y pocketful of fish, and made a cast. The boulder, now pleasantly warmed by the sun, gave off a wholesome flinty smell of healthy old age. I took a cigarette out of my shirt pocket and lighted it. I enjoyed my cigarette hugely but was a little surprised that nothing rose to the bait. A little further downstream the river divided again, forming a low sandy island with a few tufts of grass and a solitary chestnut-tree twisted in the direction of the current. A good place for sunbathing, I thought. If it got too hot you could always rest in the shade of that tree. Evidently the island was flooded not only in spring but after every heavy rain. I threw my butt away and waited a little longer, wondering why there was no sign of a bite. Perhaps the line showed up in this sunlit water and the fish were frightened? I crossed to the other side of the boulder and almost at once caught a huge trout, or so it seemed to me after the long run of bad luck on the other side. It was certainly a big one, bigger than its predecessor, though not, of course, as big as the first. Perhaps that one had been a salmon. And anyway where was the dividing line between a big trout and a small salmon? I cast my bait and suddenly heard a kind of clicking. "What the devil?" I wondered, and looked round. About a dozen little children had gathered on the edge of the high cliff above me. Some of them were carrying school cases. When they realised I had noticed them, they burst into a twitter of joy and the ones without cases swung their arms all together. The next moment several fierce little stones clicked and clattered round my boulder. I shook my fist, which at once put the little band into a frenzy of joy. They jumped and babbled merrily, and those who were still holding their cases dropped them, and a moment later another dozen pebbles came flying down. Not one of them landed on the boulder, but some of them bounced off the pebbles on the bank and in the silliest and most unexpected fashion ricocheted against the boulder and dropped back into the water. I got terribly angry and stood up, this time shaking both fists, which judging from the unanimous howl afforded them utmost delight. Another hail of stones followed. Then I decided to pretend not to notice them. They shouted several times but I feigned total attention up to my rod and line, although what fishing could I do now! I sat with one eye on the bank, where their malicious pebbles were landing regularly to remind me of their presence. I decided that I had better move. I would cross both streams and come out on the other bank. Most of this hank was visible from the road and I felt that they would not leave me in peace. As soon as I climbed down from the boulder and walked downstream, a move that was correctly interpreted by those little villains as quitting the field of battle, I heard catcalls and victorious yippeeing behind me. I found a shallow place, stepped into the stingingly cold water and crossed the first stream. In places the water came up to my waist and pulled me hard. I tried not to stumble, but wet sports boots became very slippery. The fish in my pocket, sensing the nearness of their own element, raised a rumpus. As I made my way up the bank of the island I heard the far-off ringing of the school bell. I glanced round and saw the diminutive figures of those little bandits running along the road. Well, damn it all, I thought, and suddenly burst out laughing. The water had cooled my fury. But now I had no desire to turn back. I went on, crossed the second stream and came out on the narrow green bank. It was hemmed by a forest of beech and cedar. Higher up the stream a huge beech-tree was leaning almost horizontally over the water. Its green branches hung comfortingly over the swirling currents. As there seemed to be no good spot close by I decided to try fishing in the main stream. There was nothing to worry about now because I was wet through already. I baited the hook, chose the deepest spot by eye and went as near to it as I could. Nothing rose. I was about to climb out on to the bank when I felt that the line had caught on something. I decided to sacrifice the hook and pulled. The line tautened, broke and came to the surface. It was the sinker, not the hook that had caught. I emerged from the water with my feet so numb I could scarcely walk. As I had no spare sinker, I searched and found a long-shaped pebble, narrow in the middle, and tied it to the line. Of course, it was not much of a substitute, but it was better than nothing. I decided to try from the overhanging beech-tree and headed upstream. It was pleasant to walk on grass after the slippery stones of the riverbed. The water squelched in my boots and sometimes spurted out through the eyelets. The circulation soon returned to my legs and made them warm but my body felt chilly and shivers chased each other up my spine. I climbed on to the thick, moss-patched trunk of the tree and walked out