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Холдор Вулқон

Ўзбекистон Ёзувчилар уюшмасининг аъзоси

 


Қаловини топсанг, қор ёнади.

(Ўзбек халқ мақоли)



Ўтган йиллар мобайнида Президент Мирзиёев нафақат қўшни мамлакатлар, балки фаолияти Россия Федерациясида тақиқлаб қўйилган "Толибон"  диний харакати билан муроса ва музокара йўлига ўтганида, кўплар уни узоқни кўра билмасликда айблаб, "Мирзиёев диний -террористик ташкилотлар билан муроса ва музокара қилмоқда!" дея айюханнос солдилар.


Буни қарангки, АҚШ ўз қўшинларини олиб чиқиб кетиши биланоқ, Толибон ҳаракати икки хафта ичида Авғонистонни эгаллади.


Ва айнан, узоқни кўра билган президент Мирзиёевнинг сиёсат тахтасидаги ўйлаб олдинга сурган шахмат доналари сабаб АҚШнинг Авғонистондан чиқиб кетиши ортидан чорак аср димланиб ётган сиёсий тўғон бирдан очилиши, жангарилар ва қочқинлар тўфони  Марказий Осиёга, жумладан Ўзбекистонга, сўнг эса, таркибида ислом динига эътиқод қилувчи халқлардан иборат субъектлар мавжуд Россия Федерациясига ҳам ёприлиши кутилаётган дахшатли хатарнинг олди олинди.


Донишманд халқимизнинг "Қаловини топсанг, қор ёнади" деган гапи шу бўлса керак.


Президент Мирзиёев стратегик тадбирларининг энг ҳайрлиси, Марказий Осиё мамлакатларини, жумладан мустақил Ўзбекистонимизни "Қочавер, толибонлар келяпти" дея қўрқитиб, ўз қопларига солмоқчи бўлган учинчи кучларнинг машъум орзуларини чиппакка чиқарди.


Бундай президентнинг қадрига етмоқ керак.



21/09/2021.
Кундуз соат 1:46.
Канада, Онтерио.

 



 

 

Холдор Вулқон

Ўзбекистон Ёзувчилари уюшмасининг аъзоси


 

 

 

Журналист Бобомурод Абдуллаев ҳақида

 

Аввало жасоратли журналист Бобомурод Абдуллаевни, айниқса унинг ёш авлодга таълим - тарбия бериб, узоқ йиллар ўқитувчилик қилган захматкаш волидаи муҳтарамасини, яқинларини Ўзбекистон Республикасининг Президенти Шавкат Миромонович Мирзиёев тамонидан совға қилинган 3 хонали квартира билан чин кўнгилдан муборакбод этаман.

Бобомуродни битта квартирага сотилди дея маломат қилаётганлар қаттиқ адашадилар.

У квартира Бобомуродга эмас, фарзанди хибсхоналарда қолаётган даврларда унинг озодлиги учун тинимсиз курашган, умрини илм -маърифатга, авлодлар таълим тарбиясига бахш этган мушфиқ онага мамлакат президенти ва амалдаги ҳукуматнинг ҳадя этган беминнат совғасидир.

Бобомуроднинг хибсдан озод этилиши эса, Ўзбекистон Республикасида инсон ҳуқуқлари ҳимояси қай даражада эканлигини белгиловчи инкор қилиб бўлмас ижобий кўрсаткичдир.


Эсингизда бўлса, Бобомурод Абдуллаев Усмон Ҳақназаров таҳаллуси остида ёзган сиёсий мақолалари учун қўлга олинганида, кўплар талвасага тушиб, Ўзбекистон ҳукумати уни ўлдириб юборади дея айюханнос кўтарган эди.

Лекин, Бобомурод Абдуллаев адолатли суд маҳкамасининг қарори билан хибсдан озод этилди.


Шу ерда бир қизиқ воқеага тўхталамиз, азизлар.


Маълумингизким, ўша вақтларда айрим қўштирноқ ичидаги "сиёсий тахлилчилар" Ўзбекистон ҳукумати Бобомуродни давлат сирларини ошкор этишда айблаётгани ҳақида ҳам ёзган эдилар.


Ўта кулгили иддао.


Ваҳоланки Бобомурод Абдуллаев ўз мақолаларида ёзган нарсаларининг давлат сирларига мутлақо алоқаси йўқ эди.


Нега?


Чунки Ўзбекистон Давлат хавфсизлигини таъминловчи органларда ишлайдиган кадрлар иш фаолияти узоқ йиллар давомида зимдан ўрганилиб, турли синовлардан муваффақиятли ўтган, сир сақлай олиш қобилияти, билими, ақл - заковати, яхши хулқ атвори туфайли кадрлар сиёсати билан шуғилланувчи қўмита ишончини қозонган ўта жиддий, бағоят масъулиятли одамлар бўлади ва улар давлат сирларини ошкор қиладиган, яъни тўғри келган кимсага ўта махфий сирларни сиздирадиган даражада гўл эмасликлари барчага бирдай аён.

 

Бугун пок қалбли инсонларни, Ўзбекистонимизнинг тинчлигига, осойишталигига бефарқ бўлмаган юртдошларимизни қувонтирадиган воқеа, Бобомурод Абдуллаев хориждаги киндик ковакларда писмиқ газанда каби беркинган сиёсий бесовод, демократман деб ҳаммани лаққа туширишга уринадиган ёвуз мақсадли, бунинг устига ўта қитмир, бахил ва худбин, аммо ўлгудек лақма, ёлғонни ямламай ютгувчи, унга одам деб ишониб, қаттиқ адашган шўрлик маслакдошларини қўятуринг, керак бўлса, ҳатто ўз туғишган ака укаларини ҳам ҳеч иккиланмай ўз манфаати йўлида қурбон қилишга, сариқ чақага сотиб кетишга тайёр, қорнидаги чиқитни ёғ деб ўйловчи жирканч ва манфур фитнабоши фирибгар лайчаларнинг кимлигини англаб етгани ва у кимсаларнинг жирканч ва манфур башараларини очиб ташлаётгани тахсинга лойиқ.


Бугун жасоратли журналист Бобомурод Абдуллаев журналистика соҳасида ўз бошини кундага қўйиб, ўзбек журналистикаси, сўз ва матбуот эркинлигини кишанлардан озод қилиш йўлида, ўлимнинг кўзига тик қараб, улкан ишларни амалга оширди дея баралла айтишимиз мумкин.


Тақибу тазйиқларга қарамай, иккинчи марта хибсга олинганида ҳам ўзини тута билган, Ўзбекистонни ривожланган демократик мамлакатлар қаторида кўришдек буюк мақсаду маслак, покиза нийят йўлида азобу уқубатлар чиғириғидан ўтган, кўнглида кири йўқ, пўлат иродали, енгилмас, жасоратли журналист Бобомурод Абдуллаевга мустахкам соғлик, узоқ умр ва ижодий ишларида омадлар тилаймиз!




24/04/2020.
Кундуз соат 11:46.
Канада, Онтерио.


 

 

 

Холдор Вулкан

Член Союза писателей Узбекистана

Холдор Вулкан родился в 1959 году в Узбекистане. Окончил Ташкентский Государственный Университет. Пишет стихи и прозу с 1975 года. Живет в Канаде. Написал 4 сборника стихов, ряд повестей, рассказы и романы на двух языках.На узбекском и на русском.Его произведения переведены на английский язык.Не имеет званий и наград.

 

Любое коммерческое использование повести Холдора Вулкана "Далаказан"запрещено без предварительного письменного согласия автора.(Холдор Вулкан)




Далаказан

(Повесть)








