This is a fan translation of Captain French, or the Quest for Paradise (Капитан Френч, или Поиски рая) by Mikhail Akhmanov and Christopher Nicholas Gilmore.

Chapter 19

We landed in Fajeirah's port, on a tiny spot covered in plastconcrete and surrounded by cliffs. As in my previous visits here, I didn't notice any roads that led from the spaceport to the shore and then remembered that land motorways were a rarity on Solaris; the locals preserved the land for parks and forests, protected it, since land was the most valuable thing on an ocean world. Handing the shuttle over to the employees of the small spaceport, we relocated to an aircar. The engine purred quietly, the vehicle shuddered and lifted off. The slope of a short mountain under us gradually rolled down to the seashore; here and there, palm, cypress, and orange groves could be seen as whimsical dark spots among the bright greenery of the grassland, and giant sequoia trunks rose to the pale sky here and there. There were three or four Polynesian-style bungalows near each of them: the estates of those wealthy enough to live on solid ground and in relative solitude. The shore stretched beyond the groves and the mansions, framed by a wide belt of magnolias; wherever their emerald glossy wall met the blue-gray plain of the ocean water, Fajeirah's crystal towers could be seen gleaming and shimmering. All of them were a third of a kilometer in height, with flat roofs for landing aircraft, edged by suspended streets and terraces, filled with flower beds of strictly-determined shades of each sector of the city. Half of the buildings stood on the shore, like enormous trees, rooted deep into the island's rocky firmament, but the other half went straight into the oceanic shelf, and tiny boats, gondolas, yachts, barges, and launches slid along the deep gorges between them, crisscrossed with hundreds of bridges. At the far end of the city, the towers gave way to residential rafts, piers, and low square structures made of transparent plastic; these were warehouses and huge indoor pools for hydroids and trained dolphins. The port was beyond that: the chaos of masts, tall cranes, and bright pennants waving in the fresh breeze. There were many ships here from all the archipelagos of Solaris: dapper clippers and low cargo vessels that looked like water beetles, luxurious passenger trimarans and modest sailboats, rafts two three hundred meters in length and narrow brisk cutters of the coast guard. But I counted more submarines than anything else: from really tiny pleasure and herding ones to giant tubs used by hydroids to deliver raw materials and products from their underwater cities. Their gray hulls nearly merged with the waves; they stood by the moorings, as if female whales on a big farm about to be milked. Shandra was gasping in admiration, gazing on all this magnificence, while I was already looking for the roof of our hotel, which was, of course, the most comfortable and expensive one on the planet. That was where agents and secretaries were waiting for us, plus an entire staff of my new assistants, behind whom were journalists and Areopagus officials, company representatives, reporters of the five local holovision channels, and ambassadors from every federation, congress, and directory of Solaris. My visit was a major event, perhaps the most important one for the past century, if not longer. The galaxy had so many worlds and so few spaceships! But, perhaps, that was for the best: competitors didn't bother one another, trade continued, and there was neither cause nor capability for any interstellar wars.

Our aircraft slid smoothly to the flat roof of the hotel, filled with a crowd, dressed in clothing of five colors. We stepped out; a festive anthem rang out, there was the feverish chattering of holocameras, flowers flew through the air, and two fragile swarthy girls in blue decorated us with magnolia wreaths. And so, Captain French, the great Trader from the Stars, had arrived to Solaris with his wife! Long live Frenchie! Life was spinning and rushing.

Prior to describing our trade dealings and entertainment, it would be prudent to describe one characteristic. As stated before, Solaris was a nice place; there was a gentle even climate and normal gravity, plenty of light and warmth, as well as large biomass, ore, and mineral resources, which, while located at the bottom of the sea, were still easily accessible. However, a day was a little over fifteen hours at equatorial latitudes, while daylight lasted for eight, and the human body was incapable of adapting to this circumstance. There wasn't enough time to do everything, relax, and sleep, no matter how fast one did things; there simply weren't enough hours in a day. On the other hand, if they used a two-day cycle, then there were too many hours, and I wasn't certain that this would have been the best solution.

