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Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Cruel payback

(The story)




- Mehmet, son, you must forgive me if I unwittingly upset you ever. I love you more than anything in the world - said Sultan Sanjar Savash, hugging his son and stroking his head.

Mehmet was surprised to hear the words of his father Sultan Sanjar Savash.

- Father, why are you saying that? It's too early for you to say goodbye. You will live in this world for a long time, and you will rule the country until old age. God grant you good health and a long life. I love you more than life, father! Just like my mother and my brother Ahmed - said Mehmet, hugging his father.

Sultan Sanjar Savas had tears in his eyes, and in order not to show their son, he hugged him even harder and kissed him on the head. His lips trembled, and his eyes involuntarily rolled tears, first in the face, and then his thick beard, like morning dew that showered with leaves of grass, which sways in the wind. That night Sultan Sanjar Savash did not sleep, walked nervously up and down the fiery red carpet. He felt like a predator in a cage, constantly looking out at freedom. He then called his eldest son Prince Valiahd (heir to throne) and Ahmed and they had a long conversation. During the conversation, Sultan Sanjar Sawash intended to tell Prince Ahmed something important, but could not. After the Prince had gone to his room to sleep, Sultan Sanjar Savash wept bitterly, shaking her shoulders and lamenting:

- Oh, God Almighty, you gave me more than I asked! I have become great sultans! But I didn't know that the crown and the throne are so ruthless and would require such a sacrifice! If I had known this before, I would never have become a Sultan! On the contrary, I would hang on his neck a sack beggars and lived life to the poor! Oh, my God, how happy are those poor hungry people of yours who live in slums! I envy them white envy! They are absolutely free and content with a piece of bread. They go where they want. Walk without protection on a footpath on wide fields where winds walk and larks sing, being filled in with a trill, morning stop in the middle of a rye field, where the rye carefree fun flying a swarm of white butterflies in heaven. Then again go where eyes look. Poor, unlike me, can freely roam the summer pastures, waist-deep in tall grass, where thoughtfully fly on the wind a feather in the wind, like a jellyfish in the sea. For hours he could hear the distant knocking of a woodpecker and the sad voice of a lone hoopoe, who sings somewhere over the fields, calling it as a distant childhood. Listen to the murmur of the river, overgrown by white daisies, Angelicas, sweet clovers meadows, can even sleep in the haystacks on the field under the starry sky, admiring silently Siauliai the moon in silence, listening to the monotonous, primeval songs of the crickets and choral croaking of distant frogs, like a whisper. To consider the distant blue star and tired to sleep. Wake up in the pre-dawn hour, when the quail will sing, reminding cough gray guard, who sweeps territory, rhythmically waving a broom. He freezes, looking at the pale sky, where it melts and slowly disappears, the last star and tightly stretching across the horizon torn pale yellow clouds, resembling a spring furrow. Your beggar washes of transparent dew eat Breakfast, than thou, you, will send, and goes on a long journey. The beggar does not even think about the possibility of poisoning: eat your Breakfast, thank you, and again hit the road, by walking along a path overgrown with two side’s high and dense grass. He greets farmers in the fields, nodding his head, with a friendly smile on his lips, stops for a moment, listening to the sad voice of the cuckoo, which comes from a distant poplar grove. The poor have no heavy burden of responsibility. They live easily, throwing off all unnecessary loads. They live happily and easily, in harmony with nature.

How about me? I can't get out of the fortress one step without strong security. Cannot move freely, as an ordinary person, can not only free to walk the fields and meadows, but can't even safely walk the streets of the capital of the Empire. I live with insuperable fear in my heart. Not sleeping at night, for fear, would you raise a riot the angry people, like a Typhoon in the ocean, destroying everything in its path, and with a shudder, I wonder if I will be hung on the highest gallows at the entrance to the Central market of the capital, dropping me from my throne, a people who are not satisfied with my policy. My heart is filled with blood when I start to think about my officials, the sycophants in his entourage that are easy to turn away from me when I fall from the throne of the Sultanate (government), and they will be the first to throw mud at me, praising the new Sultan! They will wag their Asses in front of the new ruler, throwing up his eyebrows and smiling lips, like a Bud of rosy morning rose.

Think, think and not can fall asleep until morning. Even sleeping pills don't help me.

It turns out that being a ruler is not as easy as I thought it would be. I was convinced that being a ruler is like burning in hell in life and boiling alive in a hell of a cauldron. What kind Punishment of, Lord?! Is it life, God, think about it! After all, even a stray dog, and it is happier than me a hundred times! Now, there's another unbearable ordeal waiting for me. Why are you punishing me, God?! What have I done to you?! - cried the Sultan Sanjar Savash.

He cried for a long time. Then he summoned his Prime Minister Vazir Azam. Vazir Azam came, not lingering long. Rather, it led Naukars (security service), in whose hands the feet of Wazir Azam not even touched the ground. He was wearing a long Oriental robe with a white turtleneck on his head. Have him not only the long beard and hair were white, but and eyebrows, too, were such a same color of.

- Called, my Lord, the Sultan of all the sultans of the world? -  asked Wazir Azam , not looking into the eyes of Sultan Sanjar Savash, and with a low bow.

- Yes, Vaziri Azam. You, this, tell me, don't we have another way to solve our problems? - Sultan Sanjar Savash asked, looking to his Minister with hope.

Vaziri Azam paused a second, plunging into meditation, and then said:

- No, my Sultan, unfortunately we have no other choice but... well, you know... If we want our great Empire not to collapse, then we just have to make this decision. Otherwise cannot be. That is a firm decision taken by Kiramaie Ulemas (The meeting of advisers) in closed session. As for Prince Mehmet, he is far inferior to Prince Ahmed in terms of thinking, mind and health. Oh, my Sultan of all sultans of the world! If you knew how hard for me to tell you all about it, Oh how hard! But I have to tell you this because I'm your chief Advisor. I feel sorry... - said Vaziri Azam, sadly bowing his head.

- Damn you all! Get out of here now, you scoundrel! And so you're never caught my eye! - Hysterically cried Sultan Sanjar Savash and hand his reached to the sword.

Vaziri Azam kneeled down and lowered his head in front of Sultan Sanjar Savash bitterly wept, shaking his snow-white beard and bony shoulders.

- Chop my head off, o my Sultan of all sultans of the world! Cut! It is better to die from your sword than to see you in this position! - He cried, dropping tears.

- Get him out now! - shouted the Sultan Sanjar Savash my security and cried, turning away to the side and wiping tears.

The guards took away Vazir Azam.

