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Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers




Holder Volcano was born in 1959 in Uzbekistan. He graduated from Tashkent State University. He has been writing poetry and prose since 1975. He lives in Canada. He has written 4 collections of poems, a number of novels, short novels,and stories in two languages, in Uzbek and Russian.His works have been translated into English.He has no titles or awards.



Dalakazan
(The short novel)




Translated by the author.


Any commercial use of the novel "Dalakazan" by Holder Volcano is prohibited without the prior written consent of the author.




Chapter 1
Bank robbery in broad daylight



A gang of masked robbers, armed to the teeth, suddenly burst into the Bank with wild cries, threatening to shoot anyone like a partridge who dares to show the slightest disobedience or resistance. They ordered all Bank employees to lie down on the floor and not move.
- Anyone who tries to raise his head, immediately receive a bullet in the forehead! - one of them shouted.
One of the employees of the Bank, of about forty, tall, skinny build, with a nose like the beak of an eagle named Dalakazan, the bandits raised, pointing at him nervously, with trembling hands, the barrel of the machine gun:
-Come on, bastard! You will help us commit the robbery of the century!Come on, open the safe and put the money in those bags! If you try to give signals to the cops, pressing the alarm button, then you, instantly turn into a corpse! - shouted another thug, as he kicked Dalakazan's butt hard.
-Okay!Okay! I'll do anything you say!Just please don't kill me!I have a family and young children! -begged them Dalakazan. He obediently walked towards the cash register, raising his thin arms high, like a young soldier in a hot spot of the planet who had just been captured.But he, turning suddenly back, sharp movements knocked the bandit to the floor and quickly took his Kalashnikov machine gun. Then he pulled the trigger of the machine to neutralize the gang of robbers and save the staff, but the shot was not followed.There was a loud scream! - Stop! Okay, abort! The exercise went well!Thanks to all the participants of the unplanned exercise and we apologize for the fact that we conducted a training alarm without warning a group of employees of our Bank! It was a training event!Training! We must learn to behave correctly in such difficult situations!Although Mr. Dalakazan OSA Ibn Kosa left in danger the lives of other employees of our Bank and hostages, but he still managed to show the heroic qualities of a brave man!We thank him for his bravery! the Bank's head of security shouted.
-Huh! Well, you have a drill! I almost killed those innocent guys!Thank God, that all go off!- said Dalakazan, helplessly squatting on the floor and a sigh of relief.
The fake robbers laughed in unison, looking at the ceiling, removing the masks from the faces.
Then Dalakazan was given a vacation and a trip to Yalta resort to rest together with his family on the French Riviera of the Black sea, for the shown heroism during teaching.
Yes, to work in a Bank, all the same, how to sit over the awakened Icelandic volcano Eyjafjallajökull , which is about to explode. Dalakazan, risking his life working in this dangerous institution, as a commercial Bank, for his faithful and charming wife Sadoqat sweetheart and loved his daughters.His wife is actively engaged in the education of daughters.She and her husband Dalakazan live together, as they say, soul to soul. Dalakazan sometimes proudly thinks, looking out the window of his office that he's the luckiest man in the world.Beautiful, plump, young, Loving wife, daughter, luxurious house, car, a prestigious job.As if that wasn't enough, the Bank Manager where he works is his loyal friend.This means that he has a real chance to climb the career ladder. Well, what else does a person need to feel like the happiest person on the planet? Such thoughts Dalakazan decided today to have dinner at home with his wife, at the family table, in a romantic atmosphere, by candlelight and to please his wife and daughters, telling them about the vacation and a free ticket to the resort "Yalta". Dalakazan went home in his car "Honda civic" Japanese production.He drove along the road, turning the wheel with one hand, the elbow of the other hand sticking out of the car window, whistling and singing some song about love.Finally he arrived and left his car on the side of the street, tiptoed into the house, so as not to accidentally Wake up his incomparable wife, who sleeps on the Italian chic double bed, breathing perfume. - Now in the bedroom my favorite Princess will wake up and be happy like a little saw me and heard about the holiday, about the free ticket, thrown my arms, cuddle me, even cry with joy thought Dalakazan.But then he froze, hearing the tread of footsteps and a mysterious whisper.He stood frozen, not knowing what to do and carefully climbed the stairs to the second floor. When he entered the bedroom, Sadokat was lying on a luxurious bed, like a Princess and slept sweet infant sleep in a delicate silk robe. "Thank God my wife is all right.I thought I heard something.I'm tired.Well, nothing, now we have a ticket to the resort and I will rest properly on the shore of the sea, together with my family, healing my shattered nerves, lying on a hammock, looking at the scarlet sunsets, listening to the rustling waves and the sad cry of seagulls - he continued to think. Then he saw his wife's scattered clothes and picked them up to hang on the hangers.Then he opened the closet and stiff with shock for a moment, as bewitched. In the closet sat naked his best friend - the Bank Manager, clutching to his chest his clothes, which he did not have time to wear.A friend of his who swore all the time in loyalty, declaring that he was ready to die for Dalakazan, if required.He, trembling with fear, began to speak:
-Dalakazan, my friend, I am not guilty!Trust me!I Swear It! This wrong Sadoqat is your wife to blame! She confused me like Satan, assuring me that we would make it... well, that... sin... Please, for the sake of our old friendship, don't kill me! Have mercy, Dalakazan, I have small children!Do you want me to make you my Deputy tomorrow? Well, think about it, why do you have such a slut? Find another.I'll give you the money, "- he said, trembling with fear.
Dalakazan turned toward the bedroom bed and saw Sadoqat, which was preparing to run.But she didn't succeed.Dalakazan caught her by the hair.
-Oh, you bitch! Horrible creature! I thought you were the most loyal, the perfect woman on the planet, believed in you, and you bitch made a cuckold of me! It's good that there were no daughters here!God, how will my poor daughters live now?!You disgraced the whole family! How dare you cheat on me, and this rascal, who believed all these years and believed the reptile to its loyal and faithful friend!You day and night swore that you loved me and can't live without me in this world any day! I loved you! What a puzzle!Oh, what skin!-shouted angry Dalakazan.
- Let me go, you bastard!What kind of love are you talking about?! There is no love in this world!Why are you not heard the saying, such as "Why to love and to suffer, when all roads lead to bed."Oh, you naive and stupid haryp, peasant! Believe my words!I've never loved you, and don't get your hopes up!This is firstly, and secondly you have no right to talk about my daughters! Because they're not from you! -Sadokat said.
After these words Dalakazan instead of trying to strangle his unfaithful wife and to kill, is why it was released, saying: - Everything from now on, you're not my wife, bitch! Cumtalak! The terrible word "cumtalak" by Sharia law means the final divorce spouse before Almighty God.
After Sadoqat and her lover ran out of the room, Dalakazan laughed as genie from a magic lamp .Then he began to shout in a loud voice: -Jit -Jit- Jittalalu -lalu la! Jit -Jit- Jittalalu -lalu la! A few hours later came a polite team of doctors in white coats and taken away Dalakazan a shirt with overly long sleeves that are tightly twisted.On the way slightly recovering, Dalakazan asked the doctors about where he is being taken.The doctor bespectacled man with a velvet voice, explained.
-Calm down, my dear, you cannot worry.You have tired nerves and you need to relax in our cozy resort.We'll take care of you there, "- he said.
Hearing this, Dalagazan again began to shout:
-Jit -Jit- Jittalalu -lalu la! Jit -Jit- Jittalalu -lalu la!


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Таниқли ёзувчи ва шоир Ҳалим Карим ижоди ҳақида қисқача сўз.

 

Яхши асарни ўқишга тушиши биланоқ, ўқувчи, то асар поёнига етмагунича ўзини тўхтата олмайди.Тиниқ туйғуларга бой шеърлари, юксак дид билан ёзилган экзентенциал модерн ҳикоялари билан адабиёт иҳлосмандларининг меҳрини қозонган, шеъриятда ҳам, прозада ҳам ўз овози ва созига эга истеъдодли шоир ва таниқли ёзувчи Ҳалим Каримнинг ҳикоялари ҳам ўшандай, ўз ўқувчисини (яхши маънода)куйловчи қумлардай ютиб, ўз домига тортиб кетадиган асарлар сирасидан. Ҳикояларни ўқир экансиз, ўзингиз сезмаган ҳолатда ҳикоя қаҳрамонлари билан бирга яшай бошлайсиз. Воқеалар ҳаётий, образлар эса, тирикдай. Айниқса ҳикояларда бадиий қаҳрамонлар руҳий оламига оид психоаналитика - руҳий таҳлил кучли.Сўз сеҳри бор у ҳикояларда. Бугун шоир ва ёзувчи дўстимиз Ҳалим Каримнинг яна бир ҳикоясини каминанинг таржимаси орқали, қуйида, рус ва инглиз тилларида ўқишингиз мумкин.Асарни ўқиб, таҳайюл ва таҳайюр уммонига шўнғимоқчи бўлсангиз, мазкур ҳикояни охиригача узуликсиз ўқишни тавсия этамиз.

