2. Smuggler
You are as slender as a minaret, Guljan,
You are as tender as Marmara waves, Guljan,
But in my heart you can't replace Leili, my dear,
Although you are twice her weight, Guljan.
Unknown author, sometimes attributed to Saadi
Topkapi Palace of Istanbul is full of treasures. For good Muslims, the one worth them all is a handwritten autograph of Mohammed. For me, the most precious document in the museum is a tiny book of poems written by Saadi Shirazi. More than any other great Persian poet, Saadi cherished the life's gifts I, too, appreciate the most: long roads through unknown lands, love of women you love, all the endless changes and diversity of life.
Saadi spent thirty years hitchhiking with caravans and ships all over the Middle East. Once Tamerlan summoned him and said:
"You wrote:
If a Turk girl from Shiraz City would tie my heart to her tent pole,
Both Bukhara and Samarkand I'd trade for one her tiny mole.
How dare you trade two of my best cities for a mole of some stupid nomad girl?"
Saadi pointed to his clothes, torn and ragged from long voyages, and replied:
"Look, Great Khan, what did my generosity do to me!"
...After a long day of exploring Istanbul, I went to the airport to spend the night. There was a special corner in the departure hall where you could throw your sleeping bag on the floor. A young Israeli guy and two Arab teenagers from Jordan joined me there. All of them could speak some Russian: the Arabs used to study in the Moscow University, and the Israeli had a Russian wife. We had a nice chat, but next morning, when I was packing to get on a first bus to Ankara, the Israeli said quietly:
"Nice boys, these Arabs. I hope I'll never see them again."
"Why?"
"Because if we meet again, it will most likely be on a battlefield."
"May be there won't be another war?"
"What?" He laughed. "Of course there will be, sooner or later."
I had to stop in Ankara to pay a visit to the Israeli consulate. Six months earlier, while traveling in Israel, I got Israeli citizenship, but had to leave in two weeks and didn't obtain Israeli passport. So I was still traveling with a Russian one. I needed Israeli visa to get a transit visa to Greece. That would make it possible for me to take a ferry from Turkey to Rodhos, and then to Haifa.
"We can't issue you a visa," said a consulate clerk. "As an Israeli citizen, you don't need one. As a Russian citizen, you can't get a visa without an invitation."
So I was stuck in Turkey. I decided to travel around for a while - may be something would come up.
Despite their "bad boys of Europe" reputation, Turks were extremely friendly and hospitable. Every time I tried hitchhiking, two-three cars would stop immediately to offer me a ride. Unfortunately, most drivers couldn't speak English, only German. I knew some Uzbek and Teki Turkmen, but these languages sounded too different.
Turkey is one of those countries you can read like History textbooks. It is overloaded with monuments left by dozens of civilizations, from Neolithic city-states to Osman Turks. Greeks, Romans, Arabs, Crusaders - all of them have seemingly built more there than at home. Ancient capitals of Hittite, Armenian, and other empires are hidden among steppe hills, salt lakes and countless coves. It all looks like a huge open-air museum. And the natural setting isn't boring, either: snowcapped volcanoes in the East, bizarre hot springs in the West, and the wonderful Toros Range along the Southern coast, its slopes covered with forests of Lebanon cedar, fir, pine, and corkbark oak.
After about a week of zigzagging across the country in a futile attempt to see all its most interesting sites, I spent a few days in Cappadocia, and then followed the Mediterranean coast from Mersin westward. I checked all harbors and marinas along the way, looking for boats to Haifa, Alexandria, or Port Said. Finally in Antalya, I met a curly-haired American named Sam, who was about to sail to Israel.
"I have a nice yacht," he said. "I'll take care of the engine, and you can help me with the sails."
"I'm not really an expert on this type of yachts," I said honestly. My previous sailing experience was limited to one hour on a reservoir near Moscow.
"No problem! Sails are mostly a decoration. I only use them to save fuel if there is good tailwind."
"How long will the trip take?" I asked.
"Twenty-four hours to Cyprus, then a bit more to Tel Aviv."
"I don't have a visa to Cyprus."
"Don't worry, we'll land in the Northern part."
"But it is closed for tourists!"
"I am a Turkish citizen."
