Meetings With Remarkable Men

by G. I. Gurdjieff

  Having decided this, we all became high-spirited and spoke of the journey ahead of us as though it were no more than crossing the Place de la Concorde in Paris.

  The next day we moved to the bank of the river, near the place where it disappears into the fathomless depths of the sand, and there we pitched the tents brought from Russia, which we still had with us. Although the site of our new camp was not at all far from the village, nevertheless no one lived in that place, and it was not probable that it would enter anyone’s head to come there, to the very gates of that arid hell. Some of us, passing ourselves off as clerks and other servants of the eccentric Russian merchant, Ivanov, made the rounds of the bazaars in the vicinity and began buying up thin poles of various lengths, and also sheep and goats—and soon we had a whole flock in our camp.

  We then began intensive practice at walking on stilts, first on low ones, and then gradually on higher ones.

  One fine morning twelve days later, our extraordinary cortege moved off into the wastes of the sands, amid the bleating of sheep and goats, the barking of dogs, and the whinnies and brays of the horses and asses we had purchased in case of need.

  The cortège soon spread out into a long procession of litters, like the grandiose processions of ancient kings. Long rang out our jovial songs and the shouting back and forth to each other from our improvised litters, which followed each other some distance apart. Of course, as always, the remarks coming from Yelov produced roars of laughter.

  Although we went through two terrible sand-storms, we arrived several days later almost at the heart of the desert, without any fatigue and fully satisfied with everything—even with having learned the language we needed. We were approaching the spot which was the principal goal of our expedition.

  Everything would probably have ended as we had planned, if it had not been for the accident to Soloviev.

  We had been travelling mostly at night, making use of the abilities of our comrade, the experienced astronomer Dashtamirov, to orient ourselves by the stars.

  One day we made a halt at dawn to eat and also to feed our sheep.

  It was still very early. The sun had only just begun to grow hot. We were just sitting down to our freshly prepared mutton and rice, when on the horizon there suddenly appeared a herd of camels. We at once guessed that they must be wild ones.

  Soloviev, a passionate hunter and a dead shot, immediately seized his rifle and ran in the direction where the silhouettes of the camels could be seen; and we, laughing at Soloviev’s passion for hunting, settled down to the hot food, excellently prepared in these unprecedented conditions. I say unprecedented because, in the midst of these sands, and so deep in the interior, it is usually considered impossible to build a fire, as there is sometimes not even saksaul13to be found for hundreds of miles. But we built fires at least twice a day to cook our meals and prepare coffee or tea, and not only ordinary tea, but also Tibetan tea, brewed in the stock from the bones of the slaughtered sheep. For this luxury we were indebted to the device of Pogossian, who had the idea of making saddles of special wooden sticks for loading the sheep with the bladders of water; so now, as we killed the sheep, there was quite enough wood left over every day for the fires.

  An hour and a half had passed since Soloviev had gone after the camels. We were already preparing to continue our journey, and there was still no sign of him. We waited a further half-hour. Well knowing the punctiliousness of Soloviev, who never kept anyone waiting, and fearing some mishap, all but two of us took our guns and set off to search for him. Soon we again perceived the silhouettes of the camels in the distance and went towards them. As we came near, the camels, evidently sensing our approach, fled to the south, but we kept on going.

  Four hours had passed since Soloviev had gone. Suddenly one of us noticed a man lying several hundred paces away, and when we came up we recognized Soloviev, who was already dead. His neck had been bitten half through. All of us were overwhelmed with heart-rending grief, for we had all loved this exceptionally good man.

  Making a litter of our guns, we carried Soloviev’s body back to the camp. The same day, headed by Skridlov, who performed the duty of priest, we buried Soloviev with great solemnity in the heart of the desert, and immediately left that for us accursed place.

  Although we had already done much towards the discovery of the legendary city which we had expected to find on our journey, we nevertheless changed all our plans and decided to leave the desert as soon as possible. So we struck out more to the west and in four days arrived at the Keriyan oasis, where normal country begins. From Keriya we continued further, but now without Soloviev, dear to us all.

  Peace to thy soul, honest and ever loyal friend of all friends!

  VIII

  EKIM BEY

  I WISH TO DEVOTE THIS CHAPTER to my reminiscences of another man whom I consider remarkable, and whose manner of life in his later years, either by the will of fate or thanks to the laws operating in a ‘self-developed individuality’, was arranged down to the smallest detail like my own. At the present time this man is in good health from the ordinary point of view, but according to my view, and speaking between ourselves, only his physical body is in good health.

  It is interesting to note that, contrary to the generally accepted opinion that people belonging to two different nationalities which have been engaged in centuries of racial struggle ought to feel towards each other instinctive hostility and even hate, and in spite of the difference of upbringing in family traditions and religious convictions, nevertheless, between Ekim Bey and myself, after our first meeting in early youth in quite unusual circumstances, there gradually arose a close friendship; and later, when through all kinds of trivial incidents our inner worlds had been drawn together like two ‘arisings from the same source’, our feeling for each other was like that of brothers.

