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Холдор Вулкан

Член Союза писателей Узбекистана

 

 

 

Дедушка Холдора Вулкана

 

1 глава повести "Далекие огни"






Бабушка Холдора Вулкана

Детство



Я задумчиво смотрел на падающий снег. Он падал, кружась, то торопливо, то тихо. Крупные белые снежинки, кружились в воздухе, словно пушинки пристреленных лебедей, собравшихся улететь на юг.

Снег падал так красиво и так густо, что я едва различал деревянный забор, стройные березы, кафе под названием "У Ахмеда" и частную лавку, которая в народе называлась "Камок", где торговала продуктами добрая дунганка по имени Халима.


Я здесь жил, днем убирал снег, рубил топором дрова и иногда топил баню. Я любил колоть дрова. Это было одно из моих любимых занятий. Когда я орудовал топором, я чувствовал себя лесорубом, который валит вековые сосны и кедры в глубине далекой тайги, где от стука дятлов дрожит воздух, где с грохотом падают срубленные деревья, пронизывая воздух запахом свежей и сочной сосновой коры. Я колол дрова и забывал на какое-то время о моем изгнании из родных мест, где я родился и вырос.

Я колол дрова, а из окна глядел на меня мой маленький сын Саид, улыбаясь и махая мне ручкой.


Проклятое изгнание не пощадило даже моих сыновей, лишив их друзей, которые остались на родине. У Саида здесь не было друзей. Он играл один, и, глядя на него, я чувствовал, как на глаза мои наворачиваются слезы. Жалко мне было сына.


Я думал о своей прошедшей жизни, которая было похожа на трагикомедию. Если хорошенько подумать, то мне представляется, что я был врожденным оппозиционером. Помню, я часто играл в футбол со своими друзьями во дворе старого, заброшенного свинарника, который располагался на берегу реки Карадарьи, где в маленьком хуторе жили каракалпаки. Хутор находился недалеко от глубоких оврагов и ущелий. Какие высокие тополя росли тогда в этом хуторе! Как шумели воробьи, оглушая своим щебетаньем всю окрестность, когда садилось солнце, скрываясь за горами Тянь-Шаня, господи!


Я вспоминаю, как-то раз мы, ребята с нашей округи, долго играли футбол, не заметив, как стало вечереть, и возвращались по пыльной дорогой домой, голодные, усталые и довольные. Приближаясь к дому, я вспомнил о заданиях, которые дал мне отец, и в сердце моем тоже начали опускаться сумерки. Отец у меня был строгим, и я чувствовал всегда его пытливый взгляд и боялся его. Я хотел зайти в дом тихо и незаметно, продвигаясь на цыпочках, как аист в рисовом поле, который шагает осторожно, чтобы не вспугнуть лягушек, надеясь полакомиться ими. Но тут вдруг появился отец и - хоп! - я попался. Начался "суд" надо мной, в котором отец единолично был одновременно и прокурором, и судьей. Он вынес мне суровый приговор и определил наказание.

Лишённый адвокатов, я оказался на улице.

В такие моменты я знал, что мне делать. Не раздумывая долго, я пошёл к дедушке с бабушкой, которые любили и жалели меня. Я попросил у них политическое убежище, и они, не требуя особых документов, дали мне убежище. Помывшись, я сел на курпачу обильного дастархана*. Накормив меня, бабушка постелила мне мягкую постель с пуховой подушкой и, поцеловав меня в лоб, пожелала мне спокойной ночи.


Низкий дом, где жили дедушка с бабушкой, имел глиняный пол, на котором была расстелена мягкая солома, покрытая ковром. Человек, который наступал на этот ковер, чувствовал себя человеком, стоящим над огромной резиновой грелкой с теплой водой.

Смотрю - дедушка мой сидит и при свете керосиновой лампы читает какую-то книгу с пожелтевшими страницами, надев очки с овальной оправой, какие люди носили во времена Антона Павловича Чехова. Бабушка латала белый яктак*, похожий на японское мужское кимоно моего деда. В лачуге царила такая арктическая тишина, что я слышал громкое, ритмичное тиканье старинных часов, похожих на голос ящерицы Геккона, которая жила в щелях не отштукатуренных стен и в сумраках охотилась за мотыльками. Дед мой в то время пас колхозных лошадей. Хотя он был пастухом лошадей, он был большим ученым, то есть муллой, который знал наизусть "Куръони Карим" и умел правильно трактовать ояты из этой священной Книги мусульман. Как он гонял лошадей на водопой! Какие были красивые лошади! Красные, белые, черные, серые, пятнистые! Как они пили воду отражаясь в воде арыка, шевеля своими смешными губами и храпя, у края арыка, где мы купались, где на ветру шумели высокие зеленые ивы и стройные тополя! Как эти лошади скакали дробя своими копытами по наших улиц, теребя на вольном ветру свои гривы словно разноцветные флаги государств мира у задании ООН!


Дед мой был стариком высокого роста, худого телосложения и с короткой бородой. А бабушка моя - напротив, была низкорослая и полная. Дедушка с бабушкой напоминали мне Дон Кихота с Санчо Пансой. Но, несмотря на различие, жили они дружно. Когда бабушка смеялась, во рту у неё виднелся один единственный сохранившийся зуб, как у зевающего бегемота. Лежа в постели, я глядел в окно низкой лачуги.


За окном сияла огромная луна, тихо поднимаясь из-за деревьев. Неподалёку стояло огромное дерево бака терек*- белый тополь, который принадлежал соседке дедушки с бабушкой по имени Куки-хола, то есть тетя Куки. Это была чересчур худая женщина, кривая на одну руку, которая высохла, к тому же она была почти без нижней челюсти и слепая на один глаз. Слепой глаз её был похож на белый камень, торчащий из щели в заборе. С непривычки, человек, увидев её в первый раз, упал бы в обморок от сильного испуга. Но эта одинокая старуха была доброй, любила детей, и мы, дети, тоже любили её и не боялись её внешнего вида. Было ли имя Куки её псевдонимом или настоящим именем, я до сих пор не знаю. Знал только, что она всю жизнь ждала своего любимого мужа, который ушёл на фронт и не вернулся домой после второй мировой войны. Она всё время ждала его, так и не выйдя замуж. Тетя Куки хотя была внешне некрасивая, но она была самой красивой женщиной внутри, то есть в душе. Я часто вспоминаю тётю и её дом с низким окном, где вечерами за окном грустно тлела керосиновая лампа, освещая её грустное лицо, покрытое тенью одиночества.

Я лежал на постели и думал о ней, но тут неожиданно дед, сняв с глаз очки с круглой оправой, сказал бабушке:
- Ну, старуха, кончай штопать! Ты ляжешь спать, в конце концов, или нет, латтапарст! Если честно, я до этого никогда не слышал такое смешное слово как латтапараст и не знал, что оно означает Женщина, которая любит тряпки. Я чуть не захохотал. Еле удержался. Я давил свой смех так, что от напряжения весь покраснел до самой шеи, набрав полный рот воздуха. Сижу и думаю, не дай бог, я захохочу, ведь они тоже могут выгнать меня из своей лачуги. Куда я пойду, на ночь глядя. Но я не смог удержать себя и взорвался. Захохотал. Смотрю, дедушка с бабушкой тоже смеются. При свете керосиновой лампы я снова увидел единственный сохранившийся у бабушки зуб, и ещё сильнее начал смеяться. Сам шайтан алайхуллаъна попутал меня. Смеюсь - и не могу остановиться.

Тогда дедушка снова сделал серьезный вид и, глядя на свои ногти, как бы подавляя смех, сказал:
- Астагфируллах, Астагфируллах!*


И мы перестали смеяться. Потом, потушив керосиновую лампу, легли спать. Утром после завтрака дед мой взял меня за руки и депортировал меня обратно, то есть отвёл домой.

 

 

 

Холдор Вулкан

 

 

Холдор Вулқон

Ўзбекистон Ёзувчилари уюшмасининг аъзоси

 

Ой порлаган оқшомлар

(қисса)


