Аннотация: These stories are read in one breath. Read it, we recommend it.
Holder Volcano
Member of the Writers' Union of Uzbekistan
A collection of short stories of Holder Volkano.
Translated by the author.
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El Lethason Ducache
(Fantastic story)
An independent astronomer, Mr. Lethason Ducache, invented a unique radio telescope and, in order to establish contact with extraterrestrial civilizations, sent a radio signal into space with a message on behalf of humanity.
To make the text of the message easier to decipher, he wrote using pictures resembling cave paintings drawn by primitive people.
The transcript of the letter was something like this:
- I want this radio signal to fly across the expanses of the universe, through meteorites, asteroids and reach intelligent beings of extraterrestrial origin who live in other constellations. Assalamu alaikum, dear aliens, humanoids, that is, little green men! How are you? Are you all flying to neighboring galaxies and nebulae in your flying saucers in search of work and a piece of bread? I apologize for the poor handwriting, as I am writing this letter by moonlight. Because the authorities turned off the lights in order to save electricity. I have only one request. Please let me know as soon as you receive our message. Otherwise, we earthlings are very worried about you. Contact us and do not hesitate if you need our help in the field of social protection of your planet's population or in military terms. We are always ready to help you and develop trade and economic cooperation with you on a priority basis. For example, we only need nickel to produce supersonic three-stage intergalactic cruise missiles with nuclear warheads. I recently invented a top-secret weapon that can blow up not only entire galaxies, but the entire universe. We also overheard that you don't have fertile land on your planet like we do. Also, air and water are expensive, as they say, their weight is gold. Don't worry too much about this, alien gentlemen. Come as soon as possible. We will sell you our land, air and water at a reasonable price. Almost for free. We have a lot of water! We will load the soil of our planet into your flying freight trains, (unbeknownst to humanity, of course) organizing the shipment of the priceless cargo to the right place. You can take away the earth's soil, water and air as much as you want. As long as they pay more. We will agree on the price and discount.
With utmost respect, your humble servant, the great scientist -astronomer, Chairman of the Union of Writers and Academics of the Universe, Mr. Lethason Ducache .
When sending humanity's messages in the form of petroglyphs into the boundless cosmos through a radio telescope, El Lethason Ducache himself did not believe that anyone would ever respond to them.
But no, a few weeks later there was a response to the radio signal, and after deciphering the text of the reply in the form of pictures and a drawing, El Lethason Ducache stiffened with fear.
The decrypted text of the letter looked something like this:
- Va alaikum assalam, earthlings and a great scientist-astronaut, chairman of the Union of Writers and Academics of the Universe, Mr. Lethason Ducache! We have received your messages! After our experts performed a graphological analysis and deciphered the text of your message, we could not control our laughter. We laughed so hard that our bladder almost burst. Then, barely suppressing our laughter, we came to a consensus and decided to inform you that we aliens do not intend to have any relations with you, that is, with Earthlings. Strange. Do you earthlings even think with your head when you write such letters to someone? After reading your messages, we began to doubt that you Earthlings have heads on your shoulders. It seems to us that you don't have heads on your shoulders, but rather an hollow tumour that needs to be surgically removed. The question is: What the hell do we care about your polluted air, off-scale levels of radiation, and the soil of your filthy planet, packed with extremely dangerous toxic chemicals such as pesticides and herbicides? The scariest thing is that you call the poison you drink water, which you consume every day, miraculously staying alive? Oh, my God, how awful! Thank God that we aren't crazy enough to buy your so-called ocean and sea water, where you dispose of harmful substances from chemical plants and factories, and secretly bury radioactive waste, spent nuclear fuel, and man-made radionuclides. So, gentlemen of the Earth! You will immediately change your name. Because you are not people, but some kind of scary, evil being unknown to science! You fight among yourselves, as if with your own reflection in a mirror, violating the territorial integrity of independent countries, throwing millions of young soldiers and officers into the meat grinder of war, killing innocent people, the elderly and children, destroying infrastructure, razing cities to the ground, turning the country's economy into a swamp of international sanctions, which turn people into refugees, threatening each other with nuclear war! You are a monster, a suicide bomber, a kamikaze! These names are just right for you! We thought for a long time, then we came to the consensus that the best way to rid the universe of you is to destroy your planet, before you start polluting neighboring galaxies with radioactive nuclides from your antediluvian spaceships and stations and start an aggressive war, threatening with your so-called secret weapons with which you can blow up not only entire galaxies, but also the whole universe. We have already launched our state-of-the-art intergalactic cruise missiles with atomic warheads, which will fly to your Globe in an hour and destroy you along with your planet, blowing you to smithereens; turning you into poisonous ashes!
Sincerely, the press secretary of the president of the planet of green humanoid men, Comrade Bibon Bibon Jiblajibon.
After reading this, the great scientist -astronomer, chairman of the Union of Writers and Academics of the Universe, Mr. El Lethason Ducache , ran out of his hut and began shouting at the top of his voice: - People! Save yourselves who can! Run to the bomb shelter now! The humanoids of the neighboring galaxy have declared war on us! In an hour, the interplanetary cruise missiles with nuclear warheads that the aliens have launched will arrive! They intend to turn us into nuclear ashes!
Hearing his words, people started laughing, thinking he was drunk. After some time, local police officers detained him. Then an ambulance arrived with a psychiatric team from the central madhouse of the capital. After examining the detainee, they immediately diagnosed him with Schizophrenia and put him into a straitjacket.
