Nanuli Shevardnadze

An autobiographic story

Ay, my dear, many a year have we roamed together...
So may we have a long way still!

One fine day in the late spring of 1950, we, the parentless siblings – my brother Kita, my sister Dodo and me - were discussing the problem of summer vacations.
Kita said that he would give us three quarters of his salary. He was a military doctor and his pay was not bad – and the rest, he said, was enough to ‘keep him going.’

“Let’s have your salary for Dodo – our neighbours are planning to go to Tsemi. She could join them,” I suggested to Kita.

“Whatever you say, madam!” he answered in a teasing manner. “What’s the use asking me, you will still do everything your way. I’ll stay in Mtskheta (that’s where he worked) and have a good time there anyway, but what about you – fancy the slow burning in the city? You are obsessed with all these crazy ideas of independent life and refuse to go and stay with Aunt or Grandma.”

“So what, is it not the time for us to look after ourselves,” I said, taking it quite to heart.

Kita was taken aback. This was very much like him. He would nag constantly, but the weakest counter attack would make him retreat.

“Damn it, do whatever you like, you won’t listen to me anyway.”

“What the hell is this ‘damn’ ?” I persisted.

“And what about the ‘hell’? he asked in a softer voice.

 Despite the fact that I was ‘leader’ of the family, I remained his sister. He could not do anything about it.

 “OK. I’ll take care of myself.” I said in a more conciliatory tone, that time. I often felt sorry for him after all the arguing. He looked so upset that it made me feel miserable.

Finally we arrived at a peace treaty. It was decided that Dodo would go to Tsemi with our neighbour, Aunt Sasha; Kita would enjoy himself in Mtskheta. And as for me... I suddenly recalled the notice on the board in the professional union’s room – offering high school students positions as Pioneer leaders at a Pioneer camp in Tsaghveri. Eureka! “I will tell Nahzi.” I thought, “she will definitely like the idea!” Nahzi was my best friend from Borjomi, and her brother and sister lived there.
 No sooner said than done: two weeks later, I was in Tsaghveri.

 
 I can still see it.

 I am standing at a tiny railway platform in Tsaghveri. In fifteen minutes a miniature train, called Cuckoo for the characteristic signal it produces, will bring the second shift of Pioneers. The platform is in a state of commotion – this group of kids is accompanied by the Chief Pioneer Leader and the teachers. Someone jokes that Tsitso is bringing along her fianc?, a very handsome guy. Everyone laughs.

“What’s so funny?” I demand.

“Nothing, we just hope we won’t go blind after looking at his beauty, we have to appreciate it!”

“These people just don’t deserve to be told anything at all!” retorts Nahzi.

“Let them laugh, why would you care about it?!” I say, trying to soothe her, as if she really were upset.

The Cuckoo gave its final cry and stopped, huffing and puffing. “Nanuli!” cries someone, “Stay there so that your kids gather by your side! Nahzi, and you come over here!”

The train has finally pulled in. Suddenly a good-looking young man stepped down. “Just my luck, this car happened to stop right in front of me,” I thought to myself, then, “Oh, God what a sunny smile!” Later he admitted thinking exactly the same.

Hello – he said gently in a low voice and extended his hand.
 

“Look, Nahzi, have you noticed this guy, Tsitso’s fianc?, so handsome,” I say, pulling at her skirt. Nahzi frowns (she does not like anyone to touch her clothes. They could get wrinkled!  And what are you going to do with it then? I caught myself nit-picking.)

“Which one?”

“Here!”

“What? This is not Tsitso’s fianc?. He is Irakli’s brother-in-law.” Irakli was our PE instructor. “Remember Irakli offered to be your go-between? And you laughed at him “I could imagine what your brother-in-law looks like!” There you go. That’s him.”

Soon Irakli caught up with us calling, “Ediko, come over here. I want to introduce you to the girls.” The ‘brother-in-law’ approached, flashing a smile at us. A set of shapely teeth seemed to illuminate everything around. “What is this,” I asked myself, “love at first sight?”

Very soon we found ourselves to be drawn into a whirlpool of events, some where jealous of him, and some of me. ‘What is this mass hysteria all of a sudden,’ I thought to myself, trying to stay away from it all, as if I did not notice what was going on. Anyway, at that stage we were both singing the same tune - something like  ‘...you are my destiny.’

 
We would often sit on the bench in the yard. Some would tell jokes, or solve puzzles, or sing. Others just did all sorts of crazy things. As I recall it now, I cannot help quoting from Turgenev “the roses used to be so wonderful and fresh...”

Sometimes we were left alone - it seems, on purpose. We had many quiet conversations, we were, as they say, ‘tickling the palate’. I constantly asked him about operas, books, and composers. Finally, he said teasingly, “Is this supposed to be an exam?” Such a shame! “Do you really think so?” I asked him, “You are staring at me and saying nothing all the time. We have to speak about something, haven’t we?” Later, much later I came across a Russian proverb according to which, “men love with their eyes and women with their talk.” Had I known it then, I would not have worried about him thinking I was some kind of a show-off.

As it came to pass, one day Tsisto fell ill. The same evening someone suggested that Eduard go and see her. Supposedly, she had said that she would recover at his sight. That was where my ‘torture’ began.

“You should definitely go and see her. It might help,” I told him with a touch of irony.

“I will go if you come along.”

“Me?” I said, wide-eyed. I still cannot figure out what was so surprising.

“Yes, you. Why? Don’t you trust me?”

 I felt embarrassed. “Of course, I go. It’s just a bit late,” I replied.

“So what. I promise, the wolves won’t come near you.”

So I had to go along. As we approached the gate he offered to take my arm, so that I would not stumble.

“No,” I said to him, “the first man to walk arm-in-arm with me will be my husband.” He gave a hearty laugh.

