We were already in the roadstead.

A huge orange sun was falling into the water, pausing every moment as if endlessly suspended above the trembling silk of red light. The railings, soaked with the day’s warmth, had turned velvety to the touch; greenish reflections from the water played on the ship’s sides; the sails, not yet lowered, billowed and sagged with the gusts of warm wind as though enormous white elephants were circling above us. From the shore came stirring scents—alamandas, dionaea, etlingera—plants the legend said were tended by the Watchers. Still, the shore was quite far away, the captain was following the Boundary Directive; strange but true—the Government, though it admitted the Island was salvation, did not wish to lose its citizens to it.

I had been here once before. Back then, Tigernan persuaded me to leave; he said it was better than suicide, even if it was still a form of weakness. But he was wrong. Both staying and leaving were equally weak. That time, Tigernan stepped into a boat and rowed away, and I remained—back then, the Resolved still travelled to the Island on their own. I still remember the tiny figure and the two thin oars glinting above the quivering green jelly.

Yes, the Island was guaranteed salvation. In serious conversations, even at the official level, everyone admitted it—not only the Government but even the Institutes. Why, then, did every single person not rush there thirty years ago when the Island first appeared?

Of course, the fact that those who reached the Island turned into apes deterred many. But that could hardly have been the main reason for hesitation. Intelligent people do not attach importance to appearances, and what of it if a wise person—someone we might learn from—is too hairy? Life on the Island was surely not as foolish or terrifying as the folk songs and children’s ghost stories described it, nor as blessed and dull as the poets imagined it in their verses (most poems about the Island were secretly commissioned by the Government—intelligent people knew that too). Even if the Sun-Watchers looked like apes, something entirely different seemed to be happening to them internally—something other than biological regression.

Whatever the truth, people did not hurry to be saved. Everyone has something to lose in the face of the unknown. They said the Sun-Watchers did not form families. They lived peacefully but spoke little to one another. Sometimes they gathered in herds and wandered off on intricate circular routes; sometimes they dispersed across the Island alone and did not meet for months. They wore no clothing, had no arts, felt no need for comfort. The Island was full of gold that lay scattered in rivers, its veins gleaming openly in high cliffs, visible even from helicopters; in daytime the whole island shone as though it were the sun itself—hence the name of its inhabitants.

The Resolved never spoke of the Island and could not. When the Island first appeared, a large wave of small boats set out toward it, most carrying a single person. Many, they say, never reached the Island and died. The Government panicked at first, but after a couple of months, the stream dwindled on its own, and since then, only a small number of Resolved reached the Island each month on commercial sailings.

Fragmentary information about life on the Island came from short radio messages sent by those who initially intended only to land temporarily—usually a few comments before the newcomers announced that they were staying forever and switched off their radios. The reliability of such information was doubtful, for one established fact often contradicted another.

Of course, there was no longer any talk of the Government trying to seize the Island’s gold—several rusting marine-infantry ships still lay visible through binoculars off its southern tip. I am certain the Government lied when it claimed it sent army units to the Island to protect it and its settlers from pirates. In any case, no member of the three army corps that landed there one after another returned. “If you want to take back the ships,” said the commander of the first expedition over the radio (his words later became a famous meme), “—come and take them. We don’t need them.” The next corps remained as well, and its commander calmly reported their decision to stay.

The Government then attempted to send helicopters, but soon discovered that upon descending to a height low enough to see anything, the pilots invariably changed their orders of their own accord, landed on the Island, and then radioed headquarters that they, too, had decided to remain forever. The same happened with several independent scientific expeditions, and later with countless groups of adventurers equipped with ever more sophisticated technologies—members of the last expeditions, they say, wore hermetic suits with autonomous oxygen, had feeding tubes attached to their mouths, and even computer vision in place of human eyesight so they would not see the Sun-Watchers. Not one of these participants died; not one returned.

The Island was salvation—everyone agreed, even those who disliked the notion. Neither the Government nor the Institutes ever set themselves in opposition to it. At worst, they avoided mentioning it, and when compelled to speak of it publicly, they took on a solemn, mournful, slightly foolish expression.

Now light sail-brigs and stylized galleons regularly sailed to the Island, carrying, for money, the monthly groups of the few Resolved, and along with them those who wished to see its inhabitants at least from afar. Experience had shown that wooden ships could approach the Island much closer than iron ones without risking its influence. Usually, the sailing ships anchored off the northern tip, opposite a large sandy lagoon, and released several signal flares to alert the Islanders. Then a boat with one or several Sun-Watchers would arrive from the shore, moor to the brig, and take the Resolved away.