Exhibiting undeniable wisdom, the Solarians had chosen not to argue with nature, not to slow down the planet's rotation, and not to dig in those genetic mechanisms that forced us to stay awake for sixteen hours and sleep for eight. Such global changes risked dangerous consequences, which had been proven many times, on that same Yamaha, on El Dorado, and on other worlds, where zealous terraformers attempted to straighten the planetary axis or swap seas with mountains. The people of Solaris had found a different solution: the planet's population was split up into five clans, marked with five colors: red, yellow, green, blue, and violet, and each of these groups, no matter the nationality and the location, lived in its own time, shifted five hours with respect to their "spectral neighbors". Time was the primary difference between the clans; everything else was not as important and was, primarily, determined by the color of their clothing, means of transportation, and furniture upholstery. There were no restrictions on switching from one clan to another, interclan marriages, or business dealings; in all cases, newlyweds and entrepreneurs could pick an appropriate time, conforming to their common sense. Besides such sliding days, Solaris had a three-day cycle making up the local week, with five cycles being equal to a month, of which there were twenty-seven.

Typically, small settlements, universities, biostations, and private estates belonged to a single clan, but big cities like Fajeirah were separated into five districts that stretched from their section of the harbor. Three of them were starting, continuing, or finishing up their work day; two of them were preparing to sleep or already sleeping. I had to admit that it was very convenient. If one simply wanted some company (while one's friends were resting), all one had to do was go to another district, where the night life was in full swing. And, if one intended to make a deal or go shopping, one could go even farther, where it was still daytime, or where it was still morning. Plenty of possibilities to have some fun and to get down to business, if one were as tireless as a Malacandran shabn! Naturally, the above-mentioned system did not apply to hydroids, but not because they belonged to the lower class of Solarian society. In the depths of the ocean, it mattered little whether it was day or night, whether the sun was shining or the stars were glittering; there was eternal darkness there, pushed away only by phosphorescent algae and the glowing domes over the underwater cities. Shandra wanted very much to take a look at this, but I put that away to the very end, in order to avoid it damaging our prestige. Solaris was a prosperous world, but even here there were prejudices, the primary of which discouraged being interested in hydroids. They weren't criminals, disenfranchised, or slaves (well, not entirely slaves); just people who had been unlucky. They were members of the human race and were useful members of society; they performed ninety percent of all labor-intensive work, as they were unsuitable for more intellectual tasks. And that was all that was known of them. To put it in other words, sermo datur cunctis; animi sapientia paucis — speech was given to all, wisdom of spirit to few. Following this rule, I counted my visits to Solaris and declared that Shandra and I were going to wear blue. Each clan was happy to accept us into their ranks as honored guests, but I did not wish to insult anyone. I had landed on Solaris three times already and worn red, yellow, and green clothing; thus, in this fourth time, I would live by the time of the Blue Clan. Fairness above all! Besides, blue went well with Shandra's eyes and hair.

She made a splash in the local society, the reason for which was understandable and perfectly explainable. On Barsoom, she had been considered a little on the heavy side, a curiosity in other words: too short and thick, as far as the slender bony Barsoomians were concerned. On Malacandra, she had been an exotic beauty; the combination of her golden hair, green eyes, and relatively light skin was so rare among the subjects of His Kraal Majesty that they had taken Shandra to be royalty. That created a sphere of inaccessibility and respectful adoration around her, which had to be felt towards royals; after all, a princess was a princess even on the runway! And even in dishabille! In other words, look, feast your eyes, admire, but keep your hands to yourself.

But on Solaris, Shandra was accepted as a woman in the flesh, as desirable as any of the local enchantresses. Her eyes and hair, her tan, her graceful and slender figure, long legs, full breasts, all that matched the local concepts of beauty and feminine charm. True, she might have looked a little too tall here, but most definitely not heavy! And abundance, wherever it was acceptable, delighted the sterner sex, even if the object of their delight was a full head taller than them.

