Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

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.



Copying, distribution, and commercial use the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" without the written consent of the copyright holder is prohibited.

Sincerely, Holder Volcano.

"Falling leaves"

(The short novel)

(Translated by author)


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.








Дехқон пахта ҳақида, дурадгор тахта ҳақида, бўзчи бўз ҳақида, шоирлар сўз ҳақида доимий ўйлагани ва ўша ўйлаган нарсаси бидан шуғиллангани каби, ким нима ҳақида кўп гапирса ва кўп ўйласа, билингки, у кимса ўша иш билан мунтазам ва астойдил шуғилланади.

Холдор Вулқон.


Ўзбекистоннинг ягона Миллий Ахборот Агентлиги -Ўз.А журналист Аббосбек Йўлдошев билан менинг бадиий адабиёт ҳақидаги суҳбатимни ўз расмий сайтида чоп этгани учун Ўз.А Миллий Ахборот Агентлигининг мутасадди раҳбарларига ва журналистларига чуқур миннатдорчилик билдираман.

Ҳурмат билан, Холдор Вулқон.


Курсор қуйидаги ишорага босилса, линк очилади.





Мен умримда кўрмаган, учрашмаган, етти ухлаб, тушимга ҳам кирмаган муҳлис "Ридли" электрон кутубхонасида қуйидаги юрак сўзларини ёзиб қолдирибди.У ҳатто "литературный гений" дейишгача борибди. Мен бу билан кибрланаётганим ё мақтанаётганим йўқ. Ўзингники ўзагингни кесадиган бу дунёда ҳақиқат ва адолат бор эканлигини кўриб, қувонмоқдаман ҳалос.



Отзыв неизвестного читателя о повести Холдора Вулкана "Листопад" в электронной библиотеке "Ридли".

Уважаемые читатели, искренне надеемся, что книга "Листопад" Холдора Вулкана окажется не похожей ни на одну из уже прочитанных Вами в данном жанре. Не остаются и без внимания сквозные образы, появляясь в разных местах текста они великолепно гармонируют с основной линией. Очевидно, что проблемы, здесь затронутые, не потеряют своей актуальности ни во времени, ни в пространстве. Значительное внимание уделяется месту происходящих событий, что придает красочности и реалистичности происходящего. Увлекательно, порой смешно, весьма трогательно, дает возможность задуматься о себе, навевая воспоминания из жизни. Портрет главного героя подобран очень удачно, с первых строк проникаешься к нему симпатией, сопереживаешь ему, радуешься его успехам, огорчаешься неудачами. Чувствуется определенная особенность, попытка выйти за рамки основной идеи и внести ту неповторимость, благодаря которой появляется желание вернуться к прочитанному. По мере приближения к исходу, важным становится более великое и красивое, ловко спрятанное, нежели то, что казалось на первый взгляд. По мере приближения к апофеозу невольно замирает дух и в последствии чувствуется желание к последующему многократному чтению. Помимо увлекательного, захватывающего и интересного повествования, в сюжете также сохраняется логичность и последовательность событий. На первый взгляд сочетание любви и дружбы кажется обыденным и приевшимся, но впоследствии приходишь к выводу очевидности выбранной проблематики. Повесть Холдора Вулкана "Листопад" весьма интересное и захватывающее литературное произведение.

Второй отзыв неизвестного читателя о повести Холдора Вулкана "Листопад" в электронной библиотеке "Ридли"

Дорогие читатели, есть книги интересные, а есть - очень интересные. К какому разряду отнести повесть Холдора Вулкана "Листопад", решать Вам! Невольно проживаешь книгу. То исчезаешь полностью в ней, то возобновляешься, находя параллели и собственное основание, и неожиданно для себя растешь душой. С первых строк обращают на себя внимание зрительные образы, они во многом отчетливы, красочны и графичны. Финал немножко затянут, но это вполне компенсируется абсолютно непредсказуемым окончанием. Благодаря динамичному и увлекательному сюжету, книга держит читателя в напряжении от начала до конца. Гармоничное взаимодоплонение конфликтных эпизодов с внешней окружающей реальностью, лишний раз подтверждают талант и мастерство литературного гения. Благодаря уму, харизме, остроумию и благородности, моментально ощущаешь симпатию к главному герою и его спутнице. Мягкая ирония наряду с комическими ситуациями настолько гармонично вплетены в сюжет, что становятся неразрывной его частью. Данная история - это своеобразная загадка, поставленная читателю, и обычной логикой ее не разгадать, до самой последней страницы. Создатель не спешит преждевременно раскрыть идею произведения, но через действия при помощи намеков в диалогах постепенно подводит к ней читателя. Темы любви и ненависти, добра и зла, дружбы и вражды, в какое бы время они не затрагивались, всегда остаются актуальными и насущными.




