“Grandfather Frost, do you want me to tell you a rhyme?”

“Sure, my best beloved. I’m all ears!”

“ Kartl-Kakheti, Imereti, Mengrelia and Guria –

All are native land to me, and to my heart they all are dear!”

“Bravo, Reziko, bravo! You are a very nice boy, and here is your present. I’ve received your letter and brought you the car you wanted so much. It works on batteries, you know, and when it runs into some obstacle, it turns round and proceeds its way.

“Oh, it’s just what I wanted! Thank you, Grandfather Frost! I love you so much! Do you give presents to the other kids, too? They must be waiting for you. You give presents to all of them, don’t you? The things they have asked you for.”

“Of course I do, my boy. If kids behave well, I always give presents to them.”

“How nice! How nice!”

***

“Are you asleep or what, old man? I’ve been knocking on the door for ages. Zoya opened it for me. She is a nice woman. If I were you, I would marry her and unite my flat with hers.”

“Stop kidding, old codger! I’m already dilapidated; it’s too late for me to think about the bonds of matrimony.”

“Don’t be stupid! Haven’t you heard about the eighty year old people who’ve got married quite recently? Here, take the soft cheese; they have given it to me on credit as well.”

“Who is going to pay for it all?”

“None of your business. Have you thought about my suggestion? Mind, if you don’t go to him on your own, I’ll tell Nodara and we will drag you by force!”

“Okay... But what shall I tell him? Dear man, I’m dying of hunger and be so kind as to give me a little money?”

“O, my god! How stupid you are at times! He owns a lot of factories and the other stuff like that. You just have to ask him to give you some kind of job at any of them; say, a job of a night watchman or something of the kind!”

“I don’t know really... have you got a cigarette?”

“You don’t have to know anything. Just visit him. Will he devour you for that?”

“Okay. Okay... Pour me another glass, will you?”

“Just shave and go, I tell you!”

“Okay, I will.”

***

It was a sunny winter morning. But there was a nip in the air. Tazo was walking along the street rather reluctantly. He was thinking over and over again about what to tell Reziko, but couldn’t decide on the exact words. All the thoughts mixed up in his head.

“Why do I worry that much? I’m not an actor to remember every word of my part. I’ll play it by ear,” the old man decided in the end and heaved a sigh of relief.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Tazo was startled.

“Yes, please. I want to see Mr. Kordzadze, Revaz Kordzadze.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I’m afraid, not. But he knows me well...” The old man was at a loss and a bit taken aback.

“Would you please go upstairs? There you will find Tsisana, his secretary. She will help you.”

“Thank you ever so much!”

“You’re welcome.”

Tazo hurried upstairs. The soles of his shoes were wet and they slipped on the marble floor.

It was very warm in the building. The staircase was incrusted with sophisticated figures. There were pictures, painted by famous artists, hanging on the walls, and there was a huge crystal glass luster hanging down from the ceiling at the top of the staircase.

“Excuse me Miss, you must be Tsisana, the secretary...”

“Just a moment, please,” the young woman answered and proceeded to talk over the telephone, grinding coffee and pretending to pull her mini skirt a bit down. “Yes, I was there. Reziko brought me the tickets. Mr. Kordzadze, I mean”, she corrected herself looking at the old man. “No, nothing of much interest, I’d say... Okay, I’ll call you back soon. Bye!” She hung up and addressed the old man:

“Can I help you, sir?”

“I’d like to see Mr. Kordzadze, please.”

“Is he expecting you?”

“No, but he knows me well. Will you please tell him it’s Tamaz Kapanadze from Belinski Street, the Grandfather Frost?”

“Shall I tell him you are the Grandfather Frost?”

“Exactly.”

Tsisana disappeared behind the double door. A bit later Tazo heard a hissing sound. It was the electric coffeepot. He leaned over the counter and switched it off. He caught a sight of the computer screen with the corner of his eye. It displayed some card game. “O my god! It seems they even play cards via computer now,” the old man thought.

The door opened and there appeared Tsisana with an irritated and annoyed air on her face.

“Are you sure you came to the right address?”

“Yes, I am. Isn’t it Revaz Kordzadze’s office?”

“It is. But Mr. Kordzadze couldn’t recall you, so he refused you of his audience.”

“Why? Have you told him that it was the Grandfather Frost from Belinski street?”

“Certainly, I have. I’m terribly sorry, sir.”

Tazo went down the street, crossed it at the bottom, headed towards the little park and sat there on a bench. He felt sick and broken, as if several men had beaten him with heavy sticks. He glanced in the direction of the street. Every inch was familiar to him: balconies, windows, trees, the florist’s. He forgot that he hadn’t eaten anything since morning. But it was not hunger that made him so sick; it was something else he could not recall now.

He sat on the bench for a while. Then he stood up, turned up the collar of his overcoat, and walked down the street slowly, with an unsteady gait.

August 7, 2005

Town of Scardu, Pakistan.

BY AND BY

Datiko had been working as a forester for the last fifteen years. He was a forester and a huntsman, two in one. He rarely visited the village. There was a little hut at one side of the forest, and he stayed there. His house in the village stood closed and deserted. After his wife’s death, he preferred to live in the forest. Everything in the house reminded him of his deceased better half, Tina. They didn’t have any children, so he remained quite alone. He visited the village only twice or three-times a year, and stayed in the house for only a couple of days. Then he hurried back to the forest, to his actual home.

He got used to solitude. He even spoke to himself aloud, discussing some serious matters.

He kept a tiny animal farm near the hut, with the livestock of one cow, one horse, about twenty chicken and four hives of bees. The horse was his favorite, of course. He had a low-paid job, but he earned enough to buy some flour and sugar.

In autumn he gathered wild pears and various berries in the forest and dried them in the sun for winter. He gathered a lot of mushrooms, too, so he made a good supply for the winter. He had a Russian iron stove in the hut, and he baked bread in it and kept the hut always warm.

He was not keen on hunting, though he had a rifle and could shoot very well.

“These evil people are neither hungry nor thirsty. So why do they kill poor animals?” he grumbled to himself.

Nevertheless, he always walked in the forest with his rifle. It was simply a matter of habit. Sometimes he even forgot to take the cartridge. He had a flair of a wild animal, and could guess the exact direction of the shot. Nobody could escape his sharp eye. He used to raid the hunters quite unexpectedly and deprive them of all their prey. He buried the hunted animals and birds in the forest with a mad expression on his face, and nobody could resist him at such moments. He had to shoot several times, and he had been even wounded once. As a result, he couldn’t bend one of his arms properly. In the end, everybody understood that he would never surrender, and they gave up their evil business. Who would enjoy such hunting?

The villagers now entered the forest only to gather the firewood. But they didn’t cut down the trees; they gathered only the dry branches.