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Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

Letters of Mizhappar

(The short novel)

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


The sixteenth letter of Mizhappar



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

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

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

-Really? - I asked in surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Prosecutor thanked Qurumboy for his generosity.

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

Sincerely, Mizhappar.




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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

Letters of Mizhappar

(The short novel)

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


The fourteenth letter of Mizhappar





Thank you and your friends, Saitmirat-aka, for the letter with millions of signatures that you wrote and sent to the head of our prison, while exerting strong pressure on the administration of the colony. The results on the face, that is, we were released. We got our old clothes back. We even got money for the road, We rode on the bus "Borsa Kelmes" to the capital. Although, the words "Borsa Kelmes" sound translated as" Who went there, will never return from there, " yet, we were able to return. But when we arrived in the capital, we were in danger again. There we were stopped almost at every step by policemen and they checked our documents. Although we have all the documents were in order, but we are tired of all these endless checks. We decided to go home by train and so we bought tickets to the compartment wagon, we got on the train. After the announcement of the dispatcher,  a whistle sounded on the autumn platform,and the train creaked. After the conductor checked the tickets, we were given torn, semi-dry bed linen. The conductor, walking down the corridor, warned the passengers:
- Be alert gentlemen passengers! The locks in the door compartments are poorly closed, and we can not guarantee you full protection! At the stations our train could get armed bandits and rob you to the bone - he said.
We drove in silence. We were traveling with a well-dressed type forty-five, who introduced us and talked about:.
- My name is Tuhtasin, and my last name is Chemadanov. I'm a prominent businessman and owned a manufacturing and trading firm "The Edelweiss" abroad.
- Bourgeois? - said Qurumboy, filling his pipe with tea leaves and lighting it.

- Yes - said Chemadanov, then continued:
- I am engaged in delivery of live goods under the contract. I mostly sell donkeys. There is a great demand for donkeys abroad.
-What are You, really? - said Yuldashvoy surprised.
- Yes, I swear on my firm! - he said, removing her black English jacket and carefully hanging it on a hanger. Then, adjusting his red tie on the background of his white shirt, went on to say:
- The goods are at my fingertips, almost free. I go home, I buy for pennies of these donkeys, I lock them in commodity cars and I send to customers. That's all my work
- Why do your customers need donkeys when everyone drives expensive foreign cars? Or do they ride these donkeys to the mountains to smuggle marijuana or weapons to neighboring countries? - asked Mamadiar.
I don't care about that. I sell them, and let them do what they want with those donkeys. it's Their business. And I do not care - said Chemadanov.
- You don't sell zebras?  asked Yuldashvoy.
- No, I don't sell zebras. Reluctant to go to Africa. I have my own Serengetti.

Why do you ask about zebras? - surprised Chemadanov.


- The fact is that we also have a good, young and obedient donkey. Could you help us sell it? - Qurumboy asked.
- Well, of course I will. Do you have the papers on your donkey? I mean, the passport. Did you get his passport or not?

We looked at Qurumboy. He took the pipe out of his mouth, looked at Chemadanov, and asked:
-What is the passport? Don't donkeys have passports too?
-Certainly. How could it be otherwise? No one can buy a donkey without a passport. Passport around the head! - explained Chemadanov.
- I wonder what they look like... donkey passports? - asked again Yuldashvoy looking down from the third shelf of the compartment.
- What? Have you seen the donkey's passport?! Well, well! The passports donkeys are the same as we have - said Chemadanov.
- And, also there is no ID, - said Qurumboy.
- Yes? That's bad. Then, I can't help you, gentlemen - said Chemadanov.