Early morning brought the executioner of the sentence, beheaded the sleeping young Prince Valiahd Mehmet sharp sword and wiped the white sheets crimson blood from the blade of the sword.

Before to bury Prince Valiahd Mehmet , brought the Princess, so she could say goodbye to his son, on whose death she did not know. Seeing the terrible picture, the Princess fainted.

Sultan Sanjar Savash, hugging his murdered younger son Mehmet, wept, shaking his whole body.

- Forgive me, son, for I have brought you a sacrifice! I'm sorry, because I had no other way! I had to do this just for the sake of not collapsing our Empire in the struggle for the throne between you and your brother in the future. I had to pay so much for preserving the throne. May your soul arrive in the green gardens of eternal Paradise, my beloved son Mehme-e-et! - He cried.


 

05/04/2014.

1:20 of the day.

Canada, The city of Brampton.

eb23ebae4e2f0a5747a3836a73a792433eb756231883193 (700x510, 39Kb)

 

Обновлено (29.04.2018 22:53)

 

132221451_gorod_Brempton (202x216, 31Kb)

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Key

(The story)




When the letter of the Commander of the Air Forces and Land Forces of General Thomas Yakkabaloon and his Deputy, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons DE Valdemar came to the presidential office, Press Secretary of the President, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, deep thought, stares at the envelope not knowing what to do.
There was a scary security team:

- Attention, all employees of the presidential apparatus! Close the door of their offices on the bolt and clear the corridor! Mr. President is coming! - cried the guard in the can mouthpiece. Press Secretary of the President froze as in the photo at attention. Finally in the corridor there was a President surrounded by enhanced protection. After some time the President of the country Mr. Apollon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos, Dominic, came over and for a moment paused at the entrance of his gorgeous beloved, a spherical Cabinet. Before entering his office, he gave a cursory glance at the Press Secretary's Desk, where a pile of letters lay.

- Well, what news? What are they, again from the people, or what? Oh, how tired of these bastards anonymity with my eternal complaints. It's like I don't have other things to do than read these stupid letters, where they only write about their problems. There is not one person among them who could write not about his problems, but about the problems, if not the global scale, at least about those that relate to the problems of our state. Come on, give me that big envelope. Here I see something extraordinary. This letter, either from the leaders of other States or from the diplomatic corps of the Commonwealth - said, as if guessing, the President of The country, Mr. Apollon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, taking and looking at the envelope with interest. Then smiled widely, looking at the letter's address.

- Oh my, a letter from a mental hospital! - He exclaimed, and laughed, shaking her whole body. - Huwah-hah-hah-hah-hah-haaaah! Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-haaaaa! Wahahahahahaha! Look, the letter from the psychiatric hospital?! E-mine... This is the first time I have received such a letter during my 45-year presidency, honestly! I wonder what they write. That's supposed to be funny... - the President of the country, Mr. Apollon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, said, wiping tears into his huge checkered leaky headscarf, which turned on his eyes from laughter.
Logging in to his spherical, he unsealed the envelope and began to read the letter from the mental hospital patients, Commander of the Air Forces and Land Forces of General Thomas Yaccabaloon and his Deputy, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alphonse DE Valdemar.

"President of our beloved country, Mr. Apollon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic.

Mr. President!

Although healthy people consider us fools, crazy and other bad words, but we, patients of the Central madhouse of the capital of our independent country, paradoxically, are the most intelligent, the most brilliant people on the planet. We have famous poets, thinkers, philosophers of all stripes, psychics, clairvoyants, foretellers, great scientists, astronauts, valiant invincible generals, telepaths who read other people's thoughts, who declared themselves prophets and even gods, nomads of time, masters of the universe, defenders of humanoids in solar systems and in the nebula of the universe, great Opera singers with the voices of soprano, baritone, tenor. There are among us also disgraced leaders of opposition parties, drunken human rights defenders wearing torn clothes, are not your "colleagues". This raises the question: why should our state not take advantage of the free services of these capable, talented patients in solving problems that have arisen in the political arena of the world? To resolve issues our forces, force patients of our madhouse in area defense. We often hear that hundreds, sometimes thousands, of innocent, mentally healthy young soldiers of our country are being killed in the hot spots of our planet. What if to encourage us, psychopaths, paranoid schizophrenics, and the army are healthy guys, in the spiritual sense of the word? First, we are strong, healthy, brave, brave people. Secondly, we are not afraid of anything, and we have nothing to lose. Thirdly, we will not sit idly, on subsidies, as they say, around the neck of our poor independent state when our innocent young compatriots die in hot spots; - We are not interested, in neither money nor position, no prize, no titles, no medals. Also we don't need an apartment, no family and no other quite unnecessary things. We, i.e. valiant and brave mentally ill Motherland, can protect our territory from any invaders, including an extraterrestrial! And we think that at the front we will have much more fun than here, in a boring medical center, believe me, Mr. President. I never tire of repeating that we are very capable people and, it is only to teach us how to use firearms, how to operate anti-aircraft Missile systems, fighters and bombers and how to steal them, how to fly on military helicopters, "Shark", "Apache", to use nuclear submarines with cruise missiles of Intercontinental ballistic and so on, I can assure You and guarantee that our brethren of the disease will quickly learn that modern military science, no worse than mentally healthy talented students. They will be free to fly advanced supersonic jet bombers like hawks and bomb civilian points in the hot spots of the planet, flattening the beautiful city, the Orthodox and Catholic churches, mosques, synagogues, residential neighborhoods, factories, schools, hospitals, pharmacies, kindergartens in exactly, not leaving any living soul. Be sure that the army of schizophrenics and paranoids, using anti-Aircraft Missile Systems, will shoot down thousands of civilian airlines with hundreds of passengers on Board, getting into the top ten missiles, then in this monstrous crime to accuse the air force and air defense of the enemy!

With great respect,
Commander-in-chief of the Air Force and Ground Forces
General Thomas Yakkabaloon.

Deputy General Thomas Yakkabaloon, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alphonse de Valdemar."