Глава 1
Ограбление банка средь бела дня



В банк неожиданно ворвалась вооруженная до зубов банда грабителей в масках, с дикими криками, угрожая пристрелить, как куропатку каждого, кто осмелится оказать малейшее неповиновение или сопротивление. Они приказали всем сотрудникам банка лечь на пол и не двигаться.
- Тот, кто попытается поднимать голову, тут же получит пулю в лоб! - крикнул один из них.
Одного из сотрудников банка, лет сорока, высокого роста, худошавого телосложения, с носом, похожий на клюв орла по имени Далаказан, бандиты подняли, направив на него нервно дрожащими руками дуло автомата:
-Ставай, гад! Ты нам поможешь совершить ограбление века!Давай, падла, открой сейф и быстро положи деньги в эти мешки! Попытаешься подать сигналы ментам, нажимая на кнопку тревоги, то тебе хана, моментально превратишься в труп! Давай шевелись задницей! -крикнул бандит, изо всех сил ударив ногами по заднице Далаказана.
-Хорошо, хорошо! Я сделаю все, что вы прикажете!Только, прощу вас, не убивайте меня!У меня семья и несовершеннолетние дети! -умолял их Далаказан. Он покорно шел в сторону кассы, высоко подняв свои худые руки, как молодой солдат в горячей точке планеты, который только что попал в плен.Но он неожиданно повернувшись назад, молняносными движениями повалил бандита на пол и быстро отобрал у него автомат "Калашников". Потом нажал на курок автомата, чтобы обезвредить банду грабителей и спасти сотрудников, но выстрела не последовало.Тут раздался громкий крик! - Стоп! Все, отбой! Учение прошло отлично!Спасибо всем участникам незапланированного учение и мы просим прощения за то, что мы провели учебную тревогу, заранее не предупредив группа сотрудников нашего банка! Это было тренировочное мероприятие!Тренинг! Мы должны учиться вести себя правильно в таких сложных ситуациях!Хотя господин Далаказан Оса ибн Коса оставил в опасности жизни других сотрудников нашего банка и заложенников, но он все же сумел проявить героические качества смелого человека!Мы благодарим его за проявленную храбрость! - крикнул начальник охраны банка.
-Хух! Ну и у вас учения!Я чуть не укокошил этих ни в чем не повинных ребят!Слава Богу, что все обошлось! -сказал Далаказан, обессиленно приседая на пол и облегченно вздыхая.
Псевдограбители дружно захохотали, гляда на потолок, снимая маски с лица.
После этого Далаказану дали отпуск и путевку в Ялту, чтобы он отдохнул вместе с семьей на лазурном берегу Черного море, за проявленный подвиг во время учение.
Да, работать в банке, всеравно, как сидеть над проснувшим исландским вулканом Эйяфьядлайёкюдль , который вот вот рванет. Далаказан рискуя своей жизнью работает вот в таком опасном учреждение, как коммерческий банк, ради своей верной и очаровательной возлюбленной жены Садокат и любимых своих дочерей.Его жена активно занимается воспитанием дочерей.Она и ее муж Далаказан живут дружно, как говорится, душа в душу. Далаказан иногда с гордостью думает, глядя в окно своего кабинета о том, что он самый счастливый человек на белом свете.Красивая, пухленкая, молоденькая, любяшая жена, дочери, роскошный дом, машина, престижная работа.Как будто этого мало, управляющий банком, где он работает, является его другом.Это значет, что у него есть реальный шанс подняться высоко по карьерной лестнице. Ну что еще нужно человеку, чтобы он мог чувствовать себя самым счастливым человеком на планете? Такими мыслями Далаказан решил сегодня пообедать дома со своей женой, за семейным столом, в романтической обстановке, при свечах и обрадовать свою жену с дочерьми, сообща им об отпуске и о бесплатной путевке в санаторий "Ялта". Далаказан поехал домой на своей иномарке "Хонда сивик" японского производство.Ехал он по дороге, крутя баранку одной рукой, локот другой руки высунув из окна машины, весело свистя и запевая какую то песню о любви.Наконец он приехал и оставив свою машину на обочине улицы, зашел на цыпочках в дом, чтобы случайно не разбудить свою несравненную жену, которая спит на италянской шикарной двуспальной кровати, дыша духами. - Сейчас войду в спальную комнату и моя любимая принцесса проснется и обрадуется как маленькая, увидев меня и услышав об отпуске, о бесплатной путевке, бросается мне в объятия, зацелует меня, даже заплачет от радости - подумал Далаказан.Но тут он замер, услышав тревожный топот шагов и таинственный шёпот.Он постоял нимного, не зная что делать и осторожно поднялся по леснице на второй этаж. Когда он зашел в спальню, Садокат лежала на роскошной кровати, словно принцесса и спала сладким младенческим сном в нежном шелковом халате. - Слава Богу, что с моей женой все в порядке.Мне послышалось наверно.Это все от усталости.Ну, ничего, теперь у нас есть путевка в санаторий и я буду отдыхать как следует на берегу море вместе со своей семьей, излечивая свои расшатанные нервы, лежа на гамаке, глядя на алые закаты, внимая тихий шепот шелестящих волн и печальному крику чаек - продолжал он думать. Тут он, увидев разбросанные одежды своей жены, поднял их, чтобы повесить на вешалки.Потом открыл шкаф и одеревенел от увиданного на миг, как околдованный. В шкафу сидел голым его лучший друг - управляющий банком, прижимая к груди свои одежды, которые он не успел надеть.Его друг, который клялся все время в верности, заявляя о том, что он готов умереть за Далаказана, если это потребуется.Он дрожа от страха начал говорить:

-Далаказан, друг мой, я не виноват!Поверь мне!Клянусь Богом! Эта, неверная жена твоя Садокат виновата во всем! Она попутала меня, словно шайтан, уверяя меня в том, что мы успеем... ну, это... согрешить... Прошу тебя, ради нашей старой дружбы, не убивай меня! Пощади, Далаказанджан, у меня маленькие дети!Хочешь, завтра же я сделаю тебя своим заместителем? Ну, подумай сам, зачем тебе такая развратница? Найдешь другую.Я тебе дам деньги - сказал он, дрожа от страха.
Далаказан обернулся лицом в сторону спальной кровати и увидел Садокат, которая готовилась бежать.Но ей это не удалось.Далаказан поймал ее за волосы.
-Ах ты сука! Неблогадарная тварь! Я считал тебя самой верной, идеальной женщиной на планете, свято верил в тебя, а ты сука наставила мне рога! Хорошо, что здесь не оказались дочери!Господи, как теперь будут жить мои бедные дочери?!Ты опозорила всю семью! Как ты смела изменить мне, да и с этим подонком, которому верил все эти годы и считал гада своим преданным и верным другом!Ты же день и ночь клялась о том, что любишь меня и не можешь жить без меня на этом свете ни дня! Я же тебя любил! Какой пазор!Ой какой пазор!-орал разгневанный Далаказан.
-Отпусти меня, скотина!О какой любви, ты говоришь вообще?! В этом мире нет любви!Ты чего, не слышал поговорку, типа "Зачем любить и страдать, когда все дороги ведут в кровать!" Эх ты, наивный и тупорылый харып, деревеньщина! Поверил на мои слова!Да я никогда тебя не любила и не надейся!Это во первых, во вторых ты не имеешь права говорить о моих дочерей! Потому что они не от тебя! -сказала Садокат.
После этих слов Далаказан вместо того чтобы задушить свою неверную жену и убить, почему то отпустил, сказав: - Все, от ныне ты не жена мне, потаскуха! Кумталак! Страшное слово "кумталак" по шариатским законам означает окончательный развод супруг перед Всевышнем Богом.
После того, как Садокат и ее любовник выбежали из комнаты, Длаказан захохотал как джын из волшебной лампы .Потом начал кричать во весь голос: -Жить -жить -житталалалу лалула! Жить -жить -житталалалу лалула!Через несколько часов приехала бригада вежливых врачей в белых халатах и увезли Далаказана в рубахе с через чур длинными рукавами, которые туго скрутили.По дороге нимного придя в себя, Далаказан спросил у врачей о том, куда его везут.Врач очкарик с бархатным голосом, объяснил.
-Успокойтесь, голубчик, вам нельзя волноваться.У вас усталые нервы и вам необходимо отдохнуть в нашем уютном санатории.Там мы позаботимся о вас - сказал он.
Услышав такое, Далаказан снова стал кричать:
-Жить -жить -житталалалу лалула! Жить -жить -житталалалу лалула!

 

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Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

Holdor Vulkan was born in 1959 in Uzbekistan. Graduated from Tashkent State University. He has been writing poetry and prose since 1975. Lives in Canada. He has written 4 collections of poems, a number of novellas, short stories and novels in two languages.In Uzbek and in Russian.His works have been translated into English.Has no titles and awards.

 

Chapters of Holder Volcano's novel "Boomerang"



Translated by the author

 


 

