Аннотация: This short novel has magic. If you start reading this book, you won't be able to stop.The story just drags you in like quicksand in the desert and swallows. Read and enjoy.
Holder Volcano
Member of the Writers' Union of Uzbekistan
"Falling Leaves"
(The short novel and stories)
(Translated by the author)
Holder Volcano was born in 1959 in Uzbekistan. He graduated from Tashkent State University. He has been writing poetry and prose since 1975. He lives in Canada. He has written 4 collections of poems, a number of novels, short novels,and stories in two languages, in Uzbek and Russian.His works have been translated into English.He has no titles or awards.
Review by an unknown reader about the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" in the electronic library"Ridley".
Dear readers, we sincerely hope that the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" will not look like any of the ones already read by you in this genre. Though images do not remain without attention, appearing in different places of the text they perfectly harmonize with the main line. It is clear that the issues raised here will not lose their relevance in time or space. Considerable attention is paid to the place of events, which gives the color and realism of what is happening. Fascinating, sometimes funny, very touching makes it possible to think about yourself, evoking memories from life. Portrait of the protagonist picked up very well, from the first lines imbued with sympathy for him, empathize with him, rejoice at his success, and upset failures. There is a certain feature, try to go beyond the basic idea and to introduce the uniqueness, thanks to which there is a desire to return to reading. As you get closer to the outcome, it becomes more important, great and beautiful, cleverly hidden than what it seemed at first glance. As you get closer to the apotheosis inadvertently freezes the spirit and later felt the desire to
follow multiple readings. In addition to the fascinating, exciting and interesting narrative, the plot also retains the logic and sequence of events. At first glance, the combination of love and friendship seem mundane and boring, but later come to the conclusion that the evidence of the selected studies. The short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" read free online is unusual, as the product is sometimes incredible, but at the same time, very interesting and exciting.
The second review of an unknown reader about the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" in the electronic library "Ridley".
Dear readers, there are interesting books, and there are very interesting books. To what category include the short novel "falling leaves" Holder Volcano you decide! Unwittingly living out the book - then disappear completely in it, then resume, finding Parallels and a private Foundation, and suddenly grow a soul. From the first lines visual images draw attention to themselves, they are in many ways distinct, colorful. The finale is a little tightened, but it compensates for a totally unpredictable ending. Thanks to the dynamic and fascinating story, the book keeps the reader in suspense from beginning to end.
Harmonious mutual admiration of conflict episodes with the external surrounding reality, once again confirms the talent and skill of the literary genius. Thanks to the mind, charisma, wit and nobility, you instantly feel sympathy for the main character and his companion. Soft irony along with comic situations are so harmoniously woven into the plot that they become an inseparable part of it. This short novel is a kind of mystery posed to the reader, and the usual logic is not to solve it, until the very last page. The Creator is in no hurry to prematurely reveal the idea works, but through the actions with the help of the hints in the dialogues gradually brings to his readers. The themes of love and hate, good and evil, friendship and enmity, no matter what time they are touched upon, always remain relevant and urgent.
19.09.2016.
Chapter 1
Spring fields
Spring, birds singing in the high poplars at field mill, where the white acacia. Recently, among the thorny branches of acacia could see a nest of magpies, and now it disappeared from sight among the leaves and flowering bunches of the tree. Magpies are very smart birds. They know that boys can't climb a tree, whose thorny branches, as its sharp spiny thorns may hurt to scratch his hands and feet and even to rip their harem pants. Acacia flowers have captured the soul like Souvenirs made from pieces of white porcelain. The pleasant smell of these bunch winds spread across the field where farmers work.
Khurshida worked, knocking hoe on the rocky field. She was a girl of eighteen, fair-skinned, with a dense and gentle curly dark brown hair, with a slender figure and magnificent Breasts, with hazel eyes, and clear eyes. She has such beautiful smiling coral lips, showing white healthy and beautiful teeth, that a lot of guys in the village were crazy about her. But Khurshida did not pay attention to either one of them, as she felt for him the tender feelings called love. His indifference to her has increased "oppression" on the lovers. She didn't even answer your love letters that boys wrote and passed her through her friends.
Khurshida's father Abduljabbar is very strict towards his daughter Khurshida and his difficult character and behavior is more like a stepfather than her own father. He often drinks alcohol and is satisfied with drunken fights. But Abduljabbar is a good specialist in the field of sheep shearing. He works as a mechanic on a cattle farm. Repairs on the farm milking machines, automatic drinking bowls, conveyors, cleaning barns, combines, forage shredders and so on.
Although Abduljabbar is not a religious fanatic, he strictly prohibits Khurshida to go to parties dedicated to the birthday of her classmates, which was attended by boys. Abduljabbar swore that if his daughter Khurshida would disgrace their family, he would curse. So mother of Khurshida Raheela every day insisted that she did not play with fire and was cautious in communication with her classmates and other unknown guys. Raheela knew that not all girls were friendly with Khurshida. That is, some girls are jealous of Khurshida and look at her with contempt, because she's pretty and many guys were in love with her but not with them.
With these thoughts in mind, Khurshida continued to work on the field, leveling soil for planting cotton. She loves to work in the fields alone, as nobody bothers to think about what she wants to think. Loneliness for her freedom was like the boundless sky. Sometimes Khurshida stops to straighten her back, listening to the distant of a sad voice of an alone hoopoe which comes from Willow Grove, where the wind wanders drunk. From far away came the muffled rumble of a lone tractor. Khurshida thoughtfully watched agile low flying swallows. They flew over the fields, almost touching the ground, and it's white belly and wings similar to bent black daggers with sharp blades. Then again she set to work, humming a sad song about love. And the sun slowly but surely rose to the tip of the sky. Khurshida worked on the field under the scorching sun and stopped work only when on the hill, the cook Tubo shouting the beginning to entice people for lunch.