After reading the letter several times, along and across, the President of the country, Mr. Apollon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic pondered, looking at the foggy look, in the armored bulletproof window of his ball-shaped Cabinet, like Hitler in his bunker.
- Yaaaa, here is this letter! Unlike healthy people in the spiritual sense of the word, they did not write about their problems, on the contrary, they write about the urgent problems of our society and the strengthening of the defense capability of our multi-national country. Although this letter from the mental hospital, but still worth thinking about their initiatives. Moreover, they promise to protect the Fatherland for free. If we realize their dreams, then immediately decreases the financial costs of defense, the army, armament, provisions, clothing and boots without soles millions and millions of pairs for our soldiers and officers, which we allocate every year a huge amount of money from the state budget. And these schizophrenics are ready to engage in any part of the world, protecting the interests of our country, without military uniforms, barefoot. They don't have to pay a monthly paycheck. They promise to perform any task of the party, at any time of day, even on 45 degrees cold in the winter and 55 degrees hot in the desert. How much Seeley and the funds will be scan online! Why haven't we thought about this project before? These living robots have nothing to lose. Those suicide bombers are not afraid of death. And these are, so-called, soldiers and officers, at the first danger run up, or, lying in trenches, shoot themselves in their foot and the hero comes back home, ringing bunches of awards and medals on a breast. To be honest, I did not receive such a proposal even from my military specialists, experts who receive a monthly salary in a huge amount in dollars. Parasites! No good from them! I must confess that I used to laugh to tears listening to jokes about the mentally ill. I don't think I laughed then. On the contrary, it was necessary to cry and weep in a huge and holey checkered handkerchief. That's how they reason. Wow, such brilliant people languishing in a madhouse of our large country! And we have these brilliant men supposedly treat! I think people who consider themselves healthy, it's time to go to the doctors to psychiatrists and treated properly as not exacerbated their mental illness. Yes, these people with unstable mentality, people prone to violence are dangerous for society. But if you think about it, I'm a hundred percent sure that we can solve a lot of problems. We will hold their doctors, nurses and caregivers, are fully accountable by summoning them, along with our patients, into the army and sending them to the hot spots of the planet. Today, the world is establishing total control not only over the people and over the Media, over the opposition, but even over the tsunamis, typhoons, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, etc. are we worse than them? We also know how to establish control over patients, through their doctors in white coats, who have cutting - edge equipment, stun guns, soothing drugs, tranquilizers and durable straight shirts with long sleeves. Most importantly, we will automatically get rid of unnecessary pickets and rallies organized by human rights defenders ' screamers, grantees defending the rights of mothers of millions of dead soldiers who return home in sealed zinc coffins from the battlefield, where they die heroically defending the economic and geopolitical interests of our state. Mentally ill and dead on the battlefield, not pathetic, not one, on the contrary, it causes uncontrollable laughter and people will laugh heartily, seeing on TV or hearing about their ridiculous death in bloody battles. In short, I must submit this bill to the Parliament immediately. Let our so-called deputies of both chambers and Senate sycophants, to discuss this strategic issue in closed session without a free press. It is clear that these so-called deputies and senators will never vote against what I propose to them. I don't need to worry too much about it - the President of the country, Mr. Apollon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, thought, Smoking a gold tube with diamond ornaments stuffed with expensive flavored tobacco.

The President of the country, Mr. Appollon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, before submitting the draft to the Parliament, decided to first meet secretly with the authors of the secret letter and instructed his security forces to organize a secret conversation with the authors of the letter from the loony bin. Security forces clearly and accurately complied with the order of the President, and brought two geniuses in the striped pajamas, barefoot and bareheaded, and having dressed them in costumes of the officials in white shirts with starched collars and ties. They worked so jewelry that even assistants to the President of the country Mr. Appollon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, seeing those two patients in civilian clothes, took them for high-ranking guests from abroad. During the conversation it turned out that these two are capable of, not what is there to solve the problems concerning the strengthening of defensibility of the country, but also to create completely unimaginable fantastic things, to come up with unique and unheard of ideas and hypotheses.

President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, hugged both, and cried.

- Excuse me, gentlemen, and don't be surprised. It is the tears of happiness in my eyes tremble like a distant star in the cold December sky of our independent country, where our people drown their stove with dung. I want to ask your forgiveness, Lord, for our psychiatrists who correctly putting a diagnosis, put you in the psychiatric hospitals of our country, forced to drink the nasty liquid and pills. Tutors beat you like punching bags suspended in underground gyms. Please also apologize for our countrymen who were just cracking up and still laugh at you, telling each other funny jokes about you, laughing!, I today personally was convinced that you, so-called patients with a mental illness, in one thousand, and even millions times is smarter, than our deputies and officials-bribe takers! It turns out, we mistakenly locked genius people not only our country, but our planet in mental hospitals! I will issue a decree tomorrow to release all your brothers out of our independent country's mental hospitals due to illness and to lock the doctors, psychotherapists and caregivers in their place. I will order the authority to arrest all of my assistants, sycophants, poets and writers, officials, and deputies of Ministers takers and parasites. They do not do anything, but receive large salaries in us dollars, and the citizens of our country because of total unemployment go to other countries, hoping to find at least some work there. They agree even on dirty work, in order to find a piece of bread and feed their family. They work as janitors and guards, work in garbage dumps, almost for free. Everything, I will carry out personnel shift in all spheres of our society, that is I will appoint the chief assistants to the both of you, and also I will order that deputies of Parliament of both chambers and senators of the Congress appoint only those people who were earlier treated in mental hospitals of our long-suffering and the desert state. Governors of regions and districts, including chairmen of collective farms and villages, will also be appointed from brilliant people, that is, from your brothers for illness. All governors and presidents of the current system will now be treated for life and forced into psychiatric hospitals until they are fully recovered. Both of you can now accept the post of any Minister, and I congratulate you in advance, gentlemen! - The President said, concluding his speech.

General Thomas Yakkabaloon and Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar, in return, expressed his gratitude to President Appollon Gabriel Toledo, Puerto Carlos Dominic, for the warm welcome, mutual understanding and high trust. Before leaving, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons DE Valdemar appealed To President Appollon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic :

"I have a little surprise for you, Mr. President, close your eyes," he said.

The President closed his eyes with a smile on his lips.

- Now open, Mr. President! Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar spoke.

President Appollon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic opened his eyes and saw the key that Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar had given him.

At the sight of the key, the President's heart fluttered, and his eyes widened.

- No, thank you, Mr. Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar! What an honest man you are! Where did you find it? It was in the pocket of my pants!

With these words, President Apollon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic quickly checked the pockets of his trousers and blushed in shame, finding a hole in his Trouser pocket where the key to the carpet might have fallen.

- I found this key here, under this chair, where I was sitting. I think, I will select it and I will give to Mister the President of our country Apollon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, maybe, I think, the President incidentally lost the key of the modest Studio apartment located on the suburb of the capital of the country where he lives with the big family plus with mother in law - the Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar - explained.

