Konrad and Alexandra (pdf) - Rolf Gross

ears.
Overcome by all the good drink and the heavy walnut preparations Konrad excused
himself. Behind a wall he found a stinking, abysmal row of dirty holes in the ground over which
squatted three other guests. Disgusted, he urinated in the privacy of the dark orchard.
An overpowering desire for sleep made him lie down under a nearby tree.
An hour later Leist found him there. "Mein Gott, Rost what are you doing here!" shouted
Leist shaking Konrad. A bewildered Konrad opened his eyes and sat up. Leist tried to sit next
to him, but immediately jumped up again. He searched the ground with his hands and
produced two squashed fruit. He smelled them and began to laugh. "Did you know, Rost, you
fell asleep under an apricot tree! There are hundreds of apricots covering the ground."
He squatted next to Konrad. For a while they stayed there munching overripe apricots in
the dark of the night.
"I am terribly sorry Leist, overcome by the wonderful food and the wine, I simply fell
asleep."
"I warned you that this would be a profound experience for you." Leist chuckled. "We
assumed that you had disappeared with one of the charming ladies. The others went home to
their jealous wives. We two bachelors are the only survivors."
He searched for some more apricots and shared them.
"I’m all right, I guess," Konrad said with a dispirited voice. "No girls, but a strange dream.
A tall, beautiful Georgian woman with deep blue eyes tried to lure me to Kakheti."
Leist laughed. "Oh, Kakheti, the land of wine and beauties. The ghosts, the ghosts! It’s
going on midnight. Let’s get out of here before they take over!"
Leist jumped up and lent Konrad a hand.
"You know, I have a suggestion how to chase the spook away. Let’s go to the hamam,
the Turkish bath. The heat and a good massage will revive you. Around ten they clean the
place and until the muezzin calls at four in the morning there will be no new customers. That’s
the best time to go to the baths. Let’s stuff our pockets with apricots as provisions for the trip."
The droshki ride over the bumpy pavement revived Konrad’s spirits. "Tell me Leist, that
winsome, white-haired gentleman, was he really a prince?"
"Yes, yes, but don’t get overawed, every third gentleman in Tiflis is a prince. Among the
Georgians exist only two classes, landowners and peasants, the middle class consists of
Armenians, and the artisans are either Jewish or Azeri. When the Russians usurped this Godblessed
country they simply bestowed the title knyaz, Prince or Lord, on all feudal landowners.
Dadiani comes from a rich land-owning family in Mingrelia, in western Georgia. He preferred to
become a professor in Tbilisi and leave the family properties to his half-brother George."
The narrow valley below the Narikala fort smelled like Dante’s inferno. The hot, sulfuric
springs that gave Tiflis its Georgian name Tbilisi—tbili meaning hot in Georgian—steamed,
stank, and fizzled. Their piping-hot water fed several Turkish and Persian bathhouses. One
resembled a blue-tiled Turkish medressa, another, with a huge dome at the bottom of the
valley, looked like a mosque, and several smaller baths climbed the slopes.
The streets around the baths were deserted. Leist took Konrad to Abano Tsikhe, a
turreted palace owned by Prince Orbeliani. It was considered the best of the lot.
The attendant addressed Leist by his name and led them into a small room with two
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