-Choygaaaaaaaaa!- she cried, and her voice flew over the spring fields, like a bird freed from its chest.
Leaving the hoe on the edge of the field, Khurshida went to the side of the field mill. Approaching her, she smelled a delicate sweet smell of fragrant acacia which bloomed near the field camp, which grew tall poplars and weeping willows. At this point, of the cultivator, which stopped near a field camp, jumped a young tractor driver of about twenty to twenty five, in a worn skullcap, tall, broad-shouldered, snub-nosed, with curly hair, with a mustache above fleshy lips, a peculiarity of the guy with a green scar on his left eyebrow. It gave him the appearance of harshness and masculinity. His appearance resembled a Roman Gladiator who fought with his bare hands with hungry tigers. Khurshida had not seen this tractor driver in these parts, but I just remembered his tractor, which she just watched from afar in the cotton field. While Khurshida was removed from the branches of the mulberry tree a small pouch in which was bread, sugar, welding, aluminum spoon, and a mug with a bowl, the tractor driver was already standing in the queue at the field tin samovar, where workers were poured theirself a Cup of boiling water. Taking her mug, Khurshida poured her the tea and also got in line. Seeing her, the guy turned to look and gave up his place. Not expecting such a gentleman, Khurshida thanked the young tractor driver and kindly smiled. After a few minutes the guy started to talk to her:
Girl, let me tell you an amazing story while we stand in line. In short, yesterday I go past this tree - beauty!- from the white acacia flowers that you can"t stop looking at. The acacia blooming was like a young bride in a white wedding dress! I stopped involuntarily admiring the unusual beauty of this tree, looking at it with delight, like a farmer who came from a distant village with a bag on his shoulders, who first saw the city. Then there was gunfire. I thought, there was a terrorist shooting at me from the machine gun. I quickly lay down on the ground, so he couldn"t fire the whole clip at me. I layer down for a while and I look, and there's a singing magpie. Well, I felt ashamed about myself. Stood up, looked around, found my dirty skullcap, shook off the dust, jammed it on my head and went on. It"s a good thing nobody but me saw it.
After hearing the story of the tractor driver, everybody having lunch amicably laughed. Khurshida too, then came their turn. But, unfortunately, boiling water ceased to flow from the samovar's tap. It turned out that the cause was the fact that in the samovar boiling water level dropped below the level of the faucet, so it stopped showering. But the tractor driver found a way out: he asked Khurshida to bend the samovar and pour the boiling water into a mug, which he set up.
Okay - agreed Khurshida, and when the young tractor driver framed his mug to the tap of the samovar, Khurshida gently bent the samovar. But then disaster struck: Khurshida accidentally dropped the samovar, and he fell over, the young tractor driver scalded with boiling water. Tractor driver, making a face from a severe burn, started to jump from the pain, leaning on one leg, pulling air into the lungs.
Vsss -ah-aaah! Vsss-ahh-ahhhh! Ooooohhhh!- he jumped from the stinging pain and spun like a dog chasing its tail.
Khurshida started to cry, not knowing what to do and how to calm the poor tractor driver. And workers who had already begun eating, all got up from their seats, feeling for the tractor driver who accidentally scalded with boiling water. Some laughed, especially when the timekeeper Abdelkasim cried, you take off your pants and jump right into the pond!
Oh, excuse me, for God's sake, mister! This is all my fault!.. Badly burned?! Poor!.. I don't know Your name... what your name? - Said Khurshida, crying and circling around the guy in confusion.
A young tractor driver, holding his scalded thigh, stopped for a moment and with a grimace on his face said:
Me? A-aaaaah- ahhhh... My name is Sultan!
Oh, Mister Sultan, sorry! I didn't want to... - said Khurshida with tears in her eyes.
-Don't worry, girl, about anything... Aa-a-ahhh-ahhh... Ahh-ahh-ahh My leg will get better before
the wedding said tractor driver Sultan, smiling through the grimace on his face, continuing to jump on one leg.
Then he asked, distorting the face of unbearable pain:
-And You? What's your name?
Me? Oh yeah, my name is Khurshida.
-Very nice... Vsss-aaaaa-aah Yyyyh! That's a beautiful name, like you, honestly. You, Khurshida, do
do not pay attention to me. Better get yourself something to eat. It's lunch time right now... - said Sultan, continuing to rely on one leg to alleviate the pain.
No, I will not eat. Well, how am I supposed to eat when you suffer because of me? - cried Khurshida.
Here the tractor driver Sultan stopped limping and said.
Well, Khurshida, now quit crying! After all, people are looking at us. Already released from the pain, don't you worry. I have everything in order. Don"t you believe my words? Well, then I have no choice but to prove to you that I'm healthy as an ox.
Here look and, humming a tune, he began to dance, stamping their tarpaulin boots, as a dancer with great experience.
Sultan danced, whirling like a whirlwind and singing cheerful music. Seeing this, everyone around laughed as if the viewers were watching a funny presentation of a wandering artist. Khurshida was also smiling through her tears, rejoicing that the Sultan let go of the pain.
