Страница:
Anastasia Novykh
Sensei of Shambala
Book III
All events and characters in this book are the author’s invention. Any coincidences of characters’ names and positions with that of real living or deceased people as well as to events that took place in one’s life are purely accidental and absolutely unpremeditated.
This book was written based on the personal diary of a former high school senior girl reflecting events of summer, 1991.
Curiously enough, as though by some unknown law, the same trouble repeatedly happens to all people: if a person’s dreams go around the level of existence, then, after going through all chain of trials towards the cherished goal, the realized dream does not afford the expected satisfaction for some reason. What’s more, it becomes empty and useless in time. But the energies are expended, and the best years are gone. So, this person loses heart once more, and then directs all his energies at achieving a new goal of existence, while in essence he only does the same ‘been there, done that’ again. And such a hollow game goes on up to his death. At the end, however, there’s a sad result: lost everything he could, no vital forces left, and all around seems meaningless repetition of one and the same stupid blunders, only already made by other people. Eventually, there comes the old bony lady Death and like a croupier in a casino, with feigned smile, she remarks about your total loss: ‘Sorry, little human, looks like it wasn’t your day today’. But the most striking thing is that in this moment everyone thinks to himself that he is the only such loser of a kind. And he doesn’t even understand, poor soul, that he is but one grain out of billions of the like, who, thanks to their stupid dreams, got caught in exactly the same way in the global system of deceit, advertising sign of which says: ‘They lived like the rest and they died like the rest.’
But few do know that there are other ways in life round this all-devouring crater of existence. And their guide is spiritual goals. It doesn’t mean that a road for them will be even and comfortable. Rather the contrary, continuous pits and bumps throughout your entire life, continuous tests and trials of your willingness to achieve the only cherished dream – to come to God as a mature creature. The way is hard. But if you concentrate on inner core of belief and harden it day after day, there happens a miracle: overcoming difficulties turns into fascinating stalking, problems turn into hazard warnings on your life track, unexpected meetings and events turn into guide signs of the right course. And it all turns out to be very simple! All what’s required is not to be tempted by stupid dreams of existence and avoid turning into its wide roads, leading to a trap of the global deceit.
Curiously enough, but in respect of such a course of life too, as if by some unknown law, for people aspiring to the spiritual there happens one and the same story: with honor and dignity, going through years of their life, retaining love for God through twists and turns of existence, they find unknown divine power, soulful gratification, and inner peace. They fear not Life; nor they fear Death. For Life to them is but a temporary refuge for Soul; for Death to them is the Door to everlasting life, into the world of God. And the point is that spiritual people not only believe: they know about realities of the higher world. While those, who find comfort in thought about existence, being in the global system of deceit, are not even able to believe, for not only they cannot see true reality behind the shroud of existence, but they even cannot adequately hold their own lives. To each his own, though: what one chooses, that he gets.
Part of the land that did not suffer from water looked a sorry spectacle, including the place where our tent camp was. But this chaos was nothing compared to our impressions of the previous night’s events. It’s not enough that my organism, having lost its habitual sleep and wakeful regimen, was in utter run-down condition, like a car after an accident, in addition to that my thoughts went off-scale with emotions, replay yesterday’s plot of demonstrations and stories of Sensei. At that, these impressions were so vivid against the background of general indisposition of my body that it seemed to have happened just now. It was as if there had been no those hours of sleep, separating us from the reality of Sensei’s world that amazed us.
It was evident that I was not the only one being under power of impression of the last night’s events, because the first thing the guys talked about after the ‘morning’ exercise were the events that took place the night before. Along with that play on words of various impressions we set to introduce proper order in the camp territory, after having a hurried dry rations meal. There was lots of work. But owing to concerted efforts under the guidance of Sensei, everything went swimmingly. The elder guys engaged in thorough fortification of the tents and grooming the cars. The others took part in garbage collection around the camp territory, washing and well-drying of their clothes, that suffered yesterday’s gale. After we displayed make-things-hum camphood activities, stretched lines between the tents, and hung our belongings, our camp started to look like a gypsy camp.
The group ‘hummed’ like a disturbed beehive. Here and there were heard conversations and discussions of what was seen and heard from Sensei last night. And since, when cleaning up the camp, I happened to be now at one group of guys, now at another, I was able to hear their impressions.
“My, can you believe what power a thought possesses!” Kostya reasoned while cleaning along with us a part of the beach littered by the gale.
“Yeah, Sensei did some top-class performance yesterday!” Andrew responded.
“You bet!” Ruslan nodded. “How did he... There we sat, then bang, and such a storm! I thought it was the end of the world! Soaked to skin.”
Andrew smiled.
“You’re such an egoist. As if you are the only one who got soaked, and all the rest chanced to be dry.”
“Um, that I meant generally speaking,” Ruslan hastened to put himself right.
“Ah, what of our wet clothes compared to such, to such...” Yura tried inspiredly to express his feelings, but was loss for words.
Kostya, tidying up his parcel, picked up a dry twig and tasted it. But immediately pulled a face and spat it.
“Ugh, how disgusting!” he threw it to the pile of litter and wrinkling his nose pronounced: “How only was Sensei able to make bitter wormwood sweet?”
Noticing his mimic, Andrew laughed and said merrily: “You should’ve tasted it when you were given it, instead of putting on an act.”
Kostya ignored the friend’s banter and in perplexity tried to come down to brass tacks.
“I don’t get it. May be it seemed to me that it was sweet?”
“Why, yeah!” Andrew voiced with irony. “And it seemed to me as well as it seemed to other guys. I’m sorry, but I’m yet able to tell pepper from sugar.”
“Yes, but how did he do that?!” Kostya could not calm down, evidently being in two minds between his disbelief and what he personally saw and even tasted.
“How, how?” Andrew mimicked his intonation. “What do you eat me for? There’s Sensei, go ask him.”
Andrew put another pile of litter away into the reed. When he returned, Kostya presented him with a new ‘genius conjecture.’
“May be it was a mass hypnosis?”
“Well, I reckon we could be hypnotized. But the sea? It doesn't care a spit, it’s sea, you know!” Andrew shattered his theory off-hand.
“Yeah, the sea can spit alright,” seeming to have heard only the last words, Ruslan echoed, while dragging the litter for the common heap.
The guys smiled, and Andrew cheerfully produced: “Come to think of it, we’re all very lucky to have met Sensei. Only one night, and we could see and get to know so many things, as we wouldn’t have been able see in our entire lives!”
“Well, suppose, we learnt not so much as we saw,” parried Kostya. “Personally, I still don’t get it, how he did that.”
“Well, a Philosopher, indeed! Your head is useful only for crushing the philosopher's stone,” Andrew chaffed him. “It’s all right, grow up, and you’ll get it.”
“It’s like you understood something,” Kostya made caustic remark in return.
“In theory – yes. I just need to master it in practice,” Andrew laughed.
“No way, practice cannot be trusted to Andrew yet,” Ruslan announced merrily. “He’s such a fella: let him start, and no one will get to stop 'em then.”
The guys burst into laughter. After finishing my work, I went to lend Tatyana a hand. She was busying herself with cleaning the garbage near the tents, that the elder guys, Eugene and Stas, were securing. As it turned out, conversation of the elder guys was in the same spirit. The difference was they talked quietly so as not to attract attention.
“... And don’t say, as soon as I recall that storm, it still gives me the creeps,” Eugene shared with Stas in embarrassment, drawing another cord of a tent. “How long did Sensei hold the cup with sea water in his hands? Only a minute?! And such a storm rose after! Honestly, I thought it will wash us all away. Even said goodbye mentally to my people.”
“You weren’t the only one to say goodbye,” Stas noticed.
“This is getting beyond the joke. It’s a serious power... You know, only now I’ve realized how serious is everything Sensei tells us about and tries to teach us. Do you imagine what responsibility it is to possess such knowledge?”
“Don’t say. If it falls into bad hands...”
“Hands are ok, anything but heads,” Eugene pronounced. “Head is the cause of all troubles. So, we ought to work with our own heads more seriously to clean the garbage out of it. Now a dirty thought would still get in once in a while.”
“Yes indeed, no matter how careful you are, sometimes it sneaks in, good-for-nothing.”
“That means we’ve got to go into it more thoroughly. Spiritual work is far more important than all our small-minded life.”
Eugene fell silent, driving a tent peg into sand. Then he looked at the sea and pronounced pensively: “I didn’t sleep today. That wave was before my eyes all the time. Man, if Sensei hadn’t stopped the sea at that time, nothing of this would have been here, can you imagine?”
“Exactly,” Stas nodded sadly. “This understanding just gives me creeps.”
“Haw,” Eugene gave a deep sigh and headed for another tent with Stas.
Carried away with cleaning, Tatyana and I unwittingly approached the cars where Sensei, Nicolai Andreevich, Volodya, and Victor were. All four were trying to bring Nicolai Andreevich’s Volga into a proper condition, tinkering with its motor.
“Andreich, I can't put my finger on how did you contrive to start it up last night?” Volodya said laughing.