Chapter 1
The watchman of the vineyard




Sayak is a man about 25 years old, medium height, oblique, skinny build, black-haired, curly, snub-nosed. He lives in the village of Kuiganyar with his young wife named Zebo.
He works as a watchman of a grape orchard and sits all day in a hut on high stilts, as if on a border watchtower, from where the neighborhood is visible at a glance.Sitting in a hut, Sayak drives the birds away with a repeller made from empty iron cans of canned fish and Coca Cola suspended on wires.He shouts at the top of his voice, clapping his hands loudly. When he pulls the wires, the deafening sounds of empty iron cans are heard, scaring away flocks of voracious birds.Sayak is madly fond of watching flocks of birds flying in a cloud over a grape orchard, over cotton fields, creating the noise of a bird blizzard with their wings, abruptly changing their directions, this way and that, like a parachute blown away by the wind.
At night, lighting a kerosene lamp, he cleans the barrels of his double-barreled shotgun with a cleaning rod and wipes it's wooden stock with a rag. Moths silently begin to curl around the burning kerosene stove. The sky above the hut overflows with stars.Then comes Sayaka's favorite moments.He enthusiastically watches the moon, which slowly and silently rises over the September cotton fields, over poplar and willow groves, illuminating the neighborhood like a powerful searchlight with its dazzling light.Such silence that you can hear the buzzing of a mosquito swarm, similar to the distant and anguished crying of hired mourners at the magnificent funeral of deceased officials.From afar comes the tired barking of a stray dog. The moonlight twilight will ring with restless crickets. Frogs will sing in the distant marshes and sublunary reeds of the kashkaldak River, making the sound of boiling soup in a cauldron. Under the moon, you can see with the naked eye deserted country roads and even paths, as in the daytime.On the bank of the river in deep ravines overgrown with junipers, foxes live, who love not only to eat chickens, they also love to eat juicy ripe grapes.Under the moon, foxes can be seen even from afar. The fox moves quickly, sniffing the ground, as if simultaneously identifying the smells of things. Sometimes he will stop for a moment, carefully sniffing the air.It is in such trembling moments that Sayak, throwing his gun on his shoulder, carefully takes aim, and shoots. "Dttish! Dttish!" The silence of the night echoes with a rolling echo the roar of a shot, like the sounds of spring thunder in mountain gorges.Frightened birds sleeping on the branches of nearby trees will fly away from fright.On moonless nights, Sayak takes aim at the animals between their eyes, which burn in the dark like a light and pulls the trigger.
The moon, slowly making its journey across the sky, wanders sleepily and for a long time over deserted fields.Sayak, taking off his outer clothes, covers himself with a cotton blanket called "kurpa" and goes to bed, thinking about his past, looking at the countless stars twinkling with diamonds in the boundless heavens and at the moon, which carelessly shines over distant cotton fields. He thinks about his distant and difficult childhood and his father, who abused alcohol, drank without drying out for weeks and months, going on a binge. When he came home drunk, he began to beat Sayak's mother, dragging her around the yard like a sleigh in winter on a snowdrift. Sayak's mom cried, screamed, calling for help from people. Sayak tried to protect her somehow, but he was unable to stop his strong, angry and drunken father. The neighbors were also silent, although they clearly heard the cries for help. Instead of helping, on the contrary, they secretly watched from behind a crack of clay douvals, rejoiced, as they laughed heartily.One day, his father took Sayaka's tricycle and headed outside to exchange it for vodka.Oh, how Sayak ran after his father then, begging him not to sell his beloved bike.But his drunk father hit him in the face with his elbow and broke his nose.Blood was oozing from Sayak's broken nose.A year later, Sayak's father died. That is, he was hit by a huge truck as he was crossing the road and he died at the scene.After his father's funeral, his mother fell ill.Despite the autumn cold, Sayak, in order to help his sick mother, decided to work, washing cars that descended from mountain passes and stopped by the road to have a snack and relax in a local teahouse. The cold winds of the snowy peaks blew from the mountain slopes. Sayak was standing on the side of the road, constantly twisting a wet rag like an airplane propeller to somehow attract the attention of rich drivers.Here, one driver stopped his car on the side of the road and Sayak offered him his cheap service.The driver agreed. Little Sayak scooped a bucket of icy water from the ditch and began to work hard.While he cleaned the dirty wheels and washed the windows of the car, his hands turned red in the cold and the joints of his stiff fingers began to ache, which he tried to warm with his breath.He worked tirelessly, thinking about his sick mother and was very happy when the driver gave him money. Sayak, in order to save money, returned home hungry, not allowing himself to eat anything for dinner. Having collected all the money he earned by honest work, he ran home to please his mother.But when he went into the yard, there he saw the neighboring women and one of them, hugging Sayak tightly, sobbed bitterly.
- Oh, poor Sayak, you're all alone now! Your mom is gone! - she said sobbing, stroking his head. Oh how Sayak cried then, oh how he cried, hugging the body of his late mother, shaking her. After the funeral, they wanted to send him to an orphanage where orphaned children were brought up, but Sayak's grandmother drove away the newcomers, waving her cane.
- Leave now, I won't give him to anyone so long as I'm alive! You can only take my grandson over my dead body! - she screamed, crying and making desperate resistance.
Years passed. Sayak has grown up. In those days, he reluctantly attended school, like a mongrel dog which the owner leads to hunt, dragging it behind him. The school for Sayak was like a penal colony, where he felt like a prisoner in a striped robe.
The teachers seemed to him to be evil guards, and the school principal reminded him of the prison governor. Sayak was sitting at a desk made of pine boards, located near the window, which was sometimes open, where he made paper airplanes from a notebook sheet and sent them flying. He was the first to run out of class during recess, especially when lessons were over, feeling like a prisoner released on parole. In summer, on vacation, Sayak grazed a cow from morning to evening in the floodplain of the Kashkaldak River.While his burenka was grazing with other cows in the meadow, he and his friends were swimming in the river, over which pugnacious seagulls flew in flocks, shouting together and noisily, like restless women at the bazaar. With the arrival of thoughtful September, his days again became empty, sad, like autumn itself, like the eyes of a donkey with a sad look.The teachers' questions seemed to him like interrogations under torture in a pre-trial detention center.One day Sayak went to school with a backpack on his shoulders, rustling the fallen leaves of autumn maples, simultaneously planning an escape from school. But what he saw at the beginning of the lesson dramatically changed his plans and he had to postpone his escape for another day.
- So, quiet, fellow students! We have a new student from the city! Meet her, her name is Zebo!Niyazov's her last name!The documents show that she studied perfectly at her school - said the teacher Uvadaguppiev.
The students were silent. Zebo, too. She looked out of the ground at her new classmates with big deer eyes, blushing with embarrassment and playing with the tips of her pigtails.This skinny, black-haired and black-eyed new student with long cow eyelashes turned out to be a very attractive girl. Her scarlet lips, reminiscent of ripe cherries, a thin and delicate neck smooth as ivory, thin and long fingers like musicians simply bewitched Sayaka.
- Well, Niyazova, sit down at the desk next to the student Satybaldiev. His name is Sayak.He's an underachieving student.So you will help him, - said the teacher Uvadaguppiev, pointing out to the new student the desk where Sayak was sitting, as if hypnotized.
Zebo sat down at her desk.The teacher Uvadaguppiev turned to Sayak.
- Why are you staring at me, schoolboy Satybaldiev?! Are you dissatisfied with something?! You, this, don't even think of offending her!Otherwise, I will personally write a complaint against you to the district policeman comrade Dyryldaev, and he will send you to a children's colony?! - he said.
- I understand, Comrade Uvadaguppiev, I understand... A little like the police, a children's colony... Yes, I'm not looking at you, but at her, that is, at the new student. And what should I do if I have such oblique eyes?! - Sayak said.
Hearing this, the students laughed in unison. Zebo blushed even more.
The teacher Uvadaguppiev laughed like Aladdin, looking at the ceiling. He laughed for a long time, bursting with laughter.Then, barely suppressing his laughter and wiping his tears with his checkered, leaky handkerchief, he said:
- Well, sit down, comrade schoolboy Satybaldiev.
Sayak sat down, thinking about how good it was that he was oblique.Now no one will suspect when he looks at this beautiful Zebo girl. The naive teacher Uvadaguppiev will also think that Sayak is looking at the blackboard...
With such thoughts, Sayak lay for a long time in a hut, looking like a watchtower of penal colonies, looking at the moon and did not even notice how he fell asleep.



Chapter 2
Love at first, oblique glance



Sayak, lying in the hut, began to think about his past again, about how he started dating his wife Zebo in his distant youth. How he looked at Zebo during lessons and even during recess and could not tear his squinting eyes away from her then.He remembers well the day when the lessons ended and the students, hurriedly taking their backpacks, rushing to the exit, shouting joyfully, like seagulls on the shore of the sea. Sayak also ran out of school and quickly caught up with Zebo, began to keep up with her.His heart was beating fast with excitement, like a freedom-loving bird in a cage.Finally he pulled himself together and began to speak:
- Well, Zebo, did you like our school?
- Yes - answered Zebo, smiling beautifully and closing her eyes from the rays of the September sun.
- And our village? - Sayak asked, so that the conversation would not be interrupted, like a film of an old movie camera, which rustled off in summer cinemas at the most interesting place of an Indian movie about love, where a lover Sundar, playing the piano, sings a sad song about a faithful friend, looking at the ceiling, straining so that burning tears would not roll down his cheeks.
- Zebo, I don't know why, but when I saw you for the first time, I almost fainted.I've never met such a beautiful girl like you anywhere before. Believe me, you're very similar to Radha, who I saw in the Indian feature film Sangam. In the film, a young military pilot named Sundar fell madly in love with her. Oh how he sang while playing the piano a sad song about an unfaithful friend!

Lake:
Dost dost na raha, piaar piaar na raha,
Zindagiiii hameeein tera, aitubaaar na raha! Aaaytubaaar na raha...
(AND a friend is no longer a friend, and a beloved is no longer a beloved,
Life I don't believe in you anymore, I don't believe in you anymore...)

- Yes, I've also seen that movie. You sing well! Bravo! You have a good voice, like Fyodor Chaliapin, - Zebo said.
- Well, this is too much! What kind of singer am I? Are you kidding me? - Sayak said, laughing.
- No, I'm quite serious. You have a gift from God, a talent from God! As for the village, everything is very beautiful here.Wide fields and meadows where butterflies roam carelessly and quietly. as if they were afraid to break the silence. I often freeze, standing on the path, in the middle of meadows, when a lonely hoopoe sings wistfully at noon, somewhere out there beyond the sultry fields, in the distance.I used to come here often to my grandmother and fell in love with the rural landscapes, - Zebo said.
- Landscapes? Oh, you talk like great artists and poets - Sayak was surprised.
Zebo silently smiled back.
Sayak continued: - Have you seen our kashkaldak River?
- Yes, I saw it. Only from afar. High cliffs where swifts nest in burrows, green rice fields on the shore, where gulls rush, shrieking.I just can't take my eyes off! - Zebo replied.
-You're right, Zebo. There is nothing to compare our green meadows, rice fields, old willows and poplars in the delta, rustling reeds in the wind knee-deep in water. Blooming djids, cattails growing like a wall on the shore and white water lilies in quiet, mirrored pools. And on the island we herd cattle, disappearing into the juniper thickets and the tall grass. In the evening, when we wearily return home, wading through shallow water, driving a caravan of well-fed cows with calves, frogs will sing in chorus in the distance and the moon will shine. Cows and calves are returning home, along a dusty village road, lowing long - Sayak boasted.
- Yes, I also love country evenings, in the silence of the moon. In our city, the noise, the sounds of car brakes and the heartbreaking howls of sirens. When we lived in the city, my grandmother sometimes came to visit us and she could not stay there for a long time.I tried to return home, that is, here, as soon as possible.
- And who is your grandmother? - Sayak asked.
- Grandma Suttie - Zebo replied.
- Oh, aunt Suttie? She's a very good old woman. The one who lives in a small house next to a water pump, right? Sayak said.
- Yes, that one - Zebo said, confirming the words of Sayak.
- Did you come with your parents or did you come alone? - Sayak continued, interested, like an investigator of the city prosecutor's office.
- Together with my parents. The fact is that my mother got sick and the doctors advised her to change the climate - Zebo said sadly.
- Don't worry too much, Zebo, everything will be fine.Your mother will recover soon, you'll see. We have clean air, no noise, and beautiful landscapes. In general, I am glad you came here... Forgive me, I seem to have poured salt on your wound without noticing it - Sayak said guiltily, trying to calm Zebo.
Zebo sighed sadly, shaking her head approvingly, as if accepting Sayak's apology for his inappropriate question and continued to tell her story, walking steadily along the road, rustling the fallen leaves.
Sayak did too. From the autumn maples and poplars growing along the road, yellow and purple leaves were falling quietly.Finally, when they reached the water pump, on which the storks built a huge nest of cotton stalks, they stopped.
Sayak didn't want to part with a beautiful girl. When Zebo started to move away from him, he hurriedly shouted after her:
- If you want, I'll show you the beautiful places of our river!
Zebo thought about it and blushed for some reason.Then she replied,
- Okay. But I have to ask my parents for permission.If they allow it... - she said.
- Okay, Zebo, okay. Agreed! After lunch, I'll be waiting for you here, - said Sayak, relieved.
- Okay - said Zebo and opening the creaking gate, headed into the yard. Sayak stood looking after her with his slanted eyes until she disappeared from sight.
He then joyfully made a gesture with his hand, as if pulling an invisible lever of an old river ferry that emits long sad horns in the fog. After that, he ran home in high spirits.
A lonely autumn wind was breezing on the street, the fallen leaves, circling forlornly.

 

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Шерзод Комил Ҳалил




Переделкинода қиш

(Эссэ)





