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While, his arms crossed behind him victoriously, Veliar was observing his opponents recovering their feet, Stas and Victor seemed to have exchanged a few words as when they took combat stance, their fighting tactics changed completely and became more serious and professional. Veliar went into defensive action at first. But after taking some severe blows in torso and head, he instantly revised his technique. The Chinese took some unordinary stance, crouching very low to the ground. And from this position he started counterattacking aggressively and swiftly. His body moved so elastically, smoothly, and at the same time at lightning speed, as if he was no human, but some dark whirlwind. It was as if he was doing everything without a pause to take a breath. In each of his rigorous counterattacks the Chinese imitated several blows in lethally critical areas, including eyes, larynx, groin, heart, and other ones. It could give the impression that he simply gambled with their lives.
Despite not a bad training of the guys, no matter how much effort they put into it, they still considerably lost to Veliar both in technique and in tactics of performing the combat. The struggle was so tough and aggressive, so close to real combat conditions that even the air seemed to electrify because of such tension. As for me, I was on pins and needles all the time, feeling keenly about the guys. Veliar, as a rule, used illegal blows that, as if mocking his opponents, he simply did not bring to an end. It was very clear to everyone that his one careless movement would mean a guaranteed fatal outcome to his rivals. Evidentlyб our fighters knew it as well as in contrast to Veliar they had a hard time holding the fort.
The spectators were electrified: some in feeling anxious about their friends, some in genuine admiration of such a fight.
“Look, such a technique?!” Andrew gave Kostya a nudge at his side. Then, addressing to Sensei and keeping his eyes fixed on Veliar, he added: “Cool! Sensei, what art is it?”
“This is no art,” Sensei said with disgust, being in an unnatural tension, tenaciously keeping an eye on our guys, who attempted to defend themselves against aggressive attacks of the Chinese. “It’s a school of ‘assassins’. Ninjutsu style.”
“It’s a very strong school!” Andrew muttered admiringly, captivated by the spectacular fight.
“It’s a very lowdown school,” Sensei retorted.
“Oh, why so categorically? Each has priorities of his own,” Ariman joined in the conversation, overhearing Sensei’s unflattering commentaries. “Besides, we are visiting not only your amicable country, but also quite dangerous places all around the world,” he said, as if justifying Veliar’s actions. And evidently in order to relieve the tension of the situation for good, suddenly he nominated himself for sparring partner. “If this style irritates Sensei so much, then I can personally demonstrate the styles you are more accustomed to. Let Veliar rest for a while.”
Ariman clapped his hands and stopped the sparring. Probably, it was out of regard for Sensei, that he declared a ‘draw,’ although it was clear who had won. The fighters made ritual bows. Veliar headed towards Ariman, who gave him a sign. And our guys, panting, sweaty, covered with scratches, walked toward us, rubbing their bruises on the way. Volodya and Eugene started patting them on shoulders encouragingly. A quiet discussion of the fight began among the elder guys. Notably, having seen the mastery of Veliar from outside, Eugene did not look as depressed after his loss any more. On the contrary, he cheered up somewhat, probably, after the acknowledgement that he undertook to overcome such a strong opponent alone, as if saying, if I had lost, I had gained experience, at any rate.
In the meantime, without a shadow of tiredness and even without a sign of short-windedness, Veliar stood by Ariman as a thoughtful servant, accepting his hat, jacket, and the necktie that Ariman took off getting ready for sparring. With his immutable smile, the Chinese radiated such tranquility that it might seem he’d gotten out not from a tough sparring, but from a profound contemplative meditation. Meanwhile, observing rapt discussion among our guys with a hardly perceptible grin, Ariman rolled up the sleeves of his fine snow-white shirt. And even neglecting to take his watch and his big golden finger-ring with a red ruby, which judging by their look were very expensive, he got into the ring and invited all-comers, without limitation of quantity, to participate in this sparring.
Admittedly, at first he fairly confused our guys with his snow-white clean appearance. As even Veliar, who fought well, could not avoid turnovers and topsy-turvies on the sand. But he wore a black kimono: shake it off, and marks of falls become not so noticeable. But there? Ariman simply puzzled us. But while the elder guys kept silent, not knowing what to expect from Ariman after Veliar’s demonstration of his techniques, the junior guys, frankly speaking, were astonished.
“Maybe it’s better to take the watch off?” Ruslan advised, motioning to Ariman’s luxurious Rolex. “What if they break accidentally?”
The man smiled ironically, looking at his watch and uttered: “Oh, it's nothing! Come to think of it... you suggested a curious idea. Let’s complicate the task for me. The first attacker able to strike me a blow – any one at that so long as it reaches the target – will receive this watch as a gift. And the one who strikes me down, will get this yacht and all her little boats into the bargain,” Ariman waved his hand nonchalantly towards his posh vessel.
A whoop of amazement could be heard from our group.
“Deal!” Ruslan, Kostya, and Andrew exclaimed excitedly kind of in chorus.
The boys darted out into the ring, casting greedy glances at the attractive watch.
Seeing that the elder guys somewhat hesitated about going in, Ariman said: “I promise you only clean fighting and using only the styles known to you. No restricted blows will be on my behalf. Let’s do classics! You on the other hand may attack me at will, as you desire.”
“There’s something I don’t like about it,” Victor uttered cautiously to Volodya. “Looks like there’s some sort of trick.”
“We’ll check it out,” Volodya said quietly in a bass voice. “In any case, we could do with some extra experience.”
The elder guys gathered, conversed about something in whispers and got into the ring. Notably, Victor and Stas, who had just been participating in the fight, came out too.
“It’s not prohibited to act against you as a group, is it?” Volodya inquired.
“And in any composition and any combination at that,” Ariman emphasized with contented look.
Eugene glanced at the snow-white yacht, spat out heartily on the sand and pronounced warningly: “That’s it, Ariman! From here you’ll return home by foot.”
“With pleasure,” replied he with a smile.
The elder guys became alerted at such an Olympic composure of their opponent. The younger guys, on the other hand, became relaxed, probably assuming that while Ariman is distracted by attacks of professionals, they will surely be able to strike that cherished blow in the value of a Rolex. Nine of our guys came out into the ring, so Tatyana and I, Sensei, Nicolai Andreevich, and Veliar stayed behind as spectators.
The guys surrounded Ariman in a circle. Stas and Victor placed themselves in the front, Volodya and Eugene at sides. Eugene even stood a little behind so as not to get in the view of his opponent. And the rest: Ruslan, Andrew, Kostya, Slavik, and Yura situated themselves behind Ariman, probably, considering it to be the most advantageous position for achieving their goals. After the ritual bows were made, the fight began on Sensei’s clap. Virtually simultaneously, Volodya, Stas, and Victor began to near Ariman in light imperceptible steps, making feints at their opponent. But Ariman stood calmly, looking somewhere through them, as if gazing nowhere. As I understood, by those abrupt feints the guys tried to detract the opponent’s attention on themselves, irritating his peripheral vision. Seizing an opportunity, they advanced into a real attack. Stas aimed his Maetobi-geri at head, Volodya and Victor attempted strikes at Ariman’s torso. At the same time, Eugene, who had remained motionless till then, rushed under Ariman’s feet from behind. Theoretically, they employed infallible tactics, as under such pressure Ariman would definitely step back while defending and, naturally, would stumble over Eugene, who rushed under his feet; and the yacht would be guaranteed for the guys. However, contrary to all expectations, Ariman made an effortless backflip. Landing behind Eugene, immediately, right when his feet touched the sand, Ariman made a swift step back and right, giving way for a throng of boys, who darted into battle along with the elder guys. As a result of such a swift and sudden movement of Ariman the elder guys, stumbling over the massive Eugene’s body, piled upon him, and on top of them fell those, who attempted to strike Ariman from behind and continued attacking inertially. Thus, there came about a whole pile of stirring bodies. Everything happened virtually in a second. Slavik lagged behind the attackers and was left practically alone against Ariman’s back. However, he kept his head and made an attempt to strike him from behind. But Ariman slightly turned around, caught the guy’s hand and turned him round in such a way that he touched down on all fours. And giving him no chances to recollect himself, Ariman picked him up by a collar of his T-shirt and a belt of his shorts and threw him into the common pile. Observing such ridiculous inadvertence of the guys, Sensei and Nicolai Andreevich, simply burst out into loud laugher, infecting us with their laugh too. Even Veliar afforded a generous smile, watching the occasion with pride.
The guys began scrambling out of this shameful heap. The last, spitting the sand, battered all over, there raised Eugene. If you could have seen his face in that moment. It bore a lot of resemblance with a sand mask of some aborigine, with two chinks instead of eyes. After standing up the guy did not shake it off for some reason, but started seeking out the one who ironed him to the sand like that. But apparently having realized that there was no way to find the one guilty, as the whole warring party took part in being the press, Eugene attempted to freshen up himself in a jiffy. He shook the sand off his face, trying to relieve his head and hair of that little squeaky soil, which made his hairstyle look like Mohawk. And turning his militant look at Ariman, who was barely stifling his laughter, he thundered like an Army trumpet, putting all his offence into words.
