Читать книгу Sensei of Shambala. Book III - Anastasia Novykh - Страница 1

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.

Prologue

Darkness enveloped the Creature from all sides. Only an imparting voice and gleams of light made an illusion of its presence.

* * *

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.

While, his arms crossed behind him victoriously, Veliar was observing his opponents recovering their feet, Stas and Victor seemed to have exchanged a few words as when they took combat stance, their fighting tactics changed completely and became more serious and professional. Veliar went into defensive action at first. But after taking some severe blows in torso and head, he instantly revised his technique. The Chinese took some unordinary stance, crouching very low to the ground. And from this position he started counterattacking aggressively and swiftly. His body moved so elastically, smoothly, and at the same time at lightning speed, as if he was no human, but some dark whirlwind. It was as if he was doing everything without a pause to take a breath. In each of his rigorous counterattacks the Chinese imitated several blows in lethally critical areas, including eyes, larynx, groin, heart, and other ones. It could give the impression that he simply gambled with their lives.

Despite not a bad training of the guys, no matter how much effort they put into it, they still considerably lost to Veliar both in technique and in tactics of performing the combat. The struggle was so tough and aggressive, so close to real combat conditions that even the air seemed to electrify because of such tension. As for me, I was on pins and needles all the time, feeling keenly about the guys. Veliar, as a rule, used illegal blows that, as if mocking his opponents, he simply did not bring to an end. It was very clear to everyone that his one careless movement would mean a guaranteed fatal outcome to his rivals. Evidentlyб our fighters knew it as well as in contrast to Veliar they had a hard time holding the fort.

The spectators were electrified: some in feeling anxious about their friends, some in genuine admiration of such a fight.

“Look, such a technique?!” Andrew gave Kostya a nudge at his side. Then, addressing to Sensei and keeping his eyes fixed on Veliar, he added: “Cool! Sensei, what art is it?”

“This is no art,” Sensei said with disgust, being in an unnatural tension, tenaciously keeping an eye on our guys, who attempted to defend themselves against aggressive attacks of the Chinese. “It’s a school of ‘assassins’. Ninjutsu style.”

“It’s a very strong school!” Andrew muttered admiringly, captivated by the spectacular fight.

“It’s a very lowdown school,” Sensei retorted.

“Oh, why so categorically? Each has priorities of his own,” Ariman joined in the conversation, overhearing Sensei’s unflattering commentaries. “Besides, we are visiting not only your amicable country, but also quite dangerous places all around the world,” he said, as if justifying Veliar’s actions. And evidently in order to relieve the tension of the situation for good, suddenly he nominated himself for sparring partner. “If this style irritates Sensei so much, then I can personally demonstrate the styles you are more accustomed to. Let Veliar rest for a while.”

Ariman clapped his hands and stopped the sparring. Probably, it was out of regard for Sensei, that he declared a ‘draw,’ although it was clear who had won. The fighters made ritual bows. Veliar headed towards Ariman, who gave him a sign. And our guys, panting, sweaty, covered with scratches, walked toward us, rubbing their bruises on the way. Volodya and Eugene started patting them on shoulders encouragingly. A quiet discussion of the fight began among the elder guys. Notably, having seen the mastery of Veliar from outside, Eugene did not look as depressed after his loss any more. On the contrary, he cheered up somewhat, probably, after the acknowledgement that he undertook to overcome such a strong opponent alone, as if saying, if I had lost, I had gained experience, at any rate.

In the meantime, without a shadow of tiredness and even without a sign of short-windedness, Veliar stood by Ariman as a thoughtful servant, accepting his hat, jacket, and the necktie that Ariman took off getting ready for sparring. With his immutable smile, the Chinese radiated such tranquility that it might seem he’d gotten out not from a tough sparring, but from a profound contemplative meditation. Meanwhile, observing rapt discussion among our guys with a hardly perceptible grin, Ariman rolled up the sleeves of his fine snow-white shirt. And even neglecting to take his watch and his big golden finger-ring with a red ruby, which judging by their look were very expensive, he got into the ring and invited all-comers, without limitation of quantity, to participate in this sparring.

Admittedly, at first he fairly confused our guys with his snow-white clean appearance. As even Veliar, who fought well, could not avoid turnovers and topsy-turvies on the sand. But he wore a black kimono: shake it off, and marks of falls become not so noticeable. But there? Ariman simply puzzled us. But while the elder guys kept silent, not knowing what to expect from Ariman after Veliar’s demonstration of his techniques, the junior guys, frankly speaking, were astonished.

“Maybe it’s better to take the watch off?” Ruslan advised, motioning to Ariman’s luxurious Rolex. “What if they break accidentally?”