To that Nicolai Andreevich answered: “If you want to survive you’d start up something else.”
Men laughed. When the laughter faded, Volodya uttered: “Well, we sure had a memorable night yesterday.”
“And above all, so many impressions!” Nicolai Andreevich agreed to him.
Sensei lit a cigarette. Meanwhile Victor, taking advantage of everyone’s moment of respite, hastened to open his mind to Sensei.
“I haven’t been able to sleep till morning. I wondered. How could that ever be possible that people, being near the Saint, at Agapitus himself, exchanged his Teaching so rashly for this everyday life,” Victor looked around contemptuously and pronounced with emotion: “for this clutter?! This is all temporary! It’s instants! It’s as good as changing a momentary satiety for an eternal hunger. No, this I don’t understand... How on earth could people come down to such a baseness, to change the world of God for this illusion of existence?”
“Well, what would you want,” Sensei said with a shadow of a sad smile. “People are people. They question even the very existence of God, and you talk about Eternity. That’s why they choose what they see, and not what they feel in their soul. They are people... At times they change their mind three times a day. And you talk about some global choice of theirs. The life of the masses is similar to a stream: wherever it flows, there they are carried away with the current...”
Suddenly loud shouts were heard on the beach. There, to common laughter of the guys, Eugene was being chased by Stas holding that particular Eugene’s cup in his hand, which the guy had used to bring seawater the other day. The lad, pursuing his friend cried with laughter: “It’s you favorite cup!”
To that, adroitly dodging him, Eugene yelled: “Take it away from me! I have an allergy to this cup. Away with it I said! Or I’ll shove it into one place of yours and break the handle!”
Sensei smiled looking at this scene, put out the unfinished cigarette and got under the bonnet to sort out the motor. Other men hastily joined him. I tried to listen to their mutter, intending to hear continuation of the conversation. But only technical terms regarding possible malfunctions of the car reached my ears. Having realized there would be no sequel, my persona resolved to camphood activities.
A bit later all hands set out to preparing lunch. Our younger company – Andrew, Kostya, Slavik, Tatyana, and I – were appointed to peeling potatoes. Nicolai Andreevich and Sensei continued fiddling with the car. And the rest – Eugene, Stas, Victor, Yura, and Ruslan, led by our special squad soldier Volodya – went to gather some brushwood for campfire, at the same time trying to find inflatable boat that had been obviously carried away by the hurricane wind last night.
Five people for peeling potatoes is, of course, a funny affair. Those who did not succeed much due to absence of everyday practice were, naturally, reluctant to participate. But on the other hand, you can’t just lose face in front of your comrades. So, the compromise was found in humor.
Everything started with Kostya. It's not for nothing that his was nicknamed Philosopher. At first, he honestly and in good faith endeavored to take the peel off an unmanageable potato (incidentally, he himself chose the largest one). But as he took the third one, his enthusiasm exhausted rather quickly. Stubbornness changed for apathy, followed by scanning of the ugliest potatoes with fanciful processes. Suddenly inspiration condensed upon the Philosopher. Like a true master, he began to design entire images of those potatoes, though it was more like picturing in our fancy. Thus, there emerged Venus Tauride, a one-eyed pirate, who with additional Kostya’s carving also became a one-legged stump; an Horror creature as a space alien. After which it came to a portrait of Andrew in old age. To that Andrew carved an approximate Kostya’s physiognomy out of a potato, saying that it would definitely become so in the most near future if the latter would resume playing horse like that. But this excited Kostya even more, and, enthusiastically, he started finding ‘portraits’ of each one sitting around. It appeared that Andrew was lucky to have his sculptural image. Subsequent master portraits Kostya eloquently associated with our alleged former or future lives. He made efforts to select such uglies that the orator was nearly showered with rotten potatoes and peels. If it was not for Nicolai Andreevich passing by, Kostya would have made a correspondence to the image carved by Andrew for sure.
“My, my!” Nicolai Andreevich smiled ironically looking at potato peels lying around Kostya. “Cleaning, cleaning, and now littering again?”
“We’ll tidy up in a moment,” Tatyana replied for all.
“Ah, local engagements, I see,” psychotherapeut observed.
“No, it’s just preventive control,” Andrew responded with a smile.
“Preventive control,” Kostya mimicked grinning. “How only have you been able to find such smart words in your head?”
For that another good handful of peels from Andrew flew at him. Kostya attempted to avoid with laughter and declared addressing to Nicolai Andreevich: “I’m, like Nostradamus, revealed them their future straight from the shoulder. And they – treated a prophet with rotten potatoes!”
“It’s all right, Kostya,” Nicolai Andreevich cheered him up. “Nostradamus had harder times.”
“Alas, lot of persecution falls upon the Great!” Kostya declaimed.
“No need to envy the Great,” Andrew chaffed him. “We’ll pursue you as it is alright.”
Everyone laughed and returned to their chores. Soon the elder guys came. The inflatable boat, fortunately, was found. Though it was lacking two cushions, but it was all right. As for the brushwood, things were more complicated there. After the last night’s gale, not much had been able to get dry.
“With such a supply we won’t be able to cook even a soup,” Victor resumed looking at a sorry pile of dry brushwood.
“Gotta buy a primus stove, though,” Eugene uttered with humor, mimicking a character of a popular ‘Gentlemen of fortune’ movie. “The campfire appears to be quite lean.”
“Are there any whole potatoes left?” Victor asked glancing at a bucket of peeled potatoes.
“Yes, there are some,” I said looking in a parcel.
“Alright. Let’s bury them into the sand under fire. If something doesn’t cook until ready in the fire, at least that one will pan out.”
So was decided. Actually, we didn’t worry much about the meal. Our trip to the market the day before and resupply enabled us to do without hot food that Nicolai Andreevich had been persisting on, apparently being mindful of our health. We lit a campfire, preliminarily digging unpeeled potatoes in the sand, and attempted to cook a soup, already losing hope to make a second dish with such a supply of wood.
During this rather comical process of prolonged cooking when Kostya and Tatyana were on duty at our pottage, someone noticed a beautiful white yacht graciously gliding across the sea along the coast not too far away from us. Everyone chucked their petty work and crowded on the beach, gazing at this snow-white miracle against the light blue of the sky and the navy of the sea. Only Sensei and Nicolai Andreevich were tinkering under the Volga’s bonnet with passion.
“It's lucky for some,” murmured Ruslan enviously. “People are yachting.”
“Who cramps your style?” Victor sempai asked. “An inflatable boat’s over there, go sail.”
“Aha, but this’s a boat, and that – that’s a yacht!” Ruslan drawled, as if taking delight in the very word “yacht.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind sailing that baby too,” Eugene agreed to him suddenly.
“Beauty,” Stas nodded.
Folding his arms on the chest, Kostya did not fail to express his opinion too: “I haven’t seen such a thing even on a TV.”
Looking in the direction with suspicion, Volodya voiced: “That’s strange. I wonder where it came from to our neck of the woods?”
“I guess it’s some new Russian patriot monkeys around,” Eugene responded satirically.
“A fine new Russian,” Volodya uttered. “From the yacht’s appearance he’s got to be at least an owner of an oil-refining company.”
“Well,” Victor sighed. “We won’t ever live like. And if we do, then not for long. Alright, let’s go. Had a look, and that’ll do. Why cherish wishful thinking? Anyway the horizon and the sky will be clear again in ten minutes or so.”
But as soon as we were about to disperse at Victor’s advice, the yacht suddenly stopped right in front of the camp. This again riveted our curious sight on the yacht. People on the vessel begin to bustle about. Apparently they lowered a lifeboat portside, as because in a few minutes a no less beautiful boat heaved from behind the yacht. It was an unusual boat, with fretted sides and oars as if made in antique style. There were six people in it. One of them, dressed in white suit and wearing a snow-white hat, unlike others was standing, peering at the approaching shore. When the boat came up closer, we were able to observe its passengers more thoroughly.
At the fore of the boat, there sat a man dressed in black garment, his back turned to us. The man wore funny little thin pigtail on a half-bald head. He sat there like a mummy, without stirring, without turning, as if he couldn’t care less about what was going on there on the shore. In the center of the boat there were four sailors-oarsmen all in full white dress with navy decoration. At the other end of the boat there stood that man in a white stylish suit, from all appearances, the owner of the yacht. His garment accentuated athletic built of his figure. The white hat was pulled over his eyes, concealing them in a mysterious shadow. His head was slightly tilted to side. His jacket was frivolously unbuttoned. His hands were dug in pockets. The man stood steadily in the boat, never caring a bit that he could easily fall overboard from accidental swinging.
We watched the scene, not knowing what was actually going on. Only Volodya, having sized up the situation adequately, pronounced: “There's something strange about it. Gotta call Sensei.”
When Sensei and Nicolai Andreevich came by, the boat was already quite near the shore.
“Who could it be, Sensei?” Stas enquired voicing everyone’s question.