“Now, that’s it! The yacht will be ours for sure!” And the guy dashed into battle. The others followed in disorder. But Ariman, like a toreador, gracefully dodged the attackers, while demonstrating the classics of martial arts. He acted very quickly, virtually imperceptibly, without striking blows, using only graceful aikido style throws. That gave an impression that the guys simply flipped softly on their own, when getting close to him. Ariman performed all this in such an easy, unconstrained, and elegant way that it indeed produced a fascinating rapture.
As soon as it became clear to our fighters that a spontaneous assault is useless, they reorganized again under guidance of the elder guys and endeavored an attack already in an organized way. The guys surrounded Ariman in three semi-circles in staggered order. They stood in such a way that there were strong fighters in every row. The first four included Volodya and Victor at the sides, the second row consisted of three, Eugene taking the middle, and in the last pair there was Stas. In this formation they started approaching Ariman, pushing him to the sea. When the strip of dry sand ended, Ariman stopped. And the show began! Andrew and Ruslan, being in the first row, were the first to attempt an attack. As soon as Ariman busied himself with them, Eugene gathered speed and with a battle cry “Hi-yah!” he leaped in a kick Yoko-tobi-geri. He flew beautifully indeed, just like in a movie. However, Ariman casting away another opponent, had time not only to avoid Eugene’s kick easily, but he also gave Eugene a slap at the guy’s fanny with the back of his right hand, exactly with the finger-ring. It caused Eugene to alter his “Hi-yah!” into a shrill “Hi-eina!” and overshooting Ariman, he crashed into the water. He got up wet through, frowning and puzzled, intensively rubbing his seat of honor that had suffered in the bright cause. Eugene began to walk out of water slowly, getting round the zone of action, where the guys flipped over and over again around Ariman. The guy was lame in the right leg. When he limped up to us, continuing rubbing his hurt back, one could see tears welled up in his eyes. Obviously, he was hurt badly. He held his own, however, keeping his feelings within.
When the guy came by, Nicolai Andreevich asked jokingly: “Why, Eugene, have you given up?”
“Me?! Never in all my born days! I’ve just thought... Why should I need this yacht, anyway, all the more in the city?”
We laughed to such a decision of the guy, who, after Ariman’s slap, changed his mind so hurriedly. Following Eugene, after having a nice bit of rolling around and sand-eating, the guys began to break off the fight one after another. Their bygone enthusiasm dried up quickly, the more especially as Ariman, who had been dispatching the guys without effort, looked quite fresh and full of pep, as if he had just come out into the ring. Meanwhile, it was too much for our drop-out failed fighters even to rise from the sand after those aerials. As is known by common rule, don't kick a man when he's down. That’s why nobody aspired to stand up. Silently, they only sympathized with their comrades, who persistently kept attacking Ariman. The fewer the fighters were, the more demonstrative and beautiful were Ariman’s pitches to wear them out. His movements, speed, and technique matched those of Sensei. At long last, only Volodya kept on.
Walking around his opponent, Ariman cheerfully chaffed him: “Do you really want to win that watch or yacht that much?”
“What good will they do to me? I just feel bad for my state.”
Ariman grinned.
“So, that means you don’t give up?”
“Russians never give up,” Volodya said in bass.
Ariman sighed and uttered with a smile: “Oh, those Russians to me! Alright then…”
Volodya attempted a fierce attack. It seemed he threw his only remaining energy into it. Cutting whistle out of air, he started swaying his arms and legs. If only a single blow had reached its target, Ariman wouldn’t have liked it one bit. But, as they say, fate decreed otherwise. Ariman dodged the strikes surprisingly easily and playfully repelled his attack. Then, he improved the occasion by throwing Volodya up in such a way that the latter somersaulted several times in the air and took a swift flyer, risking to break his neck. But Ariman aptly spotted for him. Owing to it Volodya landed on the sand softly and tenderly, without any traumatic consequences. It wasn’t enough that Ariman helped him to touch down safely, he squatted next to him and inquired: “Well, how’s that?”
Volodya, staggering slightly, assumed a sitting position out of the recumbent one, closed his eyes tight and shook his head: “Now that’s enough alright!”
“Well, enough is enough,” replied Ariman merrily.
He clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly way. Apparently, out of politeness, considering the condition of his last opponent, he stood up and made a ritual bow to him and to Sensei.
Our excited audience gave a storm of applause at the scene. By his mastery, courtliness, lack of malice, and sparing technique Ariman simply won the hearts of the young fighters. A heated discussion commenced, during which the guys began to set themselves to rights.
“Fantastic!” out “activists” kept crying contentedly. “Wouldn't it be great if we learnt to perform like that? Ariman didn’t even soil his shirt. Such mastery!”
The hero of the occasion put on his tie, jacket, and hat unhurriedly, even though the heat was sweltering.
“Great! Your technique is the same as Sensei’s,” Stas observed, addressing to Ariman.
“Well... We had one Teacher, you know.”
This notion of Ariman aroused genuine interest among the whole group, as it was the first time we heard something about Sensei’s Teacher. The elder guys exchanged glances. Meanwhile, Victor asked Sensei: “Sensei, would you by chance wish to spar with Ariman?”
Sensei smiled, looking at Ariman.
“I would and for a long time. But no matter how many times proposed him, he just wouldn’t accept.”
Everyone looked at Ariman in a mute amazement.
“No way,” he replied with a smile, straightening his tie, “gramercy. It’s an honor for me, of course, but... to each his own in this world.” And, evidently, so as not to develop this topic further, he said hastily: “Well, as the Germans say, you can postpone a war but never a lunch. I see that everything’s already set. Ladies and gentlemen, I kindly ask you to dine with me.”
Everyone turned around with wonder following Ariman’s welcoming gesture. We completely forgot about the lunch with all the excitement. I frankly considered Ariman’s return offer as a joke to Eugene’s clownery. Even if my mind suggested a possibility of realizing this idea, it would produce an imaginary picture of some table with snack sandwiches, sausages, soft drinks, and fruits at most, brought over from the yacht. That’s, so to say, the furniture of my impressions, picked up from the movies about thrifty rich folks. But what we saw just took us aback, for it surpassed any of our expectations.
Not far from our camp there emerged an entire comfortable installation in the form of a huge stretched marquee of pink silk, set right on the shore. The top of the marquee was silvery lustrous, as if covered with some thin foil. Behind the translucent silk there could be seen a big white table, covered with colorful dishes. We did not believe our eyes. Our breath took a walk with such a beauty. The only person among our group, who was not surprised at this decoration, was Sensei. He simply sighed, looking at the marquee, and said to Ariman with a smile: “Well, you’re always in your usual style.”
The man smiled contentedly at the impression produced on the company and answered Sensei with laughter: “I can't help it. It’s my habit.”
“This all is, of course, splendid, thank you, but... You picked the right time to arrive. It’s as if you knew it’s my fasting day today,” Sensei said half in jest.
“Really? Oh, that’s a pity,” Ariman uttered, keeping his smile. And slightly raising his hands in a give-up motion he added: “Knowing you, I don’t even insist. But at least stay at the meal for a while, let the guys taste my treats. I bet they’ve never tasted those things in their lives yet!”
“That’s for sure!” Sensei smiled ironically and, shrugging his shoulders, he uttered: “It isn’t hard for me, I’ll stay… And they are already mature and have the right to decide for themselves.”
Ariman smiled contentedly once again. Letting a glance at our amazed company, listening to the talk, he spoke in a quick and, as it seemed to me, deliberately loud manner: “Don’t worry, I’ve considered everything, there will be no alcoholic beverages there.” Addressing the guys, either in jest or seriously, he uttered: “Honestly speaking, I’m glad that I’ve finally chanced upon a non-drinking company. I’m so tired of all those endless presentations, fourchettes, dinner parties, and business meals. You can’t imagine how sickening it is to see all those moneybags drinking till beastly drunk, all those carpet elite dying of boredom. Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin said well regarding this in the seventh chapter of ‘Eugene Onegin':
Ariman, what they call it, zinged us with his remark. I even felt for this man in a sense, so satiated with high society that he had a longing for engaging in common life. But at the very moment of our fascination for Ariman’s words, Eugene produced another howler. He nodded his head in a dignified way and spake with emotion, rubbing his hands in anticipation: “Why not dine? Eating, especially at somebody’s expense, is always a pleasure.”
Everyone, including Sensei and Ariman, burst our laughing again.
Suddenly, we heard a beautiful, invigorate music, coming from the yacht. The cantilena was played by fiddles. Like a mild, playful light breeze it resounded around the entire coast.
“Oh?! Mozart, ‘Little Night Music’,” Sensei uttered with a smile and looked askance at Ariman.
Ariman made a helpless gesture and, as if justifying himself, said: “It’s been two hundred years already, but it always sounds like for the first time.”
We headed towards the shining marquee walking past our tents. Compared to this aerial chic installation, our camp, with all those sweaters and trousers hung for drying and Kostya’s attributes of civilization, looked like a “tramp refuge.” The shame was overwhelming, and, probably, it was not only with me. The other guys, seemed to feel somewhat embarrassed, gazed now at the ground, now ahead, avoiding the sight of our beggary, squalid camp. The contrast was surely striking.
Overcoming the minute of shame, we came up to – what Kostya managed to name it – the “alien construction”. Two sailors-stewards stood near the entrance, each holding a big jug in one hand; a towel and aromatic liquid soap in the other hand. So, each one could do a pleasant ablution and dry their hands on a fluffy snow-white towel.