 

Холдор Вулқон.

 

Ҳалим Карим

Юлдузлар чиқмаган кеча

(Ҳикоя)



“Бошлиқ – бошлиқда, йўқ деёлмади. Йўқ деб бўлармиди! Ўзиям эриб кетди-да. Шундай катта одамнинг ўзи “Нозимжон ука, сизга ишонаман”, деса, бунинг устига елкасига қоқиб қўйса-ю янаям эримасинми. Мана энди уч кундан бери қоғозга кўмилиб ўтирибди. Узоғи билан яна икки кунда тугатиши керак.  Акром Муродович тайёр материалларни текшириб чиққач, Тошкентга жўнайди. Нақ министрнинг ўзига ҳисоб беради-я! Шундай ишни унга ишониб топширди. Ихлоси борда, бўлмаса, қачон қарасанг бошлиқнинг кетидан “лўккиллаб” юрадиганлар озмиди. Ҳаммаси ҳам яхши кўринсам дейди. Мана Нозимжоннинг ўзи ҳам қанчалик иззатталаб бўлишига қарамай бошлиқларни кўрди дегунча ипакдай мулойим бўлиб қолади. Қайси бири нимаики иш буюрса ғурури эзилганини ҳам,  малол келганини ҳам сездирмай бажаради. Пойтахтда қийинчиликлар билан ўқиб, жангари муҳитда таълим ва тарбия олган учун бўлса керак, Нозимжон Бошқармага илк бор ишга келган кунлари бу ердаги ҳодимларнинг ҳушомадгўйлиги, ўзидан катталарга бутунлай тобелиги унга ёқмаган, ҳатто ғазабини келтирган эди. Кейинчалик эса баъзан билиб, баъзан билмай ўзи ҳам улар қаторидан жой олди. Аввалига қийналиб, эзилиб юрди. Лекин ўксиган ғурурининг кифтига қоқишдан бўлак илож тополмади. Мана энди кўникиб ҳам кетди. Тўғрида, бошлиғингни кўрганда хоҳласанг-хоҳламасанг ишшайиб салом бермай, ёки айтган ишини кўнгилдагидан зиёда қилиб бажармай кўрчи, ёқармикансан?! Қобилиятинг ҳам, билиминг ҳам арзимаган нарса бўлиб, ҳатто дипломнинг икки пуллик қадри қолмаган ҳозирги замонда каттароқ таниш-билишинг ёки оғирроқ чўнтагинг бўлмаса қийин экан. Акс ҳолда ҳаммаси бир-биридан муҳим сонсиз идораларнинг остонасига бошингни уриб, бири биридан улуғ бошлиқларнинг хизматига югурдак бўлиб ўтиб кетасан экан”.
Минг машаққат билан бошқармага ишга жойлашган, тўрт-беш йилдан бери бирорта бошлиқнинг назарига тушиб дурустроқ лавозимга кўтарилиш орзусида юрган Нозимжон тўртинчи қаватнинг бир чеккасидаги торгина хонада ўтириб тартибсиз уюлган қоғозларга тикилганича хаёлга чўмган эди.
Касби бўйича алоқаси йўқ одамга мутлақо тушунарсиз кўрсаткичлар туширилган рақамлар билан тўла бўлса ҳам аллақандай файзсиз кўринадиган бу хонада уч кишига мўлжалланган стол-стул бўлиб, пойгакдагисини Нозимжон эгаллаган эди. Якка-ю ягона дераза токчасида сарғайган газета парчасига ўралган гултувак бўлиб, унда ҳали қуришга улгурмаган, номи ҳам нотайин ўсимлик тумшайган хонани яна ҳам мунғайтириб турар, ҳеч қандай рамкасиз деворга қоқилган Дарвиннинг каттакон сурати бу диққинафас хонада уззукун ўтирадиган одамларнинг “юксак диди” ва ҳафсаласидан дарак бериб турар эди. Фақатгина пойгакдаги столга ёнбош деворга кнопка билан қадалган “Барселона” футболчиларининг журналдан қирқиб олинган расми хонага ҳартугул илиқлик бағишлаган.
Шу хонанинг пешонасига битган эски, лекин пухта ишлайдиган девор соат сукунатни “ағдар-тўнтар” қилиб кеч соат саккизга занг урди. Нозимжон қўлидаги соатининг тўғрилигини беихтиёр текшириб, яна ниманидир ёзмоқчи бўлиб турган эди қорни очиққанини маълум қилаётгандай ичаклари «қулдираб” овоз берди. Овқатланиш ёдига тушиб, ютиниб қўйди. Ўрнидан туриб узоқ керишди. Дераза олдига келиб ташқарига қаради. Вақт кеч бўлиб, борлиқ аллақачон қоронғиллик қўйнига сингган, шаҳар чироқлари зулмат бағрида хира порлар, “лип”-“лип” ўтаётган машина чироқларининг нури институтнинг бетон йўлкаларини бир зум ёритиб ғойиб бўларди. Ҳайбатли бинода ўзидан бошқа ҳеч ким йўқлигини эндигина ҳис қилган Нозимжоннинг юраги уюшди. Шоша-пиша столининг устини йиғиштирган бўлди. Галстугининг ҳозир яна мода бўлган ингичка тугунини тортиб, костюмини кийди. Зинапоялардан деярли югуриб пастга тушди. Йўлакдаги тўшакча солинган диванда бир оёғини Афғонистонга кўмиб келган Мамасоли тоға ёғоч оёғини курси устига узатиб, чинни косада ош еб ўтирар эди. У бу қадар кеч қолиб кетган ҳодимни кўриб аввалига ҳайрон бўлди, баъзида айрим ходимларнинг алламаҳалгача ишлаб ўтиришларига кўникиб кетганлиги учун кейин юзи ёришиб  – ия, ҳа домла бола, кеч қолиб кетибсиз…,- деб сўрашди. Нозимжон чолга бепарвогина қараб, -ҳа, ишлар кўпайиб кетган экан, - деб мужмалланиб қўя қолди. Суҳбатдошга зориқиб ўтирган Мамасоли тоғанинг  “ э э…, домла бола, бу дунёда иш тугармиди, борасизда ўша томи қийшиқ уйингизга, келинг яхшиси бир отамлашайлик”, -деб ошга қисташига қарамай, хонасининг калитини қоровулнинг  столига қўйиб эшикка қараб юрди. Баланд ойнаванд эшикни “ғийқ” эткизиб очаркан тоғанинг ўзича ғудранган овози эшитилди: “Тавба, кўнгил учун бир ошам олиб қўйишни ҳам биламайди бу ёшлар. Ҳаа… етказганингга шукур…”
Эрта баҳорнинг кечки салқин ҳавоси Нозимжоннинг димоғига урилиб, диққинафас бўлиб кетган юрагини ёзгандай бўлди. Чўнтагини ковлаб, сигарет туташтирди. Эзилиб кетган “PALL MALL ” қутисини ғижимлаб, бир чеккага улоқтирди-да, автобус  бекатига қараб тез-тез юриб кетди.
Кўчада одам сийрак, онда-сонда одимини тезлаб кетаётган йўловчи учрайди. Бугун тун пардасини қалин ёйган кўринади, баланд симёғочдаги чироқлар кўча юзини зўр-базўр ёритади. Кўкда ой ҳам, юлдузлар ҳам кўринмайди. Шаҳар кўчаларининг зим-зиёлиги Нозимжонга ғайритабиий кўринди. Беихтиёр “уфф” тортганча қоп-қора осмонга қаради.
“Шундай катта осмонда, наҳотки битта ҳам “милт” этган юлдуз кўринмаса?! Қизиқ бўлар экан. Аввал сира эътибор бермагандайман. Юлдузсиз осмон ҳам бўлар экан-да. Мана, ҳозир тепамда осмон бутунлай йўққа ўхшайди. Аслида ҳам мавҳум хаёлотдай ёйилган сўнгсиз бу зулматнинг ниҳояси бормикин. Мана шу қора булутлар ортида ой, қуёш… яна минг-минг юлдузлар... Кейинчи… кейин… йўқ, хаёлнинг қуввати етмайди… бўшлиқ… бўшлиқ… бўшлиқ”. Йигит ва қизнинг  шармсиз кулгуси Нозимжоннинг хаёлини бўлди. Қўлларини бир-бирининг белидан ўтказиб олган икки шарпа унга тескари қараб кетишди. Хотини ва унинг “Каерларда юрибсиз?”, деб берадиган дашномини эслади. Юраги сиқилиб ҳўрсинди. “Тўйимизга ҳам беш йил бўлиб қолибди. Вақт ҳам орқа-олдига қарамай ўтаверар экан. Баъзан кунлар, ойлар узоқ чўзилганга ўхшайди-ю бундай ўйлаб қарасанг, ўтиб кетган воқеалар кечагини бўлгандай кўринади. Бутун ҳаётинг бир лаҳзада ўтганга  ўхшайди.
