A collection of short stories of Holder Volkano.

 

(Translated by the author)

 

 

Blind driver
(Story)

 

Sheikh Ibrahim Attar was granted a working leave and he decided to rest on the seashore to restore his shattered nerves. Oh, how great it is to sit on a sandy beach while the sun quietly sinks below the horizon, turning the coastal waters and the sky into gold! Sheikh Ibrahim Attar loves to listen to the sound of the sea alone, silently watching the waves washing the diamonds of the stars on moonlit evenings. Having put his necessary things in a stalin-era wooden suitcase which was missing its handle, he left the house. He was walking merrily whistling through the field on a path, waist-deep in the grass with a suitcase in his hands towards the high road, where you can hitch a ride. It was a long way to the city. For this reason, Sheikh Ibrahim Attar was going on the road in the morning so as not to be late to the airport, from where he would fly to Hawaii by plane. He was elated.
It was as if the white-trunked poplars, ringing in the light spring wind, waved their branches to him, as if escorting him on a long journey. There were fields and meadows where the tall grass waved like a green wave in the cool morning wind. Larks trilled over the field, merrily singing the sunrise rising over the horizon.
Sheikh Ibrahim Attar did not even notice how quickly he found himself on the side of the highway. The road was full of cars rushing by, some, one way, others in the opposite direction. Just at that moment, a yellow bus stopped near him, raising clouds of dust and hissing: ‘Shhh!’ and -the doors opened. Sheikh Ibrahim Attar jumped into the bus, holding his wooden suitcase without a handle under his arm. The bus was packed with passengers, as they say, there is no place for an apple to fall. Young, healthy guys with golden teeth sat on the seats, and old men with old women and pregnant women with children rode standing up. In such a bus, a person will not fall even if they do not hold the handrail. There was no room to breathe in the crowded bus cabin. Sheikh Ibrahim Attar began to suffocate in the stuffiness due to the lack of fresh air. Nearby, an elderly man was sitting on a stool. This is nothing compared to the woman who was sitting on an overturned, crumpled and blackened bucket.
— Mr. Driver, please turn on the air conditioner! Sheikh Ibrahim Attar shouted. Hearing his words, the passengers laughed in chorus. Especially the driver. He was laughing, looking at the ceiling of the cab, forgetting about the steering wheel for a while and the bus almost went off the road. It turns out that the bus did not have an air conditioner at all.
— Then open the hatch and let the air enter the cabin! Sheikh Ibrahim Attar shouted again, loosening his tightly tightened tie.
— How are you supposed to open a rusted hatch if it’s lever is broken! Someone shouted back. In order to avoid any trouble, Sheikh Ibrahim Attar had to put up with the situation. He then accidentally saw a sign on which was written:
— Dear passengers, please follow the rules and respect the work of the crew members of our public unit. Don’t forget to pay the fare! Tickets are with the driver. We don’t have a ticket vendor on board! Thank you for your attention. We wish you all a happy journey! Sincerely, bus driver Mr. Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza .’
Sheikh Ibrahim Attar, to buy a ticket for travel, handed some money to the driver through a metal grille made of durable reinforcement.
— Please, give me a one-way ticket, Mr. Driver, what’s your name… Zazabazakazamazabuza… I’m sorry, your name is very difficult to pronounce… Sheikh Ibrahim Attar said, apologizing to the driver.
When the driver turned to face him, he was very scared. Because his eyes were white, without pupils, like ghosts. Sheikh Ibrahim Attar was even more frightened when the driver, stretching out his bony hand, began to feel around, in search of money, which Sheikh Ibrahim Attar held out. Finally, he took the money and gave Sheikh Ibrahim Attar a one-way ticket.
— Don’t be afraid, citizen passenger! Yes, I’m blind, but I’m perfectly oriented. Like bats, I drive this unit at high speed, traversing the road with echolocation, nimbly changing the frequency of ultrasound. Although my name is written on the plate as Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza the leader of the Turbocose, but my parents called me Tokhtasin in my childhood. The words ‘Tokhtasin’ means ‘Let it stop’. When my older brothers and sisters died at the age of one, my parents decided to give me the name ‘Tokhtasin’. This way, the mortality in our family was suspended. But one day, the people decided to build a dam on the river, throwing tree trunks and branches, granite stones there. But the water continued to wash it all away and one day someone shouted: — People, is there a man named ‘Tokhtasin’ among you?! — yes! people said. — Then catch him quickly, and we will throw him into the dam and the water will stop! The man shouted again. Just at this time, a tall, thin-built man named who was also named Tokhtasin began to run away, but the people quickly caught up with poor Tokhtasin and caught him, throwing him into the dam, ignoring his cries that he had three minor children. After that, my father changed my name to Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, so that evil people will not catch me and throw me into a dam to stop the water. Having heard the story of Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, the passengers laughed loudly and amicably. The blind and cheerful driver, Mr. Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, continued to speak, looking in the direction of Sheikh Ibrahim Attar.
— For your information, I’m driving drunk at a high speed right now. Before leaving, I drank two bottles of vodka without snacks. By the way, one of the wheels of the bus is held on by one bolt. The rest of the bolts fell off 2 years ago. If you want to get a small hit of adrenaline, then I, racing on two wheels sideways, can show you dangerous tricks similar to the ‘Death Loop’ performed by fighter pilots in the sky. Look here… — said the blind driver, Mr. Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, scaring Sheikh Ibrahim Attar even more.
— No, no, don’t show me tricks, Mr. Driver! I don’t want to ride on a bus like this. Please stop the bus, for God’s sake, I’m going to get off! — he said, frozen with horror.
— Oh, what a cowardly man you are! Don’t be afraid! Mr. Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, , is an excellent driver and we, the passengers of this old bus, believe him to be God! You won’t find such a high-class driver anywhere else! Let him drive your bus for the rest of his life. He is our lifelong driver! Only he can take us to a place where people live freely, richly and happily! And you don’t trust him! Not good, young man, not good! — said one of the passengers, shaking his head disapprovingly.
Another passenger added: — Thanks to our brave, magnificent driver, we can ride this bus not only in our own country, but also on the territory of other, independent, neighboring countries, illegally crossing their borders, knocking down hundreds and thousands of people, women, the elderly and innocent children to death! If neighboring countries make claims about this, we easily and with impunity get out of the water dry, explaining to them that our driver, Mr. Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, is a congenital blind man.
— Then even more so! That is, I don’t want to become an accomplice to a crime against humanity! I am afraid of the international tribunal, and I do not want to be sentenced to death by hanging according to the verdict of the Hague Tribunal, as a war criminal! I demand that you stop this damn bus immediately! — Sheikh Ibrahim Attar insisted.
— Well, well. As they say, you cant force someone to be nice. The customer is always right… Let this citizen, skeptical of what is happening and doubting my extraordinary talent from God, leave the bus. — With these words, Mr.Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza pressed the brake pedal. But for some reason the bus didn’t stop. Then the blind driver pressed the pedal again. Then again and again. But the brakes didn’t work. Sheikh Ibrahim Attar at first thought that the blind driver Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza was joking. But no, it turns out the brakes were actually broken.
— That’s it! We’re screwed, gentlemen, passengers! The brakes don’t work! — Sheikh Ibrahim Attar said.
In a panic, the passengers began to pray in unison. Oh, Jesus Christ! Oh, Elohim! Oh, Allah!- they shouted in panic, asking God to save them from a crash. After all, a bus is not a bicycle which can be stopped by putting a stick in the gears.
— Don’t panic, fellow passengers! Do not forget that I, the famous and irreplaceable blind driver, am driving!
With these words, the driver of the ill-fated bus, Mr. Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, , was driving, turning the steering wheel to the right, then to the left. People started crying out of fear. Around the corner, the bus almost hit a man. The speed is great.
— Why don’t you honk the horn? — Sheikh Ibrahim Attar asked in a panic.
Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza answered:
— How am I to honk if the horn is broken?! You are in a place to teach me, better stick your head out of the bus window and warn people by shouting:
— Get out of the way, the brakes don’t work!
— Good. — said Sheikh Ibrahim Attar. Leaning out of the moving bus, he began to shout:
-Get out of the way, the brakes don’t work! Get out of the way, the brakes don’t work!
He was crying.
Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, , turned the steering wheel at random, back and forth, looking at Sheikh Ibrahim Attar with white eyes without pupils, like a ghost, and smiled:
— Why are you crying, citizen passenger? A man should meet his death with dignity, with a smile on his lips!
From these words, Sheikh Ibrahim Attar began to cry even harder, now less often shouting loudly to pedestrians:
— Get out of the way, the brakes don’t work! Get out of the way, the brakes don’t work!
— You poor passengers! How sorry I am for you! Oh, what a pity! — said Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza Vazhaktorbakoza.
— Why?! — Sheikh Ibrahim Attar asked, stopping crying for a moment.
— Yes, because you are doomed! That is, you can’t eject your seat! — Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza explained , merrily tapping the steering wheel with his fingertips. Then he added,
— I don’t care. I’ll press this button, and a hatch will open from above. Then I will fly into the air together with the seat and finally landing safely with a parachute. The catapult is the nicest thing, at least for me. But the seats on which you are sitting do not perform such a function.
Hearing this, the seated passengers began to sob. So too did Sheikh Ibrahim Attar. But he did not forget to keep warning passing drivers:
— Get out of the way, the brakes don’t work! Get out of the way, the brakes don’t work!
Many passengers began to smile senselessly, having lost their minds from fear.
Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza , driving the steering wheel continued:
— So, citizens passengers, while I haven’t ejected yet, you can say anything you want in the end. I will give your wives your last words and wills in writing. This, I think, is the best option. Otherwise, your wives may not believe me. A woman is a super-mysterious being. Written wills, they can use in the courts as irrefutable evidence. After all, your wives should also get at least some monetary compensation from the State Insurance, right? Without a document, the State Insurance department will not hand over a penny…
Hearing these words, the passengers roared loudly. Sheikh Ibrahim Attar kept shouting:
— Get out of the way, the brakes don’t work! Get out of the way, the brakes don’t work!

Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza The leader of the farm kept saying:
— And the men whom your wives will marry after your deaths? They also won’t believe your wives that you all really died in a car accident. You need a letter of trust.
— Why would they do that? — pausing his crying for a moment, one of the passengers asked.
— What’s the point of that? Don’t let your wives die inside, remaining widows for life — said Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza.
The bus at that time was traveling along an uneven road at breakneck speed.
— Well, okay, — Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza — said, — If you don’t want to write those letters, then, as they say, its up to you. Good bye, My friends, good bye! So to speak, have a good stay. Away I go.
With these words, Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, reached for the red ejection button, like an officer on duty sitting in a mine who is looking at the button of an atomic bomb, where an intercontinental ballistic missile is mounted. Then he pressed this button. But unfortunately for Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, the ejection button did not work. Then he pressed the button again. But, alas, the ejector jammed. To fix the problem, Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, beat his fist on the steering wheel and yanked on it. The steering wheel came flying off. Thus, the Bus went completely out of control. Sheikh Ibrahim Attar kept shouting, warning pedestrians:
— Get out of the way, the brakes don’t work! Get out of the way, the brakes don’t work! The steering wheel is torn off! There is no signal either!
At this moment, the wheel that was held on by a single bolt fell off the unmanned bus. The bus went off the road and flew with the passengers into a deep abyss.

 

21/09/2012.
Canada, the city of Toronto.

 

Death of the Sheikh
(Story)

 

The most respected person in the village, Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman, went missing during a mudflow. It so happened that on that fateful day, the poor sheikh was carried away by a wave downstream of the Kashkaldak River and washed up on another sandy shore, and local fishermen found the Sheikh there. He was unconscious. After listening to the white beard’s heartbeat and realizing that he was alive, the fishermen brought him to their village, from there they sent him to the central district hospital for treatment. When he returned home in white clothes, with a white turban on his head, with a snow-white beard and the same eyebrows and eyelashes, the villagers thought that the legendary Khizr Aleikhissalam himself had come to their village, giving happiness to people who happen to meet him on their way. According to the legend, the thumb of Khizr Aleikhissalam doesnt have a joint bone. Therefore, a person who sees him and greets him, shaking his hand, should imperceptibly and quickly check whether his thumb has a bone. If his thumb is boneless, then this person is lucky: he can make a wish, and it will come true. He will get rich instantly. Such a legend exists among the people. Therefore, the villagers rushed in a crowd to Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman, wanting to greet him and feel his thumb to find out whether he was with a bone or not. The first person who was lucky enough to feel the Sheikh’s thumb during a handshake turned sharply pale.
— What’s the matter with you, son, are you sick or something? Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman asked politely. His eyes widened with surprise and delight, squinted like a hare, then having recovered a little, he quickly began to kiss the hands of Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman, saying:
— Oh, hazrati Khizr aleikhissalam! I’ve lived my whole life dreaming of meeting you! I’ve finally met you! I know that you will fulfill any wish of a person! Help me with money, O great Khojai Khizr! I have recently become the most miserable and impoverished person on the planet! You won’t believe me, but my daughter will soon turn thirty-five, and I can’t marry her off! And my son is already forty-five, and he is also still not married! His peers will soon marry their children, and he, this idler, lies at home and watches tv from the morning to the evening, or until the electricity turns off. I tell him, you lazy man, go get a job like normal people, make some money for us! How much longer are you going to stay at home and eat the bread that I buy with my meager pension?! Do you have a conscience?! — No, he says. I am a free citizen of my independent country and I do not want to become a slave of other people! My son is absolutely a dissapointment! Although this may be a punishment from God! Karma, because when I was younger, I often beat my own father, an old man, grabbing him by the beard, similar to yours, when he did not give me money for a drink!.. So, hazrati Khizr, please give me, preferably two bags of money in dollars! American, of course.
— Son, who do you take me for? I am not Khizr aleikhissalam! I am your fellow villager Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman, who was swept away by a mudflow! — said the Sheikh.
— Don’t be modest, khazrati khojai Khizr! Please. After all, I know your thumb is boneless. I learned this when I shook your bony hand in a friendly way! You are Khizr Aleikhissalam in diguise of our deceased Imam Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman, who was swept away by a wave during a mudflow! — said the man that greeted Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman.
Upon hearing this, a crowd of fellow villagers went berserk and attacked Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman.
— Oh hazrati khojai Khizr! someone shouted. Give me at least one bag of gold and two bags of silver too! I’ve been working as a slave on cotton plantations for so many years and I can’t buy myself a car to taxi with, to engage in the transportation of citizens of our long-suffering Homeland!
— Give me some jewelry too, well, at least some diamonds, rubies and topaz, or overseas green money to buy an apartment in the center of Tashkent, oh good-natured and generous Khojai Khizr! My son is an inveterate drunk, he drank our house, and now the whole family lives in a farmer’s chicken coop and sleeps with cardboard boxes under him! — shouted another villager.
— Not her! Don’t give them a penny, hazrati Khizr aleikhissalam! I am the person who needs the most financial support! That’s how many years I can’t sleep peacefully on my cot, similar to a hammock, because I envy my neighbour, who built a two-story house with a basement! Give me money to buy a hacksaw! I want to cut the wooden beam of my neighbour’s balcony. I’ll do it at night when he goes out to smoke and admire the night sky of our village, where the full moon shines, forming a huge circle around him! — another man in a velvet dark blue skullcap, explained his problem.
Poor Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman, frightened by the uncontrolled crowd, began to fend off people as best he could, waving his long staff and calling them to prudence.
— Astagfirullah! Astagfirullah! Oh, Muslims, I am not Khojai Khizr, and I cannot give you happiness! Happiness is given to people only by almighty Allah! I can explain my thumb not having a joint bone! When I was swept away by a wave during the landing, I broke my thumb, hitting a rock under water! In the hospital, to prevent gangrene, surgeons removed the bone from my finger and replaced it with soft rubber! — Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman explained.
But in the confusion, the maddened crowd did not hear the words of Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman. Everyone wanted to get to the sheikh and express their desire. And then the poor sheikh ran away, fleeing from the crowd. The crowd quickly caught up with the old sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman, covering him like locusts with its ominous black shadow. The villagers trampled Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman into the mud like a frightned herd of wild mustang and killed him.

 

28/11/ 2012.
13 :18 of the day.
the city of Cambridge, Canada.

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, walking 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 a sack of beggars on his neck and live 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 like 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 sang 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 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 predawn hour, when the quail will sing, reminding cough grey 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, eats Breakfast, then 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 sides of 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 freely 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 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 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 eyebrows, too, were such the same colour 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 it was 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 began to reach for 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 with a sharp sword and wiped the white sheets of 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.