Тақвим бўйича қиш аллақачон тугаган, аммо ҳамон Москвада совуқ ҳукмрон, ҳамон қор, яхмалак, изғирин, на нурафшон ёмғир, на баҳорнинг йилт этган нури йўқ. 1933 йилда Сталин буйруғига биноан қурилган қатор дачаларнинг бирини деразасидан мўралайман, уззукун қор ёғаётган бўлади, баъзан қуёш бир кўриниб ўтади, изғирин тиғини кесиш учун уриниб кўргандай зариф шўълаларини қор кўмган ялангликлар ва ўрмон нуқсини эслатадиган арчазорлар узра сочади, аммо зум ўтмай қаёқдандир мўрмалахдай бостириб келган булутлар офтоб рўйини тўсиб, қиш ҳукмини давомийлигини уқтирмоқчидек бутун борлиқни қамраб олади. Мен қуёш ва шамол, ёмғир ва қор таъсирида баттар қорайиб кунгуралари олис-олислардан чун қадимий ва шу ила ғарибона кўринадиган Переделкино дачалари жойлашган ёзувчилар шаҳарчасидаги қўноғимга бурноқи йил келиб ўрнашгандим. Ажиб сокин шабадаларга эга ёмғирли жавзо эди ўшанда. Ранго-ранг нурга чўмган христиан черкови, йўлнинг икки ёқаси бўйлаб тизилган ҳаддан ташқари кўп ва баланд арчазорлар, қушларнинг сайроғи, дарахтлар шохида липиллаб чопиб юрган олмахонлар, шоирлар қабристони - у ерда мен қадрдонларим Пастернак ва Евтушенкони зиёрат қилгандим; ижод боғи - унда ҳамон эски даврларнинг ёрлиқлари сақланган; бир замонлар ҳашамат ва маҳобат тимсоли бўлган ёзувчиларнинг дачалари - не тонгки, эндиликда улар тўкилиб, унниқиб ранги ўчган ва аввалги кибор қиёфасини йўқотган, аммо ўша суронли даврларнинг соясигина қолганлигини ҳамон эслатиб турса-да, янги боёнлар, адмираллар ва генералларнинг янги рельф ва услубда қурилган Европа меъморчилигининг авангард архитектурасини ҳашамати ва кўрки олдида салкам аср бўлаёзган бу обидалар тарих қуйига чекинганча мунғайиб турарди. Шунга қарамай жанубдан қора тортиб бу ерга катта адабиётни излаб келган мен каби ҳақир ёзувчига бу ғарибликлар бир дунё таъассурот уйғотарди. Мен ўн тўрт ёшли ўсмир шоир Андрей Вознесенскийга Переделкинодаги уйидан қўнғироқ қилган машҳур шоир Борис Пастернакнинг бир қисми яшил тунука девор билан ўраб олинган, бошқа қисми эса уйнинг атрофидан ўтаётганлар кўриши учун темир панжаралар билан иҳота қилинган уйи олдида бир муддат ҳайрат ва хаёлатга чўкканча туриб қоламан. Бу ер эндиликда йўқлик оламига кетган шоирнинг уй-музейига айлантирилганди. Мени бу ерга илк бор классик ёзувчимиз Темур Пўлатов етаклаб келганди. Кейинчалик мен бу уйнинг олдидан деярли ҳар кун ўтдим. Кўрганларим аллазамонлар олдин сўнги бор безатилган ва эндиликда оҳори тўкилиб бўёқлари кўчиб тушаёзган мунғайган Пастернаксиз уй, боғдаги баланд қарағайлар ва игнабарг арчаларнинг Пастернаксиз шивирлаши, қуёш фотонларини ютаётган япроқларнинг Пастернаксиз маҳзун шитирлаши, ҳамма-ҳаммаси, жуда ҳам ғалати эди. Мен йўл бўйидан ўтиб Серафимович кўчасига қайриламан. Чап қўл тарафимда узундан-узоқ ижод уйининг дарахтлар остидаги ўриндиқлари - не тонгки, бирор ёзувчи кўринмайди; ёзувчилар меҳмонхонаси - Одил Ёқубов билан ҳар гал Москвага келсак, биз шу ерда турардик деб эслаганди Темур Пўлатов менга бу ҳақда; ижод уйи дерикцияси - у ерда ёзувчиларнинг юздан ошиқ дачаларига туриш учун 2000 дан ортиқ ёзувчилар ариза бериб навбат кутиб ётибди; чап қўл тарафимда эса, ёзувчилар дачалари, яшил-оқ-қизил ранглар билан безалган кутубхона - мен бўш вақтларимда доим бу ерга келиб китоб ўқидим, рус адабий газеталари ва жаридаларини варақладим, руҳонияти кучли шоир ва ёзувчиларнинг ижод уммонига шўнғидим; кутубхонанинг шундоқ ёнида болалар ёзувчиси Корней Чуковскийнинг уйи, эндиликда уй-музей жойлашган, бу ерга Россияга қайтган машҳур ёзувчи Александр Солженицин бир муддат яшаганди. Ҳар гал бу ердан ўтганимда кенг пешонали кўзлари бургутникидек чўққисоқол Солженицинни шу ердан ўтганларни кузатаётганлигини хаёлимдан ўтказаман. Уни қоралаш компаниясига қатнашган машҳур ёзувчилар рўйхатини Москвадаги марказий кутубхоналардан бирида архив газеталарни кузатаётганимда кўзим тушганди. Истеъдодларнинг душмани ҳар жамиятда ҳар бир макон ва замонда бўлар эканда. Переделкинодаги ёз ҳаш-пашт дегунча шундай ўтиб кетди. Сентябрнинг сўнги зариф қуёши атроф-боргоҳни қиздиришга ҳар қанча уринмасин, аччиқ шамоллар секин-секин тумонот теварагни забтига ола бошлади. Ям-яшил дарахтлар бир ҳафтада сарғариб кетди, албатта арчаларгина бундан мустасно. Переделкинода қисқа куз келганди. Ҳатто ёмғирлар ёға бошлади. Шамол дарахтлар барглари ҳар кун ва ҳар оқшомда совуриб чиқарди. Мен Москвага келишдан олдин онамни зиёрат қилгани борганимда менга ўзининг нафақа пулига олиб берган иссиқ жимферни кийдим. Она, олиб берганинг учун раҳмат бир дона жимфер. Бу менга жуда таъсир қилди. Мен муҳожиротга кетаётган Бродскийга бир дона хурмо ва плашини олиб келган шоирнинг онасини эсладим. Муҳожиротнинг даҳшатини ҳам. У рус маданиятига ўхшамаган мутлақо ўзга маданиятга тушди ва ўша ерда интиҳо топдим. Коронавирус пандемияси тарқаб одамлар даҳшатга тушган дастлабки пайтларда мени ҳам шундай ҳислар қамраб олганди. Ўзга тупроқларда ному-нишонсиз, абадул-абадга қолиб кетиш даҳшати эди бу. Аммо юрагимдаги бу гардларни Переделкинонинг симмиллаган ёмғирлари ювиб юборди. Ўша олатасирли даврларда Эдуард Лимонов вафот этди, кейинроқ Юрий Бондерев ўтди. Агар истак бўлганида бу ёзувчиларни тириклигида кўриш имкони менда бор эди. Аммо мен ўзи билан ўзи оввора инсон, ёзишни энг муҳим нишона деб билган ғариб ёзувчи ёлғизлик ўқишлари ва яратиқлари билан бирга эдим. Мен нашриётга, музейларга, кутубхоналарга борардим, китоб дўконларини узоқ кезардим ва ўзимга ёқадиган ажойиб китобларни харид қилардим. Ташқарида чиққанимда эса, кузнинг совуқ осмони келаётган қишдан дарак берарди. Дарҳақиқат бу қиш бизни кўп куттирмади. Бу йил қаттиқ қиш бўлади деган ваҳималар тасдиғи ўлароқ илк қор ноябрда ниҳоят бўй кўрсатди. Переделкинони оппоқ қор қоплади. Мен Вознесенскийнинг уйини бориб кўрдим. Йўқ, уй-музейга айлантирилмаган экан. Октябрда бориб кўрганим Булат Окуджава ва аввалроқ ёзда зиёрат қилганим Евгений Евтушенконинг уй-музейларидан фарқли ўлароқ Вознесенский уйи у ўлган 2010 йилдан бери сукунат фаслларига ғарқ бўлганди. Мен унинг хотирасига шоир вафот этган кунда радиодан эшитган хабарим таъсирида эпитафия битгандим. Канадада яшовчи ўзбек шоири Холдор Вулқон мен ҳақимда ёзган мақоласида " Шерзодни шу шеърини ўқиганимда кўзимдан ёш чиқиб кетди" деб эслаганди. Дарвоқе, мени - Вознесенский уйининг шу ўлик сукунати Переделкино қишида кўзимга ёш айланишига сабаб бўлди нечукдир. Менга бир ёзувчи, исмини айтмайман, Вознесенскийнинг аччиқ тақдирини айтиб берди. Билмадим қанчалик ҳақиқат бу гап. Умрининг сўнги йилларида шоир бир ажойиб рус қизи билан танишиб унга жуда боғланиб қолади. Бутун умр бирга яшаган хотини ҳам кўзига кўринмайди. Менинг ёзувчи дўстимнинг қулоғимга шивирлаб айтишича, Андрейнинг хотини яҳудий миллатига мансуб ва ўзидан ёши бироз катта бўлган. Вознесенский уйдан кетмоқчи бўлганда хотини бутун яҳудийларни оёққа турғизади. Унга журнал таҳририятларидан бош муҳаррирлар, ёзувчилар уюшмасидан яна аллақандай чиновниклар телефон қилишарди. Ҳатто партиядан телефон қилиб уни уришишади. Бечора Андрей сувга тушган бўлкадай бўшашиб севгисидан воз кечди ва хотини билан қолди, - деб ниҳоятда муҳим хабарни менга етказгандай тамоқ қириб мени зимдан кузатади ёзувчи дўстим. -Ҳа, шундайми, ҳаётнинг ишлари қизиқ, - дейман мен шоиримнинг бўшашган қиёфасини хаёлимда жонлантирганча. Андрей Вознесенскийнинг мунғайган образи тарих қатига сингиб кетаётган ва эндиликда унинг уйи эканлиги тобора ёддан кўтарилаётган маскани каби хаёлимдан фаромуш бўлади. -Андрейнинг уйидаги ғаройиб картиналарни ўғирлаб кетишди, зим-ғойиб бўлиб ҳеч топилмади дейди ҳамон хаёли Вознесенскийда бўлган танишим. Мен шунчаки бош силкийман, аммо энди Переделкинодаги бошқа манзилларга нигоҳимни қаратаман. Мана бу Булат Окуджаванинг уйи. Эндиликда уй-музей. Ўтган йили қиш бошланганда Булат Окуджава уй-музейига мени ишга чорлашганди. Бу маоши бироз кам бўлган адабий консультант лавозими эди. Мен кам маошга ишлашни истамадимми, ё бошқа сабабданми нимагадир адабий консультант бўлишга кўнглим чопмади. Шунга қарамай мен уларнинг жуда кўп тадбирларида қиш бўйи қатнашдим. Умуман кузатганим Окуджава музейи жуда кўп адабий учрашувлар ташкил қиларди, миллий ва хориж профессорларини адабий лекциялар учун таклиф қилишарди, хуллас жуда фаол эди улар. Буларни кузатиш ва тинглаш қандайдир бошқача, мароқли эди. Руҳнинг фориғланишини ҳис қиларди одам. Бундай паллаларда майда одамларни унутасан, ланж ва суллоҳ адабий давралардан вақтида узоқлашганингга Яратганга шукроналар айтасан. Мен қорли кунларни, совуқ аёзларни юрагимдаги оташ туфайли ҳис қилмасдим, аммо бир куни даҳшатли ҳодиса юз берди. Сталин даврида ўрнатилган газ печ кутилмаганда ишдан чиқди. Бу вақтдаги ҳарорат ва ҳис-туйғуларимни "Переделкино кундалиги"да шундай эслаганман: "Чуқур мелонхолия мени тез-тез таъқиб қилади. Муҳитдаги ҳолатлар, баъзан кутилмаган омадсизлик руҳиятга қаттиқ зарба беради. Переделкинода кеча газни "катёл"дан сизиб чиқиши натижасида бутун тунни совуқроқ хонада ўтказишга тўғри келди. Батариялар музлаб қолмаслиги учун сувини тўкдим. Бугун кун бўйи усталар янги печка ўрнатишди, аммо ҳамон иш битмади. Яна бир совуқ тунни ўтказаман шекилли. Ҳарорат ташқарида -7 градус. Ток печка бор, аммо ҳайҳотдай катта хоналарни қовурғаси кам печь исита олмаслиги табиий. Дам олиш кунлари режалаштирилган ишларни мен кутмаган нарсаларга сарф бўлишини тамоша қилиб пессимизмга бериламан." Икки кун ва тун минус температура уйда ўтирганимда қандай оптимист бўлиш мумкин. Аммо янги газ печ уйни қиздира бошлаганида ва кейинчалик ташқарида ҳаво ҳарорати -28 градусга тушиб кетганида ва бошқа тинимсиз ёққан қорли тунларда иссиқ уй туфайли бу ҳислардан бегона бўлдим. Мен тошкентдалик вақтимдаёқ бошлаб қўйган шимол ёғдуси туркумига кирувчи кўплаб ҳикояларим устидаги ижодий ишларимга шўнғиб кетдим. На ташқарининг совуғи, на олис преферияда ўтириб ўзбек адабий муҳитида мени қора портретимни яратиш ва шундан очко ишлашга иштиёқманд бўлган майда ёзувчиларнинг ғийбатлари ҳам энди менга чикора, ижоднинг ажабтовур ва ғаройиб оламига кириб кетарканман, мен ўзим яратаётган қаҳрамонлар ҳаётида яшардим, ёзувчиликнинг сир-синоатли услублар дунёсида сёрфингист каби сузиб юрар ва менинг йўлимда дуч келиши мумкин бўлган оқим ғалаёнларидан усталик билан ўтиб йўлда давом этардим. Қор ҳамон ёғар, атроф-тумонотнинг оппоқ иронияси онаси ва қизини соғинган ва хаёли бурчини шу ҳис бот-бот тимдалайдиган мен каби ғариб ёзувчини доим ўйлантиргани ўйлантирганди; бу мен билган ўша ғариб ёзувчи эди, аммо яна бир шафқатсиз ёзувчи бор, уни адабиёт, фалсафа ва ижтимоий антропологиядан бошқа нарса қизиқтирмайди. У кундаликлар ёзади, яқин беш йилдан бери бирор насрий асарини оммага эълон қилмаган, кўчирмачилар ва тақлидчилардан услубини қизғонган ва услуб жилоларига телбаларча берилган ва тинимсиз ёзадиган, уйда ҳам, йўлда ҳам, ишда ҳам адабиётдан бошқа нарсани тан олмайдиган бир архитип ўлароқ омма нигоҳини таржималари ва шеърлари билан чалғитишга уринади. Гўё улар уни наср билан шуғулланмаётганидан беҳузурлик туйишмасин, ҳа, шуларни ёзаяпти экан деб тинчланишсин. Аммо бир кун бўрон қўпади, сув остида яширинган айсбергнинг асосий қисми саёз ҳавзаларда ўтириб қолган кемаларни ҳам, уларга қўшиб пароходлару елканли қайиқчаларгача парчинлаб ташлайди. Ҳозирча Переделкинода қор ёғаяпти, шамол турган эмас, бўрондан дарак йўқ, ўлик сукунат оппоқ қор остида тумшайиб ётибди. Майли бу ёзувчиларни қайси бири тарих саҳнига чиқади, ё чиқмас, вақт кўрсатади барини; аммо ҳозир умр қумсоатлари қор каби соврилаётган бу мудаббир кунларда баҳор қачондир келармикан деган бир андиша менинг кўнглим тубларидан ўтиб борадир; бир куни менга Темур Пўлатов айтдики, Переделкинодаги шу дачани олган вақтимда икки дона олма олиб келиб экдим, жуда кичкина ниҳол эди, йигирма йиллар бўлдиёв, олти-етти йил олдин бир нишона гул берди, мен хурсанд бўлдим энди олма мевага кирар экан деб, аммо қор ёғди, гуллар тўкилди, олма эса бошқа гулламай қўйди. Мен олмаларга қарайман. Улар ҳайҳотдай арчазорлар ва қарағайлар атрофида худди уларга тақлид ўлароқ кўкка бўй чўзиб кетган, танасининг қийшиқ кунгураларида қор парчаларини тутиб турибди. Переделкинонинг оппоқ қорли манзараларини кезиб юрарканман баъзан ўйлайман Переделкино баҳорини қачондир кўраманми?! Мен бу ерларга келмасимдан олдин ўтиб кетган ёзувчилар ўша баҳорларни кўришган, энди эса қиш, у ёзувчилар энди йўқ. Мен яшаётган уйнинг биринчи қаватида бир пайтлар кавказлик ажойиб ёзувчи Фозил Искандар турган. Темур Пўлатов билан ёнма-ён қўшни бўлган. Ўша ғаройиб баҳорда олмаларнинг нишона гулларини балки у ҳам кўргандир, яна баҳор келармикан, олмалар яна гуллармикан ва ўша гулларни мен ҳам кўраманми?! Ё ёлғизлик ҳаётимнинг узун қиш кечаларида бу баҳорлар менга насиб этмаганми?! Мелонхолия ва пессимизм таъқиби остида липпиллаб турган ёзув столидаги чироғимни ўчирганча тўшакка етиб бораман ва туннинг оғган озгина қисмини уйқуга туҳфа этаман. Тушимда олмалар гуллаётган эмиш, бир тонга яқин хушнуд ҳолда кўзимни очаман ва ойнага югураман, йўқ, ҳамон мартнинг ўртасида баҳорни кечиктирганча ва бу ғаройиб кечмиш ҳаётимнинг ажиб лаҳзаларида Переделкинода ҳеч бири бошқа бир кристалга ўхшамайдиган йирик-йирик лайлакқор ёғаётганди...