“Well, we are kind of guests, you know,” Sensei answered somewhat sadly and enigmatically, wiping soiled hands with some rag.
Unlike us, such a visit did not surprise Sensei one whit. And as it seemed to me, he treated this event as a trivial one, as if such luxurious yachts came by us every day.
“What d’you mean guests?” akimbo Eugene got on his hind legs.
“On a nature reserve’s territory?” Nicolai Andreevich specified the question.
“Well, kind of like that,” Sensei said, looking carefully now at the approaching lifeboat, now at the process of cleaning his hands.
“But this reserve is only a paper’s reserve! There, how many campers there were at the beginning of the spit.” Victor objected, who specialized in jurisprudence. “Who would ever need this strip of sand in these latter days? Who would guard it, spend money on this desert plot?”
“That’s right too,” Volodya concurred with him. “At any rate, even if this spit was purchased by some small Soviet chief, would he sail about on such an expensive yacht? No, this no inspection for sure.”
“Who knows,” Sensei shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m telling you, he’s a new Russian!” Eugene reminded his version again, looking closely at the man, standing in the lifeboat.
“What would he need in our wilderness place, among us, aborigines?” Kostya asked, surprised. “Had I had such a yacht, I’d have stopped only in eminent health resort.”
“Why, it’s such exoticism here with us!” Andrew smiled.
I looked around and thought: “That’s for sure, our exoticism was really impressive.” It’s not enough that everything around was a mess after the raging element, the entire camp was hung about with our warm sweaters and pants, which made it look like a refuge for the homeless.
“No, really, what do they need?” even Yura could not contain himself.
“What, what... They ran out of gasoline,” Eugene cracked a joke as usual. “Look, how well they row, haven't they got a good pair of lungs!?”
The guys laughed.
“That’s how it is with our generosity of soul in everything,” Nicolai Andreevich smiled. “Buying yachts, generously celebrating, and ending up in the morning with nothing to pay for gasoline.”
“That’s true,” Volodya nodded, laughing with the rest.
When the ship's boat came up, two sailors hopped into water and pulled it up towards the shore on the sand. The passengers got off.
Contrary to our expectations of the coming ‘negotiators’, the man in the white suit without beating about the bush, as they say, and without eminent introductions of his figure, headed our way first. He seemed to be in his forties. Average height, likable looks. His manly and at the same time charming cast of features could be called ideally regular. An impeccably groomed elegant suit, apparently tailor-made, perfectly harmonized with good-looking tan of his face and hands. On the middle finger of his right hand there gleamed a massive golden finger-ring with an oblong red ruby, adorned with blue stones at its sides. Alongside his confidence and calmness, all appearance of the stranger radiated some indiscernible superiority. From a distance there came a breath of an exceptionally pleasant aroma, probably of his perfume.
To the left of him, at arm's length, there minced along, like a shadow, a short man in black Chinese kimono. His was definitely of an Orient origin, resembling rather a Chinese or a Mongol. Narrow eyes, broad forehead. Half of his head along with its top was clean-shaven, and this bald spot glared as if polished. The remaining at sides jet-black hair was plaited at the back of his head in a neat little thin pigtail. An affable smile was as if imprinted on his face, his eyes cold and showing no emotion. Unlike his boss, the man inaudibly moved with a slinky gait, stepping barefooted on hot sand.
Coming closer and catching sight of Sensei among us, the yacht’s owner smiled broadly. He had a charming prepossessing smile. To our unspeakable amazement, this man approached Sensei and greeted him as an old acquaintance in that mysterious for us, melodious language that resembled signing of the birds. Sensei answered something back and shook him by the hand with a trademark grin. It seemed to me that Sensei was not very glad about this meeting. I thought it was, probably, due to not very good news that seemed to have been voiced in the language unintelligible for us. In any case, this awkward tension could be sensed only at some intuitive level as both Sensei and that man spoke with each other smiling.
After exchanging a few unintelligible remarks in the bird language, suddenly the stranger addressed Sensei in the Russian language, and without the slightest accent at that.
“I see you are not alone as always? Can the youth be still interested in the East?” he uttered with a friendly smile, surveying our group with either a derisive, or piercing, or studying look.
“As you see,” Sensei answered.
The stranger smiled.
“That’s yesterday. It seems that the trendsetter nowadays in the West.”
“Well, every man to his taste.”
“Not that it’s essential..,” and making a pause the unwelcome guest added in a stage tone: “It went clean out of my head, any fashion slowly gets accustomed to in this country.”
“Exactly.”
The man looked at our group again, slightly letting his eyes linger on Tatyana and me.
“Well, introduce me to your friends.”
Sensei tittered and asked meaningfully: “And how should I introduce you?”
“Oh, you’re right,” nodded the man vividly, beaming another broad smile. “My title sounds very long now. So, let’s dispense with formalities, courage, and long preface. As they say, Brevity is the soul of Wit...”
And right off the bat he offered me his hand and introduced himself: “Ariman. Or you can simply call me Arik!”
In my fright I even recoiled.
“Nastya,” mumbled I in a hoarse unnatural voice, slipping up at a push.
But then a quite comical situation took place. From habit I started to shake his hand firmly, at the same time trying to repress quiver in my body that came from fear. Meanwhile, the man attempted to put my hand to his lips and kiss it. But apparently such awkwardness perplexed him. Finally, he managed to fix my hand jerking in a convulsive handshake and press it against his lips. A display of such gallant manners completely put me off my stride of habitualness. I felt not only my cheeks flushing, but even the tips of my ears blushed. My persona promptly dropped my eyes and, ashamed of my own manners, wished to sink into the ground, or rather the sand.
As with Tatyana, he managed to do everything much easier and more graceful. Evidently, observing my unsuccessful ‘handshake,’ she was able to prepare to such salutation. But when the man passed on to greeting men, suddenly our indefatigable wisecracker Eugene was the first to offer his hand, being original as always. The guy dropped a curtsey and, like a woman of reputation, held out his hand as though for a kiss, apparently hinting the ladies’ part how it should be done. At that he inserted in a fine voice: “Eugene,” although, immediately straightening up and changing position of his arm for a handshake, he added in a mannish voice: “But you can call me simply Gene.”
Such a comical behavior set everyone laughing loud, including Sensei and Ariman. Even the Chinese man for the first time ever permitted himself a frank smile. Eugene’s prank somewhat defused the tension of an uncomfortable situation of initial constraint.
When Ariman got to know everyone, Eugene pronounced in a businesslike tone, motioning to the sumptuous yacht: “That’s quite a boat.”
“I like her too,” Ariman smiled and surveying the coastal strip said: “I see you’ve had a nice gale here.”
“Yes, brought dirt of sorts,” Sensei nodded.
“Been cleaning up half a day,” Victor standing by, engaged in conversation.
“Why, haven’t you caught yesterday’s storm?” Nicolai Andreevich asked in surprise.
“Yesterday’s?” Ariman repeated. He glanced at Sensei in some underhand way and replied: “No, I haven’t. I was far from this place.”
“A pity,” Eugene voiced a sympathetic phrase all of a sudden. “It’d be fascinating to see if she were able to survive such elements.”
Ariman grinned and proudly pronounced: “As far as I remember she survived even Atlantic storms, not just some ...” he intended to say some word, but evidently changed his mind and uttered, motioning to the sea: “tempest in this pool.”
“H'm, a sound old tub,” Eugene shook his head appraisingly.
That’s when I sensed a nasty smell of burning spreading through the air. The others seemed to have noticed it too, but, probably, did not determine its source straight away, and, with their looks showing ‘culture’, kept taking paying no attention to the queer odors. At last Ariman couldn’t hold it any longer and muttered: “Hey, guys, I smell something’s burning, isn’t it?”
“Soup!!!” Tatyana recollected suddenly, and along with Kostya she ran for our would-be pottage.
In the meantime, Eugene make it out like nothing had happened and, with important look, in a voice of a hospitable host declared: “Care to dine with us, good sir?”
Some of us could not contain ourselves and burst out laughing, realizing that our lunch was a complete failure. Ariman appreciated his joke too and answered: “I’m deeply obliged. But I have a counter-offer for you. I invite you to share my noon meal. I’d be pleased if you did me such honor by your presence.”
“Oh, that we ever always welcome, with the utmost pleasure,” Eugene answered with animation for everyone and endeavored to pour out his thanks in a similar grandiloquent manner: “We’d be delighted to do you such honor. As for us it’s also an honor to do you an honor by our honor in sharing your noon meal by our collective.”
Such pun set everyone laughing loud again. In the meantime, Eugene, to the boot of all that, with a stately air, as he could, make a bow before the ‘dear guests’. Laughing with others for a while Ariman held up his hands: “Well, can one resist an ardent speech of such a born orator?! I’m glad you’ve accepted my offer with such dignity.”
Everyone laughed again, taking it as another joke. Meanwhile, Ariman gave a quick look to the Chinese and said quietly: “Veliar, organize.”