Getting back to Solarian traditions, one of them (except for the taboo on hydroids) was the simplicity of clothing, which was pretty understandable in such a warm and even climate. Work clothes consisted of a light blouse and shorts and were the same for both men and women; on special occasions, they put on pants, added a vest to the shirt or a poncho-like short cloak. Each clan had its own color, but even here there wasn't much variety: thus, red could vary from scarlet to crimson, but orange or brick color was an sign of poor taste. What did that mean? Just one thing: Solaris was unsuitable for modeling, and Shandra couldn't show off her talents here. But our zoological revue was an amazing success! The little orange animals were bought up in small groups all over the planet, the Yll Directory University bought out the pterogeckos (to resell them at a huge markup, naturally), large landowners fought for the shabns and unicorns; it seemed that each of them wanted to prove that they could take care of these voracious beasts, and that the animals wouldn't starve to death in their estate. A powerful oceanic cartel named Whales, Cuttlefish & Co. purchased my badgers, raccoons, and hares; they were obviously expanding the scope of their activities, wishing to deal in more than just whales and cephalopods, including land animals. Their competitors immediately sensed this tendency, and a genuine battle was fought for the squirrels and the foxes: the Whales were arguing with Diamond Delphinium from the Hundred Islands Federation, the Yellow Clan Company, the Southern Hemisphere Biostation Syndicate, and the United Mauria Universities. This race tired them out to such an extent that they completely forgot about hedgehogs, who ended up going to some shady company called IAM, possibly the Interisland Amelioration Mafia. I wasn't sure what the ameliorators were planning on doing with the hedgehogs; maybe they were planning on using them to lay down canals or give them to their investors instead of the promised dividends.

But the primary objects of the bidding were avians and insects. Birds, beetles, and butterflies didn't need a lot of space, and they were the most suitable inhabitants for Solaris. Here the Fajeirah Areopagus wasn't going to let anyone else outbid them; its biostations, financed by the government, were buying up everything: pigeons and jays, thrushes and sparrows, pheasants and parrots, jackdaws and buzzards, and, of course, the iridescent butterflies of Eden. Excited by such activity and in return for their hospitality, I made a gift to the Areopagus in the form of fertilized eggs of a Malacandran sphinx. Hopefully, they would have the good sense to keep these beasts in a menagerie and to not clone more than one or two pairs.

So we were done with the animals, but I also had my recordings, books, and holofilms, the very latest from Murphy, Barsoom, and Malacandra. I delegated their sale to my agents in order to free myself from the hassle and work on obtaining Solarian goods. I purchased a shipment of fish delicacies, but a small one, for personal consumption, and started selecting herbs, cosmetics, and various balms for which Solaris was known. There were no magical plants here like the Corinthian Orchidaceae pudica, but they produced vinegar out of fermented algae that gave their fish such an inimitable flavor, while the shells of certain mollusks were used to grow Spice, a powerful aphrodisiac with the delicate scent of lavender. As for regular cosmetics, perfumes, creams, and fragrant oils, for their raw materials, the locals used aromatic sponges, sea salt, fruits, and spermaceti, a waxy substance located in special cavities of a sperm whale's head. Such commodities were valuable everywhere, especially on Earth; over there, sperm whales had long ago become little more than fairy tale characters, as had other whales, dolphins, and walruses.

I went to buy incense with Shandra, and there was a dual purpose to that: first of all, she kept busy and checked every shipment, and second, her appearance and charm affected the Solarians like an irresistible force, allowing me to undercut prices and select the best of the best items. Over the six cycles we spent filling the ship's holds with perfume containers, we had gotten soaked with such a large volume of scents, that they could have started selling us instead of aromatic sponges. Especially Shandra; her hair smelled sweet of fresh ocean wind, her cheeks had the scent of oranges, her neck smelled of magnolias, and I wouldn't even risk mentioning anything below.

Finally, our business dealings were over, and we still had three weeks (regular non-Solarian ones) to enjoy our relaxation. We spent it by traveling to different islands and archipelagos from the southern to the northern poles and attending receptions and parties in our honor. There was everything that Shandra had dreamed: a vast sunlit ocean and grass-covered islands, the pleasant scent of magnolias, palm trees with huge leaves that looked like an open hand, relaxation in orange groves and light bungalows by the shore or under the canopies of sequoias that rose over the forest, propping up the clouds. We also looked at other marvels that hid on desolate volcanic islands: grim cliffs over gray waters, rocks that had been eaten away by winds, brown Silurian lichen on steep slopes, rapid waterfalls and warm geysers that exploded in streams of water, unapproachable tops constantly wrapped in smoke… Shandra was thrilled and took pictures, while I, as had been promised, stood close and held her (to keep her from falling off a cliff in all the excitement), feeling her heart flutter and beat under my hand.

As for the receptions and the parties, we were being bombarded with invitations; my secretaries barely had time to go through them, setting aside the noteworthy ones.

