Holder Volcano

Member of the Writers’ Union of Uzbekistan

The collar

(Short story)

Gibran de Tourvel was unable to pay his mortgage on time and sank into a swamp of debts. As a result, the bank confiscated his mortgaged apartment through the court. After that, Gibran de Tourvel’s wife divorced him and left him, taking the children with her. Gibran de Tourvel was left alone with his shadow on the street. One day, a unique idea came into his head and he decided to go into the forest and live in a hole next to wild animals. He found a suitable place in the forest and dug himself a shelter to live in, like badgers who dig their own burrow. Gibran de Tourvel also dug a back door in the burrow as an emergency exit in order to quickly evacuate in difficult moments. The forest is a breadwinner, where a person will always find some kind of food, such as mushrooms, bird eggs, berries and all that. You can also go fishing at night in the river, where carp, grayling, catfish and even pike can be found. Gibran de Tourvel goes hunting mostly at night, when it gets quiet around. He walks through the forest in search of food, collects berries, mushrooms, pine cones and cedars, rich in proteins for the winter. He moves with difficulty, getting lost in the thickets and tall grass, as in the impenetrable Amazon jungle, like lost adventurers who cut a path through the foliage with a machete. It is not easy to walk along a path overgrown with hemp and weeds. In the forest bowl, hogweed plants taller than human height pose a danger, by causing burns on the skin. In addition, there may be predatory animals in these thickets. Wild boars may seem harmless to you at first glance, but they are also capable of goring, slashing with a fang and ripping open their opponent’s belly, causing fatal injuries. Gibran de Tourvel walks along the trail like an experienced sapper, checking every bush with a stick so as not to fall into hunters’ traps or fall into a pit. These forests are home to many herbivorous animals and predators such as wolves, bears, and jackals. But they don’t attack humans unless they are very hungry. Wolves try to avoid humans, realizing that they may have firearms. Wolves can only attack humans when they are defending their cubs or a territory marked out by their urine. It is good to live in the forest in harmony with nature. But there are some pros and cons. There are no windows in his shelter to admire the soft whisper of summer rain, the rustle of autumn leaf fall, when scarlet maples and white-trunked birches quietly drop their leaves, absently rustling in the wind. This also means you can’t enjoy the nighttime snowfall in winter while listening to the howl of a blizzard by the window. There is no bathroom or toilet in the hole. It’s dark even in the daytime. There is no phone, computer, no electricity and no gas supply. There is always silence in the burrow, as if in a grave. You sit and think about something by the light of a kerosene lamp, instead of with your shadow, which increases and decreases on the wall of the hole. You listen to the songs of a cricket, watch a moth fly alone around the world of a kerosene stove. You feel like a primitive man in a cave. In summer, you lie in a cool hole, listening to the sounds of a woodpecker and the chirping of songbirds. It is more dangerous in winter, since tracks in the snow can betray both animals and people, by exposing their location. The sound of crunching snow in the ringing silence also contributes to this. Sometimes it can help you by alerting you to danger so you take caution. On one of these days, Gibran de Tourvel was terribly scared when he heard the cry of a man who was calling for help. Gibran de Tourvel, having regained consciousness, cautiously approached the place where the scream came from and saw a terrible picture. There was a man with a terrible face, writhing in pain, trapped in a steel trap set by poachers. — Help, for God’s sake! — he begged, grimacing from the terrible pain on his leg. Gibran de Tourvel was confused, not knowing what to do. «Now, now, I’ll help you, be patient,» he said, and with difficulty freed the legs of the trapped man. He screamed in pain at the top of his voice and cried. Gibran de Tourvel dragged him into his dugout.
There he provided him with first aid, bandaging him by the light of a kerosene lamp and treated him to tea.
«Thank you very much, sir,» said the man, with a distorted, agonized grimace on his face, closing his eyes in pain.
After that, they started talking.
— Who are you, if it’s not a secret, and how did you end up here?
— My name is Salo Sarimsak.
— It’s a pleasure. My name is Gibran de Tourvel.
— Thank you, Mr. Gibran de Tourvel, for saving me.
— You’re welcome, Salo Sarimsak… Well, everything is okay with your leg. But… I’m sorry for the stupid question, but what happened to your face?
— Oh, it’s a long story, Mr. Gibran de Tourvel. This is due to the fact that for many years I hid from the people of my lender by wearing a protective welder’s mask on my face so that I would not be recognized on the street or among a crowd of pedestrians by the henchmen of the loan shark who gave me money for loans at very high interest rates. I was unable to repay the entire amount of the loan received to the loan shark ahead of schedule. After that, his scary people started looking for me all over the city, vowing to find me and punish me. For many years I lived hiding from them under the welding mask, and this mask eventually fused with the skin of my face. Now no plastic surgeon will be able to remove of this mask. Since then, I’ve been living in a hole and I’m more afraid of people than of predatory animals. Sometimes I feel afraid when I see my reflection in the water, so I try to avoid looking into puddles after the rain.
Gibran de Tourvel gasped at this.
