Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Chapter 20 of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves"

Writer Qalandar Hazrat ibn Abdel Fattah

After Khurshida angered the visitors by its hysterical, the owner fired her dining room. She had to find a new job. After a long search, she still found a job in the city Park of culture and recreation. She started working there as a janitor and cleaned the Park with a broom with a long wooden handle. Khurshida performed the tasks given to her by the foreman. Work in this Park liked it even those, which in it, too, grew white acacia. Where she sometimes sat on the bench under the white acacia, eating his meager dinner, she feels as a mother field camp, where there was exactly the same locust, which became a symbol of her love. On the lake, people riding families on boats, some crowds walked through the Park where it was shady, clean and cool from bubbling fountains. Many preferred to ride on the merry-go-round, others rested on other attractions, ate ice cream and drank soft drinks. Especially attracted the attention of Khurshida, well-dressed couples in love, who walked in the Park, walking under the handle, laughing loudly. Khurshida looked after them with envy, thoughtfully leaning on the handle of the rake or shovel with work gloves on her hands. Entry days, Khurshida did not rest as other workers, and went into wide field and in the thickets among the juniper bushes collected dung for the winter, despite the fact that she was already two months pregnant. To collect dung for her was like a good walk in the fresh air, a kind of rest and freedom, where she could think about tractor driver Sultan as much as necessary and no, it does not interfere. Every Sunday she went to the side of a wide field, with a bag in her hands, like people who go to the forest to pick mushrooms. She rejoiced every time she found dung, as an avid mushroom picker who is happy to find a mushroom. As this is ancient free of dried fuel was easy, Khurshida did not make special work to lift a sack of dung. Pressed dung reminded cakes could be found mainly in those places where cows grazed all summer. Khurshida today decided to collect dung at the edges of cotton fields in the juniper bushes, thickets and on the banks of the river at the ravine. Collecting dung, she looked around; making sure no one was around, she sang a sad song about love and separation. She sang enthusiastically and beautifully, like a professional singer. She came to herself and blushed only when I saw on the shore in the middle of tall grasses, the man who was sitting with a fishing rod in his hands. He looked at Hurshida with interest, and she became uncomfortable.
- Sorry, I didn't know you were fishing here. I feel sorry. I probably scared the fish -sheepishly said Khurshida.
- No, on the contrary, you helped me, calling all the fish here, and their magical songs! I was interrupted by the beautiful songs you sang. I interrupted them, coughing like a sheep with leaky lungs. I have a bittersweet so bitter that when I do a puff, the smoke stinks in my lungs like an arrow, because I smoke a flywheel, twisting a piece of paper. And you sing, just like the legendary French singer Mireille Mathieu. At first it seemed to me that these songs are heard from the transistor radio, and sings a professional singer. Can this so and there is? Are you a professional singer? - Fisherman said.
- Yes Ah, that you, what I have talent! I'm not a singer, but a simple caretaker. I work in the city Park of culture. Sweeping the territory - explained Khurshida.
- No, You have to work not as a janitor in parks, but in Philharmonic halls and go on tour giving concerts all over the country! You have a loud and clear voice like a tuning fork, like a silver bell that rings zing! Dzin! Dzin! But do not forget, God forbid, you leave the art and will not sing for the General public, the story Will not forgive you. And the future generations will curse you with glee. I appreciate talent, because I'm a writer. Write a book. Recently wrote a very interesting novel. "The driver" it's called. In this novel, my literary hero Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch forty years sitting in a deep and dark dungeon of the Emir Abu Negman Merzaqul Khidar Ibn Darvesh Kokaltash Abdulmakorem Hadjy Balutkhan for kidnapping time. Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovucha childhood dream that he had a lot of time, but his dream was never realized. In a land where he was born Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch, it was difficult to exist if the person didn't have enough time. That is, then time was more expensive than gold. From the lack of time, people even died, you know? Parents Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch also died from lack of time. Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch have grown and matured and one day, he robbed the Central Bank. There is, unfortunately, Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch the alarm went off and the guards arrested him red-handed. And condemned, put him in a deep and dark dungeon, where people can see only birds flying and the sky above the dungeon. Forty years young Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch was released grizzled, older man and began to work as a shepherd, Drover large herds of donkeys in the steppes. Day and night he drove a herd of wild donkeys on the boundless steppe with a long whip in his hands, and clouds of dust that rose from the hooves of wild steppe donkeys, settled on his sweaty face, hands and feet. A herd of donkeys was so huge that Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch lost their account when they wanted to count their heads for reporting to the user. Every day without days off and without leaving from morning to night, running around the steppe barefoot in the same short striped pants, eating on the run. And the donkey, the long and ugly was shouting, stretching his neck, then fought among themselves, biting and laga each other, then ran, shaking the steppe hooves. Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch loved the giant herd of wild donkeys, and day and night he worked to drive them into safe shelters, where they could not break a pack of hungry wolves. But gradually the herd is out of control and no longer obey the driver of Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch . Despite this, shepherd Kosakalparazet Patrontash Partizanovuch not sleeping a wink at night lit bonfires, and hungry wolves dared not attack the donkeys, for fear of the blazing fire. But the donkeys were not able to appreciate the back-breaking labor of his shepherd, on the contrary, once they trampled him into the mud and killed. Here is such a sad affair happened to me at a glance - fisherman finished his story. Then add:
- My name is qalandar Hazrat Ibn Abdel Fattah - What's your name? - He asked.
- My name is... And why should you? Actually, I can tell you my name. I'm Khurshida. But your story about the novel you wrote just struck me. What an interesting and sad novel. And where, in any bookstore you can buy this book, sir Kalandar Hazrat Ibn Abdel Fattah -? - asked Khurshida.
- Unfortunately, You will not find my novel in the bookstores of the country yet. But there is hope that it will be published by one large publishing house with which I signed the contract. Yes, writers are people too, and they also have families and children. I mean, they need money, too. But I generally do not write for publication. I have nothing to compare the pleasure that I get when I write my works. I love fishing, loneliness and silence. I go to bed late, but Wake up at dawn, when others are sleeping the sweet sleep, and in silence listen to the sonorous morning trills of newly awakened birds. Streets are deserted. If you don't count the bird's chirping, we can assume that silence reigns around. The air is cool and clean. In such hours it seems that consciousness deepens and the mind becomes transparent like a mirror. Then you go out into the yard and sitting on the steps of the wooden stairs of your hut, you listen to the cool silence, watching the slowly and gradually pale horizon, which is full of stripes, like a torn silk women's nightgown pale yellow. From the distant clover fields, there were voices of wild birds. Here begins the roll call of roosters. From a distance barely hear the drums and hysterical crying surnai (Eastern wood-wind musical instrument), inviting people for a free wedding Breakfast which would attract anyone, without invitation. Sounds of canary and the drum roll. These distant sounds do not disturb the silence, on the contrary, decorate it with their presence. Especially when you're with a hoe on my shoulder going for a morning trail, overgrown from two sides by high grass, begins to sparkle with diamond dew, and the sun, bursting, singing skylarks over a field. You will stop with a smile on your lips to listen to the joyful songs of these birds that sing. You listen to their songs, and you don't want to leave. Then with elated mood you walk further, as speak, with leaps and bounds. It is good that there is a field, to my happiness. If I was offered a job in some crowded city and assigned a salary of five thousand dollars a month, I still could not live and work there for a long time. I would have died right at the working machine from the longing for the broad fields and the native village, gradually slimming, losing the gift of speech like a wild man. Borderless, I'm like a Dolphin with no sea. Dumb love flight of the white butterflies that flutter above the paths, silently chasing each other. The flight of white butterflies is a living image of silence, which artists are unable to portray in their paintings. I've been on the field a long time knocking on hoe, and I don't sit down to rest, no. In order to shake off the boot, which hit the lump. I take my boots off my feet and begin to shake it, holding it like a pipe of a heater, which is cleaned of soot in the winter. Meanwhile, I hear a distant and sad voice of a lone hoopoe and freezes with the boot in his hands: "Upupup! Upupup! Upupup! Pisssss!"."Upupup! Upupup! Upupup! Pisssss!". I listen to the weeping of the hoopoe, grey. Then I put on my boots and then I keep working. I used to think why I always wanted to cry when I heard the voice of the hoopoe in the fields. Then I realized that this voice, it turns out, is associated with my childhood, and it reminds me of those distant years when I went to the field with my late mother. I vaguely remember the field camp with thatched roof, tall poplars and a huge willow tree, in the shade where we children played, next bubbled through pure water in the irrigation ditch; on the branches of the tall poplars hundreds of passerine nests, red straw which patted the winds. Sparrows rustled in unison, stunning the neighborhood. How noisy these poplar and willow on the free winds! The nannies tied hammocks to trunks of poplars and, having laid in these hammocks kids, rocked them, loudly singing the lullaby, for the field camp. Women worked in the fields, glittering in the distance with the edges of their hoe. I still miss those fields and mulberry trees with trunks like elephant legs. I miss those tall poplars, the willows, the noise and the chirp of the Sparrow flocks, and I even miss the smell of pesticide-treated cotton seeds that lay in the pit. Oddly enough, the smell of pesticides - it is also the smell of my childhood. Every time I think about it, tears come to my eyes. Don't know why, but it is. That field camp and the trees, those people disappeared a long time ago. But they live in the fields of my memories, and no one can kill and destroy. With such thoughts I get back to work. I work, I work, and suddenly I stop again, straightening my back, and listen to the voice of cuckoo, which comes from the coast, where the olives grow, which blossomed. The pleasant smells of blooming olives are spread around the field drunk winds. Oh, you should have seen the moment when I come back from the field against the backdrop of a blazing sunset! I'm going tired, but in a good mood at the acquaintance to a pain a trail, overgrown from two sides by high grass, fending off pesky mosquitoes. As I cross the field, the night falls softly, and begins to twinkle. I walk along the trail, walking with a hoe on my shoulder, but not without stopping, of course. I stop only to watch the moon slowly rising from the horizon, quietly illuminating the cotton fields. Looking at the rising moon, I listen to the singing of the cricket, which is chorus and rhythmically chirping, but they do not see. And the moon shines selflessly. There, above the village in the sky, twinkling innumerable stars. I'm looking at the big dipper constellation, which looks like a crystal. And there's a little bear. I stand and I cannot look away from celestial bodies. I am a farmer. I work in another field, in the field of literature. I sow the seeds of kindness in people's hearts. I know that these seeds will grow and give their fruits, which will bring pleasure and joy to all people of the planet. Finally, I would say that for me creativity is life. And life is creation, there is also creativity, the creativity of Almighty God summed up his story writer qalandar Hazrat Ibn Abdel Fattah.
- Ooooh, I never thought that someday meet a living writer like you, right here, on the banks of the river. To be honest, I am fascinated by your stories - said Khurshida. Here on the surface of the coastal waters began to twitch the float rod writer Kalandar Hazrat Ibn Abdel Fattah-and excited him, disappeared under the water. Writer qalandar Hazrat Ibn Abdel Fattah -quickly began to roll up the line into the reel and soon over the water seemed to hump the fish, which trembled nervously, wanting to get rid of the hook. But it did not. Kalandar Hazrat Ibn Abdelfattah pulled the fish out of the water and freed it from the hook, threw it on the shore, where standing Khurshida. She even got scared and jumped back, having made laugh with the writer Qalandar Hazrat Ibn Abdel Fattah. They laughed and rejoiced, with admiration looking at the fish, which from lack of air were widely opened and shut it's mouth, convulsive twitching, writhing and bulging not contiguous, round, red eyes without eye lashes, staining it's silvery scales, sand.