Холдор Вулкан

Член Союза писателей Узбекистана




Когда письмо Главнокомандующего Военно-Воздушными Силами и Сухопутными Войсками Генерала Томаса Яккабалона и его заместителя, полковника Паскаля Салваторе Альфонса де Вальдемара дошло до президентского аппарата, Пресс-секретарь Президента, Господина Аполлона Габриеля Толедо Пуэрто Карлоса Доменика, глубоко задумался, пристально глядя на конверт, не зная что делать.
Тут прозвучала страшная команда охраны
- Внимание, все сотрудники президентского аппарата! Закройте двери своих кабинетов на засов и освободите коридор! Господин Президент идет! - закричала охрана в жестяный рупор. Пресс-секретарь Президента замер, как на фотографии по стойке смирно. Наконец в коридоре появился Президент в окружении усиленной охраны. Через некоторое время Президент страны Господин Аполлон Габриель Толедо Пуэрто Карлос Доменик подошел и на миг остановился у входа своего шикарного любимого шарообразного кабинета. Перед тем, как войти в свой кабинет, он бросил беглый взгляд на стол Пресс-секретаря, где лежали куча писем.
- Ну, какие новости? Что за письма? Опять от народа, что ли? Ох, как надоели эти сволочи анонимщики своими вечными жалобами. Как будто нет у меня других дел, кроме как читать эти дурацкие письма, где они пишут только о своих проблемах. Нет среди них хоть одного человека, который мог бы писать не о своих проблемах, а о проблемах, если не глобального масштаба, то хотя бы те, которые касаются жизни нашего государства. Ну-ка, дай-ка мне этот большой красный конверт. Тут я вижу, чего-то неординарное. Это письмо либо от руководителей других государств, либо из дипломатических корпусов стран содружество - сказал, как бы угадывая, Президент страны Господин Аполлон Габриель Толедо Пуэрто Карлос Доменик, беря и с интересом разглядывая конверт. Потом широко улыбнулся, глядя на адрес письма.
- Ни фига себе, письмо из психбольницы! - воскликнул он и засмеялся, трясясь всем телом. - Хувах-хах-хах-хах-хах-хаааах! Иехх-ххах-хах-хах-хааааа! Ваххахахахахахаааа! Смотрите, письмо из психиатрической больницы?! Ё-моё... Я впервые получаю такого рода письмо на протяжении 45-летнего своего президентства, честное слово! А интересно, о чем пишут они? Это должно быть смешно... - сказал Президент страны, Господин Аполлон Габриель Толедо Пуэрто Карлос Доменик, вытирая в свой огромный клетчатый дырявый платок слезы,которые наворачивались на глаза от смеха.
Войдя в свой шарообразный кабинет он распечатал конверт и с интересом начал читать письмо пациентов психбольницы, Главнокомандующего Военно-Воздушными Силами и Сухопутными Войсками генерала Томаса Яккабалона и его заместителя полковника Паскаля Салваторе Альфонс де Валдемара.
"Президенту нашей любимой страны господину Аполлону Габриель Толедо Пуэрто Карлос Доменику
Господин Президент!
Хотя здоровые люди нас считают дураками, чокнутыми, но мы, пациенты центрального дурдома столицы нашей независимой страны, как ни парадоксально, являемся самыми интеллектуальными, самыми гениальными людьми на планете. У нас есть знаменитые поэты мыслители, философы всех мастей, есть экстрасенсы, ясновидящие, предсказатели, великие ученые, астронавты, доблестные непобедимые полководцы, телепаты, читающие чужие мысли, объявившие себя пророками и даже богами, кочевниками времени, властелины вселенной, защитники гуманоидов в солнечных системах и в туманностях вселенной, великие оперные певцы с голосами сопрано, баритоном, тенором. Есть среди нас также опальные лидеры оппозиционных партий, правозащитники пьянь да рвань, то есть не состоявшиеся ваши "коллеги". Тут возникает вопрос: почему нашему государству нельзя воспользоваться бесплатными услугами этих способных, талантливых пациентов в решении возникших проблем на политической арене мира? Решать вопросы нашими силами, силами пациентов нашего дурдома в области обороны. Мы часто слышим о том, что в горячих точках нашей планеты погибают сотнями, иногда и тысячами ни в чём не повинных психически здоровых молодых солдат нашей страны. А что если призвать нас, психопатов, параноиков и шизофреников в армию в место здоровых ребят, в душевном смысле этого слово? Во-первых, мы сильные, здоровые, смелые, отважные люди. Во-вторых, мы ничего не боимся, и нам нечего терять. В-третьих, мы не будем тут сидеть, сложа руки на дотациях, как говорится, на шее у нашего бедного независимого государства тогда, когда в горячих точках умирают наши безвинные молодые соотечественники. Нас не интересует ни деньги, ни должность, ни премии, ни звания, ни ордена и медали. Не нужны нам также ни квартиры, ни семья и ни прочие совсем ненужные вещи. Мы, то есть доблестные и храбрые душевнобольные нашей родины, можем защитить наши территории от любых захватчиков, включая инопланетян! И мы думаем, что на фронте нам будет гораздо веселее, чем здесь, в скучном лечебном центре, поверьте, Господин Президент. Я не устаю повторять, что мы очень способные люди и, стоит только нас учить, как пользоваться огнестрельным оружием, как управлять Зенитно Ракетным Комплексом, бомбардировщиками и истребителями и как угонять их, как летать на военных вертолетах типа, "Акула", "Апачи", использовать атомные подводные лодки с крылатыми межконтинентальными баллистическими ракетами и так далее, то я уверяю Вас и гарантирую, что наши братья по болезни быстро освоят эту суперсовременную военную науку, не хуже чем психически здоровые талантливые курсанты. Они будут свободно летать на современных сверхзвуковых самолетах бомбардировщиках как ястребы и бомбить населенные пункты в горячих точках планеты, сравнивая с землей красивые города, православные и католические храмы, мечети, синагоги, жилые кварталы, заводы и фабрик, школы, больницы, аптеки, детские сады в аккурат, не оставляя там ни одной живой души. Будьте уверены в том, что армия шизофреников и параноиков, используя Зенитно-Ракетные Комплексы, будет сбивать тысячи гражданских авиалайнеров с сотнями пассажирами на борту, попадая ракетами в десятку, чтобы потом в этом чудовищном преступлении обвинить ВВС и ПВО противника!
С огромным уважением,
Главнокомандующий Военно-Воздушными Силами и Сухопутными Войсками
Генерал Томас Яккабалон.
Заместитель Генерала Томаса Яккабалона, полковник Паскаль Салваторе Альфонс де Вальдемар."
Прочитав письмо несколько раз, вдоль и поперек, Президент страны, Господин Аполлон Габриель Толедо Пуэрто Карлос Доменик задумался, глядя затуманенным взглядом в бронированное пуленепробиваемое окно своего кабинета, похожий на бункер Гитлера.
-Ндаааа, вот это письмо! Они в отличие от здоровых людей в душевном смысле этого слово, писали не о своих проблемах, наоборот, пишут о наболевших проблемах нашего общества и об укрепление обороноспособности нашей многострадальной страны. Хотя это письмо из психлечебницы, но всё же стоит подумать об их инициативах. Тем более, что они обещают защищать Отечество совершенно бесплатно. Если осуществим их мечты, то тут же уменьшатся финансовые расходы на оборону, на армию, на вооружение, на провианты, на одежду и на кирзовые сапоги без подошв миллионы и миллионы пар для наших солдат и офицеров. Сэкономим денежных средств колоссального размера, которые мы ежегодно выделяем из государственного бюджета.
А эти наши шизофреники готовы воевать в любой точке планеты, защищая интересы нашей страны, без военного обмундирования, босиком.Им не надо платить ежемесячную получку. Они обещают выполнять любую задачу партии, в любое время суток, даже на сорока пяти градусном морозе зимой и пятидесяти пяти градусной жаре в пустыне. Эвон сколько силы и денежные средства будут сэкономлены! Почему мы раньше не думали об этом проекте? Этим живым роботам нечего терять. Ведь они камикадзе -самоубийцы и не боятся смерти. А эти наши, так называемые, солдафоны и офицеры, при первой же опасности разбегаются, или, лежа в окопах, простреливают себе ногу и героем возвращаются домой, звеня гроздьями орденов и медалей на груди. Если честно, я не получал такого предложения даже от своих военных специалистов, от экспертов, которые получают ежемесячную зарплату в огромном размере в долларах. Паразиты! Никакого толка от них! Я должен признаться, что раньше хохотал до слез, слушая анекдоты про душевнобольных. Видимо, зря я смеялся тогда. Наоборот, надо было плакать и рыдать в огромный и дырявый клетчатый платок. Вот как они рассуждают! Надо же, такие гениальные люди томятся в дурдомах нашей необъятной страны! А мы этих гениальных людей якобы лечим! Мне кажется людям, которые считают себя здоровыми давно пора идти к врачам психиатрам и лечиться как следует, пока не обострились их душевные болезни. Да, эти люди с неуравновешенной психикой, люди, склонные к насилию опасно для общество. Но если отнестись к этому умом, то я уверен на сто процентов, что мы можем решить много проблем. Мы возложим всю ответственность их докторам, санитарам и воспитателям, призвав их вместе со своими пациентами в армию, и отправим в горячие точки планеты. Сегодня в мире устанавливают тотальный контроль не только над народом и над Средствами Массовой Информации, над оппозицией, но и даже над цунами, над тайфунами, землетрясениями, извержениями вулканов и т.п. А мы что, хуже их что ли? Мы тоже умеем установить контроль над больными, через их врачи в белых халатах, у которых есть сверхсовременные снаряжения, электрошокеры, успокаивающие препараты - транквилизаторы и прочные смирительные рубахи с длинными рукавами. Самое главное - мы автоматически избавимся от ненужных пикетов и митингов, которые организовываются со стороны крикунов правозащитников, грантоедов, защищающих права матерей миллионов погибших солдат, которые возвращаются домой в герметичных цинковых гробах с поле боя, где они героически погибают, защищая экономические и геополитические интересы нашего государства. А смерть душевнобольных на поле боя, не вызывает жалости ни у кого, наоборот, вызывает неконтролируемый смех и люди будут смеяться от души, увидев по телику или услышав об их нелепой смерти в кровопролитных боях. Короче говоря, этот законопроект я немедленно должен представить на рассмотрение парламента страны.Пусть наши, так называемые малограмотные депутаты - дармоеды обеих палат и сенаторы - подхалимы, обсуждают и утверждают этот стратегический вопрос в закрытых заседаниях парламента без свободных журналюг, единогласно в первом чтении проекта. Ясное дело, что эти так называемые депутаты и сенаторы с рабской психологией никогда не проголосует против того, что я предлагаю им. Мне не стоит сильно беспокоиться по этому поводу - подумал Президент страны, Господин Аполлон Габриель Толедо Пуэрто Карлос Доменик, закуривая золотую трубку с бриллиантовыми украшениями, набитую драгоценным ароматизированным табаком.
Президент страны господин Аполлон Габриель Толедо Пуэрто Карлос Доменик перед тем, как представить проект на рассмотрение парламента, решил сперва тайно повстречаться с авторами секретного письма и дал указание своим силовикам, чтобы они организовали тайный разговор с авторами уникального проекта из психушки. Силовики четко и аккуратно выполнили приказ Президента, и привезли двоих гениев в смирительной рубахе босиком и без головного убора и, переодев их в костюмы чиновников и в белые рубашки с накрахмаленными воротничками и с тугими галстуками на шеях. Они работали так ювелирно, что даже помощники Президента страны господина Аполлона Габриель Толедо Пуэрто Карлос Доменик, увидев тех двоих больных в штатском, приняли их за высокопоставленных гостей из-за рубежа и спешно отдали честь, замирая столбом. В ходе разговора выяснилось, что эти двое способны не то, что там решать проблемы касающиеся укрепление обороноспособности страны, но и создавать совершенно немыслимые фантастические вещи, придумывать уникальные, неслыханные идеи и гипотезы.
Президент Аполлон Габриель Толедо Пуэрто Карлос Доменик, крепко обняв обоих, заплакал.
- Простите, господа, и не удивляйтесь. Это слезы счастья на моих глазах искрятся и дрожат, как далекие звезды в декабрьском холодном небе нашей независимой страны, когда народ наш топит свои буржуйки вонючим кизяком, еле узнавая друг друга сквозь завесу едкого дыма, кашляя, словно хмурые дворники в густом тумане осеннего парка. Я хочу попросить у вас прощения, господа, за наших врачей психиатров, которые неправильно поставив диагнозы, упрятали вас в психиатрические больницы нашей страны, принудив выпить отвратительные жидкости и таблетки. Воспитатели амбалы били вас как боксерские мешки, подвешенные в спортивных подпольных тренировочных залах. Прошу также прощения, за наших соотечественников, которые смеялись до упада и смеются до сих пор над вами, рассказывая друг другу смешные анекдоты про вас, ржут, угорают! Я сегодня воочию убедился в том, что вы, так называемые больные душевной болезнью, в тысячу, а то и миллионы раз умнее, чем наши депутаты и чиновники -взяточники! Оказывается, мы по ошибке заперли в психушки гениальных людей не только нашей страны, но и планеты! Я завтра же издам указ о том, чтобы выпустить всех ваших братьев по болезни из психушек нашей независимой страны и вместо них запереть самих медиков, врачей-психиатров и воспитателей. Прикажу, чтобы немедленно арестовали всех моих помощников - подхалимов, поэтов и писателей - лизоблюдов, чиновников и депутатов -взяточников и министров-дармоедов. Они ничего не делают, но получают большие зарплаты в американских долларах, а граждане нашей страны из-за тотальной безработицы уезжают в другие страны, надеясь найти там хоть какую-нибудь работу. Они согласны даже на грязные работы, ради того, чтобы найти кусок хлеба и прокормить свою семью. Работают дворниками и сторожами, трудятся в мусорных свалках, почти бесплатно. Все, я буду проводить кадровую перестановку во всех сферах нашего общество, то есть назначу своими главными помощниками вас обеих, а также прикажу, чтобы депутатами парламента обеих палат и сенаторами Конгресса назначали только тех людей, которые ранее лечились в психических больницах нашего многострадального и необъятного государства. Губернаторы областей и районов, в том числе председателей колхозов и махаллинских комитетов, тоже будут назначаться из гениальных людей, то есть из ваших братьев по болезни. Все губернаторы и председатели нынешней системы теперь будут пожизненно и принудительно лечиться в психиатрических больницах до тех пор, пока они полностью не выздоравливают. Вы оба сейчас же можете принять пост любого министра, с чем и поздравляю вас заранее, господа! - сказал Президент, завершая свою речь.
Генерал Томас Яккабалон с Паскалем Салваторе Альфонс де Вальдемаром в свою очередь выразили огромную благодарность Президенту Аполлону Габриелю Толедо Пуэрто Карлос Доменик, за теплый прием, за взаимопонимание и высокое доверие. Перед тем уйти, полковник Паскаль Салваторе Альфонс де Вальдемар обратился к Президенту Аполлону Габриель Толедо Пуэрто Карлос Доменик :
- У меня небольшой сюрприз для Вас, господин Президент, закройте глаза - сказал он.
Президент закрыл глаза с голливудской улыбкой на устах.
- Теперь откройте, Господин Президент! - произнёс полковник Паскаль Салваторе Альфонс де Вальдемар, улыбаясь беззубым ртом.
Президент Аполлон Габриель Толедо Пуэрто Карлос Доменик открыл глаза и, увидел ключ, который протянул ему полковник Паскаль Салваторе Альфонс де Вальдемар.
При виде ключа у Президента екнуло сердце, и расширились его глаза.
- Ну, спасибо Вам, господин полковник Паскаль Салваторе Алфонс де Валдемар! Какой Вы честный человек! Где Вы его нашли? Он же лежал в кармане моих брюк!..
С этими словами Президент Аполлон Габриель Толедо Пуэрто Карлос Доменик быстро проверил карманы своих брюк и покраснел от стыда, обнаружив в кармане своих брюк дырку, откуда возможно упал ключ на ковер.
- Я нашел этот ключ вот здесь, под этим креслом, где я сидел. Дай, думаю, подберу его и отдам Господину Президенту нашей страны Аполлону Габриелью Толедо Пуэрто Карлос Доменик, может, думаю, Господин Президент случайно потерял ключ от своей скромной однокомнатной квартиры, расположенная на окраине столицы страны, где он живет со своей большой семьей плюс с тещей - объяснил полковник Паскаль Салваторе Алфонс де Валдемар.
- О, нет, нет, господин полковник Паскаль Салваторе Алфонс де Валдемар! Это ключ не от однокомнатной квартиры, а от ядерного чемоданчика! Вы даже не представляете себе, какой героизм Вы совершили на моих глазах перед лицом нашего многострадального народа! Вы спасли нацию! Хорошо, что этот ключ не попал в руки моих сумасшедших министров, которым я издавна не доверяю. Ведь эти дармоеды коррупционеры, могли бы запросто продать злодеям террористам ваххабитам этот бесценный ключ за пачку зеленых купюр! А там загремела бы третья мировая атомная война! Не-е-ет, на мой взгляд Вы спасли не только нацию, но и спасли человечество и всю Вселенную от явной гибели, от термоядерной войны! Я Вас награждаю Орденом Героя Отечества первой степени! Вы теперь национальный герой нашей страны! С сегодняшнего дня Ваше военное звание не полковник, а маршал! Спасибо Вам от имени нашего многострадального угнетенного независимого и трудолюбивого народа и от имени всего человечество, господин Маршал Паскаль Салваторе Алфонс де Валдемар! -сказал с восторгом президент.
- Служу отечеству! - крикнул Паскаль Салваторе Альфонс де Вальдемар, отдавая честь президенту страны Аполлону Габриелью Толедо Пуэрто Карлос Доменик. Когда оба офицера высокого ранга вышли из дворца Господина Президента Аполлона Габриелью Толедо Пуэрто Карлос Доменика, генерал Томас Яккабалон поздравил с высоким военным званием своего соратника и брата по болезни.
- Поздравляю Вас, Господин Маршал, с высоким званием! - сказал он, синея и зеленея от черной зависти.
- Вольно, генерал, вольно! Спасибо за поздравления - сказал маршал Паскаль Салваторе Альфонс де Вальдемар, хлопая по плечу и по голову генерала Томаса Яккабалона.
Генерал Томас Яккабалон продолжал:
- Простите, Господин Маршал, с одной стороны, достичь такого успеха хорошо. Но, с другой стороны, боюсь, что мы с Вами упустили исторический шанс. Овладев ключом ядерного чемоданчика, мы бы могли заставить Президента распустить Правительство и Парламент и уйти с поста Президента. После всего этого Вы бы сегодня ночью поспали бы хорошенько, и утром проснулись бы Президентом страны! Эх, какой шанс упустили, Господи! - сказал генерал Томас Яккабалон.
- Да, ты не волнуйся, генерал латтапогон (Тряпичный погон), я не такой дурак, как ты думаешь! Когда я зашел в туалет, тайно и аккуратно снял с ключа ядерного чемоданчика слепок, придавив его на этот кусок мыла. Теперь по этому слепку мы можем изготовить дубликат ключа ядерного чемоданчика. Как говорится, еще не вечер. Есть ещё время для того, чтобы мне стать Президентом страны, а тебе - Министром Обороны! Весь мир в наших руках! - сказал маршал Паскаль Салваторе Альфонс де Вальдемар с коварной и хитрой ухмылкой на устах.