It should be noted that it was quite hot outside, in fact, it was the heat of the sun. But as soon as we entered the marquee, a pleasant cool fanned our faces. Apparently, there was a noiseless air-conditioner working somewhere in the marquee. In the middle there stood a long square table, covered with snow-white tablecloth. As it turned out later, it was made of several plastic knockdown tables. It was surrounded with figured arm-chairs of ivory color, made of the same material as the table. Even the sand was covered with some curious transparent plates, probably knockdown as well, which created a peculiar fancy floor. Not far from the big table there was a small supplementary cupboard-table, which, as it turned out later, served as a minifridge.
Both the big and the small tables were covered with dainty viands. We didn’t know where to look first at such an abundance of dishes. That was an excellent spread! Meat dishes, fish, cut vegetables, salads with sea inhabitants, canapйs, several types of caviar. Not only black and red caviar, that recently appeared in shops at a fabulous (for us) price. There also was dark-grey, wine red, orange with red gleams, and even quite an unusual – grey caviar in a gold jar. In the form of a truncated pyramid, there was an entire pile of huge red lobsters in the middle, decorated with rich, fresh greenery and figured lemon slices that wrapped black or green halves of olives. Besides, not only this dish, but everything else was just flawless in terms of decoration: from puffy flowers to entire paintings of nature, fanciful ornaments of vegetables, fruits, greenery, and colored sauces, created by skilful fantasy of the cook. It all looked so appetizing that the sight of this table covered with viands made one’s mouth involuntarily watering.
A whisper of admiration ran through our company: “Oh my!”, “I haven’t seen anything like that even in my sweetest dream”, “Cool!”. Unlike others, Eugene, who despite being amazed at table appointments and diversity of food, remained quite impassive. Looking at such abundance of caviar, he clicked his tongue in a businesslike manner.
“Yes, there’s all, but I see no overseas aubergine one,” and mimicking priest-like voice, he pronounced with sympathy: “Impoverished are folks on the top, oh, so impoverished…”
Veliar, who evidently took his words in earnest, cast an inquiring glance at Ariman, ready to rush to fulfill the guest’s wish. But Ariman stopped him.
“Don’t worry. It’s a popular joke in this country,” he explained. “They have a perestroika going on now, that’s why shops have only aubergine caviar.”
The Chinese man flapped his eyes in astonishment, apparently being surprised at such a queer food ration of these people, who, for all their slender well-being, yet were trying to build the radiant future, keeping body and soul together on aubergine caviar. He did not quite seem to understand the joke, smiled a trademark grin, and, making a polite bow, stepped back.
“That’s not true!” Eugene retorted with laughter. Feeling that his national dignity had been hurt, he stated proudly: “We have a squash one too!”
Everybody laughed to Eugene’s patriotic humor and, on Ariman’s invitation, started to take their seats around the common table. It happened so that by habit we sat at sides of Sensei, as if taking an all-round defense. Ariman, who lingered, giving some orders to Veliar, was the last to follow the guests and correspondingly taking a vacant chair, sat just across Sensei. When everyone took their seats, Eugene could not make himself comfortable in his arm-chair. Stas grinned at his twisting about and asked: “Why are you wiggling?”
“That chair’s turned out to be kinda hard,” Eugene replied.
“Stand up then,” his friend suggested with a smile.
“Right,” agreed Volodya, sitting at Eugene’s other side, and counseled: “this way you’ll be able to fit in more.”
Stas looked at the appetizing dishes near them on the table and uttered: “No way. He’d better sit and not wiggle.”
They laughed quietly. Eugene, finally taking a comfortable position – crossing his legs and leaning his elbow on the right arm, – set at ease and “bared his teeth” in his affected smile in response to the guys’ remarks. That rendered them shaking with laughter even more.
Like a hospitable host, Ariman started to lavish upon the treats, stirring the guys’ appetite still more. He presented various dishes, answering in passing to the questions of amazed guys.
“What caviar is this?” Victor inquired at the wine-red caviar near him.
It was in a small crystal bowl. The bowl itself consisted of four sections: there was sour cream in one of them, dairy butter in another, grated cheese in the third one, and in the fourth one there was the caviar itself.
“This is trout caviar. It’s saltish to the taste, that’s why it’s better to have it together with cultured milk foods.”
“How about this one?” Victor motioned at a beautiful bowl of large-grained orange caviar with red gleams that was near trout caviar.
“That is keta caviar – the most tasty and high quality of all salmon caviars,” Ariman replied. After a pause he added: “But I would most recommend you to taste that sort of caviar.” He motioned at large-grained silver caviar in a small golden jar. “This is very rare and expensive caviar. White sturgeon caviar. In order to get it they catch belugas, whose age approximate to one hundred years. Because of its value the caviar is packed up in small jars of pure 24-carat gold, such as this one. Taste it, it has a very peculiar delicate nut flavor. Gourmets of the modern times assert that this is the tastiest caviar in the world.” Ariman fell silent, glancing with a subtle smile as our entire company fastened their eyes upon the hitherto unseen jar of pure gold, and with such an expensive caviar in it too. Addressing to Sensei, Ariman boasted: “See, I even brought it too! I’ve no idea what else could surprise you. Perhaps you’d agree to taste this treat all the same?”
Sensei smiled and answered politely: “No, thank you. Everything looks really appetizing…”
“…And tasty,” Ariman stressed out.
“I don’t doubt that one bit. But, unfortunately, I can’t… Fasting day… You know me.”
Ariman gave an affected sigh.
“Oh, well, and I tried so hard,” and he uttered with a smile either addressing to the guys or speaking to himself. “Such an iron will! He said ‘no’, it means ‘no’… And I brought this caviar all the way from Persia…”
“What Persia?!” Sensei smiled, as if bringing him to senses.
Ariman looked at him blank and checked himself.
“Did I say Persia? What a sclerosis! But, of course, from Iran!” When Sensei and he stopped laughing, Ariman lamented: “Could you believe it, such a beautiful name this country had had for 2’458 years! And there you go – in 1935 they changed this lovely name, Persia, for Iran. Apologies for great reformers indeed! Cyrus the Great would’ve turned in his grave if he’d heard this news.”
“And who was Cyrus the Great?” Kostya inquired.
“Well, what have we come to!” Ariman smiled bitterly. “Young people don’t even know who Cyrus the Great was. Once, Cyrus the Great was a great ruler in the East. He founded the first Achaemenid Empire by defeating the Median Empire, conquering most of Southwest Asia, including the mighty Babylonia (Syria and Palestine being its parts) and much of Central Asia. That’s some charisma a man had! By the way, do you recall Balthazar’s feast from the Bible? During Belshazzar's feast (whose biblical name is Balthazar), the son of Nabonidus, the last king of Babylon, there appeared a fire writing on the wall: ‘mene mene tekel upharsin,’ which foretokened the fall of Babylon on the same night. Now, Balthazar died right in 539 BC exactly during the capture of Babylon by the Persians, that is, troops of Cyrus the Great.”
“How do we know all that?” Victor said with a smile in excuse for everyone. “I wish we could sort out our own history at least.”
“And this, in a way, is a part of your history,” Ariman pronounced. “Because, you know, where do the Persians as a people originate from? From the tribes of Aryans, who began to migrate from southern regions of the present Russia to those regions starting from 2’000 BC. Come to think of it, you favorite prophet, Zarathustra, who lived in the first half of the 6th century BC, was born in those lands too. So, during its time Persia offered a considerable mite in the order and reorganization of the world. Well, all right then, as Marcus Tullius Cicero used to say, history is merely a life of memory.” Then, with laughter he added: “So, let’s leave our ruins alone and turn to the beautiful present.”
Everyone laughed again. Ariman made a pause, listening to a new Mozart’s melody coming from the yacht that harmoniously complemented this festive lunch. Then he addressed to the guys again, making a slight hand gesture, demonstrating fullness of choice.
“Treat yourselves, don’t be shy. Enjoy your present. Take advantage of it, while still so youthful and fine. When else would you have such a chance?! There you are, flesh of sturgeon in a bйchamel sauce, stuffed quails, foie gras in cognac sauce, sugatazushi …”
“Beg your pardon?” Eugene queried, peering at that unintelligible, beautifully served dish with some original proportional fish-shaped pieces.
“Sugatazushi is a sushi; it’s a dish of Japanese cuisine. It consists of boiled rice stuffed into mackerel, sliced. Try it with soy sauce. It’s delicious! By the way, I recommend you to have this food exclusively with wood chop-sticks. They are made of natural material. It’s considered that it doesn’t damage food’s energy. Try to gain not only physical pleasure out of food, but, in the first place, aesthetic and spiritual one. Like the Japanese. The principal philosophy of the Japanese meal lies in communion with the beauty of nature and coexistence with it in full harmony...” After a short silence Ariman disclaimed: “Bush clover in blossom waves / Without spilling / A drop of dew.”
He recited this uncommon poetry with such oratorical inspiration that everyone involuntarily listened spellbound to it. Taking a pleased look round our enchanted company, he spoke again.
“Isn’t this a beautiful hokku, written by Bash ... this great Japanese poet of the 17th century? And how would you like this poem? ‘Gust of fresh wind, / A fish leapt with a splash... / Ablution in water’.”