For example, "Dodson Chrysler Sarmishkidu, Chancellor of the Emberlian University, full member of the Hundred Islands Academy, addresses the esteemed and worthy CAPTAIN GRAHAM FRENCH AND HIS PERFECT SPOUSE LADY KILLASHANDRA FRENCH WITH THE HUMBLE REQUEST to attend a reception at the Large Green Auditorium of the Emberlian University, arranged in honor of the above-mentioned CAPTAIN FRENCH, GREAT TRADER FROM THE STARS, FRIEND OF THE BORDER.

"Program:
Honoring of CAPTAIN FRENCH with the presentation of awards from the Hundred Islands Federation: Doctor Honoris Causa of the Emberlian University and the Great Calamari Order; performance of the poetic Murphian oratorio Hamrestes (recorded); riding on dolphins. Drinks and food from the Magical Honolulu Dreams restaurant."

Magical Honolulu Dreams! Imagine that! Plus the unforgettable Hamrestes, diplomas, and awards! Even dolphins! We hadn't ridden them yet. Of course, Captain French and his perfect spouse would not deprive themselves of such a pleasure, even though the distance between Fajeirah and the Hundred Islands Federation was great, approximately two-fifth of the planetary equator. Besides that, the reception was being thrown by the Green Clan, which meant that we would make it to bed five hours later, sometime close to dawn using normal analogy (which, of course, had nothing to do with the actual sunrise). But Shandra decided that swimming with dolphins would refresh us, and that the Great Calamari Order would suit me. So, we dressed in outfits the color of the May sky, got in our aircar, and headed southwest, directly towards the isle of Emberly.

It should be noted that high university officials, as well as the heads of biostations and oceanographic institutes, possessed considerable power on Solaris. They were the indispensable members of congresses, senates, and areopaguses, they were on the supervisory board of every firm and company, and that was not surprising; after all, Solaris's entire animal world and nearly all of its fauna had been created through the work of biologists, botanists, ichthyologists, and geneticists. Ergo, all of them enjoyed their well-deserved honors, and honors were invariably accompanied by power and money. It was necessary to explain this in order to avoid any confusion regarding the Chancellor's party; it was equivalent to a diplomatic reception of the highest caliber. This was where the social elite, beautiful ladies and wealthy gentlemen, gathered; wine flowed like water, food was beyond praise, and the noble attendees ate, drank, gossiped, and flirted.

Such events always took place at universities, as they possessed the necessary means and facilities. By the standards of Solaris, a university was an administrative building two hundred meters high, surrounded by auditoriums of the five clans, which were round, oval, or horseshoe-shaped amphitheaters or platforms rather than buildings. Solarians liked living in harmony with nature, as nature was merciful to them; the wind here was warm and gentle, rain fell three times a year, while gales and storms were nothing more than theoretical concepts. In such conditions, one could attend lectures in open air, sleep in a bungalow with trellis walls, and build crystal towers with windows big enough to fit two sliders side-by-side. So the auditorium where I was given a medal, a silver octopus with pearls, did not look like a palace suite in the least. There was, however, a floor there: a big mosaic-laden court; on the one side was a pool and a fountain with a dolphin, with a young couple lying on its back in elegant poses, on the other were light plastic bleachers for students and tubs with palm trees. But the ceiling for this great hall was the starry sky, and the walls were a dual row of columns entwined with ivy and grapevine. Amid this colonnade, there were set tables with delicacies from the Honolulu restaurant, and the guests rushed to them after the final notes of Hamrestes.

Shandra and I each drank a glass with the esteemed Dodson Sarmishkidu and parted; I went to the palm trees, and she went to the fountain. We were the tastiest change of dishes at this feast, and it was best to sample us separately, especially since we tasted differently. I was merely a tough steak, overcooked and leathery, like shoe sole; my fair lady was a soufflé with nuts and candied fruits, a sweet dessert on a platter with a blue rim. But this impression was mistaken, like the seeming fragility of armored glass. If people only knew what sorts of nuts were in this soufflé! If they only knew how painfully it could bite!