Chemadanov and Qurumboy continued the conversation, we were getting ready to sleep. I could not sleep for a long time, looking through the window of the wagon into the night steppes, where sadly flickered distant lights. I also looked at the moon, which was running behind the train. The rhythmic tapping of the iron wheels on the rails, and the wagon rocking with a mill creak, were like a cradle for a child. I didn't notice when I fell asleep. I woke up from the noise of the tramp of feet and dull blows. I see the intruders have arrived in our compartment. They hit and kick Chemadanov, and he begs them not to kill him.
- What, you got a rat?! Thought we'd never be able to find you, huh? That so-called slave owner you sold us to, we killed and took our passports! You're scum, how many of their compatriots were sold into slavery by deception for some pennies! Scoundrel, scum! Remember when you called us donkeys? And in fact, your companion, the slave owner of the shitty, he turned out to be the biggest donkey! Because we took away from him all the money, which he collected all these years at the expense of state workers, from whom he took away passports, so that they could not go out. Now he lies in a ditch with his trousers off. Now it's your turn to be a donkey like your friend. We are not the donkey, you are! Now we will cut your tongue off, or we will throw you off the train and murder you- said the uninvited masked guests.
- Okay, okay.. Now... - said Chemadanov lying on the floor.
He started to yak like a real donkey. Uninvited guests again began to kick him everywhere. Then they together raised Chemadanov and was thrown from the train through the window. I did a double somersault and jumped down when the masked murderers left. My friends at this time having  slept, as if the bodies of the dead in the morgue. I woke them and told them, as uninvited guests threw businessman Tuhtasin Chemadanov from the train. After that, we couldn't sleep anymore.

When the train stopped at the station named Vasily Chapaev, we jumped off the train and disappeared in the dark. We fled to the village on a footpath which crossed the cemetery, and in the light of the moon I saw Qurumboy. He ran ahead of us, wearing Chemadanov's black suit over his coat, which hung on the hanger before he left. Quietly dozing, the cotton fields were under the bright moon.




October 20, 2008.
1 hour 33 minutes night.
Village, "Chapayevka".

 

 

 

 

 

 

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

Letters of Mizhappar

(The short novel)

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




The first letter of Mizhappar




Let this letter, which I write now, hurrying like a storm, raging like a Typhoon; reach the hands of the esteemed Sitmirat, who lives in those countries where democracy thrives like Japanese Sakura in the spring. Let this be the letter is clear to him like the full moon in a deserted silence of the snowy field of the farm, where we plant cotton in the spring. Hello, Mr. Sitmirat , my name is Mizhappar. I'm a worker of the collective farm of 'Chapaev'. My friends, workers obey the Government of our Country collective farm 'Chapaev' exceeded the annual plans for the collection of cotton, courageously defeating all the vagaries of a harsh nature. Thanks to our wise President and Government, for making bread cheap. A man will not die if he does not eat meat. That is, it will cost and without meat. For us to lick the bread with water that would not have risen in price and the air was free. Now, Mr. Sitmirat, if your clothing or boots rips, it's not scary. You can patch them up, and the stomach? What do you think, is it possible to sew up the stomach at least for a day and live without eating anything, as it is not so. Recently, we went in search of bread for mills with bags in the armpits. And now, thanks again to our wise President and the Government that bread and water is cheap, air is free. That's important. I am writing this historic letter and thinking about those days when disappeared from the store the first necessary items with the shops, and remembered one funny story. The story is very funny and when I think about this case are filled with laughter and can't stop. I can't stop even when I'm staring at my nails to crush my laughter. Here is now, too, write this letter and is cracking hand from laughter. In short, in those grim days of my age and relative Qurumboy from the village "Lattaqishlaq" went to town in search of vegetable oil. He walked among the shops of the Bazaar and saw a young man who traded vegetable oil. Qurumboy asked the seller for the price. The seller called the price. The price was acceptable and Qurumboy decided to buy thinking: "the Price is acceptable. I'll buy more, excess resale to their neighbors in the at exorbitant prices ". While he thought the seller asked him a delicate question, say: - Haw many liters, sir?
- Two... no, three pints please - said Qurumboy, pulling money out for genies his tarpaulin boots without soles. -Well, Mr. - He said, and took one three-liter glass jar with a sealed lid. Then wiping it with a towel, gave Qurumboy. He has paid and gently put a three-liter glass jar in a bag. When Qurumboy arrived home unharmed, on the bus on the brand "Pazik" like a loaf of bread yellow, his mother was very happy. Anyhow, of course I will be happy. After all, they are three months in a row did not take hot, and now this! The mother of Qurumboy even cried due to joy, then cleared the cabbage, corn, turnips, potatoes and surgical care poured into the pot of vegetable oil, some brought by Qurumboy. Well purified, transparent oil lay in the bottom of the blackened boiler. Qurumboy began spreading the fire. The fire in the hearth burned a long time ago but, for some reason, the oil is not warmed up. I mean, he didn't smoke. Suddenly, the heated oil began to boil. Seeing this, Qurumboy and his mother were touched by surprise. It turns out that the seller is a bastard, bought by Qurumboy not vegetable oil, but cold tea. Then Qurumboy in one week spends the money on transportation, he went into town and was looking for the seller of a scoundrel on the market, but could not find him. Now here is, vegetable oil, thank God emerged on counters. Although, more expensive, but there is. I don't understand people. Here, some complain all the time, it came to light, gas, and drinking water. If I had, I would have destroyed all those electrolytes, the pole, and the electric strip from the switchboard. It turns out that electric current is the most dangerous and harmful substance to human life. See, how many people died from the electric current in our village, when they were picking on a screwdriver in their hands, hoping to twist the meter, as if avoiding paying for electricity. As the fire breaks out, with a green-red sparkle and explode counter in place with the host as a bomb with clockwork. Some burned houses to the ground from the fact that the outbreak of the jumpers flew straight into the attic, where they kept dry hay for the winter for livestock. Hay ethno, is also an inflammable substance like gunpowder in the barrel. It's better to live without electricity. In our village Chapaev every day, from morning to evening and from evening to morning turn off the lights. Naturally, I rejoice in it. My parents, that is, my stepfather and stepmother are also happy, stepfather to say, when no electricity, Mizhappar will not be watching TV, and he'll fall asleep early. Yesterday, I, as played by barn from cow dung, suddenly, in unison shouted, selcan and I almost took a heart attack. They shouted loudly: -Huraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!.
I think, really came Mr. Sitmirat on an armored personnel carrier with the opposition and the revolution began. I went out Jogging on the street and saw the villagers fleeing their homes, rustling in heavy coats and stomping in tarpaulin boots size forty-eight.