«Oh, my God! What a horror!
— Yes, Mr. Gibran de Tourvael, you’re right, it’s terrible.
— But still, it’s nice that you also live in a hole, like me. So I’m not lonely in this dense forest.
— No, you are not alone. Many people think that the towns and villages of our country are deserted because our migrant workers have gone to neighboring countries to work. No, that’s not true at all, Mr. Gibran de Tourvel. On the contrary, more than 90 percent of the population of our country has long been living in burrows, like you and me, like wild animals.
— Yes, what are you saying, Mr. Salo Sarimsak?! Are you kidding?
«No, Mr. Gibran de Tourvael. This is the absolute truth! Moreover, hunters and poachers are hunting us. Here’s a live example. I almost died when I fell into a steel trap set by poachers. If it wasn’t for you, I could have died of hunger and cold, and the wolves would have eaten me for dinner. Or the hunters would have taken me away on a sleigh to sell at the bazaar. Recently, I accidentally overheard a conversation between a state environmental protection inspector and a poacher. The inspector says: — Citizen poacher! Who gave you the right to hunt wild people who live in burrows during the winter? Why are you disrupting the hunting season when they are actively breeding in our reserve? The poacher says: — what kind of people are you talking about, Mr. Inspector? The creatures living in these burrows are not humans. They can be hunted at any time of the year. We don’t kill them. On the contrary, we carefully catch them with powerful traps and sell these idlers in the bazaar, according to the law of hunting, so that they can work for free on the plantations of their slave owners, bringing them at least some benefit. The inspector says: — No, Mr. poacher, you are violating the law of hunting and I have to fine you. Look at you. In this reserve, we take care of our wild underground people all year round, tirelessly providing them with medical care, throwing food and salt for them from a helicopter, and you mercilessly exterminate their families, hunting them unseasonably, while damaging the ecological environment.
-Give me the gun! Give it back immediately! — said the environmental protection inspector, trying to snatch the hunting rifle from the poacher’s hands, but the poacher put up a desperate resistance and then a shot was fired. The inspector fell face down in the mud, and the poacher hastily disappeared into the bushes.
«Well, gee! Gibran de Tourvel was surprised. They wanted to continue the conversation, but then, hearing human footsteps in the snow, they fell silent. After a while, the uninvited guests at the top started talking loudly among themselves. Then one of them turned to Gibran de Tourvelle.
— Citizen who lives in this hole! We kindly ask you to come out of the hole! Resistance is useless! The burrow is surrounded by a squad of operatives! You have nowhere to run, do you hear? «Stop it!» he shouted.
— Who are you and what do you want, gentlemen! Gibran de Tourvel asked.
— We’re from the tax office! Bailiffs are also here to confiscate your property to pay off the debt! You are illegally living in this room without paying rent! And there is a fine for non-payment of taxes! Either pay the rent, or vacate the premises immediately! — The inspector said decisively.
— I live in a hole, not in an apartment! I have no debts to the state!I have no possessions except a kerosene lamp and a sheep’s skin! Gibran de Tourvel shouted.
— Citizen, arguing with the authorities is fraught with consequences! The land belongs to the state! There is a cadastre and its map, where this territory is clearly marked! I’m warning you for the last time, get out of the hole right now! Otherwise we will be forced to use force! — the inspector warned.
— No, I’m not coming out of a hole that I dug with my own hands! Gibran de Tourvel said, retreating into a corner of the burrow.
— Oh, that’s it! Well, now take the blame on yourself! — said the inspector and ordered someone: — Come on, throw a couple of smoke bombs into the hole and let this bastard suffocate! After his words, smoke bombs were thrown into the hole and the hole was filled with acrid, suffocating smoke.
While the inspectors were waiting, Gibran de Tourvel came out of the hole through the emergency exit and, lifting his wounded friend named Salo Sarimsak on his shoulders, began to run with all his might. He ran for a long time along a winding path overgrown with tall grass, until he stumbled and fell.
«Monsieur Gibran de Tourvel, leave me alone. I don’t want you to die because of me! Don’t think about me! Run by yourself and save yourself! — cried Salo Sarimsak.
— No, Mr. Salo Sarimsak, I can’t leave you! Gibran de Tourvel said, and, once again hoisting Salo Sarimsak onto his shoulders, he continued to run. Finally, they went out into the field and escaped from pursuit. They lay down on the ground, breathing heavily. After a while, they came to their senses a little. — Thank you, Lord! Gibran de Tourvel said, looking up at the sky and sighing with relief.
Just at that time, a helicopter appeared in the sky and it began to rapidly approach. Gibran de Tourvel and Salo Sarimsak got up and started running across the field again. But Salo Sarimsak couldn’t run far. He stumbled on one leg and fell. The helicopter began to fly low, circling over Gibran de Tourvel, who was running with all his might back towards the forest. There were several people in the helicopter and one of them was shouting: — Go ahead and shoot while he runs across the field! The shooter, aiming, fired a rifle with a telescopic sight at Gibran de Tourvel and he collapsed as if he had been struck by a scythe. He woke up and froze in horror when he saw a radio collar around his neck.

31-12 — 2025.
It’s 11:45 at night.
Canada, Ontario.