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Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

The landscape poems


Translated by the author

 

Longing for spring



Spring as love works wonders,
Waking nature from a sweet dream.
Soon, deafening cries heaven,
The birds return, when the grass is green .

Coming from the pathways is spring,
A slim, naive, youthful lady.
And on the poplar the bird will sing:
-Chicka - di-di-di-di-di-di-di!

Hearing this for a while in silence,
People will stop digging gardens.
Will enjoy the singing birds,
Leaning against the shovel shanks.



16/10/2015.
4:53 of day.
Canada, Ontario.




The poor trees



Rivers and ponds covered with ice,
Outside the window, the blizzard howled.
Oh trees, I would let you into the house,
And you would warm yourself by the fire,

But you're motionless along the road,
In parks, gardens and beside the gates.
Like families in the bitter cold,
The same as people without fuel.

Scurrying, shivering on the frozen river,
And you have no shelter over your head.
But trees, you don't have a stove,
And some wood?..



04/03/2015.
2:08 of the day.
the city of Brampton, Canada.




Winter dandelions



The late dandelions appearing beautiful
They look like fluffy, snow-white balls.
Their hair turns grey, since they are fearful
Fearing that winter is just after fall.

Their winds blew like children in the fields,
It's fluff whirled and flew weightless.
The trees were playing an accordion well,
Like a musician in a cluster of snowflakes.

The blizzards have changed into dandelions,
And the fluff from them is blown away!
These snow-covered streets lights,
The flying dandelions it looks like!



21/01/2016.
12:00 noon.
Canada. Ontario.

 

 

 

 

Холдор Вулкан

Член Союза писателей Узбекистана

 

6 часов, 5 минут

(Памяти великого русского писателя Льва Николаевича Толстого)



Сияла над вокзалом молчаливая луна,
Как остановившиеся старые часы.
Будто от имени человечества она,
Пришла, чтобы прощения просить.

По опустелому полю гуляла беспечно,
Осень, чтобы как - то время тянуть.
А время остановилось в часах вечно,
Показывая 6 часов и 5 минут.

Времена года тоже остановились,
Остался только туманный ноябрь.
Поезда вдали пронзительно завыли
За осенней ясной поляной.

Делившись с людьми словами в мире,
Как с птицами последней едой,
С волосами, похожими на серые гривы,
Лежал Лев усталый, старый и седой.



16/07/2017.
7:42 вечера.
Канада, Онтерио.

 

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Задумчивый сентябрь

(Узбекскому драматургу Санджарали Имамову посвящается)

 


Журавли крикливо покидают болоты,
С уходом лета спадает жара.
Ласточки на проводах похожи на ноты,
В путь перелетным птицам пора.

Засохшие листья над осенним адом,
Летят, как рыжие летучие мыши.
Одинокая бабочка то вдали, то рядом,
Бродит безмолвно, порхая в тиши.



04/09/2017.
8:39 утра.
Канада, Онтерио.

 


x_15d42282 (604x453, 162Kb)

 

Юксак ва масъулиятли мартаба муборак бўлсин!

 

Абдусалом Абдумавлонович Азизов  Ўзбекистон Давлат Хавфсизлик Хизмати раиси этиб тайинланди.

Абдусалом Абдумавлоновични бу юксак мартаба билан муборакбод этамиз.


Холдор Вулқон

 

 

 

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

About the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling Leaves"



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 already read by you in this genre. Through 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 read. 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 reading. 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 bored, but later come to the conclusion that the evidence of the selected studies. The short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" read free online unusual, as the product is sometimes incredible, but at the same time, very interesting and exciting.



19.09.2016.



Thank you very much for the sincere review of my work.

Sincerely, Holder Volcano.



This short novel  has magic. If you start reading this book, you won't be able to stop.The story just drags you in like quicksand in the desert and swallows. Read and enjoy.



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.



Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

"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 bunches winds spread across the field where farmers work. Khurshida worked, knocking hoe on the rocky field. It 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 is so 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 she 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 very strict towards his daughter Khurshida and his difficult character and behavior more like a stepfather than her own father. He often drinks alcohol and 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, but 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 will disgrace their family, he will 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 the class of her daughter not all girls were friendly with Khurshida. That is, some girls are jealous of Khurshida and look at her with despise, because she's pretty and many guys were in love 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. There, in the distance, a willow grove, a cotton field, she saw an alone tractor that silently glided over the field like a ship on the surface of a green sea of cotton. Khurshida thoughtfully watched agile low flying swallows. They flew over the fields, almost touching the ground, and its 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 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 not pay attention to me. Better get yourself something to eat. Its 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 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 who are watching a funny presentation of a wandering artist. Khurshida was also smiling through her tears, rejoicing that the Sultan let go of the pain.

 

 

 

 

 

Подробнее...

 

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Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Chapter 7 of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves"

(Translated by author)

7 chapter

Funny story of the tractor driver Sultan




- Daughter, have you collected information about the guy? -asked Raheela.

- Yes, mother, I learned that the tractor driver Sultan from the village of "Tuyamuyun", located at the foot of the Charvak mountains. According to him, near the mountain village flows the river, which originates high in the snowy peaks, where even in summer the snow does not melt. Healing water, the air crystal clear, the village is in the verdure he says. At the foot of the snowy peaks stretch for miles, pistachio, apricot and hazelnut trees, mountain ridges covered with tall thickets of wild raspberry, old spruce forests, where woodpeckers knock, run and jump squirrels in the pine trees, the chirping of birds - in short, a Paradise on earth. Here will go there, spend a day or two, and all You have, says he, will disappear forever the desire to return home, it is here in the farm Tillaquduq. If you want You can stay there for life he said.

And why is he leaving such a wonderful mountainous land here? How did he even get here? You did not ask him?- asked Raheela.

- The fact that he is out of his mountain village went to Tashkent to enter the University, but he failed, and he was ashamed to go back. He decided to work here next year to try again to enroll at Tashkent State University. Prior to that, he is graduated from proof those College and received a law tractor. And he found a job here. In short, that his fate is - explained Khurshida.

- Well, that aggravates the situation, and I'm afraid that your father will never agree to let you marry him because you're our only daughter. If you had brothers or sisters, it would be possible for you to give in marriage, at least in Canada, at least in Europe or in Africa .And I don't want you to go away in distant lands, because without you, I can slowly fade away like a kerosene lamp, which is running out of fuel. Yes, your father is strict but he loves you more than life, and that is why he is demanding to see you. In life anything can happen. In order not to happen something irreparable, we must be very careful. Especially you, because it all depends on you - said Raheela.

What if he wants to stay here and live? -Khurshida asked, not looking up from his work.

- And are you confident in this? He himself said about this?

- No. I'm just guessing.

- I don't know, daughter. You should talk to him about everything.A life of marriage is not a toy. Marriage is for life. But many lovers parted with their beloved, who immediately after the wedding, who later when there are differences and different issues between them. It's the fact that they didn't know about each other before the wedding. The world is a market and life together by. The person, who wants to buy something, must carefully inspect the goods. Or they can buy what he will soon have to throw in the trash. Well, let's say, you bought shoes in the store. In a day or two you feel it's too tight. Going back to the store and change them. A man is not shoes to be able to go and change. To not have to change after marriage, girls should be able to choose the right husband, after a careful examination and testing before getting married said Raheela. Khurshida thought then asked:

- Mom, what if I bring him here? I would talk about everything specifically in your presence.

