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132221451_gorod_Brempton (202x216, 31Kb)

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

Dalakazan

(The short novel)

Translated by the author.

 


Any commercial use of the short novel "Dalakazan" by Holder Volcano is prohibited without the prior written consent of the author.




This is the birth of a new genre in world literature. If you do not believe, then read this work to the end, and You will firmly see this.This short novel has its magic that will cause you to read unstoppable. You won't even notice that you read the whole book from start to finish, and you will read it over and over again. I personally believe this.

All an enjoyable read!

(Holder Volcano)



Chapter 1

Bank robbery in broad daylight


A gang of masked robbers, armed to the teeth, suddenly burst into the Bank with wild cries, threatening to shoot anyone like a partridge who dares to show the slightest disobedience or resistance. They ordered all Bank employees to lie down on the floor and not move.
- Anyone who tries to raise his head, immediately receive a bullet in the forehead! - one of them shouted.
One of the employees of the Bank, of about forty, tall, skinny build, with a nose like the beak of an eagle named Dalakazan, the bandits raised, pointing at him nervously, with trembling hands, the barrel of the machine gun:
-Come on, bastard! You will help us commit the robbery of the century!Come on, open the safe and put the money in those bags! If you try to give signals to the cops, pressing the alarm button, then you, instantly turn into a corpse! - shouted another thug, as he kicked Dalakazan's butt hard.
-Okay!Okay! I'll do anything you say!Just please don't kill me!I have a family and young children! -begged them Dalakazan. He obediently walked towards the cash register, raising his thin arms high, like a young soldier in a hot spot of the planet who had just been captured.


 

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Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

 

The landscape poems


Translated by the author

 

 

 





Religious Man
-----------------------



He believed in God, but God did not believe him.



----------------------
14/08/2019.
8:09 in the morning.
Canada, Ontario.




------------
Longing for spring
-----------------


Spring as love works wonders,
Waking nature from a sweet dream.
Soon, deafening cries heaven,
The birds return, when the grass is green .

Coming from the pathways is spring,
A slim, naive, youthful lady.
And on the poplar the bird will sing:
-Chicka - di-di-di-di-di-di-di!

Hearing this for a while in silence,
People will stop digging gardens.
Will enjoy the singing birds,
Leaning against the shovel shanks.


--------------------
16/10/2015.
4:53 of day.
Canada, Ontario.





------------------
The poor trees
---------------


Rivers and ponds covered with ice,
Outside the window, the blizzard howled.
Oh trees, I would let you into the house,
And you would warm yourself by the fire,

But you're motionless along the road,
In parks, gardens and beside the gates.
Like families in the bitter cold,
The same as people without fuel.

Scurrying, shivering on the frozen river,
And you have no shelter over your head.
But trees, do you really not have a furnace,
and even a little wood?..


----------------
04/03/2015.
2:08 of the day.
the city of Brampton, Canada.




------------------
Winter dandelions
---------------


The late dandelions appearing beautiful
They look like fluffy, snow-white balls.
Their hair turns grey, since they are fearful
Fearing that winter is just after fall.

Their winds blew like children in the fields,
It's fluff whirled and flew weightless.
The trees were playing an accordion well,
Like a musician in a cluster of snowflakes.

The blizzards have changed into dandelions,
And the fluff from them is blown away!
These snow-covered streets lights,
The flying dandelions it looks like!


------------
21/01/2016.
12:00 noon.
Canada. Ontario.




Echo
-------------



The water droplets fall at the midnight silence.
No, it's not the thawing snow outside the window crying
and not the footsteps of time, which
walks, hobbling on one leg on the dial of the wall clock.
It's the echo of your tears dripping by the window,
in the moonlight and desolate silence, there
across the oceans, in my distant homeland.


-----------------------
03/09/2018.
10:22 of the day.
Canada, Ontario.