The apricot grove
(Story)

 

They say that you know real friends in tough times. So, although I quit my job a long time ago, for health reasons, I decided to visit my former boss, who was ill.
I went to the hospital room where the Director of our factory , which produces dangerous poisonous drugs, such as pesticide and herbicides lay. When the Director saw me, he wanted to get up, but I stopped him:
No, no, stay down, Sotkin Sattarovich .
I greeted him and asked about his health.
How nice of you to come, Bazarkul Baltabayevich. I got sick, But my illness is not related to the toxic chemicals that we produce — said the Director comrade Salafanov Sotkin Sattarovich, wheezing and moaning.
Don’t worry too much, Sotkin Sattarovich. Everything will be alright. God created man from clay, not from iron. That is, a person can sometimes get sick. This is natural. Illness is like a guest, coming and going , I encouraged him.
-Thank you, Bazarkul Baltabayevich. I was just about to tell you my top secret before I left this beautiful world. Only, for this you must take an oath of loyalty, putting your hand on the sacred bread, so that you will never reveal this secret to anyone — Sotkin Sattarovich said .
I promised that I would never say a word to anyone. Continued Salafanov.
The fact is that I live in two phases, waking and sleeping. Once I dreamed of beautiful valleys, big rivers that spring from the emerald mountain peaks. The clear waters of these rivers glistened in the sun like a mirror among the spruce forests and green meadows, where a sea of white daisies bloomed, rippling in the wind. Walking through the meadow, singing in the tall grass, I waded through shallow rivers, ancient coniferous forests where woodpeckers crackle, and stopped at the mountain peaks.
Under the high granite rocks, powerful streams of water bubbled. A suspension bridge was built over the mountain river. A lone eagle soared in the sky, calling majestically with its beak wide open. I crossed that suspension bridge. On the other side of the bridge, a grove of apricots rustled in the wind. In the sunlight, ripe yellow apricot berries with a red-pink tint sparkled like Bukhara gold of the highest quality. 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 the ripe apricot, my son. If you like it, take it home to the children.
I thanked him, plucked some ripe apricots, 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 «Hat with earflaps» on their heads. They were armed with rifles and sabres. 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»Hat with earflaps» on their heads, all approached.
Bullets whizzed past me. One of the bullets pierced through the hem of my cotton overcoat. 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 underwear 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 sabre, accusing you of aiding a particularly dangerous fist, 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 «hat with earflaps» and with sabres in their hands, firing rifles, chased me, and one of the bullets pierced the hem of my cotton overcoat.
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 moustache 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 sabres.
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 overcoat, 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 neighbourhood. 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 defence 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.
Herr 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 centre 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.

Key
(The story)

 

When the letter from the commander-in-Chief of The Air And Land forces, General Thomas Yakkabaloon, and his Deputy, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfonso de Valdemar, reached the presidential office, the Press Secretary of the President, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, thought deeply, staring at the envelope, not knowing what to do.
Then came the terrible command of the guards:
Attention, all members of the presidential staff! Close the door of their offices on the bolt and clear the corridor! Mr. President is coming! -the guards shouted through a tin horn. The President’s press Secretary stood at attention as if in a photograph. Finally, the President appeared in the corridor, surrounded by heavy security. After a while, the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, came and stood for a moment at the entrance of his chic favourite spherical office. Before entering his office, he glanced briefly at the Press Secretary’s Desk, where a pile of letters lay.
Well, what news? What are they? Again from the citizens, or what? I am so tired of these stupid letters. Like I don’t have anything else to do but read those stupid letters where they only write about their own problems. There is not among them at least one person who could write about the global economic problems, at least about those which concern problems of our state. Give me that big red envelope.» Here I see something extraordinary. This letter is either from the leaders of other Countries, or from the diplomatic corps of the Commonwealth countries -said, as if guessing, the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, taking and examining the envelope with interest. Then he smiled broadly at the address of the letter.
Oh a letter from a mental hospital? — looking at the letter, and he started laughing, shaking his whole body. — Huwah-hah-hah-hah-haaaah! Iehh-hah-hah-hah-haaaaa! Ahahahahahahaaaa! See, the letter from the mental hospital?! no way… This is the first time I’ve received this kind of letter in my 45-year presidency, honestly! I wonder what they wrote about. It’s supposed to be funny… the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, said, wiping tears from his eyes with his huge checkered handkerchief.
Entering his spherical office, he opened the envelope and began to read the letter of the patients of the mental hospital with interest , the commander-in-Chief Of the Air And Land forces, General Thomas Yakkabaloon and his Deputy Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar.
To the President of our beloved country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic.

Mr. President!

Although healthy people consider us fools, crazy, but we, patients of the Central mental hospital 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, there are psychics, clairvoyants, soothsayers, great scientists, astronauts, valiant invincible generals, telephats, reading 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 nebulae of the universe, great Opera singers with soprano voices, baritone, tenor. There are also disgraced leaders of opposition parties, human rights activists drunken and ragged, that could not become your «colleagues». This raises the question: why can’t our state use the free services of these capable, talented patients in solving the problems that have arisen in the political arena of the world? To solve questions our forces, patients of our mental hospital in area defence. We often hear that hundreds, sometimes thousands, of innocent, mentally healthy young soldiers of our country are dying in the hot spots of our planet. And what if we, psychopaths, paranoids and schizophrenics, were drafted into the army in the place of healthy children, in the spiritual sense of the word? First, we are strong, healthy, brave, courageous people. Second, we have nothing to fear and nothing to lose. Thirdly, we will not sit here idly on subsidies, as they say, on the neck of our poor independent state when our innocent young compatriots die in hot spots. We are not interested in money, position, awards, titles, orders and medals. We also do not need any apartments, no family and no other completely unnecessary things. We, that are valiant, brave, and mentally ill of our homeland, can protect our territories from any invaders, including aliens! And we think we’ll have a lot more fun at the front than we have here in a boring treatment centre, believe me, Mr. President. I never tire of repeating that we are very capable people and, once we are taught how to use firearms, how to operate an anti-Aircraft Missile System, bombers and fighters and how to hijack them, how to fly military helicopters such as «shark», «Apache», use nuclear submarines with cruise Intercontinental ballistic missiles and so on, then I assure You and guarantee that our brothers in healthy talented cadets. They will fly freely on modern supersonic aircraft bombers like hawks and bomb city points in hot spots of the planet, comparing with the earth beautiful cities, Orthodox and Catholic churches, mosques, synagogues, residential neighbourhoods, factories , schools, hospitals, pharmacies, kindergartens exactly, without leaving there a single living soul. Be sure that the army of schizophrenics and paranoids, using anti-Aircraft Missile Systems, will shoot down thousands of civilian Airliners with hundreds of passengers on Board, getting missiles in the top ten, then in this monstrous crime blame the air force and air defence of the enemy!
With great respect, Commander-in-chief, Air Force and Land Forces General Thomas Yakkabaloon. Deputy General Thomas Yakkabaloon , Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar .»
After reading the letter several times, up and down, the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic thought, looking bleary-eyed through the armoured bulletproof window of his office, like a Hitler bunker.
Yeaaaah, 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 wrote about the urgent problems of our society and about strengthening the defence capacity of our long-suffering country. Although this letter is from a mental hospital, it is still worth thinking about their initiatives. Moreover, they promise to protect the Fatherland for free. If we realize their dreams, then immediately decrease the financial costs for defence, for the army, for weapons, for provisions, for clothing and for canvas boots without soles millions and millions of pairs for our soldiers and officers. We are spending enormous amounts of money, which we annually allocate from the state budget.
And these schizophrenics of ours are ready to fight anywhere in the world, protecting the interests of our country, without military uniforms, barefoot.They don’t have to pay a monthly salary. They promise to perform any task of the party, at any time of the day, even in the forty-five-degree frost in winter and fifty-five-degree heat in the desert. Oh all the money we can save with this idea! Why didn’t we think about this project before? These living robots have nothing to lose. After all, they are kamikaze-suicide and are not afraid of death. And these our so-called soldiers and officers, at the first danger run away, or, lying in the trenches, shoot themselves in the leg and return home a hero, ringing clusters of orders and medals on their chest. To be honest, I have not received such an offer even from my military specialists, from experts who receive a huge monthly salary in dollars. Parasites! They’re no good! I must confess that I used to laugh till I cried when I heard anecdotes about the insane. I guess I shouldn’t have laughed then. On the contrary, it was necessary to cry and sob in a huge and leaky plaid handkerchief. That’s how they reason! It is necessary, such ingenious people languish in mental hospitals of our immense country! And we ostensibly treat these brilliant people ! It seems to me that people who consider themselves healthy should go to psychiatrists and be treated properly before their mental illness worsens. Yes, these people with unstable mentality, people prone to violence are dangerous for society. But if you think about it wisely, I am one hundred percent sure that we can solve a lot of problems. We will put all the responsibility to their doctors, nurses and caregivers, calling them together with their patients in the army, and sending them to the hotspots of the planet. Today in the world establishes total control not only over the people and over the Media, over the opposition, but even over tsunamis, typhoons, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and so on. Are we worse than them? We, too, are able to establish control over patients, through their doctors in white coats, who have ultra- modern equipment, stun guns, sedative tranquilizers and durable straitjackets with long sleeves. Most importantly, we will automatically get rid of unnecessary pickets and rallies that are organized by human rights screamers, grant-eaters who protect the rights of the mothers of millions of dead soldiers who return home in sealed zinc coffins from the battlefield, where they heroically die defending the economic and geopolitical interests of our state. And death mentally ill on the field battlefield, not only causes pity, on the contrary, causes people to uncontrollably laugh at, seeing on TV or having heard about their ridiculous death in bloody battles. In short, this bill I must immediately submit to the Parliament of the country.Let our so-called illiterate MPs-parasites of both chambers and senators- sycophants, discuss and approve this strategic issue in closed sessions of Parliament without free journalists, unanimously in the first reading of the draft. It is clear that these so-called deputies and senators with slave psychology will never vote against what I offer them. I shouldn’t worry too much about that, thought the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, lighting a gold pipe with diamond ornaments, stuffed with expensive flavoured tobacco.
The President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, before submitting the project to the Parliament, decided to first secretly meet with the authors of the secret letter and instructed his security forces to organize a secret negotiation with the authors of the unique project from the psychiatric hospital. Security forces accurately executed the order of the President, and brought two geniuses in a straitjacket barefoot and without a headdress and, having dressed them in suits of officials and in white shirts with starched collars and with tight ties on necks. They worked so well that even the aides of the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, seeing those two patients in civilian clothes, took them for high-ranking guests from abroad and hastily saluted, pausing like sticks. During the conversation, it turned out that these two are not only able to solve problems related to the strengthening of the country’s defence, but also to create absolutely unthinkable fantastic things, to come up with unique, unheard-of ideas and hypotheses.
President Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic hugged them both and wept.
Excuse me, gentlemen, and don’t be surprised. These are tears of happiness in my eyes sparkle and tremble like distant stars in the December cold sky of our independent country, when our people drown their bourgeois stinking dung, barely recognizing each other through a veil of acrid smoke, coughing like frowning wipers in the thick fog of an autumn Park. I want to ask your forgiveness, gentlemen, for our psychiatrists, who incorrectly diagnosed, locked you up in psychiatric hospitals of our country, forcing you to drink disgusting liquids and pills. Care-givers beat you like punching bags suspended in sports underground training halls. I also apologize for our compatriots who laughed until they fell and still laugh at you, telling each other funny anecdotes about you. I saw with my own eyes today that you, the so-called patients with mental illness, are a thousand or even millions of times smarter than our deputies and bribe-taking officials! It turns out that we mistakenly locked you brilliant people in mental hospitals not only in our country, but also the planet! I will issue a decree tomorrow to release all your brothers in sickness from the mental hospitals of our independent country, and to lock up the physicians, psychiatrists, and care-givers themselves in their stead. I will order that all my assistants — sycophants, poets and writers, officials and deputies-bribe takers and Ministers-parasites are immediately arrested. They do nothing, but receive large salaries in American 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, sake of moreover, to find a slice of bread and feed their family. They work as janitors and watchmen, work in garbage dumps, almost for free. That’s all, I will carry out a reshuffle in all spheres of our society, that is, I will appoint you both as my main assistants, and I will also order that only those people who were previously treated in the mental hospitals of our long-suffering and vast state are appointed as deputies of the Parliament of both houses and senators of Congress.
Governors of regions and districts, including chairmen of collective farms and committees, will also be appointed from brilliant people, that is, from your sick brothers. All governors and chairmen of the current system will now be treated for life and involuntarily in psychiatric hospitals until they fully recover. You can both accept the post of any Minister at once, and I congratulate you in advance, gentlemen! — said the President, concluding his speech.
General Thomas Yakkabaloon and Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar, in return, expressed their gratitude to the President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic for the warm welcome, mutual understanding and high trust. Before leaving, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar appealed to the President Appalon 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 Hollywood smile on his lips.
Now open your eyes, Mr. President! — Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar — said, smiling toothlessly.
President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic opened his eyes and saw the key that Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar handed him.
The President’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of the key, and his eyes widened.
Well, thank you, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar ! What an honest man you are!
Where did you find it? — It was in my pocket!..
With that, President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic quickly checked his pants pockets and blushed with shame when he found a hole in his pocket where a key might have fallen on the carpet.
I found this key here, under this chair where I was sitting. Let me, I think, I will pick it up and give it to Mr. President of our country Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, maybe I think Mr.
President accidentally lost the key to his modest one-room apartment, located on the outskirts of the capital of the country, where he lives with his large family plus with his hungry fat grouchy mother in law
explained Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar.
-Oh, no, no, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar ! This key is not for a one-room apartment, but instead for the nuclear football! You have no idea what heroism You have committed before my eyes in the face of our long-suffering people! You saved the nation! It is a good thing that this key did not fall into the hands of my crazy Ministers, whom I have long distrusted. After all, these corrupt parasites could easily sell villains religion fanatic terrorists this priceless key for a wad of dollars! And there would have been a third world atomic war! Nope, in my opinion You saved not only the nation, but also saved humanity and the entire Universe from apparent destruction, from thermonuclear war! I award you the order of the Hero of the Fatherland of the first degree! You are now the national hero of our country! From now on, your military rank is not Colonel, but Marshal! Thank you on behalf of our long-suffering oppressed independent and hardworking people and on behalf of all mankind, Mr.
Marshal Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar! — the President said enthusiastically.
Serving the Fatherland!» Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar shouted, saluting President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic. When the two high-ranking officers left the Palace of Mr.
President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, General Thomas Yakkabaloon congratulated his colleague and brother on his high military rank.
I congratulate you, Marshal, On your high rank.» «Oh, no!» — he said, turning blue and green with black envy.
At ease, General, at ease!» Thank you for your congratulations, — said Marshal Pascal Salvatore Alphonse de Valdemar, clapping General Thomas Yakkabaloon on the shoulder and head.
General Thomas Yakkabaloon continued:
Excuse Me, Monsieur Le Marechal, but on the one hand, it is good to achieve such success. But on the other hand, I’m afraid we’ve missed a historic opportunity. By seizing the key to the nuclear briefcase, we could force the President to dissolve the Government and Parliament and resign as President. After all This, you would sleep well tonight, and Wake up in the morning the President of the country! Oh, what a missed chance, my God! — said General Thomas Yakkabaloon .
Yeah, don’t you worry, General Lattapagon (Rag shoulder straps), I’m not such a fool as you think!
When I went to the bathroom, I secretly and carefully removed the mold from the key of the nuclear suitcase, pressing it on this piece of soap. Now we can make a duplicate of the key of the nuclear suitcase from this cast. As they say, it is not yet evening. There is still time for me to become President of the country, and you — the Minister of Defence! The weight of the world is in our hands! — said Marshal Pascal Salvatore Alphonse de Valdemar, with a sly smile.

 

28/08/2014.
3:40 of the day.
Canada.the city of Brampton.