He made another pause, perhaps, for the audience to appreciate the meaning of what he had said. But looking at our puzzled faces that showed not the slightest clue about Japanese poetry Ariman made a faint smile. He turned his eyes to Sensei, probably, the only one understanding what it had been all about, and then continued conversing with us.
“The Japanese are to a large extend amazing and mysterious people with remarkable traditions. Their philosophy as well as food is simultaneously light and nourishing... By the way, before eating I would advise you to make use of oshibori aroma,” Ariman suggested after a short pause.
We gazed at the table, looking for that very oshibori, thinking it to be one of the dishes. Apparently, noticing that our eyes were running every which way in search of what he had mentioned, Ariman smiled faintly once again, pretending he hadn’t seen our confused looks, and continued his narration as if nothing had happened: “Oshibori are wet towels that lie in front of you. Again, following the Japanese traditions, washing hands before a meal is considered to be a godsent act of removing negative energy. Aroma raises appetite. Food becomes much tastier and wholesome because of that.”
Our folks finally discovered those oshibori in front of their noses and started wiping their hands on those show-white wet towels, spreading very pleasant delicate orient aroma. I must say, it was the first time in my life that I saw not only that many exotic dishes, but also such a peculiar petty detail as these wipes.
“I advise you to try these truffle dishes as well,” Ariman continued showering praises on his table.
“Are truffles mushrooms or something?” Ruslan queried Stas in a low voice, sitting near him. But Ariman overheard his remark.
“Truffles are not just mushrooms,” the master of the ‘banquet‘ replied instead of Stas. “They are the most expensive and elite mushrooms in the world. Here, this dish is made with Piedmont white truffle, named no other than the White diamond... And this dish is made with Perigord black truffle, the so-called Black Perl. Taste them and you’ll appreciate how delicate their aroma is. It can drive mad any true gourmet. These two kinds of truffles are the favorites in the high cuisine...”
As Ariman kept lavishing praise on exotic dishes of cookery art, hitherto unseen by us, the guys, timidly at first but then with more confidence, went for it. Veliar stood near Ariman and gave orders in his native tongue to the two sailors-stewards. He saw to it vigilantly that the food, which his master’s guests set their gaze on with a particular longing, appeared on their plates in the twinkling of an eye.
During the consumption of food by the majority of those present (excluding Sensei, Nicolai Andreevich, and my persona, suffering from unintelligible malaise of the organism), there occurred some casus to the guys. For example, Kostya, sitting not far from me, wanted to try oysters that were near him. He put a couple of them on his plate. The steward came running right away and added several pieces of lemon on his plate. Kostya threw a perplexed look at them and exchanged inquiring glances with Andrew. But he only shrugged his shoulders slightly, showing that it was probably meant that way. Hence, lest he should show his ignorance in this delicate matter, our Philosopher decided to taste an oyster first and then, probably, a lemon, since it was put. But as soon as he touched the oyster with the fork, it jerked slightly. In his fright our Philosopher even shrank back giving an amazed shriek: “Why, it’s alive!” By doing that he caused a commotion among our company, but then it quite set everyone laughing.
“Of course, it’s alive,” Ariman replied smiling. “This way it is much tastier than in any of its cooked variants. Squeeze some lemon juice on it. Detach oyster’s foot with a fork. Then suck it out safely of the shell with the lemon juice. And you will feel exceptional bliss of this taste.”
Kostya looked with suspicion at the living creature on his plate once again. Meanwhile, Ariman already speaking to everyone, declared in a stately manner: “Konstantine made a magnificent choice, worthy of a refined gourmet and aesthete. For among the variety of oysters he chose this kind. It’s Persebes himself! They are also called ‘sea truffles.’ They are the most high-priced mollusks, since it’s very difficult to catch them. They grow on sunken rocks in places difficult of access... Oysters are motionless mollusks, hermaphrodites, that cement...”
While Ariman was narrating about the way of life of these mollusks, Kostya tried to accomplish what Ariman had advised. Swallowing his saliva convulsively, he took a lemon piece lying near the oyster with care and started folding it squeezing the juice. He did it so cautiously, as if fearing that mollusk would bite off his finger. His fixed look seemed to be that of a chemist, performing a dangerous explosive test. When there necessary amount was accumulated, a drop fell on the mollusk, and it contracted in reflex. This action of a tiny organism made Kostya jerk on the chair, but he did not scream this time – it's something at least. Continuing with this procedure that evidently wasn’t quite pleasant for him, he did as Ariman had said. And with a squeamish and verjuice countenance, as if he was faced with swallowing two pounds of slugs with a dozen of lemons, he sucked this poor oyster out of the shell at one stroke. What can you do? As they say, in for a penny, in for a pound. He was to play the role of a ‘refined gourmet’ all the way. After that agonizing procedure Kostya puckered like a cornichon.
Andrew, who had been watching the process of oyster devourment in an underhand way, cheered his friend up quietly with a smile: “It’s alright, it’s alright. What got into mouth, is healthy throughout.”
“Aha,” Kostya muffled: “It’s creeping thought my gullet!”
Andrew grinned and put in some black humor: “Why, what were you thinking? You gulped down that poor breather wholly, and now that monster would eat you from inside.”
“Not on your Nelly,” Kostya remarked sarcastically. “I’ve got strong nervous and digestive systems.”
Following that agonizing procedure, the guy started taking other food after the ‘bliss of this taste’, bolting it down almost without chewing.
“Well, how was it?” Tatyana, sitting between us, mocked him quietly.
Kostya washed the food down with some drink and answered her in inaudible mutter: “Catch me trying that imm... that motionless hermaphrodite again!..”
“I see,” Tatyana chuckled.
At that moment Ariman drew his attention to him and asked with a pleasing smiley: “Did you enjoy it, Konstantine?”
The guy instantly feigned a happy look on his face and answered hastily: “Oh, yes, very tasty! I’ve never tried anything like that! It’s really delicious!”
Tatyana and I could hardly keep our countenance, caused by such a sudden transformation of Kostya’s face from sour-peevish to contented-sugary expression. It seemed that if he had been standing, he would have been making bows from the waist. When Ariman was distracted by conversation with other guys, Kostya threw a withering look on the second oyster, lying on his plate in beauty. But then his face brightened and he suggested looking and Andrew with insidious smile.
“D’ye wanna to try? It is so tasty!”
“No sir, thank you. I wasn’t signing up for a flayer,” Andrew said with a smile.
At that moment Eugene drew everyone’s attention to himself. After trying several dishes, he obviously grew bolder in gustation of good. Pointing at big crayfish lying on a huge plate in the middle of the table, he asked Ariman: “These crayfish must be from Chernobyl? A new gigantic kind?”
Ariman chuckled.
“No, these are langoustes. My recommendation. Very tender meat.”
He cast a glance at Veliar, and the latter made swift arrangements. The steward-guy laid a langouste on a separate plate that was on a tray with special cutting instruments and served it to Eugene.
The latter looked askew at all that set and declared openly: “What do I need these surgical armaments for? I’m no sadist, nor a dentist. I’m not gonna torture this dead animal. Am I a maniac, or something?!” Placing the lobster bravely by hand on his plate and observing it in passing, Eugene added: “Besides, judging by his red look, I guess, he’s already confessed everything to your cook.”
Everybody burst out laughing. Ariman grinned too and gave an approving nod to the steward, who was somewhat confused at such unheard-of treatment of food items. He seemed to become interested in how Eugene was going to dress the lobster without instruments, as after moving aside he started watching this amusing guy with curiosity. Meanwhile, far from being embarrassed by his behavior, Eugene started handling the lobster in his own manner, applying all his mastery to getting its ‘tender meat’.
At first, like everyone else, hearing eulogies about the dishes, I put on my plate some seafood salad standing nearby and, of course, a small spoon of the much-praised silver caviar. The plates, by the way, were very unusual. They were light, porcelain, and with painting depicting some plots with half-naked nymphs. Besides, judging by the plates of my nearest neighbors at the table, each plate’s painting had a different the plot. But they were sustained in one style.
When that delicious food filled my plate and I was about to try it, suddenly I felt such a wave of nausea and inner discomfort that it nearly turned my stomach. Hastily, I put down my fork back on the table, dropping my eyes on the floor. But the lines of the transparent floor seemed to become animated before my eyes and slowly at first, but then faster and faster they started whirling into some sign, which made me feel even worse. My head began to swim, and my breath quickened. I shut my eyes and clawed hold of the plastic arm-chair with all my strength, fearing that I would fall into a faint. The dizziness passed immediately though. Taking advantage of this temporary relief, I tried to concentrate on the solar plexus, on my ‘lotus flower.’ This simple meditation, once given to all of us by Sensei, became a peculiar first-aid in extreme cases. So far, it never failed me. And indeed, doing this meditation within a minute brought me into more or less normal state. My breath became steady, and I even managed to relieve somewhat that nauseating condition. I opened my eyes. Luckily, almost nobody noticed my temporary indisposition. The group was carried away by eating and talking with Ariman. Only Sensei glanced at me somehow kindly, which made me feel even more peaceful inside. But he instantly looked away, commenting upon another Eugene’s joke with humor. I breathed a sigh of relief and settled back in the arm-chair, trying to avoid looking at the food or the floor, because of incomprehensible “oddities” of my organism.
