(a story)

By Mikho  Mosulishvili
Translated from Georgian into English by Ann Mosulishvili

 
Dedicated to Zurab Tsikaridze and Demur Kartozia who heroically fell in a battle at Kamani village (Abkhazia, Georgia, the Caucasus) near the town of Sukhumi on 9.07.1993. And, of course, to the General of the American Army John Malkhaz Shalikashvili, an eminent representative of one of the most ancient noble families of Georgia.

It was raining monotonously, continuously.

A white jeep with a trailer was moving along the road dug up with bombs. The UN flag was waving on the car. Three men were inside. A young captain clothed in a dark uniform with a long-brimmed forage cap   was driving the car. A vice-colonel dressed in the same uniform and in golden-rimmed spectacles was seated well beside him. A man in civil clothes, above middle years, with black eyes was sitting on the back seat -- because of a hooked nose and a tired look he bore resemblance to an old eagle.

“Now there is nothing to be afraid of, sir,” the vice-colonel continued an interrupted conversation. ”I left our interpreter from Moscow at the mission at last as I know Russian myself.”

“If you are interested in something else I am ready to satisfy your inquisitiveness,” responded the gray-haired man.

“He speaks our language quite well!” -- thought to himself with contentment the snub-nosed captain and switched the wipers, sliding and wiping off new drips that kept falling over the wind-screen, at middle gear.

“Why did you come with a false passport?”

“Our intelligence feared that I would be in danger coming here.”

“Judging by your black eyes this fear is grounded. I know already you are a relative to the General, but which one?”

“He is my cousin.”

“Do you know him personally?”

“I had such pleasure several years ago when I was giving a series of lectures at American Universities.”

“On what?” inquired the captain.

“On Salinger works. So at that time I made acquaintance with the general.”

“That’s wonderful, Mr. Pete,” rejoiced  the vice-colonel, “I consider myself his friend. We both graduated from the Military Academy. You used to be counts in your native country, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Once he was advised to alter his surname, they said it’s long and difficult to pronounce. Do you know what he answered? It’s your problem, not mine.”

“He was right.”

“Tell me now, where did your son perish?”

“According to the account of his brothers-in-arms -- on the approaches to this very village we are driving to.”

“Yesterday you were beaten because you are from Stalin’s native country! If they learn today that you seeking your son...

Shortly your intelligence was quite right, my escort is necessary to  you.”

“By the by, I saw him in my dream yesterday. I’ll give my life for you -- I tried to convince him, but he didn’t believe me and laughed.”

“Under what a circumstance was he killed?”

“They say he remained alone on the hill and gave the company the opportunity to retreat, but nobody knows the truth.”

“Maybe he surrendered and is alive. This often happens,” said the military inspector as if continuing the thought of his interlocutor.

“It may be, sir.”

“Your son turned out a hero!” uttered the captain who had kept silent.

“Your behavior also has the elements of heroism, professor,” said the vice-colonel.

“I quite agree with you about my son. As for me I don’t think so. I am a grief-stricken father who begs the Lord to return him the son every day. But I think I’ve more chances to find him dead than alive. There is God’s will for that.”

“So, you a believer besides!”

“Like my forefathers I am a Christian, sir. And I brought up Levan   in this faith too.”

“And we, the Adams, have been Protestants since ancient times.”

At this very moment the car braked and stopped.

“What’s the matter, Tom?” asked the vice-colonel who had nearly hit his head on the wind-screen.

“The road is dug up, sir,” the captain Tom Sibber being chary of words answered reluctantly after a pause.
 

***

The cloud of the bullet color was approaching the war-worn village.

It was raining ceaselessly.

The ravens with ruffled up feathers were sitting here and there on  the walls of the destroyed and burned houses and charred racks.

On the brink of the devastated village there was a church with a roof collapsed by bombs but without doors. The rain was falling on the frescoes riddled with bullets. Inside it near the alter a fat pig with a dull look stood twisting its tail and gnawing a man’s fleshless arm. Suddenly the animal left the bone, grunted loudly and splashed through the mud into the street and rain. It ran through the pass and proceeded onto the graveled path. Having run out into a   small square the pig caught with its mouth at a cock sitting on the overturned fridge which at the sight of danger shook its wings and flew to the square. The burst of tommy-gun fire was heard, the bullets splashed the puddles near the flown away bird, though the latter fluttered, flew over the fencing and disappeared. The sound of   a shot stopped the pig from chasing the cock; it turned the other side, splashed across the square and pushed its head into passage. It ran and puffed, left the village, rushed into maize crops, dashed to  the hill, reached it quickly, came up  to a dug up spot, stopped, looked around and began to nuzzle the rain-sodden soil.

A guard squatted at the sentry box gave a shot from his tommy-gun.

Some time later a soldier with a barrel-like body came running.

“What’s up?” asked he panting.

“It was a cock, to my mind. It flew over the fencing.”  The man doubted it himself and didn’t dare to mention the pig.

“You are in great kef, Dzhibrail,” the newcomer laughed, “We   wouldn’t have left it alive! Don’t smoke any more.”