«Ibn Kambal»
(Story)

 

To be honest, I’m not going to draw a verbal portrait of the literary hero of my story, nor will I give his real name under any pretext, keeping his safety in mind. To describe the appearance and parameters of the character, would be like handing over a sketch of him to the police department, which has declared him as being on the Interpol’s most wanted list. This is extremely dangerous for him. We will be limited only by calling his pseudonym «Ibn Kambal». Ibn Kambal walks with a tightly glued beard and moustache, having grown his hair down to his shoulders, having dyed it Gray so that he would not be accidentally recognized on the street by local police officers. Otherwise, he may be arrested and put in jail for many years for the economic crimes he committed. The fact is that our literary hero Mr. Ibn Kambal writes good poems and one day a crazy idea came into his head to publish his first book, hoping to get a substantial fee for it. He talked to a hunchback employee of a publishing house, who promised to publish Ibn kambal’s book of poems, cheap, in high-quality, fast and, of course, advertise it well. Ibn Kambal, believing the words of the employee, gave him a lot of money from the sponsor without a receipt. The hunchbacked worker turned out to be a greedy, mean-spirited and inveterate swindler, and soon he broke his promise and published a book of poems by poor Ibn Kambal at the expense of low-quality papers that he stole once from the warehouse of the publishing house and safely hid in the basement. As if that wasn’t enough, he put paper on the cover, as well as on the drawings and on the circulation of the book. It so happened that the book of Mr. Ibn Kambala was published and not advertised well. The book resembled a thin school notebook. Such a «book» could not be sold on the market. Even a bookworm, that is, an avid book lover of flea markets, who is well versed in art, does not even want to buy such a pathetic garbage. The cunning and hunchbacked worker was delighted that the gullible Ibn Kambal payed him a large sum of money without a receipt. As a result, Ibn Kambal himself had to advertise his book, which was similar to a student’s notebook. But he didn’t realize it. Half a year later, Ibn Kambal’s sponsor began to demand him to return the money received with interest. The poor literary hero of our story, Mr. Ibn Kambal, did not know what to do. He’s up to his ears in debt. At home, a grumpy wife who reproached Ibn Kambal day and night, calling him a pathetic loser, a loafer, a lazy man, a parasite and a sucker.
— God, why did I even marry this idiot, a poet with empty and leaky pockets! Normal husbands go to work in the neighbouring countries and earn serious money by working as janitors, barn keepers and freight car loaders, loggers and such. When they return, they build luxury houses, two-story cottages with basements, and buy cool cars. And you?! You sleep during the day like a stray dog with no hind legs and from night to day you scribble the devil knows what, in the light of a kerosene lamp, not letting me sleep soundly. Is literary creativity a job these days?! Here, just recently, this fool released his book, a thin one, similar to a birth certificate, a work book and got into debt up to his ears! And there’s nothing to eat at home. A single pair of dress shoes, which we share at a time! It’s embarrassing to walk barefoot in this space age! We are afraid to go outside! We sit at home, holding our breath, as if we are in a bomb shelter in the midst of a carpet bombing, when all of a sudden, the sponsor’s agents show up, demanding we return the money that this bastard borrowed! This debt grows not by the day but by the hour! My God, what kind of a life is this?! What a pity that Comrade Stalin Joseph Vissarionovich is not with us now, who sent dozens of such unsuccessful Tunisian intellectuals to concentration camps in freight train cars designed to transport horses! If Comrade Stalin were alive, I myself would have given you into the hands of the NKVD, carefully writing a denunciation against you that you were an English spy! Oh, it’s not for nothing that poets were hanged and shot in the old days, not for nothing! No, I’ve had enough! I’d rather climb on a stool and hang myself or burn myself by pouring kerosene on my worn clothes than live with you, jerk! — she screamed loudly, dropping bitter tears on the floor. Then, abruptly changing her mind, Ibn Kambala hastily packed her things into an old wooden suitcase from Stalin’s times and threw it out into the street through an open window. Then, pointing to the door, she said: — Get out of my house! Go and don’t let me ever see you again! Thus, the poor literary hero of our story, Ibn Kambal, found himself on the street. But it didn’t end there. The sponsor’s bouncers quickly found him and broke one of his legs, forced him to collect documents and fraudulently get a huge loan from the bank. Ibn Kambal submitted an application and submitted the relevant documents with a business plan to the bank claiming the loan was to open a trading and manufacturing company. But he immediately had to give the sponsor all the money received on credit. Half a year later, the police put him on the wanted list. Since then, he has been walking with a glued on beard and moustache, having grown his hair down to his shoulders and dyed it gray. Ibn Kambal searched for a house for a long time and finally he found a small hole that had formed on an old abandoned road during a mudslide and decided to live in it. He erected a small roof over the pit, resembling a chapel. This roof performed two functions at once. Firstly, it did not allow rainwater to get inside of the pit and served as a kind of warning fence for random passers-by, so that they would not fall into Ibn Kambala’s squalid dwelling, during an evening walk in the dark or in a thick fog when they walk their beloved dogs. The peculiarities of this peculiar housing is that here he will not be disturbed by police officers, tax officers, inspectors of energy supervision, gas supply and housing and communal services department. Most importantly, there are no evil neighbours, rhythmic creaking of the bed, sweet moans, loud music, trampling, crashing, heart-rending cries for help, the noise of the feast, drunken laughter, swearing, crying children and women, the clanging of a hammer, the buzz of a drill, the sounds of shattered glass windows, broken porcelain dishes, and the roar of kitchen dishes that violate the peace and quiet of citizens. There are also a number of inconveniences in this pit. That is, there are no windows in it from which you could look out on the street, to enjoy the autumn leaf fall or night snowfalls in winter. Another inconvenience in this housing is the lack of a kitchen. There isn’t even a washbasin. The pit also lacks the most important thing, that is, a toilet. In spring, summer or autumn, you can relieve yourself at large, for example, in the thickets or somewhere else. In winter you will have to sit on the pot and take the contents to the top, so as not to accidentally freeze some important parts of your body. But there he could build a small stove to heat the pit and cook food. However, this is only useful for the cooler seasons. In summer, you will have to cook food outside, on a campfire. With such thoughts, Ibn Kambal first of all, took out all the garbage from the pit, carefully glued some wallpaper to the plastered, putty wall, and laid cardboard boxes at the bottom of the pit. He made a small bookshelf and hung a portrait of the president of the country on the wall. He descends into his dwelling like a submariner descending through the upper hatch of a nuclear submarine with cruise missiles on board. Sometimes he feels like a tank man, rushing forward at breakneck speed on his tank, destroying everything in his path, schools, hospitals, kindergartens, trees and burning houses, crushing livestock, and a crowd of refugees and children. Ibn Kambal loves to read at night in the light of a kerosene lamp an interesting book that he bought at the bazaar, where you can buy a book much cheaper than in bookstores. Ibn Kambal loves book fairs, especially a specific flea market in the bazaar, similar to an old open-air museum where people sell old things. Almost anything can be found in there. Torn chrome and tarpaulin boots, breeches with a red streak of a general who once died, school bags, books without covers, bugles and drums of pioneers, textbooks, icons, rosaries, a bronze bust of Lenin, a dog-fur hat, an old accordion, a portrait of Stalin, cages for songbirds, aquariums, even wrenches, is there something they don’t have, my God! Fashionable dresses with the hats of long-dead old ladies, chains, crimson jackets, telephones of the twentieth century, globes,traps, samovars, wooden suitcases, old coins, buttons, brass musical instruments from a brass band, axes and saws, scissors, children’s toys, heavy cast-iron irons working on hot coal. You c an buy whatever you want or just look at things for free, like museum exhibits. The most valuable things at this flea market for Ibn Kambal are old books with yellowed pages and worn, torn covers. Those who sell old things at a flea market do not know the price of these books, since they do not read them. They simply lack the refinement of feelings and thoughts, emotions such as surprise, admiration, perception, witchcraft influence and the effect of words on consciousness, which, like magic, enchant, giving a person a certain mood, giving him the opportunity to dive into the depths of sweet memories of his youth and love, forgetting for a while about pain and suffering in a cozy spiritual solitude. One day Ibn Kambal heard a very interesting conversation between a a customer and the cashier.
-You know, yesterday I just saw this guy in a dream -said a cheerful customer, smiling at the portrait of Stalin.
— Really? What’s your name? -said the seller.
-My name is Lodim Cotin — answered the customer.
— I wonder what Comrade Stalin’s doing in your fucking dreams? — the seller asked in surprise, with a smoking cigarette in his teeth.
— In short, it was like this. I had died in my dreams and was taken to a stone cave, where there was a huge crowd of sinners who stood looking with horror at the blazing fire and their huge shadows swayed on the stone of a giant cave. I see some of them sitting on stone benches. I approached a man who was wearing breeches and chrome boots with long tops, big-eyed, thin build, with a sharp nose and rectangular moustache. He was dressed in a brown uniform, with an iron cross and his hair was combed to the side. I approached him cautiously and said.
— Move aside, please, Uncle, otherwise I’ll get exhausted… Hearing my words, the man in the brown uniform was furious. He was so furious that he blushed up to his neck, like an angry turkey. His eyes widened with anger and the cheekbones of his face began to twitch convulsively.
— Do I look like an uncle to you, schweine! Don’t you recognize your Fuhrer! I’m Adolf Hitler! — he shouted.
I got scared when I recognized the bloody dictator of the twentieth century, Adolf Hitler, who turned the world upside down, turning beautiful cities into ruins, killing 50 million innocent people.
— About Bette, I’m sorry, Herr Schicklgruber — I asked for forgiveness.
Here, interrupting our conversation, a man of about forty-five, fifty, bald, short, with a red goatee beard in a suit and with a red tie around his neck came up to me. He looked smilingly straight into my eyes, as if into a deep well, and began to speak fluently, holding his cap in his hand.
— And me, сomyade? Do you yecognize me? Well… ESEDYEPE, Smolny, the Bolshevik payty…Kyupskaya Nadezhda Konstantinovna, the upyisings of the woykeys and faymeys in Petyagyad… wintey palace, Octobey yevolution… .Bank of the lake»Yazliv», Kyilataya fiaza, the slogan «pнoletaians of all styans unite!»..Well, do you yemembey now, the уed Aymy soldiey? «What is it?» — he asked, holding on to the lapel of his world-famous jacket with one hand.
— Oh, is that you, сomrade Vladimir Ilyich? Wow! I never thought that I would ever meet you here. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you right away. This must mean you will be rich,- I said, rejoicing.
-What do you mean, you’ll be yich, comyade? Do you even think when you talk? I will nevey become yich, exploit! Aftey all, I am the leadey of the pyoletayiat all, yaght? And you’ye compaying me to some damn bouygeoisie! You aye wandeying like a the blood enemy of the woyld pyoletayiat, like social evolutionayies and monaychists and beelogvideytsy! It’s not good, comyade, oh it’s not good — Lenin said, offended by my words.
— Excuse me, Comrade Lenin, I wanted to say that you will get rich not materially, but spiritually — I justified myself.
Hearing my answer, Lenin’s mood quickly lifted. He was delighted, as a little boy, and the pupils in his narrow eyes gleamed with joy from a smile.
— This is quite a big deal, comyade the уed Aymy soldie! Well, did the bloodthiysty gangs of the Basmachi Kuibashi Kuisheymet and Ibyagimbek in Tuikestan? — the leader of the proletariat asked, looking into my eyes again, as if into a deep well.
— Yes, Vladimir Ilyich, they crushed it. Defeated, but… I replied, fearing that my next words might again greatly upset the leader of the world proletariat.
-It’s a shame, comyade yedaymeyets, why do you say «but»? — Lenin asked again, holding on to the lapel of his world-famous «troika» jacket with one hand, nervously clutching his cap in the other hand, looking like a platypus.
— You see, Vladimir Ilyich, I don’t even know how to explain this to you. In short, the USSR has collapsed! — I said.
— What?! The USSY collapsed?! What aye you talking about, comyade?! Oh my God! — said the leader of the proletariat , looking at me with bewilderment. His mood soured again and he began to nervously pace back and forth, like a wolf in a cage.
— Were you not aware?.. That is, have you not heard about the collapse of the USSR, Vladimir Ilyich? — I said surprisedly. Lenin stopped abruptly and said:
— Aye you out of your mind, comyade the уed Aymy soldieys, how can I find out if there is no telegyaph heye?
— Yes, you’re right, Comrade Lenin, that makes sense. — I agreed.
Then Hitler began to rejoice: — Zuldatun und offitzigen des dgitten gijches! Communishten kaput! Their gratulige! Huwah- hah hah haaaa! Yeh- hah hah hah haaaa! — he laughed, and began to dance, singing a cheerful song by Lily Marlene, masterfully playing his harmonica, which he took out of the top of his chrome boot.
Lenin began to pace nervously back and forth again, occasionally casting an angry glance at Hitler. Then, stopping abruptly, he asked me.
— What, now the USSY into the hands of the social yevolutionayies?
— No, Vladimir Ilyich, first General Secretary Mikhail Sergeyevich Gorbachev was elected president of the country. And then the State Emergency Committee and power passed into the hands of Yeltsin Boris Nikolaevich, who was put into a bag by the saratniki, and thrown from a high bridge into the Moscow River. He miraculously survived… — I replied.
— Who is Mikhail Gaibachev and what is his name… Boyis Yeltsin! Oh my God, why weye they knocked out and not appointed! Wheye have the Communists gone?! Such a layge and gyeeat county was destyoyed by the mice! — Lenin said, nervously hitting the knees of his legs with the palms of his hands.
— This is nothing, Vladimir Ilyich, in comparison with the statements of the State Duma deputy Mr. Zhirinovsky. He said that it was high time to take your corpse out of the mausoleum and burn it in the crematorium, and bury the ashes in Ulyanovsk, where you were once born.
— Yeally? Did he say that? Foy such woyds of such countey-yevolutionayies, it is necessay to shoot them without tyial and investigation, and send them to the concentyatijn camps! Let them byeak the gyanite stones theye in the negative 40 degyees and make them cayyey heavy stones on theiy backs, jingling the chains on theiy heels and on theiy feet in theiy styiped pajamas! — said the leader of the proletariat, clutching his cap even more tightly in his hand.
In order to somehow distract comrade Lenin from discussing such a topic, I began to lead the conversation in a different direction.
— Excuse me for a stupid question, comrade Lenin, what are you doing here?
-You see, comyade, I naively obeyed the woyds of comyade Kayl Mayx, well, this Kayl and his yich dude, like him, yes, Fyidyih Engels, thinking that judgment day does not exist. It tuyns out that I was veyy wyong then… Meyciful Loyd, have meycy on me, youy deay God, in the name of the fathey and the son and the light of the spiyit, Amin! — Lenin crossed himself briefly, looking with wild horror at the blazing flames of hell and at the lava that bubbled like molten metal. At that moment, a man in a military tunic and breeches appeared near us, of medium height, with his hair combed back, with a bushy handlebar mustache and with a smoking pipe in his teeth. One of his hands turned out to be withered.
— Gamarjoba, genatsvale! — he said, puffing on his pipe. I recognized him immediately and said:
-Oh, hello, Comrade Stalin! Are you here too?
— Yes, unfortunately… Well, genatsvale, did the Crimean Tatars, Jews, Armenians, Ukrainians, Ingush and Chechens, who we deported to Central Asia, get used to the new living conditions? What’s the news? — he asked.
-No, Comrade Stalin, unfortunately many of them died from lack of air in the wagons of freight trains designed to transport horses. They were forced to bury their dead children and other loved ones in the sand of the Kazakh steppes along the way. Many died later, from hunger and disease. Only a few remained. Many Jews, Armenians, Ukrainians, Crimean Tatars, Chechens and Ingush were sheltered by our Uzbeks, sharing with them their last pieces of bread in difficult times. This is nothing compared to those who died in concentration camps located in the Gulag archipelago, in Salikamsk and in Magadan. Intellectuals were mostly sent there, declaring them the worst enemies of their people, accusing them of espionage. Millions and millions of people rotted alive in cold barracks, from lack of food, from dysentery, from typhus and tuberculosis. Many went crazy and hanged themselves on ropes, others committed suicide by cutting off their genitals. And how many soldiers and officers, old people, and children, innocent people died in the war! From the lack of weapons and ammunition, poor soldiers with wooden machine guns in their hands went on the attack in companies, shouting together «For the Motherland, for Comrade Stalin!»and the Germans shot them like partridges, creating a mountain of corpses of dead soldiers, sergeants and officers. Beautiful cities, factories and factories have turned to ashes — I said, sighing sadly.
— Well, what can you do, genatsvale, war is war and it requires sacrifices. Let’s have a better conversation with you about positive events… I was once informed about the heroic work of the Uzbek people, who built the great Ferghana canal manually in 45 days, with the help of hoes and shovels, headed by this bald guy… Unfortunately, I can’t remember right now. After the stroke, my memory deteriorated. I remember I gave him my watch when he came late to the meeting. I once jokingly told him, they say, I want to invite you to Moscow, but I’m afraid that you will open channels around Moscow… How we were laughing then, Lord… Well, how are things going there? The Mirzachul desert with the Kizilkum probably would have turned into green cotton fields, into gardens and vegetable gardens rustling in the wind? Stalin said, stroking his bushy mustache like a cat.
— No, Comrade Stalin. After improper use of water resources, the water level in our rivers dropped sharply and our Aral Sea dried up. It turned into a puddle. There is an ecological catastrophe there now. Sandstorms are rising, covering the entire territory of Karakalpakistan and Khorezm with salt. There is a fear that very soon the entire Central Asian region will turn into a desert. By the way, I even wrote a poem about it. It’s called the «chase». Would you like me to recite it by heart, Comrade Stalin? I said.
— Yes? Here’s the news. I used to write poetry, too. Come on, read it, genatsvale, if you wrote about an environmental disaster in Central Asia. Only read it briefly. Otherwise I don’t have time for this,- Stalin granted me permission, lighting his smoking pipe. I started reading my poem.

 

The chase

 

In my youth I chased the desert,
To turn it into cotton fields.
Also grow watermelons and melons,
Where poplars will ring white.

The desert was running away from me, afraid,
From the traces of lizard on the dunes patterns.
Now I regret, singing in
the sand, that our sea has dried up.

In vain, oh in vain I chased her then,
Although all this happened a long time ago.
Now I’m running from sandstorms,
And the desert is chasing me.

 

After listening to my poem, Stalin applauded me, clapping his hands, smiling slyly with a smoking pipe in his teeth.
— Wah wonderful, genatsvale, wonderful! You write like Shota Rustaveli!
— Thank you, comrade Stalin! But it seems to me that your words don’t sound very sincere,- I said, as if skeptical of his words that he uttered.
— What are you saying, you bourgeoisie! Is it possible to lie in such a place like this? Look how the fire is burning! O Lord Jesus, have mercy and bless your sinful servant Joseph Dzhugashvili! Lord, how many churches, synagogues, mosques and Buddhist temples have I destroyed to the ground, ordering by secret decree to demolish crosses from the domes of temples, crescents from the mosques and erase the six-pointed star of David from synagogues! By my order, the Red Army soldiers removed the bells and sent them to metallurgical plants for casting to create parts for tractors from them! We have turned the sacred temples, mosques and synagogues into a vegetable storehouse! The Christian, Buddhist, Jewish, and Muslim clergy were exterminated. Oh, how I’ve sent so many saints to distant death camps, from where no one has ever returned home!
Just at this time, a tall, fat and bald man ran out of the crowd and approached Stalin. Then he began to speak:
-Have you been summoned, Comrade Stalin?
Stalin took his smoking pipe out of his mouth and looked at the bald man in surprise.
— What are you doing here, enemy of the people?! You English spy! This friend here says that due to the incorrect distribution of water resources, the Amudarya and Sirdarya rivers in Uzbekistan have turned almost into a dry riverbed, and the Aral Sea into a puddle! It turns out that the entire Central Asian region is gradually turning into a desert day after day! Fertile lands, cotton fields, orchards and vegetable gardens are covered with salt! Where are we going to sow cotton now? In your grandmother’s garden or something?! It’s all your fault! Bukharin’s tail! Answer me, you bastard, before I repress you! Otherwise, today, in the predawn darkness, NKVD officers will come for you in the car of the GPU «Black Raven» and will quietly knock on your door to take you where you need to go,- he said.
Hearing this, the tall, fat and bald man sat down on his knees and began to move his knees towards Comrade Stalin, pressing his headdress to his chest, like a disabled person who had both legs amputated due to gangrene.
— Oh, come on, Comrade Stalin! Don’t repress me! Your secret service can shoot me according to the verdict of the military tribunal! I am not an enemy of the people and not the tail of Mikhail Dmitrievich Bukharin! We mastered the Mirzachul desert according to the project of Comrade Lenin himself! It’s Lenin’s fault for everything! — he said crying.
— Oh, you damn contya! You want to accuse me, the leadey of pyaletayat, of the cyimes of the centuyy, which you youyself have committed! I fiystly heay about the deseyt «Miyzachul»! My pyoject says «Hungyy Steppe». Holy shit… The scoundyel! Come on, put youy payty ticket on the table, invadey! The cyiminal element! — Lenin said, angrily.
— No, never! I’d rather die than put my party card on the table! — said the tall, fat and bald man and began to sing:

 

Arise ye workers from your slumbers
Arise ye prisoners of want
For reason in revolt now thunders
And at last ends the age of cant.
Away with all your superstitions

Servile masses arise, arise
We»ll change henceforth the old tradition
And spurn the dust to win the prize.

So comrades, come rally
And the last fight let us face
The Internationale unites the human race.

 

After he sang the international communist anthem, he ran shouting «For Comrade Stalin!» and jumped straight into the abyss, where hell’s flames were burning and lava was bubbling like molten metal — the customer at the flea market said, finishing his story.
— You see, dude, I’m not a sorcerer, but it seems to me that this dream of yours predicts the approach of your inevitable death. In order to prevent this, you should buy a portrait of Comrade Stalin or this bronze bust of Comrade Lenin. I also have a book by Karl Marx called «Capital». Buy it. I think you have no other way. And I’ll sell it for cheap, almost for a gift, it’s a pity to throw it away, you know?
— No, I’d rather buy this woollen ceremonial jacket together with state orders and medals, — said the buyer.
— Why do you need this jacket of a recently deceased World War II veteran? another customer was surprised.
— What for? I will participate in the celebration dedicated to Victory Day, wearing this jacket along with orders and medals, and everyone will congratulate me on the holiday, as a hero of a bloody war. They will hand me flowers, shed tears of joy, set off fireworks and even pour alcohol — he replied.
— You bastard! How can you do that! What a vile, disgusting person you are! — another customer said.
— what? Am I a vile person?! Well, well, you better look at yourself! Look in that mirror over there! Your head is too small, it’s the size of a lemon. And your nose is like an elephant’s trunk, like the breathing hose of a gas mask. Your arms are long, like an orangutan, your legs on the contrary are short and crooked. I don’t even want to talk about your ass. It hangs like the huge backpack of a tourist who came from distant Europe to ancient Bukhara.
After that, a fight broke out between the buyers and Ibn Kambal decided to hastily leave the bustling flea market with a worn book in his armpits until the police arrived.

 

16/09/2022.
1:29 PM.
Canada, Onterio.

«Yakan ibn Khaqan».
(Story)

 

The endless quarrels of his wife simply exhausted Yakan ibn Khaqan and forced him to fly to the planet «Gurrabash» to bring back precious stones, exchanging them for dung. It turns out that in Gurrabash, dung is the most expensive material, like gold and diamonds here. And precious metals and precious stones have no value, like dung on our globe. Yakan ibn Khaqan had been preparing for a long and dangerous flight for a long time, carefully checking the technical serviceability of his flying saucer.Then, taking his driver’s license and passport, he flew to the planet «Gurrabash», loading as many dung as possible into the trunk of his flying saucer, which he collected in the meadows all summer. His saucer flew at breakneck speed through space rocks such as meteorites, asteroids, fragments that sometimes crashed into the thick bulletproof windshield of the aircraft unit. Despite this, the spacecraft of Yakan ibn Khaqan continued its journey through the vast expanses of boundless space, illuminating its way with powerful headlights. Yakan ibn Khaqan was most afraid of falling asleep, because falling asleep he could commit a space catastrophe and die. Therefore, in order not to fall asleep at the helm, he began to sing the song of the great Uzbek singer from Fergana Tavakkal Kadyrov «Ohshaydiku» to the poems of the poet Hamza Hakimzada Niyazi, who was brutally killed by religious fans, throwing stones at Shakhimardan. Yakan ibn Khaqan flew for a long time, until near the air restaurant, some strange type of tall, skinny, like Shaitan, stopped him with a spacewalker, raising his thumb up. Yakan ibn Khaqan stopped his aircraft and a man in a spacesuit climbed into the cockpit.
— Close the door and fasten your seat belt! — said Yakan ibn Khaqan.
-Well, thank you very much, my friend, for helping! I’m all frozen. I was flying to a neighboring galaxy and on you, the flying saucer on which I was flying broke. I did not spend money on its repair and waited for the arrival of mechanics. Besides, it’s not mine. I rented this wreck from a neighbor. I thought, I’d better catch some passing flying saucers and fly on. I don’t like flying on cosmo beads. It’s full of bad drunk humanoids… Do you recognize me? «What is it?» he asked suddenly, smiling slyly.
-No, I don’t remember you. Maybe we crossed paths somewhere, saw each other, I don’t know, — replied Yakan ibn Khaqan, casting a cursory glance in the rearview mirror.
The fellow traveler continued: — It’s me, Lainjon Lanat, who caused you a lot of evil. Remember, we were once sitting at Ibn Nigman’s house, drinking vodka, and when we ran out of booze, you flew on this old flying saucer of yours for vodka, disappearing into a snowstorm. That’s when I delivered a heavy blow to Ibn Nigman’s head with a tire iron. When he fell with a bloody head on the floor, I cleaned out his pockets, took money and jewelry , and to get rid of the body, I threw the corpse of ibn Nigman into a deep snow-covered ravine. I thought that a pack of hungry wolves would eat his corpse, leaving no evidence. Your passport in a cellophane cover, which I stole from you along with the money when you got drunk, I also threw the passport into the ravine. Then disappeared into the forest. The impenetrable blizzard was still raging. In the spring, when the snow melted, the police found the body of Ibn Nigman, rotting beyond recognition, and your passport. Then you were detained, suspected of murder, and then you went to jail. So you’ve been in prison all these years because of my sins. I think that today we were met by fate itself, from which you can not escape. I deeply regret what I have done and I really want to ask you for forgiveness, Yakan ibn Khaqan. It would be nice if you would forgive me.
Yakan ibn Khaqan was silent and calmly flew to himself, without taking his eyes off the space-air road, instead of rushing at the vile Lainjon Lanat and strangling him.
— Or maybe you want me to apologize to you in writing? Lainjon Lanat asked, smiling.
— Yes, I think so. Preferably in two copies. I will keep one for myself, and the presiding judge will attach the other to the criminal case in court, — replied Yakan ibn Khaqan, also with a smile on his lips.
Then he added: «You know, Lainjon Lanat, I am sympathetic to sick people, in the spiritual sense of the word. The same applies to vile and envious types and stupid brainless animals, — he said.
With such conversations, they continued the flight until the super-high-speed space ship of Yakan ibn Khaqan fell into an air pit resembling a concrete mixer, where numerous fragments of meteorites drummed on the body.
— It’s started! — Yakan ibn Khaqan said, clutching the steering wheel of the aircraft with all his strength with blue fingers. The flying saucer trembled, losing altitude and abruptly began to descend, as if the heart of Yakan ibn Khaqan had sunk into its heels. The fall lasted a long time. Lainjon Lanat screamed in horror: — Yakan ibn Khaqan! Do something! Oh, my God! — he shouted, crying and spinning like a stone in a concrete mixer.
— Now, Lainjon Lanat! Now, ain’t the moment! — Yakan ibn Khaqan said, trying to take control of the recalcitrant machine. At this time, they both saw high rocks that flashed on the monitor and shouted in fear: — Aaaaaaaaaaa!
It is good that Yakan ibn Hakan was able to establish control over the car. After that, the flying space ship flew at high speed between two rocks. Then, slowly losing speed and barely touching the snow with his belly, he began to fly low over the snow-covered fields. Yakan ibn Khaqan pressed the brakes and they worked. Finally, the Flying saucer, taking a deep snowdrift near the forest cordon, stopped. Yakan ibn Hakan and Lainjon Lanat sat for a long time in a state of shock in the cabin of the flying saucer. Then, gradually coming to their senses, they began to thank God that he had left them alive. Their legs were still shaking from the fear they had experienced. A lump the size of a small lemon formed on the forehead of Yakan ibn Khaqan. Lainjon Lanat was sitting with a broken head and crying with happiness. After a while, Yakan ibn Hakan opened the hatch and they climbed up. They came out of the cabin of the flying saucer that had made an emergency landing and thought, not knowing what to do and where to go. It was snowing, a blizzard was humming. Against the background of snow, it was possible to distinguish the surrounding area. Suddenly, at the foot of a high cliff, they saw a small cave where a light was burning.
— I feel intuitively that there is someone there, — said Yakan ibn Khaqan and headed towards the cave, stumbling and falling into the snow. Lainjon Lanat followed him. When they came close to the cave, they saw a man with a crossbow in his hands, tall, broad-shouldered, with long hair, and a serious face, dressed in animal skin, presumably a wolf.
— Hello, sir! We, this, came from the planet «Earth». Maybe you’ve heard of it? There is such a planet in the universe where earthlings produce chemical, biological and bacteriological weapons of mass destruction, cruise, ballistic intercontinental missiles with nuclear warheads to destroy each other, comparing the beautiful cities that their ancestors built with the earth… Oh, sorry, we didn’t introduce ourselves. I am an entrepreneur Yakan ibn Hakan, and this passenger’s name is Lainjon Lanat. We are taking dung to the planet «Gurrabash» to exchange them for gold and diamonds, » said Yakan ibn Hakan.
The man with a crossbow in his hands, looking at the screen of his compact translator device, began to say:
— Hello, gentlemen aliens! Welcome to our planet. I am very glad to meet you. My name is Baltabalyk-the device translated the words of the man with a crossbow.
— It was nice to meet you, Mr. Baltabalyk. We were flying through the boundless space together, but unfortunately our Flying saucer broke down and we had to make an emergency landing here. Is there a repair shop for spacecraft in the vicinity? We need to repair our saucer and fly on. We will pay for the repair with priceless dung, » said Lainjon Lanat.
— Yes, don’t worry about it. We have a repair shop for aircraft of any modification.There are also enough spare parts and qualified mechanics who will help you. Only we have such a tradition — to meet aliens as their relatives and treat them with what God has sent, no matter from which galaxy they have arrived.So, first I invite you to visit. Come to me, dear aliens — said Baltabalyk.
— The Earthlings agreed and followed the alien. When they entered the cave, Baltabalyk introduced them to his wife.
«This is my wife, Mrs. Matilda, — he said… Yakan ibn Khaqan wanted to shake and kiss the tender hands of Baltabalyk’s wife, but it was not expected. Baltabalyk’s hostile wife met them, as they say, with hostility. She started yelling at Baltabalyk and a compact translator device began to translate her words into our language.
— Why did you bring these parasites, why?! Well, why do we need guests when we have nothing to eat ourselves?! When will you finally come to your senses, you fool of fools?! When?! Tell me, where did you find them?! They only look like a person! Maybe they are werewolves or zombies infected with rabies, how do you know them?!.. Oh, why did I even marry this idiot, for God’s sake!.. Mrs. Matilda said, and began to beat her face with her hand, as if punishing herself for marrying Baltabalyk by mistake.
Hearing the words of his grumpy wife, poor Baltabalyk blushed deeply with shame. And his wife kept grumbling: — He’s already seven hundred and fifty years old, and he’s still like a little boy! Naive loser, as he was a fool, so he remained! Our daughter is already 170 years old, and our son will soon turn 300! They should be married! And for what money, I ask? In order to have a normal wedding, it takes at least 45-50 thousand shilatans! Who will give us such a sum of money?! We have to get them on their feet! Otherwise, my father will turn over in his flying coffin!.. While saying these words, the woman began to cry into her leaky apron. Baltabalyk said quietly to Yakan Ibn Hakan and lainjon Lanat — Let’s get out of here, Earthlings. The new friends went out into the street, where a blizzard was buzzing, whirling snow flakes in the gloom. The diamond dust of snowflakes did not allow them to open their eyes. They followed Baltabalyk, protecting themselves from snow flakes with their hands, looking back from time to time.
— Mr. Baltabalyk, where are we going?! Lainjon Lanat shouted, walking heavily in the thick snow, through a snow vortex.
— To my office! — Baltabalyk exclaimed without looking back. They headed towards the high cliffs. The distant howling of polar wolves could be heard. Finally, they came to the cave where Baltabalyk works. The guests came to the door and shook the snow off their clothes. Baltabalyk took the keys and opened the door. They observed that it resembled the cabins of a huge helicopter, as there were many different devices, sensors and buttons. The floor was covered with the skins of some kind of animal with long hair. There was a small window on the wall of the cave.
— Here, my friends earthlings, this is my office. I work in this hole, » Baltabalyk said.
— Excuse me, please, Mr. Baltabalyk, What do you do here, if it’s not a secret? — Yakan ibn Khaqan asked.
— My work is not hard, but it is responsible. I work as the main sun igniter and sun extinguisher of our planet. I turn on the sun in the morning and turn it off in the evening to somehow save energy. You see, the moon and the stars are real, but the sun is artificial. Well, what to do if our planet is far from the sun? The work is interesting and romantic. I get 99 shilatans per month. This is not enough, of course.But I’m not complaining. On the contrary, I am happy when I see children playing in the sun, cheerfully and together shouting like seagulls on the shore of the sea. The time of the year changes every two weeks. Today is the last day of the second week. That is, the end of winter. Tomorrow morning, the long-awaited spring will come.Migratory birds will arrive from the south. The most interesting thing is that our plants are also adapted to the seasons and they grow quickly, right before our eyes. The trees also hurriedly open their buds, open their leaves and bloom. And there is summer, autumn, winter again, and so on, » Baltabalyk explained.
— Yes, you have an interesting planet and your work is unique, — said Lainjon Lanat. Then he continued: — excuse me, I have another question.
— Please, what is the question? Baltabalik smiled.
— When we entered your cave, your wife said that you were 750 years old. Your daughter is 170 and your son will soon turn 300. Is this true, or did I hear it wrong?
— Yes, it’s true, Lainjon Lanat. I’m actually 750 years old. Do I look older or something? — Baltabalyk said.
— That’s just it. You look very young. I just wonder, how can a person live so long? — Lainjon Lanat was surprised.
— And what, people don’t live so long on your Earth? — Baltabalyk asked in surprise.
— Our people live on average 50-60 years. We have polluted air, countless factories were smoking day and night all over the planet, releasing carbon dioxide into the atmosphere and the radiation is off the scale, — Yakan ibn Hakan replied.
— What are you guys joking about? — Baltabalyk was surprised again.
— Honest pioneer- said Lainjon Lanat.
— Well, you poor earthlings! Our monkeys even live longer than you! — Baltabalyk exclaimed.
— If people on Earth would live as long as you do, then our dictators would sit on the presidential chair for 2000 years!
— Excuse me, Earthlings, I’m leaving you for just a few minutes. With these words, Baltabalyk went to the next room. A few minutes later, he appeared with a large tray in his hands, where there were smoked crabs, fish and fruit. Before starting to eat, Lainjon Lanat took out a bottle of vodka from his back pocket and said:
— Mr. Baltabalyk! I want to drink with you at the bruderschaft for our acquaintance! With these words, he opened the bottle and poured vodka into faceted glasses. Yakan ibn Khaqan refused to drink.
— We will not pour Yakan ibn Khaqan. He can’t. He’s driving with us. And we will drink to you, to the health of your beautiful blue-eyed wife, Mrs. Matilda. Come on, take a glass and let’s go! — Lainjon Lanat said, handing the glass to Baltabalyk. He smiled in response and took a faceted glass of vodka. Lainjon Lanat was the first to drain the glass, gulping down the contents. Then, while eating, he made a gesture that Baltabalyk would also drink. He drank the vodka in one gulp and choked heavily. He coughed and clutched his throat with dilated eyes, and was terribly scared, thinking that Lainjon Lanat had poisoned him.
Lainjon Lanat began to calm him down:
— Don’t be afraid, Baltabalyk! It will pass now! eat, eat this!..
Baltabalyk had a bite and he felt much better. The strong vodka made his eyes water. Wiping his tears, he said:
— What a drink you have, Earthlings! I almost died!
Yakan ibn Khaqan and Lainjon Lanat were laughing. Baltabalyk too. Lainjon Lanat again filled the glasses with burning vodka to the brim and handed one of them to Baltabalyk. looking at the glass in fright, Baltabalyk refused to drink. Lainjon Lanat was offended
— I’m not taking No for an answer! Because now we will drink to the most important thing! For the cosmic friendship of the peoples of all the planets of the universe!
— Well, if for the friendship of the peoples of the planets, then I will drink it, — said Baltabalyk with a hiccup and drank the contents, emptying the garnished glass to the bottom. Lainjon Lanat too. After the third glass, Baltabalyk became completely intoxicated. He kept smiling, lazily making speeches. He laughed and giggled like a madman. After the fourth glass, he completely fell to the floor and fell asleep like a dead man. Lainjon Lanat too. Yakan ibn Khaqan sat for a long time at the window, thoughtfully looking at the snow, which was still falling in the darkness, where a blizzard was whistling, whirling snowflakes like white flies. Then, yawning widely, he also went to bed. They woke up in the afternoon, from a stupid knock on the door. Baltabalyk went to the door and opened it. A short, hunchbacked man with squinting eyes, thin as the mummies of the Egyptian pyramids, came into the office. He was holding a long and crooked staff with bells in his hands. The hunchback was yelling at Baltabalyk:
— What are you doing, Baltabalyk?! It’s already twelve o’clock in the afternoon, and you’re still asleep and still haven’t turned on the sun!
— Sorry, sorry, Mr. Chief sorcerer-said Baltabalyk and hastily turned on the sun.
— I can’t forgive you. You have caused great damage to the agriculture of our planet! The farmers were late with the sowing! Come on, write an application for your release from your post at your own request! The hunchbacked sorcerer ordered, rattling the bells that hung on his sleeve.
— Mr. Sorcerer… I won’t be late anymore. Please don’t kick me out of work. How am I going to feed my children without this job? My little son is barely 99 years old. I haven’t been able to marry my 170-year-old daughter for so many years. I have to marry my son, who turned 300 years old. I am the only breadwinner in the family. If I lose my job, then my evil wife Matilda will kick me out of the cave. Where will I go then? Baltabalyk pleaded.
— No, you should have thought about it earlier! Write a statement and don’t come here again if you don’t want trouble! — said the hunchbacked sorcerer.
After these words, Baltabalyk had to vacate the room and they went outside. It was sunny outside and the snow was melting. The water gurgled and the streams flooded out. Larks were singing over the fields. Steam rose from the fields. The grass began to grow hastily right before their eyes. The trees have spread their leaves. Spring! But this did not please Yakan ibn Khaqan. Because poor Baltabalyk was kicked out of work because of them. If Baltabalyk had been sober, he would not have overslept.
— How will I live today? Now I’m finished, my alien friends. My wife will not let me into the cave — Baltabalyk sighed sadly.
— It»s nothing, cheer up, Mr. Baltabalyk! — Lainjon Lanat encouraged him.
— Fly with us to other galaxies and get married to beautiful humanoids there. Why do you need such a grumpy, harmful wife who does not respect you? It’s very easy to find a job there. Get a job as a janitor and you will clean up nuclear waste, thoughtfully shuffling a broom in the predawn hour in deserted courtyards. Or you will open your own brothel, you will work as a pimp — said Lainjon Lanat.
Baltabalyk, looking sadly into the distance, said:
— I’ll help you with the repair. But I can’t fly with you, my earthlings friends. Because I love my home planet and I can’t live without it, even if the sun is artificial! In a foreign land, I will simply wither, inconsolable longing for my planet, looking at it from afar through super-powerful telescopes! I was born in these parts, and I will die here, — Baltabalyk said.
— Don’t make me laugh for God’s sake, Baltabalyk! Don’t be so naive. A man must be determined! Let’s travel through the vast expanses of boundless space, while we are alive and well! Yakan ibn Khaqan will build a large factory there, where cotton will be processed.We will be engaged in the space business! From there, we will transport home on a caravan of flying saucers, cotton waste called «uvada», from which our compatriots sew coats, cotton blankets — blankets and other things. We’ll get rich! Well, don’t be sad… Spit on this planet, which underestimated you. Is this a planet!? You live damn, without even having a normal sun! Just tell me where these mechanics of yours are. As soon as we repair our flying saucer, we’ll be on our way right away! The trumpet is calling! Lainjon Lanat said.
Baltabalyk kept his word by hiring repairmen and they repaired the aircraft. When the repairmen finished their work, Lainjon Lanat took another bottle of vodka from the glove compartment of the repaired flying saucer, which he hid and said:
— This case needs to be washed properly. We will drink to the mechanics on the hood of the flying saucer… When he started to open the bottle, Baltabalyk stopped him: — No, don’t! Please don’t open it! This drink of yours turns out to be very harmful to the human body. I only drank once and lost my job! I am afraid that I may lose my life a second time. No offense, but I will never drink this stuff again! — He swore.
Lainjon Lainat was offended: — Well, if you don’t want to, we won’t force you, — he said. Then he greedily gulped down the fiery-burning vodka several times, holding the bottle to his mouth like a pocket flask. After that, the three of them sat on the flying saucer and flew.
In order not to fall asleep during the flight, Lainjon Lanat began to talk.
-There are rumors that our hypersonic intercontinental cruise missiles with nuclear warheads are not weapons, but a slingshot in comparison with the weapons created by space terrorists of some galaxy, now, unfortunately, I do not remember the name.
They have invented a terrible reactor with which you can push one solar system against another. Then the whole universe will explode, can you imagine?! What kind of weapon is it? Lainjon Lanat said, looking through the monitor at the flying fragments of space rocks and at the stars. Then he continued, turning to Baltabalyk, who has a compact translator device powered by a solar battery.
— You know, Baltabalyk, the life that you have lived on your planet is not a life but a real nightmare! You did not live, your life was like an impersonation. Let’s go to a place where happiness awaits us, there you will feel the taste of real life… — he said, wetting his throat with vodka along the way.
Then a small fragment of the cosmic mass hit the windshield of the flying saucer and Baltabalyk was scared: — Oh, damn! Beware, Yakan ibn Khaqan! Maybe you are tired of living, but I personally do not want to die!.. What a horror! — he said
— Yes, this is bullshit, compared to air funnels, similar to a concrete mixer, where countless fragments of meteorites, asteroids and comets rotate at breakneck speed! Lainjon Lanat tried to calm him down.
— Yes? Well, then I will forgive you to take me back home, dear earthlings, I do not want to die in vain in these God-forsaken places of the universe. Who knows, maybe there are intergalactic star warriors and humanoids that will shoot us down by opening fire from an anti-aircraft laser device. So come on, turn around -said Baltabalyk.
— What?! You coward! Who gave you the right to command here?! Why are you staring at me! Is he okay or something? — said Lainjon Lanat, who by this time was slightly drunk.Then, with all his might, he hit Baltabalik on the head with a bottle, shouting — Die, you brute!, and Baltabalik immediately lost consciousness and collapsed. Lainjon Lanat angrily wanted to throw him out of the flying saucer, but he was immediately stopped by Yakan ibn Khaqan. -What are you doing, you bastard, you psycho?! Do not open the hatch, the unit will depressurize! What have you done, you ungrateful creature?! He helped us! — Stop it! — he shouted.
— All right, Commander, calm down. Everything is fine. Well, I’m sorry, Yakan, that I overreacted. Well, with whom does this not happen? I just couldn’t restrain myself — Lainjon Lanat asked for forgiveness with a lazy smile on his lips.
— You idiot! — said Yakan ibn Khaqan.
They flew for a long time. On the way, Baltabalyk woke up, but he did not remember anything. It turns out that he lost his memory. His eyes were empty, like a man who has lost interest in life.
After a grueling flight, the old flying saucer of Yakan ibn Khaqan finally arrived on the planet «Gurrabash ». Yakan ibn Khaqan and his friends stopped at a hotel in the capital to have a good rest for a week or two. Lainjon Lainat, using a compact translator device belonging to Baltabalyk, talked to beautiful gurrabashkas who worked in an expensive hotel in the capital, intended for rich alien clients. They did not answer Lainjon Lanat’s questions, only smiled amiably, taking his words for jokes. Baltabalyk, who had lost his memory, obediently followed Yakan ibn Khaqan, thoughtfully ate, drank, sat in silence, did not talk to anyone. Yakan ibn Hakan was negotiating with managers of large banks to sell his priceless goods, which he brought on his old flying saucer from the distant planet «Earth». Finally, he managed to sign contracts for the sale of goods on a barter basis, that is, to exchange dung for diamonds. His joy had no bounds. Yakan ibn Khaqan returned to his luxurious room in an expensive hotel, where poor Baltabalyk was still sitting in silence, looking out of the wide window with a misty gaze at the street. Lainjon Lanat disappeared for days with an attractive gurrabashka.
Yakan ibn Hakan, wanted to turn on the TV, then kick, and he found himself in a light trap, similar to an inverted plastic cup. Then he heard voices. — Mr. Alien Yakan ibn Hakan, you are under arrest on suspicion of murdering a gurrabash named Bitbyldyk and stealing his time machine of a new modification. Hearing this, Yakan ibn Khaqan turned his eyes from fear and surprise.
-What are you saying?! What kind of murder?! What kind of hijacking?! I do not know who this Bitbyldyk is! This is some kind of misunderstanding! I demand that this masquerade be stopped immediately! You have no right to arrest me! This is a setup! Meanness! I am an honest businessman and I came here only to sell priceless dung! I will complain to the Intergalactic Court! He shouted, standing in the police light trap like a parrot in a cage.
Soon he was tried and on the basis of the verdict of the jury, the court sentenced him to life imprisonment, with confiscation of property.
— The convicted alien, Mr. Yakan ibn Hakan, will serve his sentence as a particularly dangerous criminal in a correctional concentration camp located on the planet «Earth», the judge said.
Hearing this, Yakan ibn Khaqan even laughed, thinking about what fools these gurrabashes are, who send me to their home planet, where they love and appreciate me.There is a fair President of the country and the writers ‘ union at the very least.They will protect me, free me from prison. They will award me with orders and medals, give me an apartment with a country house, where I will write my exciting novels in the deserted silence.
A day later, according to a court decision, Yakan ibn Hakan was sent by stage to the planet «Earth», in a police-era spaceplane, which flew through space at breakneck speed with a heart-rending siren wail.
Yakan ibn Khaqan was sitting in the spaceport, with invisible handcuffs on his hands, looking at the police, who were silently flying in a chemical protection suit.
— Idiots-Yakan ibn Khaqan grinned.
Finally, the spaceplane landed and the police, carefully opening the lower hatch, pushed out the convicted Yakan ibn Khaqan. Thus, after delivering him to his destination, they flew back.
When he began to suffocate from the smoke, Yakan ibn Khaqan, with fear, thought that the Gurrabashs had deceived him by throwing him not to his native planet «Earth» but to a completely different planet, where there was nothing to breathe.
He looked around in surprise. Because this planet was foggy and only ruins caught the eye through this fog. There were no trees or grasses. The ground was covered with gray ash.. The same ash was flying in the air, like dandruff from unkempt hair. The Gurrabashi have deceived me , he thought with fear. It became even harder for him to breathe. Just at this time, he saw a man in an oxygen mask and asked him breathlessly: — Excuse me, sir, is this the planet «Earth»?
A passerby looked at him in surprise through the glass of a gas mask, then answered: — Yes.
Yakan ibn Khaqan continued: — I don’t recognize anything here. Where are the houses, the trees? There are ruins all around. Why is it difficult to breathe here? Ash and fog are everywhere.
«Did you fall off the moon or something?» Where were you when the Third World War broke out? A year ago, such a war thundered on earth, and you did not know. Strange. You probably got a concussion along with the radiation. — said the man with a gas mask on his head, resembling an elephant with a trunk.
With these words, he began to leave. Yakan ibn Khaqan hurriedly caught up with him and asked: — Sir, I’m suffocating from lack of air. Can you tell me where I can get oxygen? Help me for God’s sake. The man with the gas mask stopped when he heard the name of God.
— There, you see, there is a green booth around the bend, where it says H2O at the top. Here, go there and buy yourself oxygen, — he said.
Thanking him, Yakan ibn Khaqan ran to where he was pointing. There, in the booth, he saw a man also with a gas mask on his face. On the shelves were oxygen bottles with a mask of various sizes.
«Hello, Mr. Salesman,» said Yakan ibn Khaqan.
— Hi, what do you want? — the seller said.
— Oxygen! I want oxygen! It’s hard to breathe! — Yakan ibn Khaqan said, gasping for breath.
— Do you have any money? — the salesman asked.
— No. I’ll bring it to you today. Give me a loan for now. Well, for God’s sake, please-he begged.
— No, for God’s sake, I can’t. But if for the sake of our irreplaceable, highly respected president of the country, then I can give it — the seller said.
— Well, give it at least for the sake of the president of the country-said Yakan ibn Khakan. The seller wrote down the name and surname of Yakan ibn Khaqan in the debtors ‘ notebook, then gave him an oxygen canister with a mask. Yakan ibn Khaqan took a canister and, putting on an oxygen mask, began to suffocate even more. His eyes were squinting from lack of oxygen. Then, looking at the can, he saw the inscription «Carbonate dioxide». The salesman was laughing, shaking his shoulders. That’s when Yakan ibn Khaqan only found out about the vile seller.

It was Lainjon Lanat.

 

19/11/2020.
11: 54 p.m.
Canada, Ontario.

The execution in the electric chair
(The story)

 

Saidvakkas is about twenty-five years old, of medium height, with large cow eyes, a hunched nose, and black eyebrows and hair like oil. He works as an electrician in the local power grid and is madly in love with his profession. He’s over there every day — then he fixes it by climbing high poles on his electrician’s claws. He works in an orange protective helmet, leaning slightly away, holding the chain around the post in a stretch, and humming a cheerful song to himself. Over the post where Saidvakkas works, huge clouds float like giant airships, and nearby on the spring slender poplars, chickadee sing, singing a trill, like: -Chicka- dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee! The best and most interesting thing for Saidvakkas is that he can see everything from a height, as in the palm of his hand, houses, courtyards, trees, streets of an urban-type settlement, distant country roads, pathways, meadows and cows, cotton fields and behind the fields high mountain slopes and snow peaks. Usually people hardly pay attention to it. But when the electric wires are cut off in a winter snowstorm or a Blizzard and the lights are turned off, Saidvakkas instantly becomes the most important, dear and close to the heart of the townspeople, as an irreplaceable eternal President of the country, as a heroic person. Oh, how happy the residents of the urban-type settlement will be when Saidvakkas fixes and fixes the problem! Old and young, even children at the top of their voices, will shout in chorus: — Hurraaay!. Hearing this for the first time, a person may even think that angry people finally rose up against a vile tyrant and a bloody dictator to make a revolution. After the light turns on, everyone will immediately forget about Saidvakkas, and he in turn, treats this with understanding, not offended by them. Often, the electricity is cut off, the lights are turned off and the urban-type settlement is plunged into pitch darkness. Especially in winter, when old electric kiosks explode, people live without electricity for weeks, sometimes even months, drowning their shacks and huts with dung in an antediluvian way, eating and reading in the light of kerosene lamps, in frosty silence. On days like this, when children are doing their homework by candlelight, the angry people will sing a chorus of curses at the electricians and all civil servants who are thus oppressing their own people who voted for them in the election, trusting them with their fate, when they promised that there would be no problems with electricity and gas if the people voted for them.
With such thoughts Sadvakkas worked on the pole, and then rang his mobile phone.
Saidvakkas pulled out his cell phone, turned it on.
-Hello! Go ahead speak, I hear you! — said Saidvakkas .
Then the man began to speak in a rustling voice:- Hello! Is this the electrician Sadvakkas?! Well Hello there, man. In short I know you and you don’t know me. So, listen to me carefully and do not interrupt, do not ask who I am, where I come from, if of course you value your life!.. In short, your life is hanging by a thread over a bottomless abyss and you have very little time.They want to arrest you today for talking too much in a cafe, criticizing the authorities and police of our irreplaceable, highly respected President, calling him a dictator. In short, you were put on an international wanted list. So run, man, and don’t look back. That’s it, I can’t talk anymore.This is dangerous for me. The situation is extremely serious. After our conversation, you will smash your mobile phone to smithereens and try not to talk to anyone on the phone. With respect, your secret friend — said the unknown.
What are you saying, I was just joking then, so that the company would have fun and not talk about some of our officials in the highest echelon of power who steal people’s money and send it through offshore to foreign banks in the form of gold and diamonds, in order to improve the gas supply in the country and update the outdated power transmission system.
I did not say a word about the authorities that sell natural gas, oil and other minerals almost for free to other countries. And our poor people are drowning their huts, shacks and concrete apartments the antediluvian way in the harsh winter.That is, coal, wood or dung. Especially in winter, in the absence of electricity and gas, the population of our country suffers from the cold. Especially children. They do their homework at the light of a kerosene lamp in a cold house in the siege of Leningrad in the forties of the 20th century. With the money stolen by some state officials of our independent country, you can easily build powerful ultra-modern power plants, hundreds of giant plants and factories, where our patrons are suffering from total unemployment even though they could work. They wouldn’t travel the world looking for work and becoming slaves. If they had a normal job at home, our young fellow citizens would not have turned into marauders, in the hotspots of the planet, where they blow up and destroy beautiful cities, turning them into ruins, killing each other and innocent people, especially the homeless children….
-Hello! Hello, can you hear me?! — said Saidvakkas . But he heard short beeps from the phone , similar to the beeps of the ventilator of the lungs of a patient, who died. That is, the connection was broken.
Saidvakkas frightend, looked around and quickly went downstairs and went to the side of the block where he lives with his mother. On the way, all the people began to look for undercover policemen in civilian clothing. Before he went to his apartment, he again looked around and went inside, closing the door of his apartment. Seeing his pale face and anxious eyes, his mother became concerned.
-What’s wrong, son? — she asked.
It’s okay.Only, you know… there is such a thing… Well, how do you explain it? More shortly he
said barely hearing the thud of boots outside the door, the fear stopped. Then, approaching the door on tiptoe, he looked through the peephole and saw the people standing there. Saidvakkas immediately recognized one of them . It was the local policeman Lieutenant Carbabaev, who began to knock at the door.
-Who’s there? Open the door — said Saidvakkas’s mom.
Saidvakkas put his index finger on his mouth and said in a whisper: — Shh, Mom, there is Lieutenant Carbabaev with his squad. They want to arrest me. Don’t worry, mom, it’s gonna be okay. I’m going out the window right now and tell them you didn’t see me. Take care of yourself, mom. I love you
said Saidvakkas, hugging his mom and saying goodbye to her. From these words Saidvakkas’s mother almost fainted.
Saidvakkas opened the window, jumped on the booming tin of the roof of a nearby house and ran as a stuntman who performs dangerous and difficult stunts, replacing the actor on the set. After him, said the local policeman Lieutenant Carbabaev, people engaged in catching stray dogs. Downstairs they gathered the people and began to observe what was happening, they shielded their eyes from the Sun rays . They thought that in their hometown was a shoot action-Packed exciting feature film. Saidvakkas recklessly ran across the tin roofs. He ran and thought that in this world he ran everything as a hamster in a cage which is turning a wheel. People run because they are chased by the merciless grim Reaper.
And people twist their wheels, big and small, gold, iron, wood and clay, quietly turning gray and aging at the same time. Who’s got the legs for untold wealth. Even those who have paralyzed legs, too, running for their pension, that move with the help of crutches, who are in a wheelchair with the wheels of a bike. And the Earth, Is spinning like a mysterious wheel of the universe so great that no one can stop it. And the blue sky was too similar to an hourglass, where seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, and centuries are flowing from above like the Sands of the torn bag like heaven in the hourglass of eternity… Such thoughts Saidvakkas ran on, leaping from roof to roof, like a flying squirrel in the forest as suspense in a jungle.
Saidvakkas ! Wait! Stop! Otherwise I will be forced to open fire with my service weapon! — shouted Lieutenant Carbabaev.
Saidvakkas did not obey him. On the contrary he started to run even faster. He jumped from roof to roof like a monkey in the jungle, like a flying squirrel from tree to tree and ran recklessly. Lieutenant Carbabaev and the hunters of street dogs ran with nets in hand, deftly leaping from rooftop to rooftop, never losing sight of Carbabaev. At the bottom of all this with admiration he watched the crowd of onlookers, as tourists at the Canadian Niagara falls . Then disaster struck and Saidvakkas fell into an old deep ventilation shaft . As he fell crashing down, he heard shouting in the dark. Someone coughed and sneezed in the soot and dust. On the roof all the people are still stomping their boots .
-Oh, my! He’s gone! As if the landing failed! Oh Satan!, where has he gone?! I really missed the bastard. — said Lieutenant Carbabaev and said: Well, we’ll do a stakeout on his apartment and he won’t escape us! After these words, stamping the echoing roof detachment Lieutenant Carbabaev began to leave. When they left, in a dark ventilation shaft, someone lit a match and Saidvakkas saw a man of about thirty-five or forty. He lit a candle. Saidvakkas immediately asked for forgiveness from the owner for jumping into the housing.
Dont worry about it, it’s okay- said the man and continued.
I am a lone writer and poet my name is Dahabebaho — he explained.
I’m glad to meet you Mr. poet Dahobebaho. Call me Saidvakkas. I have a special secondary education. Before that, I worked as an electrician.
Well, then we’re almost colleagues. As you electricians are covering people’s houses and roads and we poets illuminated the human soul like weary street lights in the quiet dawn — said the poet Dahobebaho . Then he read his new poem.
Listening to the verses of Dahobebaho, Saidvakkas took a deep breath.
Oh, such a great poet lives in an unlit ventilation shaft! What an injustice, my Lord! How do you even live in a hole like this covered in cobwebs? Such poets as you have to live in mansions, where the moon peeks through the window . Where, outside the window are rings of white-trunked poplars in the wind, and the fall of the maples drop their leaves in silence as tears. In the winter twilight poets have to sit silently next to a large window, especially turning off the lights and gaze for hours on a snowy snowstorm, listening to the howling of wolves — he said.
-No, Mr. Saidvakkas , on the contrary I am glad that I live in the ventilation shaft. It’s much better than living in luxurious mansions. Here reigns peace and quiet. No one’s bothering me here. I’m not running, I’m not in a hurry, I’m not late. I’m doing what I like — said the great poet Dahobebaho.
Saidvakkas paused for a moment, looking at the hands of the poet covered with tattoos. Then asked:
I apologize, Mr. Poet, it is clear that you have been in prison for many years. What for?
-No, Mr. Saidvakkas , I wasn’t in prison -said the poet Dahobebaho.
Then why are your hands covered with tattoos? — said Saidvakkas .
-Aaa — said Dahobebaho. Then went on to explain:
-I have not only my hands, almost all my body is covered with tattoos, where the text of my poems is written in small print, which can be read only with a magnifying glass. I wrote them on my body with ink and a needle so my poems wouldn’t get lost. In short, I love the manuscript of poems. That’s the way I will save money to buy new shoes, but I still can not. I walk, as you can see, in these old footsteps, wrapped in my foot cloths. It’s like gold for the rich to me. I rarely would like to share with paper he said
then he continued:
-Mr. Saidvakkas , I’m glad you came. Although you came into my miserable home without warning, but God sent you to me as a guest, you should be able to treat the poet more than that — said Dahobebaho.
Well, I’m ready to take treats, Mr. poet. I know you want to punch me in the face for the fact that I bothered you with my stupid visit — smiled Saidvakkas .
No, really I dont want to punch you in the face, you truly are an expensive guest. I do have some treats for you. There’s got to be a piece of dried bread around here somewhere .I didn’t eat it, even when I was facing starvation. I saved it for random guests. Where is it?.. With these words, the poet Dahabebaho began frantically fumbling in his old and tattered bag, made of fox leather.
Don’t worry, Mr. poet I’m full- said Saidvakkas.
-Yeah? — said Dahobebaho, and made a sad sigh. Then he got very excited, feeling his torn jacket and pulling out the inner pocket of the pouch.
Here, I have an excellent shag, made by me from the fallen crimson leaves of autumn maple, which sadly drops in deserted autumn parks and alleys in the misty silence. That is, I will treat you with sacred smoke -he said, hastily unleashing a ribbon from his pouch with his hands shaking with excitement.
-Mr. poet Dahobebaho, don’t. I’m not Smoking or drinking.That is, I lead a healthy lifestyle. with sports — said Saidvakkas .
-Don’t be afraid, Mr. Saidvakkas. The tobacco heals — explained the poet Dahobebaho , stuffing his pipe with tobacco,on the thin mouthpiece, specially made of reeds. Then, lighting his pipe, took a few puffs and handed it to Saidvakkas.
Saidvakkas picked up the pipe and also made a puff. Then the toxic smoke entered his lungs and he began coughing heavily, sticking out his tongue like a sick old sheep, gasping for breath. Dahabebaho began to laugh. He barely was able to breathe due to him constantly laughing and said: -You cough as quail, who sings in the predawn darkness of the clover field. The quail was also coughing, the quail’s throat was frozen when it drank the cold dew.
Hmmm,the tabacco that you made with fallen maple leaves which you picked up from the foggy autumn park — said Saidvakkas smiling — just recovering.
Dahabebaho asked him why Lieutenant Carbabaev and his team were following him.
Saidvakkas told in detail the reason for the prosecution to Dahabebaho. Then, lighting a pipe he stuffed it with healing tabacco, made of fallen crimson leaves of the autumn maple, he began to speak.
-Yes, Mr Saidvakkas like you — a rarity not only in our society but on the planet.Not everyone is given the courage to tell the truth about the hard life of people, risking their own lives. I envy you in white in this regard, honestly.And I live here, hiding from the stupid crowd like an eagle nesting on a high rock. Since this property has no Windows, every day I go up to the roof through a compact folding staircase to meet the dawn and sunset, sitting on a tin roof and writing new poems. At night I admire the starry sky and the shining moon in silence. I especially love to look at the dawn from the roof down, watching the movement of the crowd, hurrying to work or somewhere else.The flow of crowds moving along the sidewalk as the caravan of ants and headed toward the subway. Hurrying the obedient people to remind me of grains of sand, which the winds easily control and direct them wherever it wants…
Then suddenly someone began to shout at the top:
-Oh, crap, he is here, in the ventilation pipe. Talking to his accomplice!Hurry up, comrade Carbabaev! — he shouted.
And again there came the sound of tarpaulin boots echoing on the tin roof. Saidvakkas and the poet Dahabebaho with horror, stared upward, as prisoners in the deepest dungeon of the ancient Bukhara.
They are terribly scared seeing the angry policeman Lieutenant Carbabaev, who looked at the ventilation shaft, as if in the well with a service weapon in hand.
-Come on, hands up, bastards! No one can escape from us! Now Saidvakkas, and your accomplice too!.. Hey, you bring the rope quickly. Let them rise voluntarily, unless of course they still want to live in this world! -he shouted, raising his cap slightly with the barrel of a silenced pistol.
Hearing this, Carbabaev’s heart sank. He and the poet Dahabebaho stood with their hands raised as a warrior captured in war.
-Wait, Lieutenant Carbabaev! I’ve got tranquilizer Darts! He just ran to the dog hunter, who is engaged in catching of stray dogs, and pulling a brass tube from his pocket began to throw his Darts at Saidvakkas and his friend.But he couldn’t get in.Then the Lieutenant Carbabaev lost patience and abruptly pushed him away.
-Oh, you poor dog hunter! Who shoots like that! Move, stupid! I’ll do without your poor services, without the rope! I’ve got a smoke bomb that’ll make them go upstairs! — he said, lighting a smoke bomb, and threw it into the windpipe, which resembled an old dried-up well.
At this time, Lieutenant Carbabaev pushed the dog hunter who rolled on the tin roof and barely stopped at the edge.
-Don’t be afraid, Mr. Saidvakkas , without panic. There is a back door in the air duct — the poet Dahobebaho said in a whisper coughing the smoke. After that, pulling out the old mattress, they opened the doorway and dived there.
Saidvakkas with the poet Dahabebaho out of the doorway and ran, not looking back on the sidewalk, knocking passers-by, in order to get away. Lieutenant Carbabaev and his partner, the dog hunter. They were still above the ventilation pipe, hoping to catch the two fugitives, that is from the pit of the ventilation pipe, filled with caustic smoke. And runaways-adherents ran on the sidewalk with all their might, overtaking each other as participants of the Olympic games on a treadmill. When they started to cross the street, as if changing direction on the run, Saidvakkas almost got hit by a truck.The driver of the truck, sharply twisted the steering wheel to the right and in a panic pressed the brakes. As a result the truck left sharply on a roadside and with a roar crashed into a column. From a powerful blow a wooden pole broke like a mast of an ancient pirate ship in the stormy sea. There were heart-rending cries of women, like whistling, swearing and screaming, like an alarm. Fortunately, there were no casualties. The friends fled until they began to suffocate. Saidvakkas suddenly got a unique idea and he forced one man’s bike with biker handlebars.
-Mr. poet Dahabebaho! Jump quickly to the back of the 2 wheeled wagon of Satan! — he shouted.
The poet Dahabebaho jumped on the back of a stolen bike .He deftly sat on Satan’s wagon, go prompting the Indians on the horse and together they raced down the sidewalk, screaming: -everyone this satan’s wagon does not have working brakes!
Passers-by leaned against the walls of houses and showcases of restaurants and cafes, freeing them from the sidewalk.There was trouble. That is Carbabaev’s pant leg caught in the chain and the fugitives, losing balance, fell to the pavement. To get rid of the two-wheeled trap, from satan’s wagon, Saidvakkas had to say goodbye to the Trouser leg of his trousers. After that, they started running on the crowded sidewalk again.
There were screams.:
-Lieutenant Carbabaev! Here they are! Shoot! We’ll miss them again! — the driver of a pickup truck shouted, densely approaching the populous sidewalk.
No, it’s crowded here! I’m going to miss and shoot innocent passers-by! You are a dog hunter, go ahead and shoot poisonous darts for fugitives from this stupid brass tube! -shouted the Lieutenant Carbabaev.
-Well, comrade Carbabaev! — said the dog hunter, and he grabbed the brass tube from his pocket, began to shoot Darts, taking aim at the neck of the fugitives. But he missed and immediately a couple innocent citizens fell, clutching their neck.
Fool! Be careful, stinky dog hunter! — Lieutenant Carbabaev reproached the hunter of stray dogs , slightly raising the visor of his cap with the barrel of a service weapon.By this time the fugitives sharply changing their directions, dived into a narrow alley, where the car would not fit.
After this detachment, Lieutenant Carbabaev began to pursue the fugitives on foot. The persecuted ran towards the railway station. Saidvakkas started howling like a werewolf under the full moon from the unbearable pain, he started limping, clutching his leg. It turns out he stepped on a rusty nail that pierced through his leg.He could no longer walk, and fell to the ground like a bag of soil.
The great poet Dahabebaho had to go back to help his faithful friend in the difficult moments.
What’s wrong? — he asked, running and breathing heavily.
Aaaahh!..A nail pierced through my leg! — said Saidvakkas . His face twisted into a grimace of pain.
-Be patient, mister electrician Saidvakkas .Get up.
Let me help you with that. It’s dangerous for both of us to stay here. After the squad Lieutenant Carbabaev, you understand? — said the great poet Dahabebaho, trying to help lift up his fugitive friend.
No, don’t help me. I like something better about myself… You run, I got your back.While I’ll hold them off, you will have time to escape, blending into the crowd in the station of the flea market. I’m sure.
Goodbye, my friend Dahabebaho! You have no right not to be saved, run for God’s sake, for the sake of our long-suffering literature, for the sake of our oppressed people! said Saidvakkas , groaning from the unbearable pain.
After that Dahabebaho there was nothing for it but to run on.
-Goodbye, Mr. Saidvakkas ! Thank you for helping me, staying in trouble and sacrificing yourself for our friendship! — cried the poet Dahabebaho. His eyes glistened with tears. Saying goodbye to his friend he ran on.When he disappeared from sight, there was a detachment of Lieutenant Carbabaev and caught the fugitive electrician. Lieutenant Carbabaev sitting on the back of Saidvakkas, put lowcost handcuffs on his hands.
Well, got the stinky electrician, evil enemy of our suffering people?! We will catch your crazy rich poet friend living in a luxury ventilation pipe!
Ah stop… Come on, chief, that hurts! Don’t put pressure on my leg, which was pierced by a rusty nail! — said Saidvakkas , lounging on the ground.
After that, he was taken to the basement of the detention center for questioning.
The investigation lasted long. The criminal case consisted of several volumes. Finally, the trial took place and the jury handed down an indictment. After all this, the Prosecutor asked the court to sentence Saidvakkas to death.
The court, having consulted on a place, decided! Since our convict Saidvakkas worked at the will of the electrician, he will be executed in the electric chair! — the judge said.
Then ordered:
Rise, condemned! Saidvakkas stood up.
Do you understand me?! — the judge asked. Saidvakkas replied: -Yes, your honor.
-Sit down! — ordered the judge.
Saidvakkas sat down on the defendant bench.
This court session is declared closed! — the judge said, tapping with a wooden hammer.
Saidvakkas never thought that he would ever commit such a heinous crime and would be executed in the electric chair. Oh, how his mother in court was crying! The worst thing happened before the
execution. When he heard the barking of angry dogs and keys rattling the iron door, Saidvakkas thought with horror that the executioners coming from the dark corridor to take him to the room for the execution. But it was not .The lawyer came with the muslim priest. Beardless young priest with a black velvet skullcap on his head with a sacred book in his hands.
-Electrician Saidvakkas , so you are going to the afterlife, I came to read your memorial by Sharia law
said the beardless priest with a velvet black skullcap.
Saidvakkas was silent, looking at the priest’s indifferent gaze as a crazy person.
-I also came to say goodbye to you, my dear client Saidvakkas. I apologize that I couldn’t protect you from a death sentence-the lawyer told and bitterly began to cry.
After this they brought Saidvakkas his last meal.
This is your last meal. Excellent plov, cooked with very delicious sheep kabbob. Eat. If you want to drink vodka or wine lastly, tell me do not be shy-said one of them and uncorked a bottle of wine, gently pulling the tube with the help of a corkscrew.
-No, thank you. I don’t want to eat or drink, how could I have anything at such a time, what’s wrong with you? — said Saidvakkas .
-Well, well.If you don’t want to drink, we will toast to you, that is, the sight of your soul -the other said and they drank in silence, clinking glasses, and ate.Then they took Saidvakkas , dragging him along a narrow, poorly, conferences hall. Before putting him on the electric chair, the Barber shaved his hair with a razor in the top of his head, wet his head with a wet rag so that his skull effectively passed the high voltage electric current. Then put him in the electric chair, the executioners tied the hands and feet with belts, blindfolded his eyes, with a dark blindfold, so his eyes don’t pop out during the execution.
After the judge read the verdict , Saidvakkas with a rag in his mouth thinking that here is the main executioner nodding to his assistant and he pulls the switch and scary sitebest electrical discharges like lightning in the black sky, throwing sparks and he’s done.
Finally it was the time of the execution and the assistant chief executioner solemnly pulled the lever.
Those present in the hall covered their face with their hands, with magazines, who else than that, not to see the terrible event. But just at this time the power went out throughout the district, thereby saving Saidvakkas from apparent death.
Saidvakkas woke up in a cold sweat and saw his mother, who stood with a candle in her hand.
Oh, mom, why are you holding a burning candle? — he asked with fright, thinking that he really died after the execution and is already in the dark world.
-What is it, my lamb, I think you are sick? What to do if power turns the light off, under the pretext economic electricity? Turned on the TV to watch movies and again turned off the light — electrician Saidvakkas’s mom said .
Oh, thank God, mother, thank God, that all this was not in reality! — said Saidvakkas hugging his mother.
-What happend to you, my son, did you have a nightmare? — asked the Saidvakkas’s mother.
-Yes, mother, in the dream I was executed in the electric chair! Good thing the lights went out during the execution! Oh, how good it is to live without electricity!Look, mom, how the moon looks in our open window!As the distant twinkle of countless stars! Do you hear the frog choir whispering?How they croak! croak!croak!croak!! And how selflessly crickets sing! — said Saidvakkas , looking in through the open window, which gently fluttered the net curtains.
Yes, son. Frogs are humpbacked, bug-eyed, ugly, in a word. And how they sing under the bright shining moon, in silence! — said the delighted mother of Saidvakkas.
Mother and son wondered, silently glaring through the open window on the moon and on the distant blue stars.