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Chapter 18 of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves"

Pathella

Before going to the registry office, Khurshida cried at the door, hugging her mother.
- Do not cry, dear, everything will be fine. God forbid that you become happy with Pathella's, Amin! - Raheela tearfully blessed her daughter.
Khurshida went on a car to the registry office, accompanied by her best friends. Friends congratulated her, envying her white. They happily and loudly laughed, whispering in her ear about something intimate. But Khurshida mentally lived in her own world, plunging thoughts in the fog of memories, thinking only of Sultan. Although she smiled at her friends, but inside was crying. Judge for yourself, why should she have a beautiful and rich groom. If she does not feel for him not that there is a feeling of love or sympathy, but even the slightest interest? Who knows, maybe in the future it will release nostalgic memories on bright days which it lived with the tractor driver Sultan, will release unbearable melancholy on it. Maybe with time she'll get used to Pathella. But at the moment, Khurshida felt not human, but rather some empty dishes. She looked at the merriment of her friends, empty eyes, and in her heart, like the empty autumn fields, wandering black cold wind of separation, as a belated farmer in the fog, who returned to his shack with a bag on her shoulders, where the last of the beets, uprooted them. On the way to the girls joined the boys headed fiancé Pathella. He gave her a lush bouquet of flowers and smiled a satisfied smile, talking about something, but Khurshida to listen even it is not wanted. She was thinking about one person, and I think our dear readers know who they're talking about. Pathella sat next to Khurshida and they went further in the direction of the Registrar office. Then registration, the exchange of wedding rings, a Sharia Nikah (engagement) congratulations and all that. Despite the severe winter, according to the order of the chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch sped up the wedding. The wedding was attended by the Chairman of the collective farm, and many guests from different places Telekomunikasi district. After made a report to the great chairman of the collective farm comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch, have given the word Khurshida's father to Abduljabbar. He was, as always, tipsy and made a toast:
- Hello dear guests! Welcome to my daughter's wedding Khurshida and my son-in-Pathella! I am extremely glad that my daughter married a nephew of our dear great chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch! Thank You, our dear wise great permanent chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch that you have in this world! You've helped me all your life and made me a man! You gave me the extraordinary responsible position of the mechanic of a livestock farm of our collective farm. Thanks to you, we have jointly raised the economy of our collective farm, increased the number of livestock. Many people tell me, they say, you work for many years in this livestock farm in the same position. You're not bored with all this? Well, did you understand me at last, dear guests that I love this job and can't exist without it. Sometimes I go to the city and in an hour I begin to yearn for a livestock farm of our collective farm. Nostalgia is starting to take over and eat me from the inside out. I, unlike you, I miss the smell of hay and manure, you know? I will come to the farm, inhale the air, where the tart smells of manure and hay, and swirl my head from the buzz. You're laughing in vain, gentlemen. I'm quite serious. I also love the smell of newly mown with a combine corn, I love the expanse of corn fields. Oh, out in the wide field, and the soul sings like a Nightingale under the moon! I go through pastures in boots and in a sweatshirt, shearing sheep in the spring. You can't even imagine how much I love watching herds of cows grazing in a thick autumn fog. Their dim silhouettes in a quiet gray fog captivates me, bewitch me, and milkmaid? They are also in the pre-dawn twilight coming on creaky carts to the farm in silence, milking cows. Oh, my love, the ringing of the rattling empty buckets at dawn, in foggy silence. And there behind the barns and corrals of the mountain is the stack of pressed hay. Like gold bars on the shelves of Swiss banks! Like the pyramid of Pharaoh Tutankhamun in the Egyptian deserts! If I die, then bury me not in the churchyard, and on-site animal farm our farm Tillaquduq and lay over my grave high stacks of pressed hay in the form of the pyramids of the ancient pharaohs of Egypt!..
Sorry, once I start to think about the kindness of our distinguished chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch, tears will flow by themselves from my eyes. Because our esteemed chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch first noticed and recognized my God-given talent! That sin to conceal, Yes, I confess that I really gifted person in the field of shearing of sheep. But they say that somewhere out there, beyond the ocean... well, in America, that is, in the hearth of world imperialism, the bourgeois annually organize sheep-shearing competitions among Texas cowboys and these cowboys in hats and in rough jeans cut for an hour fifteen and sometimes twenty sheep. And I can cut more than a hundred sheep in an hour! There is a difference? Yes still not tying sheep its feet! As they say, one-time-and on a striped mattress! To dispel your doubts like the morning fog at sunrise, I can demonstrate a complex trick right here, in front of your eyes - said Abduljabbar.
Hearing his words, the guests applauded in support, endorsing his initiative. Abduljabbar connected the ends of the wire synchronous electric machine with the input of the amplifier musicians and shouted:
-Come on, the goat in the Studio! The two quickly brought the goat, grabbing her by the horns and Abduljabbar, replacing the big tip of the clipper with the small one, got to work, demonstrating his high art in the field of shearing sheep and goats. Guests led by the chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch watched the action of Abduljabbar with great interest and curiosity. In a few minutes Abduljabbar performed the trick, and surprise guests gasped, then applauded him, shouting “Bravo!”, because Abduljabbar wrote using the typewriter on the side of the goat the inscription "Chairman Comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch". Seeing this, the chairman Comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch and his bodyguards with black glasses, all got up from their seats and stood and applauded the great herdsman to Abduljabbar, admiring his art. Then hired a singer with a delicate velvety voice began to sing a song similar to the crying women and drunken guests began to dance to these songs, snake-like movements of the hands, moving her ass, raising his eyebrows look like black leeches. The wedding took place peacefully, and when the guests left, Khurshida with Pathella left alone in the room for the newlyweds to start their honeymoon. The embarrassment and shame and the indifference Khurshida even looked out of the corner of the eyes in the face of Pathella. When he got close to her in the intimate sense of the word, she screamed in pain. She closed her eyes and imagined that she was not moving closer to Pathella, and her lover, a guy, tractor driver Sultan. After sexual rapprochement she lay, turning away from the groom Pathella, not wanting to see his face. Pathella hugged and kissed on the lips, but Khurshida was lying, still tightly closed their eyes and thinking about love. Then they are washed, completing the Shower. But when Khurshida woke up at dawn to the custom to sweep the yard, she was terribly frightened by seeing a man lying next to him. There lay not the groom of Pathella with which Khurshida was in the registry office, and who was sitting with her at the wedding table, and quite a strange man with a large head, with a nose like a potato, and with too narrow eyes. He smiled at her greeting, and began to hug her.
- Well, Hello, honey, how was your vacation? - said he and tried to again to address these the most... well... you probably know what this is about, don't you? Then, Khurshida stood up abruptly from the scene, covering her pillow with the elastic chest and pulled back. She cried out in a loud voice, trembling with fear. And the man began to calm her down.
What are you yelling? Are you sane? The neighbors will hear! We have bad neighbors and they are not only jealous of us, but hate us! What are you afraid of, Khurshida? It's me, your husband Pathella! Don't shout for God's sake, I'll explain everything! In short, instead of me, the role of the groom was played by my friend, whom I hired for a certain amount of money. He studied at theatrical Institute, actor's faculty. You know, one scholarship is not enough for students. They also want to eat well, dress nice, buy some ice cream for the girls to dance at discos, where the sparkle of the colored rays, then fading, then again. Jump to the beat of the music. Maybe my words Might not sound serious to you, but it's true. My friend played he had been entrusted with the role brilliantly! It's good that you were lying with your eyes closed yesterday and didn't want to see me. And then this scandal would have erupted last night when the envious neighbors in the yard were full. Thank God He saved us from shame! Khurshida, well, give you to understand, finally, without these intrigue you just refused to marry me, you know? Because you're a very beautiful girl. Rather, they were a girl until last night. Well, I just had to do it because I had no other choice. Well, what was I supposed to do if I'm crazy about you? I love you, Khurshida! I, without hesitation, ready to sacrifice my life for you! I know you don't like me. But I was ready for anything, up to such meanness as a fraud. I was hoping that we eventually all will be settled and formed between us, well, if not love, then at least some kind of warm relationship through the bonds of marriage - explained Pathella.
Hearing this, Khurshida wept, covering his face with a pillow.
- What vile people! What horror! What a misfortune! God, why are you punishing me for something?! What have I done to you?! - She cried, then abruptly got up from their seats started to get dressed. Pathella scared and going to Khurshida, tried to grab her hands.
Where, honey?! - He asked.
- Don't touch me with your disgusting filthy hands, you bastard! Depart! I'm going to my parents! - said Khurshida, continuing to cry.
- Khurshida, don't do this, come to your senses! If you don't think about me, at least think about your parents; think about your poor family's reputation! Pity your mother, after all! What will people think, who walk not with the help of their feet, but with the help of language?! They can spread rumors that you are not a virgin! What will happen then? Your parents and your family will be disgraced! What will my friends say?! They'll laugh at me! Think before you make any decision! Well, to hell with it, let my friends laugh at me! I am ready for any humiliation, in order to be with you together! Believe me, I love you, Khurshida, love, and not want, to you were disgraced! That's where the dog is buried. I am ready to kneel before you and, without hesitation, to tell you that it is an honour for me to be your obedient slave! If you leave now, I'm done. I'll take the rope, lather it gently and fsht! - hang said Pathella. After these words, Pathella Khurshida was nothing left to do but accept the fate, whatever it was violent.