3:40 дня.
Канада.г. Бремптон.


Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers


"The story"

When the letter from the commander-in-Chief of The Air And Land forces, General Thomas Yakkabaloon, and his Deputy, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfonso de Valdemar, reached the presidential office, the Press Secretary of the President, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, thought deeply, staring at the envelope, not knowing what to do.
Then came the terrible command of the guards:
Attention, all members of the presidential staff! Close the door of their offices on the bolt and clear the corridor! Mr. President is coming! -the guards shouted through a tin horn. The President's press Secretary stood at attention as if in a photograph. Finally, the President appeared in the corridor, surrounded by heavy security. After a while, the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, came and stood for a moment at the entrance of his chic favorite spherical office. Before entering his office, he glanced briefly at the Press Secretary's Desk, where a pile of letters lay.
Well, what news? What are they? Again from the citizens, or what? I am so tired of these stupid letters. Like I don't have anything else to do but read those stupid letters where they only write about their own problems. There is not among them at least one person who could write about the global economic problems, at least about those which concern problems of our state. Give me that big red envelope." Here I see something extraordinary. This letter is either from the leaders of other Countries, or from the diplomatic corps of the Commonwealth countries -said, as if guessing, the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, taking and examining the envelope with interest. Then he smiled broadly at the address of the letter.
Oh a letter from a mental hospital? - looking at the letter, and he started laughing, shaking his whole body. - Huwah-hah-hah-hah-haaaah! Iehh-hah-hah-hah-haaaaa! Ahahahahahahaaaa! See, the letter from the mental hospital?! no way... This is the first time I've received this kind of letter in my 45-year presidency, honestly! I wonder what they wrote about. It's supposed to be funny... the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, said, wiping tears from his eyes with his huge checkered handkerchief.
Entering his spherical office, he opened the envelope and began to read the letter of the patients of the mental hospital with interest , the commander-in-Chief Of the Air And Land forces, General Thomas Yakkabaloon and his Deputy Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar.
To the President of our beloved country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic.

Mr. President!

Although healthy people consider us fools, crazy, but we, patients of the Central mental hospital of the capital of our independent country, paradoxically, are the most intelligent, the most brilliant people on the planet. We have famous poets, thinkers, philosophers of all stripes, there are psychics, clairvoyants, soothsayers, great scientists, astronauts, valiant invincible generals, telepaths, reading other people's thoughts, who declared themselves prophets and even gods, nomads of time, masters of the universe, defenders of humanoids in solar systems and in the nebulae of the universe, great Opera singers with soprano voices, baritone, tenor. There are also disgraced leaders of opposition parties, human rights activists pyan yes ragged, that could not become your "colleagues". This raises the question: why can't our state use the free services of these capable, talented patients in solving the problems that have arisen in the political arena of the world? To solve questions our forces, patients of our mental hospital in area defense. We often hear that hundreds, sometimes thousands, of innocent, mentally healthy young soldiers of our country are dying in the hot spots of our planet. And what if we, psychopaths, paranoids and schizophrenics, were drafted into the army in the place of healthy children, in the spiritual sense of the word? First, we are strong, healthy, brave, courageous people. Second, we have nothing to fear and nothing to lose. Thirdly, we will not sit here idly on subsidies, as they say, on the neck of our poor independent state when our innocent young compatriots die in hot spots. We are not interested in money, position, awards, titles, orders and medals. We also do not need any apartments, no family and no other completely unnecessary things. We, that are valiant, brave, and mentally ill of our homeland, can protect our territories from any invaders, including aliens! And we think we'll have a lot more fun at the front than we have here in a boring treatment center, believe me, Mr. President. I never tire of repeating that we are very capable people and, once we are taught how to use firearms, how to operate an anti-Aircraft Missile System, bombers and fighters and how to hijack them, how to fly military helicopters such as "shark", "Apache", use nuclear submarines with cruise Intercontinental ballistic missiles and so on, then I assure You and guarantee that our brothers in healthy talented cadets. They will fly freely on modern supersonic aircraft bombers like hawks and bomb city points in hot spots of the planet, comparing with the earth beautiful cities, Orthodox and Catholic churches, mosques, synagogues, residential neighborhoods, factories , schools, hospitals, pharmacies, kindergartens exactly, without leaving there a single living soul. Be sure that the army of schizophrenics and paranoids, using anti-Aircraft Missile Systems, will shoot down thousands of civilian Airliners with hundreds of passengers on Board, getting missiles in the top ten, then in this monstrous crime blame the air force and air defense of the enemy!
With great respect, Commander-in-chief, Air Force and Land Forces General Thomas Yakkabaloon. Deputy General Thomas Yakkabaloon , Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar ."
After reading the letter several times, up and down, the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic thought, looking bleary-eyed through the armored bulletproof window of his office, like a Hitler bunker.
Yeaaaah, here is this letter! Unlike healthy people in the spiritual sense of the word, they did not write about their problems, on the contrary, they wrote about the urgent problems of our society and about strengthening the defense capacity of our long-suffering country. Although this letter is from a mental hospital, it is still worth thinking about their initiatives. Moreover, they promise to protect the Fatherland for free. If we realize their dreams, then immediately decrease the financial costs for defense, for the army, for weapons, for provisions, for clothing and for canvas boots without soles millions and millions of pairs for our soldiers and officers. We are spending enormous amounts of money, which we annually allocate from the state budget.
And these schizophrenics of ours are ready to fight anywhere in the world, protecting the interests of our country, without military uniforms, barefoot.They don't have to pay a monthly salary. They promise to perform any task of the party, at any time of the day, even in the forty-five-degree frost in winter and fifty-five-degree heat in the desert. Oh all the money we can save with this idea! Why didn't we think about this project before? These living robots have nothing to lose. After all, they are kamikaze-suicide and are not afraid of death. And these our so-called soldiers and officers, at the first danger run away, or, lying in the trenches, shoot themselves in the leg and return home a hero, ringing clusters of orders and medals on their chest. To be honest, I have not received such an offer even from my military specialists, from experts who receive a huge monthly salary in dollars. Parasites! They're no good! I must confess that I used to laugh till I cried when I heard anecdotes about the insane. I guess I shouldn't have laughed then. On the contrary, it was necessary to cry and sob in a huge and leaky plaid handkerchief. That's how they reason! It is necessary, such ingenious people languish in mental hospitals of our immense country! And we ostensibly treat these brilliant people ! It seems to me that people who consider themselves healthy should go to psychiatrists and be treated properly before their mental illness worsens. Yes, these people with unstable mentality, people prone to violence are dangerous for society. But if you think about it wisely, I am one hundred percent sure that we can solve a lot of problems. We will put all the responsibility to their doctors, nurses and caregivers, calling them together with their patients in the army, and sending them to the hotspots of the planet. Today in the world establishes total control not only over the people and over the Media, over the opposition, but even over tsunamis, typhoons, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and so on. Are we worse than them? We, too, are able to establish control over patients, through their doctors in white coats, who have ultra- modern equipment, stun guns, sedative tranquilizers and durable straitjackets with long sleeves. Most importantly, we will automatically get rid of unnecessary pickets and rallies that are organized by human rights screamers, grant-eaters who protect the rights of the mothers of millions of dead soldiers who return home in sealed zinc coffins from the battlefield, where they heroically die defending the economic and geopolitical interests of our state. And death mentally ill on the field battlefield, not only causes pity, on the contrary, causes people to uncontrollably laugh at, seeing on tv or having heard about their ridiculous death in bloody battles. In short, this bill I must immediately submit to the Parliament of the country.Let our so-called illiterate MPs-parasites of both chambers and senators- sycophants, discuss and approve this strategic issue in closed sessions of Parliament without free journalists, unanimously in the first reading of the draft. It is clear that these so-called deputies and senators with slave psychology will never vote against what I offer them. I shouldn't worry too much about that, thought the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, lighting a gold pipe with diamond ornaments, stuffed with expensive flavored tobacco.
The President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, before submitting the project to the Parliament, decided to first secretly meet with the authors of the secret letter and instructed his security forces to organize a secret negotiation with the authors of the unique project from the psychiatric hospital. Security forces accurately executed the order of the President, and brought two geniuses in a straitjacket barefoot and without a headdress and, having dressed them in suits of officials and in white shirts with starched collars and with tight ties on necks. They worked so well that even the aides of the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, seeing those two patients in civilian clothes, took them for high-ranking guests from abroad and hastily saluted, pausing like sticks. During the conversation, it turned out that these two are not only able to solve problems related to the strengthening of the country's defense, but also to create absolutely unthinkable fantastic things, to come up with unique, unheard-of ideas and hypotheses.
President Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic hugged them both and wept.
Excuse me, gentlemen, and don't be surprised. These are tears of happiness in my eyes sparkle and tremble like distant stars in the December cold sky of our independent country, when our people drown their bourgeois stinking dung, barely recognizing each other through a veil of acrid smoke, coughing like frowning wipers in the thick fog of an autumn Park. I want to ask your forgiveness, gentlemen, for our psychiatrists, who incorrectly diagnosed, locked you up in psychiatric hospitals of our country, forcing you to drink disgusting liquids and pills. Care-givers beat you like punching bags suspended in sports underground training halls. I also apologize for our compatriots who laughed until they fell and still laugh at you, telling each other funny anecdotes about you. I saw with my own eyes today that you, the so-called patients with mental illness, are a thousand or even millions of times smarter than our deputies and bribe-taking officials! It turns out that we mistakenly locked you brilliant people in mental hospitals not only in our country, but also the planet! I will issue a decree tomorrow to release all your brothers in sickness from the mental hospitals of our independent country, and to lock up the physicians, psychiators, and care-givers themselves in their stead. I will order that all my assistants - sycophants, poets and writers, officials and deputies-bribe takers and Ministers-parasites are immediately arrested. They do nothing, but receive large salaries in American dollars, and the citizens of our country because of total unemployment go to other countries, hoping to find at least some work there. They agree even on dirty work, sake of moreover, to find a slice of bread and feed their family. They work as janitors and watchmen, work in garbage dumps, almost for free. That's all, I will carry out a reshuffle in all spheres of our society, that is, I will appoint you both as my main assistants, and I will also order that only those people who were previously treated in the mental hospitals of our long-suffering and vast state are appointed as deputies of the Parliament of both houses and senators of Congress.
Governors of regions and districts, including chairmen of collective farms and committees, will also be appointed from brilliant people, that is, from your sick brothers. All governors and chairmen of the current system will now be treated for life and involuntarily in psychiatric hospitals until they fully recover. You can both accept the post of any Minister at once, and I congratulate you in advance, gentlemen! - said the President, concluding his speech.
General Thomas Yakkabaloon and Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar, in return, expressed their gratitude to the President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic for the warm welcome, mutual understanding and high trust. Before leaving, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar appealed to the President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic:
I have a little surprise for you, Mr. President, close your eyes, - he said. The President closed his eyes with a Hollywood smile on his lips.
Now open your eyes, Mr. President! - Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar - said, smiling toothlessly.
President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic opened his eyes and saw the key that Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar handed him.
The President's heart skipped a beat at the sight of the key, and his eyes widened.
Well, thank you, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar ! What an honest man you are!
Where did you find it? - It was in my pocket!..
With that, President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic quickly checked his pants pockets and blushed with shame when he found a hole in his pocket where a key might have fallen on the carpet.
I found this key here, under this chair where I was sitting. Let me, I think, I will pick it up and give it to Mr. President of our country Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, maybe I think Mr.
President accidentally lost the key to his modest one-room apartment, located on the outskirts of the capital of the country, where he lives with his large family plus with his hungry fat grouchy mother in law
explained Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar.
-Oh, no, no, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar ! This key is not for a one-room apartment, but instead for the nuclear football! You have no idea what heroism You have committed before my eyes in the face of our long-suffering people! You saved the nation! It is a good thing that this key did not fall into the hands of my crazy Ministers, whom I have long distrusted. After all, these corrupt parasites could easily sell villains religion fanatic terrorists this priceless key for a wad of dollars! And there would have been a third world atomic war! Nope, in my opinion You saved not only the nation, but also saved humanity and the entire Universe from apparent destruction, from thermonuclear war! I award you the order of the Hero of the Fatherland of the first degree! You are now the national hero of our country! From now on, your military rank is not Colonel, but Marshal! Thank you on behalf of our long-suffering oppressed independent and hardworking people and on behalf of all mankind, Mr.
Marshal Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar! - the President said enthusiastically.
Serving the Fatherland!" Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar shouted, saluting President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic. When the two high-ranking officers left the Palace of Mr.
President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, General Thomas Yakkabaloon congratulated his colleague and brother on his high military rank.
I congratulate you, Marshal, On your high rank." "Oh, no!" - he said, turning blue and green with black envy.
At ease, General, at ease!" Thank you for your congratulations, - said Marshal Pascal Salvatore Alphonse de Valdemar, clapping General Thomas Yakkabaloon on the shoulder and head.
General Thomas Yakkabaloon continued:
Excuse Me, Monsieur Le Marechal, but on the one hand, it is good to achieve such success. But on the other hand, I'm afraid we've missed a historic opportunity. By seizing the key to the nuclear briefcase, we could force the President to dissolve the Government and Parliament and resign as President. After all This, you would sleep well tonight, and Wake up in the morning the President of the country! Oh, what a missed chance, my God! - said General Thomas Yakkabaloon .
Yeah, don't you worry, General Lattapagon (Rag shoulder straps), I'm not such a fool as you think!
When I went to the bathroom, I secretly and carefully removed the mold from the key of the nuclear suitcase, pressing it on this piece of soap. Now we can make a duplicate of the key of the nuclear suitcase from this cast. As they say, it is not yet evening. There is still time for me to become President of the country, and you - the Minister of Defense! The weight of the world is in our hands!-said Marshal Pascal Salvatore Alphonse de Valdemar, with a sly smile.