 

02/05/2018.
9:46 in the morning.
Canada, Ontario.

The Watchman
(Story)

 

This story is dedicated to the great Russian humorist Gennady Khazanov.

Duglat Dutarovich works as a watchman at a log warehouse. His replacement, Ivan Baltazarovich Spiridonov, recently died, and he was buried in the city cemetery with all honors. Despite the fact that Duglat Dutarovich is a Muslim, he still decided to go and attend the wake of his late replacement Spridonov Ivan Baltazarovich. The deceased was an Orthodox Christian and even wore a small wooden cross on his long neck. On Sundays, he went to church, lit candles for the repose of the souls of his departed parents. When black clouds were approaching and a thunderstorm began, rattling with thunderclaps, Ivan Baltazarovich Spiridonov, looking at the sky, crossed himself widely, asking his god Jesus Christ for salvation. But for some reason, God did not save him. Either he did not pray as he should, or God did not hear his prayers. It so happened that he tragically died. When unloading the wagons, the cable of the crane suddenly broke, and poor Ivan Baltazarovich Spridonov was left under the rubble of huge logs. Oh, life is an echoing tin can. The person was alive just yesterday, rejoiced, and now he is gone.
With such thoughts, Duglat Dutarovich went into the room where it was planned to celebrate the wake. Candles were burning on the table, and drinks, snacks and all sorts of delicious things were neatly laid out. Rudolf Makarovich Nikiforov, the head of the department, was the first to take the floor. Holding a glass of excellent vodka in his hand, he began to say:
— Dear last guests of our late compatriot Ivan Baltazarovich Spiridonov! Let us remember our dear faithful friend, the modest and honest caretaker of our log warehouse!
All the guests together, as a single organism, got up from their seats with glasses of moonshine in their hands. Everyone was standing without a headdress. Only Douglat Dutarovich was wearing a skullcap, since it is not customary for Muslims to attend funerals and other events without a headdress. The guests, of course, paid attention to his headdress, but no one began to make comments to him. Everyone reacted calmly, with understanding and tolerance.
— Ivan Baltazarovich was truly a great person!- Rudolf Makarovich Nikiforov continued, — As far as I know, he never wished harm to anyone. he always helped with everything he could. Unfortunately, a disaster happened, and our dear friend Baltazarich was left under the rubble of pine logs, which he loved, which he called his countrymen from distant Russia! Whenever birch logs were unloaded from the car, he secretly cried, wiping his tears with a cap and whispering «my poor white birches! You are lying here, instead of growing up under the low windows of Russian huts, swaying and ringing in the free wandering wind!» — he said with tears in his eyes. As if hearing his touching words, the pine logs also wept silently, dropping amber resinous tears. Oh, what a magnificent person with an open soul we have lost! This is a great loss for our friendly team! Dear Ivan Baltazarovich, sleep well, let your grave’s ground be soft and your soul in paradise! — in conclusion, the head of the department Rudolf Makarovich said, crossing himself finely. He then drank the vodka in one gulp, emptying the faceted glass.
Everyone repeated the movements of zavsklad Rudolf Makarovich, except Duglat Dutarovich, who could not cross himself in any way. His hand did not obey him. But he drank a glass of moonshine to the bottom, and putting his lips to his sleeve, overcoming the burning of the strong drink. After that, everyone sat down together, ate, drank, talked, remembering the deceased with a kind word. Then they ate and drank and talked again. Meanwhile, Duglat Dutarovich got drunk and began to cry bitterly. It was as if all the moonshine he had drunk had seeped out of the cracks of his narrow eyes, turning into bitter tears. — Poor Baltazarich! My friend! Seni Khudo rahmat kilsin, dostim! (Allah bless you, my friend!) — he cried, continuing to speak:- You lived in Uzbekistan, but you always thought about your distant homeland, which is Russia. Do you remember when we used to roast Russian vodka from cups in the guardhouse of our warehouse? Outside, snow was falling, covering the roofs of houses, the road, trees and neatly stacked pine and birch logs. The guard dog in the kennel was barking lazily.Snowflakes swirled weightlessly under the hanging creaking lantern, like a swarm of mosquitoes. Divine silence reigned. It was as if the neighborhood had fallen silent to listen to the gentle rustle of snow. After drinking the next shot to the bottom, you said that not only money brought you to work, but also the smell, the resinous aroma of pine logs, which reminds you of the smell of Russian coniferous forests, where your carefree childhood passed! You often wore a skullcap and a chapan, you loved Uzbekistan. You spoke fluent Uzbek without an accent. You have always said that Uzbekistan is your second homeland and all the people who live in this sunny country, regardless of race, nationality, traditions and religious affiliation, should live in peace and harmony, respecting and piously observing the Constitution and laws of our sovereign state of Uzbekistan and speak the state language. That’s why we all loved and respected you, Vanya! You were our red-haired Uzbek.We will never forget you… What a ridiculous death, oh, my God?!- he cried into his skullcap.
One of the people present began to calm him down.
— Easy, brother. Why are you crying? Well, what are we supposed to do? The time will come when we will die and we will be buried again. Edo paddock briroda, bonimaezh? Here, drink this homemade rye brew, which was made a year ago. It’ll make it easier for you, » he said, handing him another portion of murky moonshine in a faceted glass.
Duglat Dutarovich drank the contents and passed out completely. He woke up under a wooden fence, where nettles were swaying in the wind. He stood up quickly. He found his skullcap, shook the dust off it, put it on his head and looked around. He felt ashamed. He then staggered down the sidewalk. Passer-byes avoided him, not wanting to run into a drunk person and get themselves into unnecessary problems. Everything inside Duglat Dutarovich was burning. He was terribly thirsty. It seemed to him that he could not quench his thirst, even if he drank the whole ocean to the bottom. He was delighted to see a water tap from which transparent water, the moisture of life, was noisily pouring out. Duglat Dutarovich rushed to the water tap and began to drink water directly from the tap, putting his mouth to the pipe. Grabbing the faucet with his hands, he greedily drank water. But he couldn’t get drunk. Douglat Dutarovich was even scared, thinking that he had gotten diabetes mellitus. Wiping his mouth with his skullcap, he continued on his way, walking along the sidewalk like a zombie. He felt like a soldier on the battlefield who was crushed by an enemy tank. He really wanted to rest somewhere and get some more sleep. Douglat Dutarovich was also afraid of patrol and post policemen who could send him to a sobering-up center.
With such thoughts, he went to the bus stop and sat down on a bench. Then he lay down, covering his head with the edge of his jacket, and fell asleep. He was woken up by a man of about forty-five, tall, dressed in a tuxedo and with a bow tie around his neck.
— Hey, comrade, wake up! Why are you lying here? Are you feeling ill? «No, I’m fine,» he said. I was just sitting here and fell asleep without noticing it myself, » Duglat Dutarovich replied, getting up and adjusting his skullcap. — Well, thank God. I thought… But you will forgive me if I interrupted your sweet dream, in the most interesting place-said the stranger, smiling politely. — No, no, sir. Everything is fine. My name is Douglat. Duglat Dutarovich. I work as a watchman in a warehouse — Duglat Dutarovich introduced himself.
— What a meeting! It turns out that we are colleagues, dear Douglat Dutarovich. I’m glad to meet you.My name is Abu Insan ibn Diyonat, — the man in the tuxedo said.
— Yes? I can’t believe it. Judging by your clothes, I can assume that you work as a watchman in a large international bank. Or work as part of a special unit and protect the president of the country — said Duglat Dutarovich.
— This is a trade secret, dear colleague. Wherever we work, our work is very responsible and difficult. When everyone is sleeping a sweet sleep, we work with you, we go back and forth, guarding property, when the moon is shining quietly and the stars are burning like diamonds in the high sky… Why are we standing here? Let’s go to a cafe and continue the conversation over a cup of tea or coffee, » suggested Abu Insan ibn Diyonat.
— Well, that’s not a bad idea-agreed Douglat Dutarovich.
— And, talking, they went in the direction of an expensive restaurant.
Seeing this, Douglat Dutarovich stopped.
— Excuse me, colleague Abu Insan ibn Diyonat, where are we going? This is an expensive restaurant! There are such expensive dishes there that even my meager symbolic monthly salary will not be enough for half of a portion! — Duglat Dutarovich said, stepping back.
— Oh, come on, dear colleague. Don’t be afraid. I’m treating you — Abu Insan ibn Diyonat reassured Douglat Dutarovich.
— Well, if you are treating me, then, perhaps, we can look in, — said Douglat Dutarovich.
They went into a luxurious restaurant and sat down at a table on which fresh roses smelled in porcelain vases, silver spoons and forks with knives lay, candles burned on gilded candelabra. Rich people in tuxedos and bow ties were sitting around. They drank cognac, ate caviar and smoked fragrant cigars. On the stage, one thin and shaggy musician selflessly, constantly closing his eyes, played Strauss’ music on the violin. Some gentlemen danced with their ladies to the beat of the music. The waiter came with a white towel on his wrist and a notebook in his hands.
— What will you order, gentlemen? — the waiter asked politely with a pleasant Gagarin smile. The watchman Abu Insan ibn Diyonat, having studied the menu, ordered three dishes and French cognac with Scottish wine, plus dessert. Hearing what Abu Insan ibn Diyonatordered, the watchman Duglat Dutarovich almost got up from his seat and ran out of the restaurant.
— How can we afford such a thing, dear colleague?! — Duglat Dutarovich became worried — This is the food and drink of the rich! You and I are just pathetic watchmen. If you are counting on me, then stop this madness immediately, before it’s too late! I don’t even have enough money to ask how much one serving of food costs in this restaurant!
— Well, what are you so, eh, colleague? People are looking at us. I promised you that I would treat you. You sit quietly and don’t worry. We will celebrate our meeting with you properly, » said the watchman Abu Insan ibn Diyonat.
— Well, all right, colleague, all right. But remember, I warned you in the presence of this waiter. I will not pay a penny if there is any problem with the payment. That is, all the responsibility falls on you — said Duglat Dutarovich, perplexed and not understanding the actions of his colleague. The waiter left. Douglat Dutarovich looked with fright and surprise at the rich visitors of the restaurant and at the huge crystal chandeliers, at the mirrors, at the shaggy musician who was playing Strauss in a trance, deftly moving his bow. The violin was crying, and people were laughing, laughing, glasses were clinking. Finally, the waiter brought everything they had ordered.
— Well, where do we start, colleague? With French cognac or with Scotch whiskey? — Abu Insan ibn Diyonat, the watchman, asked.
— I don’t care. I am ready to drink even ink or kerosene.If only there was a buzz, — said Douglat Dutarovich, thrusting the tip of a napkin into the collar of his checkered winter shirt, wielding a jingling silver fork and knife, as if preparing to eat in an aristocratic way.
— Well, then we will drink French cognac, — said the watchman Abu Insan ibn Diyonat, pouring cognac from a crystal decanter into thin glasses that tinkled.
— Come on, colleague, let’s drink to our meeting! Abu Insan ibn Diyonatsaid, raising his glass.
And, clinking their glasses, they drank the first shots. The cognac was pleasant. Colleagues first had a snack, then they began to eat super-expensive delicacies with an appetite. The watchman Abu Insan ibn Diyonatwas eating the first course. Looking at him, Douglat Dutarovich put down his fork and knife and also took a spoon. He began to slurp the delicious soup, dipping bread into it. Then they drank again and continued to eat.
At this moment, a group of rich people came into the restaurant. Among them were women in expensive dresses, with gold rings on their fingers and with gold chains on their delicate necks. Suddenly one of the men of this company stopped abruptly and, looking at the watchman Abu Insan ibn Diyonat, was terribly happy.
-Oh-oh-oh, that’s da-a-aa! Our dear host, Mr. Abu Insan ibn Diyonat, is also here, it turns out! Hello, boss! — he said and, going to the table where his colleagues were sitting, greeted the watchman Abu Insan ibn Diyonatin an embrace. He also greeted Douglat Dutarovich, firmly shaking his hand. The other members of the company also ran to Abu Insan ibn Diyonatand began to greet him, hugging him tightly. The women kissed Abu Insan ibn Diyonat. But when they saw Duglat Dutarovich, their mood changed dramatically,and their ringing laughter stopped. They looked at Duglat Dutarovich as if he were an unwashed savage, as if he were a steppe gopher. Abu Insan ibn Diyonatintroduced them to Duglat Dutarovich.
— This, Duglat Dutarovich, is my colleague! — he introduced him.
— Oo-oo, your colleague?! Wow! The director of a large corporation, then! It was very nice to meet your friend, a successful and modest businessman! — the guy said, shaking hands with Duglat Dutarovich again.
Hearing this, the women smiled again and began to laugh, stretching out their tender hands to Duglat Dutarovich.
— Very nice! My name is Matlyuba! And my name is Malika! — they smiled.
— What a grand meeting, my God! Hey waiters! Let’s connect our table with the table of our esteemed boss! — the guy shouted.
The waiters quickly connected the tables, and the company sat down at them, as if at a banquet, as at a magnificent wedding. A real feast of aristocrats began. Horse, whiskey, wine, fun, laughter, laughter. The man raised a glass to the health of the watchman Abu Insan ibn Diyonat, said the following:
— Dear host, Mr. Abu Insan ibn Diyonat! Today, reading the stock exchange news in the American magazine «Forbes», I learned that your fortune today is one trillion dollars! Please accept my congratulations, dear Abu Insan ibn Diyonat!
-Thank you, my friend, — Abu Insan ibn Diyonat said. Hearing this, Duglat Dutarovich’s jaw dropped in surprise. -No, it can’t be like that! It’s either a mirage or a dream. Or some kind of practical joke. These rich aristocrats are probably mocking me, he thought. Meanwhile, the fun continued. More toasts, clinking glasses, laughter, dancing and all that.
After these words, Duglat Dutarovich got drunk again. He got up from his seat with a glass in his hand and began to speak: — Dear colleagues! I want to tell you a funny story! — In short, my wife and I, in order to boost the economy of our family, sometimes work in two shifts. One day I told my wife, who works as a cleaner at school, that I would wake her up at midnight, when our children were asleep and we were doing important things. She said that this is impossible, since we have the same room and our children sleep next to me. Also my mother. A little bit that they can wake up. I’m saying, don’t worry, honey. I made it up. In short, we will carefully tie your big toe with a thin rope with a sea knot, then, when our children fall asleep with my beloved mother-in-law, I will pull the rope and you will wake up. She agreed. I tied my wife’s big toe with a rope and began to look forward to the historic moment. Our children and my beloved mother-in-law finally fell asleep. My wife, too. — Just right — I thought, my eyes flashing in the pitch darkness and pulled the rope. Then my wife jumped out of bed in fright, shouting: — Waaaay! Wai daaaad, what is this?! Help! Hearing her scream, the children woke up. My mother-in-law, did too. They started screaming in terror, hugging each other. -I say to my wife: — why are you shouting, you fool! It’s me! Have you forgotten our agreement?! But they were all shouting, trembling with fear.Then, frightened by the noise, our cat jumped, turning over pots and other utensils in the kitchen. And there our angry dog began to bark loudly and nervously. Then the chickens in the coop began to cackle, the geese began to cackle with a trumpet voice, the turkeys made a noise, blushing up to their necks, the cows began to low like ferries on a foggy river, the sheep and goats also bleated with all their might from fright. Our pigs grunted terribly, screamed, as if they were being slaughtered. As if this was not enough, our donkey began to search, stretching his head out of the stable doorway, closing his eyes and showing his large front teeth. Hearing the noise, the neighbors began to wake up one by one, turning on the lights and not making them wait for a long time, they came running in a crowd with pitchforks and rakes in their hands, thinking that a gang of robbers armed to the teeth had broken into our house. Someone called the police and a masked assault team quickly arrived with machine guns in their hands, as well as an ambulance with a fire brigade, with a heart-rending scream, howling sirens. The police interrogated the witnesses, drew up a protocol and took me away in an ambulance to a madhouse — the watchman Duglat Dutarovich said, finishing his story.
Listening to his story, the rich people laughed for a long time, dying of laughter. Especially Abu Insan ibn Diyonat.
When they went outside, a single moon was shining in the sky and the stars were twinkling. Duglat Dutarovich wanted to say goodbye and leave, but Abu Insan ibn Diyonat held him back.
— Wait, where are you, a colleague, going for the night looking? Here are the guys who will take you home on these carts, » he said, pointing to expensive Lamborghini and Rolls Royce limousines. Douglat Dutarovich swung like a pendulum and, looking at the watchman Abu Insan ibn Diyonat, said in surprise:
— I’m sorry, colleague. I’m kind of perplexed. You’re… hick!..they told me that you also work as a watchman. And you, it turns out, are a billionaire! Or me… hick!.. are you imagining all this? That is, you are a billionaire, not a watchman… It is not good to deceive and mock poor people, Mr. Abu Insan ibn Diyonat, — he said.
-So what of it? — I’m a trillionaire.But I, in fact, am also a simple watchman, just like you, dear colleague. Yes, yes, don’t be surprised…Here you are guarding the property of the warehouse, right?! And then what is the difference between me and you, if I live every day, every hour, every minute without days off, guarding my wealth, which is spinning in the major banks of the world, gold and diamonds stored in safe vaults in Switzerland, as well as securities, such as stocks and bonds on the stock exchange, watching day and night for the fall of indices in the financial market and then.I have only recently come to the conclusion that all these years I have not lived, but only worked as a watchman, day and night, carefully protecting my wealth, my life, the lives of my loved ones. It turns out that from the president of the country to the common man, everyone is a watchman and protects themselves, their family, their country and their property from someone or something in this crazy world in this fleeting life, having never learned to protect themselves from their own desires, which lead to deep disappointment at the end of our life — Abu Insan ibn Diyonat explained.
Then Duglat Dutarovich woke up and saw a policeman.
— Citizen, stand up. You can’t sleep in public places, — he said.
Duglat Dutarovich got up, asked for forgiveness and walked along the path towards the log warehouse, remembering that he had to change his new replacement tonight.