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Chapter 17 of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves"

Snowfall

Although Khurshida agreed that she would marry a nephew of the great chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch to save my mom's life, but she couldn't get rid of the unbearable longing for the tractor driver Sultan. On the contrary, her mental anguish, torture and pain grew, like a snowball, hour after hour and day by day. She smiled at her mom, but her soul crying, demanding a meeting with the tractor driver Sultan. Khurshida was crying, not showing her tears to anyone, not even mom not to upset her. Foggy days and nights she cried into the pillow, and she always wanted to be alone, because alone she could mentally to meet her lover, the guy with the tractor the tractor driver Sultan to live with her. Today, waking up, she saw snow falling outside the window and sighed involuntarily thinking that winter has come. It has been snowing all night and he fell carelessly, blurry window with its delicate curtain. She fell quiet, as if fearing to frighten away the white silence, slowly thicker and thicker covering the streets, trees, roofs of houses white fluffy flakes. The snow was falling so thickly that it was difficult to see the road, houses and trees through the curtain of falling snowflakes. Khurshida was looking through the window at the snow, and could not look away from this gentle fabulous winter beauty.
After Breakfast, Khurshida, dressed warmly, went to the side of the field mill, heavy with snow, through a Blizzard that circled diagonally flying snowflakes, not allowing her to open her eyes. She walked, protecting her eyes with the sleeve of her worn drape coat from flying snowflakes. Eyelashes and part of her hair sticking out from under the white shawl, snow-covered, like hair and eyelashes gray-haired old woman. Khurshida since childhood was surprised and captured by a mysterious silence that comes during a snowfall. Birds, streets, fields - all nature subsides, as if afraid to disturb the rustle and whisper of falling snow, like a prayer in the divine winter silence, especially at night. Snow jams make the car turn off the engine. Snow night lights not only light, but also deep ravines of the human soul to the bottom. In falling snow has a calm, melancholy street lamps that are lonely think about something important, with downcast eyes, oblivious to the swarm of white and wild bees albinos that continually bite them, swirling in a Blizzard.
Hardly moving through the thick snow, Khurshida, finally got to the field camp and saw the frozen snow-covered poplar and willow, which joined the branches to the ground from the weight of snow. A locust tree stood, too, in white, as if covered in flowers, and a nest of magpies, too, was covered with a thick layer of snow, like an old forgotten cart in the winter night. The snow was gone; the snowflakes were flying obliquely in white silence, white dash, covering up the traces of Khurshida. The snow fills the grievances, hardships, and separation as follow during a Blizzard, leaving in the soul the longing for past love and the sweet moments that it is impossible to return. Perhaps that is why man sometimes I want to cry silently, staring at the falling snow, remembering happy and joyful days in my life. When especially put out the light in the room, staring through the window at the white twilight, where it falls with the rustle of the snow, when people are sleeping, closing their doors on the latch, when snow-covered roads freeze in the white silence, your soul gets peace and comfort. The snow turns the night into a white fairy-tale dream in reality.
Khurshida was covered with snow like a white pilgrim who came to visit the Shrine. She stood, ignoring the cold, swirling snowflakes in a Blizzard, looking at the dazzling snow which covered winter fields. For Khurshida these places, this field camp, this snow - covered white acacia turned into a hanging symbol of her love and looking at them in her soul revived marvelous memories. Here she met the tractor driver Sultan for the first time when the neighborhood was full of people and their joyful noise, their cheerful ringing laughter, and now the field camp and snow-covered fields have plunged into white silence, where in the noisy sparrows stunning his chirping the whole neighborhood, and heard a ringing and laughter laborers, now silence reigns, and there is a quiet sideways snow. Here, Khurshida bent the samovar; poured boiling water scalded his foot. It is here that she saw iron will, self-restraint and patience of the tractor driver Sultan, without my noticing, I fell in love with him. What happy days are gone in the past, in the dead of oblivion? What an irreplaceable loss, how changeable this world is, o Lord my God! - Khurshida cried, shaking her shoulders. At the moment she didn't want to go home. On the contrary, I wanted to sit at a table covered with snow, under a white acacia and, freezing, turn into ice as a mammoth in permafrost. Let it be covered with snow, falling for weeks day and night, and it will never respond to the call of people who will look for it all night in a snowstorm, stumbling on a knee in the snow with lanterns in their hands, not hearing even their own cry in a Blizzard. It will take eternity, silence. But her pity for her mother stopped her. If it wasn't for her, Khurshida long time would not exist in this world, even the laws of religion would not be able to stop her from suicide. Because of pity to his mother she agreed without love to marry the nephew of the Chairman. Mom must be worried about her by now. Would Khurshida's sister or brother, she would not hesitate, would be hanged right on this acacia. But she's the only one with her parents.
Khurshida sat a long time over the snow-covered table, under a tree, wrapped in a white fluffy blanket of snow. She came here to say goodbye to the white acacia, to the field camp and to the native snow-covered fields, where she fell in love and spent the lightest, unforgettable days in her life, which went into oblivion. The neighborhood is also grieving, like saying goodbye to her and cried the Blizzard.
- Goodbye - said Khurshida in a whisper, and in her chest she was furious tears, and then they leaked out the cracks of her eyes.
She stood up and, stumbling in the snow, back home. Snow in the evening had increased and was falling all night long. Khurshida till the morning could not sleep, constantly thinking of the tractor driver Sultan. Despite the fact that she turned out the light in the room was bright from the slanting snow, which, without stopping, went outside the window.

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Chapter 16 of the short novel of Holder Volcano