3:40 of the day.
Canada.the city of Brampton.



Холдор Вулкан

Член Союза писателей Узбекистана


Жестокая расплата


- Мехмет, сынок, ты прости меня, если я сам того не замечая, огорчил тебя когда-нибудь. Я люблю тебя больше всего на свете - сказал Султан Санджар Саваш, обнимая своего сына и поглаживая его голову.
Мехмет удивился, услышав слова своего отца Султана Санджара Саваш.
- Отец, я не понимаю, почему ты так говоришь? Тебе еще слишком рано проститься с нами. Ты еще долго будешь жить на этом свете, и будешь править страной до глубокой старости. Дай Бог тебе крепкого здоровья и долгую жизнь. Я тоже люблю тебя больше жизни, отец! Также мою маму и моего брата Ахмеда - сказал Мехмет, обнимая отца.
У Султана Санджара Саваш на глазах появились слезы, и, чтобы не показывать их сыну, он еще крепче обнял его и поцеловал в голову. Губы его тряслись, и с его глаз невольно покатились слёзы, сначала по лицу, а потом по густой бороде, словно утренняя роса, которая осыпается с травы. В ту ночь Султан Санджар Саваш не спал, нервно расхаживая туда-сюда по огненно-красному ковру. Он чувствовал себя, как хищник в клетке, кой беспрестанно ищет выхода на свободу. Потом он позвал своего старшего сына принца валиахда(наследника трона) Ахмеда, и они долго беседовали. В ходе разговора Султан Санджар Саваш намеревался сказать принцу Ахмеду что-то важное, но не смог. После того, как принц Ахмед ушел к себе спать, Султан Санджар Саваш горько заплакал, тряся плечами и причитая:
- О, Боже всемогущий, ты дал мне больше чем я просил! Я стал великим султанам! Но я не знал, что трон бывает столь безжалостным и потребует таких жертв! Если бы я знал об этом раньше, то я бы никогда не стал султанам! Наоборот, я повесил бы на свою шею торбу попрошайки и жил бы всю жизнь нищим! О, Боже, как счастливы эти твои нищие голодранцы, которые живут в трущобах! Я завидую им по белому! Они абсолютно свободны и довольствуются куском хлеба. Ходят, где хотят, и уходят, куда им вздумается. Шагают без охраны по тропинке на широких полях, по пояс во ржи, где гуляют ветры и поют жаворонки, заливаясь трелью. Останавливаются посреди утреннего ржаного поля, где над рожью беззаботно летят веселым роем белые бабочки как в раю. Потом снова идут, куда глаза глядят.
Нищий, в отличие от меня, может совершенно свободно бродить по летним лугам, по пояс в высокой траве, где задумчиво летят на ветру пушинки одуванчиков, пульсируя в воздухе, словно медузы в море. Он часами может внимать далекому стуку дятла и печальному голосу одинокого удода, который поет где - то за полями, зовя его, как далекое детство. Слушать журчанье речки, густо заросшей белыми ромашками и высокими камышами в человеческий рост. Даже может ночевать в стогах сена на поле под звездным небом, любуясь молча сияющей луной в тишине, слушая монотонные, первозданные песни сверчков и хоровое кваканье далеких лягушек, похожие на шепот. Он засыпает без снотворного, сосчитывая далеких рыжих звезд. Просыпается в предрассветной мгле, когда начнутся переклички перепелок в росистом клеверном поле. Замирает он, глядя на бледный небосвод, где тает и медленно исчезает сонная звезда и туго растягиваясь по горизонту рвутся бледно - желтые тучи, напоминая весеннюю борозду. Умываясь утренной, прозрачной росой, он позавтракают, чем ты, Боже, пошлешь, и даже не думают о возможности отравления. Спокойно съест свой скудный завтрак, поблагодарив Тебя, снова отправится в путь, пешком по тропе, поздороваюсь с крестьянами на полях, кивая им головой, с дружелюбной улыбкой на устах. Останавливается на миг, прислушиваясь к печальному голосу кукушки, который доносится из далёкой тополиной рощи. Живет он легко, сбрасывая ненужный груз со своих плеч. Живет счастливо, в гармонии с природой.
А я? Я ни на шаг не могу выйти из крепости без усиленной охраны. Не могу передвигаться свободно и гулять по полям и лугам, даже не могу спокойно пройтись по улицам столицы своей империи. Живу с непреодолимым страхом в сердце. Не сплю ночами, думая о том, не поднимет ли бунт разгневанный народ, словно тайфун на побережье океана, разрушающий всё на своем пути? И с содроганием думаю, а не повесит ли меня на самую высокую виселицу у входа на центральный базар столицы, сбросив меня с трона, народ, который недоволен моей политикой? Сердце мое обливается кровью, когда я начинаю думать о моих чиновниках-подхалимах в своем окружении,которые легко отвернутся от меня, когда я лишусь трона султаната, и именно они первым будут поливать меня грязью, восхваляя нового султана! Они будут вилять своими задницами перед новым правителем, вскидывая ему брови и улыбаясь губами, похожими на бутон росистой утренной розы, который вот вот раскроется.
Думаю, думаю и не могу уснуть до утра. Даже снотворные лекарства мне не помогают.
Оказывается, быть правителем не так легко, как я раньше это себе представлял. Я твердо убедился в том, что быть правителем - это все равно, что гореть в аду при жизни и варится заживо в адском котле с кипящей смолой. За что мне такая кара, Господи?! Разве это жизнь, Боже, подумай Сам! Ведь даже бездомная собака, и та счастливее меня в сто раз! Теперь вот, меня ждет еще одно невыносимое тяжелое испытание. Ну, за что, ты меня караешь, Боже?! Что я тебе сделал плохого?! - плакал Султан Санджар Саваш.
Он долго плакал. Потом вызвал своего премьер-министра вазира азама. Вазири азам пришел, не задерживаясь долго. Вернее, его привели навкери, в руках которых ноги вазира азама не коснулись даже землю. Он был в длинном восточном халате с белой чалмой на голове. У него не только длинная борода и волосы были белоснежными, но и брови тоже были такого же цвета.
- Вызывали, мой господин, султан всех султанов мира? - спросил вазири азам , не глядя в глаза Султана Санджара Саваш, и низко кланяясь.
- Да, вазири азам. Ты, это, скажи мне, неужели у нас нет другого выхода, чтобы решать возникшие проблемы? - спросил Султан Санджар Саваш, глядя своему министру с надеждой.
Вазири азам на миг умолк, погружаясь в раздумье. Потом сказал:
- Нет, мой султан, к сожалению у нас нет другого выхода, кроме как... ну, вы сами знаете... Если хотим, чтобы наша великая империя не рухнула, то мы просто вынуждены решить возникшую проблему таким жестоким способом. К сожалению, у нас нет другого пути. То есть это твердое решение принято улемаи кирамом на закрытом заседании. Что касается принца Мехмету, он намного уступает принцу Ахмеду в смысле мышления, ума и здоровья. О, мой султан всех султанов мира! Если бы вы знали, как мне трудно говорить вам обо всем этим, ой как трудно! Но я вынужден сказать вам об этом, так как я являюсь вашим главным советником. Мне жаль... - сказал вазири азам, печально склоняя голову.
-Будь ты проклят! Немедленно убирайся отсюда, негодяй! И чтобы ты больше не попадался мне на глаза! - истерично закричал Султан Санджар Саваш, и рука его потянулась к мечу, сделанный из исфаханской стали.
Вазири азам стоя на колени и низко опустив свою голову перед Султаном Санджаром Саваш, горько заплакал, тряся своей белоснежной бородой и костлявыми плечами.
- Отрубите мою голову, о мой султан всех султанов мира! Рубите! Лучше умереть от вашего меча, чем видеть вас в таком положении! - плакал он, роняя слезы.
- Уведите его немедленно! - заорал Султан Санджар Саваш своей охране и тоже заплакал, отвернувшись в сторону и вытирая слезы.
Охрана увела вазира азама.
Ранним утром палач привел приговора в исполнение, отрубив голову спящему молодому принцу валиахду Мехмету острым мечом и стёр белой простынёй алую кровь с лезвия меча.
Перед тем похоронить принца Мехмета, привели супругу Султана Санджара Саваш, чтобы она смогла попрощаться со своим сыном, о смерти которого, она еще не знала. Увидев страшную картину, мать Мехмета упала в обморок.
Султан Санджар Саваш, обнимая своего убитого младшего сына Мехмета, рыдал, трясясь всем своим телом.
- Прости меня, сынок за то, что я принес тебе в жертву! Прости, у меня не было другого пути! Пришлось так поступить лишь ради того, чтобы не рушилась наша империя в ходе борьбы за трон между тобою и твоим братом в будущем. Мне пришлось так жестоко расплатиться за сохранение престола. Да прибудет твоя душа в зеленых садах вечного Рая, мой любимый сын Мехме-е-ет! - плакал он.

