LITMIR.BIZ

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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

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