Weird Tales/Volume 11/Issue 2/The Purple Sea
"She was weaving a golden thread of ecstacy from which there was no escape."
LEE GOONA lay upon the coral beach like a lifeless thing. His clothes were dripping with water and there were bits of seaweed clinging to his face. Every time a wave boomed up on the beach it broke in foam over his prostrate body, laving his face as though it were an elixir of life fighting to bring him back to consciousness. Again and again the water surged about him, toilsomely, endlessly. Utter solitude reigned. Not a sound broke the stillness except the booming of the waves.
Finally he opened his eyes. Everything swam giddily before his gaze. The universe was whirling round and round. To shut out the chaotic blur he closed his eyes again and rested. He clawed at the wet beach, reaching for life from the breast of the earth. For a few minutes he remained thus. Then slowly once more he gazed about him. Now the dizziness had lessened somewhat. He was able to make out objects dimly. Beyond him, beyond the rim of coral beach, stretched a fringe of palm-trees, the fronds of which stood out eerily against the sky. The whole sky was yellow, a pungent golden yellow, as though the sun had been a liquid globe that had suddenly burst, flooding everything in glistening splendor. Then he looked off toward the sea. Never had he beheld anything so fantastically beautiful. It was purple, as purple as the robes of kings. The foaming waves were as white as a trimming of ermine.
He had not the slightest idea where he was. His head was throbbing as though a dynamo were whirring within it. Something had happened, something terrible, something frightful, but what it was his poor brain could not recollect.
Again the soft breakers foamed over him. They felt delightfully cool against his poor, tired body. Off on the far horizon he could dimly make out a ship, a yellow ship with all sails set against the yellow sky, riding slowly upon the swell of the purple sea. The sails glistened as though they were of gold, like gold clouds piled up against the yellow sky. It was very unnatural, but then even the sea was unnatural, and also the fringe of palm-trees beyond him.
He rose weakly to his feet and waved his arms. Perhaps the ship would send out a small boat to rescue him. And then he commenced to meditate. To save him from what, and for what? Was he on an island or on a part of the mainland of Asia? His head began to throb again. It was burning, as though his mind were on fire. Still the ship sailed onward in the distance, a ghost-ship, a phantom-ship, a ship of imagery and dreams.
He felt as though he were standing on the edge of things. He knew not which way to turn. Before him might yawn a frightful abyss. His predicament was similar to that of a man who has been flung off the earth onto a new planet. Of course his thoughts were wild, for he was on the verge of delirium. Had he been in a shipwreck? His past was blotted out utterly as though it had been drowned in the purple sea.
As he stood there an insane desire took possession of him to get out to that golden ship. He waved his hands. He cried and screamed and moaned. The tears streamed down his face. He babbled incoherently. He craved companionship. He was as frantic as a helpless child, a child ruthlessly torn from its mother’s arms. He drooled at the mouth and prattled foolishly. Then he plunged into the purple sea. He would try to swim out to the golden ship. But the sea was gentle. He was seized in the soft arms of the waves and carried up onto the beach again. Time after time he fought his way into the water only to be washed back upon the beach.
At last he grew more calm. Some semblance of peace crept over him. With a sigh of weariness he threw himself at full length upon the sand. Now the purple of the sea was less vivid. It verged toward a bluish tone. The yellow haze of the sky grew more subdued. The glare lessened. But still the ship of the golden sails stood out upon the horizon like a lovely golden bird.
Lee Goona resigned himself to his fate. He was lost. Perhaps he was on an island without food or companionship. He was helpless. He fought to keep his nerves from again slipping beyond control. He decided that he would explore the country around him, but before doing so he would remain on the beach until the golden ship had faded from sight. It was too bad that he was unable to signal her, but he did not even have a match to light a fire even if he had had wood whereof to build it.
And then suddenly as he gazed off toward the far horizon he gave a start. The golden ship had veered in her course. He rubbed his eyes. Surely his vision was false! But no. The golden ship was sailing directly toward him. Of course it was still a great way out. Even now he might only be imagining that she was sailing toward the coral beach.