Upon hearing the name of the Chinese, I was somewhat surprised. For it did not match his image completely. If he were some Shing Hu, Chiang Shi it would be all right more or less. But Veliar – it was too much for such a reserved and sulky person as he was.
On receiving the task, the Chinese bowed to Ariman respectfully and hastily retreated towards the lifeboat. While he was giving orders to the sailors awaiting there, Victor asked Ariman: “Is your friend keen on orient martial arts too, judging by calluses on his hands?”
“Yes, he’s a good master,” Ariman remarked proudly.
“What style does he perform in?” queried Victor inquisitively.
“Oh, a little bit of this and that,” Ariman replied evasively and inquired with animation: “Why, is there a mood for limbering up?”
“It’s possible,” Victor replied modestly, shrugging his shoulders.
“Yes, yes, there is!” Eugene responded cheerfully, hearing their conversation. “Mood’s present in multiple quantities!”
“Well, if there is, then no problem,” Ariman smiled.
I looked in the direction where the lifeboat was. To my amazement, after getting the arrangements from Veliar, the sailors took a detachable engine out of the boat, and fixing it to the stern, quickly cast off from the shore. The Chinese hastily made his way back as a faithful dog returns to its master. Ariman started explaining something to him in a foreign language.
“Oh?!” Eugene said in surprise and asked Sensei quietly: “In what’s he mumbling there?”
“It’s Wu – one of Chinese dialects,” replied he.
“A-a-ah,” drawled the guy as if he knew it, but had forgotten.
“What’s he saying?” queried Volodya who was standing near.
But as soon Sensei was about to answer him, Ariman turned to the collective and made a polite excuse: “I’m sorry. He doesn’t understand all words in Russian. I had to explain the matter in his native tongue... Well, let’s warm up?”
“What? Right now?” Eugene mouthed in amazement.
“Of course, why tarry? Veliar is burning with desire too,” Ariman replied with a smile and either in jest or in earnest added: “While the lunch is being prepared, we’ll be able to decide the winner.”
This idea was actively supported by the guys as it wasn’t their habit to neglect an opportunity to spar once in a while, especially with an unknown partner. We walked away from our camp a little. The guys began to warm up. Seeming to have the most burning desire to participate in the battle, Eugene came up to Sensei and Ariman, who were aside conversing about something. Examining calluses on his fist that was about the size of Veliar’s head, he asked Ariman: “Um, is it ok, if I bump him off accidentally?”
And with a crooked smile the guy motioned his head in Veliar’s direction. Indeed, against the background of Eugene’s stalwart-built, the Chinese looked like a Lilliputian.
Ariman grinned and nodded approvingly: “Go ahead, there’re still lots of them in China.”
Veliar jogged to and fro in anticipation of the first rival, jolting his hands a little, as if relaxing them. He seemed to have sensed something, while Eugene was inquiring Ariman about his persona, as when the satisfied guy resumed stretching, Veliar gave him an unkind mocking eye.
After the warm up, the guys grouped around an improvised sand ring. Burning with desire, Eugene was the first one to come out. A mischievous twinkle could be seen in the eyes of Veliar as if the Chinese was glad to see exactly Eugene as his sparring partner. After making conventional ritual bows, on Ariman’s clap the combat began.
Eugene appeared to be so sure of his victory that he decided to deal shortly with the Chinese. Facing him, like a bear against a nimble polecat, he tried to grab him with one hand, probably, in order to bump him off simply like a fly with another one. But the man knew better. As soon as the guy had a chance to catch his agile opponent on the kimono on his chest, Veliar adroitly pulled his hand to him and downwards, threw Eugene as if he was as light as feather and in such a way that he made a full somersault in the air. People let out a whoop of surprise almost all together. Eugene fell down, immediately made a quick roll thanks to worked out technique and sprang to his feet. But while his body acted automatically, he, judging by his bewildered look, could not believe that some little Chinese fellow was able to overturn his pretentious Greatness.
This circumstance only stirred Eugene up still more. He spread his arms wide apart, as if holding a fishing net and, making zigzag rushes on half-bent legs, started to approach Veliar. The latter made several withdrawals, as though he was indeed afraid of Eugene’s trap. But then, making a swift bounce, the Chinese jumped, imitating while in flight a number of telling blows in the head, and immediately after landing he withdrew aside to a safe distance. His kicks were so close to mark that Eugene, who had not bargained for such impudence, was taken aback for a moment, losing precious instants of combat. Meanwhile, wasting no time, the Chinese leapt towards him again and performed a mighty roundhouse back heel, and so unnaturally powerful for his short stature, that Eugene instantly fell on his back, throwing his feet over head. Taking advantage of such a position of his obstinate opponent, Veliar playfully slapped Eugene’s seat of honor. To a chuckle of the crowd, Eugene sprang up as if scalded, rubbing the certain part of his body on the go. Obviously this disgraceful slap was worse than a slap in the face for him. Judging by his scowled look, he quit deceiving himself with foolish dreams of a walkover and got ready for a serious sparring.
In the next blow Eugene tried to put all his might, but Veliar promptly changed his technique for aikido and using the opponent’s force sent him flying, in conclusion adding a kick in his rear end for edification purposes. That’s when people wouldn’t hold their laughter any longer. In the meantime, Eugene rushed for another attack, raising his leg for a powerful “Mawashi” in the head. But Veliar went to squat quickly and knocked him with another back heel. The guy tumbled on his back again. But in addition to all that Veliar imitated a kick in the groin. And so naturally at that, that a sympathetic moan “O-o-ouch!” could be heard among the man’s part of the audience.
It was probably the last straw to break the camel's back for Eugene. Leaping to his feet, he carried out a whole series of blows. But no matter how hard he tried, pushing himself to the limit, his arms and legs only cut through air, as the Chinese, who knows how, evaded blows literally by a shave’s distance from Eugene’s crushing fists. Above all, despite lightning speed of his opponent’s performance, Veliar had time not only to avoid strokes, but to strike back efficiently. In a phrase, it became clear to everyone that had it been a real fight, Eugene wouldn’t have had a ghost of a chance. However, Eugene was bursting into action over and over again, disregarding his obvious loss. Ariman, probably, taking compassion on him, clapped his hands once, thus discontinuing the fight. Eugene was so upset about what had happened that, his head dropped with shame, he walked our way even ignoring ritual bows. Veliar, on the other hand, absolutely without any malice, followed him with a polite bow, and made a bow to Ariman as if he were the most magnanimous and all-forgiving being in the whole wide world.
After such a combat our fighters became tense. The Chinese man was indeed a virtuoso in the use of his body as well of the holds. His technique was not similar to the one Sensei taught us.
Stas and Victor volunteered to go second, two against one. But this circumstance only excited Veliar and added a zest to this battle still more. After making ritual bows, the guys positioned themselves against the Chinese at an angle of about 90 degrees. The latter stood sideways, keeping both opponents within eyeshot. The fight began on a clap. Victor was the first to attack Veliar, striking a straight “tsuki”. Making a fast approach, in cold blood, Veliar intercepted the attack right at the moment when Victor applied energy to a blow and already could not veer its course. In addition to that the Chinese man not only intercepted the attack, he redirected it at Stas, who had just run up. Our fighters suddenly came into collision and tumbled down together, inevitably obeying the laws of physics. Meanwhile, Veliar stepped back complacently, not even trying to strike subsequent blows at them. He just mockingly contemplated their attempts of speedy unlocking, like the rest of the laughing audience, though. The guys stood up and endeavored a simultaneous cross-attack on Veliar. The latter swiftly got into defense, jumping aside. And wasting no time, he immediately made a fierce counterattack, with some incomprehensible abrupt cries, which – either because of their loudness or word combination – created unpleasant sound and seemed to deafen even the spectators, evoking not only fright, but also some very disagreeable feelings around stomach. Obviously, our guys did not expect such audio support during the attack, though, as well as the audience, frightened with these shouts. This told upon Veliar’s attack the following instant, as our guys suddenly found themselves lying one on another again. This time the audience was in no mood for laughter, and nor were our fighters.
This book was written based on the personal diary of a former high school senior girl reflecting events of summer, 1991.
Prologue
Darkness enveloped the Creature from all sides. Only an imparting voice and gleams of light made an illusion of its presence.
“Coming of darkness they wait for in fear,
Guessing the date of the ending of times,
But ‘tis in shadow that devil’s born near – Of their thoughts, where God was confined.
When gates of dungeons are boarded cruel,
One, seeing the dark, forgets ‘bout the light.
Even his spirit in this disbelief duel,
Merging with dark, chooses ban as the right.
Millstones of thoughts grind all in an instant.
Grains of the wild are tuned into dust.
Meanwhile, the dark there paints perfect idols,
Eclipsing eternal sacrament with ‘new’ from the past.
But he, who with almighty soul, within —
Seeing the light, tears off cover of dark,
He in one faith will be blessed with the aeon
And will open the doors into the worlds unmarked.
By hand of God – inscribed was the secret,
But ‘twas concealed from the curious eye.
Thus only he, who heeds sounds of sacral,
Will get to know His great power divine.