- Not a bad option. But will he agree to this? And what will the people who see it with us? - said Raheela.

- I need to talk to him about this and bring him here - said Khurshida.

- Good - agreed Raheela.

Mother and daughter worked until lunch, during lunch, Khurshida spoke to the tractor driver Sultan, and he agreed to go there, where Khurshida with her mother. After lunch, did not wait long, the tractor driver Sultan arrived at the appointed place. After they shook hands, Raheela the first to start a conversation:

- I beg do not judge us strictly, son. Frankly, I know about your warm relations, and see that you are a good guy. Although I believe in you, but all the same I need to know the guy my daughter wants to link their fate. Don't get me wrong. In my place any mother would do the same. Khurshida told me about a mountain village where you come from. In my opinion everything is fine .But, you know, to confess, father of Khurshida strict man with a tough character, and I'm afraid he will not agree with me if I say that I intend to give her husband for you, since you live in a remote mountain village "Tuyamuyun". My question is as follows. Once you are accepted into Tashkent State University, you will go back to your village, or want to live in our area?

- To be honest, Auntie, I used to think that enrolling in Tashkent State University, I live in Tashkent. After graduation, I think to go to the native village, and there to teach lessons to students at a local school. And now I have other plans. You see, that I check young and I am only twenty-five, but I'm still not married. I'd show you my passport, so both of you have seen this,

But I left my passport at home that is in the tractor Park, where I live temporarily. I don't want to carry all the time, both in the area where the curfew, right? - He said.

After these words, Raheela, too, began to laugh.

- Oh, You Joker. And I, naive fool, believed. Don't worry. I believe you, son - she said.

- Thank you for your trust, Auntie. To be honest, though, my name Sultan, means king, but I'm really, pathetic slave of your daughter. Now I'm ready to do anything to be with Khurshida. Not to stay in these parts, I am ready even to go to the edge of the world if Khurshida wants. Day and night I thank God for what he sent me here, and Iet such a beautiful girl like Your daughter. My life acquired meaning only after I met her. I used to be a simple tractor driver. But despite this, I read a lot for example the novel "don Quixote Lamanchas". Loved the library of our village, where always reigned peace, comfort and tranquility. Come, walk between shelves, looking at books, and relax the soul. Dizzy from the fragrant smell of books, get drunk. Well, the library was for me something quiet resort, free resort, where people restore their health. Read Jack London, Tolstoy, Turgenev, Gogol, Cervantes, Hemingway, Pushkin, Kafka, Yesenin, Abdullah Kadiri, Chingiz Aitmatov and many wonderful writers and poets of world literature. Once I was asked if I wanted to earn a little in the field of sports. I grew, interesting you people of the Lord. So, who wants to earn money, especially in my situation? Of course, want. After that we went. We drove for a long time through the wilderness, crossed the desert, and went to the trailer of the truck, "lorry" of the Stalin era through the mountain passes, where we were being chased by the mute moon. A torn piece bedspread fluttered in the wind like a tattered flag on Mars. We finally arrived in a city. Walked into a building where there were people - a full house. There I was told to take off my clothes. I stand, then, in his shorts and holey t-shirt. They put my skinny arms like sticks, Boxing gloves, and one of them, says he, I am your coach, Mr. Trendeldinov, and you will participate in the world championship on Boxing. Then I accompanied with healthy big boys went to the side of the stage, enclosed by ropes resembling a sheep pen. When everyone walked out on the stage, that is, in the ring, I left my opponent, a short, bald referee with a goat's beard. When the referee introduced us, I was surprised to see his rival, with overly large heads and slanting eyes. The opponent reminded me of Bigfoot, and he continually jumped up and down. His muscular body, from head to toe was covered with tattoos. He drew on his body, the devil knows what: naked mermaid, an octopus, a dragon, devil, Rhino, skull, cemetery, graves, and crosses - in General, a gallery of creepy paintings. Despite his scary appearance, he seemed a good, honest, helpful friendly honest God-fearing man. Finally it was the long-awaited Gong. You see, slash the opponent hits me. I said that you, dear scythe rival, beat me, that said, have I done wrong?! And slash the opponent instead of stop and apologize, even stronger began to beat me. Well, I think things... Crazy to some a patient who just escaped from a psychiatric hospital. He hits and I'm freaking out screaming, through crushing blows. Wanted was to turn to the undersized bald referee with goat beard, but he could not, began to poison us with each other:

- Fight! Fight, scum fighting dogs, rabid bulldogs and pit-bull in human form! Kill, gnaw, throat each other, and tear, meat ripped up!

I said shame on you, comrade undersized bald still narrow-eyed referee with a goat's beard?! Then slash the opponent hit me in the face, and I almost fell. Look - my coach, friend of Trendildinov, also looks with interest and does not take the necessary measures of intersection to solve problems peacefully sitting at the negotiating table.

- Help, people-All! Christians! Jews! Muslims! Bhuddists! Godless atheists -Communists! Well though someone! - I shouted to the whole room.

But my voice disappeared in the noise of onlookers. And people used to to separate us, on the contrary shouting in unison:

- Go-RIL-La! Go-RIL-La! Cross eyed gorilla, kill the skinny boxer with hands like sticks!..

Well, I think, really, not a bit of pity left in this world. Well, to my happiness, came the long-awaited Gong, saving me from the apparent death. I was moving on all fours, barely reached the stool, which was missing one leg. Sitting on a stool, my nose broken, eyes lined on his forehead a lump a size of a lemon, mouth dripping bloody saliva as the count Dracula. Breathe. Suffocating. Give, grew, water. The coach opened the thermos and pours me a cut in a Cup of boiling water. I said, well, you are a greedy miser, where, grew the sugar? Eaten?

- Oh Yes! - remembered my coach friend of Trendeldinov, and pulling from his pocket bodysuits sugar "Comrating", throws in a glass. Coach Trendeldinov, says he, let's chug it down to the bottom, sugar, helps alert, which had lossed a lot of blood in the ring. Then I started to rush, let's great faster, they say, the second round started, and again sounded the Gong. One pot-bellied woman in a quilted jacket with a short, curves and skinny legs in a dirty canvas shoes without soles walked across the stage, raising high the banner with the words "Round 2". I said, comrade coach Trendeldinov, but may not be necessary, they say, stop this bloodshed? Coach, says he, no, not Sultan. People, bought expensive tickets with great hope to see a bloody hand to hand combat modern Gladiator with a fatal outcome. We, says he, now, is doomed. If you pause the fight, the crowd, very angry and could attack us and trample, stoned. Can even apply to us in the Basmanny court, so we returned them the money they spent from the family budget to buy expensive tickets. You, says he, must fight to the end. Then I drank the second glass of water, got up, and again started beating him in the literal sense of the word. When the blows intensified, I began to suspect that slash the opponent whether wearing iron gloves, or inside the glove he put lead knuckles. I'm covered in blood, yelling wildly, beckoning for help, but no one, unfortunately, never responded to my call. In the skull of my head came a solid crack from where a red fountain spurted blood. Bald and diminutive referee with goat beard did not run in the paddock and was driving around in my blood, like ice skating at the arena and shouted, pitting us all against each other. Then, to my luck, the doctor asked to suspend the combat, to cover a crack in my skull something and bandage tape, and that skinny athlete (me) can die, and the carnage will stop earlier than scheduled, greatly disappointing the audience. Only then the referee decided to give me a break. After examining my wound and measure its width and length by using a hand caliper, and the doctors were so scared, pale face as the boy was attacked by a vicious dog. In their conclusion, the crack in my head was so dangerous that through the crack was visible to my brain, like a walnut kernel. Doctors quickly after consulting among themselves, decided to cover the crack of my skull antiquated way, and they put her back a towel. When the towel disappeared in my head, they've sealed the gap with tape. Then let me again return to the ring and fight to the end. But I could no longer fight, as I lost consciousness and fell. In-about-from, so please forgive me if I say silly words that you don't like, -finished his funny story Sultan, wearing his skullcap, which he kept in his hand. After hearing his story, Khurshida and her mother laughed heartily.

- A joke is a joke, but I do not intend to part with Khurshida, even in that light, if not ask about it me she - said the tractor driver Sultan.

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Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

The furniture

(The story)



It was exactly six months since I stopped gambling, which brought me so much grief and suffering. Since then, I sometimes play cards, but not for money. Just for fun.
I love a game of cards called "fool." In this game Usta Garib my eternal and unlucky rival. Every time he loses to me, he's a fool. After winning the game, from these decks of cards I specifically leave two sixes and put them on the shoulders of of Garib, and then I tell him:
This is for you, shoulder straps. You are the legendary General of fools.
I remember once again we were sitting at the open Window of the Barber's shop while I and Garib were playing cards. Mentally attacking my opponent, I say:
- Usta, do you know who Osip Mandelstam is? - No - replied Garib, looking at the unfolded newspaper "Yosh leninchi" - "Young Leninist" where he had not yet picked up his deck of cards.
- Who is this Mandelstam?
He is a poet and he once wrote a poem about you.
- Yeah?.. - said Usta Garib picking up all the cards that were on the unfolded newspaper "Yosh Leninchi" He picked up a bunch of his playing cards. The playing cards in his hands resembled a Japanese fan.
- And what are the poems of ? - asked Mouth Usta Garib, adjusting the card. I answered:
- He wrote so:

Power is as disgusting as a Barber's hand.

The word "Barber" means Hairdresser. That is the power is as disgusting as hands of the hairdresser - he wrote. Not about the current government, or the era of Stalin, he wrote.
- He wrote that? And why does he writes such strange poems about me? What have I done to him? Well, damn, you serve people, you serve from the heart, you shave them, you cut them, and here you are... Customers are ungrateful... In what revision does it works, this is it...that poet?
- He hasn't worked in a while. Stalin did the right thing shooting him during his repressions, felts he died of starvation in the cold barracks, where the prisoners were fed by his blood, lice, fleas and bedbugs. Some historians write that he has gone mad from paranoia, not sleeping at nights, staring wild-eyed from his torn blanket, for fear that a the others are plotting to poison him - I said.
- Really? - Usta Garib said. - I thought he was our contemporary. But still, Stalin did the right thing, shooting him. Think about it really, why does write such bad poems? why doesen't he write about the flowers there... About a woman... About love. Or, like, wine or vodka like Omar Khayyam, right? And he, the fool, took it and scribbled about hairdressers, calling them even.
Usta Garib looked at his hands and thought for a moment. Then he said:
- Interestingly. Was Stalin a hairdresser, too? - he said looking with amazement at palms.                 
I replied:       
- Yes, he was a great hairdresser. With a huge razor, he shaved off everything that grows.
Then he is a Colleague to us, huh? Well, I just didn't know - Usta Garib
- He must have had a lot of clients? - he said.
- Yes, he had millions of clients... millions... it's huge and an acute sharp razor - ...Wow, how much of his customers rotted in prisons, under torture! Died from exhaustion, from typhus, cholera and dysentery, like flies in concentration camps located in the distant and cold Magadan and in the Gulag archipelago. Many of them drowned in the swamp during logging. Most of them were shot, and branded "Enemy of the people." With these words, I finished the game, saying victoriously:
Here you have two sixes on your suspenders. Sew it on their jacket.
- Al Qasum, how do you manage to win all the time? You must, he tells Satan Alihullana - said Usta Garib, collecting his cards.
- Do you want to play again? - he said.
I refused.:
- No, thank you. I should probably get going. look in the mirror and keep playing with your reflection. And I believe that you never will win.
But with my words Usta Garib did not react. On the contrary, through the open window stared at the street where his house was located, at the car, as if it were a meat truck. And there are people unloading something like furniture. Watching this process, Usta Garib said with surprise:
- Oh, my... What are they unloading? Furniture or something?! Perhaps Adill sent his duty goods. My wife scolds them. Well, Adill! He had to pay the debt in cash. It's against street law. That's mean. I'm not letting him of the hook. Today will go to the theif in law and I will inform them about this situation.
- Come on, Al Kasum, let's go. I'll send his furniture back now. Let him drive the debt in cash. Why do I need furniture? I don twant any furniture. I'm a villiager I dont live in the City or something...
- We ran with Usta Garib to where the car was. When we came closer, we saw one officer and four soldiers. Kalashnikovs, were hanging on the shoulders of the soldiers, and with bowed heads, the soldiers stood the iron casket. Usta Garib's, wife was hugging his son's coffin, crying. At the sight of this Usta Garib had dramatically pale face and convulsively trembling lips.
The officer approached Usta Garib, taking off his cap. Then, pointing to the address and offering condolences, they gave him a letter of command.
Usta Garib took the letter with his shaking hands and read it and screamed like a wild man:
- Oh my God! For what?!.. Salahiddun! Salahidduuuun! Son! My one and only! Oh my Salahiddun! It's my fault! Allah must have me punished for what I played dice! How we dreamed with your mother to marry you to the neighbor girl Gulbahor, who you loved!I wish I had grandchildren too!As I rejoiced then, seeing you together on the Bank of the river, among the jungles, where you talked, laughed, not noticing me.How then was filled with trills, and skylarks on a flowery meadow! I remember you both fell silent for a while, listening to the distant voice of a lonely cuckoo. Apparently cuckoo cuckoo, telling you only have a short life, and we did not understand! How am I going to live in this world without you, son! I blame myself! This, I sent you to the army! I'm sorry, my son! I'm sorry, for God's sake!
Usta Garib, hugging the coffin of his only and beloved son, cried. Then I learned that the regiment of the son of Usta Garib, who served in The Soviet Army, was stationed in Afghanistan, where he was serving afghanistan but he returned home in a coffin. I tried to somehow calm Usta Garib and his wife, but they did not listen to me.
Hearing the noise, the neighbors came out and the crowd quickly gathered. Usta Garib's wife was grieving and tearing her hair out she hit his head on an electric pole, and broke her forehead. She passed out. Blood spurted from the wound, forming a puddle of red. From the blood of his wife's head and Usta Garib's wive's head became red. The women bringing it to themselves, lifted her head and to stop blood, someone brought soot from a copper pot. Then this soot was sprinkled on the wound and bandaged with a rag to prevent the bleeding.
Usta Garib roared. I, too, could not hold back tears and cried from the heart, because Salahiddun was a good guy in Afghanistan everyone roared. Soldiers, wiping away tears in their cap, too, silently crying.
At this moment they brought a coffin into the house. By lunchtime all the relatives of Usta Garib had gathered, and on the street, sharing the grief of the poor hairdresser, stood sympathetic people, talking in a whisper.
Finally came masjide Imam Sheikh Gainutdin ibn Zainuddin, to read janaza (Islamic funeral) to the dead, and said:
- Mullah Abdusalam, you quickly go get a corpse decorator from a morgue and with him in the cemetery begin to dig a grave. Mullah Halmurza you run Let him come and wash the dead. Mullah Abidjan you put him in your car and urgently bring the welder of Ergashbay Ibn Rahimjan and with him weld it so we can cut the lid of the iron coffin.
When his words were translated into Russian, the officer approached Zainutdin Ibn Gainutdin, he began to speak. I translated his words. In particular, he said:
- I categorically forbid you, comrade, to open the lid of the coffin and demand that you comply with the laws of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. The Constitution says that before the law from small to large all are equal. I have a document on that Which says to open the lid on this coffin is strictly prohibited! If you dont want a new epidemic to spread all over your republica then dont open it!
But, Sheikh Gaynutdin Ibn Zaynutdin sharply rejected the words of the officer:
- You're right. Everyone is equal before the law. But the Soviet laws, that Is, the state Constitution is not for the dead. For this simple reason, you have no right to forbid us to open a coffin.
Moreover, after death the person becomes independent from any laws that are created by people. We are simply obliged to open the coffin in order to purify the body of the deceased by Holy ablution according to Sharia law and wrap it in a shroud.
Then the officer said:
- Well, all right, comrade Mullah. In that case, you must give us a written refusal so that I can report to my superiors.
-Well, - said the Sheikh Gainutdin Ibn Zainuddin. On the paper given by the officer, the Sheikh wrote a letter of explanation.
At this time, the Mullah Abidjan brought a welder with a blowtorch, who lived not far from the house of Usta Garib. They with the help of autogen began to cut the lid of the coffin. Finally they opened the lid. Mullah Abidjan removed the lid of the coffin and stood as a statue made of bronze. Those people who dared to look inside the coffin also stood as if petrified. In the coffin the son of Usta Garib did not lie there, but absolutely another, red-haired guy with a slit throat. Little yellow centipedes were running across his face.
-Mullah Abidjan began to tear. He vomited on the coffin cover. Usta Garib stared at the coffin and the officer. Then, taking out his knife from his pocket, rushed to where the officer stood with the soldiers. But we restrained him. He was screaming like a madman.
-  i'll kill you! I'll slaughter you! What kind of abuse is this?! Where's my son?! Answer the Questions?! Where's Salahiddun?!
From the mouth of Usta Garib appeared foam, like a mad dog. Frightened, the officer removed his pistol from his holster and took aim at Usta Garib. Zainuddin Ibn Gainutdin started to calm Usta Garib:
- Usta Garib, pull yourself together. Your son is probably alive and well. thank God. For he loves the grateful...
Taking advantage of the moment, the frightened officer ordered the soldiers to quickly load the coffin of a young soldier of the Soviet Army, who was stabbed in Afghanistan. The soldiers pushed the coffin back into the car, following the order of their commander, and quickly left.
The people didn't know what to do. Gainutdin Ibn Zainuddin gave a retreat to the grave diggers and corpse cleaner that washed the body and buried the dead. Then he again turned his mouth to Garib and said:
- Compose yourself, Usta Garib. Good thing they opened the coffin. God grant that your son will return home safe and sound. It turns out there was a big misunderstanding. But the young soldier is a pity. Somewhere in distant countries his parents are also waiting for him. God rest his soul. All people, regardless of their religion or race, are sons and daughters of Adam and eve. All people in the world are equal before God, and the damned war is the work of Satan! Let us pray that there will be no war in the world and that young people will not die in the hot spots of the planet. Let us pray that the son of Usta Garib will return home safe and sound. Omin!

And we all present prayed for the soldiers of the world and for the son of Usta Garib too. Then we went home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

The execution in the electric chair

(The story)



Hurramcardon  of twenty-five, of medium height, with big cow eyes, hunched nose and black eyebrows and hair as oil.He works as an electrician in the local grid and loves his profession.Every day he's somewhere that's fixing, having climbed on high pillars on the claws.Working in a protective helmet of orange color, slightly deviating, holding in the stretch the chain around the pole and humming some funny song.At such moments, Hurramcardon  was too reminiscent of The villagers woodpecker sitting on an old pine post and knocks.Over the electric post, where Hurramcardon , floating like a huge cloud, like giant airships, and next spring the slender poplars sing Tits, bursting trills, such as: -Chka - di-di-di-di-di-di-di!The best and most interesting thing for Hurramcardon is that he can see everything from the height, at a glance, houses, yards, trees, streets, country roads, meadows and cows, cotton fields and fields of high mountain slopes and snowy peaks.

The villagers almost do not pay any attention to him. But when the electric wires were cut off in a winter blizzard or storm and the light goes out, then Hurramcardon  instantly transformed for the villagers, the most important, dear and close to heart person and even a heroic personality.How happy the villagers were when Hurramcardon panics and eliminates the problem! The population of the village old and young, even children in a loud voice, in unison they shouted: -Uraaaaaaaaa!. Hearing this for the first time, a person may even think that the angry people finally rebelled against the tyrant to make a revolution. Once the light is on, everyone, immediately forgot about Hurramcardon. And Hurramcardon in return, treating this with understanding, not offended at them. Often, the authorities themselves, to somehow save electricity, turn off the light and the village plunges into darkness. Especially in winter, when old electric kiosks explode, for weeks, sometimes months, people live without electricity, drowning their shacks and huts in the antediluvian way, eating and reading in the light of kerosene lamps, in the frosty silence. On days like these, when children do their homework in the light of a lit candle, an angry mob will curse the electricians and all the civil servants who oppress their own people, who voted for them in the elections, trusting  them with their fate, when they promised that there would be no problems with electricity and gas if the people voted for them.

With such thoughts Hurramcardon worked on the pole, and then rang his mobile phone. Hurramcardon pulled out his cell phone, turned it on.

-Hello!I hear you! - said Hurramcardon .

The man who called was silent.

-Hello! Who are you?! Why are you silent?  Speak, I'm listening! Hello!.. - said Hurramcardon surprised.

Here a man's rustling voice began to speak: - Hello! Is this electrician Hurramcardon?! Your last name is Uvadacardonov?.. Hello, man. In short you and I both know there is none. Well. Listen to me carefully and do not interrupt, do not ask who I am, where, of course, if you value your life!.. In short, your life hangs in the balance over the bottomless abyss and you have very little time.They want to arrest you today.This is because you blabbed somewhere that all the people who respect themselves in the world treat each other with aristocratic prefixes of the noble title as "Background", "Baron", "Don", "Lord", "Count". And he offered people a new idea that we too should address each other as they, having called names with the prefix "Cardon" and to write also names of citizens with the same prefix in new passports. After that, mentally calling their names with such a prefix, people laughed in unison, and could not suppress their laughter. Was it?  - friend asked.

-Yes, it was. What's wrong with that? I was kidding. Do they arrest you for a joke? - Hurramcardon was even more surprised .

- You kidding? That joke of yours on the same day, confidential informants denounced competence authority in writing, saying the idea of the citizen electrician Hurramcardon Uvadacardonov fraught with dangerous consequences for our society.To understand the scale of the ideas of a citizen of Hurramcardon Uvadacardonov enough to think about the name of our illustrious and eternally indispensable President with the same prefix "Cardon" - they wrote. After reading denounced the investigator from the fear got a dry throat. Then they raised the alarm and put you on the international wanted list. So run and look behind you. Okay, I can't talk anymore. It's dangerous. The situation is extremely serious. After our conversation you break your mobile phone with a stone and try not to talk on the phone. Sincerely, your secret friend ' said the stranger.