05/04/2014 год.
1:20 дня.


Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers



"Cruel payback"

(The story)

Mehmet, son, you must forgive me if I unwittingly upset you ever. I love you more than anything in the world - said Sultan Sanjar Savash, hugging his son and stroking his head.
Mehmet was surprised to hear the words of his father Sultan Sanjar Savash.
Father, why are you saying that? It's too early for you to say goodbye. You will live in this world for a long time, and you will rule the country until old age. God grant you good health and a long life. I love you more than life, father! Just like my mother and my brother Ahmed - said Mehmet, hugging his father.
Sultan Sanjar Savas had tears in his eyes, and in order not to show their son, he hugged him even harder and kissed him on the head. His lips trembled, and his eyes involuntarily rolled tears, first in the face, and then his thick beard, like morning dew that showered with leaves of grass, which sways in the wind. That night Sultan Sanjar Savash did not sleep, walking nervously up and down the fiery red carpet. He felt like a predator in a cage, constantly looking out at freedom. He then called his eldest son Prince Valiahd (heir to throne) and Ahmed and they had a long conversation. During the conversation, Sultan Sanjar Sawash intended to tell Prince Ahmed something important, but could not. After the Prince had gone to his room to sleep, Sultan Sanjar Savash wept bitterly, shaking her shoulders and lamenting:
Oh, God Almighty, you gave me more than I asked! I have become great sultans! But I didn't know that the crown and the throne are so ruthless and would require such a sacrifice! If I had known this before, I would never have become a Sultan! On the contrary, I would hang a sack of beggars on his neck and live life to the poor! Oh, my God, how happy are those poor hungry people of yours who live in slums! I envy them white envy! They are absolutely free and content with a piece of bread. They go where they want. Walk without protection on a footpath on wide fields where winds walk and larks sing, being filled in with a trill, morning stop in the middle of a rye field, where the rye carefree fun flying a swarm of white butterflies in heaven. Then again go where eyes look. Poor, unlike me, can freely roam the summer pastures, waist-deep in tall grass, where thoughtfully fly on the wind like a feather in the wind, like a jellyfish in the sea. For hours he could hear the distant knocking of a woodpecker and the sad voice of a lone hoopoe, who sang somewhere over the fields, calling it as a distant childhood. Listen to the murmur of the river, overgrown by white daisies, Angelicas, sweet clovers meadows, can even sleep in the haystacks on the field under the starry sky, admiring silently Siauliai the moon in silence, listening to the monotonous, primeval songs of the crickets and choral croaking of distant frogs, like a whisper. To consider the distant blue star and tired to sleep. Wake up in the pre-dawn hour, when the quail will sing, reminding cough gray guard, who sweeps territory, rhythmically waving a broom. He freezes, looking at the pale sky, where it melts and slowly disappears, the last star and tightly stretching across the horizon torn pale yellow clouds, resembling a spring furrow. Your beggar washes of transparent dew, eats Breakfast, then thou, you, will send, and goes on a long journey. The beggar does not even think about the possibility of poisoning: eat your Breakfast, thank you, and again hit the road, by walking along a path overgrown with two sides of high and dense grass. He greets farmers in the fields, nodding his head, with a friendly smile on his lips, stops for a moment, listening to the sad voice of the cuckoo, which comes from a distant poplar grove. The poor have no heavy burden of responsibility. They live easily, throwing off all unnecessary loads. They live happily and easily, in harmony with nature.
How about me? I can't get out of the fortress one step without strong security. Cannot move freely, as an ordinary person, can not only freely walk the fields and meadows, but can't even safely walk the streets of the capital of the Empire. I live with insuperable fear in my heart. Not sleeping at night, for fear, would you raise a riot the angry people, like a Typhoon in the ocean, destroying everything in its path, and with a shudder, I wonder if I will be hung on the highest gallows at the entrance to the Central market of the capital, dropping me from my throne, a people who are not satisfied with my policy. My heart is filled with blood when I start to think about my officials, the sycophants in his entourage that are easy to turn away from me when I fall from the throne of the Sultanate (government), and they will be the first to throw mud at me, praising the new Sultan! They will wag their Asses in front of the new ruler, throwing up his eyebrows and smiling lips, like a Bud of rosy morning rose.
Think, think and not fall asleep until morning. Even sleeping pills don't help me.
It turns out that being a ruler is not as easy as I thought it would be. I was convinced that being a ruler is like burning in hell in life and boiling alive in a hell of a cauldron. What kind Punishment of, Lord?! Is it life, God, think about it! After all, even a stray dog, and it is happier than me a hundred times! Now, there's another unbearable ordeal waiting for me. Why are you punishing me, God?! What have I done to you?! - cried the Sultan Sanjar Savash.
He cried for a long time. Then he summoned Prime Minister Vazir Azam. Vazir Azam came, not lingering long. Rather, it led Naukars (security service), in whose hands the feet of Wazir Azam not even touched the ground. He was wearing a long Oriental robe with a white turtleneck on his head. Have him not only the long beard and hair were white, but eyebrows, too, were such the same color of.
Called, my Lord, the Sultan of all the sultans of the world? - asked Wazir Azam , not looking into the eyes of Sultan Sanjar Savash, and with a low bow.
Yes, Vaziri Azam. You, this, tell me, don't we have another way to solve our problems? - Sultan Sanjar Savash asked, looking to his Minister with hope.
Vaziri Azam paused a second, plunging into meditation, and then said:
No, my Sultan, unfortunately we have no other choice but... well, you know... If we want our great Empire not to collapse, then we just have to make this decision. Otherwise cannot be. That is a firm decision taken by Kiramaie Ulemas (The meeting of advisers) in closed session. As for Prince Mehmet, he is far inferior to Prince Ahmed in terms of thinking, mind and health. Oh, my Sultan of all sultans of the world! If you knew how hard it was for me to tell you all about it, Oh how hard! But I have to tell you this because I'm your chief Advisor. I feel sorry... - said Vaziri Azam, sadly bowing his head.
Damn you all! Get out of here now, you scoundrel! And so you're never caught my eye! - Hysterically cried Sultan Sanjar Savash and began to reach for the sword.
Vaziri Azam kneeled down and lowered his head in front of Sultan Sanjar Savash bitterly wept, shaking his snow-white beard and bony shoulders.
Chop my head off, o my Sultan of all sultans of the world! Cut! It is better to die from your sword than to see you in this position! - He cried, dropping tears.
Get him out now! - shouted the Sultan Sanjar Savash my security and cried, turning away to the side and wiping tears.
The guards took away Vazir Azam.
Early morning brought the executioner of the sentence, beheaded the sleeping young Prince Valiahd Mehmet with a sharp sword and wiped the white sheets of crimson blood from the blade of the sword.
Before to bury Prince Valiahd Mehmet , brought the Princess, so she could say goodbye to his son, on whose death she did not know. Seeing the terrible picture, the Princess fainted.
Sultan Sanjar Savash, hugging his murdered younger son Mehmet, wept, shaking his whole body.
Forgive me, son, for I have brought you a sacrifice! I'm sorry, because I had no other way! I had to do this just for the sake of not collapsing our Empire in the struggle for the throne between you and your brother in the future. I had to pay so much for preserving the throne. May your soul arrive in the green gardens of eternal Paradise, my beloved son Mehme-e-et! - He cried.

1:20 of the day.
Canada, The city of Brampton.



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Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

Stop the fratricidal war in Ukraine!

I have always respected, respect and will respect the Russian people, who gave the world outstanding scientists, poets, writers, musicians, actors, such as Pushkin, Dostoevsky, Lermontov, Tolstoy, Turgenev, Chekhov, Khlebnikov, Yesenin, Mayakovsky, Mandelstam, Pasternak, Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninov, Tarkovsky, Danelia, Nikulin, Vitsin, Margunov, Mironov, Khazanov, Ryazanov, Frendlich, Myagkov, Akhedzhakova, Pugacheva and many others.
But I have also criticized, critisize and will  criticize any war where innocent people, helpless old people, women and children die. I have fought and will fight in my political articles, in my literary works against the instigators of war with imperial ambitions, who create confrontations in a world where people are dying, infrastructure is being destroyed and cities are turning into ruins.
Today in Ukraine there is not a special operation, but a real blood war, where tens of thousands of young soldiers have already died. Innocent children who have no relation to confrontations are dying. Ukrainians are proudly, heroically and courageously fighting for the freedom of their people, for democracy, for the sovereignty and territorial integrity of their country. It's hard for them today, but everything that begins in this world is bound to end someday. This is the unwritten law of Mother Nature.
I am one hundred percent sure that Ukraine will develop at an unheard-of pace immediately after the war and will join the EU and NATO without any obstacles, turning into one of the most powerful countries not only in Europe, but throughout the world.

10:23 p.m. Canada, Ontario.



Холдор Вулкан

Член Союза писателей Узбекистана

Остановите братоубийственную войну в Украине!

Я всегда уважал, уважаю и буду уважать русский народ, который дал миру выдающихся учёных, поэтов, писателей, музыкантов, актеров, такие как Пушкин, Достоевский, Лермонтов, Толстой, Тургенев, Чехов, Хлебников, Есенин, Маяковский, Мандельштам, Пастернак, Чайковский, Рахманинов, Тарковский, Данелия, Никулин, Вицин, Маргунов,  Миронов,  Хазанов, Рязанов, Френдлих, Мягков, Ахеджакова, Пугачева и многие другие.
Но я так же всегда осуждал, осуждаю и буду осуждать любую войну где могут погибнуть ни в чем не повинные люди, беспомощные старики, женщины и дети. Боролся и буду бороться в своих политических статьях, в своих литературных произведениях против зачинщиков войны с имперскими амбициями, кои создают противостояния в мире, где погибают люди, разрушается инфраструктура и превращаются в руины города.
Сегодня в Украине идет не спецоперация, а настоящая братоубийственная война, где уже погибли десятки тысяч молодых солдат. Погибают ни в чем не повинные дети, которые не имеют никакого отнашения к противостояниям. Украинцы гордо, героически и мужественно борются за свободу своего народа, за демократию, за суверенитета и территориальной целостности своей страны. Им сегодня тяжело. Но все, что в этом мире начинается, обязательно когда -нибудь закончится. Это неписанный закон матушки природы.
Я уверен на сто процентов в том, что Украина неслыханными темпами будет развиваться сразу после войны и без каких-либо препятствий вступит в ЕС и в НАТО, превращаясь в один из мощнейших государств не только в Европе, но и во всем мире.

