Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

In autumn Park

(The story)

My interlocutor with a ball-shaped head, slouch like a penguin, without a neck, with a swollen belly and a big posterier, like a huge backpack of tourists, he is named Campircardon.We met him by chance in the autumn Park of Toronto, in the evening, when we were walking our four-legged friends. My Pit bull, Tarzan, started playing with his Doberman.We sat on the Park bench, admiring the red crimson quiet leaf of maple Canada.Campircardon was holding a paper Cup between the palms of his hands, as if warming them in a warm coffee.

- It was very nice to meet you, my friend. To be honest, I've never heard of your country before. Please tell us about your people about their culture and their religion. Like, for example, burying people when they die. It's very interesting to me - I said in broken English.

- Well, if you find it interesting, then I will - said Campircardon looking at his Doberman, which was playing with my Pitbull named Tarzan, running through the Park, rustling the fallen maple leaves. He continued:

- For us when a person dies, he dosent get buried.

- So do they cremate the person, like in India? - I asked.

- No, my friend, they don't cremate us. When someone dies, all his close relatives are invited to the ceremony, the people putting the body of the deceased in a huge pot with water. Then making a fire, they cook it, then gently roasted, and eaten.

This activity allows us to avoid the extra cost of the shroud, the coffin, the grave, the tombstones of black marble and granite and the funeral.We preserve the money. Thus the ground of our  independent country is saved, our planet is decreasing day after day, hour after hour. If it goes at this rate, soon our planet will become a giant cemetery.There will be nowhere to plant fruits, vegetables and crops - he explained.

Hearing this, my jaw dropped in amazement.

- Are you kidding? This never happens! - I said and got up. Then I was about to leave, as they say, away from sin, then Campircardon began to laugh.

- What are you, mate, you don't get the joke? Sit down, I was joking - he said, laughing, catch a glimpse of coffee and smoke a cigar in familiar.
-Well, your jokes - I said, also laughing.

- Joke with joke, but, it turns out in some countries people eat our four-legged friends in restaurants with sauce and salad. God, what blasphemy! But recently I read an article on the Internet that in Central Asia even eat ass! Not somewhere in the teahouse, but in restaurants! This news has shocked me the most -said Campircardon.

- Oh, right. You work as a human rights activist and protect the rights of animals, right?  I said.

- no, I'm not a human rights activist. Well, how do you explain that? In short I feel sorry for the donkeys, as I am also a hereditary donkey, in the truest sense of the word. Yes, Yes, don't be surprised, my friend said Campircardon.

Are you joking again? - I said, about to get up and leave. But Campircardon again stopped me.

- No, my friend, this time I speak quite seriously. You know, sometimes a man will want to pour out his soul to someone wildly. I can see through that you're a good person by nature. So I decided to tell you everything.
In short, my grandmother before her death told me all of this with bitter tears of on her eyes. I still remember her dying words by heart. She said:
- Son, all these years I've been hiding a terrible secret from you.Whatever it is, you still need to know about it and I will be released from this heavy load, it will fly to heaven as a fairy to God Almighty. Son, you're not a man, you're a donkey! Yes, Yes, a thoroughbred donkey! she said, stroking my head.And I silently , sitting on a mattress, my grandmother's stuffed with cotton waste, wiping away surreptitious tears from her eyes, thinking about what my grandmother was delirious on her deathbed.
But here my uncle, with sympathy looking at me through tears, said that my grandmother was telling the truth about what I really was, a donkey.
And my grandmother kept saying:
-Campircardon, Son, we found you a newborn baby in the middle of tall grasses, in the mountains, where your grandfather and uncle lived and grazed a flock of sheep. Around the mountain slopes and snowy peaks, where the clouds crawled, through the gorges and the pass, like gray dragons. We found you, thanks to a huge dog named Kaitmas, who was worried when she heard you crying. There you were, wrapped in an old and torn sweatshirt.Oh how I cried then, taking you in my arms, poor little donkey, thinking, what heartless ruthless people abandoned such a helpless tiny newborn baby and left one in the mountains, where hungry wolves roam at night. Then, booming thunder right above our heads and flashed a terrible lightning in the darkened sky. It started to pour hard rain as if it was released from a bucket so I ran toward the Yurt, constructed from felt. Seeing you, your grandfather, the Kingdom of heaven, was glad he had a little boy, saying that we now have two sons. But when we heard you cry, we were cold with fear. When you cried, you screamed like a colt. I mean, jackal.We were scared.But despite that, I tried to calm you down. I fed you cow milk from a bottle with which we sometimes fed orphaned calves. Looking at you, your grandfather offered to take you back to where we found you.

- This is not a human child and when he grows up, he will become a mean, envious, vile and small type and a source of misfortune. Let the wolves eat him, he said.

