Sensei of Shambala. Book III. Anastasia Novykh

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