Blunt blows with a wrench

The house Raheela come funny thick rich matchmakers with gold crowns in his mouth, barely passing through the narrow, slanted, unpainted gate of planed boards.
- Welcome dear guests, come, and come, welcome-said Raheela, greeting them and inviting them to the house. One of the matchmakers, a woman with a thick ass, began to mock.
- Oh, why are you taking us to the coop, a future relative, better sit here, under the open sky she said.
Another woman picked up her words and also began to irony.
- Yes that you, survival, it's not a coop, and probably the stables and our new rich relatives, which held Arabian horses "Karabair", each of which is worth more than millions of dollars - she scoffed.
- No, dear guests, what a hen house, some stables, this is our home where we actually live with the whole family. What kind of racers are you talking about? We don't have a horse; we don't even have a donkey. We live very modestly, and I will not hide it from you, dear guests, If you're uncomfortable, then... - said Raheela.
- Oh, no, no, next of kin, we were kidding. We shall go, of course, in your hut - told another matchmaker.
They went into the house and sat down on the mattress, and, reciting a prayer on a custom, made amen, carrying out palms on a face. They talked, looking on low ceiling, fearing, that he can crash on their heads. Thick matchmaker with a thick ass, with gold crowns in her teeth and a double chin began to speak:
- I love these huts. We had a distant relative who lived on the edge of the Mirzachol desert with their small family. We sit in a hut like this one time, on a clay floor, and the wife of our relative put food in a tin can and called someone by name, looking into the crack of the clay wall. I thought she was calling her cat. Turns out she was calling for a hedgehog dinner, you know? The hedgehog ate and walked a little, running fast small legs and rustling their needles. He ran around us, and he walked away. After dinner, we laid a pastel on the flat roof of a clay hut. Lie on a cotton corpacha, looking at the starry desert sky and bright shining moon. In the distance, behind sand dunes where sexual trees grow, hungry jackals have poured out. Under the mattress was feeling hot and stifling. Incessantly bitten by either fleas, or lice, I don't know. We've combed all our bodies. Outside is not allowed to sleep humming a black swarm of bloodthirsty mosquitoes. There were so many of them that we did not have time to drive them away, only slapping ourselves like crazy. Horror! The worst happened after that. As it happened, I don't know, but my mattress got a big nasty bat with a nasty leather wings without feathers. I wildly screamed in horror, crying in fear, I almost fell flat clay roof hut our distant relative from the desert "Mirzachul" she said, laughing, shaking her belly and double chin. Other matchmakers laughed too, flashing gold crowns in their teeth. Then they, making a serious face, switched to a business conversation, asking hands Khurshida for the nephew of the Chairman Comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch. At the same time, they praised the guy, saying that he does not drink, does not smoke, does not gamble, and so on.
- Here is a picture of our nephew Padhella said that fat matchmaker, passing the photo Raheela.
Raheela took a picture and promised to think about this proposal and breaking bread, spread the pieces on tablecloth, which was laid out a lot of sweets and fruit. Conversation between them continued for tea drinking.
After she left the matchmakers, Raheela looked long at the picture of the future son-in-law. The guy was kind of cute, and she thought he was intelligent, cultured and decent. Raheela rushed to show the picture Khurshida. But even out of the corner of her eye, she didn't want to look at the photo of the guy.
The little girl, look, the guy, in my opinion, nothing. That is normal, nice. You hear, Khurshida, a unique idea has come to my mind, and this time I hope we're not late. You, my daughter, marry this guy, and so we avenge the Sultan for what he deserted you and left, even not saying good-bye. Let the tractor driver Sultan, the con man will burn in flames of jealousy! We'll show him how to throw a girl who loved him and believed with all my heart! You don't cry anymore, baby. This scoundrel is not worthy of your tears! You're crying day and night, and he's out somewhere in Tashkent with another girl who goes to school with him, in the same course and in the same group. Who knows, maybe he even got married, and soon they will have a child. That scoundrel must be laughing in his wife's arms, and you're slowly going crazy. You must run out of tears. Further pupils your eye will dry up, and you can go blind. Look how thin you are! Don't be naive, daughter. You have to fight and punish the villain of the tractor driver Sultan with their success, even if it is not for love! Do you ever look at a picture of your fiancé's future? He's handsome. Here you will live with it for two months, and you will forget that villain forever.
- Yeah? You think so, mother? But I'm afraid I can't get used to the other guy, and I don't think I can forget that bastard, the goddamn Sultan tractor driver. I love him, okay? Mother, forgive me. I tortured you with my tears. But if you insist, I'll do anything to make you happy. I don't care now. Apparently, fate I have such a, and I must live with it.
- That is another matter. You're clever. You're right, each person has their own separate destiny written on his forehead by God, and no one can erase or change that of the invisible destiny. I thought the tractor driver Sultan was your happiness. But God knows, I was wrong - said Raheela.
After this conversation, Khurshida had changed dramatically and she started to smile, eat more, even to laugh. Once she again saw the tractor driver Sultan. He and his beloved wife Hurhur Rayhan lived on the outskirts of the field, in the old dented rusty body of an abandoned bulldozer "Altai" yellow, overgrown with thick and tall weeds. On the roof of the rusty body of the bulldozer sat the tractor, the tractor driver Sultan, twisting the screws from the parabolic antenna, which he installed on the roof of an abandoned rusty body. At the bottom of his pregnant wife Hurhur Rayhan hung washed linen on a stretched rope with wooden clothespins. White sheets on the clothesline swelled like the taut white sails of the old schooner on the free spring winds. Inside the abandoned body of a bulldozer "Altai" sat a fat mother-in-law of the tractor driver Sultan, and eating, and moving jaws. Then there was a pale skinny boy of seven or eight, with a puppy in his hands.
- Dad, look, I brought the puppy! Stray dog whelped cemetery! - He shouted, looking at the tractor driver Sultan, who was involved in the installation of a parabolic antenna.
- Well done, son! Is that puppy a cable or a bitch?! - He asked, for a moment interrupting the work.
- Bitch! - Sultan's son said.
-Nothing they say abroad, many people to keep the house mostly bitches! You lock her in the coop so it doesn't run! - said Sultan.
- All right, dad! - Sultan's son said.
- Dad, what do we call it?! - Sultan's son asked, having locked a puppy in a hen house. Sultan on moment wondered, scratching the back of the head with a wrench, then said:
- Come on, son, we'll call her Itbachcha (son of a bitch). Does that sound?! Itbachcha! This nickname corresponds to this bitch in all respects! - smiling Sultan.
- Okay, dad, I'll call it that.
Sultan continued to work. Khurshida broke down and cried:
Hey Sultan, are you so happy and stupid?! Is this life?! Even homeless, drunks and run-off addicts, and they will not agree to live in the dented rusty body of an abandoned bulldozer "Altai" yellow light! And you're so happy! You can also mount a stupid parabolic antenna on the roof of an abandoned bulldozer! You know, I didn't come here just to notify you that I'm marrying a handsome guy named Pathirage! He was the nephew of the great Chairman Comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch! Burn now in the infernal fire of jealousy and turn into a handful of ashes, freak! Hahahahahahaha! - she laughed triumphantly.
- Look, Hurhur Rayhan, there's some old laughs! Hey, who are you?! What do you want, witch! Be gone, evil spirits! Just think, she's getting married for Padilla! Duck out for anyone us what a fool you're the village?! Get the fuck out of here before it's too late! I'm not going to break your skull with this wrench, you fucking bitch! - Sultan. Khurshida threatened, standing on the roof of the crumpled rusted body of the abandoned bulldozer "Altai"yellow. There's an angry pregnant wife of a tractor driver Sultan Hurhur Rayhan came to Khurshida. A desperate fight ensued between Hurhur Reyhan and Khurshida. Khurshida, like last time, grabbed him by the hair Hurhur Rayhan to rip off her wig and laugh, looking at her bald head, resembling a peeled egg. But there it was. As she pulled her hair, pull her wig could not.
- Well, yank, yank, stupid! You can't do anything anyway! I glued the wig to the head like glue that nobody will be able to tear it away!
Khurshida would easily overcome Hurhur Reyhan, if she had not had the military assistance of the tractor driver Sultan, who jumped off the roof of the crushed rusted body of an abandoned bulldozer "Altai" yellow. He ran with weapon in hand, that is with a wrench and struck those blows to the head of Khurshida. The blows were so strong that she woke up from a nap.

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Chapter 15 of the short novel of Holder Volcano

The bride of the tractor driver Sultan Hurhur Rayhan

Khurshida went to the collective farm tractor Park to find out where the tractor driver Sultan disappeared these days. During a recent conversation, he said that he lives in the tractor Park. Going to tractor Park, Khurshida asked the Manager and heard the terrible news that she feared most. It turns out, the tractor driver Sultan went, whether in Tashkent, whether in his native village "Tuyamuyun". Hearing this, Khurshida felt very dizzy and not to fall, she leaned against the wall. The Manager went on to explain:
-The guy was nice, funny smart, the whole team respected him. I asked the reason for his departure, but he didn't want to tell us about it. He packed his bags, said goodbye to us, and he left. Only... excuse me, girl, is your name Khurshida? - asked the Manager.
- Yeah, what? - Khurshida shuddered, thinking of where the Manager knows her name.
- The fact that the tractor driver Sultan before leaving, said to me confidentially, whispering in my ear that he trusts me like I trust myself. Then he asked me to give you this envelope. Don't be afraid, I won't tell anyone. Of course, I don't want to interfere in your internal Affairs, but personally I feel sorry for the tractor driver Sultan. Such a cheerful guy, the comedian, and suddenly, the smile on his face faded, as if the burned-out bulb, eh... Here you go, in one piece and believe me, I have not opened this envelope. Maybe he left you his coordinates - the Manager said, passing the envelope. Smiling through tears, Khurshida thanked the Manager and took the envelope with shaking hands. After that, she left the control room. Khurshida was walking on the sidewalk and cried, clutching the envelope to her chest. Not to get caught in the open, she went over the edge of the field, where the trail meandered like a snake to the field camp. When Khurshida came to the camp, there was not a soul. She sat down at a homemade field table, located under acacia, which blooms in the spring. At that moment, the tractor driver Sultan's letter seemed to her to be a time bomb. On the other hand, it encouraged her. She carefully opened the envelope and took out the letter. Khurshida recognized the familiar handwriting of the tractor driver Sultan and began to read.
Hello, Khurshida!
First of all, I would like to ask you and your mother, Aunt Rachel, for the fact that, without consulting with you, I made an independent decision, and I'm leaving. I've been thinking, but couldn't find the way out of the situation but to leave, so as not to disturb you and your family. Khurshida, You clever girl, think for yourself, well, let's say, we'll go someplace else. Do you think this will solve all the problems? No, of course, If not your father, people Chairman Comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch will find us, at least from the ground. This is by far. That is, they have long hands. I'm not afraid for myself, I'm afraid only for you and your mother. This is destiny and we with you not in forces to change. Here, my presence will only harm you and your family. I don't want to because I cursed your father and you burn in hell in the afterlife. The curse of the father is the end for man! Living with your father's curse doesn't make sense. And I want you to be alive and your mother, Aunt Rachel. Yes, I love you and you know it. But it doesn't give me the right to sacrifice You and your mom. On the contrary, I should sacrifice myself for you, for aunt Rachel's life and for our love. I understand you and your position; I understand that you also are in unbearable pain, mental pain, unbearable spiritual torture that I feel. But this suffering is nothing in comparison to the torment and torture of hell. May the worms of separation eat me alive; I'm ready for it in order to protect you from destruction. Who knows, maybe God himself decided to test our patience. And we have no other way but to make peace with the destiny that is ordained by the Supreme God himself. I'm most afraid to go crazy with longing and boredom without you. My soul cries like a violin, like the wind in the desert, like the hoopoe in the fields.
I will never forget you, Khurshida, and I'll love you forever! You will remain in my memory as a white acacia, which will bloom selflessly in the spring near the field camp! Khurshida, I ask you at last - if you really love me, then accept the fate and marry the guy for whom your father wants to give you. Because uncle Abduljabbar promised, gave word of man, this chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch. This is very important in terms of honor and dignity of men. You have to put up with fate, at least so as not to jeopardize the life of your mother, who gave birth and raised you. If your love for me is sincere, you will find strength in yourself and try to overcome the bitterness of separation. You'll see, it will be years - and gradually let go of you, that spiritual hunger, that terrible need, the name of which is separation. And our love will remain in our hearts as the first snow, like a unspoiled island Paradise where no foot of man, where on the sandy shore there will be no trace, but our with you. Shore waves will kiss in the moonlight of those loving acceptance that we wrote when something you stick in the sand. This will be our quiet mooring under the moon, where we will sail mentally, and sitting under the white acacia, we will silently look at the moon shining over the sea of memories, listening to the rustle of the tide of waves. Our love will remain in our memory banks the blooming white acacia. This is my first and last letter. Want - tear it to pieces and throw it to the wind like the petals of the flowers of the acacia, want - burn like a tourniquet autumn leaves of the poplars and maples that grow at field mill, where we first met, want to save on memory, and don't look for me. All the forces try to forget me.
Be happy and live long.