- Oh, no, no, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar! It's not the key to a one-room apartment; it's the key to a nuclear suitcase! You have no idea what heroism you have committed before my eyes in the face of our long-suffering people! You saved the nation! Well, this key does not fall into the hands of my insane Ministers, which I have long not trusted. After all, these parasites corrupt, could easily sell terrorists this priceless key for a pack of green bills! And there would be a third world nuclear war! Not, in my opinion you saved not only the nation, but all mankind from the apparent death, from the third nuclear war! I was awarded the Order of Hero of the Fatherland of the first degree! You are now the national hero of our country! With today's military title not Colonel, and Marshal! Thank you on behalf of our oppressed people and on behalf of all mankind, Mr. Marshal Pascal Salvatore Alfons DE Valdemar! - The President said with delight.

- Serving the Fatherland! - Cried Pascal Salvatore Alphonse de Valdemar, saluting President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic. When both officers of high rank came from the Palace of the President of Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, General Thomas Yakkabaloon congratulated with a high military rank of his colleague and brother due to illness.

- I congratulate you, Mr. Marshal, with high status as! - He said, proudly and greening with envy.

- At ease, General, at ease! Thank you for the congratulations - said the Marshal, Pascal Salvatore Alphonse de Valdemar, slapping on the shoulder and the head of General Thomas Yakkabaloon.

General Thomas Yakkabaloon continued:

- Excuse me, Mr. Marshal, on one hand; to achieve such success is good. But on the other hand, I'm afraid you and I have missed a historic opportunity. If we could hold the key to a nuclear suitcase, we could force the President to dissolve the Government and Parliament and to step down as President. After all this, you would sleep well tonight, and Wake up in the morning the President of the country! Eh, what a chance missed, my God! - Said General Thomas Yakkabaloon.

- Yeah, don't you worry, General rag shoulder straps, I'm not such a fool as you think! When I went to the bathroom, I took off the key of the nuclear suitcase, pushing it on this piece of soap. Now for this mold, we can make a duplicate key nuclear suitcase. As they say, not yet evening. There is still time for me to become the President of the country, and to you - the Minister of Defense! The weight of the world is in our hands! - said Marshal Pascal Salvatore Alfons DE Valdemar with insidious and cunning smirk on his lips.



28 /08/2014.

3:40 of the day.

Canada. The city of Brampton.

 

Обновлено (29.04.2018 00:03)

 

 

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers


A part of chapter 9 "Woodcutter" of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves":

 

"And you, dear parents, what a fast price! How much do you ask for your baby?!

The father and mother of the child called the price.

- Well, almost free, come on, give me your cash faster, gentlemen, buyers, and take away the boy, before the parents of Kumbalkardon change their mind - said the broker Abu Abdullatif Ibn Rahmatulla, frantically shaking the hand of one of the buyers. Customers wanted to haggle, but then poor Kumbalkardon, hugged the leg of his mother, wept bitterly and begged with tears in his eyes:

- Mom, dad, don't sell me, please, I'll obey you. I'll look after my brother and I won't take anything from the fridge. With outstretched hands I beg at the bus stops. Then collected the little things will bring you every last penny. If you sell me, I'll miss you and my brother and our dog Bobik. I'll just die of melancholy. I love you dad, mom... I will never ask you to buy me ice cream he said, looking at the parents as on Telegraph poles with hope, eyes full of tears. Meanwhile, the bargaining began.

- Comrade broker, you say a child is almost free, and the parents of Kumbalkardon that price for which you can buy a hundred of children together with the kindergarten, besides this child - oblique and Burr. Let the parents of Kumbalkardon make allowances for the slant eyes of the child and for Burr, too, said one of the buyers, unhappy looking at the boy."

 

9th chapter of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves"

Woodcutter


9th chapter of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves"




Woodcutter



Sultan drove his tractor on a country road, thinking about the beauty of Khurshida, forgetting about everything else but the steering wheel and the road.

- What a beautiful girl! What hair she has, what hair, my God! They look like curly seaweed in clear water on the coast of the ocean, on some quiet Atoll, and the figure of her? Eyes, lips, smooth chin, Swan neck and white tender hands! If Khurshida participates in the international beauty contest, I am one hundred percent sure that she will take first place and will take the title of "the most beautiful girl on the planet". I wonder if Khurshida has a boyfriend. I wonder why I did not immediately ask her? Oh, why does this car slow down like a turtle from the Galapagos Islands? On other days, the sun quickly rises over the fields and wakes skylarks, who selflessly poured a trill on an empty stomach, and there look - it's already heading into the sunset, where the plaintive buzzing mosquitoes. Oh, this beauty slowly and silently rises like a moon, quietly illuminating the deserted fields of my soul, driving me crazy! How can I work and live without her now? And how loudly she laughs!

With such thoughts the tractor driver Sultan arrived at the field where the cotton pickers in the morning started picking cotton. Sultan parked his tractor in a convenient place, where at lunchtime cotton workers bring cotton to weigh the collected cotton in huge bales. Sitting in the cockpit, he found the sight Khurshida, jumped from the cab and approached her. They said Hello.

- Well, mister slacker monsieur Sultan de La Crua je'mapple a la maison general, la bien, merci beaucoup moi, help me gather the cotton? Here, take my extra apron and put it - he grinned Khurshida.

- And, of course, will help, madam Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pace sua e fusible manege said the Sultan, wearing the apron, so from the front it formed a pouch like a kangaroo.

- Well, how similar I am now on the kangaroo? - the Sultan Bouncing asked.

- The kangaroo arms are very short and You have Avon how long it is. said Khurshid fun and laughing loudly.

- Yeah? You find? However, madam Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pace sua e fusible manege , may you can climb up to my bumper and I'll ride across the Savannah cotton fields, doing a two-meter jump - said the tractor driver Sultan.

Khurshida again burst into laughter. So, talking, the lovers began to collect cotton.

-Sultan, who were You before, before you got here? - asked Khurshida.

-Oh, it's a long story - he started to remember about his past Sultan, not looking up from his work and continued.

- I have previously worked as a migrant worker lumberjack in the distant Taiga forest. There I was not paid, that is, I worked as a volunteer, as they say, at the call of the heart. The work was quite interesting and I liked it. Believe Me, Khurshida. Have you ever been to the Taiga? No? Well, you didn't live in that world then. Oh, taiga! I love her! You know, dear, Khurshida, well, with nothing to compare the scent of the pines, which creaked and rattled fall to the ground, scaring the wild birds and animals, when I felled them with a chain saw. Like pine cones! Like souvenirs!They can decorate the Christmas tree. After felling the forest again subsides, and the air is filled with the smell of fresh crust that I was intoxicated by this scent! One day, a good job, we are all migrant workers from Central Asia, sitting around the campfire, drying their wet foot cloths and tarpaulin boots without soles. In the meantime, somewhere out there in the distance began to batter the dried bark of a pine, a lone woodpecker, type "Trrrrrrr! Trrrrrrr!". We, the woodcutters, with special attention listened to romantic knock of a woodpecker. A woodpecker here and there, in another place relentlessly hammer and hammer dried pine. Fractional sound of their knocking echoed echo in the dense taiga. And the fire burns with a bang, throwing in the air and orange sparks grey dragon raised an incredible smoke. Sitting, listening to this magical fraction of the sound generated by the solid beak of the woodpecker forest and can't get enough of. Look here, burning my foot-cloth that was drying on my breech tarpaulin boots without soles.