1 боб

Кузги дала



Холбўри 20 ёшлардаги ўрта бўйли, сочлари қора, аммо кўз қорачиқлари яшил, қирғийбурун, қалин лаблари устида мўйловлари сабза урган рассом йигит.Гарчанд рассомчилик ўқув юртларини тамомламаган эсада, у олийгохни хатм қилган тажрибали рассомлардан сира кам эмас.Холбўри мойбўёқда ҳам, акварельда ҳам бирдай, рангларни кир қилмай, табиат манзараларини қойиллатиб ишлар, биронта гўзал этюд яратиш ишқида кун бўйи жийдалар, юлғунлар ўсиб ётган дарё соҳилида, шамолларда шаршарадай шовуллагувчи толзорларда, каккулар оҳ чекаётган далалар этагида худди ўлжа излаган овчи каби этюднигини елкасига осганича дайдиб юради.Баъзан тонг саҳарда уйғониб, соҳил тамон йўл оларкан, шудрингли бедазор сўқмоқлари аро ғира - шира сўлим субҳи содиқ сукунатида бири қўйиб, бири сайраётган беданалар овозига қулоқ тутганича: - эх беданалар, муздек шудрингларни ичиб, томоқни шамоллатиб қўйибсизларку.Қаранглар, тинмай йўталяпсизлар –дея ўйлайди ва ўзича жилмайиб қўяди.Соҳилга етгач, ёйилиб оқаётган Қорадарёнинг кўзгу каби ялтираган теран ва сокин сувларига термулганича, одамлар ҳали донг қотиб ухлаётган, машиналар ва қушлар шовқини тинган тоза ҳаволи сукунатда асабларини созлайди, шу ҳолатда баланд жарликлар узра тик туриб, тонгни қарши олади.
Тонги қоронғуликда, узоқ узоқларда хўрозлар қичқиришга тушаркан, уларнинг ўткир ва ўктам овозлари олмос ойнакесгич каби тонгнинг мусаффо кўзгусини кесиб юборгандай таасурот қолдиради.
Кейин эса, осмон этаклари оҳиста оқаришиб, рангпар парқу булутлар дақиқалар ўтган сайин, оч сариқ тусга кирганича, бора бора уфқ ранги йўлбарс терисидай кўриниш касб этади.Бу илоҳий манзарани жимгина кузатиш Холбўрининг энг севимли машғулотларидан бири.
Кўп ўтмай, тонги сокинлик, теварак - жавониб қушлар сайроғидан жаранглай бошлайди.Қушлар сайроғи урилган тонг жимлиги тоғ ўнгирлари каби акс садо қайтараркан, кўп ўтмай, далалар этагидан кўзни қамаштиргувчи баҳайбат қуёш кўтарилади ва тўрғайлар шўх -шодон чийиллаб, тонги далалар устида муаллақ сайрай бошлайдилар.
Далалар узра сайраётган тўрғайлар тонги оппоқ булутларга кўринмас иплар билан осиб қўйилган қўнғироқчалардай жарангдор товушлари билан одамзод юрагини қувончга, шодликка тўлдириб тоширади.
Ҳозир "Қовункапа" қишлоғида куз кезиб юрибди.Ўтлоқларда ўт -ўланлар қувраб, қовжираб, қўнғир -қизғиш ранга кирган, пахтазорлар чаман бўлиб очилган пахталардан қордай оқариб ётибди.Далалар четидаги тут дарахтларининг, толзордаги қари бужур, букри тол ва азим адл теракларнинг барглари қахрабодай сарғайиб, махзун пичирлаб, тўкиларкан, кузнинг ўйчан шамолларида чирпираб учиб, заъфарон капалаклар галаси сингари енгил, оҳиста - оҳиста ерларга қўнар, суви қуриб қолган ариқларнинг ўзанига, дарахтларнинг ўйчан соялари акс этган кўзгудай тиниқ анхор сувларига ёғилар, йўллар ва сўқмоқлар гўё сариқ ва қирмизи хазон кўрпасига ўраниб ухлаётгандай.Ҳадемай далалар қуюқ кимсасиз сокин туманлар билан қопланади.Холбўри совуқ куз кечалари чироғи ўчирилган хонасида ётаркан, тунги далаларда, туманлар қаърида наъра тортиб, ер шудгорлаётган ёлғиз тракторнинг ҳасратли товушига қулоқ тутганича то кўзларига уйқу илингунга қадар хаёл суриб ётади.Оҳ, бу далаларни қишда кўрсангиз эди!Чирпираб айланиб, рақс тушаётган қорқуюнга термулиб, қорли далаларнинг яйдоқ кенгликларида бўғзигача қорга ботган чўкиртакларнинг, қамишларнинг совуқ изғиринда аччиқ изиллаган, ғувиллаган товушларига қулоқ тутсангиз эди.Ромга таранг тортилган мато каби оппоқ қордан тундрадай оқарган теварак атрофнинг кундуз каби ёп -ёруғлигини, машиналар шовқини тинган қорли сукунатда далалар кимсасизлигини тасаввур қилиб, лаззатланмоқ, ҳузурланмоқ бахти ҳар кимга ҳам насиб этавермас? Ҳа, ҳозир бу ерларда куз ҳукмрон. Холбўри бундай паллалар уйда ўтиролмайди.У уч оёқли этюднигини дала четига ўрнатиб олиб, қахрабо ҳазонлар ёғилаётган теракзорлар, соҳилдаги толзорлару илонизи сўқмоқлар, кузги кимсасиз дала йўлларини матога мойбўёқда акс этдириш билан банд.Ҳаво очиқ бўлгани учун узоқдаги уфқларга туташ пахта далалари ортида Тянь -Шань тоғ тизмаларининг қорли чўққилари аниқ кўриниб турар, пахтазорда одамлар эгатлар оралаб энкайганларича пахта териб юрардилар.Холбўри пахтазорлар устидан гувиллаб учаётган чуғурчуқларнинг безовта галаларига термулганича, қўлидаги мўйқалам бўёғини латтага артиб, бир зум осмонларга термулиб қолди.Чуғурчуқлар галаси ҳавода парвозини тез тез ўзгартириб, дарё соҳилидаги бошоқлари олтиндай товланиб пишган шолизорлар тамон учардилар.Бу кузги чуғурчиқ ва чумчуқларнинг улкан галалари узоқдан шамол ипларини узиб, қаёқларгадир учириб бораётган парашютларга ўхшайди.Холбўри яна этюд ишлашда давом этди.У шу қадар берилиб ишлардики, ҳатто шаҳарлик хашарчи қизнинг шундоқ ёнида туриб, яратилаётган гўзал картина эскизига ҳайрат билан тикилиб турганини ҳам сезмасди. Агар этюдга масофадан назар ташлаш мақсадида ортига тисарилмаса ва қизга урилиб кетмаса, у ҳамон ҳайратдан донг қотган биринчи тамошабиннинг келганини ҳам сезмай ишлайверган бўларди.

-Э, ахир одам деган сал йўталиб - нетиб келадида.Юракни ёрай дедингизку, оппоқ қиз -деди Холбўри, жўрттага жиддийлашиб.

-Кечиринг, рассом ака.Чизаётган картинангизга хушим кетиб... -деди қиз, айбдорларча бош эгиб, гоҳ рассом йигитга, гоҳ этюдникка ер остидан ўғринча назар ташлаганича, уялиб.

-Ҳечқиси йўқ, оппоқ қиз, хазиллашдим.Ҳавотир олманг, ҳаммаси жойида.Юрагим ёрилгани йўқ.Ишонмасангиз кўксимга қулоқ солиб, юрагим ураётганига ишонч ҳосил қилишингиз мумкин -деди Холбўри самимий жилмайиб.

-Товбаааа, сиз рассом экансизда а? Далаларни, дарахтларни, тоғларни худди ўзига ўхшатиб қўйибсиз.Қандай ажойиб! -деди қиз ҳамон ҳайратини яширолмай, ҳаяжон ичра.

-Чизаётган этюдим сиздай соҳибжамол қизга ёққани учун ўзимни худди асари Париждаги Лувр музейидан ўғирлаб кетилган бахтли рассомдай ҳис қилаяпман -деб қўйди Холбўри, ишлашда давом этиб.Кейин қизга ярим ўгриларкан: -Менинг исмим Холбўри - деди у, ўзини таништириб.

-Менинг исмим бўлса Илтижо - деди қиз, уялибгина.

-Исмингиз ҳам ўзингизга ўхшаб ғоят чиройли экан.Агар камондай қайрилма қошларингиз бўлмаса, худди машҳур италян рассоми Леонардо да Винчи чизган портретдаги Монна Лизага ўхшаркансиз.Сиз билан танишганимдан хурсандман - деди Холбўри.

-Мен ҳам -деб қўйди қиз, ҳамон этюдникдан кўзларини узолмай.

-Сизни авваллари ҳеч учратмаган эканман.Кўринишингиздан шаҳарлик қизларга ўхшайсиз.Бу ёқларда нима қилиб юрибсиз, дайдиб? Ё қариндошларингизникига меҳмонга келдингизми? - сўради Холбўри, мўйқаламдаги бўёқни латтага хафсала билан артиб.

-Мен тиббиёт институтининг 3 босқич талабасиман.Курсимиз билан пахта йиғим теримига кўмаклашиш учун келдик.Биз ёрдамчи хашарчилармиз - тушунтирди қиз.

-Тушунарли -деб қўйди Холбўри.Кейин яна ишга киришаркан, давом этди:

-Эшитишимча бошига қоп кийган махсус жаллодлар пахта териш нормасини бажармаган талабаларни карнай - сурнай ва ноғораи калон садолари остида дала шийпонининг пешхорисига намоишкорона осиб, қатл қилармишлар, шу ростми? -деди у.

Бу гапларни эшитиб, қиз бўйнидаги харир рўмоли билан оғзини тўсганича, нозик елкаларини силкитиб, астойдил кула бошлади.

Кейин: -Товба, сизни рассом десам, қизиқчи ҳам экансизда а? Ҳеч жаҳонда пахта териш нормасини бажармаган талабани ҳам дорга осадиларми? -деди у, кулишда давом этаркан.

-Энди, йигит кишига етмиш хунар оз дейишадику машойихлар.Хар тўкисда бир айб деганларидай, шунақа ҳазил - мазах деса томдан ташлайдиган қизиқчилик одатим бор.Зерикмай ҳазиллашиб турайлик дедим –да, оппоқ қиз. Лекин, керак бўлса, пахта теришда сизга ёрдамлашишдан ҳам тоймайман.Ёрдамчиларга ҳам ёрдам керак ахир.Медицина тили билан айтсак, "тез ёрдам" - деди Холбўри.

-Э, Худо сақласин. Ҳеч бандани тез ёрдамга мухтож бўлгулик қилмасин -деди қиз.

-Яхши. Унда тез эмас, сал секинроқ ёрдамлашаман - деди Холбўри илжайиб.

Қиз яна кулди. Кейин худди муҳим бир нарса ёдига тушгандай, ялт этиб йигитга қараркан: -Кечирасиз, Холбўри ака, сиз одамнинг суратини ҳам чизасизми? Бизнинг шаҳарда рассомлар хиёбонларда ўтириб олиб, ўтган - кетган одамларнинг суратини чизиб беришади.Мен ҳеч суратимни чиздирмаганман.Агар сиз чизиб берсангиз, портретимни дугоналаримга кўрсатиб, мақтаниб юрардим - деди Илтижо.

-Яхши - деди Холбўри ва мато қопланган ромлардан бирини олиб, этюдникка махкамларкан, қизга қилт этмай, кулиб туришни буюрди.

-Аввал кўмир билан қоралама қиламиз, кейин... деди у қизнинг дўндиққина оппоқ юзларига, шахло кўзларига, ғунчадек лабларию, оққушникидай силлиқ бўйинларига бир зум ўйчан термулиб.

Холбўри чизишни бошлаши билан қиз лунжларини шишириб, кутилмаганда кулиб юборди.

-Ие, кулмангда.Ахир қилт этмай ўтиринг дедимку сизга -деди Холбўри, гоҳ қизга қараб, гоҳ ромматога кўз югиртириб, бадиий кўмир билан тез тез қоралама қиларкан.

-Кулгим қистаб кетяптида -деди Илтижо, яна қайта жиддийлашишга тиришиб.

Холбўри бир зум чизишдан тўхтаркан, битта оппоқ бўлиб очилган пахта чаноғини банди билан узиб, қизнинг қуюқ ва майин сочларига, чаккасига қистириб қўйди.Сўнг яна ишга шўнғиди.

Илтижо қилт этмай ўтирсада, ҳамон кўз қири билан этюдникка қараб турар, суратининг қай йўсинда чизилаётганини билгиси, матодаги тасвирга қарагиси келарди.

-Яхшилаб чизяпсизми? Яна карикатурамни чизиб қўйманг! -деди у. Сўнг сабрсизланиб: - Ҳали узоқ ўтиришим керакми? Бўйним толиб кетдику -деди.

-Ҳечқиси йўқ, сабр қилинг. Кечаси бўйнингизга тахта боғлаб ётсангиз, эрталабгача дардингиз мусаффо бўлиб кетади, Худо ҳохласа - деди Холбўри.

 

 

 

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Холдор Вулқон

Ўзбекистон Ёзувчилари уюшмасининг аъзоси

 

Ой порлаган оқшомлар

(қисса)


16 боб

Тишсиз арра



Қиличбек Қоплонович қизи Илтижога тўйдан бир неча кун аввал шундай деб насихат қилган эди.

