One could not help admiring the skill with which he conducted the argument. It was carried on simultaneously in three languages — Abkhazian, Georgian and Russian — and while addressing the most aggressive member of the group in Russian, the official language, he quickly singled out a quiet Kakhetian[3] who had hardly opened his mouth and directed most of his remarks to him.
At times the chairman would turn in our direction as if appealing to us as witnesses. Vakhtang would respond with a dignified nod of the head and mumble something to the effect: no doubt about it, you’re making a fuss over nothing, my friends; I’ll have everything straightened out in the Ministry.
“Do you give these lectures very often?” I asked Vakhtang.
“The requests keep pouring in; I’ve given eighty lectures in the last two months — ten of them benefits and the rest paid,” he reported.
“Well, and what’s the response?”
“The public listens and the public understands,” he replied obscurely.
“And what’s your opinion of all this?”
“Personally, I’m intrigued by his high wool yield.”
“Come on, be serious.”
“The goatibex needs to be shorn,” replied Vakhtang with a straight face. Then suddenly breaking into a smile, he added: “Which is just what I intend to do.”
“Well, okay,” I said, cutting him short, “I’ve got to be going.”
“Don’t be an idiot, stay for a while,” said Vakhtang, and lowering his voice, he added: “There’ll be some home hospitality after the lecture. For me they’ll be happy to slaughter every last goatibex…”
“And what makes you so popular?” I asked.
“Oh, I promised the chairman I’d help him get his fertilizer,” he replied seriously, “and I really will, too.”
“And what’s your connection with fertilizer?”
“My dear boy,” Vakhtang smiled patronizingly, “everything in this world is connected. Andrey Sharlovich has a nephew who wants to enter the Institute this fall, and your humble servant just happens to be on the admissions board. Why shouldn’t the chairman of the district executive committee help a good kolkhoz chairman? And why shouldn’t I lend a hand to a young high school graduate? It’s all done unselfishly, for the benefit of others.”
By now the chairman had succeeded in persuading the workmen to go back to work. He promised to send a telegram right away, instructing an engineer to be sent out from the city to find out who was at fault. The chairman was obviously impatient to be on his way, and the workmen finally plodded off in gloomy fashion, apparently none too satisfied with their partial victory.
I said good-bye to everyone, and the old men politely went through the motions of half rising to see me off.
“The bus has already passed by here, but my driver will take you directly to the highway,” said the chairman.
“My driver will be happy to take you too,” interjected Vakhtang.
The chairman summoned Valiko and the two of us got into the car.
“I’m afraid he’s going to write some sort of nonsense against us,” said the chairman to Vakhtang in Abkhazian.
“Don’t worry,” replied Vakhtang, “I’ve already given him instructions as to what to write and what not to write.”
“Thanks, my dear Vakhtang,” said the chairman and then, turning to his driver, he added: “Stop at that restaurant out on the highway and see that he gets plenty to drink. I know these journalists — they can’t get along without alcohol.”
“Will do,” answered the driver in Abkhazian. Vakhtang burst out laughing.
“You don’t approve, Comrade Vakhtang?” the chairman asked anxiously.
“My friend, I thoroughly approve,” exclaimed Vakhtang, embracing the chairman with one arm. Then, turning in my direction, he shouted above the roar of the motor: “Tell my friend Avtandil Avtandilovich that the promotion of the goatibex is in reliable hands!”
V
The car set off down the road, leaving a trail of dust behind it. The sun had almost set, but there was no letup from the heat.
“Some sort of nonsense against us…” the chairman had said. The way he put it, I might write either for or against them, but whatever I wrote would undoubtedly be nonsense. And now as I reflected sadly on his words, I had to admit that he was not very far from the truth.
With regard to the alleged persecution of the goatibex, for example, I learned from the driver that a short time ago the goatibex had broken loose, run off into the tea fields and gorged himself on tea leaves until, as Valiko put it, he went haywire. He had then raced wildly through the village and at this point some dogs had actually pursued him. The villagers thought he had gone mad and wanted to shoot him, but in the end he had gradually quieted down.
The car leapt onto the highway and a few minutes later pulled up to a pale-blue roadside restaurant. We’ll see what luck you have luring me into this place, I thought to myself, at the same time firmly resolving to defend my reputation.
Valiko gazed at me with blue-eyed innocence and asked:
“Shall we stop here for a bite to eat?”
“Thanks anyway, but I think I’ll wait till I get back to town.”
“You’ve got a long way to go.”
“Still, I’d rather be on my way,” I objected, trying to sound as polite as possible. There was something I liked about this fellow with his sparkling blue eyes.
“Just a quick bite,” he said, opening the car door. “We’ll each order whatever we feel like and pay for it ourselves, Russian-fashion.”
What am I worried about, I thought to myself. I know that he’s planning to get me drunk, but he doesn’t know that I know — which gives me the advantage.
“Okay,” I said, “we’ll have a quick bite, and then I’ll be on my way.”
“Why sure, just some lobio[4] and greens, that’s all.”
Valiko locked the car and we went into the restaurant.
The place was deserted except for a party sitting in the corner, squeezed around two tables which had been pushed together. They must have been there for quite a while, since there were half a dozen bottles lying on the floor like emptied cartridge cases. The only woman among the revelers was a blonde, probably a Russian or Ukrainian. She was wearing a sundress with a low neckline and every few minutes she would examine her newly acquired tan. Apparently the tan added to her self-confidence.
Valiko selected a table in the opposite corner — a good choice as far as I was concerned.
The two waitresses sat quietly conversing at a table by the window. Valiko walked up to them, carefully avoiding the middle of the room. Apparently he did not want to attract the attention of the party in the corner. Catching sight of him, the waitresses flashed a friendly smile. The younger one’s smile was especially friendly. After greeting both of them in turn, Valiko leaned toward the younger one and began relating some story. The girl continued to smile as she listened to him, her face growing progressively more animated.
“Oh, come on, come on,” she seemed to be saying, feebly pushing him away with her hand as she continued to listen with obvious pleasure.
Such fellows always hit it off with waitresses, I thought to myself. But just at that moment her expression changed and I realized that Valiko had started to place our order. I began to get nervous, and now as the waitress happened to glance in my direction, I quickly cried out:
“Don’t order any wine for me!”
“How can you have a meal without wine?” said Valiko, turning in my direction and throwing up his hands in despair.