The Colonel's Mistake

Начало книги

The first week of August was the hottest ever recorded in Baku. The stink of petroleum and sulfur fouled the stagnant air, grapevines wilted, and despite the halfhearted efforts of city employees who drove around in huge watering trucks, the leaves of the olive trees turned brown.

People looked to the sea and shook their heads, incredulous that there still was no sign of the khazri, the strong north wind that often blew down from Russia. It has to come soon, they said.

But this summer, what little wind there was drifted slowly up from the south, from the hell-furnaces of Iran’s Kavir and Lut Deserts. The second week of August delivered no relief, nor the third. The children ran through the warm waters of Fountains Square each morning, but by noon the broiling city streets were empty except for air-conditioned cars and wild cats sleeping under sidewalk benches.

The khazri finally did come, but not until in the middle of the fourth week.

Читать дальше →