"What are you doing, you bastards?" I'm perfectly healthy! Let me go now! I'm telling the truth! In an hour, ultra-modern three-stage interplanetary cruise missiles with nuclear warheads launched by aliens will arrive! In an hour, do you hear, in an hour! Lethason Ducache shouted, struggling with the doctors.
The doctors pushed him into an ambulance and the doctor politely said, "Don't worry, my dear... What should I call you? Oh, El Lethason Ducache? So, El Lethason Ducache , don't you worry right now. Yes, we believe you. But, there is a completely different time and other dimensions in space. That is, millions of years will pass on our planet before the alien cruise missiles arrive. So don't worry so much about insignificant things, Mr. Patient.
After these words of the doctor, the great scientist -astronomer, chairman of the Union of Writers and Academics of the Universe, Mr. El Lethason Ducache began to shout: - Bibon Bibon! Jiblajibon! Bibon Bibon! Jiblajibon!
23/09/2023.
12:05 a.m.
Canada, Ontario.
Blind driver
(Story)
Sheikh Ibrahim Attar was granted a working leave and he decided to rest on the seashore to restore his shattered nerves. Oh, how great it is to sit on a sandy beach while the sun quietly sinks below the horizon, turning the coastal waters and the sky into gold! Sheikh Ibrahim Attar loves to listen to the sound of the sea alone, silently watching the waves washing the diamonds of the stars on moonlit evenings. Having put his necessary things in a stalin-era wooden suitcase which was missing its handle, he left the house. He was walking merrily whistling through the field on a path, waist-deep in the grass with a suitcase in his hands towards the high road, where you can hitch a ride. It was a long way to the city. For this reason, Sheikh Ibrahim Attar was going on the road in the morning so as not to be late to the airport, from where he would fly to Hawaii by plane. He was elated.
It was as if the white-trunked poplars, ringing in the light spring wind, waved their branches to him, as if escorting him on a long journey. There were fields and meadows where the tall grass waved like a green wave in the cool morning wind. Larks trilled over the field, merrily singing the sunrise rising over the horizon.
Sheikh Ibrahim Attar did not even notice how quickly he found himself on the side of the highway. The road was full of cars rushing by, some, one way, others in the opposite direction. Just at that moment, a yellow bus stopped near him, raising clouds of dust and hissing: 'Shhh!' and -the doors opened. Sheikh Ibrahim Attar jumped into the bus, holding his wooden suitcase without a handle under his arm. The bus was packed with passengers, as they say, there is no place for an apple to fall. Young, healthy guys with golden teeth sat on the seats, and old men with old women and pregnant women with children rode standing up. In such a bus, a person will not fall even if they do not hold the handrail. There was no room to breathe in the crowded bus cabin. Sheikh Ibrahim Attar began to suffocate in the stuffiness due to the lack of fresh air. Nearby, an elderly man was sitting on a stool. This is nothing compared to the woman who was sitting on an overturned, crumpled and blackened bucket.
- Mr. Driver, please turn on the air conditioner! Sheikh Ibrahim Attar shouted. Hearing his words, the passengers laughed in chorus. Especially the driver. He was laughing, looking at the ceiling of the cab, forgetting about the steering wheel for a while and the bus almost went off the road. It turns out that the bus did not have an air conditioner at all.
- Then open the hatch and let the air enter the cabin! Sheikh Ibrahim Attar shouted again, loosening his tightly tightened tie.
- How are you supposed to open a rusted hatch if it's lever is broken! Someone shouted back. In order to avoid any trouble, Sheikh Ibrahim Attar had to put up with the situation. He then accidentally saw a sign on which was written:
- Dear passengers, please follow the rules and respect the work of the crew members of our public unit. Don't forget to pay the fare! Tickets are with the driver. We don't have a ticket vendor on board! Thank you for your attention. We wish you all a happy journey! Sincerely, bus driver Mr. Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza .'
Sheikh Ibrahim Attar, to buy a ticket for travel, handed some money to the driver through a metal grille made of durable reinforcement.
- Please, give me a one-way ticket, Mr. Driver, what's your name... Zazabazakazamazabuza... I'm sorry, your name is very difficult to pronounce... Sheikh Ibrahim Attar said, apologizing to the driver.
When the driver turned to face him, he was very scared. Because his eyes were white, without pupils, like ghosts. Sheikh Ibrahim Attar was even more frightened when the driver, stretching out his bony hand, began to feel around, in search of money, which Sheikh Ibrahim Attar held out. Finally, he took the money and gave Sheikh Ibrahim Attar a one-way ticket.
- Don't be afraid, citizen passenger! Yes, I'm blind, but I'm perfectly oriented. Like bats, I drive this unit at high speed, traversing the road with echolocation, nimbly changing the frequency of ultrasound. Although my name is written on the plate as Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza the leader of the Turbocose, but my parents called me Tokhtasin in my childhood. The words 'Tokhtasin' means 'Let it stop'. When my older brothers and sisters died at the age of one, my parents decided to give me the name 'Tokhtasin'. This way, the mortality in our family was suspended. But one day, the people decided to build a dam on the river, throwing tree trunks and branches, granite stones there. But the water continued to wash it all away and one day someone shouted: - People, is there a man named 'Tokhtasin' among you?! - yes! people said. - Then catch him quickly, and we will throw him into the dam and the water will stop! The man shouted again. Just at this time, a tall, thin-built man named who was also named Tokhtasin began to run away, but the people quickly caught up with poor Tokhtasin and caught him, throwing him into the dam, ignoring his cries that he had three minor children. After that, my father changed my name to Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, so that evil people will not catch me and throw me into a dam to stop the water. Having heard the story of Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, the passengers laughed loudly and amicably. The blind and cheerful driver, Mr. Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, continued to speak, looking in the direction of Sheikh Ibrahim Attar.