- What are you talking about, I was just joking that the company had fun and talked about some of our officials in the highest Government of  the authorities, who steal people's money and send them to foreign banks through zones, in the form of gold and diamonds in place in order to improve gas supply in the country and to upgrade the ageing transmission system. I did not say a word about the authorities that sell natural gas, oil and other minerals almost for free to other countries. And our poor people are drowning their huts, shacks and concrete apartments the antediluvian way in the harsh winter.That is, coal, wood or dung. Especially in winter, in the absence of electricity and gas, the population of our country suffers from the cold. Especially children. They do their homework at the light of a kerosene lamp in cold a house in the siege of Leningrad in the forties of the 20th century. When for the money stolen by some state officials of our independent country, you can easily build powerful ultra-modern power plants, hundreds of giant plants and factories, where our patrons are suffering from total unemployment even though they could work. They wouldn't travel the world looking for work and becoming slaves. If they had a normal job at home, our young fellow citizens would not have turned into marauders, in the hot spots of the planet, where they blow up and destroy beautiful cities, turning them into ruins, killing each other and innocent people, especially the homeless children...
Hello! Hello, can you hear me?! - said Hurramcardon . But from the phone he heard short beeps, similar to the beeps of the ventilator of the lungs of a patient, who died. That is, the connection was broken.

Hurramcardon  with fright, looked around and quickly went downstairs and went to the side of the block where he lives with his mother. On the way, all the people began to look for undercover policemen in civilian clothing. Before he went to his apartment, he again looked around and going inside, closed the door of his apartment. Seeing his pale face and anxious eyes, his mother became concerned.

What's wrong, son? - she asked.

- It's okay.Only, you know... there is such a thing... well, how do you explain it? More shortly... he said barely hearing the thud of boots outside the door, the fear stopped. Then, approaching the door on tiptoe, he looked through the peephole and saw the people standing there. One of them Hurramcardon immediately recognized. It was the local policeman Lieutenant Qogozcardonov, who began to knock at the door.

Who's there? Open the door - said mom of Hurramcardon.

Hurramcardon putting his index finger on his mouth and said in a whisper: - Shh, Mom, there is the Lieutenant Qogozcardonov with his squad. They want to arrest me. Don't worry, mom, it's gonna be okay. I'm going out the window right now and tell them you didn't see me. Take care of yourself, mom. I love you - said Hurramcardon, hugging his mom and saying goodbye to her. From these words the mother of Hurramcardon almost fainted.

Hurramcardon  opening the window, jumped on the booming testennou the roof of a nearby house and ran as a stuntman who performs dangerous and difficult stunts, replacing the actor on the set. After him, said the local policeman Lieutenant Qogozcardonov, people engaged in catching stray dogs. Downstairs they gathered the people and began to observe what is happening sasisa their eyes from the Sunny ray ladanyi their hands. They thought that in their hometown was a shoot action-Packed exciting feature film. Hurramcardon recklessly ran across the tin roofs. He ran and thought that in this world he ran everything as a hampster in a cage which is turning a wheel. People run because they are chased by the merciless grim Reaper. And people twist their wheels, big and small, gold, iron, wood and clay, quietly turning gray and aging at the same time. Who's got the legs for untold wealth. Even those who have paralyzed legs, too, running for a paltry pentia, who is moving with the help of crutches, who is in a wheelchair with the wheels of a bike. And the Earth, Is spinning like a mysterious wheel of the universe and so good that no one can stop it. And the blue sky was too similar to an hourglass, where seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, and centuries are flowing from above like the Sands of the torn bag like heaven in the hourglass of eternity... Such thoughts Hurramcardon  ran on, leaping from roof to roof, like a flying squirrel in the forest as suspense in the jungle.

-Citizen Hurramcardon ! Wait! Stop! Otherwise I will be forced to open fire with my service weapon! - shouted the Lieutenant Qogozcardonov.

Hurramcardon did not obey him. On the contrary he started to run even faster. He jumped from roof to roof like a monkey in the jungle, like a flying squirrel from tree to tree and ran recklessly. Lieutenant Qogozcardonov and the hunters ran with nets in their hand, deftly leaping from rooftop to rooftop, never losing sight of cursory Qogozcardonov. At the bottom of all this with admiration he watched the crowd of onlookers, as tourists at the canadian waterfall Niagara, over which some zipline. Then disaster struck and Hurramcardon  old fell into a deep ventilation shaft of the Khrushchev era. As he fell crashing down, he heard shouting in the dark. Someone coughed and sneezed in the soot and dust. On the roof all, still stomping their boots were the people.
-Oh, my! He's gone! As if the landing failed! To Shaytan!, where has he gone?! I really missed the bastard. - said the Lieutenant Qogozcardonov and said: Well, we'll do a stakeout on his apartment and he won't escape us! After these words, stamping the echoing roof detachment Lieutenant Qogozcardonov began to leave. When they left, in a dark ventilation shaft, someone lit a match and Hurramcardon  saw a man of about thirty-five or forty. He lit a candle. Hurramcardon  immediately asked for forgiveness from the owner for jumping into the housing.

- Nothing, the case - said man and continued.

- I am a lone writer and poet my name is Dahabebahokardon - he explained.

- I'm glad to meet you Mr. poet Dahobebahokardon. Call me Hurramcardon. I have a special secondary education. Before that, I worked as a simple fitter.

- Well, then we're almost colleagues. As you electricians are covering people's houses and roads and we poets illuminated the human soul like a brooding weary street lights in the quiet dawn - said еру poet Dahobebahokardon . Then he read his new poem.

Listening to the verses of Dahobebahokardon, Hurramcardon  took a deep breath.

- Ndaaaaa, such a great poet lives in an unlit ventilation shaft! What an injustice, my Lord! How do you even live in a hole like this covered in cobwebs? Such poets as you have to live in mansions, in the window that at night sneaks the curious moon. Where, outside the window are rings of white-trunked poplars in the wind, and the fall of the brooding maples drop their leaves in silence as tears. In the winter  twilight poets have to sit silently next to a large window, especially turning off the lights and gaze for hours on snowy a snowstorm, listening to the howling of vugi he said.

-No, Mr. Hurramcardon , on the contrary I am glad that I live in the ventilation shaft. It's much better than living in luxurious mansions. Here reigns peace and quiet. No one's bothering me here. I'm not running, I'm not in a hurry, I'm not late. Im doing what I like-said Dahobebahokardon.

Hurramcardon paused for a moment, looking at the hands of the poet of Mahabaratha covered with tattoos. Then asked:

- I apologize, Mr. poet, it is clear that you have been in prison for many years. What for?

-No, Mr. Hurramcardon , I wasn't in prison -said the poet Dahobebahokardon.

- Then why are your hands covered with tattoos? - said Hurramcardon .

AAA said Dahobebahokardon. Then went on to explain:

-I have not only my hands, almost all my body is covered with tattoos, where the text of my poems is written in small print, which can be read only with a magnifying glass. I wrote them on my body with ink and a needle so my poems wouldn't get lost. In short, I live the manuscript of his poems. That's the way I will save money to buy new shoes, but I still can not. I walk, as you can see, in these old footsteps, wrapped in my footcloths. It's like gold for the rich to me. I rarely would like to share with paper he said - then he continued,

-Mr. Hurramcardon , I'm glad you came. Although you came into my miserable home without warning, but you still are a God to me, you should be able to treat the poet more than that - said Dahobebahokardon.