Despite not a bad training of the guys, no matter how much effort they put into it, they still considerably lost to Veliar both in technique and in tactics of performing the combat. The struggle was so tough and aggressive, so close to real combat conditions that even the air seemed to electrify because of such tension. As for me, I was on pins and needles all the time, feeling keenly about the guys. Veliar, as a rule, used illegal blows that, as if mocking his opponents, he simply did not bring to an end. It was very clear to everyone that his one careless movement would mean a guaranteed fatal outcome to his rivals. Evidentlyб our fighters knew it as well as in contrast to Veliar they had a hard time holding the fort.
The spectators were electrified: some in feeling anxious about their friends, some in genuine admiration of such a fight.
“Look, such a technique?!” Andrew gave Kostya a nudge at his side. Then, addressing to Sensei and keeping his eyes fixed on Veliar, he added: “Cool! Sensei, what art is it?”
“This is no art,” Sensei said with disgust, being in an unnatural tension, tenaciously keeping an eye on our guys, who attempted to defend themselves against aggressive attacks of the Chinese. “It’s a school of ‘assassins’. Ninjutsu style.”
“It’s a very strong school!” Andrew muttered admiringly, captivated by the spectacular fight.
“It’s a very lowdown school,” Sensei retorted.
“Oh, why so categorically? Each has priorities of his own,” Ariman joined in the conversation, overhearing Sensei’s unflattering commentaries. “Besides, we are visiting not only your amicable country, but also quite dangerous places all around the world,” he said, as if justifying Veliar’s actions. And evidently in order to relieve the tension of the situation for good, suddenly he nominated himself for sparring partner. “If this style irritates Sensei so much, then I can personally demonstrate the styles you are more accustomed to. Let Veliar rest for a while.”
Ariman clapped his hands and stopped the sparring. Probably, it was out of regard for Sensei, that he declared a ‘draw,’ although it was clear who had won. The fighters made ritual bows. Veliar headed towards Ariman, who gave him a sign. And our guys, panting, sweaty, covered with scratches, walked toward us, rubbing their bruises on the way. Volodya and Eugene started patting them on shoulders encouragingly. A quiet discussion of the fight began among the elder guys. Notably, having seen the mastery of Veliar from outside, Eugene did not look as depressed after his loss any more. On the contrary, he cheered up somewhat, probably, after the acknowledgement that he undertook to overcome such a strong opponent alone, as if saying, if I had lost, I had gained experience, at any rate.
In the meantime, without a shadow of tiredness and even without a sign of short-windedness, Veliar stood by Ariman as a thoughtful servant, accepting his hat, jacket, and the necktie that Ariman took off getting ready for sparring. With his immutable smile, the Chinese radiated such tranquility that it might seem he’d gotten out not from a tough sparring, but from a profound contemplative meditation. Meanwhile, observing rapt discussion among our guys with a hardly perceptible grin, Ariman rolled up the sleeves of his fine snow-white shirt. And even neglecting to take his watch and his big golden finger-ring with a red ruby, which judging by their look were very expensive, he got into the ring and invited all-comers, without limitation of quantity, to participate in this sparring.
Admittedly, at first he fairly confused our guys with his snow-white clean appearance. As even Veliar, who fought well, could not avoid turnovers and topsy-turvies on the sand. But he wore a black kimono: shake it off, and marks of falls become not so noticeable. But there? Ariman simply puzzled us. But while the elder guys kept silent, not knowing what to expect from Ariman after Veliar’s demonstration of his techniques, the junior guys, frankly speaking, were astonished.
“Maybe it’s better to take the watch off?” Ruslan advised, motioning to Ariman’s luxurious Rolex. “What if they break accidentally?”
The man smiled ironically, looking at his watch and uttered: “Oh, it's nothing! Come to think of it... you suggested a curious idea. Let’s complicate the task for me. The first attacker able to strike me a blow – any one at that so long as it reaches the target – will receive this watch as a gift. And the one who strikes me down, will get this yacht and all her little boats into the bargain,” Ariman waved his hand nonchalantly towards his posh vessel.
A whoop of amazement could be heard from our group.
“Deal!” Ruslan, Kostya, and Andrew exclaimed excitedly kind of in chorus.
The boys darted out into the ring, casting greedy glances at the attractive watch.
Seeing that the elder guys somewhat hesitated about going in, Ariman said: “I promise you only clean fighting and using only the styles known to you. No restricted blows will be on my behalf. Let’s do classics! You on the other hand may attack me at will, as you desire.”
“There’s something I don’t like about it,” Victor uttered cautiously to Volodya. “Looks like there’s some sort of trick.”
“We’ll check it out,” Volodya said quietly in a bass voice. “In any case, we could do with some extra experience.”
The elder guys gathered, conversed about something in whispers and got into the ring. Notably, Victor and Stas, who had just been participating in the fight, came out too.
“It’s not prohibited to act against you as a group, is it?” Volodya inquired.
“And in any composition and any combination at that,” Ariman emphasized with contented look.
Eugene glanced at the snow-white yacht, spat out heartily on the sand and pronounced warningly: “That’s it, Ariman! From here you’ll return home by foot.”
“With pleasure,” replied he with a smile.
The elder guys became alerted at such an Olympic composure of their opponent. The younger guys, on the other hand, became relaxed, probably assuming that while Ariman is distracted by attacks of professionals, they will surely be able to strike that cherished blow in the value of a Rolex. Nine of our guys came out into the ring, so Tatyana and I, Sensei, Nicolai Andreevich, and Veliar stayed behind as spectators.
The guys surrounded Ariman in a circle. Stas and Victor placed themselves in the front, Volodya and Eugene at sides. Eugene even stood a little behind so as not to get in the view of his opponent. And the rest: Ruslan, Andrew, Kostya, Slavik, and Yura situated themselves behind Ariman, probably, considering it to be the most advantageous position for achieving their goals. After the ritual bows were made, the fight began on Sensei’s clap. Virtually simultaneously, Volodya, Stas, and Victor began to near Ariman in light imperceptible steps, making feints at their opponent. But Ariman stood calmly, looking somewhere through them, as if gazing nowhere. As I understood, by those abrupt feints the guys tried to detract the opponent’s attention on themselves, irritating his peripheral vision. Seizing an opportunity, they advanced into a real attack. Stas aimed his Maetobi-geri at head, Volodya and Victor attempted strikes at Ariman’s torso. At the same time, Eugene, who had remained motionless till then, rushed under Ariman’s feet from behind. Theoretically, they employed infallible tactics, as under such pressure Ariman would definitely step back while defending and, naturally, would stumble over Eugene, who rushed under his feet; and the yacht would be guaranteed for the guys. However, contrary to all expectations, Ariman made an effortless backflip. Landing behind Eugene, immediately, right when his feet touched the sand, Ariman made a swift step back and right, giving way for a throng of boys, who darted into battle along with the elder guys. As a result of such a swift and sudden movement of Ariman the elder guys, stumbling over the massive Eugene’s body, piled upon him, and on top of them fell those, who attempted to strike Ariman from behind and continued attacking inertially. Thus, there came about a whole pile of stirring bodies. Everything happened virtually in a second. Slavik lagged behind the attackers and was left practically alone against Ariman’s back. However, he kept his head and made an attempt to strike him from behind. But Ariman slightly turned around, caught the guy’s hand and turned him round in such a way that he touched down on all fours. And giving him no chances to recollect himself, Ariman picked him up by a collar of his T-shirt and a belt of his shorts and threw him into the common pile. Observing such ridiculous inadvertence of the guys, Sensei and Nicolai Andreevich, simply burst out into loud laugher, infecting us with their laugh too. Even Veliar afforded a generous smile, watching the occasion with pride.
The guys began scrambling out of this shameful heap. The last, spitting the sand, battered all over, there raised Eugene. If you could have seen his face in that moment. It bore a lot of resemblance with a sand mask of some aborigine, with two chinks instead of eyes. After standing up the guy did not shake it off for some reason, but started seeking out the one who ironed him to the sand like that. But apparently having realized that there was no way to find the one guilty, as the whole warring party took part in being the press, Eugene attempted to freshen up himself in a jiffy. He shook the sand off his face, trying to relieve his head and hair of that little squeaky soil, which made his hairstyle look like Mohawk. And turning his militant look at Ariman, who was barely stifling his laughter, he thundered like an Army trumpet, putting all his offence into words.
“Now, that’s it! The yacht will be ours for sure!” And the guy dashed into battle. The others followed in disorder. But Ariman, like a toreador, gracefully dodged the attackers, while demonstrating the classics of martial arts. He acted very quickly, virtually imperceptibly, without striking blows, using only graceful aikido style throws. That gave an impression that the guys simply flipped softly on their own, when getting close to him. Ariman performed all this in such an easy, unconstrained, and elegant way that it indeed produced a fascinating rapture.