- For your information, I'm driving drunk at a high speed right now. Before leaving, I drank two bottles of vodka without snacks. By the way, one of the wheels of the bus is held on by one bolt. The rest of the bolts fell off 2 years ago. If you want to get a small hit of adrenaline, then I, racing on two wheels sideways, can show you dangerous tricks similar to the 'Death Loop' performed by fighter pilots in the sky. Look here... - said the blind driver, Mr. Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, scaring Sheikh Ibrahim Attar even more.
- No, no, don't show me tricks, Mr. Driver! I don't want to ride on a bus like this. Please stop the bus, for God's sake, I'm going to get off! - he said, frozen with horror.
- Oh, what a cowardly man you are! Don't be afraid! Mr. Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, , is an excellent driver and we, the passengers of this old bus, believe him to be God! You won't find such a high-class driver anywhere else! Let him drive your bus for the rest of his life. He is our lifelong driver! Only he can take us to a place where people live freely, richly and happily! And you don't trust him! Not good, young man, not good! - said one of the passengers, shaking his head disapprovingly.
Another passenger added: - Thanks to our brave, magnificent driver, we can ride this bus not only in our own country, but also on the territory of other, independent, neighboring countries, illegally crossing their borders, knocking down hundreds and thousands of people, women, the elderly and innocent children to death! If neighboring countries make claims about this, we easily and with impunity get out of the water dry, explaining to them that our driver, Mr. Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, is a congenital blind man.
- Then even more so! That is, I don't want to become an accomplice to a crime against humanity! I am afraid of the international tribunal, and I do not want to be sentenced to death by hanging according to the verdict of the Hague Tribunal, as a war criminal! I demand that you stop this damn bus immediately! - Sheikh Ibrahim Attar insisted.
Творчество - это вам не красочки с фломастерами!
- Well, well. As they say, you cant force someone to be nice. The customer is always right... Let this citizen, skeptical of what is happening and doubting my extraordinary talent from God, leave the bus. - With these words, Mr.Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza pressed the brake pedal. But for some reason the bus didn't stop. Then the blind driver pressed the pedal again. Then again and again. But the brakes didn't work. Sheikh Ibrahim Attar at first thought that the blind driver Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza was joking. But no, it turns out the brakes were actually broken.
- That's it! We're screwed, gentlemen, passengers! The brakes don't work! - Sheikh Ibrahim Attar said.
In a panic, the passengers began to pray in unison. Oh, Jesus Christ! Oh, Elohim! Oh, Allah!- they shouted in panic, asking God to save them from a crash. After all, a bus is not a bicycle which can be stopped by putting a stick in the gears.
- Don't panic, fellow passengers! Do not forget that I, the famous and irreplaceable blind driver, am driving!
With these words, the driver of the ill-fated bus, Mr. Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, , was driving, turning the steering wheel to the right, then to the left. People started crying out of fear. Around the corner, the bus almost hit a man. The speed is great.
- Why don't you honk the horn? - Sheikh Ibrahim Attar asked in a panic.
Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza answered:
- How am I to honk if the horn is broken?! You are in a place to teach me, better stick your head out of the bus window and warn people by shouting:
- Get out of the way, the brakes don't work!
- Good. - said Sheikh Ibrahim Attar. Leaning out of the moving bus, he began to shout:
-Get out of the way, the brakes don't work! Get out of the way, the brakes don't work!
He was crying.
Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, , turned the steering wheel at random, back and forth, looking at Sheikh Ibrahim Attar with white eyes without pupils, like a ghost, and smiled:
- Why are you crying, citizen passenger? A man should meet his death with dignity, with a smile on his lips!
From these words, Sheikh Ibrahim Attar began to cry even harder, now less often shouting loudly to pedestrians:
- Get out of the way, the brakes don't work! Get out of the way, the brakes don't work!
- You poor passengers! How sorry I am for you! Oh, what a pity! - said Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza Vazhaktorbakoza.
- Why?! - Sheikh Ibrahim Attar asked, stopping crying for a moment.
- Yes, because you are doomed! That is, you can't eject your seat! - Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza explained , merrily tapping the steering wheel with his fingertips. Then he added,
- I don't care. I'll press this button, and a hatch will open from above. Then I will fly into the air together with the seat and finally landing safely with a parachute. The catapult is the nicest thing, at least for me. But the seats on which you are sitting do not perform such a function.
Hearing this, the seated passengers began to sob. So too did Sheikh Ibrahim Attar. But he did not forget to keep warning passing drivers:
- Get out of the way, the brakes don't work! Get out of the way, the brakes don't work!
Many passengers began to smile senselessly, having lost their minds from fear.
Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza , driving the steering wheel continued:
- So, citizens passengers, while I haven't ejected yet, you can say anything you want in the end. I will give your wives your last words and wills in writing. This, I think, is the best option. Otherwise, your wives may not believe me. A woman is a super-mysterious being. Written wills, they can use in the courts as irrefutable evidence. After all, your wives should also get at least some monetary compensation from the State Insurance, right? Without a document, the State Insurance department will not hand over a penny...
Hearing these words, the passengers roared loudly. Sheikh Ibrahim Attar kept shouting:
- Get out of the way, the brakes don't work! Get out of the way, the brakes don't work!
Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza The leader of the farm kept saying:
- And the men whom your wives will marry after your deaths? They also won't believe your wives that you all really died in a car accident. You need a letter of trust.