- No, he stays here and I'll take care of him! He's human. He just has a donkey voice. Over time, he will get rid of this and become a normal child - I said firmly. So you became a full member of our family. You began to grow, playing among the sheep, their feet hurt and you would bite them like a donkey. Because there were no children in the mountains. villages and mountain villages were far away. All the problems started later.When you turned school age, you had to go to school and learn among normal guys. And you were with the character of the donkey is still kicking, lying on the grass, lifting his arms and legs up, you rubbed sideways on trees, tilting your neck forward and closing your eyes in pleasure.That's why we didn't send you to school. I started teaching you myself. Finally, I managed to wean you off, to kick, bite, to rub against the tree and shout ugly bass like donkeys. Now, I'm out of life and I want you to study in universities, not shout randomly in the afternoon as your ancestors - she said at last. Then she died. And then I remembered everything. I  learned, I became a member of Parliament and later a Congressman in Congress, thanks to my associates and friends. Everyone respected me as a good person, as a kind and honest leader, no one, not even the naive people did not realize that I was not a man, but a donkey! They did not know how I steal people's money in various ways and smuggle billions across offshore zones to foreign banks, as they say on his rainy day. They did not know how I raider seizure selected someone else's business, free privatization of large factories in the name of their sons and daughters. Since, as the mass popular unrest against corruption and the vile dictatorship began, I fled together with the tyrant, the former dictator, from the country, leaving my family, first to Europe, and then here, to the West. Here I lost literally everything. Lost all my money at the casino. You think this Doberman is my damn dog? No, I walk the dog of one emigrant and every day I feed it, bathe it, clean its luxurious two-room kennel with a basement and get a weekly meager salary for it. He used to live in a shelter for the homeless. But there it turns out not all  people are so nice. So I had to change my place. I'm living in a vent in an abandoned house.It's dark and damp, the eyes of rabid rats are burning.In late autumn and winter I spend my days in supermarkets to warm up. In the evening I return to the ventilation pipe.I'm afraid of freezing or starving. But since I'm a donkey, sometimes I manage to satisfy my hunger with armfuls of dry grass, collecting it on the field, when a Blizzard howls, it's reminiscent of ballerinas who dance easily on tiptoe. Oh, if you knew how I sometimes feel like going, dutifully dragging a cart with a drunk and angry owner who has a long leather whip whistling in his hands with a propeller. How do you want three on the tree, eating the grass peacefully and silently grazing in the misty meadows. My donkey soul longs for the summer sultry fields, over which the larks sing loudly, pouring a trill, where the hoopoes cry and the sad voice of a lonely cuckoo is heard from the distance. I want to shout loudly, stretching my neck forward like a donkey in the summer fields, where people collect hay, where the July marevo trembles over the country road... With these words Mr. Campircardon paused for a moment.I thought he was gonna laugh and then he said he was joking again. No, on the contrary, he began to cry, rubbing his shoulders. I felt sorry for him and I didn't know how to calm him. Here Campircardon sharply raising his cuts in his head, he began to speak:

-No, I'm in such a cruel country where people lose their condition in a matter of minutes and will be on the street, I will no longer live! I'd rather go to my country and work there obediently, dragging a cart in the markets where people sell bananas, pineapples and oranges briskly! Let me go to jail for a hundred years! Go and fall at the feet of the new President of the country, i'll ask for forgiveness, dropping my tears on his boots and shining them!

Hearing the sound of Campircardon passer-by's began to look back.
I called, whistling my pit bull, named Tarzan, to go home quickly.But Campircardon, as if trying to stop me, said:

- You. I thought I'd finally found a good man and the most loyal friend in the world. And you, like everyone else, doubt that I'm an ass.

With these words Mr. Campircardon began to shout loudly, a raspy voice like a donkey at the summer barn, stretching his neck forward and closed his eyes in pleasure.

- Heee haaaaw heeeeeee haaaaaaaaaaaw!



11/08/2018.
5: 49 PM.
Canada, Ontario.

Лариса Кузьминская

Родилась в г. Ялте. Более 20 лет жила в Таллине в Эстонии. С 1987 года живёт в Москве. Поэт, член Союза писателей России, член Московской писательской организации. Стихи и переводы эстонской поэзии были опубликованы в разные годы в газетах «Литературная газета», «Литературная Россия», в журнале «Огонёк», в сборниках и альманахах: «День поэзии», «Поэзия», «Молодая  гвардия»,  «Работница»,  в  эстонских  русскоязычных изданиях – в журнале «Радуга» и «Таллин», в коллективных сборниках Латвии, Украины, Швеции, переводились на польский и шведский язык. Автор 7 поэтических сборников и 1 аудиодиска – мелодекламация «Под знаком осени». В июле 2007 года основала Региональный Общественный Фонд содействия развитию современной поэзии «СВЕТОЧ». Является автором – составителем коллективных сборников  стихов  проекта  «БИБЛИОТЕКА  СОВРЕМЕННОЙ ПОЭЗИИ». За 12 лет существования проекта издала более 150 коллективных и авторских сборников стихов. Награждена орденом В. Маяковского, медалью И. Бунина.