Университетнинг охирги курсида ўқиб юрган кезлари ота-онаси “Ўртоқларингдан қолиб кетма”,- деб тўйдан гап очишди. Қўшни маҳаллалик кўҳликкина Манзурани кўрсатишганида ишқ-муҳаббатда омади юришмаган Нозимжон қаршилик қилмади. Манзура эсликкина экан. У кутгандан кўра ҳам тотув яшашди. Фақат ота-онасининг бешта емакхўри аввал биттага, кейин иккитага кўпайди. Аста-секин тирикчилик юки, фақат бир марта бериладиган ҳаётда тўкин-сочин яшаш истаги турмуш ташвишлари номи билан унинг ҳам елкаларини эза бошлади.
Хотинига ҳам қийин бўлди. “Ишга кириб олсангиз турмушимиз яхши бўлиб кетади. Сиз тез кўтарилиб кетасиз. Машина оламиз. Мен ҳам фалончининг хотиниман, деб мақтаниб юраман”,- деб кўп гапирар эди. Мана энди гапирмай ҳам қўйди. Дурустроқ бирор нарса совға қилиш уёқда турсин, йилда бир марта у ёқ - бу ёққа ҳам олиб  бормайди. “Ана-мана” деб орқага суради. Ҳайрият, хотини ёмон эмас. Баъзан эрини тергаб турса ҳам турмушидан нолийвермайди. Билади, эрининг иши юришмаётганини, қилаётган ишидан кўнгли тўлмаётганини билади. Шунинг учун ҳам боласи кичик бўлишига қарамасдан ишга кириб кетди. Ота-онасичи?! Улар ҳам ўғлимиз ўқишни битириб келса ёнимизга кириб қолади, деб ўйлашарди. Уларнинг оғирини енгил қилиш қаёқда, ҳали ҳам дадаси баъзан сездирмай ўғлининг чўнтагига пул солиб қўяди. “Боре” деб, шу диққинафас, каммаош ишини ташлаб мактабда ўқитувчилик қилса ҳам бўлади-ю майда болачаларнинг ичида ўралашиб юришни ўзига эп кўрмайди. Савдогарлик эса қўлидан келмаслиги аниқ. Ҳамма ўзини савдога урган, “тирикчиликнинг уяти йўқ” деган гаплар тез-тез айтиладиган бўлиб қолган ҳозирги пайтда олиб-сотарлик қилишдан уялади. Ёки ўзининг ношудлигини бир замонлардан қолган эндиликда эса йўқолиб бораётган ана шу ҳиссиёт билан яширгандай бўлади. Иложсизликдан боши қотган дам эса синифдош ўртоқлари ишлаётган комбинатга ишга кириб кетсаммикан, деб ўйлаб ҳам қолади. Ахир, ўртоқлари туппа-тузук ишлаб юришибди-ку. Ишдан ҳам, турмушдан ҳам нолишмайди. Қора иш бўлса ҳам, қайтанга бировдан ҳайиқмасдан, кимларгадир юкинмасдан эркин юрасан. Ойлиги ҳам яхши… бундай деса, таниш-билишлари, қўни-қўшни, қариндош-уруғлари “ана, шунча йил ўқиб нима бўлди” деб кулишмайдими. Ҳее… ёшинг улғайган сари ташвишинг ҳам кўпаяверар экан. Беташвиш ва беғалва болалик йилллари, яхши туш каби тез ўтиб кетган студентлик даври қани энди… одам ўз йўлини топиб, яхши яшаб кетиши ўз-ўзидан бўлмас экан. Университетда ўқиб юрган пайтларида доим баҳмал дўппи кийиб, алмисоҳдан қолган каттакон портфель кўтариб юрадиган, ёши саксонга яқинлашган бир профессор бўларди. Шўроларнинг қурбони бўлишига сал қолаёзган, ўзининг айтишига қараганда “ҳаётнинг катта қозонида кўп қайнаган” болалардай содда ва оқкўнггил бу одам талабаларига кўп насихат қилар, шунинг учун ҳам кўпчилик уни “эзма чол” деб хуш кўрмас эди.
– Манга қараларинг, ўвв..., -дерди домла, - санлар бу туришингдан дарахтнинг баргида юрганга ўхшайсанлар. Билиб қўйларинг, ўқишни битириб боришларингга ҳеч ким алоҳида кабинет-у креслони тайёрлаб қўймайди. Умид ҳам қилмаларинг. Ҳамма ҳам амалдор, олим бўлавермайди, шарт ҳам эмас. Ўҳҳўў… ҳали катта қозонда кўп қайнайсанлар. Ҳаётда ҳамма нарса бўлиши мумкин. Бунга доим тайёр туриш керак. Ҳаёт ҳамиша ҳаётлигини қилади. У шафқат нималигини билмайди. Фақат бир эзгу тилакни юракларингга жойлаб олларинг. Ана шундагина хоҳ олим бўл, хоҳ амалдор бўл, хоҳ оддий фуқаро… ҳаётинг мазмунли бўлади. Элга хизмат қилларинг! Эл кўтараётган юкнинг бир четига елкангни қўя ол! Шундай деб кўнглингга тугиб қўй, акс ҳолда топган давлатинг ҳам, орттирган мартабанг ҳам санга таскин бермайди”.
... Эҳ, раҳмат қилгур домла, роса билиб айтган эканку! Ҳаёт деганлари шу эканда… ахир Нозимжоннинг ўзи эмасмиди яқин-яқингача телба хаёллар билан маст бўлиб, саробдек орзуларга шошилиб интилган… Тошкентдай шаҳри азимда дорулфунунни тугаллаб келган мендай зукко йигитни хоҳлаган жойимда бажонидил ишга олишади… Тез орада кўтарилиб кетаман… Алоҳида кабинетим, машинам бўлади… Ҳамма мени ҳурмат қилади… Ҳамма менга ҳавас қилади… Ҳамма мендан ҳайиқади… Ҳа, у жуда кўп нарсаларни хаёл қилар эди. Хаёл қилавериб ўзининг шу хаёллари гирдобига тушиб қолганини сезмай ҳам қолибди. Мундоқ ўйлаб қараса, шунча хаёллар, орзулар қилибди-ю лекин бирон марта қилаётган ишим, юриш-туришим атрофдаги одамларга, домла раҳматли айтмоқчи эл-юртга, ялтироқ гап бўлса ҳам Ватанга бирон нафи тегармикан, деб сира ўйламабди. Нозимжон ногаҳон ўзининг китобийроқ фикр юритаётганига ҳайрон қолди.  Шунда Тошкентдаги кекса домланинг Ватан сўзини тез-тез тилга олишини эслаб ҳайратланди. Нимагадир бир оёғи йўқ Мамасоли тоға кўз олдига келди. Ўзининг тўрт-беш йил олдинги кайфиятини ҳозирги аҳволига солиштириб ичидан қашшоқлашиб бораётганини ҳис қилди. Ҳис қилди-ю тирноқларигача иссиқлик югурди. Ўзини оқлайдиган, таскин берадиган сабаблар излаб кўрди. Арзигулик баҳона тополмади. Тугаб боратган сигарет тутунини аччиқ ичига тортди...
Йигит бир дам ишлари юришиб кетмаётганининг сабабини англагандай бўлди. Ҳаётдан кўнгли тўлмайдиган бўлиб қолганини ҳис қилди. Лекин кўнгли бундай кўникмаган ўйлардан толиқди ва чуқур бир ҳўрсиниш ҳом хаёлларининг хулосаси бўлган, бу қимтилган лаблар кўп бор пичирлаган эски гапни унинг оғзидан юлиб олди: – Қани энди каттароқ ишга кўтарилиб кетса, зап иш бўларди-да…