The man smiled ironically, looking at his watch and uttered: “Oh, it's nothing! Come to think of it... you suggested a curious idea. Let’s complicate the task for me. The first attacker able to strike me a blow – any one at that so long as it reaches the target – will receive this watch as a gift. And the one who strikes me down, will get this yacht and all her little boats into the bargain,” Ariman waved his hand nonchalantly towards his posh vessel.

A whoop of amazement could be heard from our group.

“Deal!” Ruslan, Kostya, and Andrew exclaimed excitedly kind of in chorus.

The boys darted out into the ring, casting greedy glances at the attractive watch.

Seeing that the elder guys somewhat hesitated about going in, Ariman said: “I promise you only clean fighting and using only the styles known to you. No restricted blows will be on my behalf. Let’s do classics! You on the other hand may attack me at will, as you desire.”

“There’s something I don’t like about it,” Victor uttered cautiously to Volodya. “Looks like there’s some sort of trick.”

“We’ll check it out,” Volodya said quietly in a bass voice. “In any case, we could do with some extra experience.”

The elder guys gathered, conversed about something in whispers and got into the ring. Notably, Victor and Stas, who had just been participating in the fight, came out too.

“It’s not prohibited to act against you as a group, is it?” Volodya inquired.

“And in any composition and any combination at that,” Ariman emphasized with contented look.

Eugene glanced at the snow-white yacht, spat out heartily on the sand and pronounced warningly: “That’s it, Ariman! From here you’ll return home by foot.”

“With pleasure,” replied he with a smile.

The elder guys became alerted at such an Olympic composure of their opponent. The younger guys, on the other hand, became relaxed, probably assuming that while Ariman is distracted by attacks of professionals, they will surely be able to strike that cherished blow in the value of a Rolex. Nine of our guys came out into the ring, so Tatyana and I, Sensei, Nicolai Andreevich, and Veliar stayed behind as spectators.

The guys surrounded Ariman in a circle. Stas and Victor placed themselves in the front, Volodya and Eugene at sides. Eugene even stood a little behind so as not to get in the view of his opponent. And the rest: Ruslan, Andrew, Kostya, Slavik, and Yura situated themselves behind Ariman, probably, considering it to be the most advantageous position for achieving their goals. After the ritual bows were made, the fight began on Sensei’s clap. Virtually simultaneously, Volodya, Stas, and Victor began to near Ariman in light imperceptible steps, making feints at their opponent. But Ariman stood calmly, looking somewhere through them, as if gazing nowhere. As I understood, by those abrupt feints the guys tried to detract the opponent’s attention on themselves, irritating his peripheral vision. Seizing an opportunity, they advanced into a real attack. Stas aimed his Maetobi-geri at head, Volodya and Victor attempted strikes at Ariman’s torso. At the same time, Eugene, who had remained motionless till then, rushed under Ariman’s feet from behind. Theoretically, they employed infallible tactics, as under such pressure Ariman would definitely step back while defending and, naturally, would stumble over Eugene, who rushed under his feet; and the yacht would be guaranteed for the guys. However, contrary to all expectations, Ariman made an effortless backflip. Landing behind Eugene, immediately, right when his feet touched the sand, Ariman made a swift step back and right, giving way for a throng of boys, who darted into battle along with the elder guys. As a result of such a swift and sudden movement of Ariman the elder guys, stumbling over the massive Eugene’s body, piled upon him, and on top of them fell those, who attempted to strike Ariman from behind and continued attacking inertially. Thus, there came about a whole pile of stirring bodies. Everything happened virtually in a second. Slavik lagged behind the attackers and was left practically alone against Ariman’s back. However, he kept his head and made an attempt to strike him from behind. But Ariman slightly turned around, caught the guy’s hand and turned him round in such a way that he touched down on all fours. And giving him no chances to recollect himself, Ariman picked him up by a collar of his T-shirt and a belt of his shorts and threw him into the common pile. Observing such ridiculous inadvertence of the guys, Sensei and Nicolai Andreevich, simply burst out into loud laugher, infecting us with their laugh too. Even Veliar afforded a generous smile, watching the occasion with pride.

The guys began scrambling out of this shameful heap. The last, spitting the sand, battered all over, there raised Eugene. If you could have seen his face in that moment. It bore a lot of resemblance with a sand mask of some aborigine, with two chinks instead of eyes. After standing up the guy did not shake it off for some reason, but started seeking out the one who ironed him to the sand like that. But apparently having realized that there was no way to find the one guilty, as the whole warring party took part in being the press, Eugene attempted to freshen up himself in a jiffy. He shook the sand off his face, trying to relieve his head and hair of that little squeaky soil, which made his hairstyle look like Mohawk. And turning his militant look at Ariman, who was barely stifling his laughter, he thundered like an Army trumpet, putting all his offence into words.