-----------------------
Time clicks its tongue rhythmically
------------------


I'm not a king or a caretaker of dogs,
but a distant echo of the sad cries of cranes.
I'm the somber sky and the rainfall pecking
the bunches of the Rowan trees
outside your window, which you will look
through at the distant landscape during winter,
where snow covered forests, fields and
the empty winter snow-covered roads,
the rickety huts of the village.
I'm not a king or a caretaker of dogs,
I'm just a slave to my desires.
A slave of air, water and food.
At night I look at the moon, like a fish
looking through an ice hole, in a frozen river,
listening to the sounds of the wagons of the trains
knocking against the steel spines of the Railways.
A knock that sounds like a heartbeat,
knocking of a clock sounds like hiccups
after eating the time from our lives.
I'm not a king or a caretaker of dogs,
I'm just loneliness and peace.
I am the silence and the orphan hood of old graves.
I'm a lonely passer-by, drunk in the snow blizzard
who forgot the path home.
The twilight is lit by the moon like empty white paper,
like snow-covered winter roads,
similar to our September cotton fields.
I go and lengthen my silent shadow.
Balding trees in parks, as if in a dream,
and the leaves are gently flying to the pavement.
The fallen leaves are so soft,
I want to lie on them and sleep...
Let eternity pass on it's tiptoe,
you can sleep, locking the door.
And let time click it's tongue rhythmically,
swinging the pendulum of the grandfather clock.


-----------------
03/07/2019.
10:18 of the day.
Canada, Ontario.





------------
Bath
---------------


In your bath, snow-white lilies bloom
and real green reeds rustle, where frogs
sing in chorus, blowing bubbles behind their ears.
The water in it is so clear that you can even see
the sand and colourful pebbles and small fish,
which rush around in a shoal at the bottom,
not being afraid of anyone,and you,
without paying attention to them, bathe,
take a bath alone, O naked moon!

-----------------
24/02/2021.
3: 28 pm.
Canada, Ontario.




---------------
Running
--------------



I saw with my own eyes how poplars and willows
ran across the plains and slopes on one leg.
There were posts, road signs, houses, roads,
stone bridges, misty meadows, horses and cows,
field camps, mulberry trees, cotton fields.
They ran after the train on which I was travelling into the distance,
having to leave my homeland.

-------------------
15/02/2021.
1: 00 pm.
Canada, Ontario.



--------------------
Cuckoo's nest
------------------


The man waited long and patiently
looking at the grey cuckoo's nest,
with a long pole in his hands.
He waited for and waited and finally the cuckoo,
poking it's head out of the nest, it sang:
Koo-koo! Koo-koo! Koo-koo! Kook...
The man hit the cuckoo with the pole
and it fell down to the carpet.

---------------------
01/03/2018.
10:07 in the morning.
Canada, Ontario.



-----------------------
No one is visible on the Milky way
--------------------------


The stars are cramped in the vast sky.
They hit each other with their elbows.
For this reason, one of them,
like a startled bird flew away.
No one is visible on the Milky way,
where they don't even ride a moped.
Maybe they're afraid to puncture
their old vintage vehicle's wheels
over the rusty nails of stars.

-----------------------
24/03/2020.
10:57 of the day.
Canada, Ontario.




-----------
Fishermen
---------------


I was sitting on the shore alone, fishing
and suddenly I saw another fisherman,
also with a fishing rod in his hands, who
was looking at me from the depths.

----------------
23/01/2021.
10:00 PM.
Canada, Ontario.




------------
Beard
-----------


Oh, Niagara, with your grey beard!
I hear the clacking of the seagull's scissors
to trim your beard.
I wish you could hear, you're deaf,
from your own noise!..
Don't touch him, seagulls, don't touch him,
he's not homeless or a religious fan!
He is a simple poet, a free artist!
Let his beard grow, grow
all the way to the Atlantic Ocean!

-------------
14/01/2021.
11; 35 days.
Canada, Ontario.



-----------------
Sunset
------------


Evening silently breaks eggs,
On the edge of the hot sky.


---------------------
13/12/2020.
9:24 am.
Canada, Ontario.