Кечки совуқ таъсир қилди шекилли, Нозимжоннинг эти жунжикди. Автобус келмаяптимикан деб орқасига қаради. Чаккасидаги кичкина яшил чироғини ёқиб олган такси тезлигини камайтириб, унинг ёнидан ўта бошлади. У тескари қаради. Такси ҳайдовчиси орқасига аланглаб, шошиб кетаётган йўловчининг қурумсоқлигини билди шекилли жаҳл билан газни босди... Бир вақт ёнгинасидан яшил “Isuzi” ғиззиллаганича ўтиб кетдида, нарироқдаги кимсасиз бекатга бориб тўхтади. Оёқлар беихтиёр автобус кетидан чопдилар. У ҳансираганча орқа эшикдан кўтарилди. Машина салонида беш-олтита йўловчи ўтирар, негадир уларнинг ҳаммаси Нозимжонга тикилиб тургандай эди. У ўзини ноқулай сезиб ўртароқдаги бўш жойга бориб ўтирди. Тез югурганидан ҳали ҳам юраги гурсиллаб уриб тургани учун икки марта чуқур-чуқур нафас олди. Автобус ойнасидаги ўзининг хира аксига тикилиб яна армон тўла хаёлларига берилди. Ишда узоқ қолиб кетганидан, бировларнинг ҳам ишини ўзи бажараётганидан оғриниб, оч қорнига тасалли бераётган бир пайтда нарсанинг бехосдан пастга тушганини билдириб, “тап” этган товуш келди. Нозимжон беихтиёр овозга ўгирилди. Упа-эликка саҳийлиги билиниб турган, тор ва калта қизил юбка кийган ранги зоҳил олифта қиз негадир унга аччиқ билан қараб турарди. Нозимжон бир зум ҳеч нарсани тушунмай дам қизга, дам қизнинг полга тушиб оғзи очилиб қолган сумкачасига қаради. Қиз Нозимжонни ҳайрон қолдириб – Олиб бермайсизми – деди жаҳл билан. Нозимжон беихтиёр сумкача томон энгашаётиб қизнинг гапириш оҳангидан энсаси қотди ва дабдурустдан “Ўзингиз олинг!”, – деди-ю тескари қаради. Оқ юзлар бир зум қизарди. Юлинган ингичка қошлар алланечук чимирилди. Қип-қизил лаблар нимадир деб ғудранди. Қиз юзини буриштирганча калта ва тор юбканинг шарофатидан заҳматланиб сумкачасига дўнқайди.   
Нозимжон ўзининг қилмишидан энди ҳижолат бўла бошлаган эдики, – Олиб берсанг ўласанми, ўвв... сўтак! – деган овоз эшитилди... Муқаррар жанжални кўз олдига келтирган Нозимжоннинг миясига нина санчилгандай бўлди.
Автобуснинг ўнг биқинидаги жойда сочининг ўртасидан ёрма очиб, ингичка сариқ мўйловини пастки лабигача тушириб қўйган, қора чарм курткали алп қомат йигит унга тикилиб турарди. Нозимжон дастлаб унинг оғзига кириб кетгудай бўлиб турган мўйловига эътибор берди. Негадир хаёлидан “Ғаши келмасмикан” деган фикр ўтди. Бор аламини ичига ютиб:
– Ўзингиз олиб бера қолинг бўлмаса, - деди-ю қўрқоқлик қилаётганини тушуниб қолди. Ичида аввал ўзини сўкди, кейин дабдурустдан деди:
– Ўзингсан сўтак!
Йигитнинг олайган кўзлари бир зумда қаҳрли тус олди. Кўз очиб юмгунча ўрнидан туриб, бир қўли билан Нозимжоннинг галстуги аралаш бўйнидан олди:
– “Ўвв… тилингни узиб оламан билдингми?! Қиз болага шунақа “обрашшасса” қиласанми, сўтак… манови бўйинтуриғинг билан манави жойга осиб қўяйми ҳозир?!” – деб автобуснинг тик турган йўловчилар ушлаб кетадиган тутқичига ишора қилди. Нозимжон иккала қўли билан йигитнинг билагидан ушлаб ўзини ажратмоқчи бўлар, ранги оқариб: – “Оғзингга қараб гапир.. Қўйвор деяпман”, – дея уни беҳуда силкитмоққа уринарди. Автобусдаги йўловчилар ҳам анча жонланиб қолишди. Бири “Ҳой, кап-катта йигитлар уялмайсизларми, қўйинглар-е”, – деса, яна бири “Муштлашсанглар машинадан тушиб муштлашинглар” дерди.
Шу пайт ҳайдовчига яқинроқ жойда ўтирган сочини баланд турмаклаган аёл ўрнидан туриб уларга яқинлашди. Курткали йигитнинг енгидан аста тортиб, - Қани ука, қўйиб юборингчи,- деди хотиржамлик билан.
Йигит аёлга ўқрайиб бошдан оёқ қараб чиқди. Аёл эса бошини тасдиқ маъносида қимирлатиб, яна ўша босиқлик билан такрорлади:
– Қўйиб юборинг! Нега мошхўрдага қатиқ бўласиз… Олиб берадими, йўқми, бу ўзининг иши. Сиз нима қиласиз аралашиб...
Аввалига йигитнинг авзойи ўзгарди. Лабларини ғалати қилиб қимтиган эди пастки лабигача тушган мўйлови ростдан ҳам оғзига кириб кетгандай бўлди. Чамаси ўзининг “авра-астарли” сўкишларидан бир-иккитасини тахламоқчи ҳам бўлди. Лекин унга тикилиб турган нигоҳларнинг ўта хотиржамлиги таъсир қилди шекилли истамайгина қўлини бўшатди:
- Ҳев опа, нега бу сўтакни тарапини оласиз? Ўлиб қоладими олиб берса?! Сиз ҳам онасиз, опа, тўғрими?! Қиз болага ҳам шунақа обрашшасса қиладими?! – деди ва зўр гап айтдимми, дегандай атрофдагиларга қараб қўйди. Аёл бу сўзамол йигитнинг сўзларига муносиб жавоб тополмадими, ёки унинг мутлақо қовушмаган гапларини яхши тушунолмадими, ҳар ҳолда унга бошқа гап қайтармади. Аёл бошини сарак-сарак қилганча Нозимжоннинг ёнига ўтириб олди. Нозимжон титраётган қўллари билан ёқаларини тузатаркан ёнида ўтирган ҳалоскорига миннатдор кўзлари билан қараб қўйди.
Ҳайдовчи ҳеч нарса бўлмагандай машинани елдириб борар, текин томоша кўриб бироз ҳордиқ чиқарган йўловчилар эса унинг шошқалоқлигидан ичларида хурсанд бўлиб, бугун жуда файзсиз кўринаётган шаҳар кўчаларига автобус ойнасидан бемаъно тикилиб ўтиришарди.
Автобус навбатдаги бекатга яқинлашганда жанжалнинг сабабчиси бўлган бояги қиз ўрнидан туриб, тушишга ҳозирланди. Чарм курткали йигит ҳам ўрнидан турди. Кейин бир ҳалиги аёлга, бир Нозимжонга тикилиб:
– “Элга хизмат – олий ҳиммат” билдингми?!” – деди тўсатдан ва яна “қойил қилдимми?!”,  дегандай атрофга аланглади. Нозимжон, “Битта эл сенми”, деб жавобга оғиз жуфтлаган ҳам эдики, автобус эшиклари “вишшиллаб” очилди. Қиз автобусдан тушди. Йигит эса ўқрайганча – “Ҳе, сени ўша… сўтак!” – деди-ю бекатга сакради. Машина бир тебраниб олдинга интилди...
Автобусдан тушган Нозимжон чекмоқчи бўлиб чўнтагини ковлади. Сигарети қолмагани ёдига тушиб сўкинди. Чуқур хўрсиниб уйи томон юриб кетди. Унинг кайфияти бузилган, бояги гапга чечан олифтани боплаб башарасига туширолмагани алам қилиб ўзини ўзи дам алдаб, дам овутиб борар эди. “Вой аблаҳ-ей, ўрнимдан туриб сумкани олиб берармишман-а!... Ҳозир бўлсайди афтига шундай ўхшатиб туширардимки… Вақти келса ўша қизни кўчадаёқ зўрлашдан тоймайдиган бир ярамас қизга ён босиб, ўзини кўрсатмоқчи бўлганига ўлайми?! Ўзини донишманд билиб айтган гапини қаранг, “Онасиз”... эмиш… Яна нима деди, ҳа, “Элга хизмат – олий ҳиммат”, ҳе, ўргилдим сендан...”.
Зулмат қоплаган қора осмонда бугун кўринмаётган юлдузларни масхара қилаётгандай ернинг юлдузлари – шаҳарнинг сонсиз чироқлари порлайди. Сийраклашиб қолган машиналар илк баҳорнинг салқин шабадасини бир зумга тезлатиб “ғиззиллаб” ўтиб боради. Онда-сонда одимини тезлатган йўловчи учрайди. Аллақайси уйнинг очиқ қолган деразасидан “Ахборот”нинг тугаганини билдириб таниш оҳанг янграйди… Йўлнинг бир четида муштумини маҳкам қисиб кетаётган йўловчининг ғудранган товуши эштилади: - “Элга хизмат – олий ҳиммат” эмиш, тавба… “Элга хизмат – олий ҳиммат”, ҳмм… “Элга хизмат…