- Well, I'm ready to take treats, Mr. poet. I know you want to punch me in the face for the fact that I bothered you with my stupid visit - smiled Hurramcardon .

- No, really I dont want to punch you in the face, you truly are an expensive guest. I do have some treats for you. There's got to be a piece of dried bread around here somewhere .I didn't eat it, even when I was facing starvation. I saved it for random guests. Where is it?.. With these words, the poet Dahabebahokardon began frantically fumbling in his old and tattered bag, made of fox leather.

- Don't, don't worry, Mr. poet I'm full- said Hurramcardon .

-Yes? the poet - said Dahobebahokardon, and made a sad sigh. Then he got very excited, feeling his torn jacket and pulling out the inner pocket of the pouch.

- Here, I have an excellent shag, made by me from the fallen crimson leaves of autumn maple, which sadly drops in deserted autumn parks and alleys in the misty silence. That is, I will treat you with sacred smoke -he said, hastily unleashing a ribbon from his pouch with his hands shaking with excitement.

-Mr. poet Dahobebahokardon, don't. I'm not Smoking or drinking.That is, I lead a healthy lifestyle. Sports said Hurramcardon .

-Don't be afraid, Mr. Hurramcardon. The tobacco heals - explained the poet Dahobebahokardon , stuffing his pipe with tobacco,on the thin mouthpiece, specially made of reeds. Then, lighting his pipe, took a few puffs and handed it to Hurramkardon.

Hurramcardon  picked up the phone and also made a puff. Then the toxic smoke entered his lungs and he began coughing heavily, sticking out his tongue like a sick old sheep, gasping for breath. Dahabebahokardon began to laugh. He barely was able to breathe due to him constantly laughing said: -You cough as quail, who sings in the predawn darkness of the clover field. The quail was also coughing, the quail's throat was frozen when it drank the cold dew.

- Hmmm,the tabacco that you made with fallen maple leaves which you picked up from the foggy autumn park bitter - said Hurramcardon smiling - just recovering.

Dahabebahokardon asked him about why Lieutenant Qogozcardonov and his team following him.

Hurramcardon  told in detail the reason for the prosecution thought Dahabebahokardon. Then, lighting a pipe he stuffed it with healing tabacco, made of fallen crimson leaves of the autumn maple, he began to speak.

-Yes, Mr Hurramcardon  like you - a rarity not only in our society but on the planet.Not everyone is given the courage to tell the truth about the hard life of people, risking their own lives. I envy you in white in this regard, honestly.And I live here, hiding from the stupid crowd like an eagle nesting on a high rock. Since this property has no Windows, every day I go up to the roof through a compact folding staircase to meet the dawn and sunset, sitting on a tin roof and write new poems.At night I admire the starry sky and the shining moon in silence.I especially love to look at the dawn from the roof down, watching the movement of the crowd, hurrying to work or somewhere else.The flow of crowds moving along the sidewalk as the caravan of ants and headed toward the subway.Hurrying the people obedient to remind me of grains of sand, which the winds easily control and direct them wherever it wants...

Then suddenly someone began to shout at the top:

-Oh, crap, he is here, in the ventilation pipe.Talking to his accomplice!Hurry up, comrade Qogozcardonov! - he screamed.

And again there came the sound tarpaulin boots echoing on the tin roof.Hurramcardon  and poet Dahabebahokardon with horror, stared upward, as prisoners in the deepest dungeon of the ancient Bukhara.

They are terribly scared seeing the angry policeman Lieutenant Qogozcardonov, which looked at the ventilation shaft, as in the well with a service weapon in hand.

-Come on, hands up, bastards!From us still no one can not escape!Now you end Hurramcardon ! And your accomplice too!.. Hey, you bring the rope quickly.Let them rise voluntarily, unless of course they still want to live in this world! he shouted, raising his cap slightly with the barrel of a silenced pistol.

Hearing this Qogozcardonov's heart sank.He stood with his hands raised as a warrior captured in the war.Poet Dahabebahokardon too.

-Wait, Lieutenant Qogozcardonov!I've got tranquilizer Darts! He just ran to the dog hunter, who is engaged in catching of stray dogs, and pulling from his pocket a brass tube began to throw his Darts at Hurramcardon  and his friend.But he couldn't get in.Then the Lieutenant Qogozcardonov lost patience and abruptly pushed him away.

-Oh, you poor dog hunter!Who shoots like that!Move, stupid! I'll do without your bear services, without the rope! I've got a smoke bomb that'll make them go upstairs! he said, lighting a smoke bomb, and threw it into the windpipe, which resembled an old dried-up well.

At this time, the push Lieutenant Qogozcardonov dog hunter rolled on the tin roof and barely stopped at the edge of the roof.

-Don't be afraid, Mr. Hurramcardon .Without panic.In an air duct has a back door-said in a whisper and coughing in the smoke poet Dahobebahokardon.After that, pulling out the old mattress, they opened the doorway and dived there.

Hurramcardon  with the poet Dahabebahokardon out of the doorway and ran, not looking back on the sidewalk, knocking passers-by, in order to get away. Lieutenant Qogozcardonov and his partner the dog hunter. They were still above the ventilation pipe, hoping to catch the two fugitives, that is from the pit of the ventilation pipe, filled with a caustic smoke.And runaways-adherents ran on the sidewalk with all their might, overtaking each other as participants of the sports Olympic games on a treadmill.When they started to cross the street, as if changing direction on the run, Hurramcardon  almost got hit by a truck.The driver of the truck, sharply twisted the steering wheel to the right and in a panic pressed the brakes.As a result the truck sharply left on a roadside and with a roar crashed into a column. From a powerful blow a wooden pole broke like a mast of an ancient pirate ship in the stormy sea.There were heart-rending cries of women, like whistling, swearing and screaming alarm.Fortunately, there were no casualties.The friends fled until, they began to suffocate.Here in the head of Hurramcardon came a unique idea and he forced one man bike with biker handlebars.

-Mr. poet Dahabebahokardon! Jump quickly to the back of the trunk assembly of Shaytan! - he shouted.

Poet Dahabebahokardon jumped on the trunk of a stolen bike with biker handlebars.He deftly sat on Satan's wagon, go prompt the Indians on the horse and together they raced down the sidewalk, screaming: -From the screw, dear citizens!This unit Shaytan is not working brakes!

Passers-by leaned against the walls of houses and showcases of restaurants and cafes, freeing them from the sidewalk.There was a trouble.That is Qogozcardonov's pant leg caught in the chain and the fugitives, losing balance fell to the pavement.To get rid of the two-wheeled trap, from the Shaytan unit, Hurramkardon had to say goodbye to the Trouser leg of his trousers.After that, they started running on the crowded sidewalk again.

There were screams.:

-Companion Qogozcardonov!Here they are!Shoot!We'll miss them again! - the driver of a pickup truck shouted, densely approaching the populous sidewalk.

- No, it's crowded here!I'm going to miss and shoot innocent passers-by!You are a dog hunter, go ahead and shoot poisonous darts for fugitives from his stupid brass tube! -shouted the Lieutenant Qogozcardonov.