- Why would they do that? - pausing his crying for a moment, one of the passengers asked.
- What's the point of that? Don't let your wives die inside, remaining widows for life - said Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza.
The bus at that time was traveling along an uneven road at breakneck speed.
- Well, okay, - Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza - said, - If you don't want to write those letters, then, as they say, its up to you. Good bye, My friends, good bye! So to speak, have a good stay. Away I go.
With these words, Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, reached for the red ejection button, like an officer on duty sitting in a mine who is looking at the button of an atomic bomb, where an intercontinental ballistic missile is mounted. Then he pressed this button. But unfortunately for Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, the ejection button did not work. Then he pressed the button again. But, alas, the ejector jammed. To fix the problem, Zazabuzamaza Wojactorbacaza, beat his fist on the steering wheel and yanked on it. The steering wheel came flying off. Thus, the Bus went completely out of control. Sheikh Ibrahim Attar kept shouting, warning pedestrians:
- Get out of the way, the brakes don't work! Get out of the way, the brakes don't work! The steering wheel is torn off! There is no signal either!
At this moment, the wheel that was held on by a single bolt fell off the unmanned bus. The bus went off the road and flew with the passengers into a deep abyss.
21/09/2012.
Canada, the city of Toronto.
Death of the Sheikh
(Story)
The most respected person in the village, Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman, went missing during a mudflow. It so happened that on that fateful day, the poor sheikh was carried away by a wave downstream of the Kashkaldak River and washed up on another sandy shore, and local fishermen found the Sheikh there. He was unconscious. After listening to the white beard's heartbeat and realizing that he was alive, the fishermen brought him to their village, from there they sent him to the central district hospital for treatment. When he returned home in white clothes, with a white turban on his head, with a snow-white beard and the same eyebrows and eyelashes, the villagers thought that the legendary Khizr Aleikhissalam himself had come to their village, giving happiness to people who happen to meet him on their way. According to the legend, the thumb of Khizr Aleikhissalam doesnt have a joint bone. Therefore, a person who sees him and greets him, shaking his hand, should imperceptibly and quickly check whether his thumb has a bone. If his thumb is boneless, then this person is lucky: he can make a wish, and it will come true. He will get rich instantly. Such a legend exists among the people. Therefore, the villagers rushed in a crowd to Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman, wanting to greet him and feel his thumb to find out whether he was with a bone or not. The first person who was lucky enough to feel the Sheikh's thumb during a handshake turned sharply pale.
- What's the matter with you, son, are you sick or something? Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman asked politely. His eyes widened with surprise and delight, squinted like a hare, then having recovered a little, he quickly began to kiss the hands of Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman, saying:
- Oh, hazrati Khizr aleikhissalam! I've lived my whole life dreaming of meeting you! I've finally met you! I know that you will fulfill any wish of a person! Help me with money, O great Khojai Khizr! I have recently become the most miserable and impoverished person on the planet! You won't believe me, but my daughter will soon turn thirty-five, and I can't marry her off! And my son is already forty-five, and he is also still not married! His peers will soon marry their children, and he, this idler, lies at home and watches tv from the morning to the evening, or until the electricity turns off. I tell him, you lazy man, go get a job like normal people, make some money for us! How much longer are you going to stay at home and eat the bread that I buy with my meager pension?! Do you have a conscience?! - No, he says. I am a free citizen of my independent country and I do not want to become a slave of other people! My son is absolutely a dissapointment! Although this may be a punishment from God! Karma, because when I was younger, I often beat my own father, an old man, grabbing him by the beard, similar to yours, when he did not give me money for a drink!.. So, hazrati Khizr, please give me, preferably two bags of money in dollars! American, of course.
- Son, who do you take me for? I am not Khizr aleikhissalam! I am your fellow villager Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman, who was swept away by a mudflow! - said the Sheikh.
- Don't be modest, khazrati khojai Khizr! Please. After all, I know your thumb is boneless. I learned this when I shook your bony hand in a friendly way! You are Khizr Aleikhissalam in diguise of our deceased Imam Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman, who was swept away by a wave during a mudflow! - said the man that greeted Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman.
Upon hearing this, a crowd of fellow villagers went berserk and attacked Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman.
- Oh hazrati khojai Khizr! someone shouted. Give me at least one bag of gold and two bags of silver too! I've been working as a slave on cotton plantations for so many years and I can't buy myself a car to taxi with, to engage in the transportation of citizens of our long-suffering Homeland!
- Give me some jewelry too, well, at least some diamonds, rubies and topaz, or overseas green money to buy an apartment in the center of Tashkent, oh good-natured and generous Khojai Khizr! My son is an inveterate drunk, he drank our house, and now the whole family lives in a farmer's chicken coop and sleeps with cardboard boxes under him! - shouted another villager.
- Not her! Don't give them a penny, hazrati Khizr aleikhissalam! I am the person who needs the most financial support! That's how many years I can't sleep peacefully on my cot, similar to a hammock, because I envy my neighbour, who built a two-story house with a basement! Give me money to buy a hacksaw! I want to cut the wooden beam of my neighbour's balcony. I'll do it at night when he goes out to smoke and admire the night sky of our village, where the full moon shines, forming a huge circle around him! - another man in a velvet dark blue skullcap, explained his problem.
Poor Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman, frightened by the uncontrolled crowd, began to fend off people as best he could, waving his long staff and calling them to prudence.