“Now, that’s it! The yacht will be ours for sure!” And the guy dashed into battle. The others followed in disorder. But Ariman, like a toreador, gracefully dodged the attackers, while demonstrating the classics of martial arts. He acted very quickly, virtually imperceptibly, without striking blows, using only graceful aikido style throws. That gave an impression that the guys simply flipped softly on their own, when getting close to him. Ariman performed all this in such an easy, unconstrained, and elegant way that it indeed produced a fascinating rapture.

As soon as it became clear to our fighters that a spontaneous assault is useless, they reorganized again under guidance of the elder guys and endeavored an attack already in an organized way. The guys surrounded Ariman in three semi-circles in staggered order. They stood in such a way that there were strong fighters in every row. The first four included Volodya and Victor at the sides, the second row consisted of three, Eugene taking the middle, and in the last pair there was Stas. In this formation they started approaching Ariman, pushing him to the sea. When the strip of dry sand ended, Ariman stopped. And the show began! Andrew and Ruslan, being in the first row, were the first to attempt an attack. As soon as Ariman busied himself with them, Eugene gathered speed and with a battle cry “Hi-yah!” he leaped in a kick Yoko-tobi-geri. He flew beautifully indeed, just like in a movie. However, Ariman casting away another opponent, had time not only to avoid Eugene’s kick easily, but he also gave Eugene a slap at the guy’s fanny with the back of his right hand, exactly with the finger-ring. It caused Eugene to alter his “Hi-yah!” into a shrill “Hi-eina!” and overshooting Ariman, he crashed into the water. He got up wet through, frowning and puzzled, intensively rubbing his seat of honor that had suffered in the bright cause. Eugene began to walk out of water slowly, getting round the zone of action, where the guys flipped over and over again around Ariman. The guy was lame in the right leg. When he limped up to us, continuing rubbing his hurt back, one could see tears welled up in his eyes. Obviously, he was hurt badly. He held his own, however, keeping his feelings within.

When the guy came by, Nicolai Andreevich asked jokingly: “Why, Eugene, have you given up?”

“Me?! Never in all my born days! I’ve just thought... Why should I need this yacht, anyway, all the more in the city?”

We laughed to such a decision of the guy, who, after Ariman’s slap, changed his mind so hurriedly. Following Eugene, after having a nice bit of rolling around and sand-eating, the guys began to break off the fight one after another. Their bygone enthusiasm dried up quickly, the more especially as Ariman, who had been dispatching the guys without effort, looked quite fresh and full of pep, as if he had just come out into the ring. Meanwhile, it was too much for our drop-out failed fighters even to rise from the sand after those aerials. As is known by common rule, don't kick a man when he's down. That’s why nobody aspired to stand up. Silently, they only sympathized with their comrades, who persistently kept attacking Ariman. The fewer the fighters were, the more demonstrative and beautiful were Ariman’s pitches to wear them out. His movements, speed, and technique matched those of Sensei. At long last, only Volodya kept on.

Walking around his opponent, Ariman cheerfully chaffed him: “Do you really want to win that watch or yacht that much?”

“What good will they do to me? I just feel bad for my state.”

Ariman grinned.

“So, that means you don’t give up?”

“Russians never give up,” Volodya said in bass.

Ariman sighed and uttered with a smile: “Oh, those Russians to me! Alright then…”

Volodya attempted a fierce attack. It seemed he threw his only remaining energy into it. Cutting whistle out of air, he started swaying his arms and legs. If only a single blow had reached its target, Ariman wouldn’t have liked it one bit. But, as they say, fate decreed otherwise. Ariman dodged the strikes surprisingly easily and playfully repelled his attack. Then, he improved the occasion by throwing Volodya up in such a way that the latter somersaulted several times in the air and took a swift flyer, risking to break his neck. But Ariman aptly spotted for him. Owing to it Volodya landed on the sand softly and tenderly, without any traumatic consequences. It wasn’t enough that Ariman helped him to touch down safely, he squatted next to him and inquired: “Well, how’s that?”

Volodya, staggering slightly, assumed a sitting position out of the recumbent one, closed his eyes tight and shook his head: “Now that’s enough alright!”

“Well, enough is enough,” replied Ariman merrily.

He clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly way. Apparently, out of politeness, considering the condition of his last opponent, he stood up and made a ritual bow to him and to Sensei.

Our excited audience gave a storm of applause at the scene. By his mastery, courtliness, lack of malice, and sparing technique Ariman simply won the hearts of the young fighters. A heated discussion commenced, during which the guys began to set themselves to rights.

“Fantastic!” out “activists” kept crying contentedly. “Wouldn't it be great if we learnt to perform like that? Ariman didn’t even soil his shirt. Such mastery!”

The hero of the occasion put on his tie, jacket, and hat unhurriedly, even though the heat was sweltering.