To “depart” was not forbidden; on the Continent, it was even considered an honour, though at the same time everyone connected to a Resolved person felt awkward—both for them and for themselves. “You’re leaving?!” was always the first reaction, in astonishment and horror, followed immediately by: “Well, that’s wonderful. I’d go too, but you understand, right now I…”

The deck of the brig was full of onlookers; all of us watched the Island, from which a boat had already detached and was approaching the ship. The Resolved stood together in a separate group; the other passengers kept their distance. An unshaven, thin man, clutching a bundle of books, stared at the sky, moving his lips and throat. As I came closer, I heard he was reciting Baudelaire. Beside him stood a young woman listening intently—her eyes were closed. Her hair was loose; her wide skirt and blouse billowed in the wind. All who were leaving were barefoot.

“You’re lucky!” announced the boatswain to the crowd, leaning over the rail. “This time—three monkeys!”

A flutter of excited murmurs ran through the crowd.

“Isn’t it dangerous to be near them?” asked a little boy in a sailor suit.

“No, no,” answered the lively boatswain instead of the mother—a sturdy blond with an anchor tattoo on his neck. “It’ll be like the circus, kid, you’ll see.”

“Could they carry pollen from those plants on their fur?” an old man in a straw hat asked anxiously. “I heard that anyone who inhales the pollen—”

“Pollen is a fairy tale!” interrupted a woman in a tight evening dress, fanning herself. “Scientists long ago confirmed it’s all due to the Island’s special field.”

“Mama, can I take one monkey home?” asked the boy, and everyone laughed.

Everyone except me and the Resolved. Once, I thought I had resolved it as well. But Tigernan could go all the way; I could not.

“The Sun-Watchers don’t like coming aboard,” the boatswain continued. “Look closely from above when they reach the ship.”

I remembered Tigernan well. Tigernan used to ask me…

All heads leaned over the rail now; the boatswain asked people to clear space where a rope ladder had been thrown overboard.

“How terrifying they look!” gasped the woman in the tight dress.

Over their heads, I looked down.

“Look, one of them is climbing up!” that was the boy’s anxious voice.

“No panic,” the boatswain reassured. “Sun-Watchers aren’t dangerous—sometimes they come aboard. You’re lucky—you’ll see one up close.”

A furry hand with blue fingers appeared over the rail; in the next moment, to a collective “Ahh!,” the monkey jumped onto the deck.

Tigernan had shrunk, as though the core of a nut had withered; he was completely naked and heavily covered with fur. His arms and legs had grown disproportionately long; his hands and feet elongated, looking powerful and supple. His face was bare and round, framed all around by hair like rays, and thick sideburns ran down his cheeks. His eyes were strange and beautiful—they seemed to be engaged in an intricate, constant labour, always perceiving something; like the great warm sun trembling over the sea in its endless descent, his gaze never released some revelation unknown to the people on deck.

“How are you, Kirk?” he asked calmly and joyfully, looking at me with those clear black eyes.

“Tigernan…” I stammered, seized at once by reverence and pity.

“I’m glad to see you,” he said, then paused, tilted his head, and asked: “Have you decided?”

“Me?” I heard my own voice as though from afar.

Meanwhile, the Resolved were one by one approaching the rail and disappearing over it.

“You’re only a few steps from salvation,” said Tigernan.

He had an astonishingly intelligent face, but his ears had become furry and triangular like a cat’s, with tufts at the tips.

I was silent, and Tigernan understood without words.

Then he did something that made the crowd gasp and shrink back—he leapt to the rail, swung his furry leg up, and gently placed it on the polished wood; then bent forward and began doing something on the railing simultaneously with both hands and his dirty foot.

“No doubt about it—it’s a monkey!” screeched the old man.

Tigernan turned, and it was frightening to see that superhuman gaze in a face framed with fur.

The next moment I realized that with his hands and foot he was performing on the rail movements like a potter at his wheel. Soon, a spinning clay bowl appeared on the rail as if out of thin air; it quickly grew to the size of a plate, then a platter, and then began covering itself in multicoloured glaze. At last, the platter became a perfect masterpiece. Then Tigernan bared his large, sharp fangs, threw his head back, and struck the dish with his face. His teeth sank into its centre. When he lifted his head, a triple mark remained—from the front tooth, the incisor, and the fang. The mark was silver, gleaming on the painted surface like a steel detail fallen from the sky onto a flowered meadow. The sign shone like the keyhole in a dark room, admitting a ray of sunlight from outside.

I will tell you nothing more of that evening. I will tell you nothing more of my life. Whole days I sit staring at the sign on the platter, unable to tear my eyes from it.