Mysterious sign runs there through time,
That’s hastening its impetuous speed.
The judge’s on earth and he draws final line,
The last chance is given to men as a gift.
The soul’s shivering, will in her sparkling,
The torch’s lit from candle that knows not decay.
The one giving light, begotten in Freedom,
In destinies of the centuries pierces the rays.”
* * *
Amazing is this world. Each of its moments is unpredictable, and each resolute step in it is a step towards the unknown as you don’t know what follows after. You can dream, build plans for the future, but life will invariably make its amendments, whether you want it or not. It’s as if you are taking part in a game with multiple tests. Pass all tests, and you’ll get your dream. But the question is, whether the dream is worthy of all these ties and hardships. The question is: what you dreamt of?Curiously enough, as though by some unknown law, the same trouble repeatedly happens to all people: if a person’s dreams go around the level of existence, then, after going through all chain of trials towards the cherished goal, the realized dream does not afford the expected satisfaction for some reason. What’s more, it becomes empty and useless in time. But the energies are expended, and the best years are gone. So, this person loses heart once more, and then directs all his energies at achieving a new goal of existence, while in essence he only does the same ‘been there, done that’ again. And such a hollow game goes on up to his death. At the end, however, there’s a sad result: lost everything he could, no vital forces left, and all around seems meaningless repetition of one and the same stupid blunders, only already made by other people. Eventually, there comes the old bony lady Death and like a croupier in a casino, with feigned smile, she remarks about your total loss: ‘Sorry, little human, looks like it wasn’t your day today’. But the most striking thing is that in this moment everyone thinks to himself that he is the only such loser of a kind. And he doesn’t even understand, poor soul, that he is but one grain out of billions of the like, who, thanks to their stupid dreams, got caught in exactly the same way in the global system of deceit, advertising sign of which says: ‘They lived like the rest and they died like the rest.’
But few do know that there are other ways in life round this all-devouring crater of existence. And their guide is spiritual goals. It doesn’t mean that a road for them will be even and comfortable. Rather the contrary, continuous pits and bumps throughout your entire life, continuous tests and trials of your willingness to achieve the only cherished dream – to come to God as a mature creature. The way is hard. But if you concentrate on inner core of belief and harden it day after day, there happens a miracle: overcoming difficulties turns into fascinating stalking, problems turn into hazard warnings on your life track, unexpected meetings and events turn into guide signs of the right course. And it all turns out to be very simple! All what’s required is not to be tempted by stupid dreams of existence and avoid turning into its wide roads, leading to a trap of the global deceit.
Curiously enough, but in respect of such a course of life too, as if by some unknown law, for people aspiring to the spiritual there happens one and the same story: with honor and dignity, going through years of their life, retaining love for God through twists and turns of existence, they find unknown divine power, soulful gratification, and inner peace. They fear not Life; nor they fear Death. For Life to them is but a temporary refuge for Soul; for Death to them is the Door to everlasting life, into the world of God. And the point is that spiritual people not only believe: they know about realities of the higher world. While those, who find comfort in thought about existence, being in the global system of deceit, are not even able to believe, for not only they cannot see true reality behind the shroud of existence, but they even cannot adequately hold their own lives. To each his own, though: what one chooses, that he gets.
* * *
We woke up around noon. The sun was already quite high in the sky. It was a clear day. The sea was calm. After yesterday’s storm the shore looked certainly impressive. Surprisingly, the part of land, which yesterday’s element fell upon with such phenomenal ferocity, was not just clean. In fact, it was refreshed in a way. The border of the renewed land laid along the winding line, that was drawn by the sea itself, consisting of seaweed, wreckage, and all kinds of rubbish of civilization ejected by the storm. It seemed that the sea mocked people by piling the land with waste of their own. After all, the sea is able to stand up for itself, for its coastal vast. A single heavy gale – and such tidiness, a pure primordial cleanness!Part of the land that did not suffer from water looked a sorry spectacle, including the place where our tent camp was. But this chaos was nothing compared to our impressions of the previous night’s events. It’s not enough that my organism, having lost its habitual sleep and wakeful regimen, was in utter run-down condition, like a car after an accident, in addition to that my thoughts went off-scale with emotions, replay yesterday’s plot of demonstrations and stories of Sensei. At that, these impressions were so vivid against the background of general indisposition of my body that it seemed to have happened just now. It was as if there had been no those hours of sleep, separating us from the reality of Sensei’s world that amazed us.
It was evident that I was not the only one being under power of impression of the last night’s events, because the first thing the guys talked about after the ‘morning’ exercise were the events that took place the night before. Along with that play on words of various impressions we set to introduce proper order in the camp territory, after having a hurried dry rations meal. There was lots of work. But owing to concerted efforts under the guidance of Sensei, everything went swimmingly. The elder guys engaged in thorough fortification of the tents and grooming the cars. The others took part in garbage collection around the camp territory, washing and well-drying of their clothes, that suffered yesterday’s gale. After we displayed make-things-hum camphood activities, stretched lines between the tents, and hung our belongings, our camp started to look like a gypsy camp.
The group ‘hummed’ like a disturbed beehive. Here and there were heard conversations and discussions of what was seen and heard from Sensei last night. And since, when cleaning up the camp, I happened to be now at one group of guys, now at another, I was able to hear their impressions.
“My, can you believe what power a thought possesses!” Kostya reasoned while cleaning along with us a part of the beach littered by the gale.
“Yeah, Sensei did some top-class performance yesterday!” Andrew responded.
“You bet!” Ruslan nodded. “How did he... There we sat, then bang, and such a storm! I thought it was the end of the world! Soaked to skin.”
Andrew smiled.
“You’re such an egoist. As if you are the only one who got soaked, and all the rest chanced to be dry.”
“Um, that I meant generally speaking,” Ruslan hastened to put himself right.
“Ah, what of our wet clothes compared to such, to such...” Yura tried inspiredly to express his feelings, but was loss for words.
Kostya, tidying up his parcel, picked up a dry twig and tasted it. But immediately pulled a face and spat it.
“Ugh, how disgusting!” he threw it to the pile of litter and wrinkling his nose pronounced: “How only was Sensei able to make bitter wormwood sweet?”
Noticing his mimic, Andrew laughed and said merrily: “You should’ve tasted it when you were given it, instead of putting on an act.”
Kostya ignored the friend’s banter and in perplexity tried to come down to brass tacks.
“I don’t get it. May be it seemed to me that it was sweet?”
“Why, yeah!” Andrew voiced with irony. “And it seemed to me as well as it seemed to other guys. I’m sorry, but I’m yet able to tell pepper from sugar.”
“Yes, but how did he do that?!” Kostya could not calm down, evidently being in two minds between his disbelief and what he personally saw and even tasted.
“How, how?” Andrew mimicked his intonation. “What do you eat me for? There’s Sensei, go ask him.”
Andrew put another pile of litter away into the reed. When he returned, Kostya presented him with a new ‘genius conjecture.’
“May be it was a mass hypnosis?”
“Well, I reckon we could be hypnotized. But the sea? It doesn't care a spit, it’s sea, you know!” Andrew shattered his theory off-hand.
“Yeah, the sea can spit alright,” seeming to have heard only the last words, Ruslan echoed, while dragging the litter for the common heap.
The guys smiled, and Andrew cheerfully produced: “Come to think of it, we’re all very lucky to have met Sensei. Only one night, and we could see and get to know so many things, as we wouldn’t have been able see in our entire lives!”
“Well, suppose, we learnt not so much as we saw,” parried Kostya. “Personally, I still don’t get it, how he did that.”
“Well, a Philosopher, indeed! Your head is useful only for crushing the philosopher's stone,” Andrew chaffed him. “It’s all right, grow up, and you’ll get it.”
“It’s like you understood something,” Kostya made caustic remark in return.
“In theory – yes. I just need to master it in practice,” Andrew laughed.
“No way, practice cannot be trusted to Andrew yet,” Ruslan announced merrily. “He’s such a fella: let him start, and no one will get to stop 'em then.”
The guys burst into laughter. After finishing my work, I went to lend Tatyana a hand. She was busying herself with cleaning the garbage near the tents, that the elder guys, Eugene and Stas, were securing. As it turned out, conversation of the elder guys was in the same spirit. The difference was they talked quietly so as not to attract attention.
“... And don’t say, as soon as I recall that storm, it still gives me the creeps,” Eugene shared with Stas in embarrassment, drawing another cord of a tent. “How long did Sensei hold the cup with sea water in his hands? Only a minute?! And such a storm rose after! Honestly, I thought it will wash us all away. Even said goodbye mentally to my people.”
“You weren’t the only one to say goodbye,” Stas noticed.
“This is getting beyond the joke. It’s a serious power... You know, only now I’ve realized how serious is everything Sensei tells us about and tries to teach us. Do you imagine what responsibility it is to possess such knowledge?”
“Don’t say. If it falls into bad hands...”
