Читать книгу The Bandit of Kabul - Jerry Beisler - Страница 18

Chapter Eleven

“I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name It felt good to be out of the rain In the desert you can remember your name ‘Cause there ain’t no one for to give you no pain.”

“HORSE WITH NO NAME,” AMERICA

When I returned to Afghanistan, German Ted, his wife Tory and their child, Guava, had come back there as well. Remembering his dog in Kathmandu, I immediately enlisted him into helping me search for a mastiff pup and so “Kachook” came into our lives. Kachook was just eight weeks old when I found him after Ted took me up to Bamiyan to locate one of the breed. Where Kachook was actually born is unknown. He was stolen, and had spent the previous two weeks tied to a caravan cart in a walk-for-your-life-or-death situation. The nomads that stole him had sold him to a local Wali the night before German Ted and I arrived. The local Wali had bought him to become a fighting dog, what the Afghans called sak-jungee. There were some histrionic Afghanstyle negotiations involved. German Ted, invoking local custom, insisted by making the point that it was very, very good luck for the Wali to make a profit so quickly.

When I brought Kachook back to our house, the staff was none too happy about his arrival, even as a charming, playful puppy. These mastiffs were seen as mindless, fierce, attacking beasts.

I saw Kachook’s incredible intelligence immediately and he eventually amazed all of our Afghan staff when he quickly learned to obey simple commands. He had four acres to run around in and was a delight from day one. His appearance at my whistle and his obedience to commands had the same effect on our Afghan household as if a circus tiger had walked in and leaped through a ring of fire. Rebecca and I worked very hard to gentle his nature at every training opportunity.

As spring arrived, I was putting plans together for my dream ride up the old Silk Trail. The Sizzler, who took me at my word and eventually showed up in Afghanistan, and Montreal Michael began gearing up for the ride. I knew we needed a gun for protection so I completed an application to hunt Pamir sheep in the foothills of the Hindu Kush. It cost $2,500 for a license to shoot one of these beasts, which I had no intention of doing, but it allowed me to import a gun for the purpose of hunting and, in our case, protection.

Alejandro, of Goa, also turned up in Afghanistan and was healthy and effervescent. Tory let him borrow her horse and German Ted and I had a ride with him that broke out into a dead run race. Later that night we heard he was arrested during the first known drug squad sweep in Kabul. Tory and Rebecca made immediate contact with the Spanish Embassy and discovered it was true that Alejandro had been caught with 29 grams of golden pollen. There was nothing immediate I could contribute to the situation.

On one of my trips to see Dutch Bob in Amsterdam I purchased an over-and-under rifle – 30-30 on the bottom and a 20-gauge shotgun on the top.

The planning and preparations for the ride were complete. I had also, on a previous visit to the States, arranged shipment to Afghanistan of some much better saddles that were designed for the U.S. Mounted Park Rangers. These are fine saddles, very light and practical. The wooden, carpet-covered saddles of Afghanistan were yet another illustration of how far back in the centuries we were actually living. The horses were fit and freshly shod as we rode out – me, Sizz, and Michael with Kachook dogtrotting along.