Chapter 2
First love
Although Khurshida with her own eyes saw the tractor driver Sultan climb to his cultivator, went back to the side of the field, she still could not forgive herself for what was scalded by negligence of the poor, innocent guy, drummer, mechanic of farm Tillaquduq. Poor thought only of Sultan, and she was sorry for the inoffensive, patient and funny guy. Another man in his place thought she would be angry and maybe even hit her, or, at least, would appeal to the court with a request to pay her a certain sum of money as compensation for the damage caused to his health, and, he? He, on the contrary, comforted Khurshida, dancing in front of the workers of the kolkhoz who could testify in court in his favor as witnesses. He groaned and jumped from the pain, and I, the fool, asked him his name. Despite the searing pain, he said. And not forgot to make a joke, saying that his wound will heal before the wedding. And how he danced! As the American Michael Jackson, I swear! I wonder why he even works as a tractor driver when he has the talent of an artist-humorist. After all, he could open his own theater of humor and satire to make serious money. I wonder why he works as a tractor.
With these thoughts in mind, Khurshida could not sleep, listening to the ringing singing of the crickets and looking out the open window, curtained by a curtain of white tulle, through which shone round the moon and twinkle of a distant star. From afar came the tired lazy barking of dogs and the croaking of frogs in the old pond with blooming white and pink water lilies.
Khurshida decided to go in the morning on the field, where he will cultivate cotton tractor driver Sultan, to ask him again for forgiveness, and discover how Sultan's leg feels, which yesterday received a burn on her fault.
Meanwhile, at the open window not a strong night cool breeze gently fluttered and slightly blew the curtain, woven from tulle resembling a sail.
Khurshida was sleepy. She fell asleep like a patient under anesthesia during surgery. She dreamed of the tractor driver Sultan, who was working on his tractor plugging the endless and eternal sky covered with clouds.
Hello, Mister Sultan! - Khurshida said, looking up at the sky.
Hearing her voice, the Sultan looked at her and smiled, continuing to run his air -ship bulldozer in a boundless sky.
Oh, it's You, Khurshida?! Well, how are you?! - he said.
I have everything in order! And how are you?! Are your legs okay?! -asked Khurshida.
Nope, not sick! Last night I anointed my scalded leg with toothpaste and by the morning the wound stopped hurting - it was gone! Honest mechanic! If you don't believe me, I can show you the wound healed, just a second. Here, let me take my jeans off, and you"ll see this firsthand... said the Sultan.
With these words he rose from his seat and jumped on the hood of a bulldozer, moving on the balls of gray clouds. There is a tractor under his feet, famously shaken, and the Sultan nearly fell to the ground. Khurshida's heart sank. She was so scared.
No, no, Sultan, don't take off your pants! I believe you! Oh, be careful! -shouted Khurshida.
Yes?! Well, as you wish! Watch me, I will dance tap dance! - said Sultan, without waiting for a response, and began to dance right on the hood of the bulldozer.
Sultan danced with his tarpaulin boots, like the ring of iron horseshoes hitting the hood of the tractor.
Then he suddenly lost his balance and fell from the flying bulldozer. But he managed to grab the spotlight of the bulldozer. The young tractor driver was hung and tried by all means to stay, not to fly down. Bottom Khurshida fears a little crazy is not gone. And Sultan went flying down, plugging the clouds with their ploughs.
Oh, God save the Sultan! Hang in there, Sultan! Hold the spotlight bulldozer! I'll call people for help, and we'll work something out! Be patient!-shouted Khurshida, running here and there, but never taking his eyes off of the tractor and from the tractor of the Sultan, which hung in the sky like the great Hollywood stuntman, jumped at a chassis jet bomber in the movie about the American-Vietnam war.
Then something irreparable happened: the headlight air tractor came off with all the wires and the tractor driver Sultan flew down like a stone. He flew through the air with a wild cry like a paratrooper, who has a jammed chute. Khurshida fear covered her face with her hands, and in a few minutes with a crash he hit the ground, raising a cloud of dust. You should have seen how bitterly Khurshida cried hugging the body of the tractor driver poor Sultan, who fell from the sky!
Sorry, Sultan! Oh, forgive me, for God's sake! This is my entire fault! If I hadn't asked you about your health, you wouldn't have got on the hood of your flying bulldozer that sails the boundless sky of our solar system where You tap-danced to convince me that your scalded leg doesn't hurt anymore! - She cried, shedding bitter tears.
Here, surprisingly the tractor driver Sultan woke up. Khurshida was surprised and froze like a marble statue of Aphrodite.
Well, You're roaring again, like a little girl in kindergarten, dear Khurshida? Would you please stop crying, I"m alive and healthy as an ox. If you don't believe it, I can get up and dance tap dance - said Sultan.
And rising, he again began to dance, circling like a whirlwind.
Oh, thank you, God, for saving Sultan! Thank God! -Khurshida cried, shedding tears of joy.
She woke up, like a patient after a successful operation. Realizing, finally, that all this happened in reality, she breathed a sigh of relief and thanked God. She was delighted, thinking, saying as well that others will not see the dream that she dreamed. When she stood up, and opened the curtains, looked out the open window, she saw the morning sky, like a furrow.