- Astagfirullah! Astagfirullah! Oh, Muslims, I am not Khojai Khizr, and I cannot give you happiness! Happiness is given to people only by almighty Allah! I can explain my thumb not having a joint bone! When I was swept away by a wave during the landing, I broke my thumb, hitting a rock under water! In the hospital, to prevent gangrene, surgeons removed the bone from my finger and replaced it with soft rubber! - Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman explained.
But in the confusion, the maddened crowd did not hear the words of Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman. Everyone wanted to get to the sheikh and express their desire. And then the poor sheikh ran away, fleeing from the crowd. The crowd quickly caught up with the old sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman, covering him like locusts with its ominous black shadow. The villagers trampled Sheikh Abu Abdulatif Ibrahim ibn Abdelrahman into the mud like a frightned herd of wild mustang and killed him.
28/11/ 2012.
13 :18 of the day.
the city of Cambridge, Canada.
Cruel payback
(The story)
Mehmet, son, you must forgive me if I unwittingly upset you ever. I love you more than anything in the world - said Sultan Sanjar Savash, hugging his son and stroking his head.
Mehmet was surprised to hear the words of his father Sultan Sanjar Savash.
Father, why are you saying that? It's too early for you to say goodbye. You will live in this world for a long time, and you will rule the country until old age. God grant you good health and a long life. I love you more than life, father! Just like my mother and my brother Ahmed - said Mehmet, hugging his father.
Sultan Sanjar Savas had tears in his eyes, and in order not to show their son, he hugged him even harder and kissed him on the head. His lips trembled, and his eyes involuntarily rolled tears, first in the face, and then his thick beard, like morning dew that showered with leaves of grass, which sways in the wind. That night Sultan Sanjar Savash did not sleep, walking nervously up and down the fiery red carpet. He felt like a predator in a cage, constantly looking out at freedom. He then called his eldest son Prince Valiahd (heir to throne) and Ahmed and they had a long conversation. During the conversation, Sultan Sanjar Sawash intended to tell Prince Ahmed something important, but could not. After the Prince had gone to his room to sleep, Sultan Sanjar Savash wept bitterly, shaking her shoulders and lamenting:
Oh, God Almighty, you gave me more than I asked! I have become great sultans! But I didn't know that the crown and the throne are so ruthless and would require such a sacrifice! If I had known this before, I would never have become a Sultan! On the contrary, I would hang a sack of beggars on his neck and live life to the poor! Oh, my God, how happy are those poor hungry people of yours who live in slums! I envy them white envy! They are absolutely free and content with a piece of bread. They go where they want. Walk without protection on a footpath on wide fields where winds walk and larks sing, being filled in with a trill, morning stop in the middle of a rye field, where the rye carefree fun flying a swarm of white butterflies in heaven. Then again go where eyes look. Poor, unlike me, can freely roam the summer pastures, waist-deep in tall grass, where thoughtfully fly on the wind like a feather in the wind, like a jellyfish in the sea. For hours he could hear the distant knocking of a woodpecker and the sad voice of a lone hoopoe, who sang somewhere over the fields, calling it as a distant childhood. Listen to the murmur of the river, overgrown by white daisies, Angelicas, sweet clovers meadows, can even sleep in the haystacks on the field under the starry sky, admiring the moon in silence, listening to the monotonous, primeval songs of the crickets and choral croaking of distant frogs, like a whisper. To consider the distant blue star and tired to sleep. Wake up in the predawn hour, when the quail will sing, reminding cough grey guard, who sweeps territory, rhythmically waving a broom. He freezes, looking at the pale sky, where it melts and slowly disappears, the last star and tightly stretching across the horizon torn pale yellow clouds, resembling a spring furrow. Your beggar washes of transparent dew, eats Breakfast, then thou, you, will send, and goes on a long journey. The beggar does not even think about the possibility of poisoning: eat your Breakfast, thank you, and again hit the road, by walking along a path overgrown with two sides of high and dense grass. He greets farmers in the fields, nodding his head, with a friendly smile on his lips, stops for a moment, listening to the sad voice of the cuckoo, which comes from a distant poplar grove. The poor have no heavy burden of responsibility. They live easily, throwing off all unnecessary loads. They live happily and easily, in harmony with nature.
How about me? I can't get out of the fortress one step without strong security. Cannot move freely, as an ordinary person, can not only freely walk the fields and meadows, but can't even safely walk the streets of the capital of the Empire. I live with insuperable fear in my heart. Not sleeping at night, for fear, would you raise a riot the angry people, like a Typhoon in the ocean, destroying everything in its path, and with a shudder, I wonder if I will be hung on the highest gallows at the entrance to the Central market of the capital, dropping me from my throne, a people who are not satisfied with my policy. My heart is filled with blood when I start to think about my officials, the sycophants in his entourage that are easy to turn away from me when I fall from the throne of the Sultanate (government), and they will be the first to throw mud at me, praising the new Sultan! They will wag their Asses in front of the new ruler, throwing up his eyebrows and smiling lips, like a Bud of rosy morning rose.
Think, think and not fall asleep until morning. Even sleeping pills don't help me.
It turns out that being a ruler is not as easy as I thought it would be. I was convinced that being a ruler is like burning in hell in life and boiling alive in a hell of a cauldron. What kind Punishment of, Lord?! Is it life, God, think about it! After all, even a stray dog, and it is happier than me a hundred times! Now, there's another unbearable ordeal waiting for me. Why are you punishing me, God?! What have I done to you?! - cried the Sultan Sanjar Savash.
He cried for a long time. Then he summoned Prime Minister Vazir Azam. Vazir Azam came, not lingering long. Rather, it led Naukars (security service), in whose hands the feet of Wazir Azam not even touched the ground. He was wearing a long Oriental robe with a white turtleneck on his head. Have him not only the long beard and hair were white, but eyebrows, too, were such the same colour of.