10:23 дня. Канада, Онтерио.




Холдор Вулкан

Член Союза писателей Узбекистана

Письмо Барону Мюнхгаузену


Многоуважаемый господин фон Барон,
Если открыть глаза пошире,
То можно увидеть, что вы не лгун, а наоборот,
Самый правдивый человек в мире.

Смеялись мы, когда рассказывали о том,
Как спасали вы себя сами,
Поднимая себя за волосы, потом,
Вытаскивая из ямы.

Мы поняли Вас только сегодня,
И начали умственно расти.
Выяснилась, что нас кроме себя,
Никто не может спасти.

Оказывается, человек спасет себя сам,
Побеждая греховные желания,
Которые оставляют в душе шрамы,
Наводя печаль, причиняя страдания.

Я уверен в том, что вы думали о нас,
Высоко на пушечном ядре летая,
Разбудив нас всех от глубокого сна,
От Африки до самого Китая.

Барон, вы четко и ясно объяснили нам,
Что человечество - единая семья,
И летит оно, как пушечное мясо,
На ядре, под названием "Земля"...


24 /03/2014.
3:35 дня.
Канада.г. Бремптон.


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Холдор Вулкан

Член Союза писателей Узбекистана



03-11-2017_SH.Rashidov-s-suprogoj (400x305, 28Kb)

Вечный долг

(Светлой памяти Шарафа Рашидовича Рашидова)


В истории Узбекистана есть много ярких исторических личностей, которыми мы узбекистанцы гордимся.

Один из таких великих сыновей Узбекского народа это Шараф Рашидович Рашидов.

Не секрет, что как все другие народы мира народ многонационального Узбекистана тоже всем сердцем любит столицу своей родины Ташкент.

Пусть не обижаются на меня, братские народы соседних стран, если я скажу правду о том, что Ташкент является самым красивым городом не только в регионе, но и  во всем мире.

Его неповторимая уникальная архитектура пленит душу любого человека, и он влюбляется в этот город на всю жизнь.

Под руководством Шарафа Рашидовича Рашидова город Ташкент буквально восстал из руин, после страшного землетрясения, которое произошло 26 апреля 1966 года.

Метро на западе считается транспортной коммуникацией для бедных.

Тем не менее, этот вид средства продвижения создает большое удобство для горожан и пользуется большой популярностью среди населения страны.

В этом смысле ташкентское метро – это единственное подземное строение во всем среднеазиатском регионе. Своей красотой  оно не уступает московскому метро.

Злые языки говорят, что Шараф Рашидович Рашидов, надул Леонида Ильича Брежнева, рапортовав ему о выращенных и собранных шести миллионах тонн хлопка, часть которых существовали только лишь на бумаге.

Но они не хотят говорить о порабощении нашего народа, отравляя его ядовитыми препаратами, такие как гербициды и пестициды, которые вываливали тоннами из самолетов-кукурузников, которые  низко пролетали над населенными пунктами нашей страны, специально не прыкрыв заслонки опрыскивателей своих летательных агрегатов.

Они молчат в тряпочку о разрушении генофонда нашего народа, который собирал хлопок, пребывая в густых ядовитых туманах  пестицидов, которые высыпали им на головы из сельскохозяйственных самолетов с надписью "ссср".

Они забыли тот период, когда центральные власти превратили нашу страну в сырьевую базу,  придумывая различные проекты по освоению новых земель в пустынях, осушая при этом наши реки и море, неразумно используя водные ресурсы.

Вот и наш Шараф Рашидович Рашидов отомстил за все это по-своему. Это была тайная война за интересы народа, где Шараф Рашидович Рашидов победил, борясь один против громадной красной империи под названием "ссср".

Если учесть огромные потери нашей страны в экономическом, физическом и духовном плане, то никто не имеет права обвинять в чем-то Шарафа Рашидовича.

Наоборот, Шараф Рашидович Рашидов является национальным героем независимого Узбекистана!

Дорогой Шараф Рашидович, пусть Ваша душа пребудет в раю!

Перед Вами, мы вечно в долгу!



7:01 утра.

Канада. г. Бремптон.



Sh-Rashid-haykal.jpg_thumbnai_full (500x359, 28Kb)

_98631214_c21e0127-90eb-c656-5992-41b854fdfa5a-2 (660x371, 47Kb)


Ўзбекистон Президенти Шавкат Мирзиёев бошчилигида Жиззах шаҳрида давлат арбоби ва адиб Шароф Рашидов ҳайкали очилди.

BBC O'zbek




Holder Volcano

Eternal duty

(To the Bright memory of Sharaf Rashidovuch Rashidov)

There are many outstanding historical figures in the history of Uzbekistan, of whom we Uzbeks are proud.

One of such great sons of the Uzbek people is Sharaf Rashidovich Rashidov.

It is no secret that, like all other people of the world, the people of multinational Uzbekistan also love the capital of their homeland Tashkent with all their hearts.

Let the fraternal people of neighboring countries not take offence to me if I tell the truth that Tashkent is the most beautiful city not only in the region, but also in the whole world.

It's unique architecture will captivate the soul of any person, and they will fall in love with this city for life.

Under the leadership of Sharaf Rashidovich Rashidov, the city of Tashkent rose from the ruins after the terrible earthquake that occurred on April 26, 1966.

The metro in the west is considered a transport system for the poor.

Nevertheless, this type of means of transportation creates great convenience for citizens and is very popular among the people of the country.

In this sense, the Tashkent metro is the only underground structure in the entire Central Asian region. Its beauty is not inferior to the Moscow metro.

Evil tongues say that Sharaf Rashidovich Rashidov cheated Leonid Il'yich Brezhnev by sending to him about six million tons of cotton grown and harvested, most of which did not even exist.

But they do not want to talk about the enslavement of our people, poisoning them with poisonous drugs, such as herbicides and pesticides, which were dumped from agriculture planes that flew low over populated areas of our country, leaving open the flaps of the sprayers of their aircraft units.

They are silent about the destruction of the gene pool of our people, who collected cotton, staying in thick poisonous mists of pesticides that were poured on their heads from agricultural planes with the inscription "USSR".

They have forgotten the period when the central authorities turned our country into a raw source of materials, coming up with various projects to develop new lands in the deserts, draining our rivers and the sea, using water resources unreasonably.

So Sharaf Rashidovich Rashidov took revenge for all this in his own way. It was a secret war for the interests of the people, where Sharaf Rashidovich Rashidov won, fighting alone against the huge red empire called the "USSR".

If we take into account the huge losses of our country in economic, in physical and spiritual terms, then no one has the right to blame Sharaf Rashidovich for anything.

On the contrary, Sharaf Rashidovich Rashidov is a national hero of independent Uzbekistan!

Dear Sharaf Rashidovich, may your soul be in paradise!

We are forever in debt to you!

7:01 am.
Canada. G. Brampton.


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Холдор Вулкан

Член Союза писателей Узбекистана



Письмо человечеству

Ну, здравствуй, Человек!

Как твое здоровье? Все скрываешься за медицинской маской, боясь выходить на улицу?

Чего ты боишься? Ты же царь природы!

Ты ради богатство, роскош и господство в мире, все тайно разрабатываешь новые и новые виды оружие массового поражения, гиперзвуковые крылатые ракеты, оснащенные ядерными боеголовками, превращая в ядерные полегоны прекрасные острова и райские атоллы, закапывая смертоносные ядерные радиоактивные отходы в леса, в моря и океаны, загрязняя воду и воздух, не интересуясь здоровьем матушки природы, которое ухудшается день за днем, час за часом.

Ты не слушаешь ученых - экологов, которые бьют в набат, звонят во все колокола, предупреждая тебя о том, что от выхлопных газов автомобилей, от  химических пар, которые поднимаются из дымоходов твоих заводов и фабрик, от вредных веществ, как гербициды и пестидциды, от радионуклидов задыхается бедная природа.

У нее уже половина легкие нет. Мало того, ты уничтожил ее аппарат естественной вентиляции лёгких, беспощадно истребив вековые леса, остальные сгорели в пожарах. Ты не говори, что леса на планете горят сами по себе и виноват в этом парниковый эффект. Парниковый эффект на планете возникает только от дыма, от углекислого газа, который поднимается в отмосферу из многомиллионнных труб нефтоперерабатываюших, металлургических заводов, тепловых электростанций, где сжигают уголь, торф, кокс, газ и даже мазут. Утечки радиации на Атомных электростанциях, от выхлопных газов автомобилей, которые не дают проникновение солнечных лучей на поверхность нашей планеты, ускоряя глобальное потепление в мире.

В результате тают ледники на северном полушарии, образуя новоднении, пробуждая замерзших смертоносных микробов чумы, создавая экологический дисбаланс.Это все результат твоей деятельности.

Вот, чтобы тебя предупредить еще раз, матушка природа вынула свое маленькое оружие, которое трудно разглядеть даже под микроскопом. Против которое бессилна твоя многомиллионная армия, бессильны  термоядерные и водородные бомбы, которые ты создал, танки, корабли - ракетаносцы, сверхзвуковые самолеты бомбардировшики, ударные дроны, военные беспилотники, зенитные установки, гиперзвуковые крылатые ракетаносители с ядерными боеголовками, сверхсовременные установки противоракетной обороны.

Где твоя мощь?!

Здороваешься друг с другом локтем и идя по улице сторонишься даже  от своей собственной тени, боясь заразиться опасным вирусом. Опустошаешь полки в магазинах и на рынках, не оставляя даже туалетную бумагу для других.

Покупаешь тоннами сухие продукты и консервы, запасаешься, прячешь в подвалы своего особняка, не оставляя даже долю бедных детей, которые растут в малоимущих семьях, кои не способны купить продукты первой необходимости.

Человек, открой свои сонные глаза пошире!Не загрязняй экологическую среду! Отдай матушке природе аппарат естественной вентиляции лёгких, то есть леса и чистые водоемы!

Береги свой единственный, плавучий, шарообразный, глинобитный дом!


4:13 дня.

Канада, Онтерио.

x_15d42282 (604x453, 162Kb)




Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

Apricot grove


I believe you've never read a story like this. I recommend reading it. It's very interesting, an exciting story. It is also easy to read.