Из очень тонких, нежных нитей

Марине Цветаевой

Из очень тонких, нежных нитей
Плетутся судьбы у поэтов,
Из озарений и наитий...
Четверостиший и сонетов.

Они не ищут вечной славы
И не желают быть в фаворе,
Как самоцветы без оправы,
Как блики солнца на фарфоре.

Из очень тонких, нежных нитей
Плетутся судьбы у поэтов,
Стихи их вечная обитель,
И грустен взгляд их на портретах.

Лужица.Книжица. Узница. Гвоздь

М.Ц.

Зеркало – лужица –
Вот и смотрись...
Ведь недоступна небесная высь...
Стерпится, сдюжится.
Тонкая книжица –
Вот и листай...
Будет страница одна, что из ста...
Будет и ижица.
Вольная узница...
Вот и летай...
Только снежинкою белой не тай...
Слову союзница.
Лужица. Книжица.
Узница. Гвоздь.
С ветки упала пунцовая гроздь.
Слёзы и кровь – бесполезная жижица.
Тело с душою летают поврозь.

Нитка тонкая судьбы

Марине Цветаевой

Нитка тонкая судьбы
Стала толстою верёвкой,
Стала смертью и воровкой...
Бесполезные мольбы.

Ты бездомна тут и там...
Ты Вселенной звёздной гостья,
И горят рябины гроздья
На пути, ведущем в храм.

Не отпета, но воспета...
Тонким кантом переплёта,
Ведь рождённой для полета
Ты была. Сама планета.

Море. Осень. Берег дальний...
Живописнейший триптих.
И летит твой вечный стих
В мир прекрасный и бескрайний.

Я спрошу сегодня у цветов

Я спрошу сегодня у цветов,
Что в молчанье дремлют у пруда,
Где как небо синяя вода:
«Где мой берег, долгожданный кров?»

Не ответят спящие цветы,
Им вопрос мой странный не знаком,
У пруда их вечный кров и дом,
Их стихия – бездна немоты.

Ну а мне Бог подарил язык
И вручил мне сушу и моря,
Значит, в мире этом я не зря,
И звучит мой стихотворный крик.

Скользнет луч лунный на чело

Скользнёт луч лунный на чело...
Бумаги тронет лист,
В руке хрустальное стило
И белых штор батист.

И в этом лунном мираже...
Ко мне строка придёт...
Подарит новый мне сюжет.
В мир окна распахнёт,

И воск струящийся свечи
Застынет, словно лёд,
Истают лунные лучи.
Рассвет свой свет прольёт.

Закрою тонкую тетрадь
И отложу стило...
Повсюду солнца благодать
И летнее тепло.

Глядеться в зеркало

Глядеться в зеркало
и видеть в нем весь мир...
Таким талантом наделён поэт,
И ритм струится звуком кастаньет...

И в такт вибрирует космический эфир.
И сам поэт, как инопланетянин...
Не приспособлен в этом мире ни к чему,
И то ему поставлено в вину.

Дитя Венеры он – венерианин...
Гармония и мир несовместимы...
Но как поэту это воспринять?
И путь его не обернётся вспять.

Пути Господни неисповедимы...

Холдор Вулкан

Член Союза писателей Узбекистана

 

В осеннем парке

 

(Рассказ)

Моего собеседника с шараобразной головой, сутулого, как пингвин, почти без шеи, с вздутым животом и с большой задницей, похожей на огромный рюкзак, зовут Кампиркардоном.С ним мы познакомились случайно в осеннем парке Торонто, вечером, когда мы выгуливали своих четвероногих друзей. Мой питбул по кличке Тарзан начал резвиться с его доберманом.Мы сели на скамейку парка, любуясь рыжим багровым тихим листопадом кленовой Канады.Кампиркардон держал бумажный стакан между ладонями своих рук, как бы грея их теплом грячего кофе.

- Было очень приятно с вами познакомиться, мой друг. Если честно, я раньше никогда не слышал о вашей стране.Расскажите, пожалуйста о своем народе о его культуре о его религии. Как, например, хоронят у вас людей, когда они умерают.Это мне очень интересно -сказал я на ломаном английском языке.

-Ну что же, раз это вам интересно, то слушайте -сказал Кампиркардон, глядя на свой доберман, который играл с моим питбулом по кличке Тарзан, бегая по парку, шурша опавшими кленовыми листьями. Потом продолжал:

-У нас, когда умерает человек, его не хоронят.

