Everything went upside down. Some were trying to sooth Giorga and some others were comforting the poor officer who had come back to himself by the time. The evening was spoiled.
Only the beauty kept smiling as before.
* * *
“Giorga, hey!” Tezika was standing on the balcony trying to get his friend’s attention. “Are you hitting the hay or what?”
Giorga raised his head from the pillow, looked through the window and went out onto the balcony in his underwear. His head was splitting with pain and his mind was not quite clear yet.
“What the hell is the matter with you? Why did you attack the poor man?” Tezika went on.
“He found fault with King Erekle. Son of a bitch!” Giorga got irritated again.
“Come on, buddy! Don’t scold me now. I do know who King Erekle was... You have frightened those townsmen to death, buddy!” giggled Tezika.
“Yeah... I must have offended your brother too seriously,” Giorga replied, “but they got on my nerves and I couldn’t help it, you know.” Giorga took a handful of water out of the barrel and poured it down on his face. He snorted and smiled at his friend.
“By the way, the girl was really beautiful,” he added casting his eyes down.
“Would not it be better then to get acquainted with her instead of starting a fight, you damned fool?”
“I’ll do it at a proper time,” Giorga answered. “Now let’s go to your brother’s. I want to apologize for the brawl. Joking aside, he is your elder brother and I have to respect him... What was the name of the...?”
“The officer?”
“No. What was hername?”
“Nutsiko.”
* * *
Giorga had been to the town several times before, but it was pretty difficult for him to orientate there. He found his destination stopping and asking people on the way. But he couldn’t find the very house she lived in, and spent the whole day walking round the neighborhood. He was ashamed to ask passers-by where the girl lived, because he thought it might ruin her reputation. It got dark but he still couldn’t find her house. So he decided to spend the night in a tavern.
Next day he went on searching for the girl’s house, wondering what to say on meeting her. How could he explain the reason of his hanging about in her neighborhood?
He walked the street up and down several times. In the end he stopped at one of the buildings.
A stout, elderly woman was watering flowers in the yard.
“Excuse me ma’am, could you please tell me where Nutsiko Mdivani lives?”
“Who are you, young man? I can’t recognize you,” the woman said.
“No wonder ma’am, you don’t know me... I am a guest here, “Giorga answered rather embarrassed.
“She lives in the next house, but she is not in at present,” the woman said.
“Never mind, I’ll call on her later,” Giorga replied.
“Who knows when they are going to come back,” the woman laughed. “You must be her relative, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not,” Giorga answered even more embarrassed and blushing.
“Nutsiko has run away to Petersburg with an officer. Her poor father is still looking for her”.
Giorga stood frozen for a while, his mouth pretty dry.
Then, without saying good-bye, he turned round and went down the street.
He went back to his village by train that very day.
It was pouring with rain all the way back.
There were a lot of people in the carriage and it was too stuffy there.
The wounded leg hurt badly.
In Gori a lot more people got on the train.
Giorga sank deep into his thoughts.
He recalled the battles near Kars.
Then he recalled the officer and got angry again.
“He didn’t like King Erekle, the cowardly bustard!” he thought.
Then he sank deep into his thoughts again.
Soon he fell asleep.
He dreamed a little dream about Nutsiko. In his dream he knew that he would never see her again. So he stared at her as hard as he could. A strong jerk woke him up.
“She must be really very beautiful,” he said aloud.
The thin old man sitting next to him gave him a frightened look and moved aside.
September 24, 2009.
ABDUL KARIM
I am in Pakistan. I’m making another affort, five years later, to climb Nanga-Parbat[9]. Now there are two of us – a mountaineer from Shimshal[10] and me. My companion’s name is Sarvar Paliungtar. We are going to join the rest of the expedition at the base camp. We are spending night in a village of Jell. We are surrounded by the local kids all day long. There is much ado and fuss around us. Some are speaking Urdu, others are speaking the tongue of Shinas. Only Abdul Karim can speak both languages and manages a bit of English.
The locals don’t leave us alone. Everything is new and amazing for them – the tents, our equipment and, of course, the camera they all try to peep in.
Abdul Karim talks non-stop. He follows me everywhere I go, and I am forced to make Sarvar interpret all the time.
Abdul Karim is about eight years old and is exceptionally bright and open-minded.
In the evening he suddenly approaches me and comes up with the strangest idea:
“Only we, Pakistanis and Arabs, are good folks. All the rest are bad and evil. I’ll kill them all when I grow up; especially Indians!”
I’m looking at the kid in amazement, trying to guess what has made him hate something he doesn’t know, something he has never seen before.
I do my best to assure him that he is talking nonsense, that it is unfair to hate the whole world around. I name a lot of countries and peoples that he has no idea about, trying at the same time to explain that there are good and bad folks everywhere.
But the kid turns a deaf ear to me. He insists on his idea, his eyes blazing with evil hatred.
In the end I ask him who has taught him such terrible things.
“My teacher”, the kid answers and looks aside.
I am at a loss. On the one hand, I don’t want to say anything wrong about the teacher; on the other hand, I can’t help saying something.
“You are misled, kid. You can read in Urdu, can’t you? And, I’m sure, you are taught Koran at school. So read it from beginning to end till I come back from the mountain. You will realize that it says nothing about hatred though you hate the whole world! If you see that I’m right, admit that you were wrong, Okay?”
Sarvar, pretty amazed himself, translates every little word I say.
In the morning we say good-bye to each other and I proceed my way to the camp.
* * *
We have been trying to climb the mountain for the whole month, but all in vain; neither I nor Sarvar can manage it.
On our way back we are totally exhausted. In the village of Jell I try to find Abdul Karim’s house and, before long, I find it with the help of the locals.
Abdul Karim is playing in the yard. He stops playing as soon as he spots me and sits down frowning, not uttering a single word.
I wait for a while, hoping the kid will say something to me. But he doesn’t and I set off, not even once looking back at him.
The cars are waiting for us near the Hallal Bridge. We put our luggage into the cars and I turn round. Abdul Karim is standing nearby. We take our seats and the cars take a speedy start.
Abdul Karim is running after my car waving his hands and trying to indicate something.
I ask the driver to stop.
The car stops and Sarvar follows me to interpret again.
Abdul Karim is standing still, his head drooping. Then suddenly he looks up at me and says: