Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

The furniture

(The story)



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

Power is as disgusting as a Barber's hand.

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

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

 

 

 

 

Обновлено (25.10.2018 18:10)