TRAGEDY

A short story by Nusrat Rahmat

TRAGEDY

 Dedicated to Mirsharif Khujayev

Have you ever paid any attention,  apparently have you understood, analyzed some women’s all poisons, anger and hatred included and sometimes once in a lifetime swearing? I think sometimes as explorers walking among local people, write down folklore, national traditions and customs, it would be better if they collected swearing.

 I came to this conclusion after I had heard my granny (my mother’s, mother’s) swearing every time with new idioms and phrases which used against my father. I will never forget most of them: “I want you to die from severe pain! You are ungrateful!”
                                                                  

“If only your house burned and you would die without saying a word: if only, a corpse washer was fastidious and there would be no one to carry your coffin!”

Sometimes she used to say more modern ones: “If only you died during an operation! If only people in morgue gave a woman’s corpse instead of yours to your relatives!”

I knew my father when I went to school for the first time. After our lesson was over, we noticed that a man was staring at us precisely he was looking for someone. He was worried about something, but his kind eyes and tall figure were very familiar to me. In a moment he came close to me.

“Are you Sunnatullo?” he asked smiling and worrying... With some fear, I knotted my head saying say and he gave me a hug: he kissed my face and neck.

“I am your father!” he said after pressing his excitement. Then looking around with concerning he gave me questions about my health and study, said something:

 “I gave you your name. You were born circumcised…”

Then he kept silence, he looked at face along with a parental kindness. He shook his head with some satisfaction. In the end, he told me not to tell anyone about our meeting, especially someone from home. After then we met with him very frequently.

To my mind, when my sister and I were attending to kindergarten my mother and father were divorced. Mostly my granny was the main reason for this.

My granny is our kindest person. Her husband (dead) was a water-supervisor at the time of Soviets. He wasn’t just an ordinary water- supervisor, but he was an official whose work was to divide water into districts. People say that he earned more money especially at the time of water shortage (It is not necessary to explain its reason to a clever reader). Granny was used to living in that kind of abundant life; her protest was growing time to time because my father earned money by the only salary.

Granny is very nervous by nature. She is always ready to get revenge. She thinks that she is always right and others should give her a way. If life and situation change, she won’t change her opinions.

But it is unfair to put the blame only on her to my parents’ divorce. They themselves must be wrong. I read somewhere that “one should fight for a family unity”. Instead of this, mother complained against father and it is not surprising that she did everything with the direction of my granny. Being fed up with all these unpleasant things they chose this way. After their divorce, my father got married another woman. He has one boy and one daughter from that woman.

That time my father was a teacher at a boarding –school which was some miles far away from our village. At this place, children with some lacks in their behaviour and who did something against the law study and live. Now he is a deputy director.

When I was graduating 9th grade, the matter of where I should apply became a family argument. If granny wanted me a pharmacist like my uncle, my mother supported the idea of being surgeon. Either because they couldn’t come to any decision and got nervous or at that moment the place of the father was so necessary, granny began to swear my father again.

“Begin and say. Where you yourself want to study?” – didn’t keep silence my sister.

“I will apply to the construction- handicrafts college”, - I said after being silent with some hesitation.

There were lots of reasons why I said that. This college is close to our home. I can go on foot and it is possible to save money on a bus ticket. Besides, at school I was interested in drawing: I helped decorate wallpapers, sometimes write mottos. I heard that at this college painting, drawing flowers at houses are taught.

Finally, first they didn’t agree but after some time they agreed with me.

I was worried that I studied at school in Russian, so I might face difficulties with Uzbek. However, the teachers there were all so kind that all of them helped me adapt there. And I made several friends.

It is interesting that from the first year I was famous being a painter. I was responsible for writhing mottos and decorating wallpapers. At the final course, wall painting and ornament were taught, but it wasn’t satisfying. The main reason was that there was not any teacher on these subjects.

At the graduation time, my relatives (this time without any argument) told me to continue my job in my uncle’s office. They had come with one decision with him.

