Almost at our feet we see the top of a leafy tree, then another, and then a long grove. And immediately we enter the deep shade of the gardens which fringe the southern margin of the sea (5637 feet).
[1] Our stages were:—Melazkert—Demian, 10 miles; Demian—Akhlat (Erkizan), 20½ miles. [↑]
CHAPTER XVI
AKHLAT
July 15.—We have spent eight days at Akhlat. They have been days which we shall always remember with delight. Our surroundings, our occupations, the little comforts of our daily life, have been all that we could desire.
We are encamped in an orchard by the side of the lake. The water plashes against rocks, at the foot of a well-defined bank, some twenty yards from our tent. We look across a floor of green, dappled with shade and sunshine, through the varied intervals of the grove of fruit trees, beneath the perfect foliage, to a field of light, with changing colour and ever-changing appearance, whence a freshness is wafted towards us across the flowering grass. Such oases are not, indeed, infrequent in Asia, where they derive enhancement not only from the contrast which they offer to the general treelessness of the land, but also from their special climate—the soil cooled by irrigation, and the leaves developed to a perfection with which we are unfamiliar in the West. Luscious clover, white and red, purple vetch with a delicate perfume, the long, trailing stalks and pale mauve flowers of chicory, luxuriate on the damp soil. The cherries were small and yellow when we arrived; now they hang in bright red clusters before our tent. An old walnut tree protrudes its gnarled branches and thick foliage over the water on the margin of the grove; and two rollers, which have built their nest in an inaccessible crevice of the trunk, flit to and fro, in search of food for their young. The hues of the lake are repeated on their breasts; while on their backs and in their wings this azure blue is subdued and softened by rich browns, resembling the branches where they repose.[1]
Our little horses are picketed in the deep trench which divides the orchard from the sterile ground on the north and east. They forget the road beneath the shade of flowering olives, of which the strong scent reaches to our tent. The cook, who has so often mutinied and repented, is now all alacrity and zeal. Our luxuries have been a turkey, some French beans of exquisite flavour, and little cakes of bread, in which our cook excels. The cherries are of the wild species—for the people are too lazy to graft; but, when stewed, they afford a delicious dish. No steamer disturbs our repose; no discordant note is uttered from morn to eventide. We are self-sufficient, mobile, always at home. The world is our house, and we move easily from room to room. It never rains; the moisture is controlled by man, who directs it whither it pleases him and for as long. The air is so dry that, with very little care, all danger of malaria can be kept at bay.
But the old imam, who owns and appears to live in this garden, turned the water one early morning into the channels. He must have known that it would deluge our tent. He might have warned us to surround it with a shallow trench. I took revenge by cutting a trench to the lake. The wizened old thing did not display the smallest resentment. They say he is mad. He sits in the garden all day long, smoking cigarettes of his own manufacture, muttering to himself, his eyes fixed upon the lake. When night arrives he goes to sleep in the grass. He has never worked; but nobody works. The idea of work is not repugnant; it is simply an idea which they do not possess.