“Great! Your technique is the same as Sensei’s,” Stas observed, addressing to Ariman.

“Well... We had one Teacher, you know.”

This notion of Ariman aroused genuine interest among the whole group, as it was the first time we heard something about Sensei’s Teacher. The elder guys exchanged glances. Meanwhile, Victor asked Sensei: “Sensei, would you by chance wish to spar with Ariman?”

Sensei smiled, looking at Ariman.

“I would and for a long time. But no matter how many times proposed him, he just wouldn’t accept.”

Everyone looked at Ariman in a mute amazement.

“No way,” he replied with a smile, straightening his tie, “gramercy. It’s an honor for me, of course, but... to each his own in this world.” And, evidently, so as not to develop this topic further, he said hastily: “Well, as the Germans say, you can postpone a war but never a lunch. I see that everything’s already set. Ladies and gentlemen, I kindly ask you to dine with me.”

Everyone turned around with wonder following Ariman’s welcoming gesture. We completely forgot about the lunch with all the excitement. I frankly considered Ariman’s return offer as a joke to Eugene’s clownery. Even if my mind suggested a possibility of realizing this idea, it would produce an imaginary picture of some table with snack sandwiches, sausages, soft drinks, and fruits at most, brought over from the yacht. That’s, so to say, the furniture of my impressions, picked up from the movies about thrifty rich folks. But what we saw just took us aback, for it surpassed any of our expectations.

Not far from our camp there emerged an entire comfortable installation in the form of a huge stretched marquee of pink silk, set right on the shore. The top of the marquee was silvery lustrous, as if covered with some thin foil. Behind the translucent silk there could be seen a big white table, covered with colorful dishes. We did not believe our eyes. Our breath took a walk with such a beauty. The only person among our group, who was not surprised at this decoration, was Sensei. He simply sighed, looking at the marquee, and said to Ariman with a smile: “Well, you’re always in your usual style.”

The man smiled contentedly at the impression produced on the company and answered Sensei with laughter: “I can't help it. It’s my habit.”

“This all is, of course, splendid, thank you, but... You picked the right time to arrive. It’s as if you knew it’s my fasting day today,” Sensei said half in jest.

“Really? Oh, that’s a pity,” Ariman uttered, keeping his smile. And slightly raising his hands in a give-up motion he added: “Knowing you, I don’t even insist. But at least stay at the meal for a while, let the guys taste my treats. I bet they’ve never tasted those things in their lives yet!”

“That’s for sure!” Sensei smiled ironically and, shrugging his shoulders, he uttered: “It isn’t hard for me, I’ll stay… And they are already mature and have the right to decide for themselves.”

Ariman smiled contentedly once again. Letting a glance at our amazed company, listening to the talk, he spoke in a quick and, as it seemed to me, deliberately loud manner: “Don’t worry, I’ve considered everything, there will be no alcoholic beverages there.” Addressing the guys, either in jest or seriously, he uttered: “Honestly speaking, I’m glad that I’ve finally chanced upon a non-drinking company. I’m so tired of all those endless presentations, fourchettes, dinner parties, and business meals. You can’t imagine how sickening it is to see all those moneybags drinking till beastly drunk, all those carpet elite dying of boredom. Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin said well regarding this in the seventh chapter of ‘Eugene Onegin':

“Haw, those centuries or this one – nothing has changed in this environment… So, dining with your company, guys, believe it or not, is an honor and a big pleasure for me.”

Ariman, what they call it, zinged us with his remark. I even felt for this man in a sense, so satiated with high society that he had a longing for engaging in common life. But at the very moment of our fascination for Ariman’s words, Eugene produced another howler. He nodded his head in a dignified way and spake with emotion, rubbing his hands in anticipation: “Why not dine? Eating, especially at somebody’s expense, is always a pleasure.”

Everyone, including Sensei and Ariman, burst our laughing again.

Suddenly, we heard a beautiful, invigorate music, coming from the yacht. The cantilena was played by fiddles. Like a mild, playful light breeze it resounded around the entire coast.

“Oh?! Mozart, ‘Little Night Music’,” Sensei uttered with a smile and looked askance at Ariman.

Ariman made a helpless gesture and, as if justifying himself, said: “It’s been two hundred years already, but it always sounds like for the first time.”

We headed towards the shining marquee walking past our tents. Compared to this aerial chic installation, our camp, with all those sweaters and trousers hung for drying and Kostya’s attributes of civilization, looked like a “tramp refuge.” The shame was overwhelming, and, probably, it was not only with me. The other guys, seemed to feel somewhat embarrassed, gazed now at the ground, now ahead, avoiding the sight of our beggary, squalid camp. The contrast was surely striking.