“Hands are ok, anything but heads,” Eugene pronounced. “Head is the cause of all troubles. So, we ought to work with our own heads more seriously to clean the garbage out of it. Now a dirty thought would still get in once in a while.”
“Yes indeed, no matter how careful you are, sometimes it sneaks in, good-for-nothing.”
“That means we’ve got to go into it more thoroughly. Spiritual work is far more important than all our small-minded life.”
Eugene fell silent, driving a tent peg into sand. Then he looked at the sea and pronounced pensively: “I didn’t sleep today. That wave was before my eyes all the time. Man, if Sensei hadn’t stopped the sea at that time, nothing of this would have been here, can you imagine?”
“Exactly,” Stas nodded sadly. “This understanding just gives me creeps.”
“Haw,” Eugene gave a deep sigh and headed for another tent with Stas.
Carried away with cleaning, Tatyana and I unwittingly approached the cars where Sensei, Nicolai Andreevich, Volodya, and Victor were. All four were trying to bring Nicolai Andreevich’s Volga into a proper condition, tinkering with its motor.
“Andreich, I can't put my finger on how did you contrive to start it up last night?” Volodya said laughing.
To that Nicolai Andreevich answered: “If you want to survive you’d start up something else.”
Men laughed. When the laughter faded, Volodya uttered: “Well, we sure had a memorable night yesterday.”
“And above all, so many impressions!” Nicolai Andreevich agreed to him.
Sensei lit a cigarette. Meanwhile Victor, taking advantage of everyone’s moment of respite, hastened to open his mind to Sensei.
“I haven’t been able to sleep till morning. I wondered. How could that ever be possible that people, being near the Saint, at Agapitus himself, exchanged his Teaching so rashly for this everyday life,” Victor looked around contemptuously and pronounced with emotion: “for this clutter?! This is all temporary! It’s instants! It’s as good as changing a momentary satiety for an eternal hunger. No, this I don’t understand... How on earth could people come down to such a baseness, to change the world of God for this illusion of existence?”
“Well, what would you want,” Sensei said with a shadow of a sad smile. “People are people. They question even the very existence of God, and you talk about Eternity. That’s why they choose what they see, and not what they feel in their soul. They are people... At times they change their mind three times a day. And you talk about some global choice of theirs. The life of the masses is similar to a stream: wherever it flows, there they are carried away with the current...”
Suddenly loud shouts were heard on the beach. There, to common laughter of the guys, Eugene was being chased by Stas holding that particular Eugene’s cup in his hand, which the guy had used to bring seawater the other day. The lad, pursuing his friend cried with laughter: “It’s you favorite cup!”
To that, adroitly dodging him, Eugene yelled: “Take it away from me! I have an allergy to this cup. Away with it I said! Or I’ll shove it into one place of yours and break the handle!”
Sensei smiled looking at this scene, put out the unfinished cigarette and got under the bonnet to sort out the motor. Other men hastily joined him. I tried to listen to their mutter, intending to hear continuation of the conversation. But only technical terms regarding possible malfunctions of the car reached my ears. Having realized there would be no sequel, my persona resolved to camphood activities.
A bit later all hands set out to preparing lunch. Our younger company – Andrew, Kostya, Slavik, Tatyana, and I – were appointed to peeling potatoes. Nicolai Andreevich and Sensei continued fiddling with the car. And the rest – Eugene, Stas, Victor, Yura, and Ruslan, led by our special squad soldier Volodya – went to gather some brushwood for campfire, at the same time trying to find inflatable boat that had been obviously carried away by the hurricane wind last night.
Five people for peeling potatoes is, of course, a funny affair. Those who did not succeed much due to absence of everyday practice were, naturally, reluctant to participate. But on the other hand, you can’t just lose face in front of your comrades. So, the compromise was found in humor.
Everything started with Kostya. It's not for nothing that his was nicknamed Philosopher. At first, he honestly and in good faith endeavored to take the peel off an unmanageable potato (incidentally, he himself chose the largest one). But as he took the third one, his enthusiasm exhausted rather quickly. Stubbornness changed for apathy, followed by scanning of the ugliest potatoes with fanciful processes. Suddenly inspiration condensed upon the Philosopher. Like a true master, he began to design entire images of those potatoes, though it was more like picturing in our fancy. Thus, there emerged Venus Tauride, a one-eyed pirate, who with additional Kostya’s carving also became a one-legged stump; an Horror creature as a space alien. After which it came to a portrait of Andrew in old age. To that Andrew carved an approximate Kostya’s physiognomy out of a potato, saying that it would definitely become so in the most near future if the latter would resume playing horse like that. But this excited Kostya even more, and, enthusiastically, he started finding ‘portraits’ of each one sitting around. It appeared that Andrew was lucky to have his sculptural image. Subsequent master portraits Kostya eloquently associated with our alleged former or future lives. He made efforts to select such uglies that the orator was nearly showered with rotten potatoes and peels. If it was not for Nicolai Andreevich passing by, Kostya would have made a correspondence to the image carved by Andrew for sure.
“My, my!” Nicolai Andreevich smiled ironically looking at potato peels lying around Kostya. “Cleaning, cleaning, and now littering again?”
“We’ll tidy up in a moment,” Tatyana replied for all.
“Ah, local engagements, I see,” psychotherapeut observed.
“No, it’s just preventive control,” Andrew responded with a smile.
“Preventive control,” Kostya mimicked grinning. “How only have you been able to find such smart words in your head?”
For that another good handful of peels from Andrew flew at him. Kostya attempted to avoid with laughter and declared addressing to Nicolai Andreevich: “I’m, like Nostradamus, revealed them their future straight from the shoulder. And they – treated a prophet with rotten potatoes!”
“It’s all right, Kostya,” Nicolai Andreevich cheered him up. “Nostradamus had harder times.”
“Alas, lot of persecution falls upon the Great!” Kostya declaimed.
“No need to envy the Great,” Andrew chaffed him. “We’ll pursue you as it is alright.”
Everyone laughed and returned to their chores. Soon the elder guys came. The inflatable boat, fortunately, was found. Though it was lacking two cushions, but it was all right. As for the brushwood, things were more complicated there. After the last night’s gale, not much had been able to get dry.
“With such a supply we won’t be able to cook even a soup,” Victor resumed looking at a sorry pile of dry brushwood.
“Gotta buy a primus stove, though,” Eugene uttered with humor, mimicking a character of a popular ‘Gentlemen of fortune’ movie. “The campfire appears to be quite lean.”
“Are there any whole potatoes left?” Victor asked glancing at a bucket of peeled potatoes.
“Yes, there are some,” I said looking in a parcel.
“Alright. Let’s bury them into the sand under fire. If something doesn’t cook until ready in the fire, at least that one will pan out.”
So was decided. Actually, we didn’t worry much about the meal. Our trip to the market the day before and resupply enabled us to do without hot food that Nicolai Andreevich had been persisting on, apparently being mindful of our health. We lit a campfire, preliminarily digging unpeeled potatoes in the sand, and attempted to cook a soup, already losing hope to make a second dish with such a supply of wood.
During this rather comical process of prolonged cooking when Kostya and Tatyana were on duty at our pottage, someone noticed a beautiful white yacht graciously gliding across the sea along the coast not too far away from us. Everyone chucked their petty work and crowded on the beach, gazing at this snow-white miracle against the light blue of the sky and the navy of the sea. Only Sensei and Nicolai Andreevich were tinkering under the Volga’s bonnet with passion.
“It's lucky for some,” murmured Ruslan enviously. “People are yachting.”
“Who cramps your style?” Victor sempai asked. “An inflatable boat’s over there, go sail.”
“Aha, but this’s a boat, and that – that’s a yacht!” Ruslan drawled, as if taking delight in the very word “yacht.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind sailing that baby too,” Eugene agreed to him suddenly.
“Beauty,” Stas nodded.
Folding his arms on the chest, Kostya did not fail to express his opinion too: “I haven’t seen such a thing even on a TV.”
Looking in the direction with suspicion, Volodya voiced: “That’s strange. I wonder where it came from to our neck of the woods?”
“I guess it’s some new Russian patriot monkeys around,” Eugene responded satirically.
“A fine new Russian,” Volodya uttered. “From the yacht’s appearance he’s got to be at least an owner of an oil-refining company.”
“Well,” Victor sighed. “We won’t ever live like. And if we do, then not for long. Alright, let’s go. Had a look, and that’ll do. Why cherish wishful thinking? Anyway the horizon and the sky will be clear again in ten minutes or so.”
But as soon as we were about to disperse at Victor’s advice, the yacht suddenly stopped right in front of the camp. This again riveted our curious sight on the yacht. People on the vessel begin to bustle about. Apparently they lowered a lifeboat portside, as because in a few minutes a no less beautiful boat heaved from behind the yacht. It was an unusual boat, with fretted sides and oars as if made in antique style. There were six people in it. One of them, dressed in white suit and wearing a snow-white hat, unlike others was standing, peering at the approaching shore. When the boat came up closer, we were able to observe its passengers more thoroughly.