It is said that friends are proven as real friends in difficult times. So I decided to visit my former boss, who got sick.
When he saw me, he wanted to get up, but I stopped him in time:
- No, no, sit down, sit down, Sotkin Sattarovich.
I greeted him and asked about his health.
- Thank you for coming, Bazarkul Baltabayevich. I got sick," said the boss, Comrade Salafanov Sotkin Sattarovich, wheezing and moaning.
- Don't worry so much, Sotkin Sattarovich. Everything will be alright. Man is made of clay, not iron. That is, he can sometimes get sick. Illness is like a guest, it comes and goes, I said to him.
Thank you. Bazarkul Baltabayevich. I just wanted to tell you a secret before I left this world," Sotkin Sattarovich said.
Then he continued:
- The fact is that I live in two phases, waking and dreaming. One day I dreamed of beautiful valleys, large rivers that originate from emerald mountain peaks. The clear waters of these rivers shone in the sun like a mirror among the spruce forests and green meadows, where a sea of white daisies and blue-eyed cornflowers waved in the wind like a wave. Walking through a meadow waist-deep in tall grass, I waded through shallow rivers, centuries-old coniferous forests where woodpeckers crackle and stopped at the foot of mountain peaks. Powerful streams of water bubbled under the high granite rocks. A lone eagle soared in the sky, shouting majestically, its beak wide open. I crossed the suspension bridge. On the other side of the bridge, the apricot grove was rustling in the wind. Ripe yellow apricots with a red-pink tint sparkled in the sunlight. There I met an old man with a white beard, a white turban on his head and white clothes. We said hello. Then the old man said: - Taste, my son, a ripe apricot. If you like it, take it and bring it home to the children.
I thanked him, picked some ripe apricots, then rinsed them in the spring water and ate.
The apricot was as sweet as the honey of wild bees. I collected some dried apricots into his worn skull-cap and saying goodbye to the old man, came back through pine forests, through the fir woods, passing the shallow waters of rivers, rippling and sparkling like silver in the sun among the meadows, where wild flowers grew and bloomed, over which larks sang, bursting trills. Suddenly, from the direction of the spruce forest, red army horsemen appeared with military hats "budenovka" on their heads. They were armed with rifles and sabers. When the red Commissar saw me, he shouted:
-Here he is, one of the warriors of basmachi comanders Ibragimbek Lakai! I order it on behalf of the revkom! Kill, comrades of the red army, this worst enemy of the proletariat! Forward to the victory of communism under the red banner of the workers and peasants! Long live the world revolution, the hammer and sickle, and the leader of the proletariat, comrade Lenin! Down with the bourgeoisie and the minions of world imperialism! Uraaaaaa! With these words, he, sitting on the saddle of his horse, blew a bugle, as if inspiring the Komsomol members to the feat.
Waving their sabres left and right, firing rifles with long bayonets, inspired red army soldiers with battle cries of " Hurrah! " they sent their horses in my direction. I clutched my skullcap to my chest so as not to drop the apricots, and ran across the meadow as fast as I could. Firing their rifles, a squad of Komsomol members in a greatcoat and with military hat "budenovka" on their heads, all approached.
Bullets whizzed past me. One of the bullets pierced through the hem of my cotton chopan coat. I ran no matter what and I managed finally to escape in the midst of the forest.
The red army soldiers stopped at the cordon, as it was impossible to ride in the forest. They left their horses and began to run after me.
I kept running, gasping and stumbling. Suddenly the ground gave out from under my feet, and I rolled down the slope and went down like a broken wheel of an old creaking cart. I stopped by a girl who was rinsing her clothes in the river.
From fright, she first screamed in horror and jumped back. When I got up and started asking for forgiveness, she came to her senses and started hitting me with a wet sheet. I told her:
Stop! What are you doing, Mademoiselle? I didn't mean to! I am an alien from a world called "Reality". I'm being chased by a gang of communists!
At my words, she stopped and looked at me in surprise. I say to her,
- What are you standing for, Madame?" Hide me quickly. Otherwise, these red bandits will come, catch and shoot me without trial, and then cut off your head with a saber, accusing you of aiding a particularly dangerous kulak, harmful to the bourgeois, that is, me.
Just at this time, the voices of the Reds were beginning to be heard on the top and shots were being fired. They were shouting:
He couldn't have gone far, comrade Commissar! Basmach is here somewhere! - said one pot-bellied red army man with a hat on his head. - Maybe he went down! Did this bastard get away?!
After that, the girl grabbed me by the hand as if I were a small child and led me into a dense thicket.
We fled the scene. A mounted detachment of red army soldiers went in the other direction in search of me. Then I sincerely thanked my savior for helping me in a difficult moment. She was so beautiful that I fell head over heels in love with her, as they say at first sight. Her thick and delicate hair was like black silk, swaying in the wind. Her big eyes like a deer's, thick and long lashes, soft lips like rose petals, smooth as white marble chin, neck, arms and legs like ivory, just drove me crazy. We met.
It turns out that her name is Malika, and she was born here in the dream world.
I Salafanov Sotkin Sattarovich. I live in reality. I am the Director of a large factory that produces chemicals that are used in agriculture in our vast country - I said.
I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Sotkin Sattarovich. I'm sorry that I hit you on the head with a wet rag, " Malika apologized, smiling prettily, showing her teeth like white pearls.
No it's okay, it could have been worse. Where I'm from, wives sometimes hit their drunken husbands on the head with a rolling pin and a frying pan when they return home on all fours. But their husbands still drink, not drying out for weeks, or even months. They even drink kerosene if it gives them a high. Once I was hit on the head with a bag of flour. I still thank God that this bag didn't contain some heavy object, such as a stone boulder or, say, a dumbbell - I said.
Hearing my words, Malika laughed merrily:
-Are you also a humorist? That's great! - she said. Then asked:
Will you sleep over in our world tonight?
No, I must go home before my wife wakes up.You know, a rolling pin, a frying pan, and all that - I sighed sadly.
-Sorry - she said. Then she asked again,
Can I come with you?
No, Mrs. Malika, it is impossible, because our air is polluted with carbon dioxide from smoking chemical plants and factories, and the environment is contaminated with radiation. There you can suffocate and die like a fish in a broken aquarium. A gas mask won't even protect you, that's how bad the pollution has gotten, and I want you to live in this world for a long time, even forever, but don't worry, I will come again, I will definitely come, believe me! - I said, preparing to leave.
Take care of yourself! Be careful, Sotkin Sattarovich! There are ruthless red thugs out there -Malika warned me as she walked me home.
I was kicking, and I woke up next to my wife, who was lying like a crocodile on the banks of the raging Nile river in Egypt. When she woke up, she started scolding me:
What's wrong with you? Drunk again, or what? Hair like a stork's nest, clothes covered in mud! Oops! What about your old cotton coat?! What's the hole? Burned a cigarette what?! Oh, My God! What's in the skullcap? Apricots? What is it? - she asked.
Yes - I say - this is for you, my love, try it. You know, I was in a dream. I walk in short across the summer meadow, singing in the tall grass, like a lone mower with a scythe, whistling merrily. Larks sing over the meadow, filling with a ringing trill. White butterflies roam silently in a swarm, gently kissing each other in the air, not shy of me. They fly, quietly and weightlessly, as if in Paradise. From far away where swaying in the wind birch grove, I heard the sad voice of a lone hoopoe. The air was light and smelled of meadow flowers. You would want to lie down on the grass and die, looking at the endless blue sky, where white clouds float! I stopped on a path in the middle of the meadows to listen to the distant voice of the cuckoo, which came from the direction of the ravine. Suddenly there was a cavalry unit of the red army. The Reds in military hat "budenovka" and with sabres in their hands, firing rifles, chased me, and one of the bullets pierced the hem of my cotton chopan.
She didn't believe me. But still, after trying the apricot, she said:
Unbelievable! Is this really true? I can't believe it!. What an apricot, my God! I've never eaten anything like this. Just honey! Why did you take so little? You should have taken more. Now I'll give you a huge cardboard box and you will immediately go back to the world of dreams, and get a lot of dried apricots, you stupid director of a large factory that produces deadly, toxic chemicals! Try to bring as many apricots as possible, so that I can trade them smartly in the market. We'll use the leftovers to make sweet and thick jam for the winter - my wife said greedily. Then ask:
Can we go together?
I tell her:
No, don't. What are you, my white rose, covered with morning dew, full of red ones, armed to the teeth. Dangerous! How can I go on living without you in this world if they shoot you like a partridge?! No, I'd rather go alone.
After this conversation, my wife dressed me in a soldier's uniform, which I brought from the army, and before going to bed gave me a huge cardboard box in my hands. After a while I fell asleep again and again I began to dream of those gardens of Paradise. I walked through an uncut rye field, singing in the rye, and around me fluttered, as before, white, silent, harmless butterflies, some of them even touching me with their delicate wings. Then I was startled to see a man in a battered panama hat and an old patched jacket walking straight toward me, his arms wide open like a friend I hadn't seen in years. When I recognized him, I smiled. It turns out there was a scarecrow. Red cross-eyed dragonflies with transparent wings fluttered above the rye. A cuckoo was crying across the river, which was overgrown on both sides with tall reeds, which rustled in the wind like a green wave. Wading through shallow water with a huge cardboard box in my hands, I stopped at the foot of snow-capped mountain peaks, where a powerful stream of water bubbled under high granite rocks and foamed eddies, like the mustache of a man drinking Bovary, frothy, golden beer.
There was a steel-rope suspension bridge over a mountain river. I walked over the creaking, swaying bridge carefully, looking down in horror at the seething water. On the other side of the bridge, a grove of apricots rustled in the wind. A lone eagle soared high in the sky, circling majestically over the mountain gorge and shouting proudly. His cry, like a loud whistle, echoed. I see that old man with a white beard and white clothes, with a white turban on his head, sitting on the prayer carpet. Sitting on this carpet, he prayed. Without interrupting his prayer, I went cautiously towards the apricot grove.
At first, he ate the apricot himself, and then began to collect it in a cardboard box. After filling it with dried apricots and closing it securely, I went back across the suspension bridge, where the river was rushing in powerful streams under the high granite rocks of the mountain peaks, deafening the surrounding area with its noise. When I reached a meadow where a sea of daisies, melons, cornflowers and other meadow flowers were swaying in the wind, I suddenly saw a horse squadron of the national liberation army of kurbashi-commander of basmach Ibragimbek Lakai. Bearded warriors in striped robes were armed with machine guns, British-made Mausers, and bent Isfahan swords.
Warriors in striped clothing and hairy chests spurred their mounts and shot an arrow in my direction.
One of them shouted:
O warriors of Almighty Allah, strike this infidel, the red Satan! See his uniform, clothes, and shoulder straps?! Judging by the five-pointed red star on the cap, we can assume that he is a great chief of the communist army! This is the famous General, commander of the red army, for whose head Sheikh Abu Gibran Ibn Abdelrahman himself promised to pay thousands of gold coins! Having cut off the head of this godless communist with a sword, we will present it to the Sheikh!
Hearing this, my heart sank and I ran as fast as I could. How could it be otherwise? It's scary. I run recklessly with a huge cardboard box in my hands, filled to the brim with ripe sweet as honey apricots. A mounted squadron of bloodthirsty basmachs chased me in unison, waving razor-sharp Isfahan bent swords and firing randomly at me with British-made Mauser pistols. It was at this time that one stray bullet whistled and pierced through the cardboard box. I kept running, no matter what, and I think it's a good thing I didn't bring my wife. If they saw a woman without a burqa, they would be completely enraged. Besides, my wife is Russian. They would have cut me into small, small pieces with their bent sabers.
The bearded horsemen were still chasing me. But when I reached the forest, like the reds, they stopped their horses at the cordon, deciding to continue the chase on foot. Now I knew the road well and took advantage of the descent, similar to the slide of a playground for kids.
