The Road to Samarcand. Patrick O’Brian

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      ‘Samarcand,’ said Derrick. ‘Do you know where it is, Olaf?’

      ‘Samarcand? That ain’t no port,’ replied Olaf. ‘But I heard of it. Samarcand, that’s where the Old Man left his fingers. It’s somewhere inland.’

      ‘Was that where it happened?’ asked Derrick. His uncle lacked two fingers of his left hand, and Derrick had never been able to get him to say how it had come about. ‘How did he come to lose them, Olaf?’

      ‘Oh, Ay don’t know,’ said Olaf, evasively. ‘Didn’t he tell you?’

      ‘No. I asked him, but getting a yarn out of Uncle Terry is like trying to open an oyster with a bent pin. Were you there, or did he tell you about it?’

      ‘No. Ay hear about it some place or other. And don’t you let on, eh? Or the Old Man would break my neck.’

      ‘Samarcand?’ said Li Han. ‘It is beyond utmost limits of Sinkiang, in the barbarous regions. Why you ask, please?’

      ‘I’m going there.’

      ‘In company of learned Professor?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘What felicity,’ said Li Han. ‘In pursuit of learning would traverse the Outer Wastes with singing heart.’

      ‘I’ll be pursuing learning, all right. Samarcand is the first stop on the way to school, and the Professor said that he would initiate me into the delights of Greek during the long, peaceful days between here and there. And Mr Ross will go on teaching me trigonometry and navigation.’ But in spite of these drawbacks, Derrick was boiling with excitement at the thought of the expedition.

      ‘Mr Ross going too?’ asked Li Han.

      ‘Yes, and my uncle.’

      ‘What felicity,’ repeated Li Han, in a thoughtful tone.

      ‘Then they lay up the Wanderer, eh?’ said Olaf. ‘Maybe Ay better ship with Knut Lavrenssen in the Varanger. She ban laying at Pei-Ho.’ He spoke regretfully.

      ‘Why don’t you come too?’ suggested Derrick. ‘Men have to be fed, even in barbarian regions, Li Han.’

      Li Han smiled, bowed, and rubbed his hands. ‘Wretched sea-cook too humble to ask,’ he said, ‘but would voluntarily dispense with wages for privilege of accompanying worthy philosopher – and juvenile seafaring friend,’ he added, bowing to Derrick.

      ‘I’ll ask for you,’ said Derrick.

      Li Han grinned and bowed repeatedly. ‘Suggest wily approach,’ he said, in an agitated voice that betrayed his extreme eagerness. ‘Perhaps gifts of red silk, piece of first-chop jade? Sumptuous repast for learned Professor, and question popped with dish of rice-birds? Will devote entire savings to purchase of same.’

      ‘What could Ay do?’ asked Olaf, disconsolately. ‘Ay ban no good by land.’

      ‘You can ride horses and camels, can’t you?’

      ‘Horses, eh?’ Olaf scratched his head. ‘They steer by a tiller to the head-piece for’ard, ain’t it? But camels, no. Ay reckon camels is out. Ay had a camel once, with a hump.’

      ‘You had a camel, Olaf?’

      ‘Sure Ay had a camel. One camel with one hump. A hump like that …’ he sketched a mountain in the air with his finger.

      ‘How did you come by it?’

      ‘Well, it was peculiar, see? We was in Port Said – Ay was shipped aboard a Panamanian tanker then – and Ay went ashore to get me a drink. Ay was thirsty, because it was hot, see? Ay reckon it was the sun that done it, or maybe the night air. Or maybe it was the tinned crab, but anyways, Ay wake up on the quay with no clothes on and a camel. One camel. Leastways, there was a rope in my hand, and when Ay haul on it, Ay find this camel the other end. So Ay coax the camel aboard the tanker and go to sleep. Oh, they was joyful to find my camel in the morning. It bit the mate in five places. It clomb into the bridge. It fouled the steering-gear. Then it bit the master in the calf, although he was a Portuguee. Ay had to pay a coal-black Jew from the Yemen four piastres and a Straits dollar to take it off at Bahrein, but even then the master, he put me off at Muscat. Marooned me, see? And Ay sat on the shore without my dunnage waiting for a ship three months. No, Ay don’t want nothing to do with no camels.’

      Before Derrick knew anything about it, it had been settled. The Professor spread out the map. ‘This, then,’ he said, making a dotted line with his pencil, ‘is our proposed route. We follow the Old Silk Road through the Gobi, travel north of Kunlun range, skirting Tibet, north of the Karakoram and the Pamirs, and so to Samarcand. Of course, we shall make several detours on the way, as there is a mass of untouched archaeological material waiting to be discovered. Imagine the importance of the Buddhist frescoes that the elder Ssu-ma describes, or the repository of jade objects mentioned by the Pandit Rajasthana … dear me, it makes me feel quite pale to think of it.’

      ‘I am afraid you will have to go south of the Kara Nor,’ said Sullivan, looking at the map. ‘There is a huge swamp that is not shown on the map – the whole region is very badly mapped – and that will mean an extra three days. But that is better than getting stuck in the middle.’

      ‘How glad I am,’ said the Professor, eagerly correcting the line. ‘How glad I am to have the benefit of your advice. I am new to this part of the world, you know, and if I were to have to make all the practical arrangements I should probably be unsuccessful. Besides, it would leave me very little time for archaeological work. But are you sure that you can spare the time and the energy? I am more than happy to avail myself of your kindness, for my knowledge of such things as transport is largely theoretical, but I do not wish to impose myself upon you.’

      ‘Oh, we will be able to manage that side of it quite easily, don’t you think, Ross?’

      ‘Aye. СКАЧАТЬ