For a few minutes he gazed at the ship, spellbound. A great joy was rising within him. He tried to stifle it down, fearing it might only end in disappointment. If the ship changed her course now, his reason would snap. It would be frightful to have his hopes aroused only to be flung back into a bottomless abyss of despair.
Gradually as he watched the oncoming ship he realized that there could be no more doubt of the fact that he would soon be rescued. He felt like shouting for sheer delight. Not even for a complete day had he remained on the island. He assumed that it was a coral island because of the formation of the beach. Now the ship was close enough to launch a small boat. A half-dozen sailors climbed over the side. At once they bent to their oars. The small boat swept toward him rapidly. In a few moments it had been beached.
Lee goona gazed at the occupants of the boat. They were all ugly, as ugly as it seemed possible for human men to be. There was a suggestion of the Asiatic about their faces, the high cheek-bones and the flat noses. But they were not Chinese. They suggested a mongrel admixture. One was black. They looked extremely ferocious, but Lee Goona did not mind. They were there to rescue him; nothing else mattered. Without a word he climbed into the small boat and soon he was being rowed out toward the golden ship.
The sails gleamed more dazzlingly than ever as they neared it. Lee Goona grasped the rope ladder as the small boat came abreast and at once clambered up to the deck. The ship was far less inviting when he found himself on board. It was true that the sails still gleamed golden, but the ship and the deck itself were painted a dismal black, as though they had been painted with tar or road oil. Still he was on board, and that was much. He did not expect a private yacht.
As Lee Goona surveyed his surroundings the captain came ambling toward him. He was a great giant of a man. His face was not ugly, but strong. His square jaw betokened an indomitable will. His eyes were shaded by eyebrows bushy and black. They perhaps emphasized the piercing blackness of his eyes. He looked like a god of the mountains, as powerful as an Atlas or a Jupiter.
"Well, now you are here," he said, "are you satisfied?" He laughed shortly, harshly, as he spoke—a laugh that was at strange variance to the rich, full, pleasant tone of his voice.
"I am more than satisfied," replied Lee Goona emphatically. "On that island I scarcely knew what was in store for me."
The captain smiled. "And do you know now?" he asked.
"No," admitted Lee Goona, "but at least I am among human beings."
"Do not use that term too carelessly," advised the captain. "In these wondrous days of advancement, of education and civilization, it is doubtful if anyone is really human. The recent war proved that. However, what matter? I am glad that you appreciate being on this ship. I hope your attitude lasts."
Lee Goona was rather fastidious in his eating, and the sight revolted him. He was a devotee of cleanliness and there were times when the filth and insect life on the ship made him regret that he had left the coral beach. Starvation would be preferable to this beastlike existence.
And yet the captain interested him. His name was Jimber Jawn, and when the spirit moved him he could relate stories, legends and adventures in a magical manner.
Sometimes he stood for hours against the rail discussing things in the most affable manner. Other times there were when his face was black and somber and Lee Goona was afraid to address him.
"It is interesting to have someone to talk to who has at least a glimmering of intelligence," declared Jimber Jawn. "The rest of the animals on board can not visualize anything above gluttony."
Just when a great fear commenced to grip Lee Goona it was hard to say. Perhaps it was the logical result of endless days at sea in that reeking black hulk with the gorgeous golden sails. Or perhaps it was the fetid air, the crawling things and the frightful wrangling that forever polluted the forecastle. Whatever the cause, fear gripped him. Sometimes in the depth of the night he sprang up in his bunk, wide-eyed, terrified, shaking from head to foot. Some uncanny thing had stirred his slumbers. Had he heard a scream? Or was it merely the dreams of his subconscious mind? For hours he would lie afraid to close his eyes, and yet there was nothing more loathsome about the forecastle than there was on any other night.
Never while on board was he given any work to do. He helped at times at various tasks, but these were purely voluntary. Jimber Jawn talked with him a great deal. It could not be said that they became friends, because there was an aloofness about the captain that was hard to explain.