- Oh, my! - Wildly I shouted in panic and quickly leaping up, began to put out foot cloths hands, but there it was. The flames spread to my trousers with numerous patches. I, all in confusion, I beat, means, hands on burning trousers, but alas, I didn't manage to localize the fire. The more I beat, the scarier the fire raged. Well, that my friend Turik, well, this, Tapparo from Tyumen poured water from the bucket in my boots without soles, which burned foot cloths and Oh, my! In the bucket was not water but gasoline And-93 for refueling chainsaws. How then erupted into flames, my boots, foot cloths and legs! I scream and run away from sin, abuse of the Turik Tuparova from Tyumen, beckoning to the aid of their fellow migrant workers who were sleeping in sleeping bags hanging on the trees like bats in dark caves, around growing high grass, swaying in the wind like a green sea, as a botanic garden. The flame naturally spread to the grass, a terrible forest fire broke out and the endless Taiga began to burn with a Bang, burning wood blazing. Fortunately, just at that moment, right on cue, the storm broke, lightning flashed, thunder boomed, thunder, and the sound of pouring rain. In short, a miracle happened. That is, Mother Nature itself free localized forest fire, saving us together with birds and animals, and trees from apparent death. After heavy rain, I found severe burns on my legs. But, despite everything, I continued to bring down to the left and to the right century-old pines and birches by means of a chainsaw.

By the evening we had to wear mosquito nets, as at this time the hunt went hungry mosquitoes, buzzing and humming swarms like a whirlwind on the field. They ruthlessly began to bite us, getting into the opening areas of our bodies with sharp proboscis. They bit even through thick sweatshirt, trying to eat the free blood of poor migrant workers from Central Asia. All around were swamps, which represent a favorable environment for mosquitoes and other families vile blood sucking insects. Lying there, especially in the tipsy state, was very dangerous. These small seemingly harmless insects can easily kill a drunken man, sucking all the blood out of him. But we, the workers, not the donors, our blood need them. Sitting at the campfire, wearing mosquito nets, and as soon as the spirits depart in the forest noticeably colder. That's when a cloud of winged vampires abruptly disappear.

There are other dangers in the Taiga, such as wolves, bears and rodents. The wolves can somehow escape, climbing on, say, a tall tree. But from bear to flee futile. He climbs a tree no worse than an experienced electrician who climbs on an electric pole with iron claws to check the jumper wires and look at the same time in the yard of his mistress to find out whether her husband went on a business trip. In short, there is no escape from the angry bear. And we, guest workers, know how to escape from anyone, from a bear or a hungry pack of polar wolves. Seeing the bear at night, near our camp, we began to make noise together, hitting with a scoop or a poker on empty loud cans and buckets. This huge beast, despite his intimidating size, is afraid of the noise. Stands on its feet upright as a man, with an angry growl and goes back into the forest, just like the painting of a great artist Ivan Shishkin.

I like that are in suspension in a sleeping bag like the flying bat in a dark cave, the moon selflessly shines over the forest, the stars twinkle. And all of a sudden, I fell asleep without even counting the stars to four thousand eight hundred and fifty seven. In the dream I was walking on some market, there is a huge crowd, crush, noise and hubbub. I see people running towards the flea market, surrounded by a dense ring of the same type, which advertised something with a loud voice. It was a broker, Abu Abdullatif Ibn Rahmatulla. He spoke quickly, like an experienced broker at the auction.

- Boy, means, want to purchase, Yes? Well, then you are here, gentlemen! We have a wide range of products, as they say, for every taste, that is, in these cells - boys, and in these - girls. You can buy and make them work on cotton plantations slave under a whistling long whip.They are between the ages of one and ten. You can choose. Don't worry, they're not stolen. Each of these products has the appropriate certificates, birth certificates, and that's just their parents are also here. They are ready to enter into a bargain with you. Do not forget, gentlemen buyers that the cheapest children in the world you will find only here. Almost free! Sellers such as these parents, such goods as these children and such an honest broker like me, you will not find anywhere else! For example, I would suggest to you that this boy Kumbalkardon. He is very smart and obedient... With these words the broker Abu Abdullatif Ibn Rahmatulla officially opened the cage door to release the children outside.

Come on, Kumbalkardon, you came to buyers... he said, helping the child to get out of tight cages with a stick, child on all fours out of the cage. Broker Abu Abdullatif Ibn Rahmatulla continued:

-Well, Kumbalkardon, show us quickly your art. What can you do? Can, would you read us poems Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin?

- I can count to a hundred ' replied the child, showing off, and began briskly to count: one, two, three...

- Well, enough, enough, Kumbalkardon, well done... See, gentlemen, what kind of Prodigy you're going to get.
And you, dear parents, what a fast price! How much do you ask for your baby?! The father and mother of the child called the price. - Well, almost free, come on, give me your cash faster, gentlemen, buyers, and take away the boy, before the parents of Kumbalkardon change their mind - said the broker Abu Abdullatif Ibn Rahmatulla, frantically shaking the hand of one of the buyers. Customers wanted to haggle, but then poor Kumbalkardon, hugged the leg of his mother, wept bitterly and begged with tears in his eyes: - Mom, dad, don't sell me, please, I'll obey you. I'll look after my brother and I won't take anything from the fridge. With outstretched hands I beg at the bus stops. Then collected the little things will bring you every last penny. If you sell me, I'll miss you and my brother and our dog Bobik. I'll just die of melancholy. I love you dad, mom... I will never ask you to buy me ice cream - he said, looking at the parents as on Telegraph poles with hope, eyes full of tears. Meanwhile, the bargaining began. - Comrade broker, you say a child is almost free, and the parents of Kumbalkardon that price for which you can buy a hundred of children together with the kindergarten, besides this child - oblique and Burr. Let the parents of Kumbalkardon make allowances for the slant eyes of the child and for Burr, too,- said one of the buyers, unhappy looking at the boy.
- Well, gentlemen buyers. What is it scythed? He's just afraid of you. As for his lisping, it is a sign of genius. Many famous people were burr. For Example, Vladimir Lenin.There's such a low price, and it does not get you out of date. In fact, children are priceless! The ancient sages said so! I know many rich people who are ready to spend all their savings, gold and diamonds that they keep in Swiss banks tons for their wives to get pregnant and give birth! Children this... Does the broker Abu Abdullatif Ibn Rahmatulla was interrupted by another buyer:

- Yes, it is not necessary for us to read a lecture, Mr. Broker. We'll buy a gallon for half price. If not, we will leave - he said decisively.
Well, now it's up to you, dear parents of Kumbalkardon. Don't miss the historic chance. By the way, they called a good price - turned broker Abu Abdullatif Ibn Rahmatulla to the parents of Kumbalkardon, shaking hands with the father of the child.