“Yes, It probably showed up to me.”

“Do you happen to be hungry?”

“So so.”

“Ibragim brought us a sheep; they sent it to us from the headquarters.”

“That’s good!”

“Do you want me to replace you?”

“No, go and come in an hour as usual.”

The soldier went back, quickly reached the yard of a school where the depleted company of the colonel Ibragim Bek-Idrisov was stationed.

On the second floor in a big study a woman in a camouflage was  sitting and watching with a snake-like look a colonel who preparing  for a prayer, necked to the waist, was taking off the boots from his  feet.

“Allah akbar!” (in Arabic “Allah is great!”) – said Ibragim.

The woman knew she had to keep silent till the end of a prayer and was forbidden to speak. But recently she heard the sound of a shot.

“In the name of Merciful and Forgiving Allah,” uttered the praying man with hope and began the ablution ritual -- he took a handful of water from the wash-basin and threw it several times on his face, gargled his mouth, washed his nose and ears, smoothed his thick beard with fingers, first washed his right, then his left foot and -- did the same with his hands.

“I testify there is no God except Allah, the one and only. I testify that Mohamed is his slave and disciple. My Lord, join me to the remorseful and purified. I praise Thee, Allah, glorify Thee and testify there is no God except Thee. I plead with Thee to forgive    my sins. I bow my head with repentance.”

The woman recalled the story of Ubaid, a former muedzin (muedzin – a Mosque servant who calls Moslems for prayer from minaret.), when a true believer prepares for ablution, the angels stand on his right and devils -- on his left side. On mentioning Allah the devils fly away and the angels take control over him, halo him, give praise to the Almighty Allah and plead with Him to forgive the man’s sins.

The praying man raised his hands with hope and repeated:

“Allah akbar!”

Then he put his left hand into his right one and began the first chapter of Koran with awe:

“In the name of Merciful and Forgiving Allah.... Praise is to Allah, the Lord of the earth, mercy and forgiveness. The Lord on the Day of Redeemer Trial. We worship Thee and trust in Thee for help. Set us right to follow the way of those whom you filled with your kindness, but not those who angered you or those who are in the wrong.”

Nobody and nothing existed for Ibragim now, he was seized with the  highest ecstasy -- he was alone with his God. He bent and put his palms on his knees, then straightened, raised his hands again and uttered:

“Sami Allahu liman hamidachu” (in Arabic it means “Allah listens to one who praises him”).

He bent down, kneeled, leaned his elbows on the floor and at last  sprawled in such a way that nearly touched with his nose a piece of  shammy, spread on the floor. He sat up and sprawled and sat up again -- thus he performed the rite. Then he began the second one—he repeated the procedure and sat with his legs crossed. He was as lithe as a mountainous tiger -- he did no spare movement.

“I testify there is no God except Allah and Mohammed is his disciple.

Then with awe on his face he quietly pronounced a prayer to Prophet.  At last he exclaimed to the left and right:

“As-salamu Allahum va pahmatul lahi.” (in Arabic “Peace and mercy of  Allah to you”).

That exclamation gave the permission to speak to the colonel.

“Somebody has shot from the gun recently!” the woman said.

“I haven’t heard,” he answered, put on his woolen socks and high boots.

“I’ll go and see,” the woman could not conceal her displeasure. She took her inseparable carbine with optical back-sight and went out. 

She went downstairs  and ran to  the  booth  set  in  the  yard out  of necessity  where they  set fire  with  desk  fragments, on  which the water  was  boiling in  a  big pan.  The attached tables were surrounded by chairs.  Nearby  a  sheep  was  hanging  on  the hook  and  Ubaid, without   a  uniform,   in  his  turban  and  oriental  robe, was  cutting  it.

The soldiers in khaki uniforms  sat  round  the fire, drank  wheat vodka  in  turn, twisted baccy with  a  strong  smell, inhaled  it  one by  one. The more  they  inhaled  the duller  their  eyes  became, bearing resemblance  to  those  of  the cannibal  pig, and  one  or  the  other burst  into  causeless  laughing.

“Why did they shoot?” she asked Ubaid severely.

“It’s our guard, Gurza!”(Gurza – venemous snake in the Caucasus.) -- A soldier with    a wounded forehead forestalled him.

“A cock showed up to him!” grinned the former muedzin.

“Who is on guard?”

“Dzhibrail.”

“Is he tight?”

“We are  all  in  kef  from  vodka  and  hashish,” grinned  a man  with  gold  teeth, a  chain  with  man’s  ears  was  hanging on  his  neck.

“Who brought it?”

“Their man.”

“How could you believe him?”

“I  were  a dish of  Dzhakhavama (in Arabic “the hell”)  if  I  had believed him!” the  man  with  a  wounded  forehead  got anxious.

“First he smoked himself.”

“He  is  such  a  man,  who   would  come  over  to your side   if you  share hashish   fairly  with  him!” remarked  the  man  with gold teeth.

“Tell us, Gurza, what the colonel is doing?” asked the other.