The party was gaining momentum, and the guests, including the beautiful ladies, were slowly reaching a frivolous mood. The people were crowding the drink tables, compensating for quality with quantity: there was no hard liquor here, but the selection of dry and sparkling wines boggled the mind. Drunk couples were already whispering among the columns, their tongues becoming looser, their words becoming more candid and their gazes bolder; someone was crying on someone else's shoulder, someone was being delicately stuffed into an aircar, someone was being gossiped about, someone was being used to try to block the dolphin fountain, but not unobtrusively, within the bounds of decency. I put the massive order into a pocket, as my neck was becoming sore, finished off a bottle of red wine and was about to take care of some whale milk whipped cream, when some fellow in blue paddled over to me. He was standing pretty steadily on his own two feet and spoke without slurring; he congratulated me with my award, introduced himself, and noted that the reception was a success and that my lady was the party's best decoration. This guy's name was Benz Fiat Shalmunazar, a professor of sexual ichthyology. It sounded like he was studying the mating habits of whales or, perhaps, oysters or cod.

"Tell me, honorable sir," Benz Fiat moved closer to me and threw a glance at Shandra, "what is it like to live with a woman like that?"

He had most definitely placed an emphasis on the word "that", so I took his words as a compliment. However, its essence remained vague to me.

"What do you mean?" I moved away from Benz, but that was for naught; he had driven me into a hole between palm tubs and had no intention of letting me out.

"Well, you know women like that, worthy Captain… you know how it is… The more beautiful she is, the more capricious she becomes… And your lady is perfection itself! So I assume that her whims must be very original. Absolutely incredible!"

"You're right," I agreed, glancing at Shandra. She was standing by the pool, next to the bronze dolphin, which was spewing a stream of greenish water. Worshipers and admirers crowded her in a tight ring, but she was taller than all of them, a whole head taller. A blue pearl tiara made to look like a high tower gleamed in her golden-red hair.

Professor Shalmunazar caught my eye.

"Right there, this is exactly what I mean! Hairstyles, jewelry, entertainment… These beauties are so demanding… One man doesn't satisfy them; then again, what man can handle her alone? Even you, a brave conqueror of space… Especially since your flight was long, and you must have gotten tired of one another."

I looked at Benz Fiat intently.

"And you'd like to help me, would you?"

He licked his lips, not taking his shining eyes off Shandra.

"I've been brought up too well to decline, honorable sir. And I could introduce you to beautiful girls… three or four to choose from… who dream of taking a ride with you on a dolphin's back." He lowered his voice. "You see, this is a favorite form of entertainment for hydroids… But it's not beneath us either, not at all!"

The hint was unclear; he seemed to be talking about some local custom.

"What do dolphins have to do with this?" I inquired.

Shalmunazar winked at me, noting slyly, "A dolphin has a warm and broad back… it's so pleasant to bounce and sway on it among the waves, in the dark and quiet ocean, under the bright stars… But not alone, of course. Dolphins are good for being able to carry two people. Or even three; after all, they also have tails, which are also broad!"

I became thoughtful. My imagination was painting me the most inviting pictures.

"Tell me, Professor, these… hmm… this bouncing and swaying on a dolphin's back under the bright stars… is it safe? One can easily drown… at the most inappropriate moment…"

"Drown?" The Professor's eyebrows shot up, while his eyes were devouring Shandra. "You mean to sink to the bottom like a stone, sir? But can that really happen to a person? In any condition? After all, people aren't stones, they're lighter than water!"

I nodded in agreement. The prospects of drowning seemed incomprehensible to the Solarian; all of them could swim as well as fish, while hydroids could swim better than fish.

"But one could choke," I muttered, imagining amorous pastimes on the back of a dolphin. "Choke and swallow some seawater…"

"Great Calamari!" Benz Fiat threw his hands up. "Why would you drink water, honorable sir? Bring a bottle of this wonderful wine with you," he nodded at the table, where bottles of sparkling wine were chilling in an ice bucket. "A bottle of wine and a girl! Or two bottles and two girls! I can provide both. Deal?"

There was nothing unclear in his hint anymore. I fell into thought. On the one hand, the impudent sexoichthyologist needed to be punished, for procuration of women and for the attempt to trade Shandra for a pair of local beauties. But, on the other hand, he had enlightened me with regards to the locals' interesting customs, and the thought of bouncing and swaying on a dolphin's broad back was gripping my imagination more and more.

I decided that Benz Fiat needed to be punished after all, but not too harshly. Just some light flogging or a dozen slaps.