Overcoming the minute of shame, we came up to – what Kostya managed to name it – the “alien construction”. Two sailors-stewards stood near the entrance, each holding a big jug in one hand; a towel and aromatic liquid soap in the other hand. So, each one could do a pleasant ablution and dry their hands on a fluffy snow-white towel.

It should be noted that it was quite hot outside, in fact, it was the heat of the sun. But as soon as we entered the marquee, a pleasant cool fanned our faces. Apparently, there was a noiseless air-conditioner working somewhere in the marquee. In the middle there stood a long square table, covered with snow-white tablecloth. As it turned out later, it was made of several plastic knockdown tables. It was surrounded with figured arm-chairs of ivory color, made of the same material as the table. Even the sand was covered with some curious transparent plates, probably knockdown as well, which created a peculiar fancy floor. Not far from the big table there was a small supplementary cupboard-table, which, as it turned out later, served as a minifridge.

Both the big and the small tables were covered with dainty viands. We didn’t know where to look first at such an abundance of dishes. That was an excellent spread! Meat dishes, fish, cut vegetables, salads with sea inhabitants, canapйs, several types of caviar. Not only black and red caviar, that recently appeared in shops at a fabulous (for us) price. There also was dark-grey, wine red, orange with red gleams, and even quite an unusual – grey caviar in a gold jar. In the form of a truncated pyramid, there was an entire pile of huge red lobsters in the middle, decorated with rich, fresh greenery and figured lemon slices that wrapped black or green halves of olives. Besides, not only this dish, but everything else was just flawless in terms of decoration: from puffy flowers to entire paintings of nature, fanciful ornaments of vegetables, fruits, greenery, and colored sauces, created by skilful fantasy of the cook. It all looked so appetizing that the sight of this table covered with viands made one’s mouth involuntarily watering.

A whisper of admiration ran through our company: “Oh my!”, “I haven’t seen anything like that even in my sweetest dream”, “Cool!”. Unlike others, Eugene, who despite being amazed at table appointments and diversity of food, remained quite impassive. Looking at such abundance of caviar, he clicked his tongue in a businesslike manner.

“Yes, there’s all, but I see no overseas aubergine one,” and mimicking priest-like voice, he pronounced with sympathy: “Impoverished are folks on the top, oh, so impoverished…”

Veliar, who evidently took his words in earnest, cast an inquiring glance at Ariman, ready to rush to fulfill the guest’s wish. But Ariman stopped him.

“Don’t worry. It’s a popular joke in this country,” he explained. “They have a perestroika going on now, that’s why shops have only aubergine caviar.”

The Chinese man flapped his eyes in astonishment, apparently being surprised at such a queer food ration of these people, who, for all their slender well-being, yet were trying to build the radiant future, keeping body and soul together on aubergine caviar. He did not quite seem to understand the joke, smiled a trademark grin, and, making a polite bow, stepped back.

“That’s not true!” Eugene retorted with laughter. Feeling that his national dignity had been hurt, he stated proudly: “We have a squash one too!”

Everybody laughed to Eugene’s patriotic humor and, on Ariman’s invitation, started to take their seats around the common table. It happened so that by habit we sat at sides of Sensei, as if taking an all-round defense. Ariman, who lingered, giving some orders to Veliar, was the last to follow the guests and correspondingly taking a vacant chair, sat just across Sensei. When everyone took their seats, Eugene could not make himself comfortable in his arm-chair. Stas grinned at his twisting about and asked: “Why are you wiggling?”

“That chair’s turned out to be kinda hard,” Eugene replied.

“Stand up then,” his friend suggested with a smile.

“Right,” agreed Volodya, sitting at Eugene’s other side, and counseled: “this way you’ll be able to fit in more.”

Stas looked at the appetizing dishes near them on the table and uttered: “No way. He’d better sit and not wiggle.”

They laughed quietly. Eugene, finally taking a comfortable position – crossing his legs and leaning his elbow on the right arm, – set at ease and “bared his teeth” in his affected smile in response to the guys’ remarks. That rendered them shaking with laughter even more.

Like a hospitable host, Ariman started to lavish upon the treats, stirring the guys’ appetite still more. He presented various dishes, answering in passing to the questions of amazed guys.

“What caviar is this?” Victor inquired at the wine-red caviar near him.

It was in a small crystal bowl. The bowl itself consisted of four sections: there was sour cream in one of them, dairy butter in another, grated cheese in the third one, and in the fourth one there was the caviar itself.

“This is trout caviar. It’s saltish to the taste, that’s why it’s better to have it together with cultured milk foods.”

“How about this one?” Victor motioned at a beautiful bowl of large-grained orange caviar with red gleams that was near trout caviar.