  In this chapter I shall describe my first chance meeting with Dr. Ekim Bey, who is respected by all serious persons that know him,as well as by the common run of people, who regard him as a great magician and wizard. I will also recount briefly several significant events which took place during our wanderings in the depths of Asia and Africa.

  At the present time, rewarded for his past merits by many decorations which have proved to be ‘not ephemeral’, he somehow lives out his remaining years in a small and insignificant place in Egypt, with the title of the Great Turkish Pasha. It must be said that he chose such a solitary spot as his dwelling-place for his old age, in spite of having the means to live wherever he pleased and to enjoy all the comforts of present-day life, chiefly because he wished to avoid the importunities of idle people and their curiosity—a property unworthy of man which has become inherent in most of our contemporaries.

  The first time I met Ekim Bey was when he was still quite young. He was a student in a military school in Germany and had come, as he always did, to spend the summer with his father in Constantinople. We were of the same age.

  Before describing the circumstances in which I met him, I must say that, in the period before my first visit to Echmiadzin and my meeting with Pogossian, related in a previous chapter, when I was still being chased about everywhere like a harassed dog, seeking answers to the questions arising in my brain—which according to the notions of most contemporary people had become sick with psychopathy—I also happened to go to Constantinople, drawn by rumours of numerous marvels supposed to be performed by the dervishes there.

  On my arrival at Constantinople I arranged to stay in the district called Pera and went from there to visit the monasteries of various dervish orders. Living at that time in the company of these ‘dervish zealots’, and of course not being occupied with anything practical and thinking about nothing except all kinds of dervish nonsense, one gloomy day, I clearly recognized without any illusions that very soon I would have absolutely no what-is-called ‘dough’.

  After realizing this fact, I went about for a couple of days far from care-free, while all the time thoughts swarmed beneath my craniu
m, like the favourite flies of Spanish mules, about how to get hold of that contemptible something which for contemporary man is almost the sole stimulus of his life.

  With these worries, I was standing one day on the large bridge between Pera and Stamboul. Leaning on the parapet, I began to ponder on the sense and significance of the continuous movement of the whirling dervishes, which at first glance seems automatic and without any participation of the consciousness. Under the bridge and near it, steamers were constantly passing and small boats plied unceasingly in every direction.

  On the Galata shore next to the bridge, there was a landing stage for the steamers crossing between Constantinople and the opposite shore of the Bosphorus. Near this landing stage, around the arriving and departing steamers, I saw boys swimming about and diving for coins thrown by people from the steamers. This interested me a great deal. I went nearer and looked on. Without any hurry the boys very skilfully retrieved the coins thrown by the passengers in different places, without missing a single one.

  I watched for a long time, admiring the ease and dexterity of these boys, who were of various ages, from eight to about eighteen. Suddenly the thought entered my head: ‘Why should not I also take up this profession? Am I any worse than these boys?’ And on the following day I went to the shore of the Golden Horn, to a place just below the Admiralty, to learn how to dive.

  While practising my diving I even chanced to come across a teacher, a certain Greek, an expert, who used to go there to bathe. He taught me of his own accord some of the details of this ‘great wisdom’ and the rest I drew out of him by cunning—then already proper to me—over a cup of coffee which we took after bathing, in a·Greek café near by. Of course, I will not go into details as to who paid for the coffee.

  At first it was very difficult. One had to dive down with open eyes and the sea-water irritated the membranes of my eyes, causing sharp pain, especially at night. But soon they grew accustomed to it and I began to see as freely in the water as in the air.

  Two weeks later I began to ‘earn’ a living around the steamers, with the local boys of all ages, by fishing for coins. Of course, I was not too successful at first, but very soon I never missed a single one.

  It must be said that when a coin is thrown into the water it begins to sink very quickly, but the further from the surface the more slowly it sinks, so if the water is very deep it takes a long time before it finàlly reaches the bottom. In such a case, before diving, one has only to note well the place where the coin fell, and then it is not difficult to see it in the water and go after it.

  One day, a passenger, occupied with his thoughts, was leaning over the side of a ship watching the coin-catchers, when he inadvertently let fall from his hands what is called a chaplet, an appurtenance indispensable for every serious Asiatic for those intervals when he is not fulfilling his life obligations.

  He immediately called to the diving-boys to get the chaplet, but in spite of their attempts they could not find it, since, being far from the ship, they had not noticed where it fell. Evidently the chaplet was very valuable, as the passenger promised to pay the finder twenty-five Turkish pounds.

  After the steamer had left, all the coin-catchers searched for a long time, but their efforts were fruitless. The water was deep and, as they expressed it, to grope all over the bottom was impossible. In general it is very difficult to reach the bottom of deep water. Just as water easily supports the living body on the surface, so it offers a strong resistance to its descent.

  Several days later, while I was diving for coins at that spot, a passenger happened to throw one so far away that, before I could swim up to where it had fallen, it had already sunk out of sight. As there had not been a good ‘catch’ that day, I was determined at any cost to get that coin.