Muttering something unintelligible (if desired, my words could be interpreted as agreement), I bent down to the Professor's ear in confidence.

"We spoke of women's whims, honorable sir… of the incredible capriciousness of beautiful women… Well then, know that my lady is no exception."

Shalmunazar rubbed his hands in anticipation.

"Does she prefer oral sex?" he inquired in a businesslike manner.

"No. She likes to clean cauldrons. It arouses her greatly."

"Really?.." the sexoichthyologist stretched out. "But what is a cauldron, honorable sir? Is that a device of some sort? Something like—"

I stopped him with a hand gesture.

"A cauldron is a container for cooking food. A very large pot with a round bottom. About the size of this bucket." I pointed at the bucket with chilling bottles.

It was a sizable container, I had to admit; it fit a dozen bottles of sparkling wine and a heap of ice. The bucket was made of silver in the shape of a huge bowl, overlaid with bunches of grapes; under the influence of the humid climate, the metal had darkened, and it seemed as if the bowl was covered by black lacquer on the inside. An excellent object, probably old too; I could sell it on any wealthy world at an eightfold markup.

"Incredible!" Shalmunazar. "Female whims can be so unusual! However, honorable sir, do you really make food in such cauldrons? I always thought that a spaceship had to be equipped with a cyber-cook."

"Naturally, my friend," I patted his shoulder. "However, I am forced to buy up cauldrons on underdeveloped planets, so that my wife can have some fun. We cook rice in them. Boiled rice without salt, to be exact."

"Boiled rice?! Without salt?!" Benz Fiat's eyes bulged. "Great Calamari, have mercy! And you eat that… that…"

"By Calamari, no!" I took out my order and shook it in the air. "I throw the rice into the recycler. Process it into fertilizer for my greenhouses."

"Then why do you cook it? Does your lady—"

"Exactly, the lady is the reason why. The rice sticks to the walls of the cauldron, and it's not easy to clean it. Lady Killashandra does this in the evening… well, before we go to the bedroom. A light masochistic quirk, my friend… The bigger the cauldron and the harder it is to clean it, the more magnificent she is, after… You know what I mean."

Shalmunazar did, of course, it was no wonder he had been given professorship! His eyes lit up with a feverish shine, and he looked around in search of a cauldron.

"This one will do," I pointed at the silver bucket. "Unfortunately, there's no dirt layer, but patina isn't easy to deal with either. Go to her, my friend, and ask her to clean this vessel. I guarantee that you will instantly become her chosen lover! But don't forget to send me the girls, as many as can fit on a dolphin's back."

Smiling gratefully, Benz Fiat dashed into the crowd of admirers that surrounded Shandra. I was meditatively eating whipped cream and approximating the risk. On the one hand, Shandra was a tough girl and weighed at least as much as Shalmunazar; on the other hand, he was a man! I decided that she wouldn't break his jaw, dislocating it at worst. But if her punch hit the nose… the nose was such a fragile thing… Then again, it was simple to restore it, and I was prepared to finance the treatment if Shalmunazar ended up requiring a surgeon's services.

My musings were interrupted by a frightened yell and the splashing of water. Benz Fiat was floundering under the dolphin, the couple on the dolphin's back was gazing at the ichthyologist in obvious mockery, while the guests, the ones who were still on their feet, were squirming with laughter. Pushing them out of the way, Shandra rushed towards me. Her eyes were burning with righteous indignation.

"Graham! Listen, Graham! Do you know what that drunken guy just told me?" Her hand stretched in the direction of the pool, where the sexoichthyologist was still floundering about. "Do you know what he proposed to me?"

Leaving the bowl of whipped cream, I frowned sternly.

"He wasn't trying to seduce you, my princess, was he? I'll feed him to the sharks!"

"No, but—"

I held her gently by her waist.

"Everything else is a trifle and undignified jokes played on our noble trust. It's all the wine's fault. These sparkling wines are a treacherous beverage, my girl. You seem to be standing on your feet, but your mouth is spouting complete and utter nonsense…" I held her closer. "By the way, isn't it time we visited the dolphins? I've discovered some very interesting details about them. Their backs, for example, they're so warm and wide… and it's so pleasant to bounce and sway on them among the waves, in the warm and quiet ocean, under the bright stars… Not alone, of course. Are you ready?"

She was always ready, and we followed the other couples to the sea.