As soon as it became clear to our fighters that a spontaneous assault is useless, they reorganized again under guidance of the elder guys and endeavored an attack already in an organized way. The guys surrounded Ariman in three semi-circles in staggered order. They stood in such a way that there were strong fighters in every row. The first four included Volodya and Victor at the sides, the second row consisted of three, Eugene taking the middle, and in the last pair there was Stas. In this formation they started approaching Ariman, pushing him to the sea. When the strip of dry sand ended, Ariman stopped. And the show began! Andrew and Ruslan, being in the first row, were the first to attempt an attack. As soon as Ariman busied himself with them, Eugene gathered speed and with a battle cry “Hi-yah!” he leaped in a kick Yoko-tobi-geri. He flew beautifully indeed, just like in a movie. However, Ariman casting away another opponent, had time not only to avoid Eugene’s kick easily, but he also gave Eugene a slap at the guy’s fanny with the back of his right hand, exactly with the finger-ring. It caused Eugene to alter his “Hi-yah!” into a shrill “Hi-eina!” and overshooting Ariman, he crashed into the water. He got up wet through, frowning and puzzled, intensively rubbing his seat of honor that had suffered in the bright cause. Eugene began to walk out of water slowly, getting round the zone of action, where the guys flipped over and over again around Ariman. The guy was lame in the right leg. When he limped up to us, continuing rubbing his hurt back, one could see tears welled up in his eyes. Obviously, he was hurt badly. He held his own, however, keeping his feelings within.
When the guy came by, Nicolai Andreevich asked jokingly: “Why, Eugene, have you given up?”
“Me?! Never in all my born days! I’ve just thought... Why should I need this yacht, anyway, all the more in the city?”
We laughed to such a decision of the guy, who, after Ariman’s slap, changed his mind so hurriedly. Following Eugene, after having a nice bit of rolling around and sand-eating, the guys began to break off the fight one after another. Their bygone enthusiasm dried up quickly, the more especially as Ariman, who had been dispatching the guys without effort, looked quite fresh and full of pep, as if he had just come out into the ring. Meanwhile, it was too much for our drop-out failed fighters even to rise from the sand after those aerials. As is known by common rule, don't kick a man when he's down. That’s why nobody aspired to stand up. Silently, they only sympathized with their comrades, who persistently kept attacking Ariman. The fewer the fighters were, the more demonstrative and beautiful were Ariman’s pitches to wear them out. His movements, speed, and technique matched those of Sensei. At long last, only Volodya kept on.
Walking around his opponent, Ariman cheerfully chaffed him: “Do you really want to win that watch or yacht that much?”
“What good will they do to me? I just feel bad for my state.”
Ariman grinned.
“So, that means you don’t give up?”
“Russians never give up,” Volodya said in bass.
Ariman sighed and uttered with a smile: “Oh, those Russians to me! Alright then…”
Volodya attempted a fierce attack. It seemed he threw his only remaining energy into it. Cutting whistle out of air, he started swaying his arms and legs. If only a single blow had reached its target, Ariman wouldn’t have liked it one bit. But, as they say, fate decreed otherwise. Ariman dodged the strikes surprisingly easily and playfully repelled his attack. Then, he improved the occasion by throwing Volodya up in such a way that the latter somersaulted several times in the air and took a swift flyer, risking to break his neck. But Ariman aptly spotted for him. Owing to it Volodya landed on the sand softly and tenderly, without any traumatic consequences. It wasn’t enough that Ariman helped him to touch down safely, he squatted next to him and inquired: “Well, how’s that?”
Volodya, staggering slightly, assumed a sitting position out of the recumbent one, closed his eyes tight and shook his head: “Now that’s enough alright!”
“Well, enough is enough,” replied Ariman merrily.
He clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly way. Apparently, out of politeness, considering the condition of his last opponent, he stood up and made a ritual bow to him and to Sensei.
Our excited audience gave a storm of applause at the scene. By his mastery, courtliness, lack of malice, and sparing technique Ariman simply won the hearts of the young fighters. A heated discussion commenced, during which the guys began to set themselves to rights.
“Fantastic!” out “activists” kept crying contentedly. “Wouldn't it be great if we learnt to perform like that? Ariman didn’t even soil his shirt. Such mastery!”
The hero of the occasion put on his tie, jacket, and hat unhurriedly, even though the heat was sweltering.
“Great! Your technique is the same as Sensei’s,” Stas observed, addressing to Ariman.
“Well... We had one Teacher, you know.”
This notion of Ariman aroused genuine interest among the whole group, as it was the first time we heard something about Sensei’s Teacher. The elder guys exchanged glances. Meanwhile, Victor asked Sensei: “Sensei, would you by chance wish to spar with Ariman?”
Sensei smiled, looking at Ariman.
“I would and for a long time. But no matter how many times proposed him, he just wouldn’t accept.”
Everyone looked at Ariman in a mute amazement.
“No way,” he replied with a smile, straightening his tie, “gramercy. It’s an honor for me, of course, but... to each his own in this world.” And, evidently, so as not to develop this topic further, he said hastily: “Well, as the Germans say, you can postpone a war but never a lunch. I see that everything’s already set. Ladies and gentlemen, I kindly ask you to dine with me.”
Everyone turned around with wonder following Ariman’s welcoming gesture. We completely forgot about the lunch with all the excitement. I frankly considered Ariman’s return offer as a joke to Eugene’s clownery. Even if my mind suggested a possibility of realizing this idea, it would produce an imaginary picture of some table with snack sandwiches, sausages, soft drinks, and fruits at most, brought over from the yacht. That’s, so to say, the furniture of my impressions, picked up from the movies about thrifty rich folks. But what we saw just took us aback, for it surpassed any of our expectations.
Not far from our camp there emerged an entire comfortable installation in the form of a huge stretched marquee of pink silk, set right on the shore. The top of the marquee was silvery lustrous, as if covered with some thin foil. Behind the translucent silk there could be seen a big white table, covered with colorful dishes. We did not believe our eyes. Our breath took a walk with such a beauty. The only person among our group, who was not surprised at this decoration, was Sensei. He simply sighed, looking at the marquee, and said to Ariman with a smile: “Well, you’re always in your usual style.”
The man smiled contentedly at the impression produced on the company and answered Sensei with laughter: “I can't help it. It’s my habit.”
“This all is, of course, splendid, thank you, but... You picked the right time to arrive. It’s as if you knew it’s my fasting day today,” Sensei said half in jest.
“Really? Oh, that’s a pity,” Ariman uttered, keeping his smile. And slightly raising his hands in a give-up motion he added: “Knowing you, I don’t even insist. But at least stay at the meal for a while, let the guys taste my treats. I bet they’ve never tasted those things in their lives yet!”
“That’s for sure!” Sensei smiled ironically and, shrugging his shoulders, he uttered: “It isn’t hard for me, I’ll stay… And they are already mature and have the right to decide for themselves.”
Ariman smiled contentedly once again. Letting a glance at our amazed company, listening to the talk, he spoke in a quick and, as it seemed to me, deliberately loud manner: “Don’t worry, I’ve considered everything, there will be no alcoholic beverages there.” Addressing the guys, either in jest or seriously, he uttered: “Honestly speaking, I’m glad that I’ve finally chanced upon a non-drinking company. I’m so tired of all those endless presentations, fourchettes, dinner parties, and business meals. You can’t imagine how sickening it is to see all those moneybags drinking till beastly drunk, all those carpet elite dying of boredom. Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin said well regarding this in the seventh chapter of ‘Eugene Onegin':
“Haw, those centuries or this one – nothing has changed in this environment… So, dining with your company, guys, believe it or not, is an honor and a big pleasure for me.”
‘But all in the drawing room await
Talk that is vulgar, stale and flat.
All is so pale and indifferent,
That even the slander is drear and spent;
In dry and fruitless interchange
Questions, news, rumors seem to range
But stir not a thought through the whole day,
Not even by chance or accident.
The languid mind is never wakened,
Or emotions roused by a joke half meant.
And even amusing idiocy
You will never meet in “Society”.’
Ariman, what they call it, zinged us with his remark. I even felt for this man in a sense, so satiated with high society that he had a longing for engaging in common life. But at the very moment of our fascination for Ariman’s words, Eugene produced another howler. He nodded his head in a dignified way and spake with emotion, rubbing his hands in anticipation: “Why not dine? Eating, especially at somebody’s expense, is always a pleasure.”
Everyone, including Sensei and Ariman, burst our laughing again.
Suddenly, we heard a beautiful, invigorate music, coming from the yacht. The cantilena was played by fiddles. Like a mild, playful light breeze it resounded around the entire coast.
“Oh?! Mozart, ‘Little Night Music’,” Sensei uttered with a smile and looked askance at Ariman.
Ariman made a helpless gesture and, as if justifying himself, said: “It’s been two hundred years already, but it always sounds like for the first time.”
We headed towards the shining marquee walking past our tents. Compared to this aerial chic installation, our camp, with all those sweaters and trousers hung for drying and Kostya’s attributes of civilization, looked like a “tramp refuge.” The shame was overwhelming, and, probably, it was not only with me. The other guys, seemed to feel somewhat embarrassed, gazed now at the ground, now ahead, avoiding the sight of our beggary, squalid camp. The contrast was surely striking.
Overcoming the minute of shame, we came up to – what Kostya managed to name it – the “alien construction”. Two sailors-stewards stood near the entrance, each holding a big jug in one hand; a towel and aromatic liquid soap in the other hand. So, each one could do a pleasant ablution and dry their hands on a fluffy snow-white towel.
