I don’t know what brings on this feeling, but I have experienced it often — or perhaps not so terribly often, if I consider my life up to now. Usually it has come upon me when I’m alone — in the mountains, in a forest or by the seashore. And who knows, perhaps it is a presentiment of some other, more fully realized life which could or even will exist in the future.
Still reflecting on all this, I got onto the bus and made my way home — this time, I might add, forgetting to take any ticket at all.[13]
Later that evening I wandered around the city, hoping that I might run into her. I was terribly eager to see her again, although at the same time I was beginning to dread our next encounter. Several times that evening I felt an abrupt sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach — the same sensation one feels in an airplane when it hits an air pocket — but each time it turned out to be a false alarm; it was not she but someone else.
I had just wandered onto the small pier used by our local boats when suddenly I saw here. Somehow it had never occurred to me to look for her here; and yet here she was, standing in almost the very same spot where she had stood the evening before.
My first impulse was to run away, and it was only with great difficulty that I managed to resist the temptation. I started walking toward her along the well-lighted pier, but for some reason she didn’t see me. She seemed to be buried in thought, or perhaps she simply didn’t want to see me. In any case, I had just drawn level with her and was about to turn back, when suddenly our eyes met and she smiled — or more accurately, her face lit up with joy. And like some sudden gust of wind, her radiant smile swept away all the tension and fatigue I had accumulated in the course of the day.
It is not so often that people are genuinely happy to see us, or at least not so often as we would like. And even when a person is happy to see us, he usually tries to hide the fact, either because he’s afraid of appearing overly sentimental or else of offending the others present, at whose appearance he cannot rejoice. Thus it is that sometimes we’re not really sure whether a person is happy to see us or not.
An excursion boat suddenly pulled up to the pier, and as if by some previous agreement we got on board. I don’t remember what we talked about; I only remember that we stood leaning against the rail, gazing down at the water, just as the night before we had stood by the guardrail on the pier. Only now it seemed as if the pier had separated from the shore and was speeding into the open sea. I gazed down at her face and was strangely moved by the expression of tenderness which filtered through her tanned and slightly peeling skin.
Later on she wanted something to drink and we made our way along the dark and narrow passageway to the stern, where the snackbar was located.
We ordered some lemonade which turned out to be cold and bubbly like champagne. It had been a long time since I had drunk lemonade, and it suddenly occurred to me that no champagne had ever tasted as good as this lemonade.
And later on in life, when on several occasions I happened to drink champagne that was as flat and tasteless as weak lemonade, I would think back to this particular evening and reflect on the great if hardheaded wisdom of nature, which strives in everything for balance and equilibrium. For there is no such thing in this world as getting something for nothing; and if on occasion you are lucky enough to drink lemonade which reminds you of champagne, then sooner or later you will have to drink champagne which reminds you of lemonade.
Such is the sad but apparently inevitable logic of life. And perhaps even sadder than the logic itself is the fact that it is inevitable.
VIII
They say that even a stone can be worn away by drops of water. How much more so, by Platon Samsonovich! And already the agricultural administration office had agreed to set aside the necessary funds for the purchase of some Tadzhik goats; and already Platon Samsonovich — unwilling to let things run their official course — had sent off a letter to our Tadzhik colleagues, informing them of the upcoming transaction; and already they had written back, letting him know that they had heard about our interesting undertaking and had been planning to acquire some goatibexes of their own; and already they had agreed to an exchange of animals and were planning to carry on their own breeding experiments simultaneously with ours; and already Platon Samsonovich had gone off to the experimental farm to persuade the breeding specialist to accept an allotment of long-haired Tadzhik goats. But just at this point the storm broke. And it broke on the very day when Platon Samsonovich was due back from the experimental farm.
On this same day one of the Moscow papers printed an article ridiculing certain unwarranted innovations in the agricultural field. Our republic was found to be particularly at fault for what was described as our “ill-advised promotion of the goatibex.” The article even called into question the genius of a certain well-known Moscow scientist whose experiments, it seemed, had proved something less than a complete success.[14]
Normally the Moscow papers didn’t arrive until evening or even the next day, but on this occasion we learned of the article’s contents on the same morning it was published. News of this sort always travels quickly.
I had never seen Avtandil Avtandilovich in such a state. He made several trips to regional Party headquarters in the course of the day and also placed a call to Party headquarters in the district where the experimental farm was located. Here he was informed that Platon Samsonovich had already boarded the bus and was on his way back to the city. The bus was scheduled to arrive at three p.m., and the editor called a general staff meeting for that hour.
By three o’clock we had all assembled in the editor’s office. Since the bus stop happened to be located right across the street, everyone tried to sit next to the window in order to catch a glimpse of Platon Samsonovich as he got off the bus.
All of us were in a state bordering on nervous exaltation. Platon Samsonovich was the only one who had wholeheartedly supported the goatibex, and we all knew that the main blow would fall on him. And like a man who has just found some snug, protected spot in which to wait out a storm, each of us experienced a delightful sensation of warmth and well-being.
Avtandil Avtandilovich sat apart from the rest of us, gazing somewhere off into space. Before him lay a typewritten copy of the article, which he had apparently obtained from the wire service. It was the first time he had ever forgotten to turn off the fan and now, caught in the fast-moving current of air, the pages of the threatening article seemed to quiver and squirm with impatience.
On two separate occasions our staff humorist got up from his seat and walked past the editor as if to examine the map of Abkhazia which hung on the wall behind his desk. Although we all realized that he would hardly be able to decipher anything on the article’s rippling pages, especially from behind Avtandil Avtandilovich’s back, still we tried to signal him by means of various facial contortions to let us in on the article’s contents. He, in turn, would grimace something to the effect that this was going to be an explosion to end all explosions.
With a mere nod of the head and without even bothering to turn around, Avtandil Avtandilovich ordered the staff humorist back to his seat.
Finally the bus drew up to the stop and we all crowded around the window to catch a glimpse of Platon Samsonovich. Having for some reason assumed that he would be the first to get off, we were suddenly taken aback to see a hunting dog leap through the bus door. And following right behind was the hunter himself with a whole bevy of quail hanging from his belt. He walked away from the bus with the cheerfully lumbering gait of a man weighed down with success. I wistfully envied both man and dog.
13
In the Soviet Union local buses often operate on the honor system. The passenger drops his coin into a fare box located at the back of the bus and takes his own ticket without any supervision from the driver or other attendant. (Trans.)