” “After the youssouri!” “And who’s gonna dive?” “I am. Don’t worry!” We did go at last. I looked in through the glass to see the bottom. No youssouri. I swam around once, twice, three times; nothing! I began to despair. I was strangely desperate. So many years I resurrected it in my fantasy, I had it in front of me, I saw it gigantic, I fought with it and I triumphed, and now all this in vain! I couldn’t bear it. There must be somewhere, I’ve got to find it either in the bottom or over on the coast or even in the clouds above! I’ve got to find it, to confront it even if it kills me off. Let my own skeleton also, a sad trophy, hangalong with those of the other madmen, but I can’t stand the fact of never meeting it in my life! Then why have I lived so long, why have I become a twenty year-old-man, why have I got to know the sea well, why have I delved the bottom of the seas? Only to earn my living? “Let’s pull over to the port. Let’s go and have a drink” said the captain wearily. “The old timers like to tell tales sometime”. Cold sweat broke out. My eyes began to blur”. “For God’s sake, captain” I told him, have a bit more patience! Let’s make another round”. “However, neither he nor the rowers would listen. The sloop, weary too, changed course and headed for the port. Leaning on the gunwale I never stopped looking left and right with a beating heart as though I were looking for my mother’s holy relics. But in vain! The water, green and blue aether was clear as far as the bottom, where I could only discern dry looking algae, soft and untouched, on underwater banks here, on sand strewn stretches there, shirred and warm, beds fit only forthe water nymphs. But no youssouri; no trace of the tree of my dreams. I was about to give up my glass and lie down on the deck. But at the same time a fuzzy cloud cast its shadow in front of me and stayed back as if a whale passed by. “Stop!” I yelled; “Halt!” The sloop stood still, turned back to its course and then we all saw a tree, like a thousand year-old oak, sit on its marble bench. So it was no lie, it was no tale! I put on my gear quickly, passed my jackknife in my belt, grabbed an axe and dove down. But as soon as I raised my eyes, I began to shudder. Our old timers were right. The two-span tall Blackman, Gorgon and Aristo were nothing before this wonder! Its roots, black brown and bladed, clenched the marble like Briareus’ hands, sucked at its udders, slunk into the crevices, pressed around the cornerstones, hookedits risers – you thought the whole thing was both a body and sheer strength. Its trunk, sublime as a cathedral, looking as if it were a host to a team of bears, with gnarls, embedded in its hirsute here and there, soared many fathoms highwith eternal audacity and conceit. And from there shot out, proud and straight, thousand-rooted boughs and flexiblebranches to and fro up and down as though they struggled to entrap the spacious gulf in their meshes. Around it the clear,stillwater, like a fish bowl domed over it, washed it, being nurse and mate at the same time, breath and bower. And the abyss, cold and bottomless,like some magic circle with unraveled mysteries and undisturbed silence, yawned underneath its marble pedestal. I caught the tree unawares in its sleep. But even if I had found it awake, it would have been all the same to me. It would have been easy if I had broken off a bough and come up. However, I wanted to cut it from its roots. That is what I had dived down there. I crossed myself, aimed with my axe, and dash!Ιdealt it the first strike. The Serpent woke up. And a storm broke out at once, a blow, turmoil as if all the streams gushed upon me. The stillwater seethed and boiled, was beaten in a maelstrom, and darkness rose up from the abyss and I was lost in giddiness. I sat down, grabbed at a clump of roots so that I could not be washed away. And then all of a sudden I spotted the closed gnarls blink like the owl’seyes, black eyes, whose fire rushed upon me like an asp. And I saw the heaps of skeletons, a verdigris procession of those madmen who had relied more on the impulse of their fantasy than on the strength of nerve and the unbending influence of the flesh. At its roaring, I heard a distinct clang, which was no other but that of bones hitting each other. The bleached leg bones spitefully kicked the fleshless skulls as if they kicked their own thoughts, as if they were saying: “Why have you brought us here?” The captain signaled from above: “Come up now. You’re not going to make it”. “I’m really not going to make it!” I realized that. But how could I have the face to go up? Where’s the valiant hero of the island? Who’s going to be St George now? Oh no. If only I had not gone down, but now it’s all over and done with! When the whirlwind fell on me, I raised my axe and gave it a second blow with all my might. Had I struck at a stone, it would have at least cracked. I did not even nick a splinter. My axe, instead of cutting into it, backlashed two, three, four spans as if I were hitting on rubber. I’ve got to root it out, I pondered ruefully. I signaled up: “Throw the crowbar down to me”. “They dispatched the tool. I threw the axe away and grabbed the crowbar. I began to work at the roots. I lost track of time. I didn’t know how long I struggled. Hours sped by and I still went on, crowbar in hand. Once in a while, I paused for breath or to take a look around in case a sea dog attacked me. Finally I signaled again: “Throw me the guy rope”. “Better come up, you fool!” signaled the captain out of patience now. “What do you want the cable for? For you maybe? We’ve got a thinner line. Come up or I’ll cut off the air!” “If you cut off the air, I’ll tear the hose. “Have you forgotten I’ve got my jackknife with me?” Captain Strapatso was scareddead. He threw the guy rope down to me. I lassoed it fast around the trunk. Then I went to other side and worked the crowbar at its roots. The monster was constantly blinking as if it wanted to mesmerize me. It shook andfloundered like a fish. Its boughs, like the tentacles of an octopus, gamboled to and fro, curled and shot out its edges at me like arrows to get hold of me. But in vain! Even if I had not known its insidious games and not heard of itsshenanigans, the mere sight of the skeletons I saw wedged up there was enough to teach me of the danger.Every time it stretched, I shrank to the utmost and I clung to the marble like an oyster. Not only strength but also full knowledge aided me. Legs, arms, eyes all worked in perfect harmony. The crowbar, sturdy and invincible, as it was, grubbing out the small tendrils, one after another, drove them out of their nests, separated them from the stone, mostly peeled off, and sometimes with slivers of shingle and loads of shells.You thought no human hand operated but a steam engine. Finally I perceived that it began to totter. It was losing its purchase. “Pull me up!” I signaled. They pulled me up. I took off my gear quickly and breathed a sigh of relief. Gosh! It was getting dark. In the distance, Mount Pelio, indigo blue, soared high. The villages loomed white on the slopes like straggling marble. In the town of Volo the first lights began to appear and the sky, tinted all purple after sunset, brought forth its shimmering stars. I felt that I revived seeing familiar faces. I forgot for a moment about the youssouri and my toils, even my future glory. “Exhausted or what?” asked captain Strapatso. “Now you’ll see me!” I told him and jumped on my feet. “Come on, boys! To your oars. We’re going to pull the tree to the island tonight”. “What are you talking about, son? Perhaps something’s come over you? You’re not possessed by the ghost?” They all rushed upon me, they fumbled me, felt my sinews, moved my arms, still distrustful of the fact that I was whole. “Go on, pull, my merry men!” I saidworried. “The Tree has been cut”. They rushed to the oars, and