-А, кремируют что ли, как в Индии? -поинтересовался я.

-Нет, мой друг, у нас не кремируют.Когда кто то умирает, собираются все его близкие с родственниками, приглашают на церемонию народ, положив тело усопшего в огромный котел с водой. Потом разводя огонь, варят его, после чего аккуратно зажарив, сьедят.

Это мероприятия позволяет нам избегать лишних затрат на саван, на гроб, на могилу, на надгробные камни из черного мрамора и гранита и на поминки.Мы сэканомим таким образом землю нашей необятной независимой страны, когда численность насиления планеты растет день за днем, час за часом. Если дело пойдет такими темпами, то вскором времени наша планета станет гигантским кладбищем.Негде будет вырашивать фрукты, овощи и зерновые культуры - пояснил он.

Услышав такое, у меня челюсть отвисла от изумления.

-Нииифига себе!Вы шутите что ли?Такого не бывает! -сказал я и привстал.Потом хотел было уходить, как говориться от греха подальше, тут Кампиркардон начал смеяться.

-Вы чего, приятель, шутку что ли не понемаете? Садитесь, я пошутил - сказал он, смеясь, мелько хлебая кофе и дымя сигарой в зубах.
-Ну и ваши шутки - сказал я, тоже смеясь.

-Шутка с шуткой, но, оказывается в некоторых странах люди едят наших четвераногих друзей в ресторанах с соусом и салатом.Боже, какое кощунство! А вот совсем недавно я читал статью на интернете о том, что в Центральной Азии едят даже осла! Не где нибудь в чайхане, а в ресторанах! Эта новость шокировала меня больше всего -сказал Кампиркардон.

-А, понятно. Вы работаете правозащитником и защищаете прав животных да? - сказал я.

-Да, нет, я не правозащитник.Ну, как вам объяснить то? Короче мне жалко ослов, так как я тоже потомственный осел, в прямом смысле этого слово.Да да, не удивляйтесь, мой друг -сказал Кампиркардон.

-А вы опять шутите? - сказал я, собираясь встать и уйти.Но Кампиркардон снова меня остановил.

- Нет, мой друг, на сей раз я говорю вполне серьезно.Знаете, иногда человеку дико захочется кому то излить душу. Я насквозь вижу, что вы по природе неплохой человек.Вот и решил я рассказать вам обо всем.

Короче, моя бабушка перед своей смерти рассказала мне все это с горькими слезами на глазах.Ее предсмертные слова я помню до сих пор и наизусть. Она сказала:

-Сынок, все эти годы я скрывала страшную тайну от тебя.Что бы ни было, ты, всеравно должен знать об этом и я освободясь от этого тяжелого груза, полечу в небеса, как фея к Всевышнему Богу.Сынок, ты не человек, а осел!Да да, породистый осел! -сказала она, поглаживая мне голову.А я безмолвно плакал, тресясь всем телом, сидя у матраса моей умерающей бабушки,набитого отходами хлопка, утирая тайком слезы с глаз, подумав о том, что бабушка моя бредит на смертном одре.

Но тут дядя мой, с сочувствием глядя на меня сквозь слезы, сказал, что бабушка говорит правду о том, что я в самом деле осел.

А бабушка моя все продолжала говорить:

-Кампиркардон, Сынок, мы нашли тебя новорожденным малышом посреди высоких трав, в горах, где мы с твоим дедом и дядей жили и пасли отару овец.Кругом горные склоны и снежные вершины, где ползли облака, по ущелиям и по перевалом, словно серые драконы.Мы нашли тебя, благодаря нащей огромной собаки по породе алапай, по кличке Кайтмас, которая забеспокоилась, услышав твой плач.Там ты лежал, завернутым в старую и рваную фуфайку.О как я плакала тогда, беря тебя на свои руки, бедненький мой ослёнок, думая, какие бездушные безжалостные люди бросили такого беспомощного крохотного новорожденного малыша и оставили одну в горах, где рышут по ночам голодные волки.Как тогда заргемели раскатистые громы прямо над нашими головами и засверкали страшные молнии в потемневшем небе.Начал лить ведром внезапный шумный летний дождь и я побежала в сторону юрты, построенный из войлока.Увидев тебя твой дед, царство ему небесное, обрадовался как маленький, говоря, что у нас теперь двое сыновей.Но, услышав твой плач, мы замерли от страха.Потому что ты не плакал, а кричал как ослёнок.То есть иакал.Мы испугались.Но несмотря на это, я постаралась тебя успокоит.Накормила тебя коровьим молоком из бутылочки, с помощью которой мы кормили иногда осиротевших телят.Глядя на тебя твой дед предложил отнести тебя обратно туда, где мы тебя нашли.