--------------
Time
-----------


O time, that walks with a limp on one leg
in the dial of the old clock,
tell me, do you hate each other, like people do
on our planet and often tied between you
brawl, with knifes, and axes and even
bloody hundred years of war where soldiers kills
millions of peaceful, innocent people and even children,
turning beautiful cities into ruins?
What bloody war did you fight, if it's not a secret ,
in what field hospital of which you had one leg
amputated by military surgeons, by removing
a piece of shell from it to prevent gangrene?
O one-legged time, walking, limping on a prosthetic leg,
in the dial of the old clock!
I'm hearing the sound of your footsteps
in the midnight silence, or is it sounds of bitter tears
that drip rhythmically onto the floor
from your gray eyelashes?


------------------
17/09/2019.
4:44 of the night.
Canada, Ontario.





------------------
Sad holiday
------------------



I'll go out on a autumn field as if on a holiday,
like going to the train station, and standing
on a high slope,like if on a platform,
say goodbye to the migratory birds,
that fly south, flapping their wings.
I wave to them, my weathered skullcap
until they disappear over the horizon
and their sad voices in the distance
do not cease.
Until my soul is emptied, like an empty nest,
which blacken from the distant
in the grove, on the branches of birch trees.


--------------------
22/08/2019.
10:07 in the morning.
Canada, Ontario.




---------------------

The distant bird noises
--------------


At sunset in a poplar grove by the river,
where there are abandoned ruins of the pigsty,
high poplars deafening noisy birds.
The chirping of hundreds of sparrows, the distant noise
still ringing in my ears,
like the sound of waves in a seashell.


---------------------
22/08/2019.
11:38 of the day.
Canada, Ontario.





------------------
By the autumn fire
-----------------


You're busy alone in a quiet autumn garden,
sweeping the fallen leaves with a broom.
Thoughtfully and silently collect firewood,
thinking about our meetings and making a fire,
similar to fuming volcanoes, which smoke
the bitter cigar in the Kuril Islands.
Sitting by the fire, looking into the smoke,
so that people think you're not crying,
it's just your reddened eyes with
tears, because of the bitter smoke.


----------------------
02/08/2019.
12:26 of the day.
Canada, Ontario.



 

 

 

 

132221451_gorod_Brempton (202x216, 31Kb)

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Key

(The story)




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


Mr. President!