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2019 йил.Андижон.

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Халим Карим
Беззвёздная ночь
(рассказ)
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Начальник есть начальник. Подумайте сами, как можно вообще на радоваться, когда такой большой начальник, как Акрам Муродович говорит ему, мол Нозимжон, я вам доверяю? От таких слов он просто тает, как снеговик весной. Ну как не таять, когда начальник положит свою руку и по -отцовски похлопает его по плечу? Теперь вот, три дня уже он сидить, копаясь в бумажках. За три дня Нозимжон должен закончить эту работу. Начальник Акром Муродович, сразу после того, как проверит все эти документы, поедет в Ташкент, чтобы отчитываться перед самим министром! Вот какую сверхответственную работу Акром Муродович доверил Нозимжону! Эвон сколько работников ходять за ним, как тень, в надежде завоевать его доверие. Но он, выбрал именно его, Нозимжона, когда все хотят, мечтают  как -то понравиться Акраму Муродовичу.Нозимжон тоже становится гладкий как шелк перед ним. Он готов выполнить любую работу, которая поручит он.
Выполнит, не смотря на унижение, на усталость. В первые дни, когда только пристроился на работу, Нозимжону не понравилось подхалимство сотрудников по отношению к начальству, даже розозлил его такое поведение работников.Теперь вот, сам того не замечая, он тоже стал таким же подхалимом, как они. Поначалу ему было трудно, но потом Нозимжон начал тихо и спокойно стал привыкать как -то к этому. А что прикажете делать? Как говорится: "С волками жить- по волчьи выть! Попробуй не поздороваться с вежливой и мягкой улыбкой на устах с начальником, когда встретишь его в коридоре или еще где нибудь. Эх, в наши дни, особенно когда потеряло свое значение человеческий талант, знание, даже диплом, трудно стало жить людям с пустыми карманами и без влиятельными связами. Нозимжон, с огромным трудом устроился на работу, в надежде поднятся в верх по служебной леснице.Но увы, пока это ему не удается никак. Такими мыслями он сидел в офисе, задумчиво глядя на кучу документов.Он неочень хоршо разбирается в этих документах, где различные термины и цифры, которые не понятно ему.
Рабочий стол Нозимжона находится у входной двери на вид скромного офиса.В этом кабинете с единственным маленьким окном, кроме Нозимжона в этом кабинете работают еще трое сотрудников управлении.На подоконнике засыхает полуувядший цветок, кой никто не поливает. Наоборот, в глинянному горшку бросают окурки сигарет. На плохо покрашенной стене крыво висит портрет Чарльза Дарвина, демонстрируя "эстетический вкус" сидящих сотрудников в этом офисе.Над столом Нозимжона на стене был прикреплен кнопками фотомонтаж с изображением играков футбольного клуба "Барселона", вырезанные из глянцевых журналов.Наконец, часы на стене пробили восемь вечера.Нозимжон сверив свои часы, хотел что - то писать на бумаге, но услышав урчание в своем желудке, которое предвещало голод, вспомнил о вкусной еде на ужин и проглотил скопившуюся во рту слюну.Потом встал с место и долго потянулся, широко зевая и разминая таким образом затекшие конечности.После чего Нозимжон подошел к окну и посмотрел на улицу. Город, кой за окном погрузился уже в вечернюю тьму, зажег свои грустные уличные фонари. Железное стадо легковых и грузовых машин мчалось в сумраке ощупывая дорогу рыжим светем фар, исчезая быстро из виду, словно водомерки над зеркальной воды старого пруда.Нозимжону стало еще скучнее, когда почувствовал, что он один остался в огромном здание. Приводя спешно в порядок бумаги, разбросанно лежащие на столе, он затянул потуже галстук на шее и надел свой пиджак.После этого, он почти бегом спустился вниз через лесницы и увидел сторожа у входа здании дядю Мамасоли, потерявший свою ногу в Авганской войне.Он протянув свою деревянную ногу на табуретку, ел свой нехитрый ужин. Увидев запоздалого сотрудника сторож сначало удивился.Потом, подумав о том, что иногда сотрудники работают допоздна, вежливо улыбнулся и поздоровался с Нозимжоном. - Домля, почему вы так поздно уходите домой?Дел наверное много? -сказал он. -Да - ответил коротко Нозимжон. - Э, домля, зачем так спешить. Дом ваш с покосившей крышей не убежит. Садитесь, плов вместе будем кушать.Поговорим о чем нибудь -продолжал сторож дядя Мамасоли, который остро нуждался в собеседнике.Нозимжон, поблагодарив седого, одноногого вахтера, ветерана авганской войны за гостепримство, вышел на улицу, сдав ключ от кабинета. -Эх, молодежь, молодежь - пробормотал себе под нос старик Мамасоли вслед за Нозимжоном.Подышав прохладным воздухом ранней весны у Нозимжона нимножко приподнялось настроение. Вынув сигарету из кармана, он закурил.Потом помяв опустевшую пачку сигареты "Pall Mall" выбросил и пошел в сторону автобусной остановки.На улице пешеходов было мало. В облачном небе не было видно звезд. В густом вечерном сумраке фонари едва освещали своим призрачно бледным, грустным светом безлюдные тротуары.Такое бескрайное небо, а ни одной звезды не видать -подумал он, задумчиво закуривая сигарету в кулак. Раньше как -то не обрашал внимания на это. Я не мог себе представить даже о том, что небо бывает без звезд.Как будто нет неба надо мной. Будто не небо, а мрак, который не имеет конца и края, словно мысли...За этими темными тучами скроются несметные звезды, луна и солнце... А дальше? Дальше наверное, пустота... - подумал Нозимжон, глядя в темное ночное небо, глубоко вздыхая. Его мысли перебила влюбленная пара, которая звонко смеялась. Гляда на них, Нозимжон, почему - то вспомнил свою ворчливую жену и её грустные слова: -"Где вы ходите, на ночь глядя?! Потом он снова продолжал думать: -Прошло пять лет, как мы с ней поженились.Боже, как быстро летит время! Иногда события, случившихся в далеком детстве, кажется, что происходили вчера.А жизнь словно миг.Помнит, как вчера. Учился он тогда в последнем курсе Университета. Родители его торопили, чтобы он не отставая от своих ровесников, как можно поскорее женился. Когда они предложили женится на Манзуру, неудачник в области любви Нозимжон, согласился. Манзура оказалась неплохой девушкой. По этому они начали жить, как говорится, душа в душу. В скором времени у них появился первый ребенок. Потом родился второй. Постипенно мечты о роскошной жизни и забот -хлопот, легли на его плечо, словно мешок с тяжелым грузом. Манзура раньше подбадривала его, говоря мол если Нозимжон пристроится на работу, то быстро поднимится по служебной леснице, станет большим начальником, разбогатеет и они купят роскошную легковую машину.Теперь она перестала мечтать.Все время молчит. А он не то, что купить ей подарки на её день рождения или на 8 марта, не может даже везти ее куда -нибудь на отдых. Хорошо что, жена его неплохая. Не жалуется она на жизнь.Она знает о том, что у Нозимжона дела не идут в горы и он не может хвастаться тем, что достиг.Именно по этому Манзура пристроилась на работу, не смотря на то, что у нее маленький ребенок. Как родители Нозимжона мечтали о том, что он совсем скоро станет каким нибудь начальником. Их мечты так и остались мечтами. Ему иногда становится стыдно, что он не может помочь им, наоборот, его отец иногда положить деньги в карман его пиджака. Иногда ему захочется бросать эту низкооплачиваемую работу и пристроится учителем в школах, но он на этом поприще чувствует себя не в своей тарелке. Заниматься торговлей тоже не умеет. Порой он думает пойти работать в какой нибудь комбинат разнорабочиком, как свои друзья ровесники, кои живут не хуже, получая нормальную зарплату. Ну что, если станешь простым рабочим? Зато будешь жить свободно, не приклоняясь начальству.Но Нозимжон не может так поступать. Ему мучает мысли о том, что думает его знакомые, соседы, родственники, когда он начинает работать чернорабочим в комбинатах? Будут тайно смеяться, подумав, мол кем он стал, окончив Университет? Эх, чем старше становится человек, тем у него увеличиваются проблемы, словно снежный ком.Где его беззаботное детство, где юность, студенческие годы? Помнит, в те далекие годы, когда он учился в Университете, был один скромный преподаватель с тюбитейкой на голове и с большим портфелом в руках, едва не ставший жертвой сталинских репрессий.
-Эй, вы, слушайте сюда, наивные лентяи! Вот, закончите Университет и пойдете работать кто куда. Но учтите, никто не придоставит вам кабинет и кресло. Даже не надейтесь. Каждый, кто окончил высшее учебное заведение, не становится ученым или начальником. Для этого, нужно потрудится как следует.То есть вам придется кипеть в большом казане общества, прежде чем добиться чего -то в этом беспощадном мире. Кем бы вы не стали, вы должни помнить одного. Быть полезным для общества.В противном случае, вы горько пожелеете на закате своей жизни, подумав о том, что вы были жалким эгоистом, который зоботится только о себе -сказал он однажды во время лекции. Как будто профессор с тюбитейкой на голове и с больши портфелем в руках предвидел всё это. Действительно, все эти годы Нозимжон думал только о себе, мечтая о том, что он быстрыми темпами поднимится по служебной леснице и став начальником, разбогатеет. Купит себе какую нибудь роскошную легковушку иностранного производство. Увидев его успехи многие почернеют от зависти. Многие будут его уважать и даже боятся.Оказывается, он забыл те слова старого профессора, ни разу не подумав о других людях, об обществе, о Родине.Почему -то он снова начал думать о седого сторожа дяди Мамасоли, который потерял свою ногу в Авганской войне. -Было бы здорово, если я стал не ректором, то хотябы заведующим кафедры или деканом -подумал он снова, докуривая последную сигарету.Спешными шагами идя в сторону автобусной остановки, он почувствовал вечернюю прохладу, которая ветер нес.Тут начал подезжать к нему такси, снижая скорость. Нозимжон обернулся лицом в сторону. Таксист увидев идущего в сторону автобусвной остановки человека, на вид бережливого и жадного, сердито нажал на газ и такси двигаясь на болшой скорости, исчезла из виду.Какраз в это время один автобус, проезжая мимо него, остановился на следущей остановке. Ноги Нозимжона сами по себе побежали в сторону автобуса и он залез в него, тяжело дыша.В салоне находились последние пассажиры и ему казолось, что они все смотрели на него.От этих взглядов Нозимжону стало не по себе и он присел на сидение, находяшегося в середине салона.Потом снова продолжал думать, глядя в окно автобуса, за которым мелкали городские здания, безлюдные улицы, опустевшие тротуары, грустящие уличные фонари, деревья и столбы со светафорами. Тут его мысли перебил звук упавшей дамоской сумки и он, обернувшись лицом, увидел тощую, девушку высокого роста в мини юбке, с длинными ногтями, похожие на когти ястреба, с бледным, густо напудренным лицом, и ярко красными, вздутыми накрашенными помадой губами. Она глядела на него из под- лобья презрительным взглядом.Потом начала говорить: -Чего вы стоите, как этот самый?! Поднимите мою сумочку, помогите! - сказала она, еще сильнее удивляя Ножимжона.Услышав в голосе девушки приказа, Нозимжон рассердился и сказал: -Сами поднимите! От этих грубых слов девушка разозлилась. -Придурок! -шепотом сказала она. Потом, с трудом нагнувшись в тесной мини юбке, начала поднять свою сумочку.Тут один чувак в кожанной куртке, с рыжими усами в колкости крикнул на Нозимжона: -Эй, козел! Ты мужик или баба? Настоящий мужчина должен помочь приставительницам прекрасного пола! А ну-ка, помоги даме, быстро!Услышав такое, у Нозимжона екнуло сердце. Испугался. -Сами помогите ей тогда - сказал он, обращаясь на вы к парню в кожанной куртке с рыжими усами.Потом, еле задавив свой страх сказал вдабавок: -Сам ты козел! От этих слов Нозимжона парень взбесился и резко схватив за галстук, начал его душить.
-Что ты сказал!? Ов, следи за своим языком! А то я могу его вырвать! Кто ты такой а?! Кто дал тебе право так обращаться с девушками?!Хочешь, я повешу тебя за галстук на эту перилу автобуса, невоспитанный интеллигент вшивый?! - сказал парень в кожанной куртке с рыжими усамы в колкости.
Нозимжон, задыхаясь от нехватки кислорода, храпел и изо всех сил старался выпутаться из цепких рук злого парня в кожанной куртке с рыжыми усами в колкости.Наконец ему удалось освободить свое горло от рук назойливового бандита в кожанной куртке с рыжыми усами и продолжал держать оборону: -Отпусти меня! Отпусти говорю! -кричал он, свё активно оказывая сопротивления парню в кожанной куртке.
К этому времени остальные пассажири тоже стали активными, стараяь разнимать дерущихся.
-Э, остановитесь, мужики! Что вы, как маленькие деретесь между сабой? -сказали одни.
Другие пассажиры предлогали им сойти с автобуса и выяснять отношения в низу. Тут одна женщина высокого роста, с романтичной прической волос, похожая на стог сена, поднялась с место и обратился к парню в кожанной куртке, с рыжими усами, спокойным голосом:
-А ну-ка, отпустите его, молодой человек.
Потом тем же спокойным голосом продолажала: -Это вы вмешиваетесь не в свое дело. Оставте человека в покое!Хочет, поможет.Не хочет, нет.
Парень в кожанной куртке, с рыжими усами оглядывая ее с головы до ног, спросил?
-Слушайте, вот вы тоже кажется мать. Подумайте сами, разве можно так грубо обращаться с девушкой в общественном транспорте? Простите, мадам, но вы как адвокат защищаете этого не воспитанного грубияна, интеллигента несчастного.Мой вам совет, не вмешивайтесь в мужское дело! Мы сами разберемся как нибудь без вас. -сказал парень в кожанной куртке и когда он крепко стиснул губы от злости, Нозимжону казалось, что его рыжие, загнутые усы полезли в его рот.
-Отпустите его немедленно или я сейчас вызову милицию! -сказала женщина с романтичной прической волос, похожая на стог сена. Услышав такое парень в кожанной куртке, с рыжими загнутыми усами, отпустил наконец воротник рубахи Нозимжона. Нозимжон приводя себя в порядок, с дрожащими руками присел. Женщина с романтичной прической волос, напоминающая скирду сена в заливных лугах, тоже присела рядом с Нозимжоном. Нозимжон бегло бросив благодарный взгляд на свою спасительницу, начал привести себя в порядок.Шафер все спокойно гнал автобус на большой скорости, словно ничего не произошло. Пассажири тоже ехали, сидя на сидениях и рассеянно гляда на ночной город из окна автобуса.Когда автобус остановилась, на следующей остановке, зачиншица конфликта поднялась с места, чтобы сойти с автобуса. Парень в кожанной куртке, с рыжими, загнутыми усами тоже. Перед тем, как сойти с автобуса, он сказал, глядя на Нозимжона: -Помочь людям - дело благородное, понял?
Нозимжон хотел что -то сказать в ответ, но тут двери автобуса раскрились и пара пригнула в низ.Автобу поехал дальше. После того, как Нозимжон сошел с автобуса, ему захотелось курить.Но, подумав о том, что кончились сигареты, мысленно руганулся.Потом, глубоко вздыхая, направился в сторону своего дома.Шел он, жалея о том, что не ударил в морду того парня в кожанной куртке с рыжими, загнутыми усами.
-Вот, козел а! По его словам, я оказывается, должен поднять ту сумочку и помочь девушке легкого поведения , которая занимается древней профессией!Вот засранец а! Был бы он сейчас рядом, я бы одним ударом отправил бы его в глубокий нокаут... Негодяй, который готов изнасиловать ту девушку, возомнил из себя защитника и мудреца... Что он сказал? "Помочь людям в трудные минуты, дело благородное..." Идиот... Такими мыслями Нозимжон снова бросил взгляд в облачное и темное небо, где не видно было звезд. В темноте сонно и грустно горели огни опустевшего города. Из открытых окон домов виднелись шипящие голубые экраны телевизоров. Нозимжон шел по безлюдном тротуару, крепко стиснув кулаки и шепча: "Помочь людям - дело благородное". "Помочь людям..". Хмм... Помочь...