along it to the very middle of the stream. The deep green water, splashing gently on the dangling branches, flowed swiftly beneath me. The branches didn't seem to mind being in the water at all. The deep green flood streamed past below, murmuring softly. Shadows swayed on its surface. A bird, oblivious of my presence, alighted on the branch quite close to me. It was probably a wagtail. At any rate it kept wagging its long tail as it looked around. Having noticed me, or rather realising that I was a living creature, it shot away through the beech leaves. I lighted a cigarette. Still nothing rose to my bait. I felt that it was much too nice here to expect good fishing as well. Perhaps I had even lost interest in trout. I felt that I had had enough of fishing. I lifted my rod, pulled off the stone, wound the line round the rod and lodged it between two branches. It seemed a pity to leave. I pushed my heavy pocket of fish aside and lay face down on the sun-warmed tree-trunk. It was swaying slightly under the pressure of the water pulling at its submerged branches. The nearness of the deep swiftly flowing water increased the sense of peace and immobility. A winy smell rose from the sun-warmed trunk. The sun's rays felt steamily hot through my wet trousers. The moss tickled my cheek, the trunk swayed and I fell into a sweet doze. An ant crawled slowly across my neck. Through my drowsiness I reflected that it was a long time since I had known such peace. Perhaps this was something I had never known. Even with a woman you loved it would not be so peaceful. Perhaps because there was always the danger that she would start talking and spoil everything. But even if she didn't, there would always be a fringe of awareness that she might, and there was no telling how it might end. So you could never experience such complete bliss as you had here. But here you had it because a tree could not possibly begin to talk; that was for sure. Through drowsiness I heard a distant whistle from the other bank. It seemed to come from another life. Still dozing, I wondered how it could possibly have carried such a distance. The whistle was repeated several times and each time I wondered drowsily how I had managed to hear it. Then I heard a chanting voice but could not make out the words. Then came more whistling and the chanting voice again. I realised that they both came from one persistent source, and slowly I became aware that the whistling and chanting were produced by several people together... "Lorry-is-here!" I felt the words rather than heard them. A stab of alarm passed through me. I realised that the lorry that was to pick us up had arrived and the whole group was waiting for me. I grabbed my rod and ran down from the trunk. The sun was quite high by now. It was probably about eleven o'clock. I had quite forgotten the time and now felt embarrassed to have kept so many people waiting. Besides, I was afraid they would leave without me. I had no money to pay for the journey back. And when would I pick up a lift anyway? Without looking for a ford I charged into the water and crossed the first stream almost at a run. After running across the island I plunged into the water again. Here the river was broad and shallow. I ran as fast as I could, trying not to stumble and bruise my legs. I did stumble several times, but always managed to save myself with the rod. When quite near the bank, I felt the water growing much deeper. I could hardly keep on my feet. "What the devil!" I muttered and halted. The water was only just above my waist, but the current was so strong that only the rod kept me from being swept away. I regretted that I had not gone back downstream where I had quite easily forded the river before. At the same time it was hard to believe that I should not be able to manage the last five meters to the bank. I took a step forward, putting all my weight on the rod. The main thing was not to trust your foot until it had found a firm new foothold. Some of the stones rolled over and moved away with the current as soon as I trodded on them. The water rose in a hostile flood around me. And suddenly I realised I could not take a single step because all my strength was needed to hold on where I was. I felt fear surging up and sweeping away consciousness at terrifying speed. And more afraid of this fear than anything else, I tried to forestall it by action, by leaning into the current and stepping off quickly. The flood snatched me at once and dragged me down. My body sank into the icy murk and I swallowed water. At last I managed to regain the surface and feel the bottom, but the current carried me away again while out of sheer obstinacy I went on clutching the rod. I swallowed more water, but this time let go of the rod as soon as I surfaced, and struck out with all my strength. I was still being carried along at terrifying speed and could feel my strength failing. Nevertheless I managed to approach the bank and grab a