 

06/10/2014.
4: 30 p.m.
Brampton, Canada.

Apkarm Kamryamar
(story)

 

Life is such a strange thing that a person who lives in luxury, rich and happy, in an instant can turn into a beggar, a homeless person. Here, Apkarm Kamryamar also lived a life of luxury as a wealthy aristocrat.After he became a starving beggar, he lived for many years without a roof over his head. He slept where night falls, sometimes under a bridge, sometimes in heating mains, in holes, in ruins, and even in a cemetery, in an old grave that collapsed. One day he saw an ad that was posted on an electric pole by the dumpster, where Apkarm Kamryamar was looking for breakfast. It was written that there is a prestigious job with a good salary, for obedient and silent people. After reading this, Apkarm Kamryamar cried from happiness, not hesitating once. Well, think about it, a person for many years wandered through water wells, bridges, ruins, cemeteries in search of edible and normal housing, and here it is. The work is interesting. You only need to be silent. So he just lived for many years alone, and almost forgot how to talk to people. For him, the planet earth is like an uninhabited island in the vast cosmos. He feels as alone as humanity itself. Work is money, and without money there is no housing, without housing there is no life. That’s why Apkarm Kamryamar cries. In such situations, a person can even go crazy with happiness. Here, they say that trouble does not come alone. It turns out that happiness doesn’t come alone either. Immediately after the interview with the head of the secret office the Lord Bakatonov lailo Latipovich, he went to work. Since his work was secret, we will not go into detail in our story, for the sake of the life safety of our literary hero, Mr. Apkarm Kamryamar.The office of the organization where Apkarm Kamryamar worked, placed in the old attic of an abandoned pigsty.The head of this underground office was, as we wrote earlier, bakatonov lailo Latipovich, about forty-five years old, tall, skinny as a twig, hunched over, with bulging eyes and an overly small head that looks like a sock, that is, a a small hollow squash, where Uzbeks keep tobacco, which they throw under their tongue. We will also not name the other employees of this top-secret company by name, since we do not know their names. Bakatonov lailo Latipovich spent every morning before starting work in his cozy office, giving all his employees secret tasks, without making a single sound. In that organization, everyone talked to each other, in the language of the deaf, explaining their thoughts in sign language. Sometimes they spoke in writing, but they were completely secretive. In such conversations, employees either had to eat the paper after the conversation or burn it. In the office of the secret company which was in the attic of the abandoned pigsty, there were two back doors through which employees could easily escape when representatives of the security forces came to arrest them and take them to the pre- trial detention center for questioning under hypnosis.
Maybe our readers don’t know yet that Apkarim Kamyamar was sent to a mental hospital not because he was actively engaged in political activities, exposing the falsifications and fraud of major officials in the upper echelon of power, who are engaged in laundering dirty money day and night, secretly transferring people’s money through offshore to foreign banks. No, it’s not like that at all. He was sent to a mental hospital for the fact that he really went crazy.
It all started with a salary. At the end of the month, the pay was brought in a bag to an abandoned pigsty.When Apkarm Kamryamar went to the cash register to collect his monthly salary, the cashier gave him the money along with one Lottery ticket. This greatly angered the secret employee Apkarm Kamryamar.
— Mr. Cashier — he wrote on paper, conducting a written conversation with the treasurer, strictly observing secrecy -Well, what kind of outrage is this?! Why the hell are you giving me a no-win lottery ticket when I’m surviving, barely making ends meet? Give me my salary in full! After all, I perform my duties honestly, strictly observing secrecy, never making a sound, not laughing, not even sneezing, like a fish in an aquarium! And you’re giving me some kind of lottery instead of money! By the way, I have every penny on the account and I have to get married, do you understand?! Take back your damn lottery and give me my hard-earned money that I earned honestly! — Apkarm Kamrymar wrote, looking around cautiously.
The cashier got mad and angrily began to write down on paper — Why are you yelling at me, Mister Apkarm Kamryamar?! What do I have to do with it, and what can I do if Mr. Bakatonov lailo Latipovich himself ordered me to distribute these lottery tickets to the employees of our organization?! These claims are not against me! So don’t interfere with my work! I’ll call security, by quietly clicking on this red alarm button, or personally shoot you at point-blank range with a service weapon with a silencer, without any trial or investigation! — the cashier wrote. Then, right after he read the note, Apkarm Kamryamar, neatly crumpled up the paper and hastily ate it, and even washed it down with water.
What an evil person you are! I hope my money sticks out of your throat! — wrote Apkarm Kamryamar on paper, and pulled out a lighter, burned it, where his words were baked during a conversation with the cashier, to destroy the evidence at all times, without leaving a clue to investigators and prosecutors. On that day, Apkarm Kamryamar, having completed a top-secret task, returned home early and saw his neighbor Gurram, who lived poorly in a hut with his large family and sold fried pumpkin seeds, having set up a rickety table near his hut, which was missing a leg. Seeing his poor neighbor, as he sat wrapped in a cotton vest with numerous patches, a unique philosophical idea occurred to Apkarm Kamryamar, which in the depths of his soul brightened like a well under a bright shining moon.
It’s a good time to spend the lottery by buying a cup of roasted pumpkin seeds from that idiot Gurram,» he thought.
Well, Hello, successful entrepreneur Gurram! Still trading? Well, trade, but dont traffick people — warned Apkarm Kamar, as an undercover employee of the secret, mysterious office.
Hello, Mr. Apkarm Kamryamar.Thank God for everything, we’re not complaining. We live, as they say, a little bit, eating what God will send — the entrepreneur Gurram answered modestly.
-I’d like to have a cup of roasted pumpkin seeds, please, said Apkarm Kamryamar.
Of course, Mr. Apkarm Kamryamar, open your pocket — said the businessman Gurram, he gently put roasted seeds in the pockets of the pants of Apkarm Kamryamar. Then he began to advertise his product, talking about the usefulness of fried pumpkin seeds for the human body.
-Eat a bowl of fried pumpkin seeds, if you want to live longer, Mr. Apkarm Kamryamar. Because roasted pumpkin seeds protect you from stomach ulcers, gastritis and cancer.They drive out two-meter flat pale and disgusting worms of parasites that live inside a person, as in their own estate and multiply quickly, laying their larvae there, he said.
Thank you for your helpful advice, successful entrepreneur Mr. Gurram! You’re like a College- educated GP, as a biologist at the Academy of Sciences! You should be teaching biology classes in medical schools instead of selling fried pumpkin seeds here! Apkarm Kamryamar grinned, handing
gurram the lottery ticket that the cashier of the top-secret office where he works as an undercover employee had given Him.
What is it? It’s not the money! You probably confused banknotes over lottery tickets, Mr. Apkarm Kamryamar! — told Gurram, handing the lottery back to the owner.
No, I didn’t mix anything up, entrepreneur Gurram , this Lottery ticket is not expired. If you don’t believe me, you can read it. It says the date of the making of this lottery ticket. And what can I do if the cashier of our top-secret office gave me this lottery ticket along with my salary? Well, what will I do with him, his kind of a check is normal, think about it, Gurramdjan — said Apkarm Kamryamar, hacking the husks off of the roasted pumpkin seeds that he had just bought.
Noooo, take your Lottery ticket back and give me my money immediately! I don’t need a lottery ticket! look how many people spend their money buying these damned lottery tickets and don’t get anything out of it! Give me my money, or I’ll call people to help! — Gurram said.
You stinking entrepreneur, you’re still threatening me! Do you even know who I am?! I work as an undercover employee in a highly classified office! You won’t even have time to call people to help, and my colleagues will suddenly and silently appear here, like a ninja squad in medieval Japan and take you away, taking you to a place where no one returns. That’s what you want, right?! Do you want to rot alive in the dark underground cells of our underground office?! Come on, call your people, if you’re tired of living in this beautiful world! said Apkarm Kamryamar.
Well, Mr. Ap…» said entrepreneur Gurram. But his words immediately interrupted Apkarm Kamryamar.
Entrepreneur Gurram, no exceptions! You will lose all of your roasted pumpkin seeds, which lie in that pouch, I’m going to confiscate them — threatened Apkarm Kamryamar.
Hearing this, the entrepreneur Gurram was very scared.
No, no… that is all agreed, the Lord of Apkarm Kamryamar. That’s it, I won’t argue with You. — he said softly, finally pacifying himself.
A month later, the entrepreneur Gurram, who lived in a hut, along with his large family, won crazy money in the lottery, which was forcibly given to him by Apkarm Kamalar. The successful entrepreneur Gurram won a jackpot of one hundred million US dollars. Not only that, he built a five-story mansion with a huge pool inside, where his hut was located recently, where he sold fried pumpkin seeds. Not only that, he opened an expensive restaurant in the city center called «Golden pumpkin». Entrepreneur Gurram put gold in his teeth and began to drive a handmade expensive Rolls-Royce car sometimes, A lamborghini with a gilded body. Also, on Sundays, he went out to his estate on horseback on a horse of the Turkmen breed «Akhaltekin», with long and delicate manes, to the Royal hunt with a crossbow in his hands, accompanied by his servants, who blew a long-drawn hunting horn. A pack of Royal greyhounds with golden collars and golden teeth, barking in unison, deafening the entire neighborhood, together began chasing hares.
Seeing this, Apkarm Kamryamar finally went crazy and ended up in a mental hospital. Today, he managed to escape from the shelter, thanks to a thick autumn fog. He ran through the cornfield, not looking back, despite the cuts in his faces and lips and hands from sharp dried corn leaves, like the sabres of ancient warriors. Despite the fact that he was lost in a thick autumn fog, Apkarm Kamryamar walked at random, blindly through the cornfield. Although it was difficult for Apkarim Kamryamar to move in the thick and impenetrable fog, in his heart it was still easy, as the people who were chasing him, lost their way, thanks to the fog, and now he has a chance to hide from them forever, getting rid of forced treatment in a madhouse. How good it is to live in freedom, without orderlies who just work with a rubber baton, beating them to death and putting a strait jacket on the patient, tightly twisting the long sleeves, forcing them to eat disgusting food. Fortunately that today, early at dawn, he managed to escape from the shelter where the mentally ill suffering from schizophrenia are treated. Now here he was, thank God, he’s almost free. He was saved by a thick autumn mist. Apkarm Kamryamar walked briskly through the cornfield, barefoot, in striped hospital pajamas, despite the dried corn leaves that looked like sharp sabers that cut his face, lips, and hands. It was raining cold. The dried corn leaves in unison whispered in the rain, adding mystery to the shifting mists and desolate cornfield. Apkarm Kamryamar from time to time heard the sounds of crows in the fog, even the rustle of their wings could be heard. He must go as quickly as possible and hide from his followers, who may include an operative group with evil service dogs in his search. As a child, Apkarm Kamryamar watched many films about prisoners who escaped from concentration camps and were chased by the evil service dogs of the ruthless nazis. It was difficult to run barefoot still in his mental hospital striped pajamas in the cornfield, through cold and impenetrable fog. Running was the only option, a person can easily get sick, get lung inflammation, and pneumonia, in such cold, cloudy and humid weather. He must move faster to avoid freezing and dying of hypothermia, through the cornfield that seems to have no end in sight.
Apkarm Kamryamar ran until he fell to the ground from weakness and fatigue. He knew perfectly well that if he didn’t get up now and continue running, he might soon freeze to death or fall into the hands of his pursuers, but no matter how hard he tried to get to his feet, he failed to maintain his balance and fell back to the ground. Then he saw the dim silhouette of a door in a wavering fog and was extremely happy.-Well, thank you, God, for helping me in difficult times! I’m saved!I’m going to knock on the door and it will open. Maybe there are good people living behind this yard and they will shelter me at least for the night, and there, God knows, I’ll get up early in the morning, thank the good hosts, worship them low, until my nose touches the ground. Thanks for the bread, salt and again continue running away-Apkarm Kamryamar was thinking. With these thoughts in mind, he moved cautiously on all fours to the door and began pounding on it, but no one was in a hurry to open the door, as if no one lives behind it. Just at this time Apkarm Kamryamar heard dogs barking and he was afraid. — You persecuting bastards! It turns out that they have already included a task force with evil service dogs in the search. Oh, I wish that cursed door would open faster — Apkarm Kamryamar thought. This fear gave him additional strength and he began to pound the door with great force, and the barking of the dogs became clearer and clearer. From the sound of their voices, it was possible to assume that the task force with service dogs were approaching and they were already running across the cornfield, in the direction where Apkarm Kamryamar lay and knocked incessantly on the door. He pounded on the door with his fists so long and hard that his fists were red with blood, but despite the stinging pain and blood, Apkarm Kamryamar continued to beat the door.
-Come on! Anyone in the house?! Open up, please, I don’t want to fall into the hands of these reptiles and go back to the mental hospital! -he shouted, banging on the door and almost crying. Judging by the voice of the angry dogs, it was safe to think that the task force was very close and that they were about to catch Apkarm Kamryamar and send him back to the mental hospital. Now Apkarm Kamryamar began to hit the door with his legs and head. He kicked and headbutted the door so hard that blood began to ooze from his forehead. The rain was still falling, secretly whispering with the dried autumn corn, forming a red puddle where Apkarm Kamryamar lay, knocking on the door with his hands and feet and bloodied head. Here suddenly the door opened and Apkarm Kamryamar froze in surprise, because at the open door there were people in white coats with a straight jacket in their hands. In the next room, the patients barked in unison, imitating the barking of the Royal hunting dogs.

 

13/04/2014.
12:32 of the day.
Canada, city of Brampton.