With best wishes,
The tractor driver Sultan Ultanovich.

After reading the letter, Khurshida roared, shaking her whole body, owed:
- God, what is this? He gave me happiness and he took it from me! How am I going to live now, Lord?! How do I get out of this pit now?! He left, leaving me...No, and don't hope, unfaithful Alphonse, I'll never forgive you! If you'd waited a little while, me and my mom, the three of us would have gone! - She cried. Then suddenly she abruptly stopped crying, staring at the hazy blank look. Her eyes were empty, like a pair of birds flying south. For her, life has lost its color, taste and any sense. Time stopped, too. Now she didn't care. As if the soul left her body, flew somewhere in the unknown distance and flies on and on, forever, like a night bird disturbed. Khurshida stood up from her place and went back roads through the fog, with the crumpled letter in hand and did not notice how came home. Seeing her pale face and empty eyes meaningless, Raheela was scared.
- What's wrong, daughter? Don't tell me that the tractor driver Sultan died - she said. Khurshida hugged mom and said.
- No, mom, it happened more terrible than his death... He left- Khurshida started to cry.
- What are you talking about? Who told you that he left? No, it can't be. This evil people staged a draw, telling you false news-told Raheela. Khurshida showed her the crumpled letter to the tractor driver Sultan.
- This letter says it all - tears, she again, sitting down exhausted on a chair.
Smoothing the crumpled letter, Raheela started to read wider and wider to gawk at each read line. After reading the letter, she also instinctively squeezed the letter into a ball.
- As I was happy but, oh, how I was hoping, thinking that you will be happy. But the opposite happened. We were too late. It's all my fault. The idea of leaving came to my mind too late. I should have thought about it earlier, earlier. Oh, my God, we're so unlucky! - said Raheela in a whisper, with tears in her eyes.
- Daughter, you really do not cry, better go to your room and lie down, rest a bit, gather my thoughts. Don't cry. Many do not cry, do not beat yourself up, you still can't reverse the water in the river that flowed. Lost time cannot be regained... With these words Raheela helped Khurshida to undress. Khurshida walked, not looking at her feet, like a sleepwalker who sleeps on the go. She went into his room and threw himself on the bed and covering her head with a pillow, began to sob bitterly. Raheela stroking her feathered hair, too, was crying. Khurshida was lying there till the evening, and didn't want her to eat her dinner, despite the request and entreaty of her mother. She locked herself in the room, asking her mother not to disturb her. At night, Khurshida again dreamed of the tractor driver Sultan. He was wearing a black Tux. Neatly combed, shaved, fresh as a Daisy, with a cigar in his mouth, he sat behind a field desk under a white acacia at field mill. Beside him sat the bride in a white wedding dress, skinny, with overly long neck, with big like a tarsier, with eyes, with a swollen forehead, reminiscent of a planetarium, with long and bony hands and big, thin ears, like the ears of a bat. She had a big mouth, but her lips were thin. At other tables sat the drunken guests, many of whom danced the Chairman of the collective farm comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch on the dance floor, raising his eyebrows, moving necks and wiggling their butts in time to the music. Over the bride and groom moved bunches of white acacia flowers, gently swaying in the spring wind. The waiters poured the guests Moldovan wine "Isabella" in crystal glasses. Flying champagne corks, all the noise, loud female laughter, male laughter, one word - fun. Only, Khurshida stood in the corner quietly crying. After passing through the crowd, she came to the main table, where the bride and groom sat, that is, the tractor driver Sultan with his companion.
- Nu, Hello, Sultan! Getting married right, and I? We all loved each other. Making plans for the future and you seem to have sworn to marry me at all costs. And you turned out to be a real con man. Take and defied me! It turns out that every day you change girls like socks! Are you not ashamed?! - she said.
The tractor driver Sultan looked at Khurshida with surprise and, lighting a Cuban cigar, said:
I don't understand, Madam, who are You, something I don't remember. I don't have another girlfriend, and I didn't. I just love her, advanced tractor driver, the beauty of Hurhur Rayhan! Whoever you are, I must warn you not of the responsibility for libel, but that my fiancée has been engaged in melee fighting for years in the basement of the Department of Internal Affairs, and that she has a black belt on karate. She is a master of sports in Ju-jitsu. To be honest, I'm scared of her. I would advise you to drink less alcohol. Such brawls will not lead to anything good! - He said.
- What you a vile man, Sultan! Here's to you! - said Khurshida and, grabbing the edge of the tablecloth, sharply pulled on itself. As a result, all that was on the table fell to the ground. The crystal glasses shattered. Porcelain vase also broke into exactly two parts. A beautiful bouquet of purple roses with long stems scattered in different directions. An angry bride-to-be Sultan Mrs. Hurhur Rayhan one leap was on the table.
- Honey, Hurhur Rayhan! Come to your senses, dear! Don't give in to provocation! This village girl is not worthy of your anger! It is not necessary to get dirty with the blood of this illiterate redneck. Oh, my lovely rose! Stop, for the sake of our love! - shouted the tractor driver Sultan.
But Hurhur Rayhan did not obey the tractor driver Sultan and with the battle cry attacked Khurshida, started a fight between two angry women.
- Well, now you're dead, Hurhur Rayhan! I'll knock you out! - Khurshida said, catching hold of her hair, tugging her curly hair, but when hair Hurhur Rayhan pulled away, and bared her bald head, which looked like a hen's egg, Khurshida scared. In a cold sweat of fear, she woke up.

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Chapter 14 of the short novel of Holder Volcano