boulder, though I was sure I hadn't the strength to pull myself out. But at least I could rest and get my breath back. At this moment I saw a hand reaching out from above. I clutched it and the two of us together hauled my body out on to the bank. It was Lusik. I felt dizzy and sick, but sitting on the pebbly beach I slowly recovered. "I shouted to you," Lusik said, "didn't you hear?" "No," I said. Perhaps he hadn't seen the whole thing. Perhaps he had just come down to the bank to give me a hand. I didn't want him to know what predicament I had been in. "We had breakfast long ago, the lorry's waiting," Lusik reminded me patiently. "All right, just a minute," I said, and stood up with an effort. I still felt sick from exhaustion. I opened the pocket of my jacket, pulled out the trout and tossed them on the sand. They were still alive. When the current had swept me away they had become gloatingly still. Or perhaps I was imagining it all. It had been a strange feeling when I was carried away. What a devilish force, I thought, recalling the vicious persistence of the water as it dragged me down. I was longing for a smoke. I put my hand in my pocket but the cigarette was sodden. I pulled everything out of the pockets, undressed, squeezed out my pants and vest, then dressed again. Lusik had threaded the trout on to a twig and was waiting patiently. I was quite indifferent to them now. We set off. Lusik took the lead. The heavy bunch of fresh trout dangled from his hand. The red spots on their backs were still bright. By the time we started climbing I wanted to carry them myself, but I could hardly keep up with Lusik. "Hand over," I said when he stopped to wait for me at a bend. "It's all right, I'll carry them," Lusik replied. But I took the bunch all the same. I felt that it would be more proper for me to appear carrying my own catch, although there would have been no doubt as to where they were. When we reached the street, everyone was seated in the lorry. Cheerful pandemonium broke out as soon as they saw us and hands reached down from the back to help us in. The student who had been out fishing before us looked disdainfully at the bunch of trout just to show that no one could surprise him with fish. "I lost one," I announced, holding out the catch to somebody. The bunch was handed round. Everyone was impressed, but when it came back to me someone said that we had four hours' journey ahead of us and they would go bad by the time we reached town. "They'd have made a nice soup for lunch," he added. "Better fried," someone else suggested. "Not enough to go round if they were fried," said the other, "but you could make a good fish soup." I, too, realised that the journey would be too long, specially in the heat. Not that they would really go bad, but it would be a pity to bring this fine bunch of trout to town in a miserable state. As though sensing my hesitation, a long black pig came up to me. It stood there waiting with feigned patience to see what I was going to do with my catch. "Give it to the restaurant," someone suggested. I glanced round. The door of the restaurant was open and loud voices could be heard. I shoved the pig out of my way and walked to the restaurant. It was deserted except for three Svans who were drinking white wine with tomatoes and suluguni cheese. They seemed to have drunk quite a lot already. The bartender was engaged in a quarrel with one of them. I offered him the bunch of trout. Without noticing me, he took my catch, carried it off into the kitchen and came back, still berating one of the drinkers. He just didn't notice me at all. I walked out of the restaurant and climbed into the lorry. We moved off. The wet clothes made me shiver, so I stripped down to my shorts. Someone gave me my rucksack, a big chunk of bread and a mess-tin of stew. I made myself comfortable on the rucksack and ate my breakfast. The tin was still hot because they had wrapped it in a sleeping bag. I would take a bite of bread then, holding the mess-tin in both hands, sip from it, trying to time every sip with the jolting of the lorry so as not to burn myself or spill the tasty stew of macaroni and beans. When I had emptied the tin I felt warmer. Someone gave me a cigarette and I lighted up. Now everyone had plenty of cigarettes. The lads decided to sing, but their songs all tailed off because they didn't know the words. They had grown tired of the songs they did know during the expedition. But it still sounded jolly. The lorry rushed down the winding road, hooting and braking at the bends. The mountains slowly unfolded and on our left the river showed glittering below a steep drop. It kept narrowing and spreading out again, dividing and flowing together. In the end I grew tired of it. Suddenly the lorry plunged into the warm, humid air of Kolkhida. We continued our descent and all the time I was conscious of the nearness of the sea, although it was a long time before it actually became visible.