Although healthy people consider us fools, crazy, but we, patients of the Central mental hospital of the capital of our independent country, paradoxically, are the most intelligent, the most brilliant people on the planet. We have famous poets, thinkers, philosophers of all stripes, there are psychics, clairvoyants, soothsayers, great scientists, astronauts, valiant invincible generals, telepaths, reading other people's thoughts, who declared themselves prophets and even gods, nomads of time, masters of the universe, defenders of humanoids in solar systems and in the nebulae of the universe, great Opera singers with soprano voices, baritone, tenor. There are also disgraced leaders of opposition parties, human rights activists pyan yes ragged, that could not become your "colleagues". This raises the question: why can't our state use the free services of these capable, talented patients in solving the problems that have arisen in the political arena of the world? To solve questions our forces, patients of our mental hospital in area defense. We often hear that hundreds, sometimes thousands, of innocent, mentally healthy young soldiers of our country are dying in the hot spots of our planet. And what if we, psychopaths, paranoids and schizophrenics, were drafted into the army in the place of healthy children, in the spiritual sense of the word? First, we are strong, healthy, brave, courageous people. Second, we have nothing to fear and nothing to lose. Thirdly, we will not sit here idly on subsidies, as they say, on the neck of our poor independent state when our innocent young compatriots die in hot spots. We are not interested in money, position, awards, titles, orders and medals. We also do not need any apartments, no family and no other completely unnecessary things. We, that is valiant and brave mentally ill of our homeland, can protect our territories from any invaders, including aliens! And we think we'll have a lot more fun at the front than we have here in a boring treatment center, believe me, Mr. President. I never tire of repeating that we are very capable people and, once we are taught how to use firearms, how to operate an anti-Aircraft Missile System, bombers and fighters and how to hijack them, how to fly military helicopters such as "shark", "Apache", use nuclear submarines with cruise Intercontinental ballistic missiles and so on, then I assure You and guarantee that our brothers in healthy talented cadets. They will fly freely on modern supersonic aircraft bombers like hawks and bomb city points in hot spots of the planet, comparing with the earth beautiful cities, Orthodox and Catholic churches, mosques, synagogues, residential neighborhoods, factories , schools, hospitals, pharmacies, kindergartens exactly, without leaving there a single living soul. Be sure that the army of schizophrenics and paranoids, using anti-Aircraft Missile Systems, will shoot down thousands of civilian Airliners with hundreds of passengers on Board, getting missiles in the top ten, then in this monstrous crime to blame the air force and air defense of the enemy!
With great respect, Commander-in-chief, Air Force and Land Forces General Thomas Yakkabaloon.
Deputy General Thomas Yakkabaloon , Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar ."
After reading the letter several times, up and down, the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic thought, looking bleary-eyed through the armored bulletproof window of his office, like a Hitler bunker.
- Yeaaaah, here is this letter! Unlike healthy people in the spiritual sense of the word, they did not write about their problems, on the contrary, they write about the urgent problems of our society and about strengthening the defense capacity of our long-suffering country. Although this letter is from a mental hospital, but it is still worth thinking about their initiatives. Moreover, they promise to protect the Fatherland for free. If we realize their dreams, then immediately decrease the financial costs for defense, for the army, for weapons, for provisions, for clothing and for canvas boots without soles millions and millions of pairs for our soldiers and officers. We are spending enormous amounts of money, which we annually allocate from the state budget.
And these schizophrenics of ours are ready to fight anywhere in the world, protecting the interests of our country, without military uniforms, barefoot.They don't have to pay a monthly salary. They promise to perform any task of the party, at any time of the day, even in the forty-five-degree frost in winter and fifty-five-degree heat in the desert. Oh all the money we can save with this idea! Why didn't we think about this project before? These living robots have nothing to lose. After all, they are kamikaze-suicide and are not afraid of death. And these our so-called soldiers and officers, at the first danger run away, or, lying in the trenches, shoot themselves in the leg and return home a hero, ringing clusters of orders and medals on their chest. To be honest, I have not received such an offer even from my military specialists, from experts who receive a huge monthly salary in dollars. Parasites! They're no good! I must confess that I used to laugh till I cried when I heard anecdotes about the insane. I guess I shouldn't have laughed then. On the contrary, it was necessary to cry and sob in a huge and leaky plaid handkerchief. That's how they reason! It is necessary, such ingenious people languish in mental hospitals of our immense country! And we ostensibly treating these brilliant people ! It seems to me that people who consider themselves healthy should go to psychiatrists and be treated properly before their mental illness worsens. Yes, these people with unstable mentality, people prone to violence is dangerous for society. But if you think about it wisely, I am one hundred percent sure that we can solve a lot of problems. We will put all the responsibility to their doctors, nurses and caregivers, calling them together with their patients in the army, and send them to the hot spots of the planet. Today in the world establish total control not only over the people and over the Media, over the opposition, but even over tsunamis, typhoons, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and so on. Are we worse than them? We, too, are able to establish control over patients, through their doctors in white coats, who have ultra-modern equipment, stun guns, sedative tranquilizers and durable straitjackets with long sleeves. Most importantly, we will automatically get rid of unnecessary pickets and rallies that are organized by human rights screamers, grant-eaters who protect the rights of the mothers of millions of dead soldiers who return home in sealed zinc coffins from the battlefield, where they heroically die defending the economic and geopolitical interests of our state. And death mentally ill on the field battlefield, not only causes pity, on the contrary, causes uncontrollable people laughing from souls, look at on tv or having heard about their ridiculous death in bloody battles. In short, this bill I must immediately submit to the Parliament of the country.Let our so-called illiterate MPs-parasites of both chambers and senators-sycophants, discuss and approve this strategic issue in closed sessions of Parliament without free journalists, unanimously in the first reading of the draft. It is clear that these so-called deputies and senators with slave psychology will never vote against what I offer them. I shouldn't worry too much about that, thought the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, lighting a gold pipe with diamond ornaments, stuffed with expensive flavored tobacco
The President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, before submitting the project to the Parliament, decided to first secretly meet with the authors of the secret letter and instructed his security forces to organize a secret negotiation with the authors of the unique project from the psychiatric hospital. Security forces accurately executed the order of the President, and brought two geniuses in a straitjacket barefoot and without a headdress and, having dressed them in suits of officials and in white shirts with starched collars and with tight ties on necks. They worked so well that even the aides of the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, seeing those two patients in civilian clothes, took them for high-ranking guests from abroad and hastily saluted, pausing like sticks. During the conversation, it turned out that these two are not only able to solve problems related to the strengthening of the country's defense, but also to create absolutely unthinkable fantastic things, to come up with unique, unheard-of ideas and hypotheses.
President Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic hugged them both and wept.
- Excuse me, gentlemen, and don't be surprised. These are tears of happiness in my eyes sparkle and tremble like distant stars in the December cold sky of our independent country, when our people drown their bourgeois stinking dung, barely recognizing each other through a veil of acrid smoke, coughing like frowning wipers in the thick fog of an autumn Park. I want to ask your forgiveness, gentlemen, for our psychiatrists, who incorrectly diagnosed, locked you up in psychiatric hospitals of our country, forcing you to drink disgusting liquids and pills. Care-givers beat you like punching bags suspended in sports underground training halls. I also apologize for our compatriots who laughed until they fell and still laugh at you, telling each other funny anecdotes about you. I saw with my own eyes today that you, the so-called patients with mental illness, are a thousand or even millions of times smarter than our deputies and bribe-taking officials! It turns out that we mistakenly locked you brilliant people in mental hospitals not only our country, but also the planet! I will issue a decree tomorrow to release all your brothers in sickness from the mental hospitals of our independent country, and to lock up the physicians, psychiators, and care-givers themselves in their stead. I will order that all my assistants - sycophants, poets and writers, officials and deputies-bribe takers and Ministers-parasites are immediately arrested. They do nothing, but receive large salaries in American dollars, and the citizens of our country because of total unemployment go to other countries, hoping to find at least some work there. They agree even on dirty work, sake of moreover, to find slice of bread and feed its family. They work as janitors and watchmen, work in garbage dumps, almost for free. That's all, I will carry out a reshuffle in all spheres of our society, that is, I will appoint you both as my main assistants, and I will also order that only those people who were previously treated in the mental hospitals of our long-suffering and vast state are appointed as deputies of the Parliament of both houses and senators of Congress. Governors of regions and districts, including chairmen of collective farms and committees, will also be appointed from brilliant people, that is, from your sick brothers. All governors and chairmen of the current system will now be treated for life and involuntarily in psychiatric hospitals until they fully recover. You can both accept the post of any Minister at once, and I congratulate you in advance, gentlemen! - said the President, concluding his speech.