pulled forcibly. However, instead of moving forward, the sloop dragged behind. “Look here, are you mocking us?” said the captain indignantly. “Why are you bragging that you’ve cut the youssouri off?” “By St Nicholas, I’ve cut it off”, I replied. “Pull! What do you expect? Should I have cut it off so that it would fall on me? Just pull at it a couple of times and it’ll break away with its roots”. We resumed pulling. We toiled that way for an hour. You could hear the oarlocks creakand grate, like weather beaten oaks. The sailors grew obstinate and powerful likegenies. Captain Strapatso, mad with joy and pride, kept encouraging them loudly: “Ahoy! Ahoy! … My brave lads! Straight on, my lions! Shame on us! Straight on, my tigers”. And the brave lads, the lions and the tigers buried the oars deeply and rowed with such force that you thought the oars would splinter and shatter. Finally, a deep roar resounded and the sea heaved a great swell upon us. The sloop winged forward. At once, a leviathan emerged in the gulf from one side to the other. It was the youssouri. “Let me see! Let me also see!” They all ran astern to identify the monster. They looked at it awestruck, crossing themselves. “Come on!” I said to captain Strapatso. “We’d better drag it ashore now that’s dark before the Turks get wind and steal it”. No sooner had we sailed out of the gulf than foul weather, like a raging gorgon, met us from the south. The sky blew out the stars and erased its bourns. Erebus of Hades itself spread over us. The waves billowed and soared as high as unsurmountable mountains, foamed and shimmered shedding a white, dim and uncanny glimmer around. What white horses and what chargers, seals and whales, what Harpies and Medusae were those stupendous high seas that whirled and roiled in droves, roared and ululated with thousands of whistles, peals and tooth-gnashingin that chaotic gloom! I was growing restless. Neptune must have been far away and the elements broke loose in front of us to get back their beloved tree, which might have been their ornament and even their courtly playmate. That was no ordinary sea: it wassheer wrath and seaquake, gall and curse, a bane of the abyss. The immortal element claim mortal glory.And to its aid it brought along all the powers of nature, intangible, unexplored and unsubdued against weak creatures. However, so far so good. The youssouri, bound fast, was following in the wake at the stern of our vessel. Sometimes, I could hear it thrash about and snort like an animal plodding uphill. It may have felt disgraced to be defeated and struggled to get free at all costs. But I would not allow it. I could now to hold in my hands my life-long dream and would never let it go before I died. I could see the beast follow me, humble and submissive, and my heart leapt with joy, that tub of a sloop turned into a throne and kingly vessel racing me to my triumphant imperial laurels.In the midst ofthe furious sea I could make out thestentorian voice of the crier. One was my expectation: the admiration of the old timers. One was my desire: the praise of the maidens: “Here’s a gallant young man to be our husband!” At daybreak I discerned right before the mast our island, covered in clouds. We had still three miles to cover, three toilsome miles, though. Our arms weakened rowing hard all night. Our faces shrank. Our eyes blurred and wrinkles formed on our brows. Our hair turned hoary as if the burden of years had passed over us. The captain, lying on his back, resembled a cadaver.The other oarsmen, sulky, silent and listless, were rowing like machines performing their work unconsciously. But I was the only one who went on rowing without respite. Many times indeed I took the whole task upon myself. However, what could I do, too? My desire was greater than my strength. The seas went on still higher, sprayed, soakedand tossed us dangerously about. Finally, came the rosy hues of sunrise and the sun, relentless