  Just as I reached it I caught a glimpse of something that looked like a chaplet. Swimming back to the surface, I remembered the chaplet for which twenty-five pounds had been offered.

  Having noted the spot, I dived down again without telling anyone, and when I realized that it was impossible to reach the bottom in the ordinary way, I brought with me the next day some heavy sledge-hammers which I had hired from a blacksmith, and, tying them round my body, dived down with this weight. I soon 180 found the chaplet, which turned out to be of amber, set with small diamonds and garnets.

  The same day I discovered that the passenger who had lost the chaplet was Pasha N, the former governor of a small district near Constantinople, and that he was then living on the opposite shore of the Bosphorus not far from Scutari.

  As I had recently been not too well and was feeling worse each day, I decided not to dive for coins the next day, but to deliver the chaplet to its owner, and at the same time to visit the cemetery at Scutari.

  I went the following morning and soon found the pasha’s house. He happened to be at home, and when he was told that one of the coin-catchers had come, who insisted on seeing him personally, he evidently understood at once what it was about and came out to me himself. When I handed him the chaplet he was so sincerely overjoyed and so simple in his manner towards me that I was deeply moved, and did not wish for anything in the world to accept the promised reward.

  He begged me at least to lunch at his house, and this I did not decline. After lunch I left immediately in order to catch the last but one returning steamer. But on the way to the steamer I felt so ill that I had to sit down on the steps of a house, where I lost consciousness.

  Passers-by noticed my condition and, as I was not far from the pasha’s house, the news soon reached him that a boy had suddenly been taken ill. Hearing that the boy was the one who had brought him the chaplet, the pasha himself came quickly with his servants and gave orders for me to be carried to his house, and for a military physician to be called.

  Although I soon recovered consciousness, my condition was such that I could not move and was compelled to remain for the time being in the pasha’s house.

  That night all my skin began to crack and burn unbearably; evidently, being unaccustomed to long immersion in sea-water, it could not tolerate the action of the salt.

  I was put in a wing of the house and an old woman named Fatma Badji was appointed to take care of me. The pasha’s son, a student in a German military school, also came and helped the old woman look after me. This was Ekim Bey, who later became my bosom friend.

  While I was getting better we conversed and chatted about all kinds of things, but gradually our talks began to take a philosophical turn, and when I had recovered we parted as friends, and from then on kept up an uninterrupted correspondence.

  That year he left the military school in Germany to enter medical school, as his inner convictions had changed during this time and impelled him to give up his military career in order to become an army physician.

  Four years passed.

  One day, in the Caucasus, I received a letter from him in which he wrote that he was already a physician and would like to see me, and at the same time to visit the Caucasus which had interested him for a long time, and he asked when and where he could meet me.

  I was living that summer in the town of Suram, where I was at work making objects in plaster-of-Paris. I sent him a telegram that I was impatiently awaiting his arrival. A few days later he came.

  That year Pogossian, Yelov and Karpenko, who had been a friend of my boyhood, had also come to Suram to spend the summer. Ekim Bey soon became intimate with these comrades of mine and felt like an old friend of theirs.

  We spent the entire summer in Suram, from where we frequently made short excursions, usually on foot. We climbed the Suram mountain pass, and explored the environs of Borzhom and Mikhailov in order to come in contact with the people in these places who had not yet been exposed to the effects of contemporary civilization, and once we even visited the famous Khevsurs, who have driven all the learned ethnographers mad.

  Ekim Bey, living several months in such conditions with us—young men of his own age who were already thoroughly stu
ffed with all kinds of Don Quixotic aspirations—and taking part in all our exchanges of opinion, was willy-nilly drawn into our ‘psychopathy’ and, like us, burned with eagerness to jump over his own knees.

  The four of us, Pogossian, Yelov, Karpenko and I, were at that time having many discussions about a proposal made to us a short time before by Prince Yuri Lubovedsky, to join him and his friends in a big expedition on foot, starting from the frontier town of Nakhichevan and crossing Persia to the Persian Gulf.

  These discussions of ours, and all the perspectives opened up by this kind of travel, interested Ekim Bey so much that he asked us to put in a word with the prince for him to be allowed to join this expedition, and he began to think out how to obtain his father’s permission and a year’s leave of absence from his superiors.

  The upshot of it all was that, after making the necessary arrangements, partly by telegram, and partly in person on his return home to prepare for this long journey, he began his first big expedition in our company on the day we set out from Nakhichevan, the first of January of the following year.

  We started at midnight from Nakhichevan and by morning were already exposed to a demonstration of the ‘wisdom’ of those biped inhabitants of our dear planet who are called frontier guards, and who are everywhere equally highly developed in the art of expressing their perspicacity and omniscience.

  There were twenty-three of us, including all those friends and comrades of mine to whom I have decided to devote separate chapters in this series of my writings. Three of them, Pogossian, Yelov, and Prince Lubovedsky, I have already written about; with Dr. Ekim Bey I will acquaint the reader in this chapter; and to the two others, Karpenko the engineer, and the archaeology professor Skridlov, I will devote the subsequent chapters of this book.