After breakfast, Khurshida went to the field, eager to meet the tractor driver Sultan to know about his health. But, unfortunately, she didn't see the tractor of Sultan. She was worried, thinking, what happened to him? Maybe his leg at night got swollen due to the fact that he danced to appease me? Poor Sultan! Well, why am I so careless and clumsy. Maybe he was up all night in pain and writhed in pain, and his parents called an ambulance at midnight. Then the doctor gently laid him on the stretcher, drove him to the hospital? Maybe he was lying and groaning still from the pain, and he has already began gangrene? Who knows, the doctors might amputate his leg to gangrene, not surprised by the weight of his body. The horror! A young guy in his prime of life, because he became disabled for life? Really now, Sultan will move with crutches and walk on four legs? Maybe the district social service will provide a free wheelchair with the wheels of a bike, and he will travel by spinning the wheel by hand; he could have fallen on the side and in a ditch? Or maybe he already died on the operating table and the surgeon wearily took off his mask, told his family the terrible news that they have done everything that depends on them, but, alas, could not save him, as they were not able to stop the gangrene. Maybe siblings of Sultan crying over his body took him home and buried? Who knows, maybe now his mother, crying in a loud voice, curses Khurshida because she was scalded by her son, who died on the operating table surgical Department, tormented in hellish pain? No, no, no. God granted that the Sultan everything was in order, she prayed.
Although Khurshida mentally tossed in the assumptions, she also hoped that Sultan with the sunrise appeared in the cotton field on his tractor.
Finally the sun rose, and she saw in the distance, in the cotton field, the familiar tractor driver Sultan, happily smiled. Her eyelashes trembled again and tears welling joy like dew on a morning rose. Leaving his hoe, Khurshida ran down the path, with the two sides overgrown green lush grass, in the direction of the cotton fields, where Sultan worked on his tractor. She ran like a girl on the platform, struggling to meet with the dearest person in the world. And Sultan at this time happily glided over the cotton field, kicking up dust and taking a large flock of swallows.
When Khurshida came closer to the tractor, from what she saw she was motionless, like a wax figure of a girl in Madame Tussauds museum in foggy London. But Sultan was not in the cab of the tractor, instead an elderly person. Khurshida wanted to ask him about Sultan, but she was afraid of her father, she did not dare to ask about what happened to Sultan, thinking that suddenly this person would tell someone about their conversation, and if it reaches the ears of her father, it would be the end for her.
With these thoughts, Khurshida went back and began to work. Working, she thought only of the tractor driver Sultan. She wanted to see him. She felt a huge need. She began to feel that without Sultan, her life would turn into an endless desert. She felt in her soul a longing for the tractor driver Sultan. She wanted to cry, loudly and bitterly. She sat, and rested her forehead on her knees, beginning to cry silently, shaking her shoulders. The tears rolled from her eyes, dripping as large drops of rain before a storm. Khurshida stopped crying only when her mother Rahila came to help. Hearing the crackling of brushwood, where her mother walked, Khurshida raised her head and hastily wiped the tears from her eyes on the hem of the dress.
What's wrong, daughter? Why do you have tear-stained eyes? Are you sick?
Oh, you naughty girl! How many times have I told you to have breakfast in the morning, and you? You eat very thin. Sometimes, you don't even have Breakfast, and you run to work. And here is the result, now, perhaps, you have a headache or a stomach ache. Looks like you've lost weight recently. Like a model on a diet. So it is impossible. Well, okay, you go home and take a day off, my lovely. And I'll work here - Raheela said, hugging her daughter and stroking her head.
No, mom, I don't want to go home. And the headache is gone. I have everything under control; don't worry, ' said Khurshida. After that, they began to work together, knocking hoe, leveling the soil in the stony field.
Chapter 3
Mystery
Khurshida with her mother worked at the spring field silently, leveling the ground for planting cotton. When the heat became unbearable, they moved to the edge of the field to be saved from the heat under the shade of mulberry trees, where there was an irrigation ditch, reshaping its course. After a little rest, they again set to work, and so to lunch. When the cook Tubo, standing on the hill began to entice people to lunch, they were suspending the work, went to the side of the field mill. Walking along the trail, Khurshida looked longingly at the sultry cotton fields where the tractor driver Sultan worked. She did not want to go to the camp and eat anything. But coming closer to the field camp, she saw Sultan, and for a moment stood rooted to the spot, not believing her eyes. Her heart was beating fast from excitement. She ran along the path ahead of her mother, stumbling and falling. Indeed, the tractor driver Sultan stood in line for boiling water as yesterday, holding his mug.
What's wrong with you, daughter? Do not rush! You must be very hungry. I told you this morning that you had to have Breakfast properly. And you didn't listen to me. Let this be a lesson to you - said Raheela.
-Yes, mommy, you're right, Khurshida said, without taking her eyes off Sultan, who became her most precious person in the world. The run to the field camp, she again felt the pleasant smell of acacia blossoms. The first thing Khurshida took was her mug and hurried to the side of the tin samovar, where the tractor driver Sultan stood in line. When she came closer to the Sultan, he immediately noticed her and turned his face to her and smiled warmly:
-Oh, I see, who-Oh-Oh I see! Hello, Mademoiselle Khurshida, how are you doing? - he said.
-Thank you, Mister Sultan, I'm good. And how are you? No pain in your leg?
-Khurshida asked quietly, looking to Sultan from the bottom up, and blushing deeply.
-I have it all together, as they say the glory of the Almighty God. After yesterday's incident, my foot was still healthy. If you do not believe my words, I can tap-dance - said the Sultan, ready to dance.
-No, I believe you - said Khurshida.
-Why not? Am I a bad dancer?