“Have you got a fianc? already?” he asked me. This time I got the hint.

“Do I look like someone who has a fianc??”

He tried to improve the situation:

“Tell me, what sort of deed is to be performed by a man to deserve walking arm-in-arm with you. Should one go and fight in the distant lands?”
I got irritated at myself then. What sort of a ‘damsel’ was I trying to impersonate, after all? But even today, after all these years, I can swear I was sincere. Such manners would be called ‘uncool’ these days. I wish someone had pointed it out to me years ago, it seems I was committing one faux pas after another. Later he admitted that I need not have worried - he liked me that way.

Tsitso was very cheerful. Someone had brought her blackberries from the forest and her lips were black all over. She started to wail. I was irritated with her, but I tried to be a comfort.

“It’s OK Tsisto, it suits you. You look like you have some lipstick on.”

“Really?” She looked into a small mirror. We cheered up, but Tsitso did not look especially happy.

The  next evening we were sitting on the bench. The air seemed to be charged, and no one would come near us. As it grew later he suggested going and visiting Tsitso again. I said “All right,” this time in a firm voice. As we approached the gate he stopped, turned round and asked me in a very serious manner, whether I had made up my mind to let him take my arm.

“It’s the second time I go for a walk with you at night. Is this not self-explanatory?”

So, in such an inventive manner, we declared our love. To be more precise, he became a suitor for my hand.

 
He lived with his sister and her child in a rented room on the other end of the camp.  We pioneer leaders would get up at dawn and walk toward the children’s rooms. He would stand on the balcony and look at us with a smile on his face.

In our spare time, we would take walks in the forest. He would be the first to go up the hill and then would help me to climb up. Then we would run laughing, sometimes climb up the trees, sit there and tell each other all kinds of stories.

We usually had a couple of free days before the next group of pioneers. On those occasions we would go to Borjomi to visit Nahzi. There was plenty of fun in the  Borjomi Park. All sorts of well-dressed beauties from Tbilisi were strolling about. Some would follow us with their gazes.

“Where do you study? “I asked him one evening, all of a sudden. I still cannot believe I had not asked earlier. As if I had some kind of a premonition that prevented me from doing so.

“At a Higher Party School,” he said calmly.

“What? Do you mean you will make a career in the party?”

“Yes,” he replied. This time his calm was irritating. I almost fell on the bench, as if someone hit me in the head.

“What’s wrong?” he asked me, puzzled.

“Nothing. Let’s go home. I tell you everything tomorrow.”

You could imagine what kind of a tranquil night I spent.

The next day we met at the set time. All of a sudden his manners acquired some kind of familiarity.

“Why do you look so sad, what’s wrong? You’re so pale,” he said, and put my hand into his huge “paw.” My hand was trembling like a frightened bird, its heartbeat almost agonizing.

“Look, your hand is so hot.”

“Oh, he must be thinking that maybe, because I was the daughter of a tuberculosis patient, I am infected too,” I thought, as lurking suspicion started to torment me.
“I’m OK. I wish I were ill. It would have been easier. Now, it’s something worse.” I leaned on the rails of the bridge over the Borjomula. Down there the river was producing small but noisy, foamy waves. He let go of my hand and stood looking at me, amazed. He started playing with a small fir cone, sometimes aiming as though he would toss it at me.

“I have eagle’s eye. I can hit a bird in the air,” he claimed in an agitated manner. As if looking for a way out.

“You have certainly hit me!” I tried to joke, but there was not a trace of a smile on my face.

“Okay,”I began resolutely, “ I’ll tell you everything.” I turned to face him. We looked at each other, as if to avoid words. No, he won’t get it.

“Well,” I started again, my foot drawing circles, closed circles on the sand. “You probably know that I am an orphan.”

“Yes, I do.”

“But I am a different kind of an orphan.”

He shrugged. “An orphan is an orphan. Do you think this is some kind of a flaw, to be an orphan?”

“Not at all. Let’s sort this out. My father, my father...” ‘Oh, God I might burst into tears now, please help me,’ I prayed, ‘don’t let him notice my tears.’

“What about your father?”

“You know what,” I said louder, “My father was an honest man, he never betrayed neither his motherland nor his family. And this noble, clever and proud man was arrested and shot dead like a beast one night. If I marry you now, this will destroy your career. I have no right to deprive you of your future. You should not think that it has something to do with you personally. I should have told you before, I somehow thought you were a history student. I deserve to be punished for this...”
A dead silence fell between us.  Suddenly everything around was illuminated. We looked at the sky. The night’s luminary, the full moon came out and its light mingled with that of the street lamps, twinkling above us. My heart missed a beat, it betokened something good, but...

I am looking straight into his eyes, waiting for the verdict! He looks pale and it seems to me that his lower lip is trembling slightly, or is it an illusion? He is silent for a couple of minutes. Then he comes towards me, hugs me and makes me sit on the bench. He stands up himself, clasps his huge hands and looks at me persistently.
“You know what? God damn all these careers. What is a career compared to love? No big deal -  loosing a career.” I felt him sigh with relief. Why should I deceive myself? I have guessed that the beautiful moonlit night had witnessed a smooth and elegant sacrificial rite.

Failing to see this would have been so ungrateful of me! All of a sudden he flashed me his even, snow-white smile.

“My father will be really happy! He has sent me to Tbilisi at the age of 14 to graduate with honours and then study medicine. So his dreams will come true, his son will be a doctor!”

God almighty, I praise thee for thy grace, for thou art the only hope for orphans

We returned home hand-in-hand.

That was 1953. Later on Shevardnadze began his long but triumphant way towards Olympus. What is more, the orphan girl became happy, one who none would dare call the daughter of a saboteur.

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