Called, my Lord, the Sultan of all the sultans of the world? - asked Wazir Azam , not looking into the eyes of Sultan Sanjar Savash, and with a low bow.
Yes, Vaziri Azam. You, this, tell me, don't we have another way to solve our problems? - Sultan Sanjar Savash asked, looking to his Minister with hope.
Vaziri Azam paused a second, plunging into meditation, and then said:
No, my Sultan, unfortunately we have no other choice but... well, you know... If we want our great Empire not to collapse, then we just have to make this decision. Otherwise cannot be. That is a firm decision taken by Kiramaie Ulemas (The meeting of advisers) in closed session. As for Prince Mehmet, he is far inferior to Prince Ahmed in terms of thinking, mind and health. Oh, my Sultan of all sultans of the world! If you knew how hard it was for me to tell you all about it, Oh how hard! But I have to tell you this because I'm your chief Advisor. I feel sorry... - said Vaziri Azam, sadly bowing his head.
Damn you all! Get out of here now, you scoundrel! And so you're never caught my eye! - Hysterically cried Sultan Sanjar Savash and began to reach for the sword.
Vaziri Azam kneeled down and lowered his head in front of Sultan Sanjar Savash bitterly wept, shaking his snow-white beard and bony shoulders.
Chop my head off, o my Sultan of all sultans of the world! Cut! It is better to die from your sword than to see you in this position! - He cried, dropping tears.
Get him out now! - shouted the Sultan Sanjar Savash my security and cried, turning away to the side and wiping tears.
The guards took away Vazir Azam.
Early morning brought the executioner of the sentence, beheaded the sleeping young Prince Valiahd Mehmet with a sharp sword and wiped the white sheets of crimson blood from the blade of the sword.
Before to bury Prince Valiahd Mehmet , brought the Princess, so she could say goodbye to his son, on whose death she did not know. Seeing the terrible picture, the Princess fainted.
Sultan Sanjar Savash, hugging his murdered younger son Mehmet, wept, shaking his whole body.
Forgive me, son, for I have brought you a sacrifice! I'm sorry, because I had no other way! I had to do this just for the sake of not collapsing our Empire in the struggle for the throne between you and your brother in the future. I had to pay so much for preserving the throne. May your soul arrive in the green gardens of eternal Paradise, my beloved son Mehme-e-et! - He cried.
05/04/2014.
1:20 of the day.
Canada, The city of Brampton.
The apricot grove
(Story)
They say that you know real friends in tough times. So, although I quit my job a long time ago, for health reasons, I decided to visit my former boss, who was ill.
I went to the hospital room where the Director of our factory , which produces dangerous poisonous drugs, such as pesticide and herbicides lay. When the Director saw me, he wanted to get up, but I stopped him:
No, no, stay down, Sotkin Sattarovich .
I greeted him and asked about his health.
How nice of you to come, Bazarkul Baltabayevich. I got sick, But my illness is not related to the toxic chemicals that we produce - said the Director comrade Salafanov Sotkin Sattarovich, wheezing and moaning.
Don't worry too much, Sotkin Sattarovich. Everything will be alright. God created man from clay, not from iron. That is, a person can sometimes get sick. This is natural. Illness is like a guest, coming and going , I encouraged him.
-Thank you, Bazarkul Baltabayevich. I was just about to tell you my top secret before I left this beautiful world. Only, for this you must take an oath of loyalty, putting your hand on the sacred bread, so that you will never reveal this secret to anyone - Sotkin Sattarovich said .
I promised that I would never say a word to anyone. Continued Salafanov.
The fact is that I live in two phases, waking and sleeping. Once I dreamed of beautiful valleys, big rivers that spring from the emerald mountain peaks. The clear waters of these rivers glistened in the sun like a mirror among the spruce forests and green meadows, where a sea of white daisies bloomed, rippling in the wind. Walking through the meadow, singing in the tall grass, I waded through shallow rivers, ancient coniferous forests where woodpeckers crackle, and stopped at the mountain peaks.
Under the high granite rocks, powerful streams of water bubbled. A suspension bridge was built over the mountain river. A lone eagle soared in the sky, calling majestically with its beak wide open. I crossed that suspension bridge. On the other side of the bridge, a grove of apricots rustled in the wind. In the sunlight, ripe yellow apricot berries with a red-pink tint sparkled like Bukhara gold of the highest quality. There I met an old man with a white beard, a white turban on his head, and white clothes. We said hello. Then the old man said: -Taste the ripe apricot, my son. If you like it, take it home to the children.
I thanked him, plucked some ripe apricots, rinsed them in the spring water, and ate.
The apricot was as sweet as the honey of wild bees. I collected some dried apricots into his worn skull-cap and saying goodbye to the old man, came back through pine forests, through the fir woods, passing the shallow waters of rivers, rippling and sparkling like silver in the sun among the meadows, where wild flowers grew and bloomed, over which larks sang, bursting trills. Suddenly, from the direction of the spruce forest, red army horsemen appeared with military hats "Hat with earflaps" on their heads. They were armed with rifles and sabres. When the red Commissar saw me, he shouted:
-Here he is, one of the warriors of basmachi comanders Ibragimbek Lakai! I order it on behalf of the revkom! Kill, comrades of the red army, this worst enemy of the proletariat! Forward to the victory of communism under the red banner of the workers and peasants! Long live the world revolution, the hammer and sickle, and the leader of the proletariat, comrade Lenin! Down with the bourgeoisie and the minions of world imperialism! Uraaaaaa! With these words, he, sitting on the saddle of his horse, blew a bugle, as if inspiring the Komsomol members to the feat.