-Қизим, биз сени ҳеч нарсадан кам қилмай, авайлаб ўстирдик.Сен бизнинг ёлғиз, эрка фарзандимиз, кўрар кўзимизнинг нури, оқу қаросисан.Мана, вояга етиб, катта ҳаётга қадам қўйяпсан.Ўзинга муносиб, Ашрапилло деган ўқимишли, маданиятли, тадбиркор куёвни топдик.Илоё қўшганинг билан қўша қари.Ўзларингдан кўпайиб, бахтли бўлинглар.Лекин қизим бу ҳаёт деганлари жуда мураккаб жараён.У дунёда оловли лава булкиллаб қайнаб турган жаҳаннам жарлиги узра тортилган пулсирот бор деб эски китобларда келади.Билсанг, ўша қилдан ингичка, қиличдан ҳам ўткир пулсирот бу дунёнинг ўзида ҳам бор.Тубсиз ҳалокат жарлари устига қурилган, туғилишдан ўлимгача таранг тортилган бу сиротнинг номи ҳаётдир!Кимки нозик кўприкдан ўтаётиб, нотўғри қадам ташласа, ўша тубсиз ҳалокат жарлигига қулайди.Ҳам жисмонан, ҳам маънавий ҳалок бўлади.Жисмоний ҳалокат оқибатида киши нари борса, жони узилиб, оламдан ўтар.Лекин маънавий ҳалокатга йўлиқса, қалби ўлса, у абадий азоб уқубатларга маҳкум бўлади!Чунки жисм муваққат, руҳ билан қалб эса абадийдир!Бу дунёни бевафо ёлғончи дея хақоратлаш ҳам гунох!Негаки одам боласи у дунёдаги мангу ҳузур -ҳаловатни ҳам, абадий жаҳаннам азобини ҳам шу дунёда, ўзи ҳали ўлмай туриб топади, тайёрлаб қўяди.Шунинг учун бизнинг бу дунёда фақат тўғри юришдан бошқа йўлимиз йўқ.Тўғри йўлдан адашма, қизим.Борган жойингда тиниб, тинчи.Қайнона, қайнотангни ҳурмат қил!Куёвингнинг измидан чиқма.Уларга гап қайтарма.Сендан илтимосим, агар бизни рози бўлсин десанг, у оиладан бу уйга гап кўтариб келма.Чунки “деди деди” сўзлари билан оилалар вайрон бўлади.Қуда андалар ўртасига совуқлик тушади.Сенинг энг ашаддий душманинг ҳам, энг яқин дўстинг ҳам ўз тилинг.Тилга ҳушёр бўл, болам.Ёмон гаплардан, ғийбатлардан тийилиб, одамлар ҳақида фақат яхши гапларнигина гапиришни ўрган.Жон бор жойда жанжал бор дейдилар.Ҳатто подшоларнинг уйида ҳам ўзаро тушинмовчиликлар, муаммолар, оилавий можаролар бўлиб туради.Бу табиий.Ҳамма гап ўша юз бериши мумкин бўлган жанжалнинг олдини олишда, муаммоларни қизишмай, яхши гаплар билан ҳал қила билишда, муросаи мадора билан оила мувозанатини сақлаб қолишда.Жамият тинч –тотувлигини, одамлар ва халқларнинг ўзаро аҳиллигини аввало жамиятнинг энг кичик ячейкаси ва модели бўлмиш оиладан бошлаш керак, оилада аввал тартиб -интизомни ўрнатиш ва уни мустахкамлаш керак.Бу шунчаки чиройли гаплар эмас, бу ҳикмат!Мен шу пайтгача бировга насихат қилмаган эдим.Бугун сенга насихат қилмоқдаман.Чунки сен менинг жигарбандимсан.Шу гапларимни доимо ёдингда тут –деди у.Дадасининг ўша гапларини ёдида сақлагани учун ҳам Илтижо эрининг ва қайнонасининг зулмларига чидаб, тош тишлаб яшайди.Табиатан ўта жиззаки ва инжиқ қайнонаси ҳар куни нимадандир камчилик топиб, тўхтовсиз жағиллайверади, йиғлаб, қарғаб, Илтижонинг жисму жонини эговлайди.

-Э, картошканинг пўчоғини ҳам шунча қалин арчадими одам?!Кеча сиз арчган пиёз пўчоғини қайта ажратиб, бир паловга етгулик пиёз паррак йиғиб қўйдим!Ашрапилло болам бечоранинг қийналиб топганини бундай ҳавога совуриб, исроф қилаверсангиз, эртага бори буддимиздан айрилиб кафангадо бўламизку!Э, Худо!Шунақаям келин учрайдими бизга!Бою босомон, амалдор одамнинг қизи деб алданиб, қаёқдан ҳам шу сиртини силаган, молфахм қизни келин қилдима!Вой пешонам қурсин манинг, пешонам қурсииин!Ҳа, аттанга!Аттаааанг!Менинг ўғлимга кимлар қизини бермасди!Бу жодугар ўлгур онаси билан бахши пархон қилиб югириб, сеҳру жоду қилиб, охири ўғлимниям мендан совутди.Боламнинг бурнидан ип ўтказиб олди, жувонмарг.Биламан, биттани бекорга туққани йўқ бу писмиқ!Боламнинг бошини айлантириб, бор бойлигини ўзига хатлатиб, охири ўғлим иккаламизни кўчага хайдамаса гўрга эди!Э, ҳамма айб ота онада! Уйда боласига тарбия бермаса қийин эканда!Унақа одамларнинг бойлиги, гариллагани итнинг кетига!Бу яшшамагур кечаси нима билан шуғилланади билмайман, қачон қарасанг ухлагани ухлаган!Оламни сув босса, тўпиғига чиқмайди!Ҳа, келин деган саҳарда туриб, ховлини, кўчани ёғ тушса ялагундай қилиб супуриб қўймайдими!Онаси супурги ушлашни ҳам ўргатмаган эканда!Ҳамма ёқни чангитиб, шатиллатиб супириб, сотиб олганимизга ҳали бир йил ҳам бўлмаган ойим супургини асфальтга ишқаб, ейилтириб, адойи тамом қилибдия! Э бу келинмас, бизнинг оиламизни хонавайрон қилиш учун келган ёвуз душман экан! Шу зодинга ўт тушкур шумқадам келдию оиламиздан барака кўтарилди!Вой, менинг ўғлимга кимлар қизини бермас эдия!Бундай шошилмай, ҳокимлар, банкирлар ва бошқа казо казолар билан қуда анда тутинсам бўлмасмиди?! Хапгина сани!Қараб тургин!Яқинда думингни тугиб, ўғлим Ашрапиллога онаси ўпмаган 15 яшар қизни олиб бераман, рашкдан куйиб, жизғанак бўлиб, тўппа тўғри жаҳаннамга равона бўласан!-дея тинимсиз жаврайди у.

Бир гал ҳатто ўғли Ашрапиллога: -Сен сўтак, эр эмас, латта экансан, латта!Бўш қўйсанг бу жувонмарг эртага бошинги чиқиб олади!Эркак деганнинг сал қамчисидан қон томиб туриши керак!Хотинини итоатда ушлаб туриш учун уни ҳеч йўқ бир кунда беш ўн дарра уриб туриш керак!Э, ётқизволиб қорнига тепмайсанми?!Ҳе, ўғил бўлмай ўл, хайвон!Хотининг мени урсаям қараб тураверасанми?! –дея йиғлаган эди, ғазабдан Ашрапиллонинг тепа сочи тикка бўлиб, кўзлари қонга тўлди ва шахд билан Илтижога юзланди.

-Нима?!Вой харомией!Сен ҳали онамга қўл кўтарадиган бўлдингми?!Мени туғиб, дунёга келтирган, ўзи емай едириб, киймай кийдириб улғайтирган меҳрибонимга, муқаддас Каъбамгая?!Вой онагинангни осма кўприкка осиб... сука!Мен онамнинг олдида сендақаларнинг миллионтасидан кечиб қўяман! Хотин йўлда, фарзанд белда, онам эса битта! -дея Ашрапилло Илтижога ташланди ва уни уриб, ерга йиқитиб, дуч келган жойига дод дегизиб тепаверди.Илтижо зорланиб: -Ашрапилло ака!Мен онангизни урганим йўқ!Бу тухмат!Худо ҳаққи урганим йўқ!Менинг бу бақувват аёлга кучим ҳам етмайди!Етган тақдирда ҳам ўз онамни ураманми?!Наҳотки мени шундай пасткаш деб ўйласангиз?!Мен ахир, онажонни сиздан ҳам қаттиқроқ ҳурмат қилман!Ишонинг! –деса ҳам, ялиниб ёлборса ҳам тўхтамади.У бечора Илтижони чарчагунича дўппослади.

-Қанақа тухмат, а, қанақа тухмат!Вей, беш вақт номоз ўқийдиган, рўза тутадиган менинг иймон эътиқодли онажоним сочлари оқарганда ёлғон гапирадиларми?Ҳозир талоқ паттангни қўлинга тутқазайми а?!Қумталоқ қўйиб ташлайми?!Вой аблах ношукур, нонкўўўўр!Еганинг олдингда, емаганинг кетингда бўлса, сенга яна нима етишмаяпти а?! -дея бақирарди у ҳамон Илтижони тепкилаб.

-Урса дедим, ахмоқ! Ургани йўқ ҳали! Қўл тегизиб кўрсинчи, ўзим уни уриб, оёқ қўлларини синдириб ташлайман! –деди Илтижонинг қайнаси.

Шундан кейингина Ашрапилло уришдан тўхтади.

 

 

 

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Холдор Вулкан

Член Союза писателей Узбекистана

 

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- 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, 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! Люблю так же 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 листьев травы, которая колышется на ветру. В ту ночь Султан Санджар Саваш не спал, нервно похаживая туда-сюда по огненно-красному ковру. Он чувствовал себя словно хищник в клетке, который 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 корона и трон бывают столь безжалостными и потребуют 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 белой завистью! Они абсолютно свободны и довольствуются куском хлеба. Ходят, где хотят, и уходят, куда им вздумается. Шагают без охраны по тропинке на широких полях, 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 ветерку пушинки одуванчиков, 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, дудниками и донниками лугов. Даже может ночевать в копнах сена на поле под звездным небом, любуясь молча сияюшей луной в тишине, слушая монотонные, первозданные песни сверчков и хоровое кваканье далеких лягушек, похожие на шепот. Считать далекие синие звезды и устало уснуть. Просыпаться в предрассветном часу, когда запоют перепелки, напоминая кашель седого сторожа, который подметает территорию, ритмично махая метлой.Замерает он, глядя на бледнеющий небосвод, где тает и медленно исчезает последняя звезда и туго растягиваясь по горизонту рвутся бледно -желтые тучи, напоминая весннюю борозду.Твой нищий умывается прозрачной росой, завтракает, чем ты, боже, пошлешь, и отправляется в дальнюю дорогу. Нищий даже не думает о возможности отравления: съест свой скудный завтрак, поблагодарит тебя и снова отправится в путь, пешком по тропе заросшей с двух сторон высокой и густой травой. Он здоровается 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. У нищих нет тяжелого груза ответственности. Они живут легко, сбрасывая с плеч все ненужные грузы. Они живут счастливо и легко, в гармонии с природой.