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2019 год. Андижан.
Перевел рассказ с узбекского языка Холдор Вулкан.
31/05/2022. Канада, Онтерио.



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Halim Karim
Starless Night
(short story)
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A boss is a boss. Think for yourself, how can you not be happy at all when such a big boss as Akram Muradovich tells him, - Nozimjon, I trust you? From such words, he just melts like a snowman in spring. Well, how could he not melt when the boss puts his hand on his shoulder and pats him like a father? Now, for three days he has been sitting, digging through papers. Nozimjon has to finish this work in three days. The boss Akrom Muradovich, immediately after checking all these documents, will go to Tashkent to report to the minister himself! That's what kind of super-responsible work Akrom Murodovich entrusted to Nozimjon! Even when many workers follow him like a shadow, hoping to win his trust, he still chose him, Nozimjon, when everyone wants, and dreams of somehow being liked by Akram Murodovich. Nozimjon also becomes smooth as silk in front of him. He is ready to do any job that he assigns.He will do it, despite the humiliation and not knowing what fatigue is. In the early days, when he just got the job, he did not like the sycophancy of employees towards their superiors, even angered him by such behavior of employees.
Now, without even noticing it, he, too, has become the same sycophant as they are. At first it was difficult for him, but then Nozimjon began to quietly and calmly get used to it somehow, and what do you want me to do? As they say: "To live with wolves is to howl like a wolf!"  Try not to say hello with a polite and soft smile on your lips to the boss when you meet him in the corridor or somewhere else.  Eh, nowadays, when human talent, knowledge, even a diploma has lost its significance, it has become difficult for people with empty pockets and without influential connections to live. Nozimjon, got the job with great difficulty, hoping to get to the top of the service ladder, but alas, so far he did not succeed in any way. With such thoughts, he sat in the office, thoughtfully looking at a bunch of documents. He is not very well versed in these documents, where there are various terms and figures that are not clear to him.
Nozimjon's desk is located at the front door of a seemingly modest office. In this office with a single small window, besides Nozimjon, there are three other employees of the department. A half-withered flower was drying on the windowsill, which no one was watering. On the contrary, cigarette butts are thrown into a clay pot. A portrait of Charles Darwin hangs on a badly painted wall, demonstrating the "aesthetic taste" of the sitting employees in this office. Above Nozimjon's desk, a photomontage with images of Barcelona football club players cut out of glossy magazines was attached to the wall with buttons. Finally, the clock on the wall struck eight in the evening. Nozimjon checked his watch, but when he heard a rumbling in his stomach, which foreshadowed hunger, he remembered the delicious food for dinner and swallowed the saliva that had accumulated in his mouth. Then he got up from his seat and stretched for a long time, yawning widely and stretching his stiff limbs. After that, Nozimjon went to the window and looked at the street. The city, which was already plunged into evening darkness outside the window, lit its sad street lamps. An iron herd of cars and trucks raced in the twilight, feeling the road with red headlights, disappearing quickly from sight, like water skimmers over the mirrored water of an old pond. Nozimjon became even more bored when he felt that he was alone in a huge building. Hastily arranging the papers scattered on the table, he tightened his tie around his neck and put on his jacket. After that, he almost ran down through the stairs and saw the guard at the entrance of the building, Uncle Mamasoli, who had lost his leg in the Afghan war. He stretched out his wooden leg on a stool, ate his simple dinner. Seeing the belated employee, the watchman was initially surprised, then thinking about the fact that sometimes employees work late, he smiled politely and greeted Nozimjon. - sir, why are you going home so late? Is there a lot to do? - he said. - Yes, - Nozimjon answered shortly. - Hey sir, why hurry so much. Your house with a crooked roof will not run away. Sit down, we'll eat pilaf together. Let's talk about something, - continued Uncle Mamasoli, the watchman, who was in dire need of an interlocutor. Nozimjon, thanking the gray-haired, one-legged watchman, a veteran of the Afghanwar for hospitality, went outside, handing over the key to the office. "Eh, young people, young people," old Mamasoli muttered to himself after Nozimjon.Having breathed the cool air of early spring, Nozimjon's mood lifted slightly. Taking a cigarette out of his pocket, he lit it.Then he crumpled the empty pack of Pall Mall cigarettes and threw it away and went towards the bus stop.There were few pedestrians on the street. There were no stars visible in the cloudy sky. In the dense evening twilight, the lanterns barely illuminated the deserted sidewalks with their ghostly pale, sad light.Such a boundless sky, and not a single star to be seen, he thought, thoughtfully lighting a cigarette in his fist. I somehow didn't pay attention to this before. I could not even imagine that the sky is without stars.It's like there's no sky above me. It's like not the sky, but the darkness that has no end and no end, like thoughts...Countless stars, the moon and the sun will hide behind these dark clouds... And then? Then, probably, emptiness... Nozimjon thought, looking up at the dark night sky, taking a deep breath. His thoughts were interrupted by a couple in love, who were laughing loudly. Looking at them, Nozimjon, for some reason remembered his grumpy wife and her sad words: -"Where do you go, looking at the night?! Then he kept thinking again, "It's been five years since we got married.God, how fast time flies! Sometimes events that happened in early childhood seem to have happened yesterday.And life is like a moment.Remembers how yesterday. He was then in his last year of University. His parents hurried him to keep up with his peers and get married as soon as possible. When they offered to marry Manzura, the loser in the field of love, Nozimjon, agreed. Manzura turned out to be a good girl. That's why they began to live, as they say, soul to soul. Soon they had their first child. Then the second one was born. After all, dreams of a luxurious life and worries and troubles lay on his shoulder like a bag with a heavy load. Manzura used to encourage him, saying that if Nozimjon gets a job, he will quickly climb the service ladder, become a big boss, get rich and they will buy a luxury passenger car.Now she stopped dreaming.He's silent all the time. And he's not like buying her gifts for her birthday or on March 8, he can't even take her somewhere on vacation. It's good that his wife is not bad. She doesn't complain about life.She knows that Nozimjon's business is not going to the mountains and he cannot brag about what he has achieved.That's why Manzura got a job, despite the fact that she has a small child. How Nozimjon's parents dreamed that he would soon become some kind of boss. Their dreams remained dreams. He sometimes feels ashamed that he can't help them, on the contrary, his father sometimes puts money in his jacket pocket. Sometimes he will want to quit this low-paid job and get a job as a teacher in schools, but he does not feel at ease in this field. He doesn't know how to trade either. Sometimes he thinks of going to work in some factory as a handyman, like his friends of the same age, who live no worse, receiving a normal salary. Well, what if you become a simple worker? But you will live freely, without bowing to the authorities.But Nozimjon can't do that. Is he tormented by thoughts about what his friends, neighbors, relatives think when he starts working as a laborer in factories? Will they secretly laugh, thinking, they say, who did he become after graduating from University? Eh, the older a person gets, the more problems he has, like a snowball.Where is his carefree childhood, where is his youth, student years? He remembers, in those distant years when he studied at the University, there was one modest teacher with a tube on his head and a large briefcase in his hands, who almost became a victim of Stalin's repressions.
- Hey, you, listen up, you naive idlers! Here, graduate from University and go to work who where. But keep in mind, no one will give you an office and a chair. Don't even hope. Everyone who graduated from a higher educational institution does not become a scientist or a boss. To do this, you need to work hard.That is, you will have to boil in the big cauldron of society before you can achieve anything in this merciless world. Whoever you become, you have to remember one. Be useful to society.Otherwise, you will regret bitterly at the end of your life, thinking that you were a pathetic egoist who cares only about himself - he once said during a lecture. It's as if the professor with a tube on his head and a big briefcase in his hands foresaw all this. Indeed, all these years Nozimjon thought only of himself, dreaming that he would quickly climb the service ladder and become a boss, get rich. He will buy himself some kind of luxury foreign-made passenger car. Seeing his success, many will turn black with envy. Many will respect him and even fear him.It turns out that he forgot those words of the old professor, never once thinking about other people, about society, about the Motherland.For some reason, he began to think again about Uncle Mamasoli's gray-haired watchman, who lost his leg in the Afghan War. - It would be great if I became not the rector, but at least the head of the department or the dean - he thought again, finishing his last cigarette. Walking with hurried steps towards the bus stop, he felt the evening coolness that the wind carried. Then a taxi began to approach him, slowing down. Nozimjon turned his face to the side. The taxi driver saw a man walking towards the bus stop, who looked thrifty and greedy, angrily pressed the gas and the taxi, moving at a great speed, disappeared from sight. At that time, one bus, passing by him, stopped at the next stop. Nozimjon's legs by themselves ran towards the bus and he climbed into it, breathing heavily. There were the last passengers in the cabin and it seemed to him that they were all looking at him. From these views, Nozimjon felt uncomfortable and he sat down on the seat in the middle of the cabin. Then he continued to think again, looking out the window of the bus, behind which city buildings, deserted streets, deserted sidewalks, sad street lights, trees and poles with traffic lights flashed. Then his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a lady's bag falling and, turning around, he saw a skinny, tall girl in a miniskirt, with long nails like the claws of a hawk, with a pale, heavily powdered face, and bright red, swollen lips painted with lipstick. She looked at him from under her brow with a contemptuous look. Then she began to say: -What are you standing for?! Pick up my purse, help! - she said. Hearing the order in the girl's voice, Nozimjon got angry and said: - Pick it up yourself! These rude words made the girl angry. - You idiot! - she said in a whisper. Then, bending down with difficulty in a tight mini skirt, she began to pick up her purse. Here one dude in a leather jacket, with a red mustache in a taunt shouted at Nozimjon: - Hey, asshole! Are you a man or a woman? A real man should help women! Come on, help the lady, quickly! Hearing this, Nozimjon's heart skipped a beat. Scared, he said. - Help her yourself then, addressing the guy in the leather jacket. Then, barely suppressing his fear, he said in addition: - You yourself are a idiot! From these words, the guy went berserk and abruptly grabbed his tie and began to strangle him.
- What did you say!? watch your mouth! Otherwise I can rip it off! Who are you, huh?! Who gave you the right to treat girls like that?! Do you want me to hang you by your tie on this railing of the bus, you ill-mannered lousy intellectual?! - said the guy tauntingly.
Nozimjon, suffocating from lack of oxygen, snored and tried his best to get out of the clutches of the evil guy. Finally, he managed to free his throat and continued to hold the defense: - Let me go! Let me go, I say! - he shouted, actively resisting.
By this time, the other passengers had also become active, trying to separate the fighting.
- Hey, stop, guys! What are you, like little kids fighting? - someone said.
Other passengers offered them to get off the bus and sort things outside. Then a tall woman with a romantic hairstyle, looking like a haystack, got up from her seat and addressed the guy in the leather jacket, in a calm voice:
- Come on, let him go, young man.
Then , in the same calm voice , she continued: - You're meddling in the wrong business. Leave this man alone! If he wants to, he will help.
The guy looked her up and down, asked:
- Listen, you seem to be a mother too. Think for yourself, is it possible to treat a girl so rudely on public transportion? I'm sorry, madam, but you, as a lawyer, are defending this ill-mannered brute, an unhappy intellectual. My advice to you, do not interfere in a man's business! We'll figure it out somehow without you. - said the guy in the leather jacket, and when he tightly clenched his lips in anger, Nozimjon thought that his red, curled mustache climbed into his mouth.
- Release him immediately or I will call the police now! said the woman. Hearing this, the guy, finally let go of the collar of Nozimjon's shirt. Nozimjon, putting himself in order, sat down with trembling hands. The woman also sat down next to Nozimjon. He briefly cast a grateful glance at his savior, and began to put himself in order. The bus driver calmly drove the bus at high speed, as if nothing had happened. The passengers were also sitting on the seats and absentmindedly looking at the night city from the bus window. When the bus stopped, at the next stop, the instigator of the conflict got up from her seat to get off the bus. The guy in the leather jacket, got off too. Before getting off the bus, he said, looking at Nozimjon: - Helping people is a noble cause!
Nozimjon wanted to say something in response, but then the bus doors opened and the couple ducked to the bottom. The bus drove on. After Nozimjon got off the bus, he wanted to smoke, but thinking that he had run out of cigarettes, he mentally cursed. Then, taking a deep breath, he headed towards his house. He walked, regretting that he had not hit that guy with the leather jacket in the face.
- According to him, it turns out that I have to pick up that purse and help a girl of easy virtue who is engaged in an ancient profession! That asshole! If he were around now, I would have knocked him out with one punch... The scoundrel who is ready to rape that girl imagines himself to be a protector and a sage... What did he say? - Helping ladies in difficult moments is a noble thing..." idiot! With such thoughts, Nozimjon again cast a glance into the cloudy and dark sky, where the stars were not visible. The lights of the deserted city burned sleepily and sadly in the dark. From the open windows of the houses, sizzling blue TV screens could be seen. Nozimjon walked along the deserted sidewalk, clenching his fists tightly and whispering: - Helping people is a noble cause. Helping people...  Hmm... helping...