One night Jimber Jawn came to him in great excitement. "Quick," he directed, "follow me if you value your life." As he spoke he walked across the deck and lifted one of the steel hatches that led to the yawning blackness of the hold. "Climb down the rope ladder," continued Jimber Jawn hurriedly.
The tone of his voice was such that Lee Goona could not have dared to argue with him. He was well aware of the surging fury that lay hidden in the stalwart body of Jimber Jawn. Once one of the ugliest of the mongrel crew had crossed the captain; for one brief instant Jimber Jawn had stared at the cringing sailor; the next moment his great arm shot out. Lee Goona could never forget the cold thud of that blow, the sound of breaking bones, the low groan of the poor victim as he crashed to the deck. What had happened afterward he dreaded to ponder over. Such violence in a blow seemed unbelievable. It was not the blow of a human being but of some frightful, steel-like Frankenstein. Less than an hour later Jimber Jawn had talked to him delightfully of the comparative difference between Chinese and Japanese poetry.
Now, as Lee Goona was ordered down into the hold, he did as he was told. Jimber Jawn's tone, despite his evident excitement, was affable; but calm too is the air immediately preceding a typhoon. He was far from being a coward, but for the life of him he could not have protested against going.
The hold of the ship was as black and hot as the crater of a volcano. There was not the faintest crack of light. It was as awesomely black as the extreme of the ocean's depths. The rats scampered about him screeching and howling. They drowned the sounds of the happenings on deck. Once a great slimy rat scampered across his hand, leaving a streak of nauseating dampness upon it. He had been crouching on the floor, but at the touch of the dank skin he sprang to his feet with a startled cry.
All that day a storm had been brewing, and now it struck. Pandemonium raged upon the deck. In the blackness, Lee Goona wondered what evil deeds were being done. Was he aboard a pirate ship? An opium smuggler? Or was she engaged in slave-traffic? He did not know. Surmise as he would, he had no way of telling. The ship was groaning and moaning. Her beams were cracking under the pressure of the mighty waves. She rolled about at such a pitch that Lee Goona had trouble in keeping his feet. At last she rolled more ominously than ever, and he crashed to the floor, striking his head as he fell.
For a while he lay stunned. The rats screeched and screamed. They came and ran over his body in hordes. It was the patter of their cold, damp feet over his face that brought him to his senses. With a shriek which the roar of the wind drowned, he sprang to his feet, striking out blindly at the loathsome animals. In the darkness he crushed some beneath his feet. He was in a frenzy of loathing. His very flesh seemed to creep away from his bones. His head ached dully. No matter how hard he tried, he could not make out a angle thing in that well of blackness. The fetid air was frightful. He gasped for breath. Hotter and hotter it seemed to grow. To a great extent the increase in intensity of the heat was attributable to his nerves. He was on the verge of fever. If the heat continued it would burn him alive.
When all hope had died within him, the moaning and groaning of the ship ceased. Evidently the storm had passed, or at least lessened considerably. It was a relief to be able to keep his feet. At last there came a draft of fresh air. The hatch had been opened. The next moment Jimber Jawn appeared at the top of the rope ladder. He held a lantern far above his head.
"Come on up!" he cried, and his voice was as friendly as Lee Goona had ever heard it.
It was some time before Lee Goona's eyes could get used to the light on deck. For now the storm had passed completely and a pale yellow moon hung low in the sky. It lighted up the deck as though dawn had already broken. It created a street of golden light on the purple sea that stretched off to imagined isles of romance. It was a moment of superb beauty. The golden sails were set. They stood out clear-cut against the soft blue of the sky. He was surprized that the sails had not been lowered. Surely the ship had not ridden under full sail through that terrific storm! It was unnatural. But then the ship itself was unnatural, as unnatural as the purple tint of the sea.
He turned from the beauty of the moon to the stark black deck. In the moonlight, pools of what appeared to be blood glistened. Near by a human monstrosity stood and glared at him. The man's face was disfigured as though he had been mauled, and blood dripped from his lips. Another sailor near by had blood about his lips also; and as Lee Goona gazed upon him he extended a tongue that might have been that of a wolf, and licked the blood from his face. The act was bestial, for he seemed to lap up the blood with relish. Lee Goona had an uncomfortable feeling that the blood-stains had not been caused by the man’s own wounds.