“That is keta caviar – the most tasty and high quality of all salmon caviars,” Ariman replied. After a pause he added: “But I would most recommend you to taste that sort of caviar.” He motioned at large-grained silver caviar in a small golden jar. “This is very rare and expensive caviar. White sturgeon caviar. In order to get it they catch belugas, whose age approximate to one hundred years. Because of its value the caviar is packed up in small jars of pure 24-carat gold, such as this one. Taste it, it has a very peculiar delicate nut flavor. Gourmets of the modern times assert that this is the tastiest caviar in the world.” Ariman fell silent, glancing with a subtle smile as our entire company fastened their eyes upon the hitherto unseen jar of pure gold, and with such an expensive caviar in it too. Addressing to Sensei, Ariman boasted: “See, I even brought it too! I’ve no idea what else could surprise you. Perhaps you’d agree to taste this treat all the same?”

Sensei smiled and answered politely: “No, thank you. Everything looks really appetizing…”

“…And tasty,” Ariman stressed out.

“I don’t doubt that one bit. But, unfortunately, I can’t… Fasting day… You know me.”

Ariman gave an affected sigh.

“Oh, well, and I tried so hard,” and he uttered with a smile either addressing to the guys or speaking to himself. “Such an iron will! He said ‘no’, it means ‘no’… And I brought this caviar all the way from Persia…”

“What Persia?!” Sensei smiled, as if bringing him to senses.

Ariman looked at him blank and checked himself.

“Did I say Persia? What a sclerosis! But, of course, from Iran!” When Sensei and he stopped laughing, Ariman lamented: “Could you believe it, such a beautiful name this country had had for 2’458 years! And there you go – in 1935 they changed this lovely name, Persia, for Iran. Apologies for great reformers indeed! Cyrus the Great would’ve turned in his grave if he’d heard this news.”

“And who was Cyrus the Great?” Kostya inquired.

“Well, what have we come to!” Ariman smiled bitterly. “Young people don’t even know who Cyrus the Great was. Once, Cyrus the Great was a great ruler in the East. He founded the first Achaemenid Empire by defeating the Median Empire, conquering most of Southwest Asia, including the mighty Babylonia (Syria and Palestine being its parts) and much of Central Asia. That’s some charisma a man had! By the way, do you recall Balthazar’s feast from the Bible? During Belshazzar's feast (whose biblical name is Balthazar), the son of Nabonidus, the last king of Babylon, there appeared a fire writing on the wall: ‘mene mene tekel upharsin,’ which foretokened the fall of Babylon on the same night. Now, Balthazar died right in 539 BC exactly during the capture of Babylon by the Persians, that is, troops of Cyrus the Great.”

“How do we know all that?” Victor said with a smile in excuse for everyone. “I wish we could sort out our own history at least.”

“And this, in a way, is a part of your history,” Ariman pronounced. “Because, you know, where do the Persians as a people originate from? From the tribes of Aryans, who began to migrate from southern regions of the present Russia to those regions starting from 2’000 BC. Come to think of it, you favorite prophet, Zarathustra, who lived in the first half of the 6th century BC, was born in those lands too. So, during its time Persia offered a considerable mite in the order and reorganization of the world. Well, all right then, as Marcus Tullius Cicero used to say, history is merely a life of memory.” Then, with laughter he added: “So, let’s leave our ruins alone and turn to the beautiful present.”

Everyone laughed again. Ariman made a pause, listening to a new Mozart’s melody coming from the yacht that harmoniously complemented this festive lunch. Then he addressed to the guys again, making a slight hand gesture, demonstrating fullness of choice.

“Treat yourselves, don’t be shy. Enjoy your present. Take advantage of it, while still so youthful and fine. When else would you have such a chance?! There you are, flesh of sturgeon in a bйchamel sauce, stuffed quails, foie gras in cognac sauce, sugatazushi …”

“Beg your pardon?” Eugene queried, peering at that unintelligible, beautifully served dish with some original proportional fish-shaped pieces.

“Sugatazushi is a sushi; it’s a dish of Japanese cuisine. It consists of boiled rice stuffed into mackerel, sliced. Try it with soy sauce. It’s delicious! By the way, I recommend you to have this food exclusively with wood chop-sticks. They are made of natural material. It’s considered that it doesn’t damage food’s energy. Try to gain not only physical pleasure out of food, but, in the first place, aesthetic and spiritual one. Like the Japanese. The principal philosophy of the Japanese meal lies in communion with the beauty of nature and coexistence with it in full harmony...” After a short silence Ariman disclaimed: “Bush clover in blossom waves / Without spilling / A drop of dew.”

He recited this uncommon poetry with such oratorical inspiration that everyone involuntarily listened spellbound to it. Taking a pleased look round our enchanted company, he spoke again.

“Isn’t this a beautiful hokku, written by Bash ... this great Japanese poet of the 17th century? And how would you like this poem? ‘Gust of fresh wind, / A fish leapt with a splash... / Ablution in water’.”