“He is praying again!”

“We promised to  send  him some  hashish,  but  got  afraid  he  would  throw  it  away  again.”

“This man is not like himself any more. Something has happened to him,” said the man with a wounded forehead.

“I’m worried about this, too.”  The sniper agreed with him.

“I wish the war would continue soon, everybody is bored to death.” said Ubaid.

“In Sha-allah! (in Arabic  “It’s  Allah’s will”) – answered several men simultaneously.

Gurza went back. The soldiers followed her finely-moulded hips with   hungry eyes.

“Blessed be a broad-hipped woman. Nothing   on earth can  be  compared with her,” clicked  the  youngster who  unlike  the  man  with  gold teeth  had   a  chain  with already blackened nipples, cut  from woman’s  breasts,  on  his  neck.

“Put that thought out of your head, Shark!” advised him muedzin.

“The  colonel   sent  one  man  to  the kingdom  come  because  of  this woman!” explained   to him  the  man  with  gold teeth.

“Does  he  love  her  so much?” surprised  Shark, but   upon receiving  no  answer  he  got  silent.

“Ubaid,  what  is written  about  the Battle in  Koran?” asked the  man  with  a  wounded  forehead.

“Those  who  left their  land  to  fight  on  Allah  side  with  their  people and  means  would  be  of  the  highest  value to Allah  and   blessed”. Chapter 9, verse 20.”

Drops of  rain were  performing some  queer  unheard melody  and  covering  the sinful  earth  with  a  beautiful  unknown  cloth.

The  colonel  was  sitting  in  an  arm-chair, reading  some  papers  and  smoking   a cigar.

Gurza   came in softly swinging her hips.

“A cock showed up to Dzhibrail.”

“Soon  dwarfs and  devils  will  show  up  to  him,”  said  Ibragim,  collected  the  papers  and  put  them  into the  envelope.

“What did you put into the envelope?”

“Letters.”

“Whose?”

“My wife’s.”

“Will you let me read them?”

“Later,” he quickly passed on to another topic. “He has probably smoked a lot.”

“You must forbid hashish, none of them looks like a man.”

“Nothing will come of it.”

“Why?”

“I have thirteen men left out of 100. If I forbid it there’ll be only you, me and Ubaid.”

“But   how long will they go on like this?”

“Till I get reinforcement. They promise it to me.”

“The boys are missing the war!”

“This truce won’t last long!  We’ll  fight  again  and  they  will  drink  the  blood  of  strangers.”

“It’s their custom—to drink blood,” thought Gurza. “Ubaid even cited Shah Abbas’ poem.  What was it?  Somewhere  people  drink  wine, but  here  we  drink  blood  of  our  enemies. It’s disgusting!” her knees trembled in fear. She  imagined  how  they  cut  a  throat  and  held  up  the  glass.  She  clearly   saw  a  little  drinking  hornet which  the  colonel  carried  specially  for  this purpose.  But he said “They’ll drink it!”  Instead of “We’ll drink it”. What’s the matter with him?

Noise was heard from the outside. Gurza looked out of the window.

The frantic crowd   surrounded a captive and beat him in turn.

Her knees stopped trembling.  She took off her cap with a long peak.  Her hair was shortly cut like boys.  She also took off her jacket. A stained T-short fitted close her breasts without a bra.  Her cold green eyes became glassy.  She  sat  on  the  colonel’s  knees  and  turned  her lips  for  kiss.

“Drop it!” growled   the colonel.

The angry woman jumped off his knees.  Her snaky eyes sparkled with anger.

“You’ve refused me for a week. What’s up?”

“Nothing!”

“You should know, I can’t bear it so long!”

“What shall I do?”

“I’ll go to Shark.”

“Maybe you’ll sleep with Ubaid too! I won’t kill anybody  because of you!”

“What’s going on, explain!”

“I said nothing!”

“You think about Sheitan-Gurdzha again. Do you think I don’t know about it?”

“That blissful told me the truth.”

“Blissful? you surprise me, Ibragim! Since you drank the hot blood of your enemy! You even played football with a cut head!”

“The death of the enemy was predestined by Allah! But he turned out a dare-devil, which chaps!”

“You swore to kill five men because of him!”

“I’ll do it! The first is already being prepared!”

“Sheitan-Gurdzha was a handsome boy,” said the woman. “I’d have slept with him with pleasure!”

“I see him in my dreams!”

“How?”

“I shoot at him, but cannot kill him!”

“Let you not have a headache because of him any more,” advised Gurza.

She put on her jacket, cap, took the tommy-gun and went downstairs.

The rain increased and thickened the heavenly curtain.

The captive barely stood on his legs.

Being in low spirits   the woman loitered about the tent for some time.  She  noticed  a  basket, full  of  eggs  on  the  table  and  grinned  maliciously.

“Wait!” she called to her people playing with an egg in her hand. “I’ll shoot it through at 20 steps!”

“A big deal!” his gold teeth sparkled.

“Put  an  egg  on his  head!”