-Noo, you are a great dancer. That's why I'm careful not to jinx - explained Khurshida smiling.
-Yes? Well, then I won't dance - obeyed the tractor driver Sultan.
-I again beg your pardon, Sultan, about that burn yesterday. I spent the whole night worried about you and, in the morning, eager to find out about your health, I ran in the cotton field, and before you know it, you were not there. It works the other tractor; an old man was in your tractor. I was scared; I thought that you turned gray and aged with grief and pain on your leg after I scalded you with boiling water. And I was afraid that you were mad at me for life, never coming back here. Thank God, everything went well - said Khurshida, a sigh of relief.
-Yes, I have changed fields. I now work in another field. Over the poplar grove - said the tractor driver Sultan.
-I worked on the other field with my mother, where the tractor cannot drive. We are there leveling the ground manually - explained Khurshida.
-A family business, I mean - said Sultan. And she added:
Here is our turn. Give me your mug. I will turn the samovar, and you"ll be careful... - said the tractor driver Sultan.
Khurshida laughed.
-No, not that. It is not necessary. And your service is very costly for both of us, especially you - she said, hiding her mug behind as a little girl and smiling.
-Oh, Yes, of course. It seems to me that there is no need to tilt the samovar, the tap is fixed, in my opinion - said the tractor driver Sultan. With these words they poured the boiling water and dispersed. After lunch, Khurshida cheered up and worked from the heart, singing songs about love. Seeing the positive changes in the mood of his daughter, Rahila was happy.
-You ate and you got better again - she said.
-Yes, you're right, mom - smiled Khurshida and her thoughts about the funny tractor driver continued to work. But in less than an hour, it started to torment a longing for the Sultan. She wanted to go on the field for the poplar grove, where he worked to see the tractor driver Sultan again, to talk with him. Then she thought about telling the truth to her mom. After much deliberation she decided to tell her everything.
-Mom, can I ask you a question - she said.
-Yes, dear, of course. What is the question?
-The fact that... But I don't even know how to explain it. And you might not understand me and get mad at me.
-No, no, honey, just ask your question and don't be shy.
-Tell me honestly, mom, have you fallen in love with someone? If so, tell me about your love, please. I am very curious. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about this, I swear. You're not only my mother but also a close and loyal friend.
Hearing this from her daughter, Raheela laughed loudly. Then spoke:
-Your question is quite silly, but I think it somehow can be answered. I don't know how to explain it.
Of course, anyone who has a soul, he or she in his youth, falls in love with someone... It's... waiting, Wait, why are you beginning to ask questions like that, huh? Are you in love or what?! Come on; tell me who you're in love with. I am your mother dear, the one closest to you. I need to know... Oh, my God, it really happened, what I had feared all the time! Dear, don't play with fire. If you disgrace our family by their actions, consider that you end. Your father will curse you. And if your father find out- it will be the end for you, not only in this world but in the next world! God will turn away from a girl whose father was cursed! A man in the next world will forever burn in a fiery hell! If your father curses you, there is no reason to live, honey, because you're the one for me. So, tell me about it - she said.
-Well, mom - Khurshida embarrassed, not wanting to talk about their innermost secret.
-No well. Tell me all about it, and immediately! I'm waiting for it. Who is he? Well... insisted Khurshida's mom.
-I can't tell you about something that is uncomfortable for me and embarrassing in front of you. But don't worry, mom, I just met him and he ever touched me. That is, nothing happened between us. Believe me, I swear - she unconsciously revealed the secret Khurshida.
-Who is he? - Raheela asked again, as if the investigator during an interrogation.
-Well, mom, maybe not, eh? Well, you and dad won't talk about it? - said Khurshida.
-Well, honey, how can I tell your father, if he heard about it, it would make a scandal - said Raheela.
-Okay, mom, I will tell you, because for me you are the closest person in the world - promised Khurshida.
And began to tell:
-His name is Sultan. He is very good, nice and a funny guy. He was driving a tractor over the poplar grove. You should have seen how he dances! Just like Michael Jackson. And he is also a humorist. Tells such funny stories, that after listening to him, you can die from laughter.
Yes? - said Raheela and from weakness sat down, clasping her chest, which was pounding her heart.
Khurshida was frightened and bewildered, and began to help her mother.
-Mom, what's wrong with you? Don't scare me! Oh, please... Oh why did I even tell you all of that? I could have kept everything to myself. I just wanted to fulfill your request. I could not hide the secret from you, mother, and my dear! - cried Khurshida.
Raheela also cried, tightly hugging her daughter.
-I understand you, daughter. I am just afraid; something might not be fixable among you? That's what worries me. I want you to be happy. Well, good thing you love him, and him? He loves you? Are you sure that your tractor driver will not leave you and, in the end? Moreover, the tractor driver could be uneducated. Does he understand at all what love is? Maybe he is addicted to alcohol, like your father? One alcoholic is enough in our family, and I don't want to aggravate the grief. Maybe he smokes marijuana? You should first check to see if he gambles? Who his parents were and where he lives? And I'm afraid if your father will let you marry him or not - cried Raheela.