- What are you doing, fellow villagers?! - I asked them.

- Light up! Thank our wise President and Goverment! - They answered with a joyful cry. After half an hour, while people really did not have time to eat his meager dinner and lay the mattress and warmed up their TV set with the included black and white picture, which works with the help of stabilizers, again turned off the light.

Some citizens complain about the lack of gas. Oh, well, if these fools don't even know, so this dangerous gas. Last winter our house almost burned down because of the gas. In our village people in order to use the gas in the tube install motors, mounted in a tin can with the aid of this mechanism they installed the gas pipe, leaving the blue fuel to their neighbors. After consulting with my stepfather and stepmother, I also bought a mother of this kind and mounted it in the pipe of our solid fuel burning stove. As the motor started to work, it immediately began to do the blue fuel in the stove and our stove with joy roared terribly like a ship far sailing in among the icy expanses of the Arctic Ocean. The flames in the solid fuel burning stove fluttered like a flag on the flagpole and in a short time we became hot. Stepfather and stepmother are happy, praising me. When it became stuffy, I had to remove a jacket with a hat with ear flaps and sitting in a t-shirt and in the Finnish sauna and sweating. Even breathing has become difficult in the unbearable heat. Suddenly, a motor mounted in a tin can, handing out the sound of a bat exploded, flying in different directions. It turns out the pressure on the pipeline rose sharply. Suddenly, the flames rose to semi-meter, if not more, and our shack has become like a stone in the caves of hell fire, Stepmother in hysterics screaming piercing voice as the sound of an old factory bell, calling for the help of people. I'm shocked. I stand rooted to the spot. Look, the stepfather also critic like a wild man at the waterfall.

- Mizhappar! Look, my son is adopted; the sheepskin is lit with a mattress near the stove! Put it out, for God's sake! Oh, gentlemen! - He ratted.