Later, when we'd already sailed out to the high seas, he told me his secret: he was an Armenian. His parents had escaped to the US after W.W.II, but he still had friends in Turkey, and they got him a Turkish passport under the name of Salman. Now he was making a living sailing around the Mediterranean, smuggling various goods to and from Northern Cyprus. He told me about smuggling when we first met, but didn't say he was Armenian until we got to know each other better. Apparently, it could still cause you problems in Turkey.
I had two more days before leaving, so I made a day trip to Fethiye, and got back to Antalya late at night. I knew Sam probably had a female guest, so I decided to sleep at the airport. It was almost deserted, only a flock of young airline employees was happily chatting in a lounge near Kemal Ataturk's bust (his statues are as common in Turkey as Lenin's in Russia or Bolivar's in Venezuela). When I showed up, they surrounded me and started asking all kinds of questions. In 1993, Antalya hadn't been flooded with Russian tourists yet, so I was somewhat a curiosity.
Turks are handsome people, but their women are generally not my type. That night I saw the first Turk girl I really liked. She was probably eighteen, and so pretty she didn't look real. But I noticed that local guys were paying much more attention to her more voluptuous friends. It was clear that delicate face features, slender neck and slim body were not considered attractive there.
When Leili realized I'd noticed her, she was obviously happy. Her black eyes under long eyelashes were shining so brightly, I felt like kissing them right there. But I already knew that Turkey only seemed European - local morals and customs could be surprisingly conservative. So I decided to advance slowly, recalled everything I'd read about dating techniques used in other countries, and invited her to have dinner together next evening.
"Oh no!" She blushed beautifully. "I can't! Besides, I have to work tomorrow!"
"What time do you finish?"
"Eleven."
"Great, we can meet than."
"I'll be with another girl, a friend of mine."
"Which one?"
"Saida." She pointed to a well-fed, constantly giggling girl who was exchanging jokes with others in a corner.
"Great!" I said. "Bring her along."
Leili seemed a bit surprised. But for me it was just perfect: now I had a girl for Sam, too, so I could take them to the yacht. I already knew what type of women he preferred, and was sure he'd like Saida.
Sam got very excited when I told him about my plan. He made me describe Saida in every detail. All day, while we were loading the yacht with boxes and bags, he kept looking at his watch every few minutes.
Apparently, the girls also couldn't wait for their shift to be over. They walked slowly to our meeting place in downtown Antalya, but they were panting a bit - probably ran most of the way from a bus stop. Chatting and laughing, we walked to the marina, and I said casually:
"This is my yacht. Would you like to have a look inside? (Yes, they would.) And this is Sam, my captain."
Saida was a bit older, so she probably already knew what such cozy yachts were built for. Immediately after we were done with the lobsters, Sam managed to lead her to his cabin, and we could hear periodic bursts of laughter from there. Leili, it seemed, awaited the end of dinner with some fear. But Turkish girls are not used to wine, and Sam had a huge selection of sweet liquors, all worth testing. By the time we were alone, she was a little bit drunk and more relaxed.
I turned on the music, and we danced a bit, but Leili had difficulty keeping balance, so I had to hold her very close to prevent from falling. Finally, I gave up dancing and began to kiss her lips, cheeks, tiny ears, thin black eyebrows, and the part I'd wanted to kiss for quite a while - her wonderful eyes.
The girl got so carried away with the process, she completely forgot all those stupid things that mothers put in their daughters' heads to rob them of life's pleasures. Only after I'd freed her from her blue uniform, white shirt and shoes, did she realize what was about to happen, and tried to prevent me from undoing her bra.
If it is true that all human souls are to meet on Judgment Day, most males would probably try to find the moron who invented bra fasteners. We wasted at least five minutes fighting over that abominable accessory. I wonder if the humanity would ever get rid of those highlights of its idiocy: bras and swimming suits.
Finally the double-headed monster was slain, and soon I cleared the girl's beautiful body of panties as well. While caressing her all the time, I pulled off my T-shirt: nothing turns girls on faster than skin-to-skin contact. Completely naked, Leili tried to cover herself with her dense black hair, long enough to hide her all the way to her pretty, perfectly rounded butt. But that only made her more attractive: she apparently got aroused just from seeing herself in a large mirror on a wall. At that point I picked her from the floor, shut her up with a kiss, and laid her on a couch.
Sam had a secret button installed near the couch. I pressed it, and a pack of condoms fell from above. Leili seemed to have forgotten about everything, but I didn't want to cause her any problems. As I touched her silky, clean-shaved groin for the first time, I had a strange, tender feeling, almost fatherly.