Waving their sabres left and right, firing rifles with long bayonets, inspired red army soldiers with battle cries of " Hurrah! " they sent their horses in my direction. I clutched my skullcap to my chest so as not to drop the apricots, and ran across the meadow as fast as I could. Firing their rifles, a squad of Komsomol members in a greatcoat and with military hat"Hat with earflaps" on their heads, all approached.
Bullets whizzed past me. One of the bullets pierced through the hem of my cotton overcoat. I ran no matter what and I managed finally to escape in the midst of the forest.
The red army soldiers stopped at the cordon, as it was impossible to ride in the forest. They left their horses and began to run after me.
I kept running, gasping and stumbling. Suddenly the ground gave out from under my feet, and I rolled down the slope and went down like a broken wheel of an old creaking cart. I stopped by a girl who was rinsing her underwear in the river.
From fright, she first screamed in horror and jumped back. When I got up and started asking for forgiveness, she came to her senses and started hitting me with a wet sheet. I told her:
Stop! What are you doing, Mademoiselle? I didn't mean to! I am an alien from a world called "Reality". I'm being chased by a gang of communists!
At my words, she stopped and looked at me in surprise. I say to her,
- What are you standing for, Madame?" Hide me quickly. Otherwise, these red bandits will come, catch and shoot me without trial, and then cut off your head with a sabre, accusing you of aiding a particularly dangerous fist, harmful to the bourgeois, that is, me.
Just at this time, the voices of the Reds were beginning to be heard on the top and shots were being fired. They were shouting:
He couldn't have gone far, comrade Commissar! Basmach is here somewhere! - said one pot-bellied red army man with a hat on his head. - Maybe he went down! Did this bastard get away?!
After that, the girl grabbed me by the hand as if I were a small child and led me into a dense thicket.
We fled the scene. A mounted detachment of red army soldiers went in the other direction in search of me. Then I sincerely thanked my savior for helping me in a difficult moment. She was so beautiful that I fell head over heels in love with her, as they say at first sight. Her thick and delicate hair was like black silk, swaying in the wind. Her big eyes like a deer's, thick and long lashes, soft lips like rose petals, smooth as white marble chin, neck, arms and legs like ivory, just drove me crazy. We met.
It turns out that her name is Malika, and she was born here in the dream world.
I Salafanov Sotkin Sattarovich. I live in reality. I am the Director of a large factory that produces chemicals that are used in agriculture in our vast country - I said.
I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Sotkin Sattarovich. I'm sorry that I hit you on the head with a wet rag, " Malika apologized, smiling prettily, showing her teeth like white pearls.
No it's okay, it could have been worse. Where I'm from, wives sometimes hit their drunken husbands on the head with a rolling pin and a frying pan when they return home on all fours. But their husbands still drink, not drying out for weeks, or even months. They even drink kerosene if it gives them a high. Once I was hit on the head with a bag of flour. I still thank God that this bag didn't contain some heavy object, such as a stone boulder or, say, a dumbbell - I said.
Hearing my words, Malika laughed merrily:
-Are you also a humorist? That's great! - she said. Then asked:
Will you sleep over in our world tonight?
No, I must go home before my wife wakes up.You know, a rolling pin, a frying pan, and all that - I sighed sadly.
-Sorry - she said. Then she asked again,
Can I come with you?
No, Mrs. Malika, it is impossible, because our air is polluted with carbon dioxide from smoking chemical plants and factories, and the environment is contaminated with radiation. There you can suffocate and die like a fish in a broken aquarium. A gas mask won't even protect you, that's how bad the pollution has gotten, and I want you to live in this world for a long time, even forever, but don't worry, I will come again, I will definitely come, believe me! - I said, preparing to leave.
Take care of yourself! Be careful, Sotkin Sattarovich! There are ruthless red thugs out there -Malika warned me as she walked me home.
I was kicking, and I woke up next to my wife, who was lying like a crocodile on the banks of the raging Nile river in Egypt. When she woke up, she started scolding me:
What's wrong with you? Drunk again, or what? Hair like a stork's nest, clothes covered in mud! Oops! What about your old cotton coat?! What's the hole? Burned a cigarette what?! Oh, My God! What's in the skullcap? Apricots? What is it? - she asked.
Yes - I say - this is for you, my love, try it. You know, I was in a dream. I walk in short across the summer meadow, singing in the tall grass, like a lone mower with a scythe, whistling merrily. Larks sing over the meadow, filling with a ringing trill. White butterflies roam silently in a swarm, gently kissing each other in the air, not shy of me. They fly, quietly and weightlessly, as if in Paradise. From far away where swaying in the wind birch grove, I heard the sad voice of a lone hoopoe. The air was light and smelled of meadow flowers. You would want to lie down on the grass and die, looking at the endless blue sky, where white clouds float! I stopped on a path in the middle of the meadows to listen to the distant voice of the cuckoo, which came from the direction of the ravine. Suddenly there was a cavalry unit of the red army. The Reds in military hat "hat with earflaps" and with sabres in their hands, firing rifles, chased me, and one of the bullets pierced the hem of my cotton overcoat.