The idea

The long autumn night, the fog and the dead silence. The ghostly silhouettes of houses and trees dissolve in the mist, and the neighborhood slowly begins to float, as if in milk. Khurshida"s ear caught the distant roar of a lone tractor, deaf and distant dog barking. A long time she lay in her room, thinking about the tractor driver Sultan, and she wanted to get up and go to the field, to his beloved man, the tractor driver Sultan, who works in solitude on his tractor. She decided to read a book before bed and took a collection of short stories of the writer Abu Devar Darmeyan. His story "the Birdhouse" begins with these words.
From General round-up of the new government saved me my birdhouse. That is, seeing that I live in the birdhouse, people thought I was insane, and the authorities have released me from military service in the army, was then late in the fall. The day was frosty. The bare branches of trees were buzzing on the cold winds.
By evening, the smell of snow, and at midnight the large flakes began to fall snow. Snowflakes swirled lazily as down shot of white swans in a snowstorm. Then the snow gradually intensified and turned into a soft and silent snowfall. Deserted midnight streets, trees, rooftops, parks and boulevards, groves filled in the white silence, like a dream. The snow was falling, whispering mysterious prayer snowflakes swarms swirled around the street lights, who bowed, like a table lamp over white paper snow. Although he dominated the blue gloom, but there was light from snow as in the white nights of the Northern countries. This night reminded me of the Laundry of the hospital the beginning of the twentieth century, where nurses on the tense rope hung wash pillowcases, sheets and white coats. I was lying on a makeshift bed in my bedroom the birdhouse, looking through the window at the falling snow. I felt alone, the only living person in the world as people slept soundly this white silence, you could hear the whisper of falling snowflakes. Through snowflakes in a Blizzard, I saw the glowing Windows of the birdhouse, which housed the library, where worked a girl named Bahorshamol Oyshu"lanafis Guzalgultozan.I opened the hatch and walked out of the birdhouse. Down I went, stumbling in the snow, to the side of the birdhouse, where was located the library. I was walking up the stairs as it creaked; I knocked on the door, which was opened by a beautiful librarian named Bahorshamol Oyshu"lanafis Guzalgultozan.
-Hello, Bahorshamol Oyshu"lanafis Guzalgultozan! - I said, wiping and brushing boots at the door.
- Oh, it's your neighbor? Well, come in - said Mrs. Bahorshamol Oyshu"lanafis Guzalgultozan, smiling cheerfully.
Going to the birdhouse library, I immediately felt the smell of books and walked closer to the shelves. Bahorshamol Oyshu"lanafis Guzalgultozan sat down in her chair and began to write something in the card. Her thick black gentle hair fell from her delicate shoulders, touching the table.
- Well, what books we intend to read, dear neighbor? - she asked, not looking up from her work. In her gentle arm the handle was swaying like a drunk. Her long white smooth slim and delicate fingers, smooth neck and chins with infant skin, unpainted lips that resembled rose petals, cornflower eyes, white teeth, and charming smile drove me crazy.
-Dear neighbor Bahorshamol Oyshu"lanafis Guzalgultozan, do you have the novel writer of Cardinal Sharle Carboran "Silence in the mist"? - I asked.
- Yes, of course! Here it is on my Desk! Not only is Karon our library, but my favorite cookbook! I always carry with me clutching, I read again and again and did not read a lot. Read even when eating, leafing through its pages, and they rustle like fallen autumn leaves. If I do not read it at night before bed, I can't fall asleep. Every time I read this novel, I cry, shedding tears from the eyes into the pillow. And in some places laugh loud and long, putting a pillow to your mouth to neighbors in other birdhouses woke up at midnight when quietly roaming the sky lonely moon and fire of a distant star, to read these books for a night of fun. What novel, my God! What a great writer this with a well known name, Sharle Carboran! Characters I love: a poor shepherd, the protagonist of the novel, Mustafa Sahib Suleiman Karbalayi and his beloved beauty Sabo Zulfiparishan! How they love each other, as they meet under the bright moon on the edge of the field and as they kiss, lying on the haystack, like a soft, squeaky, sleeping bed! Although the writer does not describe the romantic scenery, but I read it excitedly work, you begin to clearly perceive the monotonous chirping of crickets, a chorus of croaking frogs in a pond, distant and deaf dogs barking and, of course, to feel the heavenly aroma of sweet clover under the moonlight where lovers kiss haystack Mustafa Sahib Suleiman Karbalayi and incomparable Sabo Zulfiparishan. With all this, I gaze into the star-strewn infinite, the Milky Way, which shimmers in the sleepy sky,
Like a baby in the cradle. The matter does not end there. I start to dream about the characters in the novel "Silence in the fog" my favorite writer Monsieur the Cardinal Sharle of Carboran. I see that as a reality, a solitary shepherd Mustafa Sahib Suleiman Karbalayi, who is tending a herd of wild antelopes and tapirs in the desert, where the swaying sea of silky grasses. He sits on one of the tapirs and galloping across the steppe, driving long whip of a huge flock that's running, circling, and looks like a giant whirlpool. The lonely shepherd Mustafa Sahib Suleiman Karbalayi continues to ride on the tapir, stubbornly and constantly thinking about his beloved Sabo Zulfiparishan and her words. Father of Sabo Zulfiparishan said, stroking her hair and being afraid to drop the trembling tears in her eyes:
- Daughter, I can't marry you to Mustafa Sahib Suleiman Karbalayi. Because he is a shepherd and herding in the steppes of the vast herds of wild antelopes and Tapir free. I know a simple man who makes a Scarecrow for the vegetable gardens of old, ragged clothes. I know I sometimes bitterly cry alone, at the edge of autumn rice fields at the feet of the scarecrows, which he made out of rags and straw. Crying, saying to them:
- Oh, my Scarecrow, you never asked me! I know in the world you are a lot! But unlike the human made by the God Almighty, you will never cheat each other, not fighting each other and not kill anyone, even a fly, not destroy the city for the sake of gain, made a beautiful flag from false slogans! We, the people whom God has created, ask the Creator every day money, gold diamonds and power! Here I look at you and think about something else. On a political Scarecrow in the world, which is languishing in deep mines on the territory of all nuclear powers? Using nuclear power scared people. And your shepherd Mustafa Sahib Suleiman Karbalayi has no idea about the Scarecrow. Chasing a crazy flock of antelopes, and tapirs in the boundless steppes with a long whistling whip.
Hearing these words, the poor clogs Sabo Zulfiparishan, cried and flew into the street. She ran, tightly clutching the novel-bestseller "Silence in the mist" great writer of our time of Cardinal Sharle Carboran and cried. She hurried towards the steppe, where he herded a herd of wild sagas and tapir his beloved Mustafa Sahib Suleiman Karbalayi, sitting on the tapir, driving long whip humming and rotating, like a giant whirlpool, a herd of tapir steppe and saga. When they reached the steppe, saw from afar the shepherd Mustafa Sahib Suleiman Karbalayi and rushed to her tapir. And they hugged each other.
- Come, my wonderful one! How I've missed you! - said the shepherd, Mustafa Sahib Suleiman Karbalayi, kissing Sabo Zulfiparishan lips, eyes, chin and neck.
- I missed you too, my dear shepherd Mustafa Sahib Suleiman Karbalayi! I can't live without you! I asked permission from my father, but my father refused. I cannot, says he, my child, you marry the shepherd Mustafa Sahib Suleiman Karbalayi, who has no idea about the Scarecrow. He, says he, only knows how to drive a herd of antelopes and tapirs in the boundless steppes with a long and whistling of the whip. Tell me, my dear, Sahib Mustafa Suleiman Karbalayi, why the fate of the people in my life are not like the fate of the characters of the novel ""Silence in the mist"" our beloved writer Cardinal Sharle Carborane, because the novel is written? Why did you become a shepherd as a character of this novel, which I always carry with me and read to the holes? What do we do now? - cried Sabo Zulfiparishan.
I'm not a shepherd by profession - said Mustafa Suleiman Sahib Karbalayi.
-Who are you then? - surprised Sabo Zulfiparishan.
- I will not say, because you don't believe me - said Mustafa Suleiman Sahib Karbalayi.
- No, you tell me - insisted Sabo Zulfiparishan.
- Well,- said Mustafa Suleiman Sahib Karbalayi and continued - just promise me you won't faint.
- Agreed - said Sabo Zulfiparishan.
- Then listen. I am the same writer who wrote the novel "Silence in the mist" under the pen name of Cardinal Sharle Corburan! That is, I'm your favorite writer, who wrote the book you always carry with you and read to holes. Give me that book, I'll write you an autograph for memory - said the shepherd of the steppe antelopes and tapirs Mustafa Sahib Suleiman Karbalayi. From this news, poor Sabo Zulfiparishan dizzy, and she fainted. Here's an interesting book, a novel by my favorite author Cardinal Sharle Carboran - said the librarian Bahorshamol Oyshu"lanafis Guzalgultozan.
- Yeah-aah, really, a novel, exciting and breathtaking ' I said, glancing furtively glance on an elastic half-naked breast of librarian Bahorshamol Oyshu"lanafis Guzalgultozan. These are the things I love. I put on this point, to new writing meetings.
Sincerely, Kosakalparazit Patrontash Partizanuvuch.
The most interesting part of the story of Cardinal Sharle Carborane,Khurshida fell asleep.
It woke Raheela and began to speak.
Oh, I have, among other things, a unique idea - Raheela smiled.
- What is the idea? - Asked Khurshida.
Rahila, in a low voice, whispered in the ears of Khurshida.
- What if I, too, run away with you huh? The three of us would live happily and freely, where we can't find your father she said.
- Yeah, not a bad idea. Brilliantly! Why we previously didn't think about that, Yeah, run away, the three of us said Khurshida rejoicing. After that, they spent the night preparing to escape, by collecting the right things in the hay bales. In the morning departure of Abduljabbar to work with Raheela Khurshida closed the building of the castle and cautiously went outside. The street was still hazy, and this weather condition just contributed to them. They quickly walked through the fog towards the field, hiding from the strangers eyes.
- Learning about our plan, Sultan will be happy - said Khurshida, walking briskly.
- Yes, I think so too, said Raheela and continued:
- I'm not running away from your father, no, I have long ceased to fear him. I think only of you, daughter. I'm ready to die, seeing that the day you'll find happiness. Why would I want to become close with the rich officials, if you don't like the guy getting married? It is not in money and not in luxury - she said.
Now Raheela with Khurshida barely walked in a furrow among the layers. They walked for a long time, then stopped and listened carefully to the silence. If any of the silent fog they could see the tractor driver Sultan, even if he was fixing it somewhere. And then they went blind.
- Oh, my God, there's no Sultan, or today for his day off, and suddenly he... God Forbid he got sick - said Khurshida.
- Can he repair his tractor? Sitting or sleeping in the cab of the tractor, hard man all night to work but still in a dense fog, alone. Even the robot, and then breaks down at such hellish work. You call him sweetheart. If he hears your voice, it will respond - advised Raheela.
- What is possible and to call, as these fields right now nobody but us no -said Khurshida and started screaming, calling her beloved kid.
-Sultaaaaaaaan! Ahh, Sultaaaaaaan! Where Are You?! Respond, my mother came! We have a very good idea! - she screamed, but the tractor driver Sultan did not respond.
Finally, they understood that the tractor driver Sultan is not in the field there. Khurshida, after losing all hope, threw herself into the arms of his mother and again wept bitterly. Raheela too.

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Chapter 13 of the short novel of Holder Volcano