- Well, so be it, let him take the child, we agree. Come on, Kumbalkardon, go to them and no worries. You don't have to look after your little brother, because tomorrow we'll sell him, too, then the dog. And from the empty fridge you just do not have to take anything, because, even if you find the key to the padlock and open the refrigerator, you will not find anything edible in it, there is nothing and most likely will not be in the coming years. After we drink your brother and your Bobik, be calm, we'll get to the fridge. I mean, we'll sell it at the flea market, too. You Kumbalkardon, understand us correctly. We need money for booze, you know? We are without drinking like an astronaut with no air in outer space, like a fish out of water. Only alcohol can expand our veins in our bodies, and we will calm down for a while. As for the money you intend to rise by begging at bus stops, I will tell you in confidence, as a former economist, that this is not real income. Trust me, Kumbalkardon. Moreover, the little things that you will collect for weeks, is not enough is not what a bottle of vodka, but even for a snack. In addition, there are the police muggers to the roof of the local beggars for a certain amount of money. And there are hungry tax collectors who can take away from you all the little things for the fact that you did not pay state taxes. So, go on, as they say, with God, and do not cry like a woman beat up her husband -alcoholic - said the father of Kumbalkardon.

Buyers, again and again, counting out crumpled and dirty bills, handed them to the parents of Kumbalkardon. Poor Kumbalkardon did not want to part with their parents and grasping the hem of his mom's skirt, he continued to plead that it did not sell. And the father and mother of Kumbalkardon eagerly counted received for his money. Father of Kumbalkardon even checked the bills, exposing them to the sun and said:

- You will not be surprised, dear buyers. This is a time when you can't trust anyone. All around go counterfeiters with huge suitcases in their hands, stuffed with fake bills of various denominations... Well, look at that.. You are stuck in a pack of ragged and disgusting bill, which was glued with tape. Change them for whole, and on that note ball point pens written obscene words, and on the back? Well... also written something not legible... What are the bad words! And then even drew the sexual organ of a donkey... That's disgusting... Tfu! Change that too. The rest of the bills like a normal father said Drunkard. Buyers of the child changed the bills and took the living goods with a cage reminiscent of a suitcase Stalin's times. Kumbalkardon struggled and cried, trying to get away from the hands of the buyers, but this failed. Strong and reliable hands seized him and, having pushed back in the cage, ready to leave. Kumbalkardon all cried, shaking the iron bars of the cage like a little monkey at the zoo. Meanwhile, when the parents of Kumbalkardon counted the money received from buyers, they began to leave. Broker Abu Abdullatif Ibn Rahmatulla stopped buyers and said:

Gentlemen, where are we going, and my share? Drive the share I've earned through honest labor. You can't. After all, I have to pass the revenue to the accounting Department of our Bazaar, and the accountant, intern, must report to the senior management about how many smart and talented children are sold today and how much. That is, we have an appropriate annual plan, which we must fulfill, in spite of that. Otherwise Store owner fired us in the neck with work, and then what? How do I feed my beloved children? I don't want to sell their children here, even when you make me need.

Buyers, who apologized, gave it to a broker share and left the market. Broker Abu Abdullatif Ibn Rahmatulla went to the dealer of your child.
- Well, the parents of a sold-out gallop, when do you intend to pay for my brokerage services? he said.

The parents of the poor Kumbalkardon also gave his share and left with a satisfied smile on his lips to the side wine and spirits shop.

Here I woke up in a hanging sleeping bag. But my friends, that is, guest workers from the sun of Central Asia still fast asleep. Over my hanging sleeping bag flickered distant stars, and the endless Taiga wandered lonely moon.

- Well, Sultan! Listening to your stories, don't know whether to laugh or cry. What funny stories and terrible dreams! - Khurshida delightfully said.

-Yes-said Sultan and continued. - Now if you please to ask you a delicate question, madam Duchess Khurshidabanu de La Marquise La tombala neige a pace sua e fusible manege - said the Sultan, without waiting for a reply, continued:

- Of course, I am sorry for what you are asking sometimes silly questions, like an inexperienced investigator in an investigative soundproof room. This is because I love you, and without you I cannot live not only in this world, but even in Paradise. Well, judge for yourself, if I begin to yearn for You a few minutes after we leave, how can I live without you in Paradise, where people live forever? I love you so much that when I see you, I freeze for a moment like a wall, like the person in the picture. Answer me honestly and directly -Do you have a boyfriend or not? Calm the soul of a poor mechanic who loves you madly. Did you find it difficult to say two little words, Yes or no?

After hearing the tractor driver Sultan, Khurshida blushed again. She tried not to look into the eyes of the tractor driver Sultan, who was waiting for an answer from her to his difficult inquisitive question. Finally, Khurshida spoke:

- You know, you ask me very difficult questions. Well, the tractor driver Sultan, if you insist, then I will have to still answer this question. Just promise me that you won't be offended - Khurshida said, his eyes downcast.
- Promise. The word of man - said the tractor driver Sultan, he prepared to listen.

- I don't know how to tell you...Ah, if short, then... yeah, I mean... I have a guy - admitted Khurshida. From these words Sultan flinched, turned pale the face of from feelings jealousy and powerlessness.
Yeah? - He said with difficulty, as he has a dry throat. Although the tractor driver Sultan was quite strong and a strong guy, but there he sat from impotence on a large bale of cotton.

- Yes - said Khurshida.

Who is he? - Sultan asked.

I'm afraid to say. He's so handsome, strong, clever, Khurshida started to list the positive side of her lover guy.

- Well, You cut me without a knife. Well... okay, okay. So you have a boyfriend after all. Well, it's a pity that so happened. Okay bye then, I'll leave so as not to disturb You. Au revoir, Mrs. Madam Duchess Khurshidabanu de La Marquise La tombala neige a pace sua e fusible manage, Au revoir said the tractor driver Sultan, rising, going out. But then it kept Khurshida said.