-Well, comrade Qogozcardonov! - said dog hunter, and he drew from his pocket of his blue robe brass tube, similar to the tune, began to throw Darts, taking aim at the neck of the fugitives.But he missed and immediately fell a few passers-by, clutching his neck with his hands.

- Fool!Be careful, smelly dog hunter! - reproached the hunter of stray dogs Lieutenant Kogozkardonov, slightly raising the visor of his cap with the barrel of a service weapon.By this time the fugitives sharply changing their directions, dived into a narrow alley, where the car would not fit.

After this detachment of Lieutenant Qogozcardonov began to pursue the fugitives on foot.The persecuted ran towards the railway station.There is screaming from the unbearable pain electric Hurramcardon  started limping, clutching his leg.It turns out he stepped on a rusty nail that pierced through his leg.He could no longer walk, and fell to the ground like a sack of fertilizer.
Poet Dahabebahokardon  had to go back to help his faithful friend in the difficult moments.

- What's wrong? - he asked, running and breathing heavily.

- Vss aaahh!..A nail pierced through my leg! - said Hurramcardon .
His face twisted into a grimace of pain.

-Anything, be patient, master electrician Hurramcardon .Get up.
Let me help you with that. It's dangerous for both of us to stay here. After the squad Lieutenant Qogozcardonov, you understand? - said the poet Dahabebahokardon, trying to help to rise to his fugitive friend.

- No, don't help me.I like something better of myself... You run, I got your back.While I'll hold them off, you will have time to escape, blending into the crowd in the station the flea market.I'm sure.Goodbye, my friend the poet Dahabebahokardon! You have no right not to be saved, run for God's sake, for the sake of our long-suffering literature, for the sake of our oppressed people! said Hurramcardon , groaning from the unbearable pain.
After that Dahabebahokardon there was nothing for it but to run on.
-Goodbye, Mr. Hurramcardon ! Thank you for helping me, staying in trouble and sacrificing yourself for our friendship! - cried the poet Dahabebahokardon. His eyes glistened with tears.Saying goodbye to his friend he ran on.When he disappeared from sight, there was a detachment of Lieutenant Qogozcardonov and caught the fugitive electrician. Lieutenant Qogozcardonov sitting on the back of Hurramcardon, put lowcost handcuffs on his hands.

- Well, got the smelly electrician, evil enemy of our suffering people?! We will catch your crazy rich friend poet living in a luxury ventilation pipe!

- Ah stop... come on, chief, that hurts! Don't put pressure on my leg, which was pierced through by a rusty nail! - said Hurramcardon , lounging on the ground.

After that, he was taken to the basement of the detention center for questioning.

The investigation lasted long.The criminal case consisted of several volumes.Finally, the trial took place and the jury handed down an indictment.After all this, the Prosecutor asked the court to sentence Hurramcardon to death.

- The court having consulted on a place, decided! Since our convict Hurramcardon  worked at the will of the electrician, he will be executed in the electric chair! - the judge said.
Then ordered:

- Rise, condemned!
Hurramcardon  stood up.
- Do you understand the sentence?! - the judge asked.

Hurramcardon  replied: -Yes, your honor.

-Sit down! - ordered the judge.
Hurramcardon  sat down on the defendant bench.

- At this court session is declared closed! - the judge said, tapping with a wooden hammer.

Hurramcardon  never thought that he would ever commit such a heinous crime and will be executed in the electric chair.Oh, how his mother in court, was crying!The worst thing happened before the execution.When he heard the barking of angry dogs and keys rattled the iron door, Hurramcardon  thought with horror that the executioners coming from the dark corridor to take him to the room for the execution.But it was not .The lawyer came with the Mullah. Beardless young Mullah with a black velvet skullcap on his head with a sacred book in his hands.

-Electrician Hurramcardon , so you are going to the afterlife, I came to read your janaza by Sharia law - said the beardless Mullah with a velvet black skullcap.
Hurramcardon  was silent, looking at the Mullah indifferent gaze as a crazy person.

-I also came to say goodbye to you, my dear client Hurramcardon .I apologize that I couldn't protect you from a death sentence-the lawyer told and bitterly began to cry.

After this came two, which brought him food.

- This is your last meal.Excellent plov, cooked on a sheep fat gisar breed.Eat.If you want to drink vodka or wine lastly, tell me do not be shy-said one of them and uncorked a bottle of wine, gently pulling the tube with the aid of a corkscrew.

-No, thank you.I don't want to eat.Drink is also - said Hurramcardon .

-Well, well.If you don't want to drink, we will toast to you, that is, the sight of your soul -the other said and they drank in silence, clinking glasses, and ate.Then they took Hurramcardon , dragging him along a narrow, poorly, conferences hall.Before putting him on the electric chair, the Barber shaved his hair with a razor in the top of his head, wet his head with a wet rag so that his skull effectively passed the high voltage electric current.Then put him in the electric chair, the executioners tied the hands and feet with belts, blindfolded his eyes, a dark blindfold, so they don't jump out of their orbits during the execution.

After the judge read the verdict , Hurramcardon with a rag in his mouth thinking about that here is the main executioner nod to his assistant and he pulls the switch and scary sitebest electrical discharges like lightning in the black sky, throwing sparks and he's done.

Finally it was the time of the execution and the assistant chief executioner solemnly pulled richer.Those present in the hall covered their face with their hands, with magazines, who else than that, not to see the terrible event.But just at this time the power went out throughout the district, thereby saving Hurramcardon  from apparent death.
Hurramcardon  woke up in a cold sweat and saw his mother, who stood with a candle in her hand.

- Oh, mom, why are you holding a burning candle? - he asked with fright, thinking  that he really died after the execution and is already in the dark world.

-What is it, my lamb, I think you are sick? What to do if power each day turn the light off, under the pretext economic electricity? Turned on the TV to watch movies and again turned off the light - mom said electrician of Hurramcardon.

- Oh, thank God, mother, thank God, that all this was not in reality! - said Hurramcardon  hugging his mother.
-What happend to you, my son, did you have a nightmare? - asked the mother of Hurramcardon.
-Yes, mother, in the dream I was executed in the electric chair!Good thing the lights went out during the execution! Oh, how good it is to live without electricity!Look, mom, how the moon looks in our open window!As the distant twinkle of countless stars! Do you hear the frog choir whispering?How they croak! Kuvaс! Kuvaс! Kuvac -cac -cac - cac -cac -cac -kuvac!! And how selflessly crickets sing!  - said Hurramcardon , looking in through the open window, which gently fluttered the net curtains.

- Yes, son. Frogs are humpbacked, bug-eyed, ugly, in a word.And how they sing under the bright shining moon, in silence! - said the delighted mother of Hurramcardon.

Mother and son wondered, silently glaring through open window on moon and on distant the blue stars.




02/05/2018.
9:46 in the morning.
Canada, Ontario.

 

 

 

 

DISPUTE divides but SPORT, on the contrary, UNITES the people of the world, regardles of their nationality, race and religion.We need SPORTS!

(Holder Volcano)

 

According to the current President (UFC), Dana White, American police arrested three of the instigators of the fight in the octagon, but mixed martial arts featherweight champion Conor McGregor requested that the police let them go.In our opinion it is a noble act of the real warrior.

Conor, despite the defeat in the battle with Khabib Nurmagomedov, billions of your fans will still respect you as one of the legendary fighters on the planet.You deserve respect.


Sincerely, Holder Volcano.

Writer.