15.03.2021.

Москва-Переделкино
Манба: -Азиз Абдумаликнинг SABOQ.UZ сайти.

 

 

 

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Великий русский юморист Геннадий Хазанов, который мы уважаем от чистого сердца.

 

 

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers




The Watchman

(The story)





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






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




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




 

 

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

- When we entered your cave, your wife said that you were 750 years old. Your daughter is 170 and your son will soon turn 300. Is this true, or did I hear it wrong?
- Yes, it's true, Lainjon Lanat. I'm actually 750 years old. Do I look older or something? - Baltabalyk said.
- That's just it. You look very young. I just wonder, how can a person live so long? - Lainjon Lanat was surprised.
- And what, people don't live so long on your Earth? - Baltabalyk asked in surprise.
- Our people live on average 50-60 years. We have polluted air, countless factories were smoking day and night all over the planet, releasing carbon dioxide into the atmosphere and the radiation is off the scale, - Yakan ibn Hakan replied.
- What are you guys joking about? - Baltabalyk was surprised again.
- Honest pioneer- said Lainjon Lanat.
- Well, you poor earthlings! Our monkeys even live longer than you! - Baltabalyk exclaimed.
- If people on Earth would live as long as you do, then our dictators would sit in the presidential chair for 2000 years!

 

 

Yakan ibn Khaqan


(The fantastic story)







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

It was Lainjon Lanat.




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

eb23ebae4e2f0a5747a3836a73a792433eb756231883193 (700x510, 39Kb)

 

 

Холдор Вулкан

Член Союза писателей Узбекистана


Холдор Вулкан родился в 1959 году в Узбекистане. Окончил Ташкентский Государственный Университет. Пишет стихи и прозу с 1975 года. Живет в Канаде. Написал 4 сборника стихов, ряд повестей, рассказы и романы на двух языках.На узбекском и на русском.Его произведения переведены на английский язык.Не имеет званий и наград.

 

Мгла мне трамваями звонит

(Сборник стихов)


Копирование, распространение, а также коммерческое использование сборник стихов "Мгла мне трамваями звонит " без письменного согласия правообладателя запрещено. (Холдор Вулкан)

 

***


Глядя на закат угасающий алый, думал я о тебе в осеннем саду. Оказывается, ты велела, чтобы мне сказали, что ты умерла в позапрошлом году. Не плачь, окрашенные волосы теребя, глядя на птиц, как на летящий бумеранг. Об одном только прошу я тебя, больше не умирай...


***


Ветер одиноко по берегу бродит и как будто я вижу про море сон, где ветер невидимой рукой гладит каракуловые кудри волн. Ломтик льда луны тает в небе, простор в свет лунный одет. Море листает шуршащие волны, словно подшивки старых газет.


***


Вот снова разрозилась гроза, сверкают молнии и громы гремят.С ужасом поднимая к небу глаза, время успокаевает своих времят.Бей небо грамадный колокол в набат, пробуждающие звоны вали!Пусть тресется весны зеленая кровать и проснутся уснувшие дали!... Прошумел дождь, образуя разливы. А время со своими времятами утекло. Не треснуло даже, не разбилось, упавшее с неба тонкое стекло.


***


Весна, как любовь творит чудеса, разбудив природу от сладкого сна, скоро, оглушая криками небеса, перелетные птицы воротятся к нам. Придет в нежных шараварах весна, стройная, молоденькая леди. А на тополях звонко запоет синица: -Чка ди-ди-ди-ди-ди-ди! Услышав это, улыбаясь в тиши, люди перестанут огороды копать.Будут наслаждаться пением птиц, молча прислонившись к черенкам лопат.


***


Над цветущим лугом бабочки, шаля, летят роем то направо, то налево.Вдалеке знойные хлопковые поля, плавятся в июльском мареве.Замирает от дикого восторга июнь, и тишины задумчивая немота. Вихрь одиноко на песчаном дюне, исполняет танец живота.


***


Стебли хлопчатника на костре горели, и в небо искры взлетали пулей, как пчелки, кои ни о чём не жалея, выскакивали из улья.C треском горел во мгле хворост.Пламя клонилось то вправо, то влево. Будто алыми искрами костра переполнилось, вечное и бескрайное небо!


***


В прозрачном пруду зеркальном, колеблется отражение луны. Лягушки храпят в затоне дальнем, пускай им снятся волшебные сны. Ветры пушинки одуванчиков задули, в дельте реки происходят чудеса.Там тополя на деревянных ходулях, переходят вброд небеса.


***


Чтобы как - то утолить жажду облака, спустились с небес к водопою. Где приливными волнами река, разноцветные камешки моет. Пологие берега, высокие обрывы, дождь задумчиво моросит мелкий. В зубах с березовыми ветками бобры, режут зеркало дельты.


***


Луна молча заглядывает в окна, безлюдный сумрак незрячий. За окном, звеня капельками одна, оттепель безутешно плачет. Чернеют деревья далеких лесов, сижу одиноко, тишине внемля. С ресниц стрелок настенных часов, как слезы тихо капает время...