-Это не человеческое дитя и когда он вырастит, он станет подлым, завистливым, мерзким и мелким типом и источником несчастье.Пускай сьедят его волки -сказал он.

-Нет, он останется здесь и я сама позабочусь о нем! Он человек.Только у него ишачий голос.Со временем он избавится от этого и станет норьмальным ребенком - сказала я твердо.Таким образом ты стал полноправным членом нашей семьи.Начал расти, играя среди овец, лягая их ногами и больно кусая их как ослы.Потому что в горах не были дети.До аулов и горных деревень было далеко.Все проблемы начались потом.Когда тебе стукнуло школьный возраст, ты должен был пойти в школу и учиться среди норьмальных ребят. А ты был с характером осла, все еще лягал, валялся на траве, поднимая руки и ноги вверх, терся боком о деревья и громко кричаль вполдень, вытенув свою шею вперед и закрыв глаза от удовольствия.По этому мы не отдали тебе в школу.Я сама начала тебя учить.Наконец мне удалось отучить тебя лягать, кусать, треться об дерево и кричать некрасивым басом как ослы.Теперь вот, я ухожу из жизни и я хочу, чтобы ты учился в вузах, не закричал случайно в полдень как твои предки -сказала она на последок.Потом умерла.А дальше сам все помню.Учился, стал депутатом парламента страны и позже конгрессменом в конгрессе, благодаря своим единомышленникам и друзьям.Все меня уважали как хорошего человека, как доброго и честного руководителя, никто, даже наивный народ не догадывался о том, что я не человек, а осел!Они не знали, как я ворую народные деньги, различными способами и переправляю сворованные миллиарды через офшорные зоны в зарубежные банки, как говориться на свой черный день.Не знали как я рейдерским захватом отбирал чужой бизнес, бесплатно приватизируя крупные заводы и фабрики на имя своих сыновей и дочерей.После того, как начались массовые народные волнения против коррупции и мерзкой диктатуры, я бежал вместе с тираном, бывшим диктаором, из страны, оставляя свою семью, сначало в Европу, а потом сюда, на Запад.Здесь я потерял буквально все.Проиграл все свои состояния в покер в казино.Вы думаете, что этот доберман проклятый моя собака? Не а. Я выгуливаю собаку одного эммигранта и каждый день кормлю ее, купаю, чищу ее роскошную двухкомнатную конуру с подвалом и получаю за это еженедельную мизерную зарплату.Сам раньше жил в бесплатном шелтере для бездомных.Но там оказывается живут не очень хорошие люди.Поэтому мне пришлось изменить свое жилье.Я сейчас живу в вентиляционной трубе одного заброшенного дома.Там темно и сыро, горят глаза бешенных крыс.Поздней осенью и зимой я коротаю дни в супермаркетах, чтобы погреться.Вечером снова возвращаюсь в вентиляцинную трубу сквазь метель.Боюсь замерзнуть или умереть от голода.Но так как я осел, иногда умудряюсь утолить свой голод охапками сухой травы, собирая их на поле, когда воет вьюга и несутся поземки, напоминающие балерин, которые танцуют легко на цыпочках.О если бы вы знали о том, как мне иногда хочется идти, послушно волоча телегу с пьяным и злым хозяином у которого в руках вертится пропеллером свистящий длинный кожанный кнут. Как хочется треться о дерево, лопать траву, мирно и молча пастись в туманных лугах.Моя ишачая душа тоскует по летним знойным полям, над которым звонко поют жаворонки, заливаясь трелью, где плачут удоды и доносится печалний голос одинокой кукушки издалека. Хочется громко крикнуть, вытянув свою шею вперёд, как осел на летных полях, где люди собирают сено, где дрожит над проселочной дорогой июльское марево... Такими словами мистер Кампиркардон умолк на миг.Я думал, что он вот вот засмеется и скажет, что снова пошутил.Нет, наоборот он начал плакать, треся плечами.Мне жалко стало его и я не знал как его успокоит.Тут Кампиркардон резко подняв свою постриженную в полубокс голову, начал говорить:

-Нет, я в такой жестокой безжалостной стране, где человек лишится своего многомилярдного состаяние за считанные минуты и окажется на улице, больше не буду жить!Я лучше поеду в свою страну и там буду покорно работать, волоча телегу на рынках, где люди бойко торгуют бананами, ананасами и апельсинами!Пускай меня посадят на сто лет!Пойду и упаду в ноги нового президента страны, попращу у него прощения, роняя свои крупные слезы на его почищенные гуталином хромовые сапоги с длинными и коженными голенишами!