He made another pause, perhaps, for the audience to appreciate the meaning of what he had said. But looking at our puzzled faces that showed not the slightest clue about Japanese poetry Ariman made a faint smile. He turned his eyes to Sensei, probably, the only one understanding what it had been all about, and then continued conversing with us.

“The Japanese are to a large extend amazing and mysterious people with remarkable traditions. Their philosophy as well as food is simultaneously light and nourishing... By the way, before eating I would advise you to make use of oshibori aroma,” Ariman suggested after a short pause.

We gazed at the table, looking for that very oshibori, thinking it to be one of the dishes. Apparently, noticing that our eyes were running every which way in search of what he had mentioned, Ariman smiled faintly once again, pretending he hadn’t seen our confused looks, and continued his narration as if nothing had happened: “Oshibori are wet towels that lie in front of you. Again, following the Japanese traditions, washing hands before a meal is considered to be a godsent act of removing negative energy. Aroma raises appetite. Food becomes much tastier and wholesome because of that.”

Our folks finally discovered those oshibori in front of their noses and started wiping their hands on those show-white wet towels, spreading very pleasant delicate orient aroma. I must say, it was the first time in my life that I saw not only that many exotic dishes, but also such a peculiar petty detail as these wipes.

“I advise you to try these truffle dishes as well,” Ariman continued showering praises on his table.

“Are truffles mushrooms or something?” Ruslan queried Stas in a low voice, sitting near him. But Ariman overheard his remark.

“Truffles are not just mushrooms,” the master of the ‘banquet‘ replied instead of Stas. “They are the most expensive and elite mushrooms in the world. Here, this dish is made with Piedmont white truffle, named no other than the White diamond... And this dish is made with Perigord black truffle, the so-called Black Perl. Taste them and you’ll appreciate how delicate their aroma is. It can drive mad any true gourmet. These two kinds of truffles are the favorites in the high cuisine...”

As Ariman kept lavishing praise on exotic dishes of cookery art, hitherto unseen by us, the guys, timidly at first but then with more confidence, went for it. Veliar stood near Ariman and gave orders in his native tongue to the two sailors-stewards. He saw to it vigilantly that the food, which his master’s guests set their gaze on with a particular longing, appeared on their plates in the twinkling of an eye.

During the consumption of food by the majority of those present (excluding Sensei, Nicolai Andreevich, and my persona, suffering from unintelligible malaise of the organism), there occurred some casus to the guys. For example, Kostya, sitting not far from me, wanted to try oysters that were near him. He put a couple of them on his plate. The steward came running right away and added several pieces of lemon on his plate. Kostya threw a perplexed look at them and exchanged inquiring glances with Andrew. But he only shrugged his shoulders slightly, showing that it was probably meant that way. Hence, lest he should show his ignorance in this delicate matter, our Philosopher decided to taste an oyster first and then, probably, a lemon, since it was put. But as soon as he touched the oyster with the fork, it jerked slightly. In his fright our Philosopher even shrank back giving an amazed shriek: “Why, it’s alive!” By doing that he caused a commotion among our company, but then it quite set everyone laughing.

“Of course, it’s alive,” Ariman replied smiling. “This way it is much tastier than in any of its cooked variants. Squeeze some lemon juice on it. Detach oyster’s foot with a fork. Then suck it out safely of the shell with the lemon juice. And you will feel exceptional bliss of this taste.”

Kostya looked with suspicion at the living creature on his plate once again. Meanwhile, Ariman already speaking to everyone, declared in a stately manner: “Konstantine made a magnificent choice, worthy of a refined gourmet and aesthete. For among the variety of oysters he chose this kind. It’s Persebes himself! They are also called ‘sea truffles.’ They are the most high-priced mollusks, since it’s very difficult to catch them. They grow on sunken rocks in places difficult of access... Oysters are motionless mollusks, hermaphrodites, that cement...”

While Ariman was narrating about the way of life of these mollusks, Kostya tried to accomplish what Ariman had advised. Swallowing his saliva convulsively, he took a lemon piece lying near the oyster with care and started folding it squeezing the juice. He did it so cautiously, as if fearing that mollusk would bite off his finger. His fixed look seemed to be that of a chemist, performing a dangerous explosive test. When there necessary amount was accumulated, a drop fell on the mollusk, and it contracted in reflex. This action of a tiny organism made Kostya jerk on the chair, but he did not scream this time – it's something at least. Continuing with this procedure that evidently wasn’t quite pleasant for him, he did as Ariman had said. And with a squeamish and verjuice countenance, as if he was faced with swallowing two pounds of slugs with a dozen of lemons, he sucked this poor oyster out of the shell at one stroke. What can you do? As they say, in for a penny, in for a pound. He was to play the role of a ‘refined gourmet’ all the way. After that agonizing procedure Kostya puckered like a cornichon.

