“One night, the evening of Holy Thursday,
having finished my work, I had gone to play billiards, when suddenly during the
game I heard noise and shouting in the next room. Throwing down my cue, I ran
in and saw four men beating up another one.
Although I did not know these people at all or
what the trouble was about, I ran to the rescue of the one who was being
attacked. In my youth I used to be enthusiastic about Japanese ju-jutsu and
Hivintzian fiz-les-loo and was always glad of an opportunity to apply my
knowledge of these methods. So now also, just for the sport of it, I joined
hotly in the fight, with the result that the two of us, the stranger and I,
gave our opponents a good licking and soon forced them to retire.
At that time New Bukhara was still quite a new
town. The population was made up of haphazard elements, including many exiles
from Russia living under the surveillance of the police on what were called
'wolf tickets'.
They were a motley crowd of people of all
nationalities, some with a past, and some perhaps with a future. Among them
were criminals who had already served their terms, and also many political
exiles either sent there by the courts or by the administrative orders widely
used at that time in Russia.
The surroundings and conditions of life of
these exiles were so wretched that all of them without exception gradually
became drunkards; even those who formerly never drank and had no hereditary
predisposition to drink fell quite naturally and easily into this common
tendency.
The company in whose fight I had got mixed up
belonged to this category. After the fight I wished to take my
companion-in-arms to his home, fearing that if he went alone something
unpleasant might happen to him on the way, but it turned out that he lived in
the same place as the other four, in repair cars on the railroad tracks. As it
was already night, there was nothing to be done but suggest that he come home
with me, to which he agreed.
My new acquaintance—and this was Soloviev—turned out to be still a young
man, but it was clear that he had already taken to drink. He had come out of
the fight rather damaged; his face was all bruised and one eye badly blackened.
The next morning his eye was swollen almost shut, and I persuaded him not to
leave but to stay with me until it was better, the more so since the Easter
Holidays had begun and he had finished work the day before. On Good Friday he
went off somewhere, but came back to spend the night with me.
The next day I had to run about almost all day
long. I had to deliver the flowers ordered for Easter. I was not free until
evening, and as I had no Christian acquaintances and nowhere to go to
celebrate, I bought a khoulitch, paskha, some painted eggs and everything else
customary for this feast, as well as a small bottle of vodka, and brought them
home.
I did not find Soloviev in, and so, after
washing and making myself tidy—I had no other clothes to change into—I went off
alone to the evening service at the
church. When I returned, I found Soloviev already asleep. As there was no table
in my room, I quietly, so as not to disturb him, brought in from the court
outside a large empty case, covered it with a clean sheet and placed on it all
the things I had bought for the feast, and only then woke Soloviev.
He was very surprised at everything he saw,
and gladly consented to participate in this solemn repast. He got up and we sat
down together at the 'table', he on my books and I on a pail turned upside
down.
First of all I poured out a glass of vodka for
each of us, but to my astonishment he thanked me and refused to drink. I drank
alone, and Soloviev began to eat. Philos, who was present at this celebration,
received a double portion, two sheep's heads. We sat in silence and ate. It was
not a happy Easter either for me or for Soloviev. Picturing to myself the
familiar scene of the family feast, I began to think of my family far away.
Soloviev also was thinking about something, and we sat a rather long time
without speaking.
All of a sudden, as if to himself, Soloviev
exclaimed: 'Help me, 0 Lord, in memory of this night, to be able never again to
drink this poison which has brought me to such a life!' He fell silent, and
then with a disconsolate gesture murmured, 'Ah... me!' and began telling me
about his life. …”
~ From:MEETINGS WITH REMARKABLE MEN by G.I. Gurdjieff, Chapter VII Prince Yuri
Lobovedsky: SOLOVIEV
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