А я? Я ни на шаг не могу выйти из крепости без усиленной охраны. Не могу передвигаться свободно, как простой человек, не могу не только свободно гулять по полям и лугам, но даже не могу спокойно пройтись по улицам столицы своей империи. Живу с непреодолимым страхом в сердце. Не сплю ночами, опасаясь, 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 моего трона, народ, который не доволен моей политикой. Сердце мое заливается 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.


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 убедился в том, что быть правителем - это все равно, что гореть в аду при жизни и кипеть заживо в адском котле. 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 аъзама. Вазир аъзам пришел, не задерживаясь долго. Вернее, его привели навкери, в руках которых ноги вазира аъзама 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 вазир аъзам , не глядя в глаза Султана Санджара Саваш, и низко кланяясь.


- Да, вазири аъзам. Ты, это, скажи мне, неужели у нас нет другого пути, чтобы решать возникшие проблемы? - спросил Султан Санджар Саваш, глядя своему министру с надеждой.


Вазири аъзам 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 принять такое решение. Иначе нельзя. 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 Вашем главным советником. Мне жаль... - сказал вазири аъзам, печально склоняя голову.


-Будьте вы все прокляты! Немедленно убирайся отсюда, негодяй! И чтобы ты больше не попадался мне на глаза! - истерично закричал Султан Санджар Саваш, и рука его потянулась к мечу.


Вазири аъзам стоя на колени и низко опустив свою голову перед Султаном Санджаром Саваш горько заплакал, тряся своей белоснежной бородой и костлявыми плечами.


- Рубите 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 аъзама.


Ранним утром палач привел приговора в исполнение, отрубив голову спящему молодому принцу валиахду Мехмету острым исфаханским мечом и стёр белой простынёй алую кровь с лезвия меча.


Перед тем похоронить принца валиахда Мехмета, привели принцессу, чтобы она смогла попрощаться со своим сыном, о смерти которого, она еще не знала. Увидев страшную картину, принцесса 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, ибо 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.
Канада.г.Бремптон.

 

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132221451_gorod_Brempton (202x216, 31Kb)

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Chapter 22 of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves"


Quiet leaf fall




The great chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch released the Abduljabbar from the post of mechanic of cattle farm for a drunken brawl at the estate of his grandson, the little Turabitdun. And Abduljabbar, took home his daughter together with his grandson Turabitdun and strictly forbade Khurshida to meet Pathella.
- Well, nothing. Here I will gather my things and leave in Texas dreaming Abduljabbar. I will change my name to Douglas Steveenson. There I with their American counterparts in the rough jeans, pulled on the head a cowboy hat, I will work on a cattle farm. Going to ride a wild horse "Mustang" on the boundless steppes of the Prairie, rotating head over to lasso like a helicopter propeller "Apache." With the lasso will catch the horses and bulls in the cactus thickets. I will participate in the competition among the Texas cowboy’s sheep shearing, and become winners. Then, having received a cash prize of five thousand dollars, I will go to a nearby pub, where whiskey flows by the river, and drink all this money to the last cent. Treat my colleagues and friends, and we will be going to have fun, sipping Scotch on the rocks and listening to fun cowboy songs. On the Buster, naturally a fight breaks out in which to stand in the side are not supposed to. According to the old tradition, I will also hit my head in the stomach and break the nose of one cowboy - Abduljabbar continued to fantasize. He did not remain in debt, have hit back, giving me in the face with his dirty fist. The other cowboys around us are going to have a massive fight, too... Tables will be overturned, bottles and glasses shattered. Someone will hit me with a bottle on the head, and it will break into pieces, but I will not fall, will not lose consciousness. On the contrary, will grab that cowboy out of them over the head like a propeller of a helicopter "Apache" and throw him out the window. Cowboy takes off into the street, screaming wildly. After that, the most important thing will begin - a firefight with revolvers. Dt-tish! Dt-tish! When local Sheriff Michael Jordan comes running with his rifle in his hand, I jump out and run, tumbling, so as not to clap a stray bullet. And there will wait for me, my anxious horse. It will be nervously snore, threw its head back, staring eyes of fear and tight and pulling on the bridle tied to the wall. I will quickly cut the bridle with a dagger and a cat jump will sit on a wild horse "Mustang". After vortex will jump in the direction of the sand dunes, where there are cacti and hysterically singing quicksand. Bullets with whistle will fly past my ears and over my head, and I will disappear from species for dunes - completed his fantasizing Abduljabbar.
Then he asked forgiveness of his wife and daughter because he gave his daughter to marry the nephew of the great chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch. Listening to him, Raheela and Khurshida cried.
So, Khurshida came to live with her parents and commute to her old job, leaving little Turabitdun at home with her mom.
Autumn reigned in the city recreation Park.With maples and poplars softly falling red and yellow leaves.They lay on the lanes is so beautiful that the attack on them was pathetic.In some places fires were burning, similar to fuming volcanoes where a tourniquet fallen leaves.
Khurshida worked sweeping the area and as always thinking of the tractor driver Sultan. On wobbly benches sat a happy young couple, enjoying a quiet maple leaf. On the empty benches lay the fallen leaves of the thinning trees.
Khurshida stopped, seeing the group of women farmers, which the crowd walked through the Park like the tourists are foreigners. Since Khurshida was also from the village, the women caught her eye. It wanted to communicate with them. Ask who they are, where they came from and so on. It's interesting.
When she cautiously approached and greeted them, asking where they came from, one of the women said that Khurshida almost fainted. Turns out they came from the "Charvak" mountains, from the village of "Tuyamuyun", that is, from the mountain village of his beloved Sultan.
- Daughter, what's wrong with you, why are you pale? Are you sick? - surprised the interview Khurshida.
- Yes there is no, I have it all in order - answered Khurshida, and gently asked her if she knows of one man, named Sultan, tall, with curly hair, snub-nosed, with a mustache above fleshy lips and a green scar on the left eyebrow.
- We know him. He's our fellow villager. Sultan went to Tashkent to enter Tashkent state University. But we heard him the first attempt failed to go to this university, and he worked in the valley, the farm "Tillaquduq" simple tractor to preparing for exams in solitude and again try to enroll in Tashkent state University. Then we heard that he entered Tashkent state University and graduated with honors. After graduating from the University, he came back to our "Tuyamuyun". But for some reason didn't want to teach in high school and became a businessman. He opened a trading manufacturing company and built a rest house at the foot of the "Charvak" mountains on the basis of this company. Rich guy, lived in his two - storey cottage-told another woman.
-Yeah? He lives with his family, so he's married? - asked Khurshida. From the excitement of her dry throat.
- No, Sultan not married - said the first companion Khurshida.
- Why didn't he get married? - Khurshida asked and then blushed at her own stupid question.
- He loved a beautiful girl named Khurshida, when he worked as a tractor driver on the farm "Tillaquduq". How much his mother begged him to get married, but Sultan never started a family, led a lonely life. The poor man died. And what he is, excuse me, have you? Friend, I guess. It is clear that we studied together, so in this, in Tashkent state University. Uh-oh, ruthless life! - said second companion. From this terrible news from Khurshida pale lips.
- That?! What are you saying, aunt?! - Shouted Khurshida, staring their eyes out in horror.
- Why? I told the truth. He died in the spring of loneliness, sadly looking through the window of his two-story cottage on the blooming white acacia, which he planted. I know better than anyone, since he lived next door to us. Man was modest, polite and always all helped, than could. When he died, all the people of our village, from small to large, cried as if the people's rain had died. Five thousand people came to his funeral, you know? And coffin of Sultan people suffered at the cemetery on their shoulders, passing from shoulder to shoulder without any traffic. Everyone says he died of an incurable disease called love. By the way, the holiday House he had built, he named his lover. Yes, at the entrance of the rest house he installed a huge neon sign, where the volume of neon letters written the name of his beloved girl "Khurshida". The name of the night is. Every night when we see this glowing sign, we sadly sigh, remembering the poor Sultan said first companion Khurshida. After that, ginseng went to the side, where a huge carousel rotated with a creek.
Khurshida from impotence sat down on a wooden bench, as a suicide, sentenced to death in court. She sat as if the mad, pale face the face of. Then, clasping her head with both hands, she wept aloud.
In autumn Park there was a quiet leaf fall.


End.



07/09/2014.
8: 27 PM.
The city of Brampton.
Canada.


eb23ebae4e2f0a5747a3836a73a792433eb756231883193 (700x510, 39Kb)

 

 

132221451_gorod_Brempton (202x216, 31Kb)

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Chapter 21 of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves"