Andrew, who had been watching the process of oyster devourment in an underhand way, cheered his friend up quietly with a smile: “It’s alright, it’s alright. What got into mouth, is healthy throughout.”

“Aha,” Kostya muffled: “It’s creeping thought my gullet!”

Andrew grinned and put in some black humor: “Why, what were you thinking? You gulped down that poor breather wholly, and now that monster would eat you from inside.”

“Not on your Nelly,” Kostya remarked sarcastically. “I’ve got strong nervous and digestive systems.”

Following that agonizing procedure, the guy started taking other food after the ‘bliss of this taste’, bolting it down almost without chewing.

“Well, how was it?” Tatyana, sitting between us, mocked him quietly.

Kostya washed the food down with some drink and answered her in inaudible mutter: “Catch me trying that imm... that motionless hermaphrodite again!..”

“I see,” Tatyana chuckled.

At that moment Ariman drew his attention to him and asked with a pleasing smiley: “Did you enjoy it, Konstantine?”

The guy instantly feigned a happy look on his face and answered hastily: “Oh, yes, very tasty! I’ve never tried anything like that! It’s really delicious!”

Tatyana and I could hardly keep our countenance, caused by such a sudden transformation of Kostya’s face from sour-peevish to contented-sugary expression. It seemed that if he had been standing, he would have been making bows from the waist. When Ariman was distracted by conversation with other guys, Kostya threw a withering look on the second oyster, lying on his plate in beauty. But then his face brightened and he suggested looking and Andrew with insidious smile.

“D’ye wanna to try? It is so tasty!”

“No sir, thank you. I wasn’t signing up for a flayer,” Andrew said with a smile.

At that moment Eugene drew everyone’s attention to himself. After trying several dishes, he obviously grew bolder in gustation of good. Pointing at big crayfish lying on a huge plate in the middle of the table, he asked Ariman: “These crayfish must be from Chernobyl? A new gigantic kind?”

Ariman chuckled.

“No, these are langoustes. My recommendation. Very tender meat.”

He cast a glance at Veliar, and the latter made swift arrangements. The steward-guy laid a langouste on a separate plate that was on a tray with special cutting instruments and served it to Eugene.

The latter looked askew at all that set and declared openly: “What do I need these surgical armaments for? I’m no sadist, nor a dentist. I’m not gonna torture this dead animal. Am I a maniac, or something?!” Placing the lobster bravely by hand on his plate and observing it in passing, Eugene added: “Besides, judging by his red look, I guess, he’s already confessed everything to your cook.”

Everybody burst out laughing. Ariman grinned too and gave an approving nod to the steward, who was somewhat confused at such unheard-of treatment of food items. He seemed to become interested in how Eugene was going to dress the lobster without instruments, as after moving aside he started watching this amusing guy with curiosity. Meanwhile, far from being embarrassed by his behavior, Eugene started handling the lobster in his own manner, applying all his mastery to getting its ‘tender meat’.

At first, like everyone else, hearing eulogies about the dishes, I put on my plate some seafood salad standing nearby and, of course, a small spoon of the much-praised silver caviar. The plates, by the way, were very unusual. They were light, porcelain, and with painting depicting some plots with half-naked nymphs. Besides, judging by the plates of my nearest neighbors at the table, each plate’s painting had a different the plot. But they were sustained in one style.

When that delicious food filled my plate and I was about to try it, suddenly I felt such a wave of nausea and inner discomfort that it nearly turned my stomach. Hastily, I put down my fork back on the table, dropping my eyes on the floor. But the lines of the transparent floor seemed to become animated before my eyes and slowly at first, but then faster and faster they started whirling into some sign, which made me feel even worse. My head began to swim, and my breath quickened. I shut my eyes and clawed hold of the plastic arm-chair with all my strength, fearing that I would fall into a faint. The dizziness passed immediately though. Taking advantage of this temporary relief, I tried to concentrate on the solar plexus, on my ‘lotus flower.’ This simple meditation, once given to all of us by Sensei, became a peculiar first-aid in extreme cases. So far, it never failed me. And indeed, doing this meditation within a minute brought me into more or less normal state. My breath became steady, and I even managed to relieve somewhat that nauseating condition. I opened my eyes. Luckily, almost nobody noticed my temporary indisposition. The group was carried away by eating and talking with Ariman. Only Sensei glanced at me somehow kindly, which made me feel even more peaceful inside. But he instantly looked away, commenting upon another Eugene’s joke with humor. I breathed a sigh of relief and settled back in the arm-chair, trying to avoid looking at the food or the floor, because of incomprehensible “oddities” of my organism.