The Way of Muri Read Online Free
Author: Ilya Boyashov
crown prince a calm flight over the Pacific Ocean, in conditions of almost zero cloud and a favourable wind.
The weather seemed to be on the noble traveller’s side. Every now and then the sheikh would let his autopilot system take over, and then he would treat himself to a few dates, washing them down with mineral water. His cosmopolitan outlook on life, due to time spent in the West (at Cambridge University), extended to his taste in music – Beethoven and Mozart were to be found in his repertoire alongside the lyrics of the incomparable Walid Khalid. Allah had obligingly adorned the sky above the sheikh’s head with twinkling necklaces of stars, which were studded with the occasional rare emerald and ruby. Sheikh Abdullah Nadari Ak-Saïd ibn Khalim spent the entire night revelling in his solitude and indulging in philosophical reflection.
The dawn broke, seizing half of the sky, and revived this romantic Sinbad. The world was at his feet, and the travellertook the opportunity to indulge in a few mouthfuls of strong ‘El Sabah’ coffee. He acknowledged his gratitude to his flight yoke, and he prayed to the Almighty. Then he took to the airwaves, and in his palace in the middle of the Arabian Desert all thirty of his wives praised God that their husband – such a clever, capable man! – was still alive.
Success escorted the aircraft as far as the islands of Hawaii but hurriedly withdrew as it approached the mainland. The consequences were swift to follow, beginning with fuel supply problems over the state of Texas. One engine began to cough and splutter, then another, and another, until the lonely voice of the final engine died out altogether.
Victoria
’s cabin filled with the victorious roar of the wind. Several airports immediately offered their assistance. Thanking them for their concern, the pilot glanced at the monitor of his out-of-control computer and, in stubborn denial, attempted to straighten up his beloved pride and joy. But all his efforts were in vain! Sheikh Abdullah Nadari Ak-Saïd ibn Khalim drank the last of his coffee, tightened his seatbelt and prepared to meet his fate like a man. The length of the wings permitted this mechanical dragonfly to glide for some time on the thermals, but the epic voyage was already doomed to fail. The parachute snapped open at 2,000 feet, and the aircraft crash-landed on a Texan ranch, breaking one valuable wing and sustaining irreparable damage to its chassis. The owners of the ranch came running out, and in his impeccable English the sheikh apologized to them for the trouble he’d caused. His Royal Highness gratefully accepted a mug of warm milk from the kind-hearted farming couple and managed to turn away just in time to get rid of the evidence of his momentary weakness, brushing away a tiny tear of vexation with the index finger of his left hand.
Meanwhile the cat trotted along the road leading from the burned-out village to the Bosnian capital, a short distance away. Tractors rumbled past him, their exhaust fumes mercilesslypoisoning the sky and the earth. They were loaded with refugees. The women were wailing and the children were crying; the men were covering their ears. Muri wasn’t one to waste time lamenting the past – his heart was beating steadily, his lungs coped easily with the polluted air and his paws obediently carried him onwards.
As dusk fell a Serbian tank lumbered up behind the cat – a mechanical brontosaurus with a flat, round turret. Jolting and swaying, young soldiers in swamp-coloured uniform clung to every part of the tank, even the barrel of the gun. Instead of darting out of the way, the cat flattened his ears and pressed himself into the roadside verge. Suddenly he was scooped up in a fishing net, the kind used to extract large carp from ponds.
The joker who’d caught the cat stuck the pole of the net into the open hatch. A hot stench emanated from the opening, as though it led straight to the underworld. Muri didn’t bother
The weather seemed to be on the noble traveller’s side. Every now and then the sheikh would let his autopilot system take over, and then he would treat himself to a few dates, washing them down with mineral water. His cosmopolitan outlook on life, due to time spent in the West (at Cambridge University), extended to his taste in music – Beethoven and Mozart were to be found in his repertoire alongside the lyrics of the incomparable Walid Khalid. Allah had obligingly adorned the sky above the sheikh’s head with twinkling necklaces of stars, which were studded with the occasional rare emerald and ruby. Sheikh Abdullah Nadari Ak-Saïd ibn Khalim spent the entire night revelling in his solitude and indulging in philosophical reflection.
The dawn broke, seizing half of the sky, and revived this romantic Sinbad. The world was at his feet, and the travellertook the opportunity to indulge in a few mouthfuls of strong ‘El Sabah’ coffee. He acknowledged his gratitude to his flight yoke, and he prayed to the Almighty. Then he took to the airwaves, and in his palace in the middle of the Arabian Desert all thirty of his wives praised God that their husband – such a clever, capable man! – was still alive.
Success escorted the aircraft as far as the islands of Hawaii but hurriedly withdrew as it approached the mainland. The consequences were swift to follow, beginning with fuel supply problems over the state of Texas. One engine began to cough and splutter, then another, and another, until the lonely voice of the final engine died out altogether.
Victoria
’s cabin filled with the victorious roar of the wind. Several airports immediately offered their assistance. Thanking them for their concern, the pilot glanced at the monitor of his out-of-control computer and, in stubborn denial, attempted to straighten up his beloved pride and joy. But all his efforts were in vain! Sheikh Abdullah Nadari Ak-Saïd ibn Khalim drank the last of his coffee, tightened his seatbelt and prepared to meet his fate like a man. The length of the wings permitted this mechanical dragonfly to glide for some time on the thermals, but the epic voyage was already doomed to fail. The parachute snapped open at 2,000 feet, and the aircraft crash-landed on a Texan ranch, breaking one valuable wing and sustaining irreparable damage to its chassis. The owners of the ranch came running out, and in his impeccable English the sheikh apologized to them for the trouble he’d caused. His Royal Highness gratefully accepted a mug of warm milk from the kind-hearted farming couple and managed to turn away just in time to get rid of the evidence of his momentary weakness, brushing away a tiny tear of vexation with the index finger of his left hand.
Meanwhile the cat trotted along the road leading from the burned-out village to the Bosnian capital, a short distance away. Tractors rumbled past him, their exhaust fumes mercilesslypoisoning the sky and the earth. They were loaded with refugees. The women were wailing and the children were crying; the men were covering their ears. Muri wasn’t one to waste time lamenting the past – his heart was beating steadily, his lungs coped easily with the polluted air and his paws obediently carried him onwards.
As dusk fell a Serbian tank lumbered up behind the cat – a mechanical brontosaurus with a flat, round turret. Jolting and swaying, young soldiers in swamp-coloured uniform clung to every part of the tank, even the barrel of the gun. Instead of darting out of the way, the cat flattened his ears and pressed himself into the roadside verge. Suddenly he was scooped up in a fishing net, the kind used to extract large carp from ponds.
The joker who’d caught the cat stuck the pole of the net into the open hatch. A hot stench emanated from the opening, as though it led straight to the underworld. Muri didn’t bother
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