The fight in the birthday of Turabitdun





Khurshida's son turned one year old. She wanted to name her baby the tractor driver Sultan, but her husband Pathella and mother-in-law, Khurshida suggested to name the baby Turabitdun in honor of her grandfather, who showed the presentation at weddings, running freely on the high rope with a pole in his hands and directly into the rope cut the sheep. Recently the whole family celebrated the birthday of Turabitdun for a rich banquet. The birthday was attended by parents of Khurshida who sat in the place of honor at the table. Abduljabbar was always tipsy and sat holding his grandson in his hands, kissed him on the cheeks, rejoiced.
- I can see clearly that my grandson Turabitdun will be a great person! he said proudly.
- Oh, yeah, you’re right - confirmed the words of his test Pathella, lighting candles, inserted into the beautiful cake.
- Come on son; show me what you can do. Let's get you out here, the booze you probably hid in the Saratov fridge. What speech generally can go about a party with no alcohol?! Let us drink to the health of my grandson Turabitdun and for the health of my idol the Great Chairman, comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch! - said Abduljabbar, raising his grandson high and looking him in the eye. Hearing this, Pathella looked at Khurshida say, what to do? Khurshida called her husband into the kitchen and said in a whisper:
- Pathella, father already sitting drunk. If you pour more on him, that's all. He's going to start getting bigger. Tell him you're not a drinker, and we don't have vodka in the fridge.
- You, that honey, I so not can. How can I fool my father-in-law? He is for me like a father. What's he going to think of me after that?! I don't want our father to think of me as a greedy person. What if he gets out of his seat and leaves?! Or, say, go to a nearby pub, drink vodka out of a bottle, empty it all standing, and come back to us? Isn't it better to have a drink with him one hundred and to remove the vodka from the table to hide it. Another option we have, love - said Pathella also in a whisper.
- Well, as you know. Be extremely careful. And then the father of such a nature that it will not find - said Khurshida.
- Don't worry darling, everything will be okay - said Pathella, kissing his wife. Then he took out vodka from fridge door and headed to table, for which sat his mother -in -law and with his father-in-law.
Seeing a bottle of vodka in the hands of Pathella, Abduljabbar predatory happy,
- That's ours! - He said, rubbing his hands together like a fly that rubs paws.
- Yes, father -said Pathella, also smiling.
Uncorking the bottle, he carefully began to pour into bowls. Watching his movements, Abduljabbar could not resist.
- Well, You, my son-in-law, what you as the pharmacist who weighs snake venom? Hands You are shaking like a cheque, who suffers from Parkinson's disease. Pour the bowls full! Today we have a round date, a family holiday! We celebrate the birthday of my first grandson! Let's drink and be merry, while our ships will not sink in a sea of vodka! - He said.
- Well, father - obeyed Pathella and filled with subtle and sonorous Tashkent cups vodka. After that, they drank for the health of the birthday boy, choking with bowls, and tasted salty cucumber.
Pathella wanted was to quietly remove the vodka from the table and hide, but he did not.
- Where do you take the vodka, my dear son-in-law?! It is not good to complete the penalty not sacrifice, comrade executioner - said Abduljabbar, deliciously munching a slice of salted cucumber and wiping his lips with a towel. Then he offered to drink the health of his idol, the Great Chairman of the collective farm comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch. When they emptied a bottle of vodka, Abduljabbar became embittered. Barely looking at his grandson Turabitdun, he began to speak.
- Turabitdun, you are my first grandchild, and when you grow up, you will become a mechanic, of the animal on our farm "Tillaquduq" and be involved in shearing sheep on flocks as I do! - he said.
- No, father, you're wrong. Our Turabitdun when you grow up, you will become a singer. I will create all conditions for him, buy him a piano only Turabitdun became a great singer. I'm ready to die, after Turabitdun coming on stage of the Palace "Khalklar dostligi" in the center of Tashkent and sing a song of a poor soldier, who lost both eyes in the war and lying in the hospital, sang the sad song of his wounded countryman who was discharged from the hospital. The blind soldier sang about so:
- Oh, brother, if you get to the homeland alive and well, the first thing to say Hello to my father!
Also say Hello to my poor mother, who, stumbling, runs out to meet you, to hear good news about me.

Pathella sang a sad song about a blinded warrior, knocking to the beat on the table. Abduljabbar got angry.
- No! I don't want him to become a singer! Turabitdun will be the only mechanic of the animal on our farm "Tillaquduq" and will shear the sheep in the pasture with the help of machines with elastic shaft! I'm ready to die, not sparing anything directly in the collective farm club, when my grandson Turabitdun will receive an honorary diploma from the hands of my idol, the great Chairman of the XXI century comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch, demonstrating their art in the shearing of sheep and goats! -Abduljabbar shouted.
- No! Turabitdun my son, and he will become the person that I dream of! He will be a humorist, will make people laugh at weddings, and will make a lot of money, he will build a cottage at the foot of the "Khumsan" mountains: there will be picnics, fishing, hunting saiga and tapirs in the steppes and all that! If he disobeys me and becomes a mechanic in a livestock farm, I'll take a hunting rifle and shoot myself! - replied the father-in-law Pathella.
- You, son-in-law, don't play with fire! And then I have a very bad temper! Don't cross me! If I said that Turabitdun you'll be a mechanic of the farm animals, then so be it. Oh, you decided to shoot! Yes bullets pity on you! No offense, but people like you need to kill with a shovel to save a bullet! Long ago I would have strangled you with my own hands, but you remain alive only because of my respect to your uncle, the great chairman, comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch! So, think before you say anything, make a statement or, say, petition - Abduljabbar said.
- No! My decision is firm and not negotiable. My son will only do Show business! - shouted Pathella.
- Oh, is that so?! Well, now you blame yourself, you're in the rectum! - said angry and drunk Abduljabbar. With these words he lashed out on his son-in-law and began to strangle him with all his might. But Pathella managed to free his neck from the sharp as pincers of a crab at the hands of Abduljabbar. He not only defended himself, but went on the offensive, throwing punches and kicks to the vital organs of his father. Women and small birthday Turabitdun began to cry and scream. Khurshida also cried and begged them to stop the fight. She tried to separate the fighting men, but they fought like fighting dogs.
- Who's the rectum, huh? Who is the horse?! And let me repeat, a goat smelly again, something I can't hear! You allow yourself; the cattle are dirty, which goes to the farm, sinking knee-deep in the dermis! I'm respected, accepted, treated, and you, instead of saying thanks, wipe your ass with the tablecloth, insult, shake your right! Who are you to dictate to me?! Or have you forgotten who I am?! I'm the nephew of the Chairman of the Collective farm"Tillquduq" Mr. Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch! Enough of my bit, and you immediately be fired and go to jail for years! - said Abduljabbar, continuing stubbornly and desperately fighting.
- Are you a man or a snitch, not shorn sheep "Gissar" you with a huge rump! Well, go tell your uncle and have him kick me out of the job if he really needs to lose a talented professional like me! - said Abduljabbar, and with a distorted face with anger and contempt, hit with a fist Pathella. From a strong blow of Pathella flew and fell on the table. The table broke into two parts. And the cake flew into the air and turned over on the fly, hit right in the face of Abduljabbar. While Abduljabbar was wiping the cake cream from his face to open his eyes, Pathella managed to get up, grab a piece of the board of the collapsed table and hit hard on the head of his father-in-law. Abduljabbar crashed to the floor, unconscious.

 

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132221451_gorod_Brempton (202x216, 31Kb)

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Chapter 20 of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves"