Beyond him several musicians were playing softly on mandolins. They were crooning sweet melodies, songs of love and enchantment. As Lee Goona turned, he beheld a gorgeous golden girl, a China girl of surpassing beauty, dressed in a single garment of sheer silk that was drawn tightly about her. It, too, was golden, and it emphasized the glorious perfection of her slender body. Jimber Jawn stood over her. He was breathing heavily.
"Dance!" Jimber Jawn cried tensely. "Dance!"
Lee Goona walked over and squatted down on the deck beside Jimber Jawn. Here was drama—gorgeous, romantic drama fit for kings.
The slender girl gazed about her in bewilderment as though in that rabid throng she sought one face that held a ray of hope for her. And it so happened that her eyes met those of Lee Goona and stayed for a fractional minute. His expression had not changed, but a message had been flashed between them. Call it telepathy or what you will, it was enough. A bit of the strained expression left her face. She even smiled slightly, a smile that was all for Lee Goona, showing teeth more even and white than Ceylonese pearls.
And then she danced, danced as no girl ever danced before. Her gorgeous, golden, glowing body swayed in the breeze like a young elm. A suggestion of sandalwood sweetened the air. She was wooing Lee Goona through her dancing. She was weaving a golden web of ecstasy about him from which there was no escape. Through her dancing she was imploring him to save her.
No artist ever painted a picture more wondrous, more vivid than that black ship with the golden sails against the deep blue sky. The sheen of the orange moon upon the purple sea made a fantasy of it. And above all in perfection and glory that perfect golden girl, dancing. Every line of her slender figure was poetry more rare than the verses of Tai-Ta-mien.
Some time later Lee Goona sat in the stem of the ship. Absolute quietude reigned on board, unbroken save by the soft swish of the water against the sides of the ship and the occasional sighing of the wind against the sails. The moon was very low in the west. It was dipping into the sea beyond the far horizon. Only half of it still showed. It arched like a golden-orange doorway that led to realms of witchery. His head throbbed. His brow was flaming. If only he could plunge into the cool soft stillness of the purple sea! What mattered that oblivion might follow? He would be willing to be sucked down to the ocean's depths by death if only for the joy of floundering for a moment in the clear, cool water. He had to exert every effort not to slip overboard. That night romance had wrapped itself about his soul. It was a night of perfume, of hushed music and rare love. He could not bear the thought of going down into that foul, reeking cabin, putrid with vermin and beasts of men. He wished to remain on deck to dream. Who was this gorgeous, golden girl who had so suddenly appeared upon the ship? He remembered that he had been locked in the hold for hours. When he climbed back on deck there had been pools of blood about, and there had been blood, too, about the mouths of many of the seamen. Evidently there had been a fight, a fight for possession of that glorious golden girl. One glance at her had kindled the blood in Lee Goona like old wine. Naught remained to him now but to rescue that girl, to carry her off to some jewel-like coral isle where he could spend his days in poetry and his nights watching her dance in the moonlight upon the coral beach. His thoughts were wild and mad, though no madder than life itself had grown to be. Nothing real existed any longer. All was fantasy and wraiths. Ghosts are only the dreams that men have had.
Lee Goona glanced up quickly as there came a soft step on the deck beside him. He rose to his feet and stared in rapture at the lovely golden girl. At last she had come to him. Nothing must ever separate them now. To him she was the sun and the stars. She was the light of his life, the dream-girl that destiny had sent into his arms.
As he drew her to him, her fragrant hair brushed his cheek. There was music in the touch. In that moment he found the answer to the reason for existence over which he had pondered all his life. He kissed her warm lips, and the very breeze paused as he did so. It was the divine moment when their souls reached out to grasp each other. It was more than physical desire. There was something deeply spiritual about it.