 


По словам действующего президента (UFC), Дана Уайта, американская полиция задержала троих зачинщиков драка в октагоне, но эксчемпион мира по смешанным единоборством в полулегком весе Конор Макгрегор просил, чтобы полиция их отпустила.На наш взгляд это благородная поступка настоящего бойца.

Конор, не смотря на поражение в бою с Хабибом Нурмагомедовом, миллиарды твои болельщики попрежнему будут уважать тебя, как один из легендарных бойцов на планете.Ты достоин уважения.


С уважением, Холдор Вулкан.

Писатель.

 

 

 

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

Letters of Mizhappar

(The short novel)

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


The sixteenth letter of Mizhappar



Last night my friends called me, pulling their necks through the clay fences of my yard, and I put on my boots without soles, went out into the yard to meet my friends. By the shoulder of Qurumboy's black jacket of the now deceased Director of the company "the Edelweiss" Mr. Chemodanov.

-Where are we going tonight? - I asked my friends.

Qurumboy whispered in my ear very interesting news, and I was wary.

-Really? - I asked in surprise.

According to him, in one of the internal pocket of the jacket of suitcases he found many passports and ten thousand American dollars.

- What are you going to do with this money? - I said, I was interested.
- I suppose that these funds are equally distributed on behalf of our party, poor, poor people strictly on the list - said Qurumboy.

- I want to spend the money for the renovation of our office located in the barn. We would wash all the walls of the office and draw a tiger on the wall, which is preparing to jump from a high cliff which a deer that came to that river to drink. Discreetly painted would sneak up to the deer and a huge crocodile, with an eagle top, who is also planning something terrible - said Yuldashvoy.

-I fully support the idea of leader Qurumboy. We must take care of the poor, orphans, pensioners and the disabled. Then, people will vote for us during the elections, said Mamadiar.

- Then I'll put it to a vote. Vote, companions deputies, members of our party and guests of plenary session - Qurumboy told.

Then he calculated:
- Consonants-three, against-one, abstaining-no. Adopted unanimously!

After that, we went to the village Council and made an appointment with the Chairman of the village Council. We sat long, yawning from boredom as hippos. Finally, we managed to get into the Chairman's office. He didn't want to talk to us at first. But when he learned about our intentions, he dramatically changed his attitude towards us and immediately began to consult on this matter with the Governor Chapaev Zulmat Alimanovic on the phone. Then he hugged us and said,:
- Congratulations, gentlemen billionaires.
Zulmat Alamanovich was very happy and told us go-ahead. He intends to invite us to this charity event the Governor of the Chapaev region and his friend Yebtoymas Tappatalaruvuch. If you do not mind, we will hold this event in the Collective farm club. There we will give an important donation to the poor.
- Well - we said in unison.

On the appointed day we were taken by special cars in the direction of the collective farm club. Near the club we were met by a crowd of people, heads and a very beautiful girl, holding bread and salt, in a national dress named "khanatlas" with a coat, woven of fiery red velvet. Sounded karnays and surnays Eastern drum "carbon". We were led on by the Commissioner, Deputy and millionaire, Qurumboy was hungry, and for this reason, with great appetite, ate bread and salt. Yuldashvoy even gathered the crumbs of bread that remained on the tablecloth, and ate it. We are culturally wiped our mouths with a towel and burped. After that, the students ran as crowd in our direction with bouquets and flowers. They gave us these bouquets. When we went inside, the hall was full, and from lack of places many stood, some sat on window sills. We were asked to stand on the stage where the members of the Presidium were sitting. The first word spoken to the Governor of the Chapaev region Yebtoymas Tappatalaruvuch. That for almost two hours praised the President for almost two hours and then spoke about power, then spoke about kindness and mercy. Out of boredom Mamadiar began to yawn. Qurumboy also stood on the stage and killed the Governor:
- Comrade Yebtoymas Tappatalaruvuch, save it.! We don't have time to listen to your boring report! We must whitewash the walls of the pigsty and paint a beautiful landscape on the wall, where a huge, a striped tiger jumps from a high rock on a deer that came to the river! Come on, round up your report immediately and call all the poor orphans, pensioners and the disabled! We have to give them dollars, that is, donations! he said.
-Well, Mr. billionaire Qurumboy! - said Optimus Capitalrich dutifully interrupting his report. Then he called the poor to the stage.

-Come on, the poor who need the charity of our valued billionaires come and don't be shy! One at a time! Now Mr.billionaire Qurumboy and his rich friends will give us dollars! -  said Yebtoymas Tappatalaruvuch.

Then, substituting Qurumboy with his hat backwards, he began to cry:
-Mr. Qurumboy! I want to admit that the poorest man in the country is me! Give alms to the poor Governor of the Chapaev region! My salary is small and my family is big. Even those bribes that I regularly take on a large scale from the heads of districts and from the chairmen of collective farms, are sorely lacking! I checked yesterday, the total profit from the turnover for the year in my companies is only one hundred million dollars! Other than that, I'm laughing my ass off in a service limo! Give me at least one hundred dollars, Mr.Qurumboy!  Cried Yebtoymas Tappatalaruvuch, wiping tears with the sleeve of his English coat.
Qurumboys threw a hundred dollars in the hat of the Governor Optimas Capitalrich.

- Thank You, Mr. Qurumboy!  -said Optimus Tataranowicz, wearing a hat with a hundred dollar bill.

He walked to Qurumboy head of the tax inspection with an outstretched hand:

- Post, Mr. Qurumboy, I'm begging you, who stripped three skins by large taxation income from people who want to do business, opening a firm or a farm! Mr. Qurumboy! I'm an orphan! My parents died in a nursing home, they disowned me! In return, I will except your party from state tax! Feed the hungry and the poor head of the tax police Japanskog area! I only ate 250 grams of black caviar and 250 grams of red caviar for Breakfast today!

-Here, take it! said Qurumboy the head of the tax Inspectorate Chapaev district, throwing it into the steward of the United State's outstretched hand.

There appeared on the scene paunchy Prosecutor and he also started to say:
-Oh, Mr. Qurumboy, show mercy and serve! I really need the money! I get constantly astronomical sums in the form of bribes from relatives of convicts, but I can not fill the black hole, which is called the need! So I just have to put more people in jail with false accusations and get even more bribes! Here, I want to buy for the birthday of my son, one helicopter, and I do not have the money! How can I buy a plane if I don't have enough money  for even a helicopter?! What if the other son wants me to give him a plate for his birthday?! (flying, of course).What am I going to do?! And I cannot even to think about buying a time machine! There can not do without your help! Would you please hand it to the poor Prosecutor?..

Qurumboy gave the district attorney a hundred dollar bill and said:
- Buy a plane, a biplane, or a glider!

The Prosecutor thanked Qurumboy for his generosity.

Look, leaders of all stripes lined up for alms. Then Qurumboy got up from his place, took out a bunch of hundred-dollar bills and scattered them in the air. Notes fell like autumn leaves, over the heads of the people in the audience, it started a stampede. All heads and chiefs rushed to the money, pushing, crushing each other and shouting:
- Oh, dolla-a-a-a-r! Dolla-a-a-a-r! - they snarled greedily, trying to grab a green bill in the air. Then the fight started. The crowd began to rotate in the hall, like a giant whirlpool. We rushed outside through the emergency exit. Congratulating ourselves on our successful rescue.

Sincerely, Mizhappar.




October 24, 2008.
8 hours 28 minutes the evening.
Abandoned pigsty