Writer Qalandar Hazrat ibn Abdel Fattah




After Khurshida angered the visitors by its hysterical, the owner fired her dining room. She had to find a new job. After a long search, she still found a job in the city Park of culture and recreation. She started working there as a janitor and cleaned the Park with a broom with a long wooden handle. Khurshida performed the tasks given to her by the foreman. Work in this Park liked it even those, which in it, too, grew white acacia. Where she sometimes sat on the bench under the white acacia, eating his meager dinner, she feels as a mother field camp, where there was exactly the same locust, which became a symbol of her love. On the lake, people riding families on boats, some crowds walked through the Park where it was shady, clean and cool from bubbling fountains. Many preferred to ride on the merry-go-round, others rested on other attractions, ate ice cream and drank soft drinks. Especially attracted the attention of Khurshida, well-dressed couples in love, who walked in the Park, walking under the handle, laughing loudly. Khurshida looked after them with envy, thoughtfully leaning on the handle of the rake or shovel with work gloves on her hands. Entry days, Khurshida did not rest as other workers, and went into wide field and in the thickets among the juniper bushes collected dung for the winter, despite the fact that she was already two months pregnant. To collect dung for her was like a good walk in the fresh air, a kind of rest and freedom, where she could think about tractor driver Sultan as much as necessary and no, it does not interfere. Every Sunday she went to the side of a wide field, with a bag in her hands, like people who go to the forest to pick mushrooms. She rejoiced every time she found dung, as an avid mushroom picker who is happy to find a mushroom. As this is ancient free of dried fuel was easy, Khurshida did not make special work to lift a sack of dung. Pressed dung reminded cakes could be found mainly in those places where cows grazed all summer. Khurshida today decided to collect dung at the edges of cotton fields in the juniper bushes, thickets and on the banks of the river at the ravine. Collecting dung, she looked around; making sure no one was around, she sang a sad song about love and separation. She sang enthusiastically and beautifully, like a professional singer. She came to herself and blushed only when I saw on the shore in the middle of tall grasses, the man who was sitting with a fishing rod in his hands. He looked at Hurshida with interest, and she became uncomfortable.
- Sorry, I didn't know you were fishing here. I feel sorry. I probably scared the fish -sheepishly said Khurshida.
- No, on the contrary, you helped me, calling all the fish here, and their magical songs! I was interrupted by the beautiful songs you sang. I interrupted them, coughing like a sheep with leaky lungs. I have a bittersweet so bitter that when I do a puff, the smoke stinks in my lungs like an arrow, because I smoke a flywheel, twisting a piece of paper. And you sing, just like the legendary French singer Mireille Mathieu. At first it seemed to me that these songs are heard from the transistor radio, and sings a professional singer. Can this so and there is? Are you a professional singer? - Fisherman said.
- Yes Ah, that you, what I have talent! I'm not a singer, but a simple caretaker. I work in the city Park of culture. Sweeping the territory - explained Khurshida.
- No, You have to work not as a janitor in parks, but in Philharmonic halls and go on tour giving concerts all over the country! You have a loud and clear voice like a tuning fork, like a silver bell that rings zing! Dzin! Dzin! But do not forget, God forbid, you leave the art and will not sing for the General public, the story Will not forgive you. And the future generations will curse you with glee. I appreciate talent, because I'm a writer. Write a book. Recently wrote a very interesting novel. "The driver" it's called. In this novel, my literary hero Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch forty years sitting in a deep and dark dungeon of the Emir Abu Negman Merzaqul Khidar Ibn Darvesh Kokaltash Abdulmakorem Hadjy Balutkhan for kidnapping time. Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovucha childhood dream that he had a lot of time, but his dream was never realized. In a land where he was born Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch, it was difficult to exist if the person didn't have enough time. That is, then time was more expensive than gold. From the lack of time, people even died, you know? Parents Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch also died from lack of time. Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch have grown and matured and one day, he robbed the Central Bank. There is, unfortunately, Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch the alarm went off and the guards arrested him red-handed. And condemned, put him in a deep and dark dungeon, where people can see only birds flying and the sky above the dungeon. Forty years young Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch was released grizzled, older man and began to work as a shepherd, Drover large herds of donkeys in the steppes. Day and night he drove a herd of wild donkeys on the boundless steppe with a long whip in his hands, and clouds of dust that rose from the hooves of wild steppe donkeys, settled on his sweaty face, hands and feet. A herd of donkeys was so huge that Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch lost their account when they wanted to count their heads for reporting to the user. Every day without days off and without leaving from morning to night, running around the steppe barefoot in the same short striped pants, eating on the run. And the donkey, the long and ugly was shouting, stretching his neck, then fought among themselves, biting and laga each other, then ran, shaking the steppe hooves. Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch loved the giant herd of wild donkeys, and day and night he worked to drive them into safe shelters, where they could not break a pack of hungry wolves. But gradually the herd is out of control and no longer obey the driver of Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch . Despite this, shepherd Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch not sleeping a wink at night lit bonfires, and hungry wolves dared not attack the donkeys, for fear of the blazing fire. But the donkeys were not able to appreciate the back-breaking labor of his shepherd, on the contrary, once they trampled him into the mud and killed. Here is such a sad affair happened to me at a glance - fisherman finished his story. Then add:
- My name is qalandar Hazrat Ibn Abdel Fattah - What's your name? - He asked.
- My name is... And why should you? Actually, I can tell you my name. I'm Khurshida. But your story about the novel you wrote just struck me. What an interesting and sad novel. And where, in any bookstore you can buy this book, sir Kalandar Hazrat Ibn Abdel Fattah -? - asked Khurshida.
- Unfortunately, You will not find my novel in the bookstores of the country yet. But there is hope that it will be published by one large publishing house with which I signed the contract. Yes, writers are people too, and they also have families and children. I mean, they need money, too. But I generally do not write for publication. I have nothing to compare the pleasure that I get when I write my works. I love fishing, loneliness and silence. I go to bed late, but Wake up at dawn, when others are sleeping the sweet sleep, and in silence listen to the sonorous morning trills of newly awakened birds. Streets are deserted. If you don't count the bird's chirping, we can assume that silence reigns around. The air is cool and clean. In such hours it seems that consciousness deepens and the mind becomes transparent like a mirror. Then you go out into the yard and sitting on the steps of the wooden stairs of your hut, you listen to the cool silence, watching the slowly and gradually pale horizon, which is full of stripes, like a torn silk women's nightgown pale yellow. From the distant clover fields, there were voices of wild birds. Here begins the roll call of roosters. From a distance barely hear the drums and hysterical crying surnai (Eastern wood-wind musical instrument), inviting people for a free wedding Breakfast which would attract anyone, without invitation. Sounds of canary and the drum roll. These distant sounds do not disturb the silence, on the contrary, decorate it with their presence. Especially when you're with a hoe on my shoulder going for a morning trail, overgrown from two sides by high grass, begins to sparkle with diamond dew, and the sun, bursting, singing skylarks over a field. You will stop with a smile on your lips to listen to the joyful songs of these birds that sing. You listen to their songs, and you don't want to leave. Then with elated mood you walk further, as speak, with leaps and bounds. It is good that there is a field, to my happiness. If I was offered a job in some crowded city and assigned a salary of five thousand dollars a month, I still could not live and work there for a long time. I would have died right at the working machine from the longing for the broad fields and the native village, gradually slimming, losing the gift of speech like a wild man. Borderless, I'm like a Dolphin with no sea. Dumb love flight of the white butterflies that flutter above the paths, silently chasing each other. The flight of white butterflies is a living image of silence, which artists are unable to portray in their paintings. I've been on the field a long time knocking on hoe, and I don't sit down to rest, no. In order to shake off the boot, which hit the lump. I take my boots off my feet and begin to shake it, holding it like a pipe of a heater, which is cleaned of soot in the winter. Meanwhile, I hear a distant and sad voice of a lone hoopoe and freezes with the boot in his hands: "Upupup! Upupup! Upupup! Pisssss!"."Upupup! Upupup! Upupup! Pisssss!". I listen to the weeping of the hoopoe, grey. Then I put on my boots and then I keep working. I used to think why I always wanted to cry when I heard the voice of the hoopoe in the fields. Then I realized that this voice, it turns out, is associated with my childhood, and it reminds me of those distant years when I went to the field with my late mother. I vaguely remember the field camp with thatched roof, tall poplars and a huge willow tree, in the shade where we children played, next bubbled through pure water in the irrigation ditch; on the branches of the tall poplars hundreds of passerine nests, red straw which patted the winds. Sparrows rustled in unison, stunning the neighborhood. How noisy these poplar and willow on the free winds! The nannies tied hammocks to trunks of poplars and, having laid in these hammocks kids, rocked them, loudly singing the lullaby, for the field camp. Women worked in the fields, glittering in the distance with the edges of their hoe. I still miss those fields and mulberry trees with trunks like elephant legs. I miss those tall poplars, the willows, the noise and the chirp of the Sparrow flocks, and I even miss the smell of pesticide-treated cotton seeds that lay in the pit. Oddly enough, the smell of pesticides - it is also the smell of my childhood. Every time I think about it, tears come to my eyes. Don't know why, but it is. That field camp and the trees, those people disappeared a long time ago. But they live in the fields of my memories, and no one can kill and destroy. With such thoughts I get back to work. I work, I work, and suddenly I stop again, straightening my back, and listen to the voice of cuckoo, which comes from the coast, where the olives grow, which blossomed. The pleasant smells of blooming olives are spread around the field drunk winds. Oh, you should have seen the moment when I come back from the field against the backdrop of a blazing sunset! I'm going tired, but in a good mood at the acquaintance to a pain a trail, overgrown from two sides by high grass, fending off pesky mosquitoes. As I cross the field, the night falls softly, and begins to twinkle. I walk along the trail, walking with a hoe on my shoulder, but not without stopping, of course. I stop only to watch the moon slowly rising from the horizon, quietly illuminating the cotton fields. Looking at the rising moon, I listen to the singing of the cricket, which is chorus and rhythmically chirping, but they do not see. And the moon shines selflessly. There, above the village in the sky, twinkling innumerable stars. I'm looking at the big dipper constellation, which looks like a crystal. And there's a little bear. I stand and I cannot look away from celestial bodies. I am a farmer. I work in another field, in the field of literature. I sow the seeds of kindness in people's hearts. I know that these seeds will grow and give their fruits, which will bring pleasure and joy to all people of the planet. Finally, I would say that for me creativity is life. And life is creation, there is also creativity, the creativity of Almighty God summed up his story writer qalandar Hazrat Ibn Abdel Fattah.
- Ooooh, I never thought that someday meet a living writer like you, right here, on the banks of the river. To be honest, I am fascinated by your stories - said Khurshida. Here on the surface of the coastal waters began to twitch the float rod writer Kalandar Hazrat Ibn Abdel Fattah-and excited him, disappeared under the water. Writer qalandar Hazrat Ibn Abdel Fattah -quickly began to roll up the line into the reel and soon over the water seemed to hump the fish, which trembled nervously, wanting to get rid of the hook. But it did not. Kalandar Hazrat Ibn Abdelfattah pulled the fish out of the water and freed it from the hook, threw it on the shore, where standing Khurshida. She even got scared and jumped back, having made laugh with the writer Qalandar Hazrat Ibn Abdel Fattah. They laughed and rejoiced, with admiration looking at the fish, which from lack of air were widely opened and shut it's mouth, convulsive twitching, writhing and bulging not contiguous, round, red eyes without eye lashes, staining it's silvery scales, sand.

 

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132221451_gorod_Brempton (202x216, 31Kb)

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Chapter 19 of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves"