Suddenly as they stood thus the girl uttered a frightened cry. She sprang away from him as Jimber Jawn reached their side. His face was working convulsively. The muscles stood out in knots on his bared arms. Lee Goona had no time to defend himself. He was caught unmercifully in those crushing arms and lifted high in the air as though his weight had been infinitesimal. For one brief instant Jimber Jawn paused, undecided whether to crash him to the deck and crush him beneath his heel as he might a viper. Lee Goona's fate hung by a thread. Then came the decision. Jimber Jawn flung him far over the rail into the purple sea. The waters closed above his head, delightfully cool. It was the sensation for which he had yearned. It was calm, restful. He felt like closing his eyes in immortal sleep.
Meanwhile the golden girl had climbed to the ship's rail. Even as Jimber Jawn reached for her she leaped into the sea, uttering a cry of grim delight, of deliverance. Lee Goona beheld her slim body strike the water. It aroused him from his lethargy. It brought him to a realization of their dire predicament. He was awake at last. He started to swim toward the golden girl.
But she was in no danger. She was swimming with the sure strokes of one used to the water from infancy. In the distance a fringe of palm-trees could be faintly discerned in the moonlight. Together they set off for the distant shore. Whatever the future might hold for them, they would not return to the black ship of the golden sails. Better to risk death in the purple sea than to face death at the hands of Jimber Jawn. Lee Goona knew that his life would be the penalty if he ever encountered the irate captain again.
For the next half-hour they cut through the water like fish. The moon had dipped from view and the stars seemed doubly bright, like lovely lanterns of the approaching dawn. Despite all that he could do, Lee Goona felt unconsciousness creeping over him. Whether it was sleep or the result of shocked nerves he neither knew nor cared. Either spelled death. Unless he could keep his eyes from closing, all hope was gone. Yet his eyes continued to close. He bit his lips till the blood came, so that the pain might keep him awake. But it was useless. Slowly, persistently, sleep crept over him. Finally he lost consciousness. The waters of the purple sea closed softly over his head. And all was blackness, as black as the putrid hold of the ship of the golden sails.
When Lee Goona opened his eyes he lay on a coral beach. Beyond him stretched a fringe of palm-trees whose fronds stood out in strong silhouette against the yellow, golden haze of the sky. Before him lay the purple sea, white breakers booming softly upon the coral sand.
He rose to a sitting posture and rubbed his eyes. Gradually the truth dawned upon him. For hours or maybe days he had lain delirious upon the beach. The ship of the golden sails, Jimber Jawn, the lovely girl, all were but figments of his imagination, of his delirium. None of them existed. It was devastating to realize that he had fallen in love with an exquisite girl who existed only in his delirium. His life was ruined. He had returned to reality. Reality was a curse. His head still throbbed as though someone were playing a steady tattoo upon it. Bit by bit memory returned to him, fragmentary but credible. He was Lee Goona, a tea-merchant with offices in Canton, Tokio and in several of the islands lying near Formosa. He had been returning to Canton from his island stations when a terrific typhoon had seized the ship, tossed it about as though it had been a cork, and finally crushed it against a rock-reef as though it had been paper. What followed after that he could not remember. Evidently he had been washed by the waves upon this coral beach. And it was at this point that his delirium commenced. He had never beheld a ship with golden sails standing out like a bird against the yellow sky. All the ensuing imagery had been purely fantasies surging through his distorted mind. They did not exist, but they had played havoc with his life. He was in love with a beautiful dream. His head still throbbed. If it would only burst and put an end to that existence which had become a curse! The sight of the purple sea under the yellow sky was nauseous to him.
In despair he turned toward the fringe of palms. As he did so he beheld a figure coming toward him, the figure of his gorgeous golden girl. She waved her hand to him and she was smiling. What it meant, he could not tell. Had the thread of his reason snapped again? For now the fantasy had become the real. He could not explain it, nor did he try, for the wondrous girl was nestling in his arms and he was kissing lips more fragrant than wild cherries.
"We are saved," she whispered softly. "There is a friendly settlement of pearl divers on the other side of the island, and once a week a trading-schooner stops there en route to old Canton.