- I see, I see, stepfather! - I'll put it out! - I answered shouting and began to feverishly stomp on the flame, which is terribly raged about our stoves. I trampled the fire with the help of my flat feet, similar to the fins of divers, and finally, I managed to successfully localize the fire. But while fighting the fire, my pants burned to the ground and they turned into shorts. I've been afraid of gas ever since, saved us from the death of our poverty, because we accept the clay floor, clay walls and ceiling almost nothing. If we had wooden floors and ceilings, luxurious furniture, we would have burned down. And from there the proverb was modernized, not beauty, but the poor will save the world. Here you are a great scholar in the field of swearing, think about it, if the people of the planet would be poor, they would not have been able to invent the atomic and nuclear bombs, right, Mr. Sitmirat? If a poor man and a hungry one, he will generally think about inventions all over the world. They would also like we are in hopes to find his bread, they would work on cotton plantations from morning to evening, picking cotton, not ceasing even in the cold days of December with your children. I firmly believe that wealth and luxury is the number one enemy of humanity. After the fire that broke out in our house, like a closet, I dismantled the pipes from the gas pipeline and we started to heat our shack with the help of pressed dung, that is, cow shit, although the dung in the stove burns slowly and smells bad, but it is safe for human life. Produced dung is also not difficult. He sat on his ass and for God's sake goes to the lawn, where growing junipers, it was full of dung, which cows produced. Collect on health, put them in your bag and the police will not even bring you to justice. Sometimes the mowed rye field will also become a quarry of fuel for energy resources for us, that is, for the poor. It is necessary to live in harmony with nature, not destroy it.
With great respect, the worker of the collective farm 'Chapaev' Mizhappar.



21 January, 2008. 19 hours and 15 minutes.
Collective Farm "Chapaev".

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Подробнее...

 

Холдор Вулкан

Член Союза писателей Узбекистана

 

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


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


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Спасибо Вам огромное за искренный отзыв на мое произведение.С уважением, Холдор Вулкан.(Х.В.)



The second review of an unknown reader about the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" in the electronic library "Ridley".



Dear readers, there are interesting books, and there are very interesting books. To what category include the short novel "falling leaves" Holder Volcano you decide! Unwittingly living out the book – then disappear completely in it, then resume, finding Parallels and a private Foundation, and suddenly grow a soul. From the first lines visual images draw attention to themselves, they are in many ways distinct, colorful. The finale is a little tightened, but it compensates a totally unpredictable ending. Thanks to the dynamic and fascinating story, the book keeps the reader in suspense from beginning to end. Harmonious mutual admiration of conflict episodes with the external surrounding reality, once again confirm the talent and skill of the literary genius. Thanks to the mind, charisma, wit and nobility, you instantly feel sympathy for the main character and his companion. Soft irony along with comic situations are so harmoniously woven into the plot that they become an inseparable part of it. This short novel is a kind of mystery posed to the reader, and the usual logic is not to solve it, until the very last page. The Creator is in no hurry to prematurely reveal the idea works, but through the actions with the help of the hints in the dialogues gradually brings to his readers. The themes of love and hate, good and evil, friendship and enmity, no matter what time they are touched upon, always remain relevant and urgent.


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Thank you very much for the sincere review of my work.
Sincerely, Holder Volcano.

 

 

(не читают абсолютно талантливых мастеров, не меньше чем Габриэля Маркеса, например Холдор Вулкан "Жаворонки поют над полем" - абсолютный талант, нет ему равных.)

Борис Сокольников

Писатель.

Источник: -Литературный портал «Изба-Читальня»

 

 

(There are many talented writers whom are no less than, Gabriel Marquez and many don't read their novels, for example Holder Volcano "Larks sing above the field" is an absolute talent, he has no equal.)

 

Boris Sokolnikov

Writer.

Source: -the Literary portal "Izba Chitalnya»

 

 


 

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

In autumn Park

(The story)



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hearing this, my jaw dropped in amazement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Heee haaaaw heeeeeee haaaaaaaaaaaw!