Kissing in the fog

-Are you dumb, you understand, I owe him not that there is a daughter, and a life of its own! The great Chairman, comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch saved me when I was in his pickup truck accidentally knocked down an old woman on the road. Well, Yes, I was tipsy then, but this woman, very old, itself to blame. Instead of sitting at home, she wandered the streets in her old age. She died on the spot, died. Think? Tears hysteria, screaming, instead of thanking me for what I helped her to go to heaven, where she sought all my life. I was threatening to plant, hide in the prison for years, ungrateful creatures. But the world is still not fail the good people. One man approaches me, laughing, shaking his belly, cannot suppress his laughter. Hugged me fraternally and thanked. -Thank you, brother. I'll never forget, he says, forevermore. Finally, we are free from her, and she happens to be my mother-in-law. One summer, he says, I went on a picnic with our family. We sat, on the edge of our garden, where stood a Scarecrow, made of old clothes, all patched. Is the Scarecrow, thoughtfully looking into the distance with his eyes from under battered hats, made from buttons. His hands hang like a sausage in the Soviet era. Hair made from red straw. Flock of birds flew past our garden, for fear of thinking that living a farmer. Here I sit, means, fire frying on the fire skewers of bread sausage. Mother-in-law, he says, too, is about our canvas tents with us and eats bread sausage, unceasingly moving his false teeth. I hyperventilate as well, I think, to live in this beautiful world! Relax at picnics with members of his family plus mother-in-law!.. Then, he says, in a voice wildly cried:
-Heyheyheeeeeeey! I love you, my native land! Love your spaces, to the mysterious whisper of rain and the cheerful noise of green trees in the open wind! I like to go without an umbrella under a drizzle, soaked to the threads clothing by country road, when lightning and thunder!.. Here, he says, as if ordering around the dark suddenly appeared from the sky of all clouds, and, he says, a storm began. I'm even gladder, looking at the sky, where, he says lightning and booming thunder. Here, as it started to rain and my family members ran, back home, as there was no place to hide. Our canvas tent was demolished by the wind, members, my family fleeing. Mother-in -law, too. It is he says ran limping on one leg, still chewing a slice of toasted bread, incessantly moving jaws, like a gopher in the steppe, which, he says, feeds on plant roots. As the rain intensified and turned into a downpour. Half an hour later, water in the river rose and the flood started. Here then, I also had to run home, that is to swim against the current. I barely came to our house, which, he says already squinted to the side, from the window in a panic, shouts to my wife and my beloved children. My mother -in -law, too. She curses me, saying, you cursed caused this natural disaster. I knew that in such serious situations cannot do without the ark. Then, says he, took from the barn our large tin basin, that is, the trough in which we bathed with my wife after sex and sometimes bathe kids too. This trough we, says he, jokingly called "Titanic", and I told the members of his family, so they immediately boarded the schooner, as we need to depart from this ill-fated Harbor in the open ocean, where we can find some Pacific Atoll or a desert island for further accommodation. We sat in the ark, I too, and how otherwise? The ship's long voyage without a captain, it's still an ark without Noah. Well, we all took our seats. Here, my mother left behind since she was weighing almost half a ton. Well, where with the weight, judge, myself. The rain lashes with the wild noise of the Canadian falls of Niagara, and cry out: "cast off! To keep the rate between 60 degrees North and 19 degrees West longitude, they say, we sail! And mother-in-law mine arrived with a huge heavy square front of the Stalin era suitcase with a broken lock, without handle arm, made of plywood, and shouts, scolding me, trying to catch hold for our ship! I said, where you're going, lady! Do you see that schooner on the long voyage there is no free space?! Everyone is busy! And I'm afraid that there is not in the hold space for your huge the front of the suitcase Stalinist era, made of plywood without a handle that won't close. If we take you on Board, then overload our ship may capsize and we will sink into the depths of this raging ocean! Come from the screw! Who say?! - I shouted, waving the shovel he held in his hands, using it as a paddle. But, my mother-in-law desperately grabbed overboard my bony hands of the dead and tried to sit on the carriage, my wife all to help her. And I had, a couple of times to hit her with a paddle in the dome, well, I mean, with a shovel. My deaf belly from hard blows, and lost consciousness as a poor unsuspecting Dolphin in the coastal waters, of which the poachers hit with a baseball bat and, my mother-in-law, too, as the naive Dolphin, drowned in the raging muddy water. Finally, we managed to rid of a heavy burden, and I began earnestly to row, to sail, as they say away from sin. But, there to the great happiness of my silence, the rain abruptly ceased, and the water level began to decline. In an hour our tin boat ran aground. My mother-in-law all dirty with algae on the neck and ears is at the turn near the building of the post office, as elephant thrown ashore by a wave, while, strong sea storm. My wife ran there, the children, too. Well, I think, damn, that's not enough. Now we have to find the money for her funeral. But, there it was. You see, it breathes, his mouth wide open like a fish on the broken pieces in the aquarium, and even, he says, opened his slanted eyes. Well, thank God that you survived, dear mother I tell her happily. Then, she called in sick. Stopped eating and lost a lot of weight. Think, is it cancer? And then, in my head, was it a unique idea. I ran to the insurance company to fill necessary documents. Then went to the Bank, well, to get a substantial loan in the name of my mother-in-law, in the hope that when she dies, the state itself will pay for it, given the death of the creditor, proceeding from considerations of humanity.. I got a loan, but the mother-in-law, my instead of dying, recovered and started eating with great appetite, all of which can be eaten. It seemed that she was even much younger, gaining strength. And the interest with which I received the loan, he says, is inexorably rising. I did not know what to do. One day I caught her in a full moon in the garden, where she watched the shining Orb of the moon and read some magic spells. The time, I thought, and took twenty-five millimeter tube, and approached her quietly tiptoe back, and hit her head hard. Came the sound knocking like "Klang!" and the pipe was bent in the letter "G", she didn't even notice. Sitting and casts spells. After that, I had no choice but to strangle the mother-in-law this... well, strings of Uzbek dutar. But this way too, did not help. Taut strings of the dutar, was broken, and she, alive, smiling his toothless mouth like a sea whale. Well, today she apparently, was in the hands of an expert like you and gave tips, thank God Almighty. A man, who again and again thanked me, cries with joy. I say, not for that, man. Then I was taken to a detention center. But thanks to the great Chairman, comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch that he bought prosecutors and the judge, giving them a bag of public money from the Treasury of our farm "Tillaquduq", in the form of bribes, case closed, which was opened on my feature. You saw it with your own eyes that I was acquitted and freed in the courtroom. Well, now think about it, how can I refuse such a great Chairman, comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch when this historical figure asks to have our daughter married the son of his cousin? On the contrary, it is for us a chance to get akin with influential and wealthy people of our district. Only a fool drives away with a stick the bird of happiness, which wants to build the nest on his bad head. All point. The word of the Chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch to me the law! I respect him more than his father! In short, I promised him. And the President, in turn, gave the word to cover all costs of the wedding by the Treasury of our farm. So get ready for the wedding. Tomorrow the matchmaker should come. See, that was no amateur. You know me. Clank, with an axe on the head and half your body here and another part there - finished his story Abduljabbar.
Hearing these words, Raheela started crying, hugging Khurshida and stroking her hair.
- Why are you crying Ah, you stupid, why are you crying instead of being happy?! - Said Abduljabbar.
- What do I do? You want me to laugh?! Why you are not consulting me, gave them the promise? I cry not for myself but for our daughter! We have to ask Khurshida whether she wants to marry the nephew of the Chairman. We have to know first how to, examine the character and behavior of the future son-in-law to know what he was doing, and then make the decision - cried Raheela.
- Shut up! Who are you all to discuss the behavior of the nephew of our dear great Chairman, comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelybakezavuch, my idol?! They are decent people! I told you, explained in human language, that I am obliged to the Chairman of the life! And you, fool, again! You see, I didn't consult her! Why do I need to consult you, say, yourself? You're a brainless mule.! It is the East, not Europe or the West, where parents go to leash their wives and children! If you don't like my actions, then good riddance! Go out there and find yourself some obedient donkey! And here I am the master! About whom our son-in-law know! The great Chairman, comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch told me that next week our new relatives intend to send matchmakers to ask the hand of your daughter. Said matchmakers will bring a picture of our future son-in-law, okay, numbskull?! Period! said Abduljabbar, and went out. Raheela with Khurshida wept, hugging each other. Raheela then suddenly stopped crying and took over the shoulders of the daughter, looked into her burning eyes crazy eyes wild.
- I have an idea. Here's what we do. You, daughter, go and consult with the tractor driver Sultan, and go away together somewhere. I don't want you to be unhappy. Let me kill this tyrant, an alcoholic. I have lived her in this hell and enough. I don't want you to become like me. One victim is enough! Where you’re from, live happily and freely! - blessed Raheela.
- No, mommy, I can't leave you in this hell! I don't want my father to beat you because of me! Can't sacrifice you, honey! Such happiness I don't need! I'll take the rope with soap and water and hang! - cried Khurshida.
- No! Don't even think about it. Suicide is a sin! Did you ever think about what would happen to the Sultan after he hears about you?! And I? How will I live after this?! You want me out of your mind?! Oh, God, help me and show us the way of truth! - cried Raheela.
You're right, mom - said Khurshida. Better I will go now to the Sultan and tell him everything. I have it smart and we will figure something out. Only you do not cry, okay, promise? - Raheela nodded in agreement, wiping her tears with a handkerchief. Dressed warmly, Khurshida flew into the yard and went out into the street, ran toward the fields. Khurshida was glad the weather was foggy, and she was able to escape without being shown to the villagers, who like to spread rumors. She fled, stumbling through the fog and cried on the run. Hearing the roar of the bulldozer, Khurshida ran even faster to quickly share with the Sultan the terrible news of her engagement. The sound of the engine gave her a reference point, and finally, Khurshida saw a dim silhouette of a tractor that plowed the land, lighting up the misty field with the headlights on. To run on a plowed field was difficult. Therefore, Khurshida fled, stumbling at almost every step, sometimes on all fours. Approaching the bulldozer, she cried:
Sultan, stop-easy! Slyshite, wait-her?! But the tractor driver Sultan because of the noise of the motor had not heard her screams and drove forward. He saw Khurshida only when turned to learn how there is a furrow. Saw her, he was delighted. Having stopped the bulldozer, he killed the engine and jumped out of the cabin, smiling happily.
- What winds brought You here, to the field of separation and loneliness, Oh, Mrs. Madam Duchess Khurshidabanu de La Marquise La tombala neige a pace sua e fusible manege! he said, stepping to the side Khurshida by leaps and bounds. Coming closer to the girl, he stopped smiling
- Oh, Madam Duchess Khurshidabanu de La Marquise La tombala neige a pace sua e fusible manege, why do we cry? Who hurt You? You name only the name, and I'll cut off his ears -he said.Khurshida are unable to withstand tears and with tears in her eyes, rushed into the arms of the Sultan.
- Well, do not cry, Khurshida, explain what happened? Did uncle Abduljabbar?... And what with aunt Raheela? - asked the tractor driver Sultan, embracing her and stroking her shoulders.
- No, Sultan, the situation is even worse! - said Khurshida.
- What are You? The third World or something, started? .
Oh no! Marry me! Father, it appears, promised to give me to marry the nephew of the Chairman of our kolkhoz, comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelybakezavuch. A nephew of the President, I even in a dream not seen! -cried even harder Khurshida.
Hearing this the tractor driver Sultan paused for a moment.
- Well, things... - hardly he said, then grabbed the chest:
-Oh, that my head is again spinning. Let's sit down - he said.
They sat down. Khurshida cried with my head on the shoulders of the tractor driver Sultan. And Sultan did not know what to say, and silently stared into the fog, eyes downcast. Then, taking off his cap, wiped the tears from eyes that appeared in front of him. And to suppress the bitterness in his heart, took a deep breath and, swallowing his tears, asked:
- Well, what do we do now?
- I do not know Sultan, I don't know. My mother said that we should get away somewhere. She said let your father beat me. Run daughter with your favorite guy, live freely and happily. But I don't want my father to beat her because of me. How can I be happy through the unhappiness of his mother, whom I love more than life? - continued to cry Khurshida.
- No, it's not an option. Don't cry, Khurshida. Tears of sorrow will not help. I'll think about it. Ahead we still have days and weeks, maybe months. Well, that's enough, stop crying. Let us, I'll wipe Your tears - said Sultan, and began to wipe her tears with his fingers. Khurshida grabbed the rough hand of Sultan and started kissing her.
Sultan, my dear, beloved, think. You're in my brain. I believe that you will definitely find a way out of this situation, she said. And embracing the neck of the Sultan began to kiss his face on the lips.
- Well, my wonderful, well - said Sultan, too, and passionately began to kiss Khurshida on the lips. They had a long kiss in the mist.