General Thomas Yakkabaloon  and Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar, in return, they expressed their gratitude to the President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic for the warm welcome, mutual understanding and high trust. Before leaving, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar appealed to the President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic:
- I have a little surprise for you, Mr. President, close your eyes, - he said.
The President closed his eyes with a Hollywood smile on his lips.
- Now open your eyes, Mr. President! - Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar - said, smiling toothlessly.
President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic opened his eyes and saw the key that Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar handed him.
The President's heart skipped a beat at the sight of the key, and his eyes widened.
- Well, thank you, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar ! What an honest man you are! Where did you find it? - It was in my pocket!..
With that, President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic quickly checked his pants pockets and blushed with shame when he found a hole in his pocket where a key might have fallen on the carpet.
- I found this key here, under this chair where I was sitting. Let me, I think, I will pick it up and give it to Mr. President of our country Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, maybe I think Mr. President accidentally lost the key to his modest one-room apartment, located on the outskirts of the capital of the country, where he lives with his large family plus with his hungry fat grouchy mother in law - explained Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar.
-Oh, no, no, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar ! This key is not from a one-room apartment, and from the nuclear suitcase! You have no idea what heroism You have committed before my eyes in the face of our long-suffering people! You saved the nation! It is a good thing that this key did not fall into the hands of my crazy Ministers, whom I have long distrusted. After all, these corrupt parasites , could easily sell villains religion fanatic terrorists this priceless key for a wad of dollars! And there would have been a third world atomic war! Nope, in my opinion You saved not only the nation, but also saved humanity and the entire Universe from apparent destruction, from thermonuclear war! I award you the order of the Hero of the Fatherland of the first degree! You are now the national hero of our country! From now on, your military rank is not Colonel, but Marshal! Thank you on behalf of our long-suffering oppressed independent and hardworking people and on behalf of all mankind, Mr. Marshal Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar! - the President said enthusiastically.
- Serving the Fatherland!"  Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar shouted, saluting President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic. When the two high-ranking officers left the Palace of Mr. President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, General Thomas Yakkabaloon  congratulated his colleague and brother on his high military rank.
- I congratulate you, Marshal, On your high rank." "Oh, no!" - he said, turning blue and green with black envy.
- At ease, General, at ease!" Thank you for your congratulations, - said Marshal Pascal Salvatore Alphonse de Valdemar, clapping General Thomas Yakkabaloon on the shoulder and head.
General Thomas Yakkabaloon continued:
- Excuse Me, Monsieur Le Marechal, but on the one hand, it is good to achieve such success. But on the other hand, I'm afraid we've missed a historic opportunity. By seizing the key to the nuclear briefcase, we could force the President to dissolve the Government and Parliament and resign as President. After all This, you would sleep well tonight, and Wake up in the morning the President of the country! Oh, what a chance missed, my God!  - said General Thomas Yakkabaloon .

