Library

Raoul Aslanovich Kamba and I met on a hunting trip. Outside the village of Tamesh, in a vast seaside open space dotted with raspberry bushes, thorn bushes and thorn bushes, people hunt quail. From afar, there were sparse dull gunshots and the barking of hounds. Dogs could be seen circling around in the grass, as well as the figure of the hunter running behind the dog towards the hit prey. And just then, in the midst of this enthusiastic hunting battle, I saw a tall and burly laggard, pacing lazily along the trail, with the gun slung across his shoulder, and two big hands hanging like a snout on either side of the rifle. This is a man who clearly cannot stand the hunting craze. He seemed to have noticed me as a hunter.