Sensei of Shambala. Book III. Anastasia Novykh

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СКАЧАТЬ “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':

      ‘But all in the drawing room await

      Talk that is vulgar, stale and flat.

      All is so pale and indifferent,

      That even the slander is drear and spent;

      In dry and fruitless interchange

      Questions, news, rumors seem to range

      But stir not a thought through the whole day,

      Not even by chance or accident.

      The languid mind is never wakened,

      Or emotions roused by a joke half meant.

      And even amusing idiocy

      You will never meet in “Society”.’

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