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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

Letters of Mizhappar

(The short novel)

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


The 10th letter of Mizhappar




We, Yuldashvoy, Mamadiar and I, are sitting in the headquarters office at the table, which was missing one leg, and suddenly we hear the heartbreaking sounds of a siren. With surprise we quickly went out into the yard of an abandoned pigsty, and saw the car of a mental hospital. Thinking that they came for us, we in a panic ran away. But one of the doctors stopped us by screaming into a tin mouthpiece. -
Friends, don't be afraid! We're not here for you, wait, please! We brought your leader Qurumboy ! Honestly, he's boring us! We don't want to treat him anymore! We want to get rid of him once and for all! We have never met such a sick person, and God forbid that we do not meet him in the future! He politicized our patients, and now they are actively demanding their human rights! - he said, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the long sleeve of his white robe.
We both kind of felt sorry for the doctor. At this time two paramedics crews began to unload the stretcher, on which lay forever the irreplaceable leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy like a dead Pharaoh Ramses II, with a serious face. The doctors put down Qurumboy and the doctor who stopped us said:
- Take your leader and be careful. It's the devil in human form. We barely calmed him down with tranquilizers. We'll leave a stretcher for you... Goodbye and don't call us again. - Still not coming.
We nodded, mentally agreeing.
Sitting on the car, the doctors quickly left.
We raised Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy, brought him into the staff office and laid him, in the feeder for pigs. Here Qurumboy came in himself.
-Where am I? - He asked, looking at the ceiling with a huge opening.
- You are in a pigpen, that is, at home, comrade Commander! - I said with great joy.
Then we asked:
-  Do you recognize us, comrade commander?
- Why not? Of course, I remember you all. You, for example, martial artist Mizhappar, this guy is comrade Yuldashvoy, and the Commissioner Mamadiar. Is everything okay with me? Why am I lying on a pig feeder? - Qurumboy cheered us up fully recovering.
- Don't worry, comrade Commander, You're all right. You are at your home, in a pigpen. You only slept a little - said Mamadiar.
- Well, thank nature and Charles Darwin! - said Qurumboy. Then he stood up and, filling his pipe in the hay, lighting it. Then he asked about party affairs, about the life of the poor people, about democracy and freedom of thought.
- It's all right - we said.
-It would be nice if we urgently convened an extraordinary Congress of our party - said Qurumboy, looking sadly into the distance through the hole that formed on the clay wall of our office.
- Members of our party are all here, and now we can start the Congress - said Yuldashvoy, as if reporting.
-No, comrade Yuldashvoy the secret service might have installed small cheap microphones here. For safety's sake, we're gonna have to run the Convention in secluded places. What if we take it to the mountains, which are formed from garbage? - Qurumboy asked.
- Well - we said in unison.
Thus, having decided to change the venue of the Congress, we went to the mountains, which were formed from garbage taken out of the city. Before the Congress, we set up camp and decided to eat. We started a fire, took the meat from the breed "Bulldog" and carefully put in a pot of water.
- Oh, shit, we forgot to take the most important thing with us! - Mamadiar said.
- Vodka?  asked Yuldashvoy.
- No, we have vodka, thank nature and Charles Darwin! We forgot the salt! - regretfully said Mamadiar.
We guiltily looked at Qurumboy. He tore off an armful of last year's grass, tightly filled his pipe with it. Then, lighting it up, he said:
- Bodyguard Mizhappar, ordered on behalf of the revolutionary Committee, go for the salt!
- We have to go get salt, comrade Commander!  I said. The order of the commander is not negotiable, so I came down from the garbage mountain down to the mine and brought back the the salt. I went down and walked on the road towards the mountain village. A car drove up here, and I raised my hand in the hope of stopping it. The car stopped near me and two men in black jackets and black glasses came out. One of them asked:
- Have you ever done any sports? - he said.