I expected her to be a virgin and was very happy to find out she wasn't. It was two past midnight already, we were to cast off at six to get to the international waters before dawn, and nothing is worse than deflowering a girl in a hurry. Now I could enjoy my little Leili as much as possible without extra distractions.
Some people claim that fat women are hotter than slim ones. That's not true: although the strong development of fat tissue is often a sign of high estrogen level, women are made passionate by testosterone. Leili was so thin that the tips of my fingers would almost touch when I put my hands on her waist. Her breasts were rounded, but small, and legs very slim - just a bit more, and she wouldn't look so feminine. But she reached her first orgasm so fast, you'd think she had grown up in Polynesia, not in a Muslim country with centuries-old culture of making girls fear and loath physical love.
She was, of course, totally inexperienced, but that was fine - we only had four hours, so I didn't have to let her take the lead. I tried to be careful and not teach her things that would shock her future boyfriends. I only showed her some innocent tricks known to every village girl in Russia.
She was screaming with delight when I let her ride on top; her heavy hair was flying around as a glossy black whirlpool when I made her kneel and she was waving her head, moaning; she was trembling from every touch of my tongue; she was fascinated when I gave her a chance to study my penis and play with it, exploring it cautiously with the tips of her fingers...
Finally, Sam knocked.
"Get up, now!" He shouted from behind the door. "The police are coming!"
I appreciated his wisdom. He found a nice way to get the girls off the boat without making them feel dumped. Instead, they would forever remember us as noble pirates, and be grateful that we saved them first in a moment of danger.
For a few days, cold winter wind had been rolling down from the high plateau behind the Toros Mountains. It had blown away the warm surface water, so the sea was a bit cold to swim in. But now the wind was our friend, pushing us fast into the open sea.
Sam and I were standing on the stern, watching the lights of the coast disappear. There, in the darkness, were blooming meadows, cozy villages, gorgeous mountains - the beautiful Turkey.
"Will you come back here?" I asked.
"Not anytime soon. I usually load her in Mersin."
"Will you see Saida again?"
"No."
"Why? You didn't like her?"
"Are you kidding? She's great! Hot as a camel in February!"
"Why, than?"
Sam replied with a quote from Saadi:
"I tasted bread of many peoples, and pulled wheat from many fields. Because it is better to walk barefoot than in expensive shoes, to sleep under the stars than under a palace roof. And I say: for every Spring, choose yourself a new road and a new love. Friend, yesterday's calendar isn't any good today!"
But I couldn't turn the page so easily. All the time, as we were crossing the
dark-blue Mediterranean, or loading cases of wine in the ancient Famagusta harbor
through a hole in a fence in the middle of the night, all that time I was missing
them. In the narrow city streets and in the open sea, I kept thinking about them,
until the lights of Tel Aviv appeared on the horizon. Cute and daring girl from
the train, who'd never told me her name. Beautiful, passionate Leili - will she
ever forget our only night together? And, of course, Irina, all alone in cold
winter Moscow. It is a traveler's fate: to always leave the best you have behind.
Southern Turkey
Nothing's right,
for some reason, today in our life:
We got all the
wrong cards from this Winter, it seems:
You are wading
through snow and dirt, o my love,
I'm sunbathing
on meadows, beaches, and seas.
Toros Mountains
all flower-painted in vain,
I would bring
you some flowers - than may be you'd smile!
I'm alone to
enjoy all this beauty again,
Sky, and harbors,
and waves, blue as Samarkand tile.
I was sure I
knew all about this world,
But I'm stuck
in this Eden, and where's my Eve?
Slimy grip of
November is boring and cold,
Dark and grim
is your city - and you cannot leave.
Why did I have
to leave you, why couldn't I stay?
So much land
between us, it's driving me mad.
Even dewdrops
taste bitter when you are away,
Even sunsets
are dull, even mornings are sad.
We must wait
until April, its sun and its rain,
All will than
disappear - the snow and the frost,
And I'll touch
you again, and I'll kiss you again,
But these five
precious months will already be lost.
We get nothing
for free, that is just our ill fate,
Way too short
is our life, and we still have to pay
For a few happy
minutes of Spring, brief and late,
With this long
lonely Winter, in full, day by day.