It should be noted that it was quite hot outside, in fact, it was the heat of the sun. But as soon as we entered the marquee, a pleasant cool fanned our faces. Apparently, there was a noiseless air-conditioner working somewhere in the marquee. In the middle there stood a long square table, covered with snow-white tablecloth. As it turned out later, it was made of several plastic knockdown tables. It was surrounded with figured arm-chairs of ivory color, made of the same material as the table. Even the sand was covered with some curious transparent plates, probably knockdown as well, which created a peculiar fancy floor. Not far from the big table there was a small supplementary cupboard-table, which, as it turned out later, served as a minifridge.
Both the big and the small tables were covered with dainty viands. We didn’t know where to look first at such an abundance of dishes. That was an excellent spread! Meat dishes, fish, cut vegetables, salads with sea inhabitants, canapйs, several types of caviar. Not only black and red caviar, that recently appeared in shops at a fabulous (for us) price. There also was dark-grey, wine red, orange with red gleams, and even quite an unusual – grey caviar in a gold jar. In the form of a truncated pyramid, there was an entire pile of huge red lobsters in the middle, decorated with rich, fresh greenery and figured lemon slices that wrapped black or green halves of olives. Besides, not only this dish, but everything else was just flawless in terms of decoration: from puffy flowers to entire paintings of nature, fanciful ornaments of vegetables, fruits, greenery, and colored sauces, created by skilful fantasy of the cook. It all looked so appetizing that the sight of this table covered with viands made one’s mouth involuntarily watering.
A whisper of admiration ran through our company: “Oh my!”, “I haven’t seen anything like that even in my sweetest dream”, “Cool!”. Unlike others, Eugene, who despite being amazed at table appointments and diversity of food, remained quite impassive. Looking at such abundance of caviar, he clicked his tongue in a businesslike manner.
“Yes, there’s all, but I see no overseas aubergine one,” and mimicking priest-like voice, he pronounced with sympathy: “Impoverished are folks on the top, oh, so impoverished…”
Veliar, who evidently took his words in earnest, cast an inquiring glance at Ariman, ready to rush to fulfill the guest’s wish. But Ariman stopped him.
“Don’t worry. It’s a popular joke in this country,” he explained. “They have a perestroika going on now, that’s why shops have only aubergine caviar.”
The Chinese man flapped his eyes in astonishment, apparently being surprised at such a queer food ration of these people, who, for all their slender well-being, yet were trying to build the radiant future, keeping body and soul together on aubergine caviar. He did not quite seem to understand the joke, smiled a trademark grin, and, making a polite bow, stepped back.
“That’s not true!” Eugene retorted with laughter. Feeling that his national dignity had been hurt, he stated proudly: “We have a squash one too!”
Everybody laughed to Eugene’s patriotic humor and, on Ariman’s invitation, started to take their seats around the common table. It happened so that by habit we sat at sides of Sensei, as if taking an all-round defense. Ariman, who lingered, giving some orders to Veliar, was the last to follow the guests and correspondingly taking a vacant chair, sat just across Sensei. When everyone took their seats, Eugene could not make himself comfortable in his arm-chair. Stas grinned at his twisting about and asked: “Why are you wiggling?”
“That chair’s turned out to be kinda hard,” Eugene replied.
“Stand up then,” his friend suggested with a smile.
“Right,” agreed Volodya, sitting at Eugene’s other side, and counseled: “this way you’ll be able to fit in more.”
Stas looked at the appetizing dishes near them on the table and uttered: “No way. He’d better sit and not wiggle.”
They laughed quietly. Eugene, finally taking a comfortable position – crossing his legs and leaning his elbow on the right arm, – set at ease and “bared his teeth” in his affected smile in response to the guys’ remarks. That rendered them shaking with laughter even more.
Like a hospitable host, Ariman started to lavish upon the treats, stirring the guys’ appetite still more. He presented various dishes, answering in passing to the questions of amazed guys.
“What caviar is this?” Victor inquired at the wine-red caviar near him.
It was in a small crystal bowl. The bowl itself consisted of four sections: there was sour cream in one of them, dairy butter in another, grated cheese in the third one, and in the fourth one there was the caviar itself.
“This is trout caviar. It’s saltish to the taste, that’s why it’s better to have it together with cultured milk foods.”
“How about this one?” Victor motioned at a beautiful bowl of large-grained orange caviar with red gleams that was near trout caviar.
“That is keta caviar – the most tasty and high quality of all salmon caviars,” Ariman replied. After a pause he added: “But I would most recommend you to taste that sort of caviar.” He motioned at large-grained silver caviar in a small golden jar. “This is very rare and expensive caviar. White sturgeon caviar. In order to get it they catch belugas, whose age approximate to one hundred years. Because of its value the caviar is packed up in small jars of pure 24-carat gold, such as this one. Taste it, it has a very peculiar delicate nut flavor. Gourmets of the modern times assert that this is the tastiest caviar in the world.” Ariman fell silent, glancing with a subtle smile as our entire company fastened their eyes upon the hitherto unseen jar of pure gold, and with such an expensive caviar in it too. Addressing to Sensei, Ariman boasted: “See, I even brought it too! I’ve no idea what else could surprise you. Perhaps you’d agree to taste this treat all the same?”
Sensei smiled and answered politely: “No, thank you. Everything looks really appetizing…”
“…And tasty,” Ariman stressed out.
“I don’t doubt that one bit. But, unfortunately, I can’t… Fasting day… You know me.”
Ariman gave an affected sigh.
“Oh, well, and I tried so hard,” and he uttered with a smile either addressing to the guys or speaking to himself. “Such an iron will! He said ‘no’, it means ‘no’… And I brought this caviar all the way from Persia…”
“What Persia?!” Sensei smiled, as if bringing him to senses.
Ariman looked at him blank and checked himself.
“Did I say Persia? What a sclerosis! But, of course, from Iran!” When Sensei and he stopped laughing, Ariman lamented: “Could you believe it, such a beautiful name this country had had for 2’458 years! And there you go – in 1935 they changed this lovely name, Persia, for Iran. Apologies for great reformers indeed! Cyrus the Great would’ve turned in his grave if he’d heard this news.”
“And who was Cyrus the Great?” Kostya inquired.
“Well, what have we come to!” Ariman smiled bitterly. “Young people don’t even know who Cyrus the Great was. Once, Cyrus the Great was a great ruler in the East. He founded the first Achaemenid Empire by defeating the Median Empire, conquering most of Southwest Asia, including the mighty Babylonia (Syria and Palestine being its parts) and much of Central Asia. That’s some charisma a man had! By the way, do you recall Balthazar’s feast from the Bible? During Belshazzar's feast (whose biblical name is Balthazar), the son of Nabonidus, the last king of Babylon, there appeared a fire writing on the wall: ‘mene mene tekel upharsin,’ which foretokened the fall of Babylon on the same night. Now, Balthazar died right in 539 BC exactly during the capture of Babylon by the Persians, that is, troops of Cyrus the Great.”
“How do we know all that?” Victor said with a smile in excuse for everyone. “I wish we could sort out our own history at least.”
“And this, in a way, is a part of your history,” Ariman pronounced. “Because, you know, where do the Persians as a people originate from? From the tribes of Aryans, who began to migrate from southern regions of the present Russia to those regions starting from 2’000 BC. Come to think of it, you favorite prophet, Zarathustra, who lived in the first half of the 6th century BC, was born in those lands too. So, during its time Persia offered a considerable mite in the order and reorganization of the world. Well, all right then, as Marcus Tullius Cicero used to say, history is merely a life of memory.” Then, with laughter he added: “So, let’s leave our ruins alone and turn to the beautiful present.”
Everyone laughed again. Ariman made a pause, listening to a new Mozart’s melody coming from the yacht that harmoniously complemented this festive lunch. Then he addressed to the guys again, making a slight hand gesture, demonstrating fullness of choice.
“Treat yourselves, don’t be shy. Enjoy your present. Take advantage of it, while still so youthful and fine. When else would you have such a chance?! There you are, flesh of sturgeon in a bйchamel sauce, stuffed quails, foie gras in cognac sauce, sugatazushi …”
“Beg your pardon?” Eugene queried, peering at that unintelligible, beautifully served dish with some original proportional fish-shaped pieces.
“Sugatazushi is a sushi; it’s a dish of Japanese cuisine. It consists of boiled rice stuffed into mackerel, sliced. Try it with soy sauce. It’s delicious! By the way, I recommend you to have this food exclusively with wood chop-sticks. They are made of natural material. It’s considered that it doesn’t damage food’s energy. Try to gain not only physical pleasure out of food, but, in the first place, aesthetic and spiritual one. Like the Japanese. The principal philosophy of the Japanese meal lies in communion with the beauty of nature and coexistence with it in full harmony...” After a short silence Ariman disclaimed: “Bush clover in blossom waves / Without spilling / A drop of dew.”
He recited this uncommon poetry with such oratorical inspiration that everyone involuntarily listened spellbound to it. Taking a pleased look round our enchanted company, he spoke again.
“Isn’t this a beautiful hokku, written by Bash ... this great Japanese poet of the 17th century? And how would you like this poem? ‘Gust of fresh wind, / A fish leapt with a splash... / Ablution in water’.”