- Of course, that is, I was engaged in sports and now I am engaged. I'm a famous martial artist  Mizhappar. Can I show you some submissions?
- Perhaps, no, not really - he said, and suddenly took out from inside his cloak a small collapsible sledgehammer and hit me on the head. I didn't even have time to defend myself. I woke up in some institution and I asked:
- Where am I?
-You in a safe place, don't worry, a bum - said a muscular man with a cigar in his teeth. Then he inhaled a cigar and said: :
- You're going to the Olympics. You will, as they say, defend the honor of our team, as one of our athletes broke his leg when doing a somersault, jumping from the balcony of a multi-story building.
- Is he a fool or something?! Why jump from a high-rise building without a parachute?! - I was surprised.
-How do you explain, well, in short, without warning, returned from a business trip which her husband of his mistress arrived. And our athlete had to jump from the balcony.
- Okay, but how can I go to the Olympics without proper training? I have to take salt to my friends who brewed medicinal soup from dog meat on a garbage mountain! We must hold the second Congress of our party - I said rejecting their words.
- The Congress will have to wait. This is bigger than that. Don't you have a sense of patriotism? Do not you catch the call of our poor long-suffering homeland?! Well, are you going or not? If not, then you and I will have a very short conversation. With these words the big man with a cigar in his teeth pulled out from under the table sawed off a hunting rifle with a telescopic sight and a silencer.
- Well, and, if the homeland calls, I perhaps, I will go to the Olympic games - I told him with caution looking at a double-barrel with an optical sight and with a silencer.
- That's another matter, my friend - said the big man with a cigar in his mouth.
So, we went to the Olympics, which took place on some island, which was located in the Bermuda triangle. A maize farmer sat on the airfield of the Olympic village. On both sides of the streets stood the islanders, holding flags and greeting me. I waved my hand to them, occasionally sending beautiful girls kisses.
On the first day of the Olympics I participated in running competitions. I stood at the start with rivals and looked at them with fright at the person standing near me with the gun in his hands. Suddenly he heard a shot, scared to my opponents I ran at thew speed of light. The man with the gun almost shot me. I know martial arts, so I ran away so quickly that I got ahead of all my rivals. As i was running I thought:
- We're being chased by a group of policemen at the head of the district Shigabuddinov armed mid-war pistols which is of English manufacture.
I ran until I was tired and fell to the wet ground. I see all the islanders congratulate me on my successful rescue. I thanked them. The next day they put me on a helicopter to send me back. I was given a gold medal for running, they rewarded me in the form of a fee like a sack of potatoes grown in Chernobyl radioactive exclusion zone where 1986 exploded of the fourth unit of the Nuclear power plant and a packet of salt, then took me to the mountains, which were formed from the debris, where I waited for my friends in the party of the abandoned pigsty. Qurumboy thanked me for bringing not only salt, but also a bag of potatoes, rich in proteins and hydrocarbons. I have it for today, Mr. Sitmrat


Until new letters!


Olympic Champion,
The body guard of Qurumboy martial artist Mizhappar.




28 August 2008,
6 hours 55 minutes in the evening.
Garbage mountain pass "Chapaev".

 

 

 

 

 

Холдор Вулқон

Ўзбекистон Ёзувчилари уюшмасининг аъзоси

 


Жасоратли журналист Муҳаммад Бекжоннинг "Алвидо, Жаслиқ!" китоби тўғрисида



Аслида бир икки жумласига кўз югиртирилиши биланоқ, дарров у ёки бу асарнинг қай даражада ёзилгани, ёзувчининг бадиий диди, истеъдод даражаси тўғрисида аниқ ташхис, тасаввур ҳосил бўлади ва у асарни ўқиш ё ўқимаслик қарори олинади.


Олтиндан ҳам қиммат вақтини ва кўз нурини бехуда сарф қилмаслик учун, ё муаллифнинг истеъдод даражаси ўртамиёнадан ҳам пастлиги сабаб, ё дейлик "асар" диний ёки дунёвий фанат тамонидан бирёқлама, зерикарли ёзилгани учунми, дидли уқигувчи дуч келган асарни ўқийвермайди.