-Mom, believe me, I'll be very careful in dealing with this guy. I know if I'm overstepping my bounds, my father would never forgive me and will not leave you alone. I don't know how to explain this to you. Well... long story short, I can't live without him. I fell in love...Help me, mom! -roared Khurshida hugging her, and they wept together
Chapter 4
Sowung
Sitting in the shade of old willows, Khurshida was closely followed by driving the tractor to Sultan, working on a hot cotton field for poplar grove. She wanted to make a joke, and took out the mirror; she pulled him to the side of the tractor of Sultan. The reflected rays of the sun, bunnies, start cutting Sultan's eyes. He stopped his tractor and jumped down. Shaking off the dust from clothes with a skullcap, he headed in the direction of shady willows, where she sat and mischief, Khurshida. He walked along the path, on the way making a bouquet of wildflowers. Butterflies flew, almost touching him...
-Oh, Bonjour, Madam Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pace sua e fusible manege! - said Sultan, using the weight of the Arsenal of French words that he learned in school. Then he went on:
-Then you sit there in the shade like a lazy person, when people are working heroically overcoming all the difficulties and vagaries of nature in the name of our prosperity or the economy of our impoverished country?!
-Moreover, you interfere with the work of guards of the fields, advanced mechanics, blinding their eyes from afar, using the secret weapon of saboteurs, high-power laser mirror- he continued, and smiling cheerfully.
Sufficient working comrade Communist, Monsieur Sultan de La Crua je'mapple a la maison general, la bien, merci beaucoup moi! It's time to move to the shady trees! - Khurshida said, also laughing. After this dialogue, they shook hands and sat side by side.
-What a Scorcher, Lord! - said Sultan, waving his cap like a fan.
-Yeah, don't tell, , Monsieur Sultan de La Crua je'mapple a la maison générale, la tge bien, merci beaucoup moi!. If the spring will be this hot what about in summer? Some natural anomaly now moves into our territory - agreed Khurshida.
Somewhere out there, beyond the olive grove, rhythmically and plaintive moaning, panting from the heat of the wild pigeon gurrak. Two lovers sat silently, listening to the sad moans of a lonely bird.
Khurshida was the first to break the silence.
Last night I slept, and suddenly I dreamt of you - she said.
Yes? I wonder what I was doing there, in your dream - asked Sultan.
Nothing, just led his lone tractor night in the autumn fields in a thick fog.
What are other people's nightmares dreaming of you-said Sultan.
And you only Comedy, whether that dream with the participation of Louis de Funes? - said Khurshida.
- No, why? I dream about drama, soap operas, and documentaries too.
Khurshida laughed, listening to the words of Sultan.
You're straight as Baron Munchausen - she said.
-Oh, if I was a Baron Munchausen! Such a great sage! This literary hero sometimes seems to me to be a historical figure. If you are referring to the falsity of the Background of Baron Munchausen, I think you are greatly mistaken, Mademoiselle. The fact that Baron Munchausen - the true man in the world. Yes, Yes, and don't be surprised. For example, he talks about how he saved himself and his horse, pulling out of a swamp seizing him by the hair, right? But, you know, he's right. That is, the man himself has to rescue himself by pulling himself to the top of your hair, pulling out of the quagmire of sins. Otherwise, he, after his death, will have to burn in a fiery hell. A man saves himself, purged from the swamp slime of sin. When Baron Munchausen says that he flew while riding on the Cannonball, it meant the planet similar to a Cannonball, a flying man, he meant mankind that flies cannon fodder in the giant-called "Earth". Indeed, the core of the Earth moves along its trajectory, and millions of people die in the hot spots of the world. And we of Baron Munchausen laugh, while the need to cry - said Sultan.
Yeah, obviously, you check well-read, wise as a member of the Academy of Sciences, Khurshida smiled, and then asked:
You have, among other things, the Royal name is Sultan! And Sultans rule the state. And why you operate a tractor, ride on your old unit, kicking up dust behind him - Khurshida said smiling.
What's the difference between a tractor driver and Sultans, who is the President of the country? After all, the state is also a tractor driver, right? For example, if I'm wrong I get to drive my tractor; it could easily go off the track and fall into a deep ravine. Also, if the President does not properly manage state, oppressing its people, banning freedom of speech and a free press, illegally extending their powers by bogus referendums, expelled, say their opponents from the country and fabricate against them false accusations, such a state will also collapse along with his driver and a dictator in the political deep ravine, just as incorrectly managed the tractor. I, for example, have to settle for a piece of bread. Go wherever I want and anytime I can go wherever I want. Roam unguarded along the path wide fields, where the walk winds. I stop in the middle of the morning in a field of rye where rye larks sing happily, merrily fluttering in the air. I can spend the night in the fields, lying on the haystack when the haystack is shining bright a month and the diamond lit stars in the dead silence. As well, lie above the stack at night and listen to the murmur of water in the meadows, under the moon, where the swaying sea of daisies. So I have the opportunity and sufficient time to observe the sun at the crimson horizon and the slowly rising moon, to listen to the singing of the crickets and choral croaking of distant frogs, like a whisper. To sleep on a cot at the field camp under the huge willows and poplars, and at night when blowing nice cool breezes carrying the smell of blossoming olives. Wake up in the morning by loud friendly discordant birds, washing transparent dew, quietly to lunch, not thinking about the possibility of poisoning. Then again, somehow, I pause for a moment, only to listen to the sad call of the hoopoe, which was coming from over the fields. Live easily by throwing off all unnecessary loads. Live in harmony with nature.