He made another pause, perhaps, for the audience to appreciate the meaning of what he had said. But looking at our puzzled faces that showed not the slightest clue about Japanese poetry Ariman made a faint smile. He turned his eyes to Sensei, probably, the only one understanding what it had been all about, and then continued conversing with us.
“The Japanese are to a large extend amazing and mysterious people with remarkable traditions. Their philosophy as well as food is simultaneously light and nourishing... By the way, before eating I would advise you to make use of oshibori aroma,” Ariman suggested after a short pause.
We gazed at the table, looking for that very oshibori, thinking it to be one of the dishes. Apparently, noticing that our eyes were running every which way in search of what he had mentioned, Ariman smiled faintly once again, pretending he hadn’t seen our confused looks, and continued his narration as if nothing had happened: “Oshibori are wet towels that lie in front of you. Again, following the Japanese traditions, washing hands before a meal is considered to be a godsent act of removing negative energy. Aroma raises appetite. Food becomes much tastier and wholesome because of that.”
Our folks finally discovered those oshibori in front of their noses and started wiping their hands on those show-white wet towels, spreading very pleasant delicate orient aroma. I must say, it was the first time in my life that I saw not only that many exotic dishes, but also such a peculiar petty detail as these wipes.
“I advise you to try these truffle dishes as well,” Ariman continued showering praises on his table.
“Are truffles mushrooms or something?” Ruslan queried Stas in a low voice, sitting near him. But Ariman overheard his remark.
“Truffles are not just mushrooms,” the master of the ‘banquet‘ replied instead of Stas. “They are the most expensive and elite mushrooms in the world. Here, this dish is made with Piedmont white truffle, named no other than the White diamond... And this dish is made with Perigord black truffle, the so-called Black Perl. Taste them and you’ll appreciate how delicate their aroma is. It can drive mad any true gourmet. These two kinds of truffles are the favorites in the high cuisine...”
As Ariman kept lavishing praise on exotic dishes of cookery art, hitherto unseen by us, the guys, timidly at first but then with more confidence, went for it. Veliar stood near Ariman and gave orders in his native tongue to the two sailors-stewards. He saw to it vigilantly that the food, which his master’s guests set their gaze on with a particular longing, appeared on their plates in the twinkling of an eye.
During the consumption of food by the majority of those present (excluding Sensei, Nicolai Andreevich, and my persona, suffering from unintelligible malaise of the organism), there occurred some casus to the guys. For example, Kostya, sitting not far from me, wanted to try oysters that were near him. He put a couple of them on his plate. The steward came running right away and added several pieces of lemon on his plate. Kostya threw a perplexed look at them and exchanged inquiring glances with Andrew. But he only shrugged his shoulders slightly, showing that it was probably meant that way. Hence, lest he should show his ignorance in this delicate matter, our Philosopher decided to taste an oyster first and then, probably, a lemon, since it was put. But as soon as he touched the oyster with the fork, it jerked slightly. In his fright our Philosopher even shrank back giving an amazed shriek: “Why, it’s alive!” By doing that he caused a commotion among our company, but then it quite set everyone laughing.
“Of course, it’s alive,” Ariman replied smiling. “This way it is much tastier than in any of its cooked variants. Squeeze some lemon juice on it. Detach oyster’s foot with a fork. Then suck it out safely of the shell with the lemon juice. And you will feel exceptional bliss of this taste.”
Kostya looked with suspicion at the living creature on his plate once again. Meanwhile, Ariman already speaking to everyone, declared in a stately manner: “Konstantine made a magnificent choice, worthy of a refined gourmet and aesthete. For among the variety of oysters he chose this kind. It’s Persebes himself! They are also called ‘sea truffles.’ They are the most high-priced mollusks, since it’s very difficult to catch them. They grow on sunken rocks in places difficult of access... Oysters are motionless mollusks, hermaphrodites, that cement...”
While Ariman was narrating about the way of life of these mollusks, Kostya tried to accomplish what Ariman had advised. Swallowing his saliva convulsively, he took a lemon piece lying near the oyster with care and started folding it squeezing the juice. He did it so cautiously, as if fearing that mollusk would bite off his finger. His fixed look seemed to be that of a chemist, performing a dangerous explosive test. When there necessary amount was accumulated, a drop fell on the mollusk, and it contracted in reflex. This action of a tiny organism made Kostya jerk on the chair, but he did not scream this time – it's something at least. Continuing with this procedure that evidently wasn’t quite pleasant for him, he did as Ariman had said. And with a squeamish and verjuice countenance, as if he was faced with swallowing two pounds of slugs with a dozen of lemons, he sucked this poor oyster out of the shell at one stroke. What can you do? As they say, in for a penny, in for a pound. He was to play the role of a ‘refined gourmet’ all the way. After that agonizing procedure Kostya puckered like a cornichon.
Andrew, who had been watching the process of oyster devourment in an underhand way, cheered his friend up quietly with a smile: “It’s alright, it’s alright. What got into mouth, is healthy throughout.”
“Aha,” Kostya muffled: “It’s creeping thought my gullet!”
Andrew grinned and put in some black humor: “Why, what were you thinking? You gulped down that poor breather wholly, and now that monster would eat you from inside.”
“Not on your Nelly,” Kostya remarked sarcastically. “I’ve got strong nervous and digestive systems.”
Following that agonizing procedure, the guy started taking other food after the ‘bliss of this taste’, bolting it down almost without chewing.
“Well, how was it?” Tatyana, sitting between us, mocked him quietly.
Kostya washed the food down with some drink and answered her in inaudible mutter: “Catch me trying that imm... that motionless hermaphrodite again!..”
“I see,” Tatyana chuckled.
At that moment Ariman drew his attention to him and asked with a pleasing smiley: “Did you enjoy it, Konstantine?”
The guy instantly feigned a happy look on his face and answered hastily: “Oh, yes, very tasty! I’ve never tried anything like that! It’s really delicious!”
Tatyana and I could hardly keep our countenance, caused by such a sudden transformation of Kostya’s face from sour-peevish to contented-sugary expression. It seemed that if he had been standing, he would have been making bows from the waist. When Ariman was distracted by conversation with other guys, Kostya threw a withering look on the second oyster, lying on his plate in beauty. But then his face brightened and he suggested looking and Andrew with insidious smile.
“D’ye wanna to try? It is so tasty!”
“No sir, thank you. I wasn’t signing up for a flayer,” Andrew said with a smile.
At that moment Eugene drew everyone’s attention to himself. After trying several dishes, he obviously grew bolder in gustation of good. Pointing at big crayfish lying on a huge plate in the middle of the table, he asked Ariman: “These crayfish must be from Chernobyl? A new gigantic kind?”
Ariman chuckled.
“No, these are langoustes. My recommendation. Very tender meat.”
He cast a glance at Veliar, and the latter made swift arrangements. The steward-guy laid a langouste on a separate plate that was on a tray with special cutting instruments and served it to Eugene.
The latter looked askew at all that set and declared openly: “What do I need these surgical armaments for? I’m no sadist, nor a dentist. I’m not gonna torture this dead animal. Am I a maniac, or something?!” Placing the lobster bravely by hand on his plate and observing it in passing, Eugene added: “Besides, judging by his red look, I guess, he’s already confessed everything to your cook.”
Everybody burst out laughing. Ariman grinned too and gave an approving nod to the steward, who was somewhat confused at such unheard-of treatment of food items. He seemed to become interested in how Eugene was going to dress the lobster without instruments, as after moving aside he started watching this amusing guy with curiosity. Meanwhile, far from being embarrassed by his behavior, Eugene started handling the lobster in his own manner, applying all his mastery to getting its ‘tender meat’.
At first, like everyone else, hearing eulogies about the dishes, I put on my plate some seafood salad standing nearby and, of course, a small spoon of the much-praised silver caviar. The plates, by the way, were very unusual. They were light, porcelain, and with painting depicting some plots with half-naked nymphs. Besides, judging by the plates of my nearest neighbors at the table, each plate’s painting had a different the plot. But they were sustained in one style.
When that delicious food filled my plate and I was about to try it, suddenly I felt such a wave of nausea and inner discomfort that it nearly turned my stomach. Hastily, I put down my fork back on the table, dropping my eyes on the floor. But the lines of the transparent floor seemed to become animated before my eyes and slowly at first, but then faster and faster they started whirling into some sign, which made me feel even worse. My head began to swim, and my breath quickened. I shut my eyes and clawed hold of the plastic arm-chair with all my strength, fearing that I would fall into a faint. The dizziness passed immediately though. Taking advantage of this temporary relief, I tried to concentrate on the solar plexus, on my ‘lotus flower.’ This simple meditation, once given to all of us by Sensei, became a peculiar first-aid in extreme cases. So far, it never failed me. And indeed, doing this meditation within a minute brought me into more or less normal state. My breath became steady, and I even managed to relieve somewhat that nauseating condition. I opened my eyes. Luckily, almost nobody noticed my temporary indisposition. The group was carried away by eating and talking with Ariman. Only Sensei glanced at me somehow kindly, which made me feel even more peaceful inside. But he instantly looked away, commenting upon another Eugene’s joke with humor. I breathed a sigh of relief and settled back in the arm-chair, trying to avoid looking at the food or the floor, because of incomprehensible “oddities” of my organism.
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