- Yeah, don't you worry, General Lattapagon (Rag shoulder straps), I'm not such a fool as you think! When I went to the bathroom, I secretly and carefully removed the mold from the key of the nuclear suitcase, pressing it on this piece of soap. Now we can make a duplicate of the key of the nuclear suitcase from this cast. As they say, it is not yet evening. There is still time for me to become President of the country, and you - the Minister of Defense! The weight of the world is in our hands!  Marshal Pascal Salvatore Alphonse de Valdemar - said with a sly smile.


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



 

 

 

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

About the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling Leaves"



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



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



19.09.2016.



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

Sincerely, Holder Volcano.



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



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



Sincerely, Holder Volcano.



Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

"Falling Leaves"


(The short novel)



(Translated by author)




Chapter 1

Spring fields



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


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

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


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


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


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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

Then he asked, distorting the face of unbearable pain:

-And You? What's your name?


- Me? Oh yeah, my name is Khurshida.


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


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


Here the tractor driver Sultan stopped limping and said.


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

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


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

 

 

 

 

 

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Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

 

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


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

19.09.2016.

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

Sincerely, Holder Volcano.

The second review of an unknown reader about the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" in the electronic library "Ridley".


Dear readers, there are interesting books, and there are very interesting books. To what category include the short novel "falling leaves" Holder Volcano you decide! Unwittingly living out the book - then disappear completely in it, then resume, finding Parallels and a private Foundation, and suddenly grow a soul. From the first lines visual images draw attention to themselves, they are in many ways distinct, colorful. The finale is a little tightened, but it compensates a totally unpredictable ending. Thanks to the dynamic and fascinating story, the book keeps the reader in suspense from beginning to end. Harmonious mutual admiration of conflict episodes with the external surrounding reality, once again confirm the talent and skill of the literary genius. Thanks to the mind, charisma, wit and nobility, you instantly feel sympathy for the main character and his companion. Soft irony along with comic situations are so harmoniously woven into the plot that they become an inseparable part of it. This short novel is a kind of mystery posed to the reader, and the usual logic is not to solve it, until the very last page. The Creator is in no hurry to prematurely reveal the idea works, but through the actions with the help of the hints in the dialogues gradually brings to his readers. The themes of love and hate, good and evil, friendship and enmity, no matter what time they are touched upon, always remain relevant and urgent.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Thank you very much for the sincere review of my work.
Sincerely, Holder Volcano.

