a line with one’s finger through its two lowest stars and followed its trajectory across the heavens, one would reach Aquila, the Eagle; while if one drew a line through its uppermost stars, one would reach Pegasus, Bellerophon’s flying stallion; and if one drew a line in the opposite direction, one would reach what appeared to be a brand-new star—a sun that may have flared out a thousand years ago, but the light of which had just reached the Northern Hemisphere in order to provide guidance to weary travelers, sojourners, and adventurers for another millennia to come. . . .
“What are you doing?”
Anna rolled back toward the Count.
“I think you have a new freckle,” he said.
“What!”
Anna tried to look over her own shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he assured. “It’s nice.”
“Where is it?”
“A few degrees east of Delphinus.”
“Delphinus?”
“You know. The constellation of the dolphin. You have it between your shoulder blades.”
“How many freckles do I have?”
“How many stars are in the sky . . . ?”
“Good God.”
Anna rolled flat on her back.
The Count lit a cigarette and took a puff.
“Don’t you know the story of Delphinus?” he asked, handing her the cigarette.
“Why would I know the story of Delphinus?” she replied with a sigh.
“As a fisherman’s daughter.”
. . .
“Why don’t you tell it to me.”
“All right. There was a wealthy poet named Arion. A great player of the lyre and the inventor of the dithyramb.”
“The dithyramb?”
“An ancient type of verse. Anyway, one day he was returning from the island of Sicily when his crew decided to relieve him of his fortune. Specifically, they gave him the option of killing himself or being thrown into the sea. As Arion weighed these unattractive alternatives, he sang a sorrowful song; and so beautiful was his singing, that a pod of dolphins gathered around the ship; and when he finally leapt into the sea, one of the dolphins carried him safely to shore. As a reward, Apollo placed this charitable creature among the stars to shine for all eternity.”
“That’s lovely.”
The Count nodded, retrieving the cigarette from Anna and rolling on his back.
“It’s your turn,” he said.
“My turn for what?”
“To tell a tale of the sea.”
“I don’t know any tales of the sea.”
“Oh, come now. Your father must have told you one or two. There isn’t a fisherman in Christendom who doesn’t tell tales of the sea.”
. . .
“Sasha, I have a bit of a confession. . . .”
“A confession?”
“I wasn’t raised on the Black Sea.”
“But what about your father? And meeting him at dusk by the shore to mend his nets?”
“My father was a peasant from Poltava.”
. . .
“But why would you fabricate such a ridiculous story?”
“I think I thought it would appeal to you.”
“You think you thought?”
“Exactly.”
The Count reflected for a moment.
“What about the deboning of the fish!”
“I worked in a tavern in Odessa after I ran away from home.”
The Count shook his head.
“How dispiriting.”
Anna rolled on her side to face the Count.
“You told me that preposterous story about the apples of Nizhny Novgorod.”
“But that story’s true!”
“Oh, come on. Apples as big as cannonballs? In every color of the rainbow?”
The Count was silent for a moment. Then he tamped out the cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table.
“I should be going,” he said, and began climbing out of bed.
“All right,” she said, pulling him back. “I remember one.”
“One what?”
“A sea story.”
He rolled his eyes.
“No. I’m serious. It’s a story my grandmother used to tell me.”
“A sea story.”
“With a young adventurer, and a deserted island, and a fortune in gold . . .”
Begrudgingly, the Count lay back on the pillows and gestured for her to begin.
Once upon a time, Anna related, there was a rich merchant with a fleet of ships and three sons, the youngest of whom was rather small in stature. One spring, the merchant gave his older sons ships laden down with furs, carpets, and fine linens, instructing one to sail east and one to sail west in search of new kingdoms with which to trade. When the youngest son asked where his boat was, the merchant and the older boys laughed. In the end, the merchant gave his youngest son a rickety sloop with raggedy sails, a toothless crew, and empty sacks for ballast. When the young man asked his father in which direction he should sail, the merchant replied that he should sail until the sun never set in December.
So the son sailed southward with his scurvy crew. After three times three months on the open seas, they reached a land