Comet




A month later, it became clear that Pathella was a sick man. When he started having an attack, his stomach stopped working, and the undigested food left in full swing. He was tormented by terrible headaches. At such moments, Khurshida lost in panic, not knowing what to do and assisted him as best they could, giving him the pills with water. Pathella often was in the hospital and was treated. But since his illness was chronic, he could not fully recover. However, the district social security he was given a pension of a disabled person, but this meager pension is not enough even for medications. For this simple reason, Khurshida had to get a job to survive. She did just that. Found a job in the city and settled into the dining room where she had to clean the vegetables, boil water, clean the boilers, to watch out for cottonseed oil in the cauldron, where the fried ingredients to the broth and, accordingly, to clean the premises and territory of this enterprise catering. The work was heavy. But Khurshida did not complain. It was much better than sitting at home. She was the first to arrive by bus at dawn, when the streets were dominated by the sleepy silence, and sad red street lights. Sweeping the area of the canteen, she was thinking about Sultan recalled with a sigh those unforgettable bright days that are gone forever into the past, into eternity. She worked all day tirelessly and the evening, wearily returned home, sometimes falling asleep in the bus standing. Arriving from work, she cooked dinner and after dinner washed dishes, made the bed for her mother-in-law. Only after that and she went to bed. One day she woke up from her husband's sobs and was scared. Quickly jumping off the place, she asked her husband, what about him?
-What is happening Pathella!? Again your stomach is bothering you? Is it a headache? Let me take your temperature. I now will light up and will bring you some pills - she said.
- No, Khurshida, do not, honey, do not worry. My stomach is not in pain - said Pathella.
- Then why are you crying? - surprised Khurshida.
- You know, I had my first wife Oktamhon Sharovarova.I saw her in my dream - answered Pathella, continuing to cry. Hearing this, Khurshida froze like a wax figure in Madame Tussauds Museum in distant and foggy London. Coming a little to herself, she looked at her husband in disbelief and asked:
- Were you married before?
- Yes, Khurshida. I'm sorry, honey, I didn't tell you that before. You know, love, I was afraid you'd leave me when you found out I was married. Correct to say that an owl in a sack cannot hide, even if the bag is leather. You see, the mystery came out of my mouth. And why hide truth from you, when you the most a close and staunch man for me? You work day and night to keep our family afloat. Sometimes I feel ashamed that I can't help you. I was supposed to be working, and you're supposed to be at home, like a Princess. You don't think my conscience hurts me? No, I sometimes cry at night, clenching my teeth to creak so that you don't wake up. I pay that I sit at home instead of providing you and our family with all necessary things, working as the guest worker in the neighboring countries, as well as many our compatriots. Earn money and build a gorgeous house, buy a car, buy you gold chains, rings with diamond jewelry, expensive dresses... I am eternally indebted to you, Khurshida. You're my angel in human form... - softly cried Pathella, shaking her shoulders.
At this time in front of Khurshida also began to Shine, the bitter tears, in the light of the moon shining over the translucent curtains of the Windows. She rushed into the pastel and by firmly pressing a pillow to his eyes, began to sob bitterly. Pathella wanted to reassure her, but she removed his hands that touched her. Those hands she felt suffocating serpents of the tropical forests of South America. Khurshida did not tell her mother that her husband Pathella was married to her. She just didn't want to stab at the heart of her mother. Sorry mom already afflicted with suffering. On the contrary, as if nothing had happened, she continued to work in the same dining room where she worked and at least for some time, forgetting about the negatives, plunging into an endless ocean of memories connected with the tractor driver Sultan. Recently she went to her parents and went to the field to the camp, where, as before, the blossoms of white acacia, which has become a symbol of love Khurshida and the tractor driver Sultan. It turns out that she, as before, vigorously flourished, and the nest of the magpie disappeared, being covered with bunches of white acacia flowers, where Khurshida and Sultan was sitting, enjoying the beauty of the Paradise tree. From the branches of acacia quietly and sadly, like tears, fell on a wandering spring wind white petals, blooming bunches. Khurshida wanted not only just to visit but to live alone and the rest of her life, wandering around the paths through the fields, thinking about those days, about the hilarious conversations, the smiles, ringing laughter, the gentle touch of hands and a passionate searing kiss.
Then something wonderful happened. Khurshida was working in the kitchen, frying meat in a huge cauldron, where the noisy warm cotton oil, making sparkling sounds. Suddenly one of the officers the dining room, which the maid who cleaned the tables, told Khurshida that someone asks.
- I do not know a man named Sultan. He's wearing a plaid cap, sitting at a table by the fountain, and he asked me to call you! - She said.
Hearing these words, Khurshida almost fell down. She stood there like a dope with a skimmer in her hand and couldn't move as if her legs were nailed to the floor. In a minute she came to herself, and did not know what to do.
- My God, really?.. Is it true, Gulshanoy?! But today is not the first of April by chance? No...Oh, uh, hot oil, leaving it unattended is dangerous. It can burn and flame to envelop the whole kitchen. Expensive ingredients will burn... And what if I turn off the stove for a while... No, you cannot... The chief's gonna get me out of work. Oops, water in the pot boiled!.. she thought, and she quickly lifted the lid of the pan.Then accidentally dropped it on the floor. The lid thundered and a few drops of boiling water fell on her thigh. She jumped from the burn, making a face.
- Vss-ah! Vss-ahhhh! - Khurshida hissed, clutching her thigh, involuntarily remembering that distant incident with the tractor driver Sultan, when she scalded his leg, spilling boiling water from a samovar field.
- Here Satan, and, as luck would have it... No,I'll turn the stove off. Whether, that will... What happiness and, what happiness! He arrived on the end of the! Found me all -???! Thank you, Lord God, thank you! I'm out of here... I'll go out now... we will meet again... Oh, how I worry, my hands shaking... Hey, where am I in that dirty robe? What will Sultan think when he sees me like this? I need to change - thought, Khurshida and turning off the stove, ran to the side of the cupboard with clothes. But Khurshida tripped in a pot and fell on the floor. It was the cave of aluminum pots, which she had recently washed, as they say, to the holes. There were pans and buckets, like basins in the Eastern bathhouse with good acoustics. She quickly extricated herself from the dishes and ran back towards the locker where she'd changed clothes after work, for a small screen. Khurshida took off the robe and quickly dressed as the experienced soldiers re-enlisted during the alarm and was going to run on the street, but stopped again, seeing that she put on a dress inside out.
- Oh, well, what is it, huh?! - Nervous Khurshida, dressed, rushed to the exit. But in the dishwasher, her dress caught on to some tin, and it was torn wide screen! She wouldn't stop if the size of the hole wasn't that big.
- Oh, not this, God!.. Well, why am I so unlucky?! Now ripped my favorite one dress, and there waiting for me my beloved Sultan! What am I supposed to do? Let me put on my robe. Let it dirty, but it will cover the torn part of the dress, she thought, and ran again to the side of the locker. There she wore a dirty robe over her dress, removed the white cap from her head and corrected her hair. Then I remembered the lipstick.
Somewhere in her robe pocket needs to be lipstick... Ah, here is, seems, has found... she thought, fumbling in the pockets of the robe, shaking like a drunk with her hands.
Looking at the piece of mirror that was attached to the wooden door of the cabinet, Khurshida started painting her lips. But the excitement she had put on lipstick wrong and wanting to correct this, she smeared lips. Khurshida quickly wiped the smeared lipstick, with the hem of her robe. After that, Khurshida decided to go outside, no matter what. But when she was running, suddenly she tripped and fell on the tiled floor of the dishwasher hurt her feet. Severe pain forced her to sit. She cried grabbing her sprained leg. At this time, we ran Gulshanoy , that same employee dining room that were cleaning tables. She began to reproach Khurshida supposedly why she hesitates when there waits for it the person?
- Why are you sitting, Khurshida?! There waiting for you you're man! Who is he? He's probably a money-lender, and he came to ask for a favor from you to repay your interest-bearing debt. It's not good to keep a person waiting that long. Come on, rise up! Why are you sitting here?! - She said.
- No, I can't Gulshanoy, I twisted my leg inadvertently - said Khurshida.
- Yeah?! Oh, My God! Sorry, Khurshida, I don't know! Oh, does it hurt? - The cleaning lady said.
- Yeah, - nodded Khurshida, continuing to cry and looking at Gulshanoy through tears.
- No, I have to go! Let us, help me, please, to stand up, Gulshanoy. I leave, and you turn on the stove and watch the stove for me-she said, trying to rise. Cleaning lady tables Gulshanoy helped her up, and she got up. Khurshida went, hobbling on one leg and resting her hands on the wall. But when she got out, there was nobody at the table by the fountain. Seeing this, Khurshida's heart trembled. When she went to the Desk, there lay a large bouquet of red roses and a note. Khurshida quickly took the note and recognized the handwriting of her beloved Sultan.
- No, don't go, don't go! - she roared, not hesitating visitors who were sitting at tables and eating Uzbek the delicious spaghetti, called "Lagman". Khurshida looked around, continuing to cry from sorrow with a distorted face, like a drunken alcoholic. Then, sitting at the table, began to read the note of the Sultan through the tears trembling in her eyes. The content of the note was as follows.
Hello, Khurshida!
I apologize for what I stupid coming put you in an uncomfortable position in front of your management and to the labor collective. The thing is, I, through my old acquaintances, found out about you and your workplace, and I just wanted to see you. To see and to speak as before at least an hour, even for a minute. I am a fool; ever allow such unforgivable mistakes in relation to you and each time hurting you. Here I am again disturbing your quiet moonlit pier, bursting in here like a terrible Typhoon. At first I thought you were mad at me so much that you didn't even want to come out here and see me. Then I came to the conclusion that you simply did not come to a meeting with me, only to preserve the reputation of your beloved husband, their parents and fear of gossip and rumors. And I think you did the right thing. But believe me, Khurshida, I am glad with all my heart that you are alive and well and have finally found your happiness. I won't bother you anymore. Say hello to aunt Raheela and forgive me again for disturbing you. I now live in a very different far-off state, which is called memory. Live there, as before, sitting at our familiar family field table under blooming white acacia, running with you in the direction of the field camp, when there's a storm coming, under the crashing of spring thunder, illuminating my face in the lightning and soaking wet, laughing. In the autumn all thoughts drive your bulldozer "Altai" in yellow on a night the fields covered with fog, thinking only about you. You pop up in my memories like that beautiful blooming white acacia in the distant spring. Sincerely yours, still loving tractor driver Sultan.
After reading the letter, Khurshida for a moment froze. Then clung her head to the table and screamed:
- Nooo! nooo! - She cried a wild voice, hitting her fist on the table. She was crying, no hesitating, even visitors who froze in surprise with forks in hand. Then, Khurshida stood up abruptly and dash ran outside, hoping to have time to see the tractor driver Sultan who sits in a taxi and immediately to stop it. But the tractor driver Sultan was not there.

eb23ebae4e2f0a5747a3836a73a792433eb756231883193 (700x510, 39Kb)

 

 

132221451_gorod_Brempton (202x216, 31Kb)

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Chapter 18 of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves"