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


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


Sincerely, Holder Volcano.

"Falling leaves"

(The short novel)

(Translated by author)



Chapter 1

Spring fields

 



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

Khurshida"s father Abduljabbar very strict towards his daughter Khurshida and his difficult character and behavior more like a stepfather than her own father. He often drinks alcohol and satisfied with drunken fights. But Abduljabbar is a good specialist in the field of sheep shearing. He works as a mechanic on a cattle farm. Repairs on the farm milking machines, automatic drinking bowls, conveyors, cleaning barns, combines, forage shredders and so on.
Although Abduljabbar is not a religious fanatic, but he strictly prohibits Khurshida to go to parties dedicated to the birthday of her classmates, which was attended by boys. Abduljabbar swore that if his daughter Khurshida will disgrace their family, he will curse. So mother of Khurshida Raheela every day insisted that she did not play with fire and was cautious in communication with her classmates and other unknown guys, Raheela knew that the class of her daughter not all girls were friendly with Khurshida. That is, some girls are jealous of Khurshida and look at her with despise, because she's pretty and many guys were in love her but not with them.

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

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

Leaving the hoe on the edge of the field, Khurshida went to the side of the field mill. Approaching her, she smelled a delicate sweet smell fragrant acacia which bloomed near the field camp, which grew tall poplars and weeping willows. At this point, of the cultivator, which stopped near a field camp, jumped a young tractor driver of about twenty to twenty five, in a worn skullcap, tall, broad-shouldered, snub-nosed, with curly hair, with a mustache above fleshy lips, a peculiarity of the guy with a green scar on his left eyebrow. It gave him the appearance of harshness and masculinity. His appearance resembled a Roman Gladiator who fought with his bare hands with hungry tigers. Khurshida had not seen this tractor driver in these parts, but I just remembered his tractor, which she just watched from afar in the cotton field. While Khurshida was removed from the branches of the mulberry tree a small pouch in which was bread, sugar, welding, aluminum spoon, and a mug with a bowl, the tractor driver was already standing in the queue at the field tin samovar, where workers were poured theirself a Cup of boiling water. Taking her mug, Khurshida poured her the tea and also got in line. Seeing her, the guy turned to look and gave up his place. Not expecting such a gentleman, Khurshida thanked the young tractor driver and kindly smiled. After a few minutes the guy started to talk to her:
- Girl, let me tell you an amazing story while we stand in line. In short, yesterday I go past this tree - beauty!- from the white acacia flowers that you can’t stop looking at. The acacia blooming was like a young bride in a white wedding dress! I stopped involuntarily admiring the unusual beauty of this tree, looking at it with delight, like a farmer who came from a distant village with a bag on his shoulders, who first saw the city. Then there was gunfire. I thought, there was a terrorist shooting at me from the machine gun. I quickly lay down on the ground, so he couldn’t fire the whole clip at me. I layer down for a while and I look, and there's a singing magpie. Well, I felt ashamed about myself. Stood up, looked around, found my dirty skullcap, shook off the dust, jammed it on my head and went on. It’s a good thing nobody but me saw it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Don't worry, girl, about anything... Aa-a-ahhh-ahhh... Ahh-ahh-ahh....My leg will get better before the wedding said tractor driver Sultan, smiling through the grimace on his face, continuing to jump on one leg.
Then he asked, distorting the face of unbearable pain:
-And You? What's your name?

- Me? Oh yeah, my name is Khurshida.

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

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

Here the tractor driver Sultan stopped limping and said.

- Well, Khurshida, now quit crying! After all, people are looking at us. Already released the pain, don't you worry. I have everything in order. Don’t you believe my words? Well, then I have no choice but to prove to you that I'm healthy as an ox.
Here look and, humming a tune, he began to dance, stamping their tarpaulin boots, as a dancer with great experience.

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


 

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