Ўзбек халқининг севимли шоирларидан бири

Шукур Қурбон 70 ёшда!

Чинобод чироқлари

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Chapter 12 of the short novel of Holder Volcano

Cranes

Khurshida felt ashamed in front of the tractor driver Sultan, because of yesterday's events, when in a drunken brawl her father nearly stabbed him with the broken bottle. Oh, how he scolded how insulted, to remember even ashamed - she thought, blushing and crying. I suppose, Sultan was offended by my father and us, therefore -continued to think Khurshida. -Of course, offended. He just came to help us, and my father... What happens now? Is Sultan going to stop talking with me and go somewhere else? How can I live? Oh, Lord, make it so he left. Let us reconcile and be together again! He gave me this happiness and do not take it from me! - she thought, briskly walking in the direction of the field mill.
Meanwhile, the autumn sun was shining, dispelling the morning mists. Sad deserted fields and in the distance there were black mulberry trees, poplars and willows. On the empty fields there were no people, not a tractor of the tractor driver Sultan, except a bulldozer "Altai" at field camp, out of which protruded their feet. Apparently, the driver of the bulldozer was fixing the motor. Khurshida wanted to go to the bulldozer and to ask Sultan about the tractor, but then changed her mind for fear of rumors. She stopped, having lost the last hope to meet here my beloved man. It seemed that the world was empty as the autumn field. Would be at least one stack of cotton on the field, one would hopes on the appearance of the tractor driver Sultan in these places. All - he will not come here. He left, annoyed with my father! Oh, what a misfortune, eh? What a misfortune! It's that damn vodka is to blame! - She began to cry quietly, wiping her tears with the edge of her handkerchief. Now it was useless to look for and wait for the tractor driver Sultan in these places.
With these thoughts Khurshida wanted to turn around and go back home. But then she heard the familiar voice of her lover guy and stood rooted to the spot. She turned around and saw the tractor driver Sultan, who cried out to her, waving his hand that held a wrench.
Lady Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pa seue pasuble manege! Well, where are you going, leaving me in the deserted autumn field like Leila, which left Majnun on the boundless deserts of separation in the epics of the great Uzbek poet Alisher Navoi?! - he shouted.
Hearing these words, Khurshida just roared with joy. She smiled through the tears quivering in her eyes like the morning dew. Thank God that he's not offended - she thought and ran towards the bulldozer "Altai", where stood her lover boy tractor driver Sultan. She stopped just a few steps from the tractor driver Sultan, and they shook hands, not daring to cuddle, although they really wanted to.
- I am sorry, Lady Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pa seue pasuble manege that didn't shake your aristocratic white handle, as my hands are stained with fuel oil. Well, how's it going, beautiful? Why are you crying?- said the tractor driver Sultan.
- I'm happy you are not offended by my father, who had upset You in a drunken brawl, Sultan- she said, with downcast eyes..
I don't know what you're talking about, Lady Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pa seue pasuble manege? What a riot, its a disappointment? Something I do not remember .First, I'm not mad. As for uncle Abduljabbar, I think he is a good man, and he was just joking. And I check, you know, with a sense of humor. So the question of any sorrow disappears - smiled the tractor driver Sultan.
Thank you, Sultan that you are not offended by my father and on us. You are truly a noble man. No, you are not a man but a heavenly angel without wings - said Khurshida.
-Well, this praise with a wide range in any gate not climbing. Even in the next life. You are exaggerating, Lady Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pa seue pasuble manege. Well, what with me angel, God, even a demon will not pull - shy, smiling, the tractor driver Sultan.
- Fool-said Khurshida with a guilty smile, looking at the tractor driver Sultan from the bottom up.
- Here is the word exactly suited to my face. Yes, I the fool and, you know, I'm proud of it, honestly - said Sultan, wiping cloth soiled hands.
Then he added:
- You better help me. I just do not have enough assistant volunteer. I'll climb under the bulldozer, but will you let me help, handing me wrenches that I call. And then for the arrival of the agronomist I have to do the norm. Tractor in Park, took my vehicle tractor and told me to work on this bulldozer. In short, I have to plow
- Good Sultan- agreed Khurshida. The tractor driver Sultan climbed under the tractor, and she began to help him, bottom for him wrenches. Lying under the bulldozer, the tractor driver Sultan huffed and puffed, twisting the nuts and without interrupting conversation with his girlfriend.Khurshida felt like the happiest person in the world. She wanted always to be together with the Sultan and to help him. To live and work together. Plow on a deserted fields, wrapped in a thick autumn fog, sitting next to him. To dine with him on a foggy field at a fire, illuminating their faces in a flame, like a red silk flag.
Here Khurshida thoughts broke the voice of the cranes that flew in the sky and she screamed?
The tractor driver Sultan looked up sharply and banged his head on the crankcase of the motor.
- Well, Mrs. Lady Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pa seue pasuble manege?! - he asked, coming out from under the bulldozer.
- Cranes!- cried Khurshida, enthusiastically looking at the sky, where the blade flew a huge flock of cranes, covering half the sky.
- Yes-aa-ah! - admiringly said the tractor driver Sultan, looking at the autumn sky, removing a moth eaten hat and leaning against the bulldozer of yellow color. Cranes fly high, filling the sky with their sad cries. The lovers stared at crane for a long time until they completely disappeared from sight, disappearing into the sky.
- Here, the cranes also flew to distant lands. If the whole neighborhood had become an orphan and the soul too - sighed Khurshida.
- Yes, it is a Pity that we are not born cranes. We would fly also to the South side by side, after them, like cranes freely shouting noisily, over the autumn fields, over the forests over blue bays and oceans. In the spring we would return to the Far East or here in Uzbekistan. They would live together happily, among tall grasses in the meadows performing the mating dance, flapping their huge wings and jumping on long legs and waking the silence on the deserted lawns of spring with shouts of joy. Seeing us from the Windows of their huts, lonely poets would write haiku, draining to the bottom of a sea shell with rice vodka sake and sadly munching on a snack coarse grinding.
- You look more like a poet than a tractor driver. I'm sure that if you wrote poetry, there would be no equal on the planet "Earth". Your poems translated to all languages of the world, and people would have bought your books like hotcakes. Moreover, you would have awarded the international Nobel Prize. And you would be living in peace, somewhere out there, in the Swiss Alps or in Paris or in Canada. The crowd of beautiful girls ran up to you crying and asking for your autograph. Many of them have you finished the suicide by throwing herself from the Eiffel tower in Paris -said Khurshida.
- Who am I, a poet? I'm more like a chimney sweep. And to write poetry does not have to be a poet. Conversely, do not have to write poetry to be or become a good poet, because life itself is highest poetry. To drive a tractor and work alone in the fields covered by fog is thin, my poetry, my music, my delicate Symphony! Why do I have Paris, why the Swiss Alps, when there are fields where carefree walks drunken Uzbek the wind? Why do I need a crowd of beautiful Paris girls when I have you? And the tart smell of field weeds, the fragrance of the blooming roses and olive trees of the ravines and the delicate scent of acacia, to me a thousand times nice than the smell of different perfumes and deodorants! Believe me, I seriously say - said Sultan.
- I believe You, Sultan with all my heart, and I am grateful to my fate, that I met someone like you. I wouldn't want to leave you even for a minute, but you know that I have a strict father. I thank you for what you are offended by my father and me and my mom. Okay, I went. And then my mother starts to worry about me. Because, when I came here didn't warn her about it. I'm sorry that I just have to go home and I do not have the opportunity to help you continue to be with you even apologized Khurshida.
-All right, Khurshida. Thank you for coming. I am also very worried about You. Thank God that You are alive and healthy. Give my greetings to aunt Raheela, I respect her very much. Not only is she a good woman and a great mother, because she gave birth to such a beautiful girl with a gentle soul like you - said Sultan.
They barely parted, and Khurshida went home. The evening autumn fog had thickened to such an extent that it was difficult to see anything two steps away.Khurshida lay in the dark, listening to the distant roar of a lone tractor. This is it, my lover guy Sultan works there one, leading his bulldozer through the fog, plugging deserted field. God help don't let him sleep alone and fatigue, he lost control in thick fog, fell into a deep ravine with his bulldozer "Altai" she whispered.