persecutor of the secrets of nature and the dreams of men, emerged above the horizon. Grim land loomed ahead, the sea was still misty, and our hospitable island in the distance made itself manifest. “Ahoy, guys!We’re soon docking!” I yelled. I jumped on the prow to gaze at the port, to see the beach where I would throw the dead beast. The sloop hurried into leeward, jumped over a couple of shallows and moored on the beach. I ran to the prow to throw out the cable. Alas! Torn and frayed rope was what was left in my hands! What happened to the tree? It dwells again down in the bottom of the gulf of Volo, standing on its god made pedestal, with its bladed roots, its bearlike trunk, its boughs and tendrils, moving to and fro, as if it strives to entrap everything in its meshes. The legend still goes on from generation to generation of sailors, from father to son, from son to grandson; it is always about the great, the ever miraculous, hard like iron, strong like a lion, mettlesome and immortal like a ghost. And I, Yanno Gamaro, the new St George of the island, well in his seventies anddecrepit now, still roam the seas only to earn my daily bread! Source:https://diiphilo.blogspot.com/2026/08/the-black-coral.html
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ΤΟ ΓΙΟΥΣΟΥΡΙ
Ὅταν τὸ πρωτάκουσα, ἤμουν παιδὶ στὰ σπάργανα. Καὶ σὰν ἔφτασα εἰκοσάχρονο παλικάρι, ἔλεγαν ἀκόμη γιὰ κεῖνο, μὲ τὸν ἴδιο θαυμασμὸ καὶ περισσότερη φρίκη. Τὸ γιούσουρι, τὸ ἀντρειωμένο γιούσουρι, ποὺ βρίσκεται στὸν κόρφο τοῦ Βόλου! Τὸ γιούσουρι, ποὺ ὧρες ψηλώνει καὶ θεριεύει ὡς τὸ πρόσωπο τῆς θάλασσας· ὧρες χαμηλώνει χοντραίνει καὶ γίνεται κάστρο ἀγύριστο, μὲ τοὺς ῥόζους καὶ τὰ κλαδιά, μὲ τὶς ρίζες καὶ τ᾿ ἀντιρίμματα! Κάτω στὸ νησί μας τὸ ἔχουν μόλογο! Γενιὰ σὲ γενιὰ τὸ παραδίνουν οἱ ναῦτες καὶ πάει ἀπὸ πατέρα σὲ παιδί, ἀπὸ παιδὶ σ᾿ ἀγγόνι, πάντα μεγάλο, θαυμαστὸ πάντα, σκληρὸ σὰ σίδερο, δυνατὸ σὰ λέοντας, ψυχωμένο κι ἀθάνατο σὰ στοιχειό. Ἐκεῖνοι ποὺ τὸ πρωτοεῖδαν ἔσβησαν ἀπὸ τὴ θύμηση τῶν ἀνθρώπων τώρα. Ἐκεῖνοι ποὺ ὀνειρευτῆκαν νὰ τὸ κόψουν, κοιμοῦνται ἀξύπνητα στὴ γῆ ἢ καὶ στὰ βάθη τῆς θάλασσας. Ἐκεῖνοι ποὺ πῆγαν γυρεύοντάς το, δὲ δευτέρωσαν τὸ σκοπό τους. Ἔχει, σοῦ λένε, κατιτὶ πλάνο κι ἐπίβουλο, καὶ ἀλλάζει χρώματα καὶ ἀλλάζει σχήματα καὶ γλιστρᾶ σὰν χέλι καὶ θεμελιώνεται σὰν πύργος καὶ φωσφορίζει σὰν ὠκεανόψαρο, ποὺ παραλεί τὸ σῶμα μὲ τὸ πρῶτο ἀντίκρισμα. Τοξανθό βασιλόπουλο μάταια ζητεί ν' αγκαλιάση την ποθητή του! Ἐγώ, ἀπὸ μικρὸς ποὺ τὸ ἄκουα, μ᾿ ἔπιανε κάποιο αίσθημα παράξενο. Φόβος καὶ μαζὶ πεῖσμα. Καλά, ἔλεγα, ὁ διπίθαμος Ἀράπης ποὺ ρουφᾶ τὰ πέλαγα καὶ φράζει τὰ ποτάμια μονάχα μὲ τὰ γένια του. Καλὰ ἡ ἀθάνατη Γοργόνα, τοῦ Ἀλέξαντρου ἡ ἀδερφή, ποὺ γυρίζει σβούρα τὴ θάλασσα καὶ στὸ πικρὸ χαμπέρι βουλιάζει τὰ πλεούμενα σύψυχα μὲ τὴν οὐρά της. Καλὰ κι ὁ Ἄριστος ποὺ σκοτώνει τὰ θεριὰ καὶ τὰ βουνὰ γκρεμίζει καὶ ξεριζώνει ῥουπάκια μὲ τὸ κοντάρι του. Μὰ ἕνα δέντρο ἐκεῖ, τοῦ νεροῦ πλάσμα, θρέμμα τοῦ ἄμμου καὶ νὰ κάνει τόσα θάματα! Μπά, ντροπή μας! Ἄκουα τοὺς ἄντρες λεβεντοθρεμμένους καὶ νὰ μιλοῦν γι᾿ αὐτὸ μὲ τόσο ευλάβεια, σὰ νὰ μιλοῦσαν γιὰ τὸ Τρισυπόστατο. Τί διάβολο! Ἐκεῖνοι μία φορὰ ἔβαλαν τὰ στήθη τους γυμνά ἐμπρὸς στὸ κανόνι τοῦ Τούρκου! Πήδηξαν μὲ ἀναμμένο δαυλὶ στὶς μπαρουταποθῆκες του! Εἶδαν τὸ θάνατο κατάματα χίλιες φορές, καὶ δὲν τόλμησαν νὰ ξεριζώσουν ἕνα δεντρί! Δὲν μποροῦσα νὰ τὸ χωνέψω. «Δὲ μοῦ λές, πατέρα» κάνω κάποτε τοῦ γέροντά μου, «τί εἶναι αὐτὸ τὸ γιούσουρι;». «Ξύλο, παιδί μου, σὰν καὶ τ᾿ ἄλλα· θαλασσόξυλο. Ἂν θέλεις νὰ τὸ μάθεις, σύρε νὰ ἰδεῖς τὴν πίπα μου». Πάω μέσα, ἀνοίγω τὸ ἁρμάρι, βρίσκω τὴν πίπα του. Μία πίπα χοντρὴ καὶ μεγάλη μὲ ρόζους σαν αγκάθια, μαύρη κατάμαυρη όπως ο ἔβενος. «Μπά, τοῦτο εἶναι τὸ γιούσουρι; Τὸ κόβουν λοιπόν;». «Τὸ κόβουν, λέει; Ἀφοῦ τό ᾿χεις στὰ χέρια σου! Ἔκοψα πῆχες ὅταν ἤμουν σφουγγαρᾶς». «Γιατί δὲν πᾶς λοιπὸν νὰ κόψεις καὶ τὸ γιούσουρι τοῦ Βόλου;». Πέτρωσε εὐθὺς τὸ χαμόγελο στὰ χείλη του· σοβαρεύτηκε τὸ πρόσωπό του. Γύρισε καὶ μὲ κοίταξε ἀφαιρεμένα, σὰ νὰ ἔλειπε ὁ νοῦς ἀπὸ τὸ κεφάλι του. «Ἄ» εἶπε κινώνταςτο κεφάλι, «τὸ γιούσουρι τοῦ Βόλου δὲν εἶναι τὸ ἴδιο. Πῆγα μία φορὰ κι ἐγώ. Μὰ λίγο ἔλειψε νὰ ἀφήσω δίχως ἄντρα τὴ μάνα σου». «Ἀφοῦ κόβεται…» «Κόβεται, ὅταν εἶναι μικρό. Κάτω στὴ Μπαρμπαριὰ εἶναι δάση ὁλάκερα. Ἐκεῖ ποὺ ψαρεύουν τὸ σφουγγάρι, ἁρπάζουν καὶ κανένα κλαρί. Ἔτσι κλεφτά, στὴν ὥρα ποὺ κοιμᾶται. Ἅμα ὅμως ξυπνήσει, δὲν τὸ κόβει οὔτε ἡ ρομφαία τοῦ Ἀρχάγγελου». «Τὸ γιούσουρι τοῦ Βόλου δὲν κοιμᾶται;» «Κοιμᾶται- μπορεῖ νὰ κάμει δίχως ὕπνο; Μὰ ἐκεῖνο στοιχείωσε πιά! Ζεῖ μὲ τοὺς αἰῶνες- ποιὸς ξέρει ἀπὸ πότε. Νὰ ἰδεῖς τῶν παλαβῶν τὰ κόκαλα πὼς κρέμονται πολυέλαιοι ἀπάνω του!» Καὶ τὸ βλέμμα του έγινε πάλιν αόριστο, κάπως δειλό, στυλώθηκε ἀπάνω σε μία στάμνα ποὺ ἔστεκε σπασμένη στὴν αὐλή· τὸ μέτωπό του σούφρωσε καὶ κέρωσε, λὲς κι ἔβλεπε ασπίδα νὰ προβάλλει ἀπὸ κεῖ. «Ἐσὺ πατέρα, πῶς πῆγες; Μὲ τὴ μηχανή;» ξαναρώτησα. «Ὄχι, μὲ τὴν πέτρα, σὰν τοὺς Καλυμνιῶτες. Ποῦ μηχανὲς στὸ καιρό μας!» «Ἐγώ, σὰ μεγαλώσω, θὰ πάω νὰ τὸ κόψω» εἶπα πεισματικά. Ἐνόμιζα πὼς θὰ ἔλεγε ὄχι· πὼς θὰ φρόντιζε μὲ χίλια δύο νὰ μ᾿ ἐμποδίσει· πὼς θὰ μοῦ διηγόταν ἱστορίες τρόμου και φρίκηςγιὰ νὰ ἀπελπιστῶ. Τίποτα! Μία στιγμὴ μὲ κοίταξε συλλογισμένος ἀπὸ τὰ πόδια ὡς τὴ κορφή, σὰ νὰ μετροῦσε τὸ ἀνάστημά μου· χαμογέλασε. «Καλά· σὰ μεγαλώσεις, νὰ πᾶς» εἶπε μὲ τὴν πρώτη του ἀπάθεια. «Τώρα ποὺ εἶσαι μικρός, σύρε νὰ μάθεις τὴ θάλασσα». Πῆγα κι ἔμαθα τὴ θάλασσα. Ναυτόπουλο ἔγινα, ἔπειτα ναύτης. Εἶδα φουρτοῦνες, χιονιές, ἀγριοκαίρια. Πῆγα καὶ μὲ σφουγγαράδικα στὴ Μπαρμπαριά. Μὰ καὶ ναυτόπουλο καὶ ναύτης καὶ σφουγγαρᾶς, δὲν ξέχασα τὸ στοιχειωμένο γιούσουρι καὶ τὸ λόγο ποὺ ἔδωκα στὸν πατέρα μου. Το εναντίον μαζὶ μὲ τὸ κορμὶ μεγάλωνε καὶ ὁ πόθος μέσα μου, σὰν νὰ τον εἶχα προγονική σπορά στὸ αἷμα μου. Ἐγὼ ἤθελα νὰ κόψω τὸ γιούσουρι, στὴν ἀνάγκη νὰ τὸ ξεριζώσω καὶ νὰ τὸ σύρω πίσω ἀπὸ τὸ καΐκι στὸ νησί μας. Θὰ τὸ ξάπλωνα στὴν ἀμμουδιὰ θρασίμι καὶ θὰ ἔβανα διαλαλητὴ νὰ διαλαλήσει σὲ ὅλη τὴ χώρα: «Ἐβγᾶτε, χωριανοί, νὰ ἰδεῖτε τὸ μέγα θαῦμα! Τὸ στοιχειὸ τῆς θάλασσας νικήθηκε ἀπὸ τοῦ νησιοῦ μας τὸ στοιχειό, τὸν Γιάννο Γκαμάρο! Τρέμουν, τρίζουν τὰ βουνά! Ἐβγᾶτε, χωριανοί, νὰ ἰδεῖτε καὶ νὰ εἰπεῖτε!» Θὰ ἔτρεχε ἀμέσως μελίσσι ὁ λαός· θὰ ἔβλεπαν οἱ θάλασσογεννητοι καὶ θὰ σταυροκοποῦνταν, θὰ ἔβλεπαν οἱ γυναῖκες καὶ θὰ τρόμαζαν τὰ παλικάρια καὶ θὰ ζηλοφθονοῦσαν· οἱ λυγερὲς καὶ θὰ ἔλεγαν: «Νά λεβεντονιὸς γιὰ νὰ γίνει ἄντρας μας!». Δεύτερος ἅϊ-Γιώργης θὰ δοξαζόμουν στὸ νησί. Καὶ ἕνας τρόμος μυστικός, μία λαχτάρα βασάνιζε κάθε τόσο τὴν ψυχή μου, μὴν προλάβει ἄλλος καὶ ἁρπάξει τὴ δάφνη μου. Γυρεύεις τί γίνεται; Ἀλλὰ πάλι ἡσύχαζα μὲ τὴν ἰδέα πὼς ἄλλος ἀξιότερός μου δὲν ἦταν δυνατὸν νὰ γεννηθεῖ. Καὶ ἀκόμη πίστεψα πὼς τὸ δεντρὶ ἐκεῖνο δὲν καθόταν τόσους αἰῶνες ἐκεῖ στὸν ἀνήλιαστο θρόνο του, παρὰ γιὰ νὰ γένει μία μέρα άθλο δικό μου και έπαινος. Κι ἔτσι ἔκλεισα τὰ εἴκοσι χρόνιά μου. Ψάρευα τὸ σφουγγάρι μὲ τὴ μηχανὴ τοῦ καπετὰν-Στραπάτσου στὴν Ἔγριπο. Δῶσε ἀπάνω, δῶσε κάτω, φτάσαμε καὶ στὸν κόρφο τοῦ Βόλου. Ἅρπαξα την περίσταση. «Τί λές, καπετάνιε; Κάνουμε τὴν ἀπόπειρα;» «Ποιά;» «Πᾶμε νὰ κόψουμε τὸ γιούσουρι;» Γέλασε ὁ καπετὰν-Στραπάτσος· γέλασαν καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι· γέλασα τέλος καὶ ἐγώ. Δὲν τολμοῦσα νὰ κάνω τὸ σοβαρό. «Ῥέ, τί λές;» μοῦ κάνει, «εἶσαι στὰ συγκαλά σου ἢ νὰ στείλω γιὰ τὸν παπᾶ; Ἀμή, πῆγαν τόσοι καὶ τόσοι καὶ δὲν ἔκαμαν τίποτα, καὶ θὰ κάμουμε ἐμεῖς;» «Γιατί ὄχι; Εἴμαστ᾿ ἀδέξιοι ἐμεῖς; Ἔπειτα, ἄκου νὰ σοῦ εἰπῶ: ἐκεῖνοι πῆγαν μὲ τὴν πέτρα. Μία βουτιὰ κι ἀπάνου. Τί θὲς νὰ κάμουν μὲ μία βουτιά;» «Μωρέ, κοίτα νὰ βγάλουμε τὸ καρβέλι καὶ ἄφησε τὰ ὄνειρα!» μοῦ λέει τέλος ὁ καπετάνιος. Δὲν ἀπελπίστηκα. «Θὰ τὸν καταφέρω στὸ ὕστερο» σκέφτηκα. Καὶ ἀλήθεια, ἔδωκα, πῆρα, τὸν κατάφερα μία Κυριακὴ ποὺ δὲν ψαρεύαμε. «Τί λές, πᾶμε;» τοῦ κάνω. «Μωρέ, ποῦ νὰ πᾶμε;» «Γιὰ τὸ γιούσουρι!» «Καὶ ποιὸς θὰ βουτήξει;» «Ἐγὼ βουτάω! Γι᾿ αὐτὸ ρωτᾶς;» Πήγαμε τέλος. Κοιτάζω μὲ τὸ γυαλὶ στὸν πάτο, πουθενὰ γιούσουρι. Φέρνω μία βόλτα, δύο, τρεῖς· τίποτα! Ἄρχισε να με πιάνει απελπισία. Μία ἀπελπισία παράξενη. Τόσα χρόνια τὸ ἀνάσταινα στὴ φαντασία μου, τὸ ἔβλεπα γιγαντωμένο εμπρός μου, πάλευα μαζί του, εθριάμβευα, καὶ τώρα νὰ βγαίνουν ὅλα ψέματα! Δὲν μποροῦσα νὰ τὸ ὑποφέρω. Κάπου ἔπρεπε νὰ ὑπάρχει, κάπου νὰ τὸ συναντήσω, θὲς κάτω στοὺς βυθούς, θὲς πέρα στὸ ἀκρογιάλι, θὲς πάνω στὰ σύγνεφα! Νὰ τὸ συναντήσω, νὰ μετρηθῶ μαζί του, κι ἂς μὲ καταλύσει. Ἂς κρεμαστοῦν καὶ τὰ δικά μου κόκαλα, τρόπαιο θλιβερό, ἀπάνω του, ὅπως καὶ τῶν ἄλλων παλαβῶν. Ὄχι ὅμως νὰ μὴν τὸ γνωρίσω ποτὲ στὴ ζωή μου! Τότε γιατί ἔζησα τόσον καιρό, γιατί ἔγινα εἰκοσάχρονος, γιατί ἔμαθα τὴ θάλασσα, γιατί ἀνασκάλισα τοὺς βυθούς; Μονάχα γιὰ τὸ καρβέλι; «Τραβᾶτε γιὰ τὸ λιμάνι· τραβᾶτε νὰ πιοῦμε καὶ καμιὰ» εἶπε ὁ καπετάνιος βαριεστημένος. «Οἱ γερόντοι λένε κάποτε παραμύθια». Κρύος ἱδρώτας μὲ πῆρε. Ἄρχισαν νὰ θολώνουν τὰ μάτια μου. «Στὸ Θεό σου, καπετάνιε» τοῦ λέω, «ἔχε ὑπομονή!» νὰ φέρουμε μία βόλτα πάλι.» Οὔτε κεῖνος ὅμως, οὔτε οἱ λαμνοκόποι μὲ ἄκουαν. Τὸ καΐκι γύρισε κι ἔφυγε γιὰ τὸ λιμάνι, βαριεστημένο καὶ κεῖνο. Ἐγώ, κρεμασμένος στὴ κουπαστή, δὲν ἔπαυα νὰ κοιτάζω ζερβόδεξα μὲ καρδιοχτύπι μεγάλο, σὰ νὰ ζητοῦσα τῆς μάνας μου τὰ κόκαλα. Μάταια ὅμως! Τὸ νερὸ πρασινογάλαζος αιθέρας ἔφτανε ὡς κάτω στὸν πάτο καὶ μοῦ ἔδειχνε ξερὰ τὰ φύκια· ὄχτους ἐδῶ ἀπόκρημνους, ἐκεῖ ἀμμόστρωτες ἁπλωσιὲς σουφρωμένες, ζεστές, κρεβάτια γιὰ τὶς νεράιδες μαλακὰ κι ἀπάρθενα. Τὸ γιούσουρι ὅμως ὄχι· κανένα σημάδι γιὰ τ᾿ ὀνειρεμένο μου δεντρί. Ἔλεγα ν᾿ ἀφήσω τὸ γυαλὶ καὶ νὰ ξαπλωθῶ στὸ κατάστρωμα. Ἀλλὰ τὴν ἴδια στιγμὴ θολὸ σύγνεφο ἰσκίωσε μπροστά μου, πίσω ἔμεινε σὰ νὰ διάβηκε φάλαινα. «Στόπ!» φωνάζω· «σταθεῖτε»! Στάθηκε τὸ καΐκι, γύρισε πίσω στὰ νερά του καὶ εἴδαμε ὅλοι σὰν χιλιόχρονη βελανιδιὰ νὰ κάθεται στὸν πάγκο. Δὲν ἦταν λοιπὸν ψέμα, δὲν ἦταν παραμύθι! Ντύνομαι γοργά, παίρνω τὸ λάζο στὴ ζώνη μου, ἕνα τσεκούρι στὸ χέρι, καὶ βουτῶ κάτω. Μὰ καθὼς σήκωσα τὰ μάτια, σύγκρυο μ᾿ έπιασε. Καλὰ τὸ ἔλεγαν οἱ γέροντές μας. Τί ὁ διπίθαμος Ἀράπης! Τί Γοργόνα καὶ τί Ἄριστος! Τοῦτο εἶναι τὸ θάμασμα! Οἱ ρίζες του μελαψές, λεπιδοντυμένες, έσφιγγαν Βριάρεως χέρια το μάρμαρο, ἔμπαιναν στὶς σχισμές, εβύζαιναν τους μαστούς, ἀγκάλιαζαν τ᾿ ἀγκωνάρια, γάντζωναν τὶς ποδιές του, ἕνα σῶμα θαρρεῖς καὶ μία δύναμη. Ἀπάνω ὀρθοκάθεδρος ὁ κορμός, ἀρκουδοντυμένος, μὲ ῥόζους ἐδῶ κι ἐκεῖ κλειστοὺς στὸ πολυτρίχι μέσα, ὀργιὲς ψήλωνεμε προαιώνιο θράσος και έπαρσι. Καὶ ἀπὸ κεῖ κλαδιὰ καὶ ἀντικλάδια, πολύκαμπτα, μυριόριζα, καμαρωτὰ κι ὁλόισια ἔφευγαν πέρα δώθε, ψηλὰ καὶ χαμηλά, λὲς κι ἔπασχαν ν᾿ ἀποκλείσουν ὅλον τὸν πλατύχωρο κόρφο μὲ τὸ δίχτυ τους. Ὁλόγυρα τὸ νερὸ διάφανο, ακίνητα σὰν γυάλα τὸ σκέπαζε καὶ τὸ ἔλουζε, τροφός μαζὶ καὶ ταίρι, ἀνάσα καὶ κλίνη του. Καὶ κάτω ἀπὸ τὸ μαρμαρένιο βάθρο σκοτεινὴ ἔχασκε ἡ ἄβυσσο, κρύα καὶ ἄπατη σαν κάποιος κύκλος μαγικός αλύτων μυστηρίων και σιγής ατάραχης. Ἧβρα τὸ δέντρο στὸν ὕπνο του. Μὰ καὶ στὸν ξύπνο νὰ τὸ ἤβρισκα, τὸ ἴδιο ἔκανε. Ἂν ἦταν ν᾿ ἁρπάξω ἕνα κλαδὶ καὶ νὰ βγῶ ἀπάνω, καλά. Μὰ ἐγὼ ἤθελα νὰ τὸ κόψω σύρριζα. Γιὰ τοῦτο κατέβηκα ἐκεῖ. Ἔκαμα τὸ σταυρό μου, ξάμωσα τὸ τσεκούρι καὶ γκόπ! τοῦ κατάφερα τὴν πρώτη. Ξύπνησε ὁ Ὄφης. Καὶ ἀρχίζει ἀμέσως ἕνας σίφουνας, ἕνας χτύπος, ἕνα κακό, λὲς καὶ χύθηκαν ὅλα τὰ ρέματα ἀπάνω μου. Τὸ στεκάμενο νερὸ χόχλασε, δάρθηκε κλωθογύριστα, σκότος πήδηξε ἀπὸ τὴν ἄβυσσο κι ἔχασα ὅλα τὰ πάντα. Ἔκατσα χαμηλά, ἁρπάχτηκα σ᾿ ἕνα ρίζωμα νὰ μὴ μὲ σύρουν. Καὶ εἶδα ἄξαφνα τοὺς ρόζους τοὺς κλειστοὺς νὰ γλαυκοπαίζουν σὰ μάτια ἀράπικα καὶ νὰ χύνεται ἀστρίτης ἡ φλόγα ἀπάνω μου. Καὶ στὰ κλαδιὰ τὰ λευκοπράσινα εἶδα σωρούςνὰ κρέμονται τὰ σκέλεθρα, πομπή καὶ γάνα τῶν παλαβῶν εκείνων ποὺ εστηρίχθηκαν στης φαντασίας την ορμή καιόχι στου νεύρου τη δύναμι και της σάρκας την αλύγιστη επιρροή. Στὸ βρούχημά του ἄκουσα χτύπο ξεχωριστό, έναν κουφό χτύπο. Καὶ δὲν ἦταν ἄλλος παρὰ τὰ κόκκαλα ποὺ δέρνονταν μεταξύ τους καὶ τὰ γυμνὰ ποδάρια λάχτιζαν μὲ πεῖσμα τ᾿ ἄσαρκα μέτωπα, σαν να ελάχτιζαν ίδια τη σκέψη τους, σαν να τους έλεγαν: «Γιατί μᾶς έφερες ἐδῶ;» Ἀπό απάνω μου τσίμπαε ὁ καπετάνιος: «Ἔλα τώρα. Ἔλα, καὶ δὲν θὰ κατορθώσεις τίποτα». Δὲ θὰ κατορθώσω τίποτα! Καὶ ῾γὼ τὸ κατάλαβα. Μὰ καὶ μὲ τί μοῦτρα ν᾿ ἀνεβῶ ἀπάνω; Ποῦ τὸ στοιχειὸ τοῦ νησιοῦ μας πλιά; Ποῦ ὁ ἅϊ-Γιώργης; Ἄ, ὄχι· ἂν δὲν κατέβαινα, καλά· μὰ τώρα, πάει! Μόλις ἔπεσε ὁ σίφουνας, σηκώνω τὸ τσεκούρι καὶ τοῦ καταφέρνω δεύτερη μὲ ὅλη μου τὴ δύναμη. Πέτρα νὰ χτύπαγα, τὸ λιγότερο θὰ ῥάγιζε· ἐκεῖνο τίποτα. Οὔτε σκλήθρα δὲν ἄνοιξε. Ἀντὶ νὰ πάει μέσα τὸ τσεκούρι, ἔφυγε πίσω δύο πιθαμές, τρεῖς, τέσσαρες, σὰ νὰ χτυποῦσα σὲ λάστιχο. Πρέπει νὰ τὸ ξεριζώσω, πικροσυλλογίστηκα. Τσιμπάω ἀπάνω: «Ῥίχτε μου τὸ λοστό». Μοῦ κατεβάζουν τὸ σύνεργο. Ῥίχνω πέρα τὸ τσεκούρι καὶ ἀδράχνω τὸ λοστό. Ἀρχίζω στὶς ῥίζες. Τυραννήθηκα, καὶ ῾γὼ δὲν ξέρω πόσο. Ὧρες ἐρχόταν, ὧρες περνοῦσαν, καὶ ῾γὼ μὲ τὸ λοστὸ στὸ χέρι. Μόνο στεκόμουν κάποτε νὰ πάρω ἀνάσα ἢ καὶ νὰ ῥίξω γύρω καμιὰ ματιά. Μποροῦσε τὸ σκυλόψαρο νὰ ριχτεῖ ἀπάνω μου. Τέλος, τσιμπάω πάλι: «Ῥίχτε μου τὴ γούμενα». «Μωρέ, ἔλα πάνω!» τσιμπάει ὁ καπετάνιος ἀνυπόμονος. «Γιὰ σένα τὴ θὲς τὴ γούμενα; Ἔχουμε καὶ ψιλότερο σκοινί. Ἔλα πάνω· θὰ σοῦ κόψω τὸν ἀέρα!» «Κόβεις τὸν ἀέρα, μὰ σχίζω τὸ λάστιχο» τοῦ ἀπαντῶ θυμωμένα. «Ἢ ξέχασες πῶς ἔχω τὸ λάζο μαζί μου;» Τὰ χρειάστηκε ὁ καπετὰν-Στραπάτσος· μοῦ ἔριξε τὴ γούμενα. Πιάνω ἀπὸ μακριὰ καὶ θηλυκώνω καλὰ τὸν κορμό. Ἔπειτα πηγαίνω στὸ ἄλλο πλευρὸ καὶ ἀρχίζω πάλι μὲ τὸ λοστὸ τὶς ρίζες. Ἐκεῖνο, δῶσ᾿ του καὶ γλαυκόπαιζε τὰ μάτια σὰ νὰ ἤθελε νὰ μὲ μαγνητίσει. Ἐσειόταν καὶ τάραζε σὰν ψάρι· τὰ κλαδιά του, χταποδιοῦ ἁπλοκαμοί, λάγγευαν δῶθε κείθε, κουλουριάζονταν, τίναζαν βέληκαταπάνω μου τ᾿ ἀκροδάχτυλά τους νὰ μὲ συλλάβουν. Μὰ ποῦ νὰ μὲ συλλάβουν! Καὶ ἂν δὲν ἤξερα καθόλου τὰ δολερὰ παιχνίδια του, κι ἂν δὲν εἶχα ἀκούσει τὰ καμώματά του, τὰ σκέλεθρα ποὺ ἔβλεπα σφηνωμένα ψηλὰ ἦταν ἀρκετὰ νὰ μοῦ διδάξουν τὸν κίνδυνο. Σὲ κάθε του ἀνακλάδισμα μαζευόμουν ελάχιστος, στρείδι κολλοῦσα στὰ πλευρὰ τοῦ μάρμαρου. Δεν είχα μόνον σύντροφο τηδύναμι αλλά και τη γνώσι ακέρια. Πόδια, χέρια, μάτια, ὅλα δούλευαν σύγκαιρα. Καὶ ὁ λοστός, ανίκητος, ἁψύς, ξεκόλωνε ἕνα μὲ τὸ ἄλλο τ᾿ ἀντιρίμματα, τὰ ἔβγαζε ἀπὸ τὰ θαλάμια τους, τὰ χώριζε ἀπὸ τὴν πέτρα, ξεφλουδισμένα πολλὲς φορές, κι ἄλλες φορὲς μὲ σκλῆθρες ἀπὸ χάλαρα, μὲ φόρτωμα ἀπὸ κοχύλια,λέγεις και τον εδούλευαν όχι ανθρώπου χέρια παρά ατμομηχανή. Τέλος, κατάλαβα πὼς ἄρχισε νὰ κλονίζεται. Ἔχανε τὸ στήριγμά του. «Ἀπάνω!» τσιμπάω. Μὲ ἀνεβάζουν ἀπάνω. Γδύνομαι γοργά, παίρνω τὴ πρώτη ἀνάσα. Μπρέ! Πῆρε καὶ σούρπωνε. Ἀντίκρι τὸ Πήλιο ψήλωνε βαθυγάλαζο σὰν ἀπὸ λουλάκι. Τὰ χωριά του ἄσπριζαν στὶς πλαγιές, σκόρπια μάρμαρα. Στὸ Βόλο ἄναβαν τὰ φῶτα καὶ ὁ οὐρανός, ὁλοπόρφυρος ἀπὸ τὸ ἡλιοβασίλεμα, ἔβγαζε ἕνα τρεμόφεγγο τ᾿ ἀστέρια του. Μοῦ φάνηκε πὼς ξανάζησα ὅταν εἶδα μπρός μου γνώριμα πρόσωπα. Ξέχασα μία στιγμὴ καὶ τὸ γιούσουρι καὶ τοὺς κόπους μου καὶ τὴ δόξα μου ἀκόμη. «Τί, ἀπόκαμες;» ρωτάει ὁ καπετὰν-Στραπάτσος. «Τώρα θὰ ἰδεῖς!» τοῦ λέω πηδώντας ἀπάνω. «Ἔλα, παιδιά! Τὰ κουπιά σας. Τὸ δέντρο θὰ τὸ σύρουμε στὸ νησὶ ἀπόψε». «Μωρέ, τί λές! Δὲν ἔπαθες τίποτα; Δὲ σ᾿ ἄγγιξε τὸ στοιχειό;» Καὶ ῥίχνονται ὅλοι ἀπάνω μου, μὲ ψηλαφοῦν, σφίγγουν τὰ κρέατά μου, κινοῦν τὰ μπράτσα μου, καὶ ἀκόμη δὲν πιστεύουν πὼς εἶμαι γερός. «Μὰ τραβᾶτε παιδιά, παιδιά!» λέω στενοχωρημένος. «Τὸ δέντρο κόπηκε». Ῥίχνονται στὰ κουπιά, τραβοῦν μὲ δύναμη. Ναί! Ἀντὶ νὰ σύρει μπροστά, πίσω πήγαινε τὸ καΐκι μας. «Μωρέ, μᾶς γελᾶς» λέει ὁ καπετάνιος ἀγαναχτισμένος. «Τί μολογᾶς πῶς ἔκοψες τὸ γιούσουρι;» «Μὰ τὸν Ἅϊ-Νικόλα, τό ῾κοψα» τοῦ κάνω· «τράβα! Τ᾿ ἤθελες, νὰ τ᾿ ἀποκόψω, γιὰ νὰ μὲ πλακώσει ἀπὸ κάτω; Δύο τραβήματα θέλει καὶ θὰ ᾿ρθει μὲ τὶς ρίζες του». Ἀρχίζουμε πάλι τὸ τράβημα. Κάπου μία ὥρα ἔτσι παιδευτήκαμε. Ἄκουες τοὺς σκαρμοὺς κι ἐτριζοβόλουνσαν οξιές ανεμόδαρτες. Πεῖσμα ἔπιασε τοὺς ναῦτες καὶ ἀντρειεύονταν σὰν ξωτικά. Ὁ καπετὰν-Στραπάτσος, ξετρελαμένος ἀπὸ χαρὰ καὶ περηφάνια, ψυχὴ ἔδινε σὲ ὅλους μὲ τὶς παρακινητικές φωνές του: «Ὢ-ὤ! Ὢ-ὤ!... Γειά σας, παλικάρια! Ἴσα, λιοντάρια μου! Ντροπή μας! Μωρέ, ἴσα, τίγρηδες!» Καὶ τὰ παλικάρια, τὰ λιοντάρια, οἱ τίγρηδες, έθαφταν βαθιά τὸ κουπὶ καὶ τὸ ἔπαιρναν πίσω μὲ τόση δύναμη, ποὺ ἔλεγες τώρα θὰ γίνει σύψαλα. Τέλος, βαθὺ μούγκρισμα ἀντήχησε κι ἡ θάλασσα σήκωσε τρανὸ κύμα καταπάνω μας. Τὸ καΐκι πέταξε γοργόφτερο ἐμπρός. Ἀμέσως, μέγα κῆτος φάνηκε νὰ πιάνει ἀπ᾿ ἄκρη σ᾿ ἄκρη τὸν κόρφο. Ἦταν τὸ γιούσουρι. «Νὰ ἰδῶ! Καὶ ῾γὼ νὰ ἰδῶ!» Τρέχουν ὅλοι στὴν πρύμη νὰ γνωρίσουν τὸ στοιχειό. Τὸ βλέπουν καὶ σταυροκοπιοῦνται φοβισμένοι. «Ἐμπρός!» λέω στὸν καπετὰν-Στραπάτσο. «Νὰ τὸ βγάλουμε ὄξω τώρα ποὺ νύχτωσε, πρὶν τὸ νιώσουν καὶ μᾶς τὸ πάρουν οἱ Τοῦρκοι». Μόλις βγήκαμε ἀπὸ τὸν κόρφο, Γοργόνα ὀργισμένη μᾶς ἀπάντησε ἡ νοτιά. Ὁ οὐρανὸς ἔσβησε τ᾿ ἀστέρια του, ἔκρυψε τὰ σύνορά του. Ἅδης τὸ σκότος ἁπλώθηκε ἀπάνω μας. Τὸ κύμα ψήλωνε βουνόαδιάβατο, ἀνέμιζε φωσφορούχους τοὺς ἀφροὺς κι ἔχυνε φῶς κάτασπρο, θαμπὸ καὶ ἄχαρο περίγυρα. Τί ἄλογα καὶ τί ἄτια, τί φώκιες καὶ τί φάλαινες, τι Σειρήνες και τι Μέδουσες κλωθογύριζαν κοπαδιαστά, βρουχιοῦνταν καὶ ἀλάλαζαν με χίλιων λογιών σφυρίγματα, χτύπους, κραυγές, δοντοκοπήματα στὸ σύσκοτο ἐκεῖνο χάοςκαι την ασάφεια! Ν᾿ ἀνησυχῶ ἄρχισα. Ο Ποσειδώνας βέβαια έλειπε κάπου και ταστοιχειά ελεύθερα εβγήκαν εμπρός μου πίσω να πάρουν το λατρευτόδεντρί τους, ίσως στολίδι κ' ίσως αβρός σύντροφος στα παιγνίδιατους. Δὲν ἦταν θάλασσα ἐκείνη· ἦταν θυμὸς καὶ σεῖσμα, κατάρα καὶ χολή, φαρμάκι τῆς ἄβυσσος.Τη δόξα του θνητού επρόβαινε ζηλότυπονα την φιλονεικήση το αθάνατο. Κ' έφερνε συντροφιά όλες τις δυνάμεις της φύσεως, άπιαστες, αόριστες και ανυπόταχτες ακόμα στο αδύνατο πλάσμα. Ὅμως τίποτα. Τὸ γιούσουρι, σφιχτοδεμένο, ἀκολουθοῦσε τὰ ἀπονέρια ποὺ ἔστρωνε ἡ πρύμη τῆς σκάφης μας. Τὸ ἄκουα νὰ δέρνεται κάποτε καὶ νὰ ρουχνίζει, σὰν ζωντανὸ ποὺ παίρνει ἀνήφορο. Ντροπὴ τὸ εἶχε πὼς νικήθη καὶ πάσχιζε μὲ κάθε τρόπο νὰ ἀπαλλαγεῖ. Μὰ ποιὸς τὸ ἄφηνε;Τ' όνειρο της ζωής μου εκατόρθωσα να το κρατώ πράγμα τόρα στα χέρια μου και δεν ταπαρατούσα αν δεν με άφινε πρώτα η ψυχή. Έβλεπα να με ακολουθή ταπεινό το ανυπόταχτο κ'ελάγκευε μέσα η καρδιά μου, θρόνος εγινόταν το σαπιοκάικο και αρματοδρομούσα στα δαφνόφυλλα θριαμβευτής αυτοκράτορας. Μέσα στὸ ἄγριο πέλαγο μία ξεχώριζα ταρναριστὴ φωνή, τὴ φωνὴ τοῦ διαλαλητῆ· ἕνα γνώριζα αἴσθημα, τὸ θάμασμα τῶν γερόντων μας. Ἕνα πόθο, τὴν εὐχὴ τῶν κοριτσιῶν: «Νὰ λεβεντονιὸς γιὰ νὰ γίνει ἄντρας μας!» Μὲ τὸ χάραμα εἶδα κατάπλωρα συγνεφοσκεπασμένο τὸ νησί μας. Τρία μίλια θέλαμε ἀκόμη. Μὰ τρία γερά. Τὰ μπράτσα λύθηκαν ὅλη νύχτα ἐπάνω στὸ κουπί. Τὰ πρόσωπα σούρωσαν· τὰ μάτια θόλωσαν. Ζάρες ἔκαμε τὸ μέτωπο· ἄσπρισαν τὰ κατάμαυρα μαλλιά, σὰ νὰ κύλησαν στογὸς τὰ χρόνια ἐπάνω μας. Ὁ καπετάνιος, ξαπλωμένος τ᾿ ἀνάσκελα στὸν πάγκο, ἔμοιαζε πτῶμα. Οἱ άλλοι λαμνοκόποι, σκυθρωποί κι ἀμίλητοι κινοῦσαν ῥάθυμα τὰ κουπιά, σὰν μηχανὲς ποὺ κάνουν ἀναίσθητα τὸ ἔργο τους. Μόνος ἐγὼ ἐξακολουθοῦσα νὰ λάμνω σωστά. Ἦρθε μάλιστα πολλὲς φορὲς ποὺ τοὺς πῆρα. Μὰ τί νὰ κάμω καὶ ῾γώ; Περισσότερος ἦταν ὁ πόθος παρὰ ἡ δύναμή μου. Τὸ κύμα ἐπίμενε νὰ ψηλώνει ἀκόμα, νὰ λιχνίζει καὶ νὰ μᾶς βρέχει καὶ νὰ μᾶς κλυδωνίζει επίφοβα. Τέλος, ῥόδισε ἡ ἀνατολή, έφεξε ὁ ἥλιος, διώκτης αμείλιχτος των μυστικών της φύσεως και των ονείρων του ανθρώπου. Φάνηκαν βουρκωμένες οἱ στεριές, θολὸ τὸ πέλαγο, φιλόξενο τὸ νησί μας ἀντίκρι. «Ἄλα, παιδιά, καὶ φτάσαμε!» φώναξα. Καὶ πηδῶ στὴν πλώρη ν᾿ ἀγναντέψω καλὰ τὸ λιμάνι, νὰ ἰδῶ τὴν ἀμμουδιὰ που θα δεχθή ακλόνητο βάθρο το λαμπρό μου κατόρθωμα.Τὸ καΐκι πέταξε μέσα, δυὸ χάλαρα πήδηξε, ἄραξε ἀπάνω στὸν ἄμμο. Τρέχω στὴν πρύμη καὶ ἀδειάζω τὴ γούμενα. Ὠιμέ το πλάνο τ' όνειρο! Σχοινὶ κομματιασμένο κρατῶ μόνο στὰ χέρια μου! Πώς έφυγε το άθλο μου· τί ἔγινε τὸ ἄκαρπο δεντρί; Κάτω βρίσκεται, στὸν κόρφο τοῦ Βόλου, ἀπάνω στὸ θεόχτιστο πάγκο του, μὲ τὶς λεπιδωτὲς ρίζες, ἀρκουδοντυμένο τὸν κορμό, κλαδιὰ καὶ παρακλάδια του πέρα δῶθε, λὲς καὶ πάσχει νὰ κλείσει ὅλα στὸ δίχτυ του. Ἀκόμη τὸ παραδίνουν γενιὰ σὲ γενιὰ οἱ ναῦτες καὶ πάει ἀπὸ πατέρα σὲ παιδί, ἀπὸ παιδὶ σ᾿ ἐγγόνι, πάντα μεγάλο, θαμαστὸ πάντα, σκληρὸ σὰν σίδερο, δυνατὸ σὰν λέοντας, ψυχωμένο καὶ ἀθάνατο σὰν στοιχειό. Καὶ ῾γώ, ὁ Γιάννος ὁ Γκάμαρος, νέος ϊ-Γιώργης τοῦ νησιοῦ, ἑβδομηντάρης κι ἑτοιμόρροπος τώρα, δὲ θαλασσοδέρνομαι παρὰ γιὰ τὸ καρβέλι!
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