My uncle, clearly my mullah uncle…

People call him Khoji Arabboy. But he doesn’t look like an Arabian, and he has no connection. He reminds me Stalin’s pictures or his figure in the movies. His one by one speech, calm actions, smoothly brushing his dark hair, stroking his moustache (coming from Hajj, he grew a beard, but then he shaved it) which is well-fitted the face and some other actions reminds me the former leader. He also reminds a person who slept and ate enough, much calmer and thoughtful. After the Hajj travel, my uncle became more pious: he didn’t stop namaz and Roza and liked to give advice and admonition to people. But now he has changed:  he goes to the mosque more demonstratively only on Fridays with his BMV. Maybe he has no time for other obligations.

This person calls me “man” in a spoiling way. I got already used to this treatment and I respect my uncle with somehow fear. In our city, there are not one but two chemistries belonging to this person. He has a four-roomed flat in a micro-region. Although he has a large house in a village, he also bought a house in the field. At first, he was ahead of a neighbourhood, but he got rid of it after leaving this job. As I know, after my father left us, my uncle became our main supporter.

At last, I began to work this respectful person’s chemistry. Time will show what will happen…

Granny and mother gave me advice until the morning. They more and more repeated that my uncle doesn’t give a job to anyone and if I work hard, I will be a rich man like him. In the main chemistry located in a city centre my elder uncle’s son (who hanged himself last year contracting with severe illness), and our two relatives were salespeople. During the week I just went in and out there. There were lots of people buying wholesale price; I helped them to deliver their goods to their cars. After several weeks my uncle led me to the room where medicines are prepared. On the door, there was a sign saying   “Forbidden to enter for strange people”. In this large and darker room, the woman whom most of the people call just “Sister” with her daughter and a teenager who speaks Uzbek with mistakes called Murshid worked. In spite of meeting them several times, my uncle decided to introduce us to each other.

“This man – is my nephew”,-he said, “I want him to work with you. I hope you will teach him how to work. Sister, be aware of him! Require discipline equally like others!”

Then turning to me he adored Murshid.

“He is a very obedient and humble boy. He is a real Muslim. Be together two of you!”

After then I began working. The work here was the same and very simple: I had to wash the glass dishes whose capacity was 100 gram, 50 gram. Then I dried them. We poured them white and thick medicines from the one-liter dish. Then we closed their mouth and stuck labels on them.  These labels were written in German, so it was difficult to understand. However, a paper of the box which they placed in was written that these medicines were made in Berlin that they were very rare against worms living in the human organism. Moreover, ways of use were written in detail.

Sister was working very hard, showing me directions. And also she told not to tell anybody about our secret work.

After one month they told there was an increasing demand for another medicine. We mixed powder to stink, flour shaped medicine and put it in little plastic dishes. In its advertisements, it was said that it was a handy means against hair louse and it was helpful to remove bugs.

I got along very well with Murshid. As my uncle said he was very obedient and humble. After some time I knew that his father (dead)was an Uzbek, his mother was a Mesxetin Turkish. About 10 years ago, on noisy days some kind of bad people resisted to Turkish people.  At those days they sent a letter to Murshid’s house and threatened them if they didn’t move in a week…

To tell the truth, it wasn’t anything but threatening. But the whole family was in fear. Murshid’s father was an elector welder at that time he was making a greenhouse in my uncle’s yard. Being aware of master’s problem my uncle gave him a hand.

“If you are so much worrying you can move into my flat in the city: these vague minded people will be punished by the government in 4 or 5 months”, - he said.

Murshid’s father sold their house in a village and they came to my uncle’s flat. Then they bought a house from the city.

When Murshid remembered uncle’s kindness, I was proud and at the time I feel positive feelings about my friend. Even I repeated above I had to emphasize his hard-working, well-mannered and gentle behaviour. But it seemed ridiculous to me when I knew that he was so superstitious and he had his own stories about ghosts and specters. He was very religious at this young age.

“You studied in a Russian school, so you don’t understand these things”,- he said as a response to my objection.

For some reason, Murshid wasn’t tired to repeat about the uniqueness of God. Sometimes I saw Gospel in his bosom and looking around with fear (he thought the sister was a spy) and adoring Jesus Christ. At first, this situation seemed to me strange, but after a while, I didn’t care about it. For example, after work he didn’t want to go to the cinema or concert instead he said he was hurrying to pray. Time to time he began to call me and explain that a person who worshipped God in his soul would enter another world and become purer.