Pathella




Before going to the registry office, Khurshida cried at the door, hugging her mother.
- Do not cry, dear, everything will be fine. God forbid that you become happy with Pathella's, Amin! - Raheela tearfully blessed her daughter.
Khurshida went on a car to the registry office, accompanied by her best friends. Friends congratulated her, envying her white. They happily and loudly laughed, whispering in her ear about something intimate. But Khurshida mentally lived in her own world, plunging thoughts in the fog of memories, thinking only of Sultan. Although she smiled at her friends, but inside was crying. Judge for yourself, why should she have a beautiful and rich groom. If she does not feel for him not that there is a feeling of love or sympathy, but even the slightest interest? Who knows, maybe in the future it will release nostalgic memories on bright days which it lived with the tractor driver Sultan, will release unbearable melancholy on it. Maybe with time she'll get used to Pathella. But at the moment, Khurshida felt not human, but rather some empty dishes. She looked at the merriment of her friends, empty eyes, and in her heart, like the empty autumn fields, wandering black cold wind of separation, as a belated farmer in the fog, who returned to his shack with a bag on her shoulders, where the last of the beets, uprooted them. On the way to the girls joined the boys headed fiancé Pathella. He gave her a lush bouquet of flowers and smiled a satisfied smile, talking about something, but Khurshida to listen even it is not wanted. She was thinking about one person, and I think our dear readers know who they're talking about. Pathella sat next to Khurshida and they went further in the direction of the Registrar office. Then registration, the exchange of wedding rings, a Sharia Nikah (engagement) congratulations and all that. Despite the severe winter, according to the order of the chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch sped up the wedding. The wedding was attended by the Chairman of the collective farm, and many guests from different places Telekomunikasi district. After made a report to the great chairman of the collective farm comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch, have given the word Khurshida's father to Abduljabbar. He was, as always, tipsy and made a toast:
- Hello dear guests! Welcome to my daughter's wedding Khurshida and my son-in-Pathella! I am extremely glad that my daughter married a nephew of our dear great chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch! Thank You, our dear wise great permanent chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch that you have in this world! You've helped me all your life and made me a man! You gave me the extraordinary responsible position of the mechanic of a livestock farm of our collective farm. Thanks to you, we have jointly raised the economy of our collective farm, increased the number of livestock. Many people tell me, they say, you work for many years in this livestock farm in the same position. You're not bored with all this? Well, did you understand me at last, dear guests that I love this job and can't exist without it. Sometimes I go to the city and in an hour I begin to yearn for a livestock farm of our collective farm. Nostalgia is starting to take over and eat me from the inside out. I, unlike you, I miss the smell of hay and manure, you know? I will come to the farm, inhale the air, where the tart smells of manure and hay, and swirl my head from the buzz. You're laughing in vain, gentlemen. I'm quite serious. I also love the smell of newly mown with a combine corn, I love the expanse of corn fields. Oh, out in the wide field, and the soul sings like a Nightingale under the moon! I go through pastures in boots and in a sweatshirt, shearing sheep in the spring. You can't even imagine how much I love watching herds of cows grazing in a thick autumn fog. Their dim silhouettes in a quiet gray fog captivates me, bewitch me, and milkmaid? They are also in the pre-dawn twilight coming on creaky carts to the farm in silence, milking cows. Oh, my love, the ringing of the rattling empty buckets at dawn, in foggy silence. And there behind the barns and corrals of the mountain is the stack of pressed hay. Like gold bars on the shelves of Swiss banks! Like the pyramid of Pharaoh Tutankhamun in the Egyptian deserts! If I die, then bury me not in the churchyard, and on-site animal farm our farm Tillaquduq and lay over my grave high stacks of pressed hay in the form of the pyramids of the ancient pharaohs of Egypt!..
Sorry, once I start to think about the kindness of our distinguished chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch, tears will flow by themselves from my eyes. Because our esteemed chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch first noticed and recognized my God-given talent! That sin to conceal, Yes, I confess that I really gifted person in the field of shearing of sheep. But they say that somewhere out there, beyond the ocean... well, in America, that is, in the hearth of world imperialism, the bourgeois annually organize sheep-shearing competitions among Texas cowboys and these cowboys in hats and in rough jeans cut for an hour fifteen and sometimes twenty sheep. And I can cut more than a hundred sheep in an hour! There is a difference? Yes still not tying sheep its feet! As they say, one-time-and on a striped mattress! To dispel your doubts like the morning fog at sunrise, I can demonstrate a complex trick right here, in front of your eyes - said Abduljabbar.
Hearing his words, the guests applauded in support, endorsing his initiative. Abduljabbar connected the ends of the wire synchronous electric machine with the input of the amplifier musicians and shouted:
-Come on, the goat in the Studio! The two quickly brought the goat, grabbing her by the horns and Abduljabbar, replacing the big tip of the clipper with the small one, got to work, demonstrating his high art in the field of shearing sheep and goats. Guests led by the chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch watched the action of Abduljabbar with great interest and curiosity. In a few minutes Abduljabbar performed the trick, and surprise guests gasped, then applauded him, shouting “Bravo!”, because Abduljabbar wrote using the typewriter on the side of the goat the inscription "Chairman Comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch". Seeing this, the chairman Comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch and his bodyguards with black glasses, all got up from their seats and stood and applauded the great herdsman to Abduljabbar, admiring his art. Then hired a singer with a delicate velvety voice began to sing a song similar to the crying women and drunken guests began to dance to these songs, snake-like movements of the hands, moving her ass, raising his eyebrows look like black leeches. The wedding took place peacefully, and when the guests left, Khurshida with Pathella left alone in the room for the newlyweds to start their honeymoon. The embarrassment and shame and the indifference Khurshida even looked out of the corner of the eyes in the face of Pathella. When he got close to her in the intimate sense of the word, she screamed in pain. She closed her eyes and imagined that she was not moving closer to Pathella, and her lover, a guy, tractor driver Sultan. After sexual rapprochement she lay, turning away from the groom Pathella, not wanting to see his face. Pathella hugged and kissed on the lips, but Khurshida was lying, still tightly closed their eyes and thinking about love. Then they are washed, completing the Shower. But when Khurshida woke up at dawn to the custom to sweep the yard, she was terribly frightened by seeing a man lying next to him. There lay not the groom of Pathella with which Khurshida was in the registry office, and who was sitting with her at the wedding table, and quite a strange man with a large head, with a nose like a potato, and with too narrow eyes. He smiled at her greeting, and began to hug her.
- Well, Hello, honey, how was your vacation? - said he and tried to again to address these the most... well... you probably know what this is about, don't you? Then, Khurshida stood up abruptly from the scene, covering her pillow with the elastic chest and pulled back. She cried out in a loud voice, trembling with fear. And the man began to calm her down.
What are you yelling? Are you sane? The neighbors will hear! We have bad neighbors and they are not only jealous of us, but hate us! What are you afraid of, Khurshida? It's me, your husband Pathella! Don't shout for God's sake, I'll explain everything! In short, instead of me, the role of the groom was played by my friend, whom I hired for a certain amount of money. He studied at theatrical Institute, actor's faculty. You know, one scholarship is not enough for students. They also want to eat well, dress nice, buy some ice cream for the girls to dance at discos, where the sparkle of the colored rays, then fading, then again. Jump to the beat of the music. Maybe my words Might not sound serious to you, but it's true. My friend played he had been entrusted with the role brilliantly! It's good that you were lying with your eyes closed yesterday and didn't want to see me. And then this scandal would have erupted last night when the envious neighbors in the yard were full. Thank God He saved us from shame! Khurshida, well, give you to understand, finally, without these intrigue you just refused to marry me, you know? Because you're a very beautiful girl. Rather, they were a girl until last night. Well, I just had to do it because I had no other choice. Well, what was I supposed to do if I'm crazy about you? I love you, Khurshida! I, without hesitation, ready to sacrifice my life for you! I know you don't like me. But I was ready for anything, up to such meanness as a fraud. I was hoping that we eventually all will be settled and formed between us, well, if not love, then at least some kind of warm relationship through the bonds of marriage - explained Pathella.
Hearing this, Khurshida wept, covering his face with a pillow.
- What vile people! What horror! What a misfortune! God, why are you punishing me for something?! What have I done to you?! - She cried, then abruptly got up from their seats started to get dressed. Pathella scared and going to Khurshida, tried to grab her hands.
Where, honey?! - He asked.
- Don't touch me with your disgusting filthy hands, you bastard! Depart! I'm going to my parents! - said Khurshida, continuing to cry.
- Khurshida, don't do this, come to your senses! If you don't think about me, at least think about your parents; think about your poor family's reputation! Pity your mother, after all! What will people think, who walk not with the help of their feet, but with the help of language?! They can spread rumors that you are not a virgin! What will happen then? Your parents and your family will be disgraced! What will my friends say?! They'll laugh at me! Think before you make any decision! Well, to hell with it, let my friends laugh at me! I am ready for any humiliation, in order to be with you together! Believe me, I love you, Khurshida, love, and not want, to you were disgraced! That's where the dog is buried. I am ready to kneel before you and, without hesitation, to tell you that it is an honour for me to be your obedient slave! If you leave now, I'm done. I'll take the rope, lather it gently and fsht! - hang said Pathella. After these words, Pathella Khurshida was nothing left to do but accept the fate, whatever it was violent.

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Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Chapter 17 of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves"


Snowfall




Although Khurshida agreed that she would marry a nephew of the great chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch to save my mom's life, but she couldn't get rid of the unbearable longing for the tractor driver Sultan. On the contrary, her mental anguish, torture and pain grew, like a snowball, hour after hour and day by day. She smiled at her mom, but her soul crying, demanding a meeting with the tractor driver Sultan. Khurshida was crying, not showing her tears to anyone, not even mom not to upset her. Foggy days and nights she cried into the pillow, and she always wanted to be alone, because alone she could mentally to meet her lover, the guy with the tractor the tractor driver Sultan to live with her. Today, waking up, she saw snow falling outside the window and sighed involuntarily thinking that winter has come. It has been snowing all night and he fell carelessly, blurry window with its delicate curtain. She fell quiet, as if fearing to frighten away the white silence, slowly thicker and thicker covering the streets, trees, roofs of houses white fluffy flakes. The snow was falling so thickly that it was difficult to see the road, houses and trees through the curtain of falling snowflakes. Khurshida was looking through the window at the snow, and could not look away from this gentle fabulous winter beauty.
After Breakfast, Khurshida, dressed warmly, went to the side of the field mill, heavy with snow, through a Blizzard that circled diagonally flying snowflakes, not allowing her to open her eyes. She walked, protecting her eyes with the sleeve of her worn drape coat from flying snowflakes. Eyelashes and part of her hair sticking out from under the white shawl, snow-covered, like hair and eyelashes gray-haired old woman. Khurshida since childhood was surprised and captured by a mysterious silence that comes during a snowfall. Birds, streets, fields - all nature subsides, as if afraid to disturb the rustle and whisper of falling snow, like a prayer in the divine winter silence, especially at night. Snow jams make the car turn off the engine. Snow night lights not only light, but also deep ravines of the human soul to the bottom. In falling snow has a calm, melancholy street lamps that are lonely think about something important, with downcast eyes, oblivious to the swarm of white and wild bees albinos that continually bite them, swirling in a Blizzard.
Hardly moving through the thick snow, Khurshida, finally got to the field camp and saw the frozen snow-covered poplar and willow, which joined the branches to the ground from the weight of snow. A locust tree stood, too, in white, as if covered in flowers, and a nest of magpies, too, was covered with a thick layer of snow, like an old forgotten cart in the winter night. The snow was gone; the snowflakes were flying obliquely in white silence, white dash, covering up the traces of Khurshida. The snow fills the grievances, hardships, and separation as follow during a Blizzard, leaving in the soul the longing for past love and the sweet moments that it is impossible to return. Perhaps that is why man sometimes I want to cry silently, staring at the falling snow, remembering happy and joyful days in my life. When especially put out the light in the room, staring through the window at the white twilight, where it falls with the rustle of the snow, when people are sleeping, closing their doors on the latch, when snow-covered roads freeze in the white silence, your soul gets peace and comfort. The snow turns the night into a white fairy-tale dream in reality.
Khurshida was covered with snow like a white pilgrim who came to visit the Shrine. She stood, ignoring the cold, swirling snowflakes in a Blizzard, looking at the dazzling snow which covered winter fields. For Khurshida these places, this field camp, this snow - covered white acacia turned into a hanging symbol of her love and looking at them in her soul revived marvelous memories. Here she met the tractor driver Sultan for the first time when the neighborhood was full of people and their joyful noise, their cheerful ringing laughter, and now the field camp and snow-covered fields have plunged into white silence, where in the noisy sparrows stunning his chirping the whole neighborhood, and heard a ringing and laughter laborers, now silence reigns, and there is a quiet sideways snow. Here, Khurshida bent the samovar; poured boiling water scalded his foot. It is here that she saw iron will, self-restraint and patience of the tractor driver Sultan, without my noticing, I fell in love with him. What happy days are gone in the past, in the dead of oblivion? What an irreplaceable loss, how changeable this world is, o Lord my God! - Khurshida cried, shaking her shoulders. At the moment she didn't want to go home. On the contrary, I wanted to sit at a table covered with snow, under a white acacia and, freezing, turn into ice as a mammoth in permafrost. Let it be covered with snow, falling for weeks day and night, and it will never respond to the call of people who will look for it all night in a snowstorm, stumbling on a knee in the snow with lanterns in their hands, not hearing even their own cry in a Blizzard. It will take eternity, silence. But her pity for her mother stopped her. If it wasn't for her, Khurshida long time would not exist in this world, even the laws of religion would not be able to stop her from suicide. Because of pity to his mother she agreed without love to marry the nephew of the Chairman. Mom must be worried about her by now. Would Khurshida's sister or brother, she would not hesitate, would be hanged right on this acacia. But she's the only one with her parents.
Khurshida sat a long time over the snow-covered table, under a tree, wrapped in a white fluffy blanket of snow. She came here to say goodbye to the white acacia, to the field camp and to the native snow-covered fields, where she fell in love and spent the lightest, unforgettable days in her life, which went into oblivion. The neighborhood is also grieving, like saying goodbye to her and cried the Blizzard.
- Goodbye - said Khurshida in a whisper, and in her chest she was furious tears, and then they leaked out the cracks of her eyes.
She stood up and, stumbling in the snow, back home. Snow in the evening had increased and was falling all night long. Khurshida till the morning could not sleep, constantly thinking of the tractor driver Sultan. Despite the fact that she turned out the light in the room was bright from the slanting snow, which, without stopping, went outside the window.

 

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