Услышав шум Кампиркардона прохожие начали оглядываться назад.
Я позвал, свистя свою собаку по породе питбул, по кличке Тарзан, чтобы уходить побыстрее домой.Но Кампиркардон, как бы стараясь остановить меня, сказал:

-Эх, вы.Я думал, что нашел наконец хорошего человека и самого верного друга на свете.А вы как все остальные люди сомневаетесь в том, что я осел.

Такими словами мистер Кампиркардон начал громко кричать скрипучим голосом как осел на летнем сеновале, вытянув свою шею вперёд и закрыв глаза от удовольствия.

- Чиййй - о! Чий о, чий о! Чий -оооооооооооооооо!



11/08/2018.
5:49 дня.
Канада, Онтерио.

 

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

Letters of Mizhappar

(The short novel)

(In loving memory of the great humorist of Uzbekistan Hadjibay Tadjibayev)

The 12th letter of Mizhappar

Once we freed Qurumboy, we went to the river to bathe. Qurumboy also bathed, washed his clothes, sitting on a huge stone, he cleaned his boots too. Then we went back to the office again, and at the mailbox of our party we found a letter of invitation written on a page from the General notebook. It looked like this:
"Yuldashvoy if you received this letter, respond immediately. Because we recently married you! Your uncles, Halimjan with Alimjan was looking for you everywhere and did not find you. Where are you going, son? Here we have sitting your bride, Johongul, with a huge chest and a huge mirror, and you don't. The parents of your fiancée have lately started to question whether you exist in this world or not. Come quickly, son, we will not give your photo to the native police, and she declared what you wanted.

Your mother Tulfuza.

After reading the letter, Yuldashvoy was sweating.
- Geeee -he said, wiping his neck with his old, worn-out skullcap. Then he continue:
- Turns out I was married. I have to go, friends, before they pass my sketch to Interpol. Let me go, comrade Commissioner? - Yuldashvoy gathered to return home.
-Yes, I think you can go, comrade Yuldashvoy. And we, too, need go with you - said Qurumboy, lighting up his pipe, stuffing it with straw.
- No, no, comrades, for the love of the light, in any case do not go with me. You're not invited. They only asked me to come - said Yuldashvoy and he started to leave. When he disappeared from our line of sight, we still followed him. We quietly, with bated breath, began to watch Yuldashvoy through an opening in a mud wall. .Yuldashvoy went into the house and said hello to his mother Tulfuza.
- Here, son? Well finally- cried his mother Tulfuza. Then he said :
- You sit down first and eat tight. On the table is, everything except the vodka, son. You're eating. And I'll bring you some new clothes that your fiancée's parents bought for you. Then redeem as follows in the ditch,  get dressed into new clothes, go to "Chimildik", where your young beautiful lady Johongul has been waiting days for you.
-Well, mom - said Yuldashvoy. He sat down on the matress and hungrily began to eat the delicacies. After eating, he took the soap and headed towards the ditch, where the ducks were swimming with their ducklings. Yuldashvoy plunged into the water and began to enjoy it. He bathed and bathed for a long time. Coming out of the ditch, he wiped himself with a towel, put on clean clothes and walked towards the house, where he was waiting for his bride.
By this time we changed the place of observation and through a gentle and transparent curtain stretched on the window, we continued to secretly do surveillance of objects. When Yuldashvoy came into the room, a fat lady without a neck began to greet him.
-Oh, finally, you'ye heye Yuldashvoy! Aye you came, my deay! Oh, how I waited these days, my beloved! I knew you waited, too. Let me see youy yadiant face! Let petiolate Youy beautiful hands and cuyly haiy! Come and sit close to me! Take off youy taypaulin boots vitout the soles, be late, my deay. Feel like a cow in a inside house! - she said.
Yuldashvoy regarded Johongul with surprise and said:
- You have a problem, why can't say the letter "r" instead pronouncing "y", Johongul? Or are you saying that on purpose, that is, you're making fun of me? - Yuldashvoy with sorrow.
-No, You, my deay, I didn't mean to. My metal teeth, aye botheying me when i speak. the stupid dentist, lied to me. I paid a lot of money foy yemovable aytificial teeth with gold cyowns, and he, the bastayd, made my teeth fyom not gold, he installed them in tin mateyial and I can't close my mouth. If you want, I can take them off and put them in this glass jar of water, my favorite - said Johongul and removing her removable teeth, she put them in a jar. Then she began to beg: - Yuldashvoy, sit closey to me, I have weak eyeshight, even with the contact lens I can not cleayly see you, come closey my don Quixote! Let me look at youy eyes and beautful face! Why do You feay  my hands, made of alabastey? Don't woyey, I can take it off them and put them on a table befoye I sleep. My hands are also yemovable and they twist like a light bulb. Oy do you have a pyoblem with my slanting eyes? Oh,don't be shy, foy God's sake, say it to my face. Maybe you don't need my haiy! In that case, I can take my wig off,  foy the sepayation we have enduyed all these yeays and foy our bittey teays and joys, foy the sake of suffeying...
With these words, Johongul took off her wig and looked like a bald doll. Yuldashvoy got scared and stepped back. We were scared.
-Johongul your body is in no healthy places - said Yuldoshvoy, heading to the door.
Johongul, feeling women's intuition impending separation, began to cry:
- Wait, wheye aye you going, sellout?! Don't leave me in the desolate of was lucky! I hope you get eaten by hungy yats in a dayk basement! With these words she threw her removable Oldesloe hand thread at Yuldashvoy. Then he retreated. His Face turned pale with fear like lime. When he came out on the porch, Johongul threw her plastic leg. Yuldashvoy in horror ran out into the street. We also ran long behind Yuldashvoy, and, panting, stopped by our office. Yuldashvoy now lying in the trough for the pigs. He's sick. His mouth curled in fear. For this reason, I am forced to put the point in his letter, Mr. Sitmrat.