- It's You! I mean, I don't have a boyfriend but you, Sultan! - Khurshida said smiling and blushed.

-Yeah?! - asked the tractor driver Sultan started to gawk.

- Yes - quietly, almost in a whisper said Khurshida.

The tractor driver Sultan due to joy wanted to shout at the whole field that he's the luckiest man in the world, but Khurshida shut his mouth with palm of his gentle hands. The Sultan hugged his beloved girl tightly and kissed her on the lips, eyes, neck...

- Hurrah! he said, looking into the beautiful eyes Khurshida. And she smiled through her tears.


 

Обновлено (26.11.2018 13:14)

 

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Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

A part of chapter 10 "Letter from the afterlife" of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves"


In this short novel, I have tried to describe the oppression of the pain and suffering that my compatriots have endured in the past.(Holder Volcano)



When I came to the cemetery, the moon was right above me, like a powerful spotlight. Look - over into the mailbox, which I installed on my father's grave, sits a large grey owl with round green eyes and hoots. "hoo-hoo!".

I shouted and my voice echoed tombstones, made of pure marble and granite. The owl gently flew away, plaintive hooting and waving their mighty colorful wings.

I opened the door of the mailbox and stunned with surprise, because the mailbox wasn't the letter that I wrote to my late father, gluing expensive brands on the white envelope, and another letter in a yellow envelope. I pulled this yellow envelope shaking from excitement.

Look - on the envelope, the familiar handwriting and the words. "Address: White light. To: My son the tractor driver Sultan ibn Ultan in hand" .


Reading the inscription, I was not myself, and I cried. All burst into tears..


- It's a miracle! Well, father! Decided to write me a response letter from the afterlife? Well, thank you, daddy... - I cried of boiling tears in the tails of his striped pajamas.


I opened the envelope and took the letter from him. The contents of the letter I know by heart, and it is still kept in my memory as top-secret archive materials of an Enigma.


Here are the contents of the letter:


"Heartfelt greetings from the world of the dead!


Hello, son Sultanbai!


Well, how are you? How is your mother? Fellow villagers relatives all alive and healthy? If you ask me, I feel very well. We , well, those neighbors are dead, sometimes at midnight we rise from the graves , sit actives in their shrouds, and when I tell my dead friends all about my ridiculous death, the company together laughing, snapping jaws.

I know that in my life I loved the festival of fear (Halloween).

And here we have every day a holiday, and we, the dead, scare each other slowly, with difficulty, move the gravestones, then suddenly, ran from one stone tombs to another, when a shining full moon a silent flock of bats fly over a cemetery.

What would you do son, if we have no case but to walk to play hide and seek, in early childhood.

There are no health problems. We do not breathe, do not eat, do not go to the toilet, and do not shave. We don't need any clothes, except for the shroud. There is no need for medical drugs.

Concepts such as house, car, luxury, business, money, banks, stock exchanges, that's all in the past for us. None of us was working.

In our cemetery there is always peace.But, around unemployment. The most important thing is we're all equal.

I have one friend who is in the white light, was the most influential rich man, and even ruled the country, took bribes in the large size, the oppressed people, engaged in money laundering, ferrying them to Western European banks through offshore zones, through the giant openings leaky laws of our country.

And now he had nothing but his yellowed skeleton and holey rotten shroud.

He previously lived with his family in luxurious bright castles in the Swiss Alps and now he's in the grave reigns dark, damp and cold. He has to be in company with disgusting worms, snakes, scorpions and nasty centipedes.

Well, such a grave got to him.

We're not much upset, that in our cold graves no electricity or gas. Why do the dead of electricity and gas?

 


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Обновлено (17.04.2018 21:25)

 

 

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

About the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling Leaves"



Review by an unknown reader about the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" in the electronic library"Ridley".



Dear readers, we sincerely hope that the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" will not look like any of the already read by you in this genre. Through images do not remain without attention, appearing in different places of the text they perfectly harmonize with the main line. It is clear that the issues raised here will not lose their relevance in time or space. Considerable attention is paid to the place of events, which gives the color and realism of what is happening. Fascinating, sometimes funny, very touching makes it possible to think about yourself, evoking memories from life. Portrait of the protagonist picked up very well, from the first lines imbued with sympathy for him, empathize with him, rejoice at his success, and upset failures. There is a certain feature, try to go beyond the basic idea and to introduce the uniqueness, thanks to which there is a desire to return to read. As you get closer to the outcome, it becomes more important great and beautiful, cleverly hidden than what it seemed at first glance. As you get closer to the apotheosis inadvertently freezes the spirit and later felt the desire to follow multiple reading. In addition to the fascinating, exciting and interesting narrative, the plot also retains the logic and sequence of events. At first glance, the combination of love and friendship seem mundane and bored, but later come to the conclusion that the evidence of the selected studies. The short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" read free online unusual, as the product is sometimes incredible, but at the same time, very interesting and exciting.



19.09.2016.



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

Sincerely, Holder Volcano.



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



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



Sincerely, Holder Volcano.



Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

"Falling Leaves"


(The short novel)



(Translated by author)




Chapter 1

Spring fields



Spring, birds singing in the high poplars at field mill, where the white acacia. Recently, among the thorny branches of acacia could see a nest of magpies, and now it disappeared from sight among the leaves and flowering bunches of the tree. Magpies are very smart birds. They know that boys can't climb a tree, whose thorny branches, as its sharp spiny thorns may hurt to scratch his hands and feet and even to rip their harem pants. Acacia flowers have captured the soul like Souvenirs made from pieces of white porcelain. The pleasant smell of these bunches winds spread across the field where farmers work. Khurshida worked, knocking hoe on the rocky field. It was a girl of eighteen, fair-skinned, with a dense and gentle curly dark brown hair, with a slender figure and magnificent Breasts, with hazel eyes, and clear eyes. She is so beautiful smiling coral lips, showing white healthy and beautiful teeth, that a lot of guys in the village were crazy about her. But Khurshida did not pay attention to either one of them, as she felt for him the tender feelings called love. His indifference she has increased "oppression" on the lovers. She didn't even answer your love letters that boys wrote and passed her through her friends.


Khurshida"s father Abduljabbar very strict towards his daughter Khurshida and his difficult character and behavior more like a stepfather than her own father. He often drinks alcohol and satisfied with drunken fights. But Abduljabbar is a good specialist in the field of sheep shearing. He works as a mechanic on a cattle farm. Repairs on the farm milking machines, automatic drinking bowls, conveyors, cleaning barns, combines, forage shredders and so on.

