A stout, elderly woman was watering flowers in the yard.

“Excuse me ma’am, could you please tell me where Nutsiko Mdivani lives?”

“Who are you, young man? I can’t recognize you,” the woman said.

“No wonder ma’am, you don’t know me... I am a guest here, “Giorga answered rather embarrassed.

“She lives in the next house, but she is not in at present,” the woman said.

“Never mind, I’ll call on her later,” Giorga replied.

“Who knows when they are going to come back,” the woman laughed. “You must be her relative, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not,” Giorga answered even more embarrassed and blushing.

“Nutsiko has run away to Petersburg with an officer. Her poor father is still looking for her”.

Giorga stood frozen for a while, his mouth pretty dry.

Then, without saying good-bye, he turned round and went down the street.

He went back to his village by train that very day.

It was pouring with rain all the way back.

There were a lot of people in the carriage and it was too stuffy there.

The wounded leg hurt badly.

In Gori a lot more people got on the train.

Giorga sank deep into his thoughts.

He recalled the battles near Kars.

Then he recalled the officer and got angry again.

“He didn’t like King Erekle, the cowardly bustard!” he thought.

Then he sank deep into his thoughts again.

Soon he fell asleep.

He dreamed a little dream about Nutsiko. In his dream he knew that he would never see her again. So he stared at her as hard as he could. A strong jerk woke him up.

“She must be really very beautiful,” he said aloud.

The thin old man sitting next to him gave him a frightened look and moved aside.

September 24, 2009.

ABDUL KARIM

I am in Pakistan. I’m making another affort, five years later, to climb Nanga-Parbat[9]. Now there are two of us – a mountaineer from Shimshal[10] and me. My companion’s name is Sarvar Paliungtar. We are going to join the rest of the expedition at the base camp. We are spending night in a village of Jell. We are surrounded by the local kids all day long. There is much ado and fuss around us. Some are speaking Urdu, others are speaking the tongue of Shinas. Only Abdul Karim can speak both languages and manages a bit of English.

The locals don’t leave us alone. Everything is new and amazing for them – the tents, our equipment and, of course, the camera they all try to peep in.

Abdul Karim talks non-stop. He follows me everywhere I go, and I am forced to make Sarvar interpret all the time.

Abdul Karim is about eight years old and is exceptionally bright and open-minded.

In the evening he suddenly approaches me and comes up with the strangest idea:

“Only we, Pakistanis and Arabs, are good folks. All the rest are bad and evil. I’ll kill them all when I grow up; especially Indians!”

I’m looking at the kid in amazement, trying to guess what has made him hate something he doesn’t know, something he has never seen before.

I do my best to assure him that he is talking nonsense, that it is unfair to hate the whole world around. I name a lot of countries and peoples that he has no idea about, trying at the same time to explain that there are good and bad folks everywhere.

But the kid turns a deaf ear to me. He insists on his idea, his eyes blazing with evil hatred.

In the end I ask him who has taught him such terrible things.

“My teacher”, the kid answers and looks aside.

I am at a loss. On the one hand, I don’t want to say anything wrong about the teacher; on the other hand, I can’t help saying something.

“You are misled, kid. You can read in Urdu, can’t you? And, I’m sure, you are taught Koran at school. So read it from beginning to end till I come back from the mountain. You will realize that it says nothing about hatred though you hate the whole world! If you see that I’m right, admit that you were wrong, Okay?”

Sarvar, pretty amazed himself, translates every little word I say.

In the morning we say good-bye to each other and I proceed my way to the camp.

* * *

We have been trying to climb the mountain for the whole month, but all in vain; neither I nor Sarvar can manage it.

On our way back we are totally exhausted. In the village of Jell I try to find Abdul Karim’s house and, before long, I find it with the help of the locals.

Abdul Karim is playing in the yard. He stops playing as soon as he spots me and sits down frowning, not uttering a single word.

I wait for a while, hoping the kid will say something to me. But he doesn’t and I set off, not even once looking back at him.

The cars are waiting for us near the Hallal Bridge. We put our luggage into the cars and I turn round. Abdul Karim is standing nearby. We take our seats and the cars take a speedy start.

Abdul Karim is running after my car waving his hands and trying to indicate something.

I ask the driver to stop.

The car stops and Sarvar follows me to interpret again.

Abdul Karim is standing still, his head drooping. Then suddenly he looks up at me and says:

“I’ve read the book. You were right.”

He keeps silent for a while. Then he again looks at me smiling and adds:

“I love the world!” and runs home at breakneck speed.

We stand still for a while, watching the kid. Then we get back into the car and go on with our journey.

We spend the night in Chilas.[11]

* * *

I’m leaving Pakistan.

I’m returning back home happy, realizing that somewhere in the remote village of Jell, in North Pakistan, there lives a little boy Abdul Karim who loves the world.

Pakistan, the Diamar Gorge

June 14, 2011.

A NEPALI STORY

In Katmandu, the capital city of Nepal, a huge expedition was getting ready to climb Mount Everest. There were about twenty people in the group.

All the mountaineers were mere acquaintances, but Gialtsen Nuru, Lakpa Sherpa and Fernando seemed to be close friends.

Three days later, the whole expedition was already in Katmandu, and one evening the group decided to go to the open-air restaurant. Gialtsen Nuru told everyone that he was engaged to Lakpa Sherpa, and that they would get married as soon as the expedition was over. “But at the moment, my main concern is to help Lakpa to climb Everest; she will be the first woman to climb it from Tibetan side,” he said.

Lakpa was sitting timidly, watching everyone around, but time and again she would look at Gialtsen Nuru, the famous Sherp mountaineer and her fiancé, with admiration.

Unlike the other Sherps, Lakpa was tall and had most delicate features. All the Sherps were fond of her, but the happiness of mutuality was all Gialtsen Nuru’s.

The evening was a real fun. Everyone told some interesting old stories, drank a lot of beer and laughed a lot.

Sherps are very special people, always cheerful and merry in the town, and with great stamina in the mountains.

* * *

Two days later, the expedition packed their equipment and left for the Tibetan border. The base camp was located pretty far. It might take them six days to get there. And then there would start the major event: The expedition would be trying to get to the pick of Everest for a month and a half. Some of the mountaineers would succeed, but some others wouldn’t.

Gialtsen Nuru stayed in Katmandu with several men. They were going to catch up with the group a week later.