Last Watch - By Sergey Lukyanenko Page 0,67

airport terminal building, which had clearly been reconstructed recently and looked absolutely new. The only things I was carrying were my hand baggage and a small plastic bag from the duty-free shop. I stopped and looked around. The sky was a blinding blue and the heat was already building up, although it was still early in the morning... There weren't many passengers ?our flight was the first since the previous evening, and the next one wasn't expected for about an hour. I was imme diately surrounded by private taxi drivers, all offering their services in their own particular way:

'Come on, let's go, dear man!'

'I'll show you the whole city, you'll see the sights for nothing!'

'Where are we going, then?'

'Get in, my car's comfortable, it has air-conditioning!'

I shook my head and looked at an elderly Uzbek driver who was waiting calmly beside an old Volga with the black-and-white checkerboard squares of a taxi stencilled on its side.

'Are you free, Father?'

'A man's free as long as he believes in his own freedom,' the taxi driver replied philosophically. He spoke Russian very well, without any accent at all. 'Get in.'

There you go. I had barely even arrived, and already I'd called someone 'Father', and the taxi driver had replied with the typical florid wisdom of the East. I asked:

'Did one of the great ones say that?'

'My grandfather said that. He was a Red Army soldier. Then an enemy of the people. Then the director of a Soviet farm. Yes, he was great.'

'Did he happen to be called Rustam?' I enquired.

'No, Rashid.'

The car drove off and I turned my face to the breeze from the window. The air was warm and fresh, and it smelled quite different from how it did in Russia. And the road was good, even by Moscow standards. A wall of trees along the side of the highway provided shade and created the impression that we were already in the city.

The taxi driver said thoughtfully:

'An air-conditioner. Nowadays everyone promises their passengers coolness. But what did out grandfathers and great grandfathers know about air-conditioners? They just opened the windows in their cars and they felt fine!'

I looked at the driver in bewilderment.

'It's just my joke. Have you flown in from Moscow?'

'Yes.'

'No suitcase... Ai-ai-ai!' He clicked his tongue. 'Don't tell me they lost it!'

'An urgent business trip. There was no time to pack.'

'Urgent? Nothing's urgent in our city. There was a city standing here a thousand years ago, two thousand years ago, three thou sand years ago. The place has forgotten what urgent means.'

I shrugged. The car was certainly taking its time, but it didn't bother me.

'So where are we going? There's the Hotel Samarkand, the Hotel... '

'No, thanks. I didn't come here to sleep. I need the market place. The Siabsky Market, in the Old City.'

'That's the right way to do it!' the driver said warmly. 'The man knows where he's going and what for. The moment he lands he goes straight to the market. No luggage, no wife, no problems -that's the right way to live! But did you bring money to go to the market?'

'I did,' I said, nodding. 'How can you go to the market with no money? How much will I owe you? And what do you take ?soms or roubles?

'Even dollars or euros,' the driver replied nonchalantly. 'Give me as much as you think you can spare. I can see you're a good man, so why haggle? A good man is ashamed not to pay a poor taxi driver enough. He pays more than my conscience will allow me to ask.'

'You're a good psychologist.' I laughed.

'Good? Yes... probably. I did a Ph.D. in Moscow. A long time ago...' He paused and then said, 'But no one needs psycholo gists nowadays. I earn more as a taxi driver.'

He paused again, and I couldn't think of anything to say in reply. But we were already driving through the city, and soon the driver began listing all the places I had to visit in Samarkand. Three madrasahs that made up the Registan, a single architectural ensemble; the Bibi-Khanum mosque ... All this, as it happened, was right beside the finest market in Samarkand, the Siabsky, which, as the driver now realised, was famous even as far away as Moscow. And I also had to visit the market, even before anything else. It would be a sin not to see it. But a good man like me wouldn't make a mistake like that...

The driver would probably have been very disappointed

readonlinefreenovel.com Copyright 2016 - 2024