Be always healthy and cheerful.

Sincerely, guard of Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy martial artist Mizhappar.




September 15, 2008. 07 minutes 2 Th. Night.
Abandoned pigsty by the river.

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

Letters of Mizhappar

(The short novel)

(In loving memory of the great humorist of Uzbekistan Hadjibay Tadjibayev)

The 11th letter of Mizhappar

Hello, Mr. Sitmirat!

Having carried out a historic event called "Congress", we returned to the pigsty, where the office of our party is located. leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy said:
- Thank nature and Charles Darwin, we have food supply now! This is a good thing. But at the same time, we must learn how to save food and learn the art of survival in harsh conditions. That is, we must learn to eat raw and without feeling disgust, such as ants, spiders, worms, mantises, crickets, dragonflies, flies, butterflies, bugs , centipedes , scorpions - up to poisonous snakes . This is very important, comrades. I have a little surprise for you. When I went up to the roof of the pigsty  to check whether the bird of happiness settled "Gamayun", in a three-room birdhouse with a balcony, which we built with you, instead of "Gamayun", I found a turtle dove, which we have called "musucha", and caught her. Here she is. With these words leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy pulled a live dove out of the pocket of his overcoat. Then continued:
- I wanted to show you, comrades, you have to eat a bird to begin with, not only in the ser, but alive! Look... and learn... Having finished his speech, Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy ate a dove alive. Poor dove fluttered and flapped, fluttered from the pain, not of joy, of course. Unable to withstand such a severe test, he ran out into the street, covering his mouth, so he did not vomit. But he couldn't. How to puke if there is nothing in his stomach but air. After hour leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy got sick. He complained of severe pain in the abdomen.
- What is it, comrade Commander? - Mamadiyar asked.
- Hear, the Revolution started - said leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy, writhing in pain and making a face.
- Where the revolution began, Mr. Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy? - I was surprised.
- In my stomach, the guard Mizhappar! - said Qurumboy.
I'll have to call the team "Ambulance", the fellow told me.
But unfortunately, at the grave of the phone Qurumboy exhausted. To the village was far away. So Yuldashvoy climbed onto the roof of the pigsty and started calling the ambulance verbally. That's when I was firmly convinced that the most durable thing in the world, it's a man's throat. It's like a rubber band tightened, but not torn. Yuldashvoy shouted in a shrill voice for so long that finally appeared on the horizon the doctor with the nurse. As they approached, it became clear that they due to the shortage of petrol, bike. The doctor in a white coat was driving a bicycle, and a young nurse was sitting in front, on the frame. On the trunk of a large old-fashioned suitcase with the emblem of the"red cross". When they arrived, we found out that the front suitcase was made of plywood. The doctor in overcoat checked the stomach of Qurumboy using a wooden tool similar to a horn, and asked:
- What did you eat, sir?
The turtledove replied with leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy and groaned from the pain.
The doctor came up to us and said in a whisper:
- Everyone, im sorry to say. The patient had contracted Ebola. Medicine is powerless before this disease. This is an incurable, terrible plague, and it is very quickly transmitted from the patient to another person through the respiratory tract. A person who has caught this disease, intestines, and other entrails, in two hours can turn into a bloody slime. So gentlemen, you have two more hours to say goodbye to your leader.
Hearing these words, leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy in panic cried, lying on a rusty trough for pigs in a coffin without a lid.
We began to beg the doctor to have it checked again leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy.
- Please, doctor, check again. We have some good potatoes, if you like. Open your suitcase. Go ahead, open it. We want to give you some of these potatoes. Nice potatoes. Grown in the fields of Chernobyl, where the nuclear power plant exploded. Very tasty potatoes. Your children Will be glad if Your wife cooks for them from this potato puree or soup - I told.
- No, don't give me it, it's uncomfortable... - the doctor said.