Аммо узоқ йиллар "Жаслиқ" қамоқхонасида ўтириб, руҳан синмаган журналист Муҳаммад Бекжоннинг қамоқхоналарда чеккан ўз жабру жафолари ҳақида ёлғон қўшмай, самимий ёзган "Алвидо, Жаслиқ!" китоби бундан мустасно.


Мен бу асарни ўқиб чиқиб, нафақат асарнинг ўзи, балки унинг номиёқ ижодкор инсон табиатини, қалбини ва бадиий дид даражасини белгилайдиган бир сирли кўзгу эканига амин бўлдим.


Эътибор беринг.Муҳаммад Бекжон ўз асарини "Алвидо, Жаслиқ!" дея номлабдилар.


Одатда одам бирон қадрдон дўсти ёки яқинлари билан мангуга хайрлашаётибгина "алвидо!" дейди, видолашади, видо айтади.


Бу ерда китоб номи икки ҳил маънони англатади.


Бири ўзининг узоқ йиллик қадрдони - дахшатли қамоқхона билан ҳайрлашаётгани бўлса, иккинчиси қамоқхоналарда ўтган навқирон ёшлиги (қорақалпоқ тилида Жаслиғи)билан видолашиш.


Бошига мусибату азобу уқубатлар ёғдирган қамоқхона билан видолашаётган Муҳаммад Бекжон китобининг номи менга беихтиёр Бобраҳим Машраб мисраларини эслатди.

 

Аҳволи дилим айтғали бир маҳраме топмай,

Зулмингни қариндошу ғамингни падар эттим.

 


дея ёзади Шох Машраб.


Шоирнинг юқоридаги байтини ҳис қила олган одамнинг кўзларидан ёш чиқиб кетади.


Э, Худойим!Менга жамолингни кўрсатмай қилаётган зулмингни ўзимга қариндошдек яқин олдим, ҳажрингда ғамгин бўлган бўлсам, ўша ғамни ўз отамдай эъзозладим -деган маънолар бор бу байтда.


Ҳа, журналист Муҳаммад Бекжон ҳам ўзига етган қийинчиликларга тоқат билан сабр қилди, қамоқдан қутилиш учун қамоқхона мулозимларига зимдан хизмат қилмади.Амницияга тушиш илинжида қамоқхона маъмуриятига ва катталарга ёқадиган гапларни айтишдан ўзини тийди.


"Э, халойиқ, мени ўлдиришяпти йиттиришяпти, дубина билан товонларимни уриб ёриб ташладилар!" қабилида фарёд кўтармади.

Бошига тушган дахшатли кулфатларга сабр билан, миқ этмай чидади.


Ундан ҳам ҳайратланарлиси, Муҳаммад Бекжон ўз акаси, шоир Муҳаммад Солих, Салай Муҳаммадаминовга:

-Ҳаммасига аслида сен айбдорсан.Сенинг касофатинга оиламиз хонавайрон бўлди.Биз қамоқларда чиридик.Сен эса, ўз жонингни эхтиётлаб, хорижда ялло қилиб юрибсан.Ҳеч йўқ укаларимни демасанг ҳам, Каримовга қарата: -қамоқларда ноҳақ азоб чекаётган махбусларни қамоқдан озод қилиб, БМТ ихтиёрига топшир, уларнинг ўрнига мен ўз ихтиёрим билан бораман дейишга ҳам ярамадинг -дея таъна -маломат қилмади.


Шу маънода Муҳаммад Бекжон метин иродали, ҳалол , жасоратли журналист ва яхши инсондир.


Илоҳим "Жаслиқ" қамоқхонаси энди фақат ва фақат инсонларнинг мудхиш қисматларидан ҳикоя қиладиган, келажакда бундай машъум воқеалар содир этилмаслигини инсониятга эслатиб турадиган тарихий музейга айлансин!


Бундан кейин озод ва обод юртимизда одамлар ҳеч қачон қонунга зид равишда қамалмасин, азобланмасин!


23/02/2018.

Кундуз соат 10 :51.

Канада, Онтерио.

 

 

 

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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