At the fore of the boat, there sat a man dressed in black garment, his back turned to us. The man wore funny little thin pigtail on a half-bald head. He sat there like a mummy, without stirring, without turning, as if he couldn’t care less about what was going on there on the shore. In the center of the boat there were four sailors-oarsmen all in full white dress with navy decoration. At the other end of the boat there stood that man in a white stylish suit, from all appearances, the owner of the yacht. His garment accentuated athletic built of his figure. The white hat was pulled over his eyes, concealing them in a mysterious shadow. His head was slightly tilted to side. His jacket was frivolously unbuttoned. His hands were dug in pockets. The man stood steadily in the boat, never caring a bit that he could easily fall overboard from accidental swinging.
We watched the scene, not knowing what was actually going on. Only Volodya, having sized up the situation adequately, pronounced: “There's something strange about it. Gotta call Sensei.”
When Sensei and Nicolai Andreevich came by, the boat was already quite near the shore.
“Who could it be, Sensei?” Stas enquired voicing everyone’s question.
“Well, we are kind of guests, you know,” Sensei answered somewhat sadly and enigmatically, wiping soiled hands with some rag.
Unlike us, such a visit did not surprise Sensei one whit. And as it seemed to me, he treated this event as a trivial one, as if such luxurious yachts came by us every day.
“What d’you mean guests?” akimbo Eugene got on his hind legs.
“On a nature reserve’s territory?” Nicolai Andreevich specified the question.
“Well, kind of like that,” Sensei said, looking carefully now at the approaching lifeboat, now at the process of cleaning his hands.
“But this reserve is only a paper’s reserve! There, how many campers there were at the beginning of the spit.” Victor objected, who specialized in jurisprudence. “Who would ever need this strip of sand in these latter days? Who would guard it, spend money on this desert plot?”
“That’s right too,” Volodya concurred with him. “At any rate, even if this spit was purchased by some small Soviet chief, would he sail about on such an expensive yacht? No, this no inspection for sure.”
“Who knows,” Sensei shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m telling you, he’s a new Russian!” Eugene reminded his version again, looking closely at the man, standing in the lifeboat.
“What would he need in our wilderness place, among us, aborigines?” Kostya asked, surprised. “Had I had such a yacht, I’d have stopped only in eminent health resort.”
“Why, it’s such exoticism here with us!” Andrew smiled.
I looked around and thought: “That’s for sure, our exoticism was really impressive.” It’s not enough that everything around was a mess after the raging element, the entire camp was hung about with our warm sweaters and pants, which made it look like a refuge for the homeless.
“No, really, what do they need?” even Yura could not contain himself.
“What, what... They ran out of gasoline,” Eugene cracked a joke as usual. “Look, how well they row, haven't they got a good pair of lungs!?”
The guys laughed.
“That’s how it is with our generosity of soul in everything,” Nicolai Andreevich smiled. “Buying yachts, generously celebrating, and ending up in the morning with nothing to pay for gasoline.”
“That’s true,” Volodya nodded, laughing with the rest.
When the ship's boat came up, two sailors hopped into water and pulled it up towards the shore on the sand. The passengers got off.
Contrary to our expectations of the coming ‘negotiators’, the man in the white suit without beating about the bush, as they say, and without eminent introductions of his figure, headed our way first. He seemed to be in his forties. Average height, likable looks. His manly and at the same time charming cast of features could be called ideally regular. An impeccably groomed elegant suit, apparently tailor-made, perfectly harmonized with good-looking tan of his face and hands. On the middle finger of his right hand there gleamed a massive golden finger-ring with an oblong red ruby, adorned with blue stones at its sides. Alongside his confidence and calmness, all appearance of the stranger radiated some indiscernible superiority. From a distance there came a breath of an exceptionally pleasant aroma, probably of his perfume.
To the left of him, at arm's length, there minced along, like a shadow, a short man in black Chinese kimono. His was definitely of an Orient origin, resembling rather a Chinese or a Mongol. Narrow eyes, broad forehead. Half of his head along with its top was clean-shaven, and this bald spot glared as if polished. The remaining at sides jet-black hair was plaited at the back of his head in a neat little thin pigtail. An affable smile was as if imprinted on his face, his eyes cold and showing no emotion. Unlike his boss, the man inaudibly moved with a slinky gait, stepping barefooted on hot sand.
Coming closer and catching sight of Sensei among us, the yacht’s owner smiled broadly. He had a charming prepossessing smile. To our unspeakable amazement, this man approached Sensei and greeted him as an old acquaintance in that mysterious for us, melodious language that resembled signing of the birds. Sensei answered something back and shook him by the hand with a trademark grin. It seemed to me that Sensei was not very glad about this meeting. I thought it was, probably, due to not very good news that seemed to have been voiced in the language unintelligible for us. In any case, this awkward tension could be sensed only at some intuitive level as both Sensei and that man spoke with each other smiling.
After exchanging a few unintelligible remarks in the bird language, suddenly the stranger addressed Sensei in the Russian language, and without the slightest accent at that.
“I see you are not alone as always? Can the youth be still interested in the East?” he uttered with a friendly smile, surveying our group with either a derisive, or piercing, or studying look.
“As you see,” Sensei answered.
The stranger smiled.
“That’s yesterday. It seems that the trendsetter nowadays in the West.”
“Well, every man to his taste.”
“Not that it’s essential..,” and making a pause the unwelcome guest added in a stage tone: “It went clean out of my head, any fashion slowly gets accustomed to in this country.”
“Exactly.”
The man looked at our group again, slightly letting his eyes linger on Tatyana and me.
“Well, introduce me to your friends.”
Sensei tittered and asked meaningfully: “And how should I introduce you?”
“Oh, you’re right,” nodded the man vividly, beaming another broad smile. “My title sounds very long now. So, let’s dispense with formalities, courage, and long preface. As they say, Brevity is the soul of Wit...”
And right off the bat he offered me his hand and introduced himself: “Ariman. Or you can simply call me Arik!”
In my fright I even recoiled.
“Nastya,” mumbled I in a hoarse unnatural voice, slipping up at a push.
But then a quite comical situation took place. From habit I started to shake his hand firmly, at the same time trying to repress quiver in my body that came from fear. Meanwhile, the man attempted to put my hand to his lips and kiss it. But apparently such awkwardness perplexed him. Finally, he managed to fix my hand jerking in a convulsive handshake and press it against his lips. A display of such gallant manners completely put me off my stride of habitualness. I felt not only my cheeks flushing, but even the tips of my ears blushed. My persona promptly dropped my eyes and, ashamed of my own manners, wished to sink into the ground, or rather the sand.
As with Tatyana, he managed to do everything much easier and more graceful. Evidently, observing my unsuccessful ‘handshake,’ she was able to prepare to such salutation. But when the man passed on to greeting men, suddenly our indefatigable wisecracker Eugene was the first to offer his hand, being original as always. The guy dropped a curtsey and, like a woman of reputation, held out his hand as though for a kiss, apparently hinting the ladies’ part how it should be done. At that he inserted in a fine voice: “Eugene,” although, immediately straightening up and changing position of his arm for a handshake, he added in a mannish voice: “But you can call me simply Gene.”
Such a comical behavior set everyone laughing loud, including Sensei and Ariman. Even the Chinese man for the first time ever permitted himself a frank smile. Eugene’s prank somewhat defused the tension of an uncomfortable situation of initial constraint.
When Ariman got to know everyone, Eugene pronounced in a businesslike tone, motioning to the sumptuous yacht: “That’s quite a boat.”
“I like her too,” Ariman smiled and surveying the coastal strip said: “I see you’ve had a nice gale here.”
“Yes, brought dirt of sorts,” Sensei nodded.
“Been cleaning up half a day,” Victor standing by, engaged in conversation.
“Why, haven’t you caught yesterday’s storm?” Nicolai Andreevich asked in surprise.
“Yesterday’s?” Ariman repeated. He glanced at Sensei in some underhand way and replied: “No, I haven’t. I was far from this place.”
“A pity,” Eugene voiced a sympathetic phrase all of a sudden. “It’d be fascinating to see if she were able to survive such elements.”
Ariman grinned and proudly pronounced: “As far as I remember she survived even Atlantic storms, not just some ...” he intended to say some word, but evidently changed his mind and uttered, motioning to the sea: “tempest in this pool.”
“H'm, a sound old tub,” Eugene shook his head appraisingly.
That’s when I sensed a nasty smell of burning spreading through the air. The others seemed to have noticed it too, but, probably, did not determine its source straight away, and, with their looks showing ‘culture’, kept taking paying no attention to the queer odors. At last Ariman couldn’t hold it any longer and muttered: “Hey, guys, I smell something’s burning, isn’t it?”
“Soup!!!” Tatyana recollected suddenly, and along with Kostya she ran for our would-be pottage.
In the meantime, Eugene make it out like nothing had happened and, with important look, in a voice of a hospitable host declared: “Care to dine with us, good sir?”