She didn't believe me. But still, after trying the apricot, she said:
Unbelievable! Is this really true? I can't believe it!. What an apricot, my God! I've never eaten anything like this. Just honey! Why did you take so little? You should have taken more. Now I'll give you a huge cardboard box and you will immediately go back to the world of dreams, and get a lot of dried apricots, you stupid director of a large factory that produces deadly, toxic chemicals! Try to bring as many apricots as possible, so that I can trade them smartly in the market. We'll use the leftovers to make sweet and thick jam for the winter - my wife said greedily. Then ask:
Can we go together?
I tell her:
No, don't. What are you, my white rose, covered with morning dew, full of red ones, armed to the teeth. Dangerous! How can I go on living without you in this world if they shoot you like a partridge?! No, I'd rather go alone.
After this conversation, my wife dressed me in a soldier's uniform, which I brought from the army, and before going to bed gave me a huge cardboard box in my hands. After a while I fell asleep again and again I began to dream of those gardens of Paradise. I walked through an uncut rye field, singing in the rye, and around me fluttered, as before, white, silent, harmless butterflies, some of them even touching me with their delicate wings. Then I was startled to see a man in a battered panama hat and an old patched jacket walking straight toward me, his arms wide open like a friend I hadn't seen in years. When I recognized him, I smiled. It turns out there was a scarecrow. Red cross-eyed dragonflies with transparent wings fluttered above the rye. A cuckoo was crying across the river, which was overgrown on both sides with tall reeds, which rustled in the wind like a green wave. Wading through shallow water with a huge cardboard box in my hands, I stopped at the foot of snow-capped mountain peaks, where a powerful stream of water bubbled under high granite rocks and foamed eddies, like the moustache of a man drinking Bovary, frothy, golden beer.
There was a steel-rope suspension bridge over a mountain river. I walked over the creaking, swaying bridge carefully, looking down in horror at the seething water. On the other side of the bridge, a grove of apricots rustled in the wind. A lone eagle soared high in the sky, circling majestically over the mountain gorge and shouting proudly. His cry, like a loud whistle, echoed. I see that old man with a white beard and white clothes, with a white turban on his head, sitting on the prayer carpet. Sitting on this carpet, he prayed. Without interrupting his prayer, I went cautiously towards the apricot grove.
At first, he ate the apricot himself, and then began to collect it in a cardboard box. After filling it with dried apricots and closing it securely, I went back across the suspension bridge, where the river was rushing in powerful streams under the high granite rocks of the mountain peaks, deafening the surrounding area with its noise. When I reached a meadow where a sea of daisies, melons, cornflowers and other meadow flowers were swaying in the wind, I suddenly saw a horse squadron of the national liberation army of kurbashi-commander of basmach Ibragimbek Lakai. Bearded warriors in striped robes were armed with machine guns, British-made Mausers, and bent Isfahan swords.
Warriors in striped clothing and hairy chests spurred their mounts and shot an arrow in my direction.
One of them shouted:
O warriors of Almighty Allah, strike this infidel, the red Satan! See his uniform, clothes, and shoulder straps?! Judging by the five-pointed red star on the cap, we can assume that he is a great chief of the communist army! This is the famous General, commander of the red army, for whose head Sheikh Abu Gibran Ibn Abdelrahman himself promised to pay thousands of gold coins! Having cut off the head of this godless communist with a sword, we will present it to the Sheikh!
Hearing this, my heart sank and I ran as fast as I could. How could it be otherwise? It's scary. I run recklessly with a huge cardboard box in my hands, filled to the brim with ripe sweet as honey apricots. A mounted squadron of bloodthirsty basmachs chased me in unison, waving razor-sharp Isfahan bent swords and firing randomly at me with British-made Mauser pistols. It was at this time that one stray bullet whistled and pierced through the cardboard box. I kept running, no matter what, and I think it's a good thing I didn't bring my wife. If they saw a woman without a burqa, they would be completely enraged. Besides, my wife is Russian. They would have cut me into small, small pieces with their bent sabres.
The bearded horsemen were still chasing me. But when I reached the forest, like the reds, they stopped their horses at the cordon, deciding to continue the chase on foot. Now I knew the road well and took advantage of the descent, similar to the slide of a playground for kids.
I went down, sitting like a little boy, who goes down a slide on a sled in winter. I started down the hill at a breakneck speed, holding a cardboard box filled with ripe apricots, sweet as honey. There, by the river, that girl was not there, and I, as before, hid in a dense thicket, so that I could come out carefully when the danger was over. But then, the basmach warriors caught me. Seeing a box of apricots one of the basmachs went crazy: -You bastard, did you steal the apricots from our sacred gardens? Well, that's it, you're finished, red pig! I'll skin you alive and stretch it over a tambourine. With these words, he wanted to smash my head with the butt of an British-made rifle, but he was stopped.
-No, Osman Ibn Nigman, wait! You'll ruin the face of that red godless Satan. I'm going to decapitate him carefully myself - said a thin and tall warrior, wearing a striped coat and a turban on his head. Then, drawing his sharp, tinkling steel dagger from its scabbard and licking its blade, he began to decapitate me, and then I woke up with a wild cry, covered in cold sweat. My wife also woke up from my scream and was happy to see a cardboard box with apricots. Still, she did not forget to reproach me for not protecting a cardboard box that had been pierced through by an enemy bullet during the firefight. After that, she rewarded me, that is, finally gave me a two-day break, so that I didn't have to sleep during these days. To be honest, I myself was afraid to fall asleep and find myself in a dream world where day and night fighting is going on, between warring parties, shots are fired and explosions are thundering. Fields and forests are burning, cities are Smoking, every day hundreds and sometimes thousands of young soldiers die on the battlefields, as well as innocent people, especially helpless children who are afraid to go to school to study.