How about Presidents? They will not step unable to leave their residences without enhanced protection and move freely, as an ordinary person in the city. Live with an overwhelming fear in the heart. They almost do not sleep at night for fear of not going to raise a riot. The angry people, like a Typhoon in the ocean and shudder to think and not hang them, the people who are not happy with their policy. Their hearts are filled with blood when you start to think about their officials, the sycophants in his entourage, who easily turn away from them when they are deprived of the throne of the Sultanate - government, and they will be the first to water them with dirt, praising new Sultan! They are wagging their tails in front of the new ruler, humbly looking into his eyes, raising his eyebrows and smiling lips, like a rosebud.
They can't sleep until the morning. Even the sleeping meds will not help them.
To be a ruler - it's like that burn in hell in life.
So it is better to be Sultan of a tractor than Sultan-ruler - Sultan said, looking thoughtfully at the butterfly that flew over a lonely trail, overgrown from two sides by high grass.
God, what a fragile and delicate winged insect. Quietly roams the field, no noise, like a living image of blessed silence. Even catch them sorry. They say that they live only one day and are not very upset because of this. On the contrary, pleased and satisfied. It's a pitifully short life they spend in joy and peace, flying in the wilderness where there is no noise. Fly in Paradise. Then, not complaining about anything, die quietly. We do not even notice when and how they bid farewell to life, and the people?
They live a relatively long time, but in their long life they absorb the poison of hatred and envy, for profit killing of his brother, mocking the weak and the poor, oppressing the people and forcibly grabbing someone else's business, poisoning the lives of others. People are fighting among themselves, destroy, kill children, destroy whole Nations flattening of the beautiful city, where the wreckage killed innocent people, burned alive in the cellars whole families lying in the streets part of the human body, torso without heads, dead little children with torn feet, crazy mother, looking at the broken shells of the bodies of their small children...
Yes, agreed, Khurshida, also not taking her eyes from the fluttering white butterfly, which flew like a fragile and delicate petal of the flower of acacia.
Chapter 5
Dance lovers
The next day early in the morning Sultan and Khurshida hurried to the camp together to meet the dawn as they agreed yesterday. It turns out that even girls are brave when you fall in love. Love gives us strength and courage. Khurshida hurriedly walked down the deserted morning country road in the direction of the field, where the distant whitened walls field camp was lush. In the silence she heard loud voices just woken up, morning birds, the sounds of their own footsteps, and the rustle of the hem of her dress. She was delighted, seeing from afar her beloved boyfriend Sultan who came before him to the meeting place and waited for her. Excitement Khurshida's heart began to beat faster than normal. When she came to the camp, Sultan stood under the white tree, like Santa Claus under the tree, covered with white snow. Stood and smiled, hiding his hands behind his back. The funny thing was that he was wearing a black coat, a hat and white gloves. He stood leaning on his staff, like Pushkin before the duel with Dantes.
Oh, I see! Who do I see? Madam Duchess Khurshidabanu de La Marquise La tombala neige a pace sua e fusible manege!- loudly and solemnly he said.
When he started to bow, removing the cylinder head, and as if scooping the air, exposing foot forward, then stepping back with a humbly bent head, Khurshida saw in his hands a lush bouquet of flowers dedicated to her. She loudly laughed out loud, seeing prepared the cheerful tractor driver Sultan agreed to the morning to lift her spirits.
Oh, Bonjour, Monsieur Sultan de La Crua je'mapple a la maison générale, la bien, merci beaucoup moi! - greeted Khurshida also bowing deeply. Finally, Sultan ceased to bow the old way, and sat down, standing on one knee and holding out the bouquet.
Khurshida took the bouquet and involuntarily began to smell the flowers, closing his eyes with pleasure.
Oh, what a heavenly scent! What a perfect nostalgic smell! Delicate French perfume! Thank you, Monsieur Sultan de La Crua je'mapple a la maison générale, la tge bien, merci beaucoup moi!, for the beautiful roses! - She said eagerly.
All right, Madam Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pace sua e fusible manege. You can smell these flowers, as they say, -Moi felicitation and... uhh... Vous a la bien said Sultan, putting on his top hat.
Where you bought these wonderful flowers, Monsieur Sultan de La Crua je'mapple a la maison general, la bien, merci beaucoup moi! Expensive perhaps! For dollars, or Uzbek som? Not worth to spend such big money on such an expensive purchase. I would suit wild meadow flowers said Khurshida, smelling a bouquet of red roses.
I never spent a dime or a cent or a shilling or sterling. Am I a fool, or something, to spend fabulous money to buy some flowers? In short, I go once at dawn here, rustling the tails of his old coat, which he took on rent from the father of a friend of the tractor driver Sultan, working and living with your enormous large family and with thick mother-in-law at the theatre of satire and drama named Hajibay Tadjibaev in a hurry to see You, running through the cemetery to gain time. Look on the tombstone, beneath which protruded edge white shroud, lies this bouquet of flowers. Give, I think, will please one Madam Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pace sua e fusible manege, the playpen and picking up his run here - said tractor driver Sultan.
-Oh my God, what are you talking about, Sultan? What a mess, Oh, what a nightmare! Ah, you rascal, Monsieur Sultan de La Crua je m'appelle à la maison générale, la bien, merci beaucoup moi! Take it! On! On! Trickster! Yes, I am gonna hit you with the bouquet!..
With these words,Khurshida began to slap Sultan with the bouquet of flowers, like a Russian slap each other with birch twigs soaked with boiling water in the steam rooms of the baths in the winter, when the low window howling snowstorm, patting the branches of white-trunked birches.