***


По бескрайному и синему океану небес, уплывает плот журавлей на юг. Чтобы не отставали и подтянулись, крикливо они друг друга зовут. Летят журавли все дальше и дальше, на полях пусто, не видно никого. Пугало улетающим птицам машет, своим рваным рукавом. О ком рыдает за полями поезд? И ты, осень, скажи, грустишь о ком? Иногда под дождем моешь и моешь, горькими слезами стекла окон.


***


Воробьи стайкой испуганно летят, слышен шум крыльев, шорох. Хлопает в ладоши и свистит опять, в виноградном саду сторож. Гудят на далеком причале паромы, разбудив тишину, которая спит. Бережно на своих спинах коровы, переправляют через реку птиц.


***


Знойное лето не любит говорить, оно, как горлинка храпит в роще. Одуванчик, словно в пурге фонари, задумчиво пушинки крошет. Бабочки по дворам молча бродят, зеленеют ряской зеркальные затоны. Где отражения свои роняя в воду,  улыбаются кувшинок бутоны. В пойме реки пасутся коровы, там васильки синеглазые растут. Сквозь марево на дальнюю дорогу, из - под ладони смотрит пастух.


***


В предрассветном часу, как раз, прозвучал звук выстрела грома. В грозовое небо глядели окна, а у грома сново промах. Сверкали молнии молчаливо,  дождь стучал в окна, моросил. Задумчиво в пруд смотрела ива, где плещут хвостиками караси.


***


Лунный вечер, не жужжат комары, в глазах осени томительная тоска. Как люди на свои отражения фонари, смотрят с высокого моста.


***


В небесах звезд заискрятся соли, которые нам недоступны, увы. Белеет бумагой заснеженное поле, под настольной лампой луны. Мне не хочется наступить на снег, под которым тихо дремлет весна. В лунной тишине, словно во сне, на свою тень молча смотрит сосна.


***


Я верю: настанет счастливый день и мы снова встретимся с тобой. Крепко сплетаются наши тени, как полевые вьюнки под луной. Там будут говорить только глаза и, слеза, словно жемчуг хрупкий, Покатится, чтобы радостно дрожать на краю твоей нежной улыбки.


***


Разбитый фонарь на улице грустит, глядя на осколки своего плафона, похожие на опавшие лепестки белого пиона.


***


Талант весеннего дождя редкий, он умеет шелестеть и шуметь. Шумно раскачивая деревьев ветки, поет рассеянно, создавая дуэт. Стоя на крыльце песне его внемлю, тихо сверкает на горизонте молния. Будто она в сумраке землю с небом, соединяет сваркой безмолвно.


***


Словно в тишине затуманенного рая, уснуло поле непробудным сном. Коровы молча, головы не поднимая, пасутся мирно в нем. Окрестность звука всякого лишена, речка осенними туманами дышит.Старуха, окликая в дикой тишине, корову свою ищет.


***


Летите по лугам, не нарушая покой, бабочки, за собой тишину волоча. Не бойтесь, если за утренной рекой, заалеет заря, как плаха палача. Пускай летят одуванчиков пушинки, вслед за вами задумчиво и сонно. Летите над прудом, где белые кувшинки, распустили в зеркало корни. Садитесь на бесплодные деревья потом, где ветры им тонкие ветви плетут. Пусть радуются они, подумав о том, что они тоже цветут.


***


Дороги, как линия жизни на ладони, ветер ветви раскачивает ивам. Кои глядят в зеркало затона, рассеянно и молчаливо. Бабочка с ромашками целуясь тайно, гуляет по лугам, что - то ищет. Чтобы не спугнуть бабочку случайно, тишина молчит и не дышит.


***


Уходя в запой, вдрызг пьяный, рокочет море, сходит с ума. Манет к себе и тянет, как магнит, тихо сияет над морем луна. В ракушке тишины ветерок вольный, шелестит и его ко сну клонит. Задумчивый прилив на берегу сонно, сворачивает волны в рулоны.

 

 

 

Подробнее...

 

132221451_gorod_Brempton (202x216, 31Kb)

Холдор Вулкан

Член союза писателей Узбекистана

 

Мероприятие

 

 

(Памяти великого узбекского поэта Шавката Рахмона)

 


Любил он тишину заснеженных полей,
Писал о цветущих камнях стихи,
Словно фонари туманных аллей,
В табачном дыму грустя в тиши.

Хоронила поэта на кладбище толпа,
Капали горькие слезы с ресниц.
Пышные венки, шепот и мольба,
Будто таял снег в сумраке весны.   

Все ушли, шагая осторожно и тише,
Шли дни и о нем многие забыли.
Только деревья, не уходя с кладбище,
Скорбили долго над его могилой.




25/08/2016.
4:07 дня.
Канада, Онтерио.



 

 

Холдор Вулкан

Член Союза писателей Узбекистана

 


Полный текст повести "Листопад"



Холдор Вулкан родился в 1959 году в Узбекистане. Окончил Ташкентский Государственный Университет. Пишет стихи и прозу с 1975 года. Живет в Канаде. Написал 4 сборника стихов, ряд повестей, рассказы и романы на двух языках.На узбекском и на русском.Его произведения переведены на английский язык.Не имеет званий и наград.






Отзыв неизвестного читателя о повести Холдора Вулкана "Листопад" в электронной библиотеке "Ридли".



Уважаемые читатели, искренне надеемся, что книга "Листопад" Холдор Вулкан окажется не похожей ни на одну из уже прочитанных Вами в данном жанре. Не остаются и без внимания сквозные образы, появляясь в разных местах текста они великолепно гармонируют с основной линией. Очевидно, что проблемы, здесь затронутые, не потеряют своей актуальности ни во времени, ни в пространстве. Значительное внимание уделяется месту происходящих событий, что придает красочности и реалистичности происходящего. Увлекательно, порой смешно, весьма трогательно, дает возможность задуматься о себе, навевая воспоминания из жизни. Портрет главного героя подобран очень удачно, с первых строк проникаешься к нему симпатией, сопереживаешь ему, радуешься его успехам, огорчаешься неудачами. Чувствуется определенная особенность, попытка выйти за рамки основной идеи и внести ту неповторимость, благодаря которой появляется желание вернуться к прочитанному. По мере приближения к исходу, важным становится более великое и красивое, ловко спрятанное, нежели то, что казалось на первый взгляд. По мере приближения к апофеозу невольно замирает дух и впоследствии чувствуется желание к последующему многократному чтению. Помимо увлекательного, захватывающего и интересного повествования, в сюжете также сохраняется логичность и последовательность событий. На первый взгляд сочетание любви и дружбы кажется обыденным и приевшимся, но впоследствии приходишь к выводу очевидности выбранной проблематики. "Листопад" Повесть Холдора ВулканаХолдор "Листопад" весьма интересное и захватывающее литературное произведение.


Второй отзыв неизвестного читателя о повести Холдора Вулкана "Листопад" в электронной библиотеке "Ридли"



Дорогие читатели, есть книги интересные, а есть - очень интересные. К какому разряду отнести повесть Холдора Вулкана "Листопад" решать Вам!Читая эту повесть, невольно проживаешь книгу - то исчезаешь полностью в ней, то возобновляешься, находя параллели и собственное основание, и неожиданно для себя растешь душой. С первых строк обращают на себя внимание зрительные образы, они во многом отчетливы, красочны и графичны. Финал немного затянут, но это вполне компенсируется абсолютно непредсказуемым окончанием. Благодаря динамичному и увлекательному сюжету, книга держит читателя в напряжении от начала до конца. Гармоничное взаимодополнение конфликтных эпизодов с внешней окружающей реальностью, лишний раз подтверждают талант и мастерство литературного гения. Благодаря уму, харизме, остроумию и благородства, моментально ощущаешь симпатию к главному герою и его спутнице. Мягкая ирония наряду с комическими ситуациями настолько гармонично вплетены в сюжет, что становятся неразрывной его частью. Данная история - это своеобразная загадка, поставленная читателю, и обычной логикой ее не разгадать, до самой последней страницы. Создатель не спешит преждевременно раскрыть идею произведения, но через действия при помощи намеков в диалогах постепенно подводит к ней читателя. Темы любви и ненависти, добра и зла, дружбы и вражды, в какое бы время они не затрагивались, всегда остаются актуальными и насущными.

19.09.2016.