One day after work I went along with him. I saw a sign saying “Church” when we entered a narrower street behind the hospital. Inside the building, there was a crowd of people; most of them were the youth (Uzbek and Tadjiks) with the same age with us. Entering the hall we took our seats: public worship began. A man (whose thick neck joined with the head) began sermon. After emphasizing that it was urgent to believe in God, he ordered to read some page. The crowd accompanied him.

 “Jesus Christ! I need you, I thank you for your death on the crucifix and recovering looses! I will open my heart to you and I state you, my redeemer! Rule my life and change the way you want! I want to be with you in eternal life! Amin.”      After this, we were told to make a donation for God’s sake and a velvet bag was passed to us. A preacher told us that God was looking at how much we make a donation. Firstly I was going to give 200 sums, but some kind of greed made me feel worried and I gave 100 sums. Then they told us that it was important to buy Uzbek translation of Gospel and DVD discs in which the life of Jesus Christ described. That thick-necked man took a microphone and adored Jesus Christ for two hours.

“There won’t be any difference between man and a robot if he has no religion and idea in his soul”, - he concluded his speech.

  To tell the truth, I was so bored that I told my friend I wouldn’t come here again. He surprised because he didn’t expect such kind of attitude from me.

That day when we were just going to start the work, my uncle entered our office and told me and Murshid to bring a medicine.

“I called them on the phone- the car is outside: take two bags of medicine against lice and ten pockets of medicine against tape-worm”, - he said.

Our car stopped at the store called “Veterinarian store” situated close to the institution of agriculture. As I entered I smelled the strange odour. I heard that the smell of all the chemistries was the same. But this one was the fouler. But it was a usual condition in such a place where medicines for cattle, poultry and for their pests.

The second situation attracted me here was the pictures of horses, cattle and poultry hung on the wall painted as if they were alive. It was evident that the painter was master of his job and he drew them on green grass. Murshid’s acquaintance led us to the basement. On the wall, there were clumsy pictures of rats and pigs which made you feel unpleasant. When Murshid explained our visit’s purpose to the man, he turned to the half-opened door and in Tadjik asked from his companions standing outside:

“Did brother Khoji send money?”

“Is Stalin?-asked his companion standing outside and answered quickly:- He sent!”

“He continued after some silence: - The former killed people by gun, the latter by poison…”

They laughed. The third voice added (this man also in Tadjik).

“Maybe it is not Stalin, but Hitler is doing this- the medicine is being made in Germany!”

They laughed in a loud voice. I couldn’t understand whether these men meant my uncle or another man. An unpleasant mood woke in my heart. After we brought the load the Sister asked in a complaining manner.

“Where is the label?”

“No one told us”, - Murshid told the truth.

The sister called and asked my uncle. He informed that the workers in the press didn’t manage it. He told to send two of us there tomorrow.

But the next day…

As Murshid entered I understood that he was in a bad mood.

“What is the matter?-I asked worrying?”

“Very bad,- he said sadly,- this morning a rat came out from my shoe. I was afraid.”

“Ok, what’s wrong?”

“I think it wasn’t a rat, but evil force, dark shadow! It is the punishment from God as a lesson to my sins. Coming here I have sinned.”

Then he began praying:

“Jesus Christ! Wash me with your sacred blood! You are sacred and make me sacred too! Forgive me! Forgive me! Forgive me! – You will see-he said after some silence,- some kind of accident will happen- I feel it.”

“Stop it…”

“You don’t believe, but my mother dreamt of rats before the letter was dropped in our house.”

“So, we began our working day as usual.”

The sister repeated more and more that we should bring the labels, and while we were just going out, my uncle came. We were very afraid seeing his anger.

“You, sit here! - he ordered Murshid in an angry voice. Where did you go to work yesterday?”

I knew that he went for public worship and kept it secret. This time he didn’t disguise.

“For public worship”, - he said turning pale.

“What kind of public worship? -My uncle shouted