Oh, Madam Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pace sua e fusible manege! Khurshida, what are you doing?! Now quit beating a cemetery broom poor mechanic for our farm name Tillaquduq! You see, Madam Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pace sua e fusible manege, what a beautiful bouquet you made a mess! Well that's not a real bouquet! And from such attacks sharp thorns of these roses would have torn to shreds, the ancient coat of the silver age, which I took on rent from the father of the other driver, whose father works and lives with his large family and many children with thick mother-in-law at the theatre of satire and drama named Hajibay Tajibaev. I was joking! What a joke, is that?! What kind of dictatorship! - defended by the hands of Sultan.
Hearing these words Khurshida stopped beating Sultan with the help of a bouquet, which now resembled an old broom, with which women beat over the head of their drunken husbands, returning home on all fours. Looking at the dismantaled bouquet, she laughed, shaking her shoulders. Sultan laughed too. They laughed for a long time then laughed in a voice not hesitating one, and there is, in principle, in addition to them, there was not a soul .Then they sat side by side at a makeshift field General table under blooming white acacia. Flowers of acacia, like amber bunches, hung over their heads. Here, Khurshida reached out to the white bunches of acacia, covered with morning dew, and when she touched a finger to his soft hands, the petals of the flowers of acacia fell down on the table like small pieces of broken white crockery.
Oh, what have I done! Ah, the poor petals, forgive me! Oh, how I feel sorry for you! -Khurshida said, looking at the fallen petals of acacia flowers and sighed.
Yes-Ah, well, what can you do? In this world everything has an end. Here an acacia, too, loses its flowers, dropping them like tears. This spring says goodbye to us, Madam Madam Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pace sua e fusible manege. - sighed Sultan. Meanwhile in the distance the pale ochre sky turned yellow Cirrus clouds.
Come, Madam Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pace sua e fusible manege, immerse yourself in silence, quiet as the very nature of the way this morning, as these fields, as the morning deserted roads, like paths overgrown from two sides of the spring wildflowers and red poppies, quiet as the ravines where growing silky grass covered with dew - Sultan, looking at the distant horizons, on the field, yellowing of the firmaments.
Yes, Monsieur, not a bad thing, we will turn, though for a while in silence and dissolve in it, as the silhouette of the outgoing belated traveller in the thick autumn fog-agreed Khurshida.
They stared at the field, sitting at a homemade wooden field Desk prescribed under the white acacia. Cloud slowly gaining gold, and then pink outlines, Israelis sharp morning rays of the rising sun. Over the field again merry larks sang, happily fluttering in the air, like miniature tropical birds hummingbirds. Delight forgetting his promise, Khurshida spoke first:
-Sultan, look at the distant mountains, the snow-capped peaks, the expanses, apricot trees, grape orchards, mulberry plantations! Wide fields like the soul of a good man, isn't it?! They seem to Wake up, yawning as the morning sun!
Yes - said the tractor driver Sultan, looking sad into the morning fields.
At this time, poplars in unison began to make birds singing and their voices thunder banged in the silence, and the walls of the field mill echoed. Dissatisfied looking at poplar, where the noisy morning birds, Sultan shouted:
Hey, birds! Would you make the noise like lots of shopkeepers? This silence is broken! Oh, you ill- mannered, uncivilized village! Is talking so loud to each other?! One of you talks and the other listens carefully to him. Not offended, but you are just like our deputates in Parliament, making noise, fighting each other, only know how to gab, bla -bla -bla! - he said.
Then taking Khurshida's hand, smooth as ivory, and gently kiss, said: You do not pay attention to them, Madam Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pace sua e fusible manege. Those silly birds don't realize that it is not good to make noise breaking the morning silence. They do not understand that a person may be disabled in this field of peace, even if not being there is no fighting. But this happens! I, for instance, was a young mechanic, just a few days ago, fighting on this field for their existence, scalded with boiling water and almost died heroically, right? But, thank God, I miraculously survived and nothing happened. Now my leg does not hurt. If you believe me, I can prove it in practice. Dance "Lezgi '' - he said and rose from his seat, went to the site and sang the melody, began to sing the famous energetic dance.
Seeing this, Khurshida laughed. Then she joined Sultan, and together they began to dance until they were tired.
Chapter 6
The inscription on the sand
The southern sun is so unbearable that Sultan began to fear that his brain melted and spilled out of his skull through his eyes. It became impossible to breathe in the stuffy cabin of the tractor because of increased heat from red-hot to the limit of the motor. The radiator was boiling water, as boiling water in a samovar in the shade of the teahouse, around which the trees hung bird cage, the cells in which singing quail.
Sultan stopped his tractor and jumped down, went to the shady trees, simultaneously removing his shirt and swinging it like a fan to at least somehow colder.
Well, the roasting! - he whispered to himself, squatting in the shade of the olives and elms looking at the field, which was dominated by the heat.
The workers have long left the field and sat under the willows and poplars on the Bank of the ditch. There on the shore, where a huge willow made the noise cuckoo. Sultan stood up and walked down the trail which meandered along the canal in lush mulberry trees, olives and elms, in the direction of the field, which recently worked with Khurshida. But somehow on the field she could not be seen.
Apparently, she too was sitting somewhere in the shade of the trees, fleeing the impossible heat. Along the way, Sultan picked wildflowers and wove them a beautiful wreath for his lover to come to her with empty hands. He found it on the edge of the field, where an old single willow grew. Seeing the tractor driver Sultan, Khurshida was happy. They shook hands, not hugging, not kissing and not even shaking hands, cautiously looking round, as though fearing people who could secretly watch them from the bushes.