 

1 глава

Весенние поля



Весна. Птицы поют на высоких тополях у полевого стана, где расцвела белая акация. Совсем недавно среди терновых ветвей акации можно было увидеть гнездо сороки, а теперь оно исчезло из виду, среди листьев и цветущих гроздей этого дерева. Сороки очень умные птицы. Они знают, что мальчишки не могут залезть на дерево, у которого терновые ветви, так как его острые колючие шипы могут больно поцарапать им руки и ноги и даже порвать им шаровары. Цветы акации пленили душу словно сувениры, сделанные из осколков белого фарфора. Приятный запах этих гроздей ветры разносят по всему полю, где работают дехкане. Хуршида работала, стуча кетменем на поле. Это была девушка лет восемнадцати, светлокожая, с густыми и нежными вьющимися волосами темно русого цвета, со стройной фигурой и пышней грудью, с карими глазами и ясными зрачками. Она так красиво улыбалась коралловыми губами, показывая белые здоровые и красивые зубы, что многие парни в селе были от неё без ума. Но Хуршида не обращала внимания ни на одного из них, так как она не испытывала к ним нежного чувства под названием любовь. Своим равнодушием она еще больше усиливала "гнет" над влюбленными. Она даже не отвечала на любовные письма, которые писали парни и передавали ей через её подруг.
Отец Хуршиды Абдулджаббар очень строг по отношению к своей дочери Хуршиде и своим тяжелым характером и поведением похож скорее на отчима, чем на родного отца. Он часто выпивает спиртное и устраивает пьяные дебоши. Но Абдулджаббар является хорошим специалистом в области стрижки овец. Работает он механиком на животноводческой ферме колхоза "Тиллакудук". Чинит на ферме доильные аппараты, автопоилки, транспортеры, очищающие коровники, комбайны, измельчители кормов и так далее. Хотя Абдулджаббар не является религиозным фанатиком, но он строго запрещает Хуршиде ходить на вечеринки, посвященные дням рождения ее одноклассниц, где присутствовали парни. Абдулджаббар поклялся, что если его дочь Хуршида опозорит их семью, то он ее проклянет. Поэтому Рахила каждый день настойчиво говорит Хуршиде, чтобы она не играла с огнем и была осторожной в общениях со своими одноклассниками и другими незнакомыми парнями, Рахила знает, что в классе ее дочери не все девушки относятся к Хуршиде дружелюбно. То есть некоторые девушки,завидуют Хуршиде черной завистью, потому что она красивая и многие парни были влюблены не в них, а в нее.
С такими мыслями Хуршида продолжала работать на поле, выравнивая грунт для посева хлопка. Она любит работать на полях в одиночестве, так как никто ей не мешает думать о том, о чем она хочет думать. Одиночество для нее свобода, как бескрайное небо. Иногда Хуршида останавливается, выпрямляя спину, внимая далекому и печальному голосу одинокого удода, который доносится из ивовой рощи, где бродит пьяный ветер. Издалека доносился приглушенный рокот одинокого трактора.Хуршида задумчиво наблюдала за низкими проворными полетами ласточек. Они летали над полями, едва не касаясь земли своими белыми брюшками и крыльями, похожими на изогнутые черные кинжалы, с острыми лезвиями. Потом она снова приступила к работе, напевая грустную песню о любви. А солнце тем временем медленно, но неизбежно поднималось к зениту. Хуршида долго работала на поле под палящим солнцем и приостановила работу только тогда, когда на пригорке повариха Тубо с криком начала зазывать людей на обед.
-Чойгааааааааа! - кричала она, и ее голос летел над весенними полями, как птица освободившая из ее грудной клетки.
Оставив кетмень на краю поля, Хуршида пошла в сторону полевого стана. Приближаясь к нему, она почувствовала тонкий аромат, душистый запах благоухающей белой акации, которая цвела около полевого стана, где росли высокие тополя и плакучие ивы. В этот момент из культиватора, который остановился рядом с полевым станом, спрыгнул молодой тракторист лет двадцати-двадцати пяти, в потертой тюбетейке, высокий, плечистый, курносый, с кудрявыми волосами, с усами над мясистыми губами. Особой приметой этого парня был его зеленый шрам на левой брови. Он придавал его внешнему виду суровость и мужественность. Своим видом он напоминал римских гладиаторов, которые голыми руками сражались с голодными тиграми. Хуршида раньше не видела этого тракториста в здешних местах, но сразу вспомнила его трактор, за которым она недавно наблюдала издалека на хлопковом поле. Пока Хуршида снимала с ветки тутового дерева свой небольшой мешочек, в котором были хлеб, сахар, заварка, алюминиевая ложка, и кружка с миской, тракторист уже стоял в очереди у полевого жестяного самовара, где труженики по очереди наливали себе кипяток. Взяв свою кружку, Хуршида насыпала в неё заварку и тоже встала в очередь. Увидев ее, парень повернулся вполоборота и уступил ей место. Не ожидавшая такого джентльменства, Хуршида поблагодарила молодого тракториста и по-доброму улыбнулась. Спустя несколько минут парень начал разговаривать с ней:
- Девушка, давайте-ка я вам расскажу удивительную историю, чтобы быстрее шло время, пока мы стоим в очереди. Короче говоря, иду я вчера мимо этого дерева - красота!- от белоснежных цветов этой акации глаз невозможно оторвать. Не акация цветущая, а молодая невеста в белом подвенечном платье! Я невольно остановился, любуясь необычной красотой этого дерева, смотрю на него с восторгом, словно дехканин, приехавший из далекой деревни с мешком на плечах, который впервые увидел город. Тут раздались автоматные очереди. Думаю, ё-моё, какой - то террорист стреляет в меня из Калаша. Я быстро лег на землю, чтобы тот не изрешетил меня, выпустив всю обойму. Лежу, блин, лежу и гляжу, а там поет сорока. Ну и, думаю, дела... Стыдно стало даже самому перед собой. Встал, оглянулся вокруг, нашел свою потертую тюбетейку, стряхнул пыль, нахлобучил ее на голову и пошел дальше. Хорошо, что, кроме меня, этого никто не видел.
Выслушав рассказ тракториста, все вокруг дружно рассмеялись. Хуршида тоже. Тут подошла их очередь. Но, как назло, кипяток перестал литься из крана самовара. Выяснилось, что причиной был тот факт, что в самоваре уровень кипятка снизился ниже уровня крана, вот он и перестал литься. Но тракторист нашёл выход из положения: он попросил Хуршиду нагнуть самовар и налить кипятку в кружку, которую он подставил.
- Хорошо - согласилась Хуршида и, когда молодой тракторист подставил свою кружку к кранику самовара, Хуршида осторожно нагнула самовар. Но тут случилась беда: Хуршида случайно уронила самовар, и он опрокинулся, ошпарив молодого тракториста кипятком. Тракторист, сделав гримасу на лице от сильного ожога, начал прыгать от боли, опираясь на одну ногу, втягивая воздух в легкие.
- Вс -а-аа-ах! Вс -аа-аа-аа-аа-ахх! Уууууухххх!- прыгал он от жгучей боли и крутился как собака, которая гонится за своим хвостом.
Хуршида заплакала от испуга и от жалости, не зная, что делать и как успокоить бедного тракториста. А труженики, которые уже приступили к приему пищи, дружно встали со своих мест, сочувствуя трактористу, который нечаянно ошпарился кипятком. А некоторые весело смеялись, особенно когда табельщик Абделькасум закричал, мол, тракторист, ты сними свои штаны и прыгай живо в арык!
- Ой, простите, ради бога, акаджон! Это я во всем виновата!.. Сильно обожглись?! Бедный!.. Не знаю я вашего имени... Как вас звать?.. - сказала Хуршида, плача и кружась вокруг парня в растерянности.
Молодой тракторист, держась за ошпаренное бедро, остановился на миг и с гримасой на лице сказал:
- Меня что ли? Вс -ааа-аа-- ахххх... меня зовут Султан!
- Ой, Султан-ака, простите ради Бога! Я не хотела... - просила прощения Хуршида со слезами на глазах.
-Да, вы не волнуйтесь, девушка, ничего... Вс -а-аа-аа-аххх... Ааа-аа-аа-ахх....До свадьбы заживет - сказал тракторист Султан, слегка улыбаясь сквозь гримасы на лице, продолжая скакать на одной ноге.
Потом спросил, искажая лицо от невыносимой боли:
-А вас? Как вас звать?
- Меня? Ах да, мое имя Хуршида
- Очень приятно... Вс -аа-аа аа-ааах... Ыыыых!Красивое у Вас имя, как вы сами, честное слово. Вы, Хуршида, не обращайте внимание на меня. Лучше поешьте чего-нибудь. Время обеда всё же... - сказал Султан, продолжая опираться на одну ногу, чтобы смягчить боль.
- Нет, ничего не буду есть. Ну, как же я могу есть, когда вы мучаетесь из-за меня адской болью? - плакала Хуршида.
Тут Султан тракторист перестал прихрамывать и сказал.
- Ну, что вы, Хуршида, перестаньте сейчас же плакать! Ведь люди смотрят на нас. Все. Уже отпустила боль. Вы не волнуйтесь. У меня все в порядке. Клянусь гаечным ключом. Вы что, не верите моим словам?.. Ну, тогда мне ничего не остается, кроме как доказать Вам, что я здоров как бык. Вот сморите.
Такими словами, напевая мелодию, он начал танцевать, притопывая своими кирзовыми сапогами, как чечеточник с большим стажем.
Султан танцевал, кружась, как вихрь и напевая веселую музыку. Увидев это, все вокруг смеялись, словно зрители, которые смотрят смешные представления бродячего артиста. Хуршида тоже улыбалась сквозь слезы, радуясь тому, что Султана отпустила боль.

 

 

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