Some of us could not contain ourselves and burst out laughing, realizing that our lunch was a complete failure. Ariman appreciated his joke too and answered: “I’m deeply obliged. But I have a counter-offer for you. I invite you to share my noon meal. I’d be pleased if you did me such honor by your presence.”
“Oh, that we ever always welcome, with the utmost pleasure,” Eugene answered with animation for everyone and endeavored to pour out his thanks in a similar grandiloquent manner: “We’d be delighted to do you such honor. As for us it’s also an honor to do you an honor by our honor in sharing your noon meal by our collective.”
Such pun set everyone laughing loud again. In the meantime, Eugene, to the boot of all that, with a stately air, as he could, make a bow before the ‘dear guests’. Laughing with others for a while Ariman held up his hands: “Well, can one resist an ardent speech of such a born orator?! I’m glad you’ve accepted my offer with such dignity.”
Everyone laughed again, taking it as another joke. Meanwhile, Ariman gave a quick look to the Chinese and said quietly: “Veliar, organize.”
Upon hearing the name of the Chinese, I was somewhat surprised. For it did not match his image completely. If he were some Shing Hu, Chiang Shi it would be all right more or less. But Veliar – it was too much for such a reserved and sulky person as he was.
On receiving the task, the Chinese bowed to Ariman respectfully and hastily retreated towards the lifeboat. While he was giving orders to the sailors awaiting there, Victor asked Ariman: “Is your friend keen on orient martial arts too, judging by calluses on his hands?”
“Yes, he’s a good master,” Ariman remarked proudly.
“What style does he perform in?” queried Victor inquisitively.
“Oh, a little bit of this and that,” Ariman replied evasively and inquired with animation: “Why, is there a mood for limbering up?”
“It’s possible,” Victor replied modestly, shrugging his shoulders.
“Yes, yes, there is!” Eugene responded cheerfully, hearing their conversation. “Mood’s present in multiple quantities!”
“Well, if there is, then no problem,” Ariman smiled.
I looked in the direction where the lifeboat was. To my amazement, after getting the arrangements from Veliar, the sailors took a detachable engine out of the boat, and fixing it to the stern, quickly cast off from the shore. The Chinese hastily made his way back as a faithful dog returns to its master. Ariman started explaining something to him in a foreign language.
“Oh?!” Eugene said in surprise and asked Sensei quietly: “In what’s he mumbling there?”
“It’s Wu – one of Chinese dialects,” replied he.
“A-a-ah,” drawled the guy as if he knew it, but had forgotten.
“What’s he saying?” queried Volodya who was standing near.
But as soon Sensei was about to answer him, Ariman turned to the collective and made a polite excuse: “I’m sorry. He doesn’t understand all words in Russian. I had to explain the matter in his native tongue... Well, let’s warm up?”
“What? Right now?” Eugene mouthed in amazement.
“Of course, why tarry? Veliar is burning with desire too,” Ariman replied with a smile and either in jest or in earnest added: “While the lunch is being prepared, we’ll be able to decide the winner.”
This idea was actively supported by the guys as it wasn’t their habit to neglect an opportunity to spar once in a while, especially with an unknown partner. We walked away from our camp a little. The guys began to warm up. Seeming to have the most burning desire to participate in the battle, Eugene came up to Sensei and Ariman, who were aside conversing about something. Examining calluses on his fist that was about the size of Veliar’s head, he asked Ariman: “Um, is it ok, if I bump him off accidentally?”
And with a crooked smile the guy motioned his head in Veliar’s direction. Indeed, against the background of Eugene’s stalwart-built, the Chinese looked like a Lilliputian.
Ariman grinned and nodded approvingly: “Go ahead, there’re still lots of them in China.”
Veliar jogged to and fro in anticipation of the first rival, jolting his hands a little, as if relaxing them. He seemed to have sensed something, while Eugene was inquiring Ariman about his persona, as when the satisfied guy resumed stretching, Veliar gave him an unkind mocking eye.
After the warm up, the guys grouped around an improvised sand ring. Burning with desire, Eugene was the first one to come out. A mischievous twinkle could be seen in the eyes of Veliar as if the Chinese was glad to see exactly Eugene as his sparring partner. After making conventional ritual bows, on Ariman’s clap the combat began.
Eugene appeared to be so sure of his victory that he decided to deal shortly with the Chinese. Facing him, like a bear against a nimble polecat, he tried to grab him with one hand, probably, in order to bump him off simply like a fly with another one. But the man knew better. As soon as the guy had a chance to catch his agile opponent on the kimono on his chest, Veliar adroitly pulled his hand to him and downwards, threw Eugene as if he was as light as feather and in such a way that he made a full somersault in the air. People let out a whoop of surprise almost all together. Eugene fell down, immediately made a quick roll thanks to worked out technique and sprang to his feet. But while his body acted automatically, he, judging by his bewildered look, could not believe that some little Chinese fellow was able to overturn his pretentious Greatness.
This circumstance only stirred Eugene up still more. He spread his arms wide apart, as if holding a fishing net and, making zigzag rushes on half-bent legs, started to approach Veliar. The latter made several withdrawals, as though he was indeed afraid of Eugene’s trap. But then, making a swift bounce, the Chinese jumped, imitating while in flight a number of telling blows in the head, and immediately after landing he withdrew aside to a safe distance. His kicks were so close to mark that Eugene, who had not bargained for such impudence, was taken aback for a moment, losing precious instants of combat. Meanwhile, wasting no time, the Chinese leapt towards him again and performed a mighty roundhouse back heel, and so unnaturally powerful for his short stature, that Eugene instantly fell on his back, throwing his feet over head. Taking advantage of such a position of his obstinate opponent, Veliar playfully slapped Eugene’s seat of honor. To a chuckle of the crowd, Eugene sprang up as if scalded, rubbing the certain part of his body on the go. Obviously this disgraceful slap was worse than a slap in the face for him. Judging by his scowled look, he quit deceiving himself with foolish dreams of a walkover and got ready for a serious sparring.
In the next blow Eugene tried to put all his might, but Veliar promptly changed his technique for aikido and using the opponent’s force sent him flying, in conclusion adding a kick in his rear end for edification purposes. That’s when people wouldn’t hold their laughter any longer. In the meantime, Eugene rushed for another attack, raising his leg for a powerful “Mawashi” in the head. But Veliar went to squat quickly and knocked him with another back heel. The guy tumbled on his back again. But in addition to all that Veliar imitated a kick in the groin. And so naturally at that, that a sympathetic moan “O-o-ouch!” could be heard among the man’s part of the audience.
It was probably the last straw to break the camel's back for Eugene. Leaping to his feet, he carried out a whole series of blows. But no matter how hard he tried, pushing himself to the limit, his arms and legs only cut through air, as the Chinese, who knows how, evaded blows literally by a shave’s distance from Eugene’s crushing fists. Above all, despite lightning speed of his opponent’s performance, Veliar had time not only to avoid strokes, but to strike back efficiently. In a phrase, it became clear to everyone that had it been a real fight, Eugene wouldn’t have had a ghost of a chance. However, Eugene was bursting into action over and over again, disregarding his obvious loss. Ariman, probably, taking compassion on him, clapped his hands once, thus discontinuing the fight. Eugene was so upset about what had happened that, his head dropped with shame, he walked our way even ignoring ritual bows. Veliar, on the other hand, absolutely without any malice, followed him with a polite bow, and made a bow to Ariman as if he were the most magnanimous and all-forgiving being in the whole wide world.
After such a combat our fighters became tense. The Chinese man was indeed a virtuoso in the use of his body as well of the holds. His technique was not similar to the one Sensei taught us.
Stas and Victor volunteered to go second, two against one. But this circumstance only excited Veliar and added a zest to this battle still more. After making ritual bows, the guys positioned themselves against the Chinese at an angle of about 90 degrees. The latter stood sideways, keeping both opponents within eyeshot. The fight began on a clap. Victor was the first to attack Veliar, striking a straight “tsuki”. Making a fast approach, in cold blood, Veliar intercepted the attack right at the moment when Victor applied energy to a blow and already could not veer its course. In addition to that the Chinese man not only intercepted the attack, he redirected it at Stas, who had just run up. Our fighters suddenly came into collision and tumbled down together, inevitably obeying the laws of physics. Meanwhile, Veliar stepped back complacently, not even trying to strike subsequent blows at them. He just mockingly contemplated their attempts of speedy unlocking, like the rest of the laughing audience, though. The guys stood up and endeavored a simultaneous cross-attack on Veliar. The latter swiftly got into defense, jumping aside. And wasting no time, he immediately made a fierce counterattack, with some incomprehensible abrupt cries, which – either because of their loudness or word combination – created unpleasant sound and seemed to deafen even the spectators, evoking not only fright, but also some very disagreeable feelings around stomach. Obviously, our guys did not expect such audio support during the attack, though, as well as the audience, frightened with these shouts. This told upon Veliar’s attack the following instant, as our guys suddenly found themselves lying one on another again. This time the audience was in no mood for laughter, and nor were our fighters.