“If you kill him you’ll deal with Ibragim.”-- uttered Ubaid.

“Lean  him against  the  fencing  and  put  an egg  on his  head, I say!” ordered  the  sniper.

Shark  pulled off  the  cap  from  the  staggering  captive, put the  fatal egg  on him and  shouted:

“Don’t move otherwise you’ll die!”

Gurza took the  tommy-gun, screw  up one eye and looked  into  optical  target, -- she  petrified, lurked   like  a  snake before  smashing its prey. She  didn’t  aim for  a long time,  then   softly  pulled  the  trigger  so  that  the muzzle  remained  steady.

The bullet whistled and the captive’s head painted yellow.

The enraptured warriors applauded and yelled.

“Hush!” shouted Ubaid. “I think it’s the sound of a car.”

They grew silent and listened.

“It’s a car,” confirmed the sniper. “Hide the captive, quickly!”

Shark ran up to the tortured man.

“He’s  pissed, fuck  his  mother!” he  cursed  and  quickly  dragged   him  to  the  punishment  room.

After   a  while  the  sound  of  a  motor  ceased  at the  gate.

The car signaled.

Gurza  who  was  standing  nearby,  opened  the  gate  and  looked  out.

A white  jeep  with  a  trailer  drove up.

Dzhibrail jumped  out  of  the  car.

“These are UN supervisors.”

“Yes, I’ve recognized the flag.”

“Their man is sitting behind.”

“What shall we do?”

“Let’s take them to the colonel! But, wait; look at the gray-haired man attentively!”

“What’s up?”

“I would be  a  lump   of  Iblis  (in Arabic  “devil”)  if  he is   not  the  father  of   Sheitan-Gurdzha ( in Arabic  “the devil-Georgian”).

“Are you sure?” the woman doubted. “You have smoked so much!”

“Look at him more attentively!” Dzhibrail  got  excited  and  showed   the    men  in  the  car  to  get  out.  They  got  out  from  the  jeep and  entered  the  school  yard.

Gurza kept an eye on the man without a uniform.  The forehead, nose, eyes -- the very picture of Gurdzha. She must ask his name, surname. No, at  first  she’ll  have  a look  at  the  military  certificate of  the dead.  Where  is  it?  Yes, it’s  at  Ibragim’s,  in  his  field  bag.

But  does  she   need  the  certificate? The son   is  the  very  image  of  him.  Before  they  go  to  the  colonel  she must  tell  the  soldiers  about  this!  Let them settle a score with him!

The newcomers hid themselves from the rain under the tent.

“Who are they?” asked Ubaid.

“They want to rebury the corpse,” Dzhibrail pointed to the professor. “And he took military supervisors with him.”

“It’s not long ago that three supervisors were killed.  Who is afraid of them?” grinned Shark.

“You  only  look  at  this  dog!” screamed Gurza, who kept  silent  till now, rushed  to  the  professor  and  scratched  his  face.

“What did  you  fancy, woman?” the  Ubaid  astounded and  caught  hold  of  the  hand  of  the  furious  woman.

“He’s   Sheitan-Gurdzha’s father!” screeched the sniper.

“Did  he  come  himself?” the  man  with  a  wounded  forehead  was  glad.

Strung-up Tom  Sibber  put  his  right  hand  on  the belt, he  wished he had  a  revolver.

“Who is in charge here?” The UN vice-colonel asked loudly and shielded the professor.

“And he knows Russian!” grinned the man with gold teeth.

“I  must   drink  his  blood!” Shark  appeared  beside  the  professor  and  exhaled  a  stinking  cigarette  smoke  into  his  face.

Drugs—thought  Peter  and looked  at  the  threaded  nipples, he  shifted  his  gaze—they  were   stinking, he wanted  to  vomit.  At  this  moment  he  felt  as  if  lightening  struck  his  brain, somebody  fisted  him  and  he  fell  into  mud.

“How can you beat a disarmed man!” screamed anxious Jerry Adams. “Bring your leader here.”

Gurza ran upstairs.

“His  son  killed  our  eighteen   men!” burst Ubaid  and  kicked  the  fallen  man  whose  cut  lip  was  bleeding.

The UN  supervisors  tried  to block  the  way  of   the  furious,  yelling  crowd  slowly  surrounding  the  fallen  man.

“What  was  the  name  of  the dead , didn’t  he  have any  documents?”  shouted  the  vice-colonel.

“Here  is  the  document,” cried  the  sniper  coming  down  and  turned  over  the   military  certificate. “Levan Shalikashvili.”

“I  am  not  Shalikashvili!” said  the  professor  in  a  trembling  voice, he  wanted to  vomit  again, took  a  passport  out  of  his  pocket  and  gave  it to  the  woman. “Have a look!”

“Simon Chaladze,” she read.

“Have you understood now?” screamed Jerry Adams, “You are beating him for nothing! This man has already reburied seventeen corpses, it’s his business!”

“A lie! He’s Sheitan-Gurdzha’s father!” screeched Gurza. “He brought up that puppy!”

“It’s he! It’s he!” shouted the rest.