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2019. Andijan.
The story was translated from Russian into English by Holder Volcano.
31/05/2022. Canada, Ontario.


 

x_15d42282 (604x453, 162Kb)

 

 

 

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers


Stop the fratricidal war in Ukraine!




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

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11/05/2022.
10:23 p.m. Canada, Ontario.

 

 

 

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers


Apricot grove

(Story)

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

-----------------------
15/11/2020.
2:07 of the day.
Canada, Ontario.



 

 

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers




An article about the Ukrainian-Russian conflict, written in 2014.


Addresses of Holder Volkano to the presidents of all countries of the world.




Dear sirs!


The war in Ukraine is a black hole in the galaxy of the world community and it threatens the last big, thermonuclear war for all mankind. What is happening now in Ukraine is just a flower. This is just the beginning. The beginning of the end.

Yes, tens of thousands of people have died in Iraq, Libya, Syria and other countries of the world, and they are still dying. Especially innocent children who have no relation to confrontations. Millions and millions of people became refugees, forced to leave their native places where they were born, grew up, fell in love, married and lived happily until the war broke out there. Beautiful cities collapsed to the ground, the economy of the warring countries collapsed. The infrastructure built for centuries has failed, where universal famine and devastation are rampant.

But the war was going on there and is still going on in the middle east not for the territorial integrity of a particular state. That's where the difference is.
A war for territories has been unleashed between Russia and Ukraine, where the parties dictate their rightness in their own way and you don't know who is right here and who to believe.

Pro-Ukrainian experts say that Russia has cut off Crimea and continues to violate the territorial integrity of Ukraine, they say, what would Russia do if they annexed part of its territory?

And the pro-Russian ones say that the war in Ukraine is worse for Russia than to cut off part of its territory, and what would a particular country do when military bases are being built near its border?

And some people think that during the war Russia will finally get tired and its economy will collapse to the ground, the discontent of the people will increase inside Russia itself and a civil war will break out, breaking it apart.

There are other opinions that Russia will not get tired, on the contrary, the war in Ukraine unites the patriots of Russians as never before and, as a single organism, they will fight against world fascism, liberating the territory of Ukraine from them, as in the Second World War. Then the surrender, the new Nuremberg and all that. long story short, many people hope that everything will fall into place in the near future.

And what if NATO starts actively supporting Ukraine militarily? What then?
In this case, the pressures of Europe and the West will automatically contribute to the discussion to strengthen military-technical cooperation with China.

Yes, Western and European sanctions may partially weaken Russia's economic power, but sanctions cannot solve the political problems that have arisen in the world.

It is obvious that a political procedure of this kind does not heal the open bleeding wounds of the world community, on the contrary, it gives a side effect, severing trade and economic ties of states around the world.

To drive this or that state into a corner in such ways is very dangerous and fraught with consequences. That is, this method of punishment forces the cornered state to apply the last measure. I hope you all understand what I'm talking about.

So wake up, gentlemen presidents, and do not be naive, thinking that the war in Ukraine is controlled and, they say we have a reliable Anti-missile defense, a space shield and with what you can prevent the danger.

Here we must not forget about the guarantee that there is no guarantee in the world that the other side of the barricade has not developed new types of ultramodern nuclear missiles beyond the control of our or your space shields. That's where the danger that threatens all of humanity lies.

They say that only victory will stop the war. But this so-called victory will cost too much for the belligerents, since it is won at the cost of the lives of millions and millions of innocent people.

War is a spark that arises when the geopolitical and economic interests of the parties clash and turns into a terrible fire that covers all the territories of the planet.

In order to realize, feel or somehow experience the pain and suffering of those people who have become hostages of the warring parties, a person should try to mentally put themselves, their children, their family in their place for at least an hour, at least for a minute.

When a fire breaks out, we shout, call the fire fighters and run, clutching buckets in our hands to put out the fire. When forests are burning, we take helicopters and Emergency Situations planes into the air to localize a forest fire.

Why are we sitting idly by when the World is burning, where hundreds and thousands of people are dying?! Where many innocent children are dying!

We have one universal house, one planet!
Here everyone has to do something to stop the war.
Why are those people who are the first responsible persons for the preservation of human life, for the preservation of peace and tranquility on the planet, inactive?

Gentlemen presidents, the peoples voted for you, entrusting their destinies to you, and today you must feel responsible not only to your peoples, but also to humanity.
Find ways to prevent bloodshed in Ukraine before the whole planet explodes.

With great respect to all the Presidents of the states of the world, Uzbek writer Holder Volkano.




04/09/2014.
11:37 p.m.
Brampton, Canada.

 


 
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