I went down, sitting like a little boy, who goes down a slide on a sled in winter. I started down the hill at a breakneck speed, holding a cardboard box filled with ripe apricots, sweet as honey. There, by the river, that girl was not there, and I, as before, hid in a dense thicket, so that I could come out carefully when the danger was over. But then, the basmach warriors caught me. Seeing a box of apricots one of the basmachs went crazy: -You bastard, did you steal the apricots from our sacred gardens? Well, that's it, you're finished, red pig! I'll skin you alive and stretch it over a tambourine. With these words, he wanted to smash my head with the butt of an British-made rifle, but he was stopped.
-No, Osman Ibn Nigman, wait! You'll ruin the face of that red godless Satan. I'm going to decapitate him carefully myself - said a thin and tall warrior, wearing a striped coat and a turban on his head. Then, drawing his sharp, tinkling steel dagger from its scabbard and licking its blade, he began to decapitate me, and then I woke up with a wild cry, covered in cold sweat. My wife also woke up from my scream and was happy to see a cardboard box with apricots. Still, she did not forget to reproach me for not protecting a cardboard box that had been pierced through by an enemy bullet during the firefight. After that, she rewarded me, that is, finally gave me a two-day break, so that I didn't have to sleep during these days. To be honest, I myself was afraid to fall asleep and find myself in a dream world where day and night fighting is going on, between warring parties, shots are fired and explosions are thundering. Fields and forests are burning, cities are Smoking, every day hundreds and sometimes thousands of young soldiers die on the battlefields, as well as innocent people, especially helpless children who are afraid to go to school to study.
Two days later, in the evening, when I came home from work, my wife again ordered me to go to the world of dreams for apricots. I say, my love, there's a full-scale civil war going on there. Seeing me in the national cotton chopan, the communists didn't hesitate and shot at close range, just riddled with machine guns, taking the Basmach. And the soldier's uniform that I brought from the army, on the contrary, will crush a gang of basmachs and they will catch me and kill me like a sheep! - I explained.
-Oh, you miserable coward! Also called the Director of a large factory that produces deadly toxic substances such as pesticides and herbicides! Such a big man, and afraid of bullets! Let the bullets be afraid of you! Come on, let's move faster and into the world of dreams, now! - she said. I had no choice but to obey and go to bed with a huge cardboard box in my hands, drinking a solid dose of sleeping pills with vodka, which my wife gave me. After a while, I fell asleep and found myself in a dream world with a huge cardboard box in my hands. I see the cities are Smoking, the rye fields are burning! Well I think about things. Then an armed fighter plane flew over me with such a roar that my ears were deafened by the noise. Bombers also flew, deafening the entire neighborhood. Blackened birch groves and pine forests burned to the ground. Residential buildings with low huts of villages turned into ashes and ruins. Only the stoves were left from the burned huts. A tired crowd of scowling people rode creaking carts to where the hills smoked. And the mobilized recruits went to the front on cargo half-trucks, saying goodbye to their beloved wives and other loved ones. Just at this time a young lieutenant came up to me and asked: - You also decided to go to war? I was confused by this unexpected question, and didn't know what to say.The young Lieutenant continued: - You're doing the right thing, comrade. After all, the Fatherland is in danger! The German-fascist invaders treacherously invaded the territory of our country! At such a time, every citizen of our country, whether they are Uzbek or Russian, Tatar or Tajic, Kazakh or Kyrgyz, Georgian or Jew, Armenian or Azerbaijan, Estonian or Latvian, Ukrainian or Belarusian, must voluntarily go to the defense of the Fatherland. The USSR is our common home. Let's hurry up, comrade. until the half-breed war caravan left. Get in the back of the truck now! - he said. After the fiery speech of the young Lieutenant, I had no choice but to obey, and I climbed into the back of the half-truck with a cardboard box in my hands. The half-truck started. I see a beautiful girl running down the lane, stumbling and crying in the direction of the semi-truck, in the back of which I was sitting. Good - Bye, Sotkin Sattarovich! I'll be waiting for you! Write me love triangle letters! O cursed war! You damned Hitler! She wept, wiping her burning tears on the edge of her Orenburg scarf. I recognized her and said good-bye to her. Goodbye, Malika! I love you! Wait for me and I will return, having defeated the fascist.
Horde! Don't mention it with a vengeance! - I shouted good-bye to her, waving my hand. After that, the military truck drove for a long time along a bumpy country road to the West, and only in the evening we arrived at the designated point, where we were given food, uniforms and weapons with ammunition.
The next day, early at dawn, we were sent by train to the front line, where there were fierce and bloody battles. We were ordered to go forward, with a chorus of cheers, and we rushed forward. The fascist command, watching our movements from afar with binoculars, was terribly frightened and lifted military planes into the air, which began to attack us from the air. Shells began to fall directly on us, air bombs with an ominous whistle and exploded. Despite this meat grinder, the brave and valiant soldiers of our Fatherland did not run away, on the contrary, they rose to the attack, inspiring each other- Forward, fellow soldiers for the Motherland! For comrade Stalin! - I shouted, too, with a huge cardboard box in my hands. After the airstrikes, artillery fire from cannons and howitzers began. There were sounds of cannonade, the clang of tracks, and the rumble of tanks. We had PPSh sub-machine guns, pistols, rifles, daggers and sapper shovels. Anti-tank grenades hung in clusters from their belts. But they were all made of wood. Even the bullets were made of wood. This is a unique military trick that was invented by our top military leadership, talented generals of the shock army. This was not only a unique military strategy, but also an unheard-of tactic, a military art. Well, what should we do if our state was not ready for such an unexpected large-scale war, experiencing an acute shortage of ammunition and small arms? As they say in war, all means are good. Then it turned out that we, that is, recruits from Central Asia, were sent to the front line like cannon fodder. It may sound bitter, but this is a historical fact. The horrors of war cannot be described with a simple pen. I see someone calling for help. I crawled up to him and when I saw his laceration, I involuntarily covered my mouth with my hand, making a sound of " Umk!". I was sick. It turns out that the exploding shell tore off his leg. I struggled to lift my wounded fellow soldier, and then another survivor started shouting: - leg! Take his leg, too! With these words, he ran in my direction, with a severed leg in his hands. - Are you crazy? Drop that leg! Bury it for God's sake! - I shouted back, walking with my wounded countryman on my shoulders. Then an air bomb exploded with a bang not far from me. When I woke up, I saw the fascists, who were shouting nervously in their own language, kicking the bodies of wounded soldiers with their boots: Get up, Schwein Soldat!
Sneila, sneila! So I was captured. I was betrayed in the concentration camp. The Gestapo SS found out that I was a member of the Communist party of the Soviet Union and sentenced me to death by hanging. I walked with my head held high to the scaffold where the gallows were set up. Angry service dogs barked all around, ready to tear me to pieces. The sound of drums rattled the air, smelling of burning meat and hair. After that, I climbed on a stool and the traitorous policeman put a noose around my neck, carefully soaping it with household soap. After these procedures, the officer of national Germany started to speak, but I didn't understand until the traitorous policeman translated his words into Russian.
Ger standartenfuhrer SS Otto Klaus says that we, the zuldats und officigin of Nazi Germany, will hang and shoot all Communists and Jews! Strangle them in gas chambers and burn them alive in crematoriums! You are given the last word and your final wish will be fulfilled by the loyal and kind executioners of the third Reich! Then we'll hang you! What do you want?! Bread? Vodka? Speak quickly, Schweine Communist, we don't have much time! - translated by the traitorous policeman.
-No, gerr SS standartenfuhrer, I don't care about bread and vodka right now! Finally, please give me a big empty cardboard box! - I said. Hearing my last words, SS standartenfuhrer Otto Klaus said "Fool!" and began to laugh uncontrollably , shaking all over, the guards, and the executioners too. They laughed. I see that the prisoners, that is, my countrymen, are also laughing at me. After a long laugh, they finally satisfied my request by holding an empty cardboard box and started to hang me. Hundreds of drums thundered again, giving the event a vile backdrop. The traitorous policeman was about to kick the stool out from under my feet, when suddenly someone ran up to the fascist officer and whispered something in his ear.
The officer ordered the execution to be stopped. Then he began to speak, and the traitorous policeman began to translate his words.
Achtung, zoldat und officigin Deutschland! Wehrmacht headquarters has just received more detailed information from our military intelligence officers that this commie whom we are going to execute worked as the Director of a large factory that produced deadly toxic drugs such as pesticides and herbicides, which are sprayed by tons of aircraft on the cotton fields of Sunny Uzbekistan, where local violence, University students, schoolchildren and even small children work, collecting white gold, that is, cotton, almost for free, disappearing in a fog of toxic chemicals, which paralyze the brain and liver of a person, turning healthy people into disabled people, destroying the gene pool of rape. We will need such chemical weapons of mass destruction very much in the future, and this prisoner of our comfortable concentration camp will help us in this, and his people, who worked heroically, not disappearing from the face of the earth on cotton plantations without chemical protection suits and gas masks, when with the help of aviation they sprayed tons of toxic pesticides over them! From such hardened people who were used as guinea pigs in secret medical research, we will create an army of Legionnaires! In this regard, this Communist and Director of a large chemical plant, we decided to award the highest order of Nazi Germany-the iron cross! Heil Hitler! - translated by a traitor with a white police armband on his sleeve.
I was startled and shouted in confusion: - no, no, Gerr SS standartenfuhrer, don't give me the iron cross! If I go home wearing this medal, I'm finished! My wife will immediately file for divorce, and enraged Uzbek people themselves will cast kill me with rocks and stones, making a "toshboron" and the local authorities, accusing me of treason, shoot in the center of Tashkent, in downtown, where the shot of the great Uzbek writer Abdulla Kadiriy!..
With these words I again woke up with an empty cardboard box in my hands.
I was afraid that my wife would make a terrible scene when she saw an empty cardboard box, and would rush at me with a rolling pin or a frying pan in her hand, shouting: - Where are the apricots?! I'm asking you! Did you eat them yourself, you bastard! I'm going to hit you in the head with this rolling pin, you stupid! Come on, go back to sleep and don't come back here without the apricots!.. But no, she was sleeping sweetly, like a baby in a cradle! If she was very tired, then she also went to the world of dreams, looking for me. - Oh, thank God my wicked wife didn't Wake up this time! - I whispered a sigh of relief. But I shouldn't have been happy. It turns out that my wife fell into an eternal sleep! -My poor girl, how will I live in this pitiless world without you, alone! I'm sorry, my dear, I'm sorry that I couldn't bring the honey-sweet apricots you asked for from the dream world! I cried, hugging her frozen body and putting my hand over her eyes, which remained open like the Windows of an abandoned old house. At my wife's funeral, it was raining heavily in the autumn, and I caught a cold. It was as if the sky was mourning her, too. - Forgive me, my love, and good-bye for ever and ever! Let the earth rest you in peace! - I cried, not being shy of those present and coughing. That night, after the funeral, while dressing warmly, I took an empty cardboard box and went to the world of dreams for sweet apricots to please the soul of my deceased wife. I walked carefully along the bumpy road, disappearing in and out of the smoke. But at the foot of the snow-capped mountain peaks, I was stopped by soldiers, informing me that there is a drone unfair war, where drones are used to launch pinpoint strikes from the air on military and civilian objects of the parties. Fields and forests are burning, cities, towns and villages are smoking, where thousands of people are dying, not the children of the instigators of war, but the sons of poor people, very young soldiers.
I had to go back home. Since then, I can't sleep and I don't go to the dream world for apricots. They say that now there are no longer flying drones, but Intercontinental ballistic missiles with nuclear warheads and hypersonic cruise missiles, that is, the third and last world war is underway.
finishing off his speech, Salafanov Sotkin Sattarovich, Director of chemical plant became silent.

2:07 of the day.
Canada, Ontario.