- Doctor, it's not a bribe, don't worry. It's just for you as a present, do it now - said Mamadiar. Yuldashvoy put all the potatoes in the doctor's suitcase.
- Well, if it's a gift,I will. Thanks. Let me recheck your sick leader - the doctor said. Removing the overcoat of Qurumboy, he began to examine his abdomen. After a few minutes he smiled guiltily and said::
- I think I was wrong, gentlemen. Your commander can be cured. Now I'm going to give him a pill, let him take it three times a day. Damn where is it, the pill... I really lost it... no, that can't be right... Ah, there. With that, the doctor, with shaking hands, took out a yellow, dirty pill from his pants pocket and accidentally dropped it. We all started looking for a pill that the doctor had inadvertently dropped. We've been looking for. Finally, we managed to find it in the straw, and we handed it to the doctor. The doctor gave this pill to Qurumboy and told him to swallow it. Qurumboy swallowed the pill and we escorted, thanking the doctor and his young nurse. They went to the bike, tied the rope to the trunk of a huge suitcase made of plywood, filled with potatoes, which I brought back from the Olympics. It turns out that we shouldn't have sent the doctor back. Because, after Qurumboy swallowed the pill, his situation deteriorated dramatically. Now he had to go to the bathroom. In the office it can not be done, you know, we strictly observe hygiene. The bathroom, where he usually went to relieve himself, was far away. Despite this, we decided to take Qurumboy there and lifting it, went to the edge of the field where could be seen a lone toilet the foreman, which he built from the glands from the barrels of pesticides to previous generations, as if building a monument. The roof of that toilet was also made of iron from pesticide barrels and attached firmly on all sides by welding to prevent boards from rotting in the rain and snow. Qurumboy went to the toilet, and we closed the door. We, like sentries, stood near the toilet. From the toilet was heard unpleasant sounds with groans the leader of our party. After two hours, if not more, the door slammed, but opened. Then there was the sound of blunt blows on it. After a few seconds Qurumboy nervously shouted:
- Mizhappar! Yuldashvoy! Mamadiyar! Open the door, the lock must be jammed!.. We thought the Qurumboy was pulling the door in the wrong direction. It turns out our leader was actually trapped. We tried to open the door, but we couldn't. From toilet began to be heard badmouthing fellow leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy.
- Open up! Or I will kill everyone of you? I knew it! Well, bastards! When I'm free, I'll have you all court-martialed as enemies of the people! Oh, what a naive and trusting Chairman of the revolutionary Committee I am! How I did not immediately realize that this doctor with his young nurse, who came by Bicycle with a huge front-line suitcase made of plywood, were also secret employees of the NSC! They gave me a specially expired pill to make me suffer from diarrhea. Now, locked! Open, jackals! Who are talking about?! - Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy screaming, kicking the walls of the toilet with his tarpaulin boots without soles.
- Comrade commander, please! The lock on the bathroom door must be jammed! We unfortunately do not have the key to this lock! Sit down, we'll figure something out and develop a secret plan to save Your life!  I said, calming our leader.
- Come on, quick, you idiots! Court jesters! - said Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy.
We Mamadiar ran towards the village, and Yuldashvoy left to hold a strategic building with Qurumboy. We ran across the cotton field without looking back. When we reached the center, there, near school, saw the crane which stood on a roadside. The driver of the crane was a good person, and he agreed to help us when we explained the situation. The driver told us to get in the cab. We got in, and the car went. Yuldashvoy waved his worn skull-cap, as it helps to navigate. We arrived, and, having tied by means of a cable, started lifting an ill-fated toilet. It was a strategic plan. We knew from the floors that were wooden and decided to release Qurumboy, breaking these boards when I raised the toilet.
The driver was not only a good man, but also a professional of his work. He successfully lifted the iron toilet. The toilet was swinging in the air like an old fridge being thrown into the scrap. Inside the toilet nervously shouted the leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy.
- Yes, what are you doing, bastards?! Why is the toilet swinging?! Do you send me in a container by helicopter?! - he was nervous.
There was trouble. Wood floors toilet suddenly turned and Qurumboy fell into the pit toilet, together with fragments of boards from the old, rotten floor. We barely pulled Qurumboy from the well. After this incident, Qurumboy promised never to eat meat raw. Given the ability of Qurumboy to learn from their mistakes, I think he is also not a bad person. After all, everyone has their own character, which not everybody likes, right, Mr. Sitmrat?!
Most importantly, leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy didn't die heroically in the toilet. Everything else is fixable.
With respect, guard leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy, famous martial artist Mizhappar.



September 10, 2008.
2:07 PM.
Village "Chapaev".