Although Abduljabbar is not a religious fanatic, but he strictly prohibits Khurshida to go to parties dedicated to the birthday of her classmates, which was attended by boys. Abduljabbar swore that if his daughter Khurshida will disgrace their family, he will curse. So mother of Khurshida Raheela every day insisted that she did not play with fire and was cautious in communication with her classmates and other unknown guys, Raheela knew that the class of her daughter not all girls were friendly with Khurshida. That is, some girls are jealous of Khurshida and look at her with despise, because she's pretty and many guys were in love her but not with them.


With these thoughts in mind, Khurshida continued to work on the field, leveling soil for planting cotton. She loves to work in the fields alone, as nobody bothers to think about what she wants to think. Loneliness for her freedom was like the boundless sky. Sometimes Khurshida stops to straighten her back, listening to the distant of a sad voice of an alone hoopoe which comes from Willow Grove, where the wind wanders drunk. There, in the distance, a willow grove, a cotton field, she saw an alone tractor that silently glided over the field like a ship on the surface of a green sea of cotton. Khurshida thoughtfully watched agile low flying swallows. They flew over the fields, almost touching the ground, and its white belly and wings similar to bent black daggers with sharp blades. Then again she set to work, humming a sad song about love. And the sun slowly but surely rose to the tip of the sky. Khurshida worked on the field under the scorching sun and stopped work only when on the hill, the cook Tubo shouting the beginning to entice people for lunch.


-Choygaaaaaaaaa!- she cried, and her voice flew over the spring fields, like a bird freed from its chest.


Leaving the hoe on the edge of the field, Khurshida went to the side of the field mill. Approaching her, she smelled a delicate sweet smell fragrant acacia which bloomed near the field camp, which grew tall poplars and weeping willows. At this point, of the cultivator, which stopped near a field camp, jumped a young tractor driver of about twenty to twenty five, in a worn skullcap, tall, broad-shouldered, snub-nosed, with curly hair, with a mustache above fleshy lips, a peculiarity of the guy with a green scar on his left eyebrow. It gave him the appearance of harshness and masculinity. His appearance resembled a Roman Gladiator who fought with his bare hands with hungry tigers. Khurshida had not seen this tractor driver in these parts, but I just remembered his tractor, which she just watched from afar in the cotton field. While Khurshida was removed from the branches of the mulberry tree a small pouch in which was bread, sugar, welding, aluminum spoon, and a mug with a bowl, the tractor driver was already standing in the queue at the field tin samovar, where workers were poured theirself a Cup of boiling water. Taking her mug, Khurshida poured her the tea and also got in line. Seeing her, the guy turned to look and gave up his place. Not expecting such a gentleman, Khurshida thanked the young tractor driver and kindly smiled. After a few minutes the guy started to talk to her:

- Girl, let me tell you an amazing story while we stand in line. In short, yesterday I go past this tree - beauty!- from the white acacia flowers that you can’t stop looking at. The acacia blooming was like a young bride in a white wedding dress! I stopped involuntarily admiring the unusual beauty of this tree, looking at it with delight, like a farmer who came from a distant village with a bag on his shoulders, who first saw the city. Then there was gunfire. I thought, there was a terrorist shooting at me from the machine gun. I quickly lay down on the ground, so he couldn’t fire the whole clip at me. I layer down for a while and I look, and there's a singing magpie. Well, I felt ashamed about myself. Stood up, looked around, found my dirty skullcap, shook off the dust, jammed it on my head and went on. It’s a good thing nobody but me saw it.


After hearing the story of the tractor driver, everybody having lunch amicably laughed. Khurshida too, then came their turn. But, unfortunately, boiling water ceased to flow from the samovar's tap. It turned out that the cause was the fact that in the samovar boiling water level dropped below the level of the faucet, so it stopped showering. But the tractor driver found a way out: he asked Khurshida to bend the samovar and pour the boiling water into a mug, which he set up.


- Okay - agreed Khurshida and when the young tractor driver framed his mug to the tap of the samovar, Khurshida gently bent the samovar. But then disaster struck: Khurshida accidentally dropped the samovar, and he fell over, the young tractor driver scalded with boiling water. Tractor driver, making a face from a severe burn, started to jump from the pain, leaning on one leg, pulling air into the lungs.


- Vsss -ah-aaah! Vsss-ahh-ahhhh! Ooooohhhh!- he jumped from the stinging pain and spun like a dog chasing its tail.


Khurshida started to cry, not knowing what to do and how to calm the poor tractor driver. And workers who had already begun eating, all got up from their seats, feeling for the tractor driver who accidentally scalded with boiling water. Some laughed, especially when the timekeeper Abdelkasim cried, you take off your pants and jump right into the pond!


- Oh, excuse me, for God's sake, mister! This is all my fault!.. Badly burned?! Poor!.. I don't know Your name... what your name? - Said Khurshida, crying and circling around the guy in confusion.


A young tractor driver, holding his scalded thigh, stopped for a moment and with a grimace on his face said:


- Me? A-aaaaah- ahhhh... my name is Sultan!


- Oh, Mister Sultan, sorry! I didn't want to... - said Khurshida with tears in her eyes.


-Don't worry, girl, about anything... Aa-a-ahhh-ahhh... Ahh-ahh-ahh....My leg will get better before the wedding - said tractor driver Sultan, smiling through the grimace on his face, continuing to jump on one leg.

Then he asked, distorting the face of unbearable pain:

-And You? What's your name?


- Me? Oh yeah, my name is Khurshida.


-Very nice... Vsss-aaaaa-aah... Yyyyh! That's a beautiful name, like you, honestly. You, Khurshida, do not pay attention to me. Better get yourself something to eat. Its lunch time right now... - said Sultan, continuing to rely on one leg to alleviate the pain.


- No, I will not eat. Well, how am I supposed to eat when you suffer because of me? - cried Khurshida.


Here the tractor driver Sultan stopped limping and said.


- Well, Khurshida, now quit crying! After all, people are looking at us. Already released the pain, don't you worry. I have everything in order. Don’t you believe my words? Well, then I have no choice but to prove to you that I'm healthy as an ox.

Here look and, humming a tune, he began to dance, stamping their tarpaulin boots, as a dancer with great experience.


Sultan danced, whirling like a whirlwind and singing cheerful music. Seeing this, everyone around laughed as if the viewers who are watching a funny presentation of a wandering artist. Khurshida was also smiling through her tears, rejoicing that the Sultan let go of the pain.

 

 

 

 

 

Обновлено (09.12.2018 17:39)

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