“Oh, fuck his  mother!” bitterly  sighed  Shark, took  out  a  knife  and  moved  to  Peter.

Tom  Sibber  stood  in  his  way  and  clenched  his  fists  like  a  fighter.

“Bring your leader,” the vice-colonel shouted again.

“Stop it!” roared Ibragim Bek-Idrisov from the balcony and quickly ran downstairs. “Take away your knife, Shark!”

The  young  man  with  the  horrifying  chain  obeyed  him  and  stepped  back  though he  didn’t  cease  to  stare  at  the captain  in a dark uniform with  contempt.

“Mr. Colonel, they  nearly  killed  this  innocent  man!” couldn’t   conceal  his  anxiety   the  UN  military  supervisor  and winked  his  blue  eyes  in  gold-rimmed spectacles.

Tom  Sibber  took  the   arm  of  the man  fallen into  the  mud   and  set  him  on  his  feet.  He watered  the  handkerchief,  brought it  near  the  man’s  face  and  whispered: “ Think  of  something  pleasant, professor! Don’t be afraid!”

“Muedzin, what drove you mad?” asked the colonel.

“He’s got the same face, Ibragim, as that puppy had.  Just have a look at him!”

“He’s  the  father  of  the  man  who killed  our   eighteen  men!” confirmed  the  man  with  gold teeth.

The tiger’s glowing eyes began examining the professor.

“We’ve compared the documents, colonel.” remarked Jerry Adams. “The name and surname don’t coincide.”

“Show!” ordered   Ibragim. He  was  given  the  both  documents and  having  considered  them long, he  briefly  told  his  people. “Take care of yourself. And you, sirs, go upstairs.”

The  warriors remaining  downstairs  followed  with  lupine  eyes  the newcomers  going  upstairs  behind  the  colonel.

It rained desperately without stopping.

Gurza  brought  four  glasses  and  a  bottle of  cognac  to  the  table  at  which  the  colonel  and  his  guests  were  sitting  and  thought -- I wish  they  had settled  a score  with him  before  Ibragim  went  out.  Now I must try to persuade the muedzin.  He is respected here -- he knows the laws of Shariat and Koran!

“Pour out!” ordered the colonel and addressed the supervisors. “I am listening to you, sirs.”

“We’ve  come  with  peaceful  mission, we  want  to  rebury  the  corpse!” the  vice-colonel  explained. “Mr. Simon Chaladze has already returned seventeen corpses to mournful parents. That’s   why I don’t understand   such a reaction of your soldiers, sir!”

“I apologize to you,” said Bek-Idrisov, “There was some misunderstanding.”

At  this  moment  the  muedzin  with  a  switched-on  portable radio-set  came  in.

“I’m sorry, but Usama bin Laden himself is on line!”

Gurza grinned bitterly and addressed the muedzin sarcastically.

“Who  is  this  fanatic  ring-leader  of  talibs, some  degenerate  Usama  bin Laden  to  interrupt  such  a  serious meeting?”

“You’ll learn it soon. Very soon!”

Ibragim  took  a  radio set, talked  a  little  in  Arabic and said  upon the  end  of  the  communication: 

“Allah akbar.”

And he returned the radio set to the muedzin.

“I beg your pardon, sirs. What were we talking about?  Oh, yes? I apologize for that misunderstanding.”

“This  respectable  man  nearly  lost  his  life  because  of  this  misunderstanding,” Jerry  Adams  reproached  him.”What guarantee   can we have after that?”

The colonel hesitated. He probably fought himself and then said:

“I swear by Allah, nothing bad will happen. We’ll show him the grave too.”

“Do  you  give  me  a  word  of  honor  of  an  officer?” asked  the  doubtful  vice-colonel.

“I’ve   sworn   by Allah!” said Iragim sternly, “It’s more than enough.”

“You haven’t understood me, sir.”

“Let’s  not  continue…”softened  Bek-Idrisov, took  his  glass  with  cognac  and  raised  it, “To  the dead, sirs!”

They clinked glasses and drank silently.

Jerry Adams thanked and rose to leave.

When  they were  going  downstairs  they  heard  a   thunder  and  saw   lightning twisting  like  a  snake. The rain seemed to increase.

The heavenly curtain of the sinful unhappy earth thickened.

The supervisors, colonel and professor sat into the jeep, Shark, Ubaid and Gurza -- into a villis.

Soon  they  drove  past  the  village, maize  field  and  took  the  road  leading  to  the  hill. The villis got stuck and began skidding. The  people  inside it  argued so  violently  that  they  did  not  notice  how  the  jeep  masterly  rounded  them, left  the road  but  soon  got  stuck too.

“It’s because of rain,” complained Tom Sibber.

“You needn’t get wet, Mr.  vice-colonel,” said Ibragim, “stay  here and  I’ll  take  him  up the hill.”

“If  possible, without  beating!” warned  him  Jerry Adams  and  made  him ashamed, “It’s  a  shame!..”

“Don’t be afraid,” the colonel reassured him.

Peter got out of the car and took a shovel out of the trailer.

The people out of the villis approached Bek-Idrisov.

“But all the same, I think it’s his father, Ibragim,” said the muedzin.

“I am 100% sure of this!” confirmed Shark.

“You’ve sworn to revenge, haven’t you?” insisted the woman.

“But the name and surname don’t coincide, do they?”

“Don’t believe them, he’s Sheitan-Gurdzha’s father!” insisted Ubaid.

“Go and ask him yourself!” said the colonel in a tired voice.

“You, stranger! You are Shalikashvili’s father, that’s why you came here, didn’t you?”

“Tell the truth, you, dog!” growled Shark.

“He is not my son, I say,” Peter said. “I am Simon Chaladze. You have seen the passport!”

“What brought you here, then?”

“I came to rebury the corpse.”

“Well, step aside!” ordered the colonel.

Peter walked away from the company.

“It’s his father, surely!” held his own the muedzin.

“It’s Gurza who persuaded you all,” pronounced Bek-Idrisov in a calm voice.

“Don’t  deceive  yourself, Ibragim,” flung  the  sniper, “We’ll   burst  all these  mediators  with  their  jeep  in  a  second!  What’s the trouble?”

“A good idea!” rejoiced Shark.

“That’s enough,” fury was felt in Ibragim’s voice. “Ubaid   and you, Shark, stay here and Gurza will come with me.”

“But, colonel…” began the man in the turban.

“There is no need to blab so much! Let’s go!”

They began ascending the steep rise on foot.

When they reached the peak they saw the pig nuzzling the soil.

Bek-Idrisov took  out  a revolver  and  no sooner  the  pig  could escape  he shot  it  through  its head.

“I wonder  how you, Christians, eat its meat?” he asked  Peter  with disgust  and  not  receiving  an  answer, said: “We buried  him  over there.”

“Where?” the professor was confused.

“There, where this cannibal pig was nuzzling.”

“Thank you!” said Peter and began to pull the quivering beast from the dug up ground.

After a while those who remained below ran up.

As soon as the UN supervisors saw the professor fighting the pig, they signed with relief.

“We’ve escaped   one more trouble, sir,” said Tom Sibber.

“Mr. Vice-colonel, I gave my word, nothing will happen to him,” offence was heard in Bek-Idrisov’s voice.

“Sorry, sir,” began apologizing the military supervisor. “I wanted to be present.”

“You’d better wait in the car,” advised Gurza, “There is no pleasure in watching a corpse.”

“You are right, miss,” Jerry Adams said reluctantly. “Let’s go, Tom!”

“I’ll stay with the professor, sir,” begged   him   Tom Sibber. “We cannot   leave him   alone   with these savages.”

“It would mean our mistrust. We must go!”

“I won’t, sir!”

“It’s the order, captain!” the angry vice-colonel began descending.

After hesitating for some time Tom Sibber followed him.

“You   go back  too,” Ibragim  ordered  to Shark  and  Ubaid, “and  if  everything  blows  up  here, don’t  dare  to ascend. And don’t let them, too.”

“That’s clear,” Shark said and went to the car.

“Let Allah  help you!” the  muedzin  said  to  him  and  followed  the man  with  the  chain.

Peter  took  a  shovel  with  his  trembling  hands  and  began  digging  up  the  grave. At  the price  of  endless  humiliations, negligences  and  beatings   he reached  at last  the place,  at which, according  to  the  account  of  his comrades-in-arms, Levan   had  been  left.  These ones also confirm he killed their eighteen men. That military certificate   is really my son’s, but maybe it fell in their hands by chance. Everything happens at war time. I’m lucky  that  the  officer of our  intelligence got  another passport  for  me  otherwise  these blood-suckers  would have killed me. The colonel swore nothing would happen, but nobody knows what they have on their minds. Hadn’t  I arrived  today  this  pig  would  have  gorged  him! - Praise  be  to  Thee, my Lord  that  Thee  brought   me  here  at  the right time  and  did  not let  this cannibal pig drag Levan.” Open  my  eyes, Jesus Christ, so  that  I won’t  fall  into  a  deadly  dream,  my  enemy  will   say  nowhere  that  he   defeated  me!” Then he murmured “Our Father” leaning on his shovel. He did not feel the rain anymore. Bek-Idrisov and Gurza stood at his head and watched the working man silently.

Shalikashvili finished digging, raised the body wrapped into a plastic bag and put it on the edge of the grave. He got out of the hole and opened the plastic bag. He  felt  cramps  over  his  skin, as the corpse   smelt  more sharply  than  the  nipples  hanging  on Shark’s  neck.

He quickly glanced at the face. I wish I would die here, on this spot, sonny! – Somebody said in his soul. The web covered the nostrils, lips, eyelids, ears, temples. And the skin blackened. The military uniform was riddled with shell-splinters, bullets. The leg below the knee was torn off. It   must have been very painful!  The mournful father wasted away, became dumb –founded.  Help me, my Lord. - He restrained his tears.Yes; he must have had a silver cross on his neck.  He unfastened the collar of the blood-stained shirt, felt the cross with his hand. It was there! He tore away the chain; it had the cross and a medal, on which the personal number is usually carved. Levan would never have hung it together with the cross.

He bent on his knees. He burst into tears. It’s good it’s raining, may be they won’t notice. And suddenly the father of the perished son - like a howling desperate wolf at bay—began to sob horribly.

“I told you  he  is  the  father,” rejoiced Gurza  and  began  playing  with  the  tommy-gun  in  her hands.

“Calm down, your turn will come soon, too.” growled the colonel and addressed the knelt man, “you listen to me, stranger!  We called   this youngling Sheitan- Gurdzha. He fortified his position here and we pressed him from below. He fought well and killed many of us. Then  shooting stopped  and we heard  a  song—a strange,  heart-rending   one  --  it was  like  the song  my  father  was  singing  when we were forcibly  being  resettled  from  the Cherkesi  mountains  into  a  desert. We understood his bullets came to an end. Our five men armed with tommy-guns surrounded him. When they  approached  him, he  pulled  out  the  ring  of  “limonka”  and  exploded  himself  and  our  five  men. When  I ran  up   his  leg  below  the  knee was  torn off  and  his  torn  stomach  was bleeding. I began  roaring  at  the top of  my  voice —How  many  men  he  killed!  I was crazy, completely out of senses!  Look here, I filled this hornet with his blood and drank it. He twisted his face with disgust. He stared  at me stubbornly  and  said  with  his  eyes “ You’d  have  fought  like  me, stranger”. So did he die...? Whenever I see him in my dreams, he repeats these words.”

Silence fell.

Falling   of rain drops neither decreased nor increased.

Suddenly  the  thunder  roared  and  somewhere  nearby  an  oak was  blown  down.

“He is the father!” repeated the sniper. “You’ll kill him, won’t you? you’ve sworn.”

“Wait, Gurza!” Bek-Idrisov made the infuriated woman is silent, “Listen to me, stranger!  Life sometimes gives us surprising coincidences!  I was about his age when I fought in Afghanistan. Like Sheitan- Gurdzha I was surrounded by enemies. I too had “limonka” and heard   “Surrender!”  I dared not to drop the explosive on the ground!  The  Russians  took  me prisoner  and  now  I  am  a  savage  brought  up  in the enclosures.

The  colonel lowered himself  heavily  and set  on  a pile  of  the soil  dug  up  by  Peter.  He  cast  a  glance   at  the  dumb-founded  sniper standing  nearby, took   the  letters   out  of the pocket and  gave  them  to  her  with  a  sneer.

“It’s time to read my wife’s letters, Gurza!”

The astonished   woman took the bundle and hurriedly looked through it.

These  were  the messages  coded  for  the  Russian  intelligence which  she  gave  to Shark.

“It means Shark betrayed me,” her eyes turned frozen. She got anxious. Suddenly  she  took  the  tommy-gun, pointed the  muzzle at Ibragim  and  pulled  the  trigger. Scratching was heard.

“I‘ve squeezed out your poison. You’ll   harm nobody!” Bek-Idrisov stared at her persistently. The sniper  fell down  with empty hands, began  to  kiss  the  legs of her former  lover,  sobbing  she  begged to  forgive  her.

“I wanted to kill you, but go and thank Sheitan- Gurdzha!”

At  first  she  was  crawling in mud, then  drew nearer  and  without   looking back  rushed  away  -- probably  she  anticipated  a bullet  into  her  bent  back.

“It’s my gift to you, stranger! From this very moment Ibragim Bek-Idrisov will drink nobody’s blood!”

The  colonel  stretched out  this awful  hornet to Peter  who  was  sitting  in  mud  and  for  some time held his face under the rain.

After long silence he continued:

“I ask you for the last time – is he your son?”

Again silence fell.

The furious father looked at the hornet for drinking:

“He drank Levan’s blood from it!  Shall I say or not?”

If he said this agonizing  life  would  finish  and  he  would  be  killed near his son’s  body.  But something stopped him -- probably the desire to save his own damned skin!

“He is  not  my  son,” the  professor  would  swear  he  hadn’t  pronounced  these words.

“Why did you cry then?”

“I felt pity for him.”

“You  brought him up, but  you  are  not  as  brave  as  he  was,” said  the colonel  regretfully, “Have  you  removed  the  medal  from  him?”

“There was no medal.”

“Give it to me! I hung it on the chain on his neck when   I buried him.”

The colonel took the medal and stared at it.

“Let Allah save him! He was a brave fellow. He died with a song. I should have died in Afghanistan, like Gurdzha did on this hill!  Now I understand! He turned out to be stronger than I! And he defeated you too -- you denied your blood and flesh and what would he do with me?”

Peter Shalikashvili looked at Bek-Idrisov but couldn’t even control his own voice, couldn’t squeeze it out of his throat.

Unbearable and awful silence fell — piercing, shrill, sinister silence and the ear-drums of the miserable father seemed to have burst.

Then Bek-Idrisov stood up and said:

“Levan Shalikashvili is unworthy of such a grave. Take him! I give you to him!”

The professor  put  the  hornet  which  he  held  in his hands  into  the pocket, wrapped  the son’s  body  into  a  plastic  bag, carefully  took  him  in hands  and went  along  the  muddy  road. 

The colonel  followed him, when  they  came  to  the car  Shark  and  Ubaid  met  them half-way.

“I thought you and Gurza would return!” astounded the muedzin.

“Throw away that nipples, they stink, son!”  Put in Ibragim. At  first   Shark `jumped  out of  his  skin,  but  when  he  caught a steady  look of Bek-Idrisov, became  distressed, tore  off  his  unbearable  chain and  threw it away.

“Where is Gurza?” asked Ubaid with no less amazement.

“I let her out!” flung Ibragim without paying attention to the muedzin’s   widely open eyes.

Peter put the son’s body into the trailer —- the miserable father acted mechanically, instinctively.

“Have you found him, sir?” Tom Sibber approached him.

The professor with wet eyes nodded him silently.

Jerry Adams shook hands with Bek-Idrisov and thanked him.

At this very moment a sharp and loud cock crow was heard from the village.

“Have you heard?” idiotic expression on Shark’s face changed into his usual one, “Dzhibrail was right, there is a cock in the village!”

“What time for a cock to crow?” the muedzin got angry and began furiously:

“Prophet! The believers got up to fight. Twenty strong men would kill two hundred strangers; one hundred would flee one thousand as strangers have nothing sacred! Chapter 8, verse 66.”

“I swear by night that gives shelter to everyone and by a clear day! Chapter 92, verse 1.”

“You shouldn’t address me with this message any more, Ubaid! I do nothing but fight!” a tiger roared in Ibragim’s voice.

As the muedzin couldn’t  answer him, Ibragim  calmed down, watched  the  leaving jeep  and  when  the  car  disappeared he  took  Levan Shalikashvili’s   medal  out  of  the pocket, cleaned it, took off his own one, put on both  of them  and tied  the  chain  on the neck.

 

***

Along  a  muddy road  dug up  by bombs  the  jeep  with  the UN  flag  was  driving. The professor Peter Shalikashvili was sitting on the back seat. He was   glad  that   he  had found  Levan’s  body   at  last  and  at the same time  he  was  weeping  bitterly—he  could  not  pluck up   his    courage,  he had  denied his son  to  save  himself. First    the chain with  stinking  and  blackened nipples  made him   feel  bad,  then  the  hornet  for  drinking  gifted  by  the colonel  that  burnt  him  now, as  Levan’s blood  was  drunk  from  it— gave   him  a  feeling  that  his  arm  got  paralyzed.

Not now, but after   thinking  for  a long  time  the professor  understood  that  by  eating  human flesh  and  drinking blood  --  the cannibal  customs, which have existed  since  the savage  times  up  to  now --  they  subdued  the enemy’s soul by confluence   and  thought   that  thus  they   became  stronger.

Our Lord Jesus Christ  turned these customs  into goodness, when  during  the Last Supper  he said  to his  disciples  about  the  bread: “This  is  My  body which  is  given  for  you, do  this  in  remembrance  of  Me” and about  the  wine:” He had taken a cup, and given thanks, He gave it  to them; and  they all drank from it and He said to them, “This is my blood of the covenant, which is  poured out for many”.  

Our Lord did  not explain this profound action  and  his disciples  did  not explicate the symbolic meaning of  such  a  behavior  -- because they tried to fight evil without mentioning  it. After that  the sacred church  performs  the eucharist and, let’s  not  conceal  it, cleans  the  soul of each of us  from dark  cannibal instincts -- and according to the “law of  great religion” the most serious crime was not to receive the Eucharist, when  the murderer was sentenced to 20 years.

As I mentioned the professor did not and could not understand this at that moment as his nerves were highly strained. The colonel drank the blood of his Levan.

Forgive us, sinful, and cure everyone, our Lord.

Captain Tom Sibber drove the car masterly and thought of the time   he would have finished his military service, would settle in his native Connecticut, in his own house and like Jerome David Salinger would write the story of today’s events together with others.

Vice-colonel Jerry Adams talked  without  stopping to Peter, pleaded  him to  tell  the four - star  general John  Malkhaz Shalikashvili  about  his  heroic  deed  in this very risky and  pride-worthy  affair.  From time to time the talker drank from a flat four-cornered Scottish bottle of whisky “Long John”.

Though Peter Shalikashvili heard and saw nothing -- his  son  whom  he denied  tormented  him, excitement with  new  and  stronger waves  reached  the  torn and tangling edges of  his  grieving soul. He wept  and  wept bitterly  and  as if  for comfort granted from   heaven he heard a cock  crowing loudly and  sharply, and  then  he  distinguished and clearly  saw  through  his tears the  sparkling,  self –luminous  words  of evangelist John:

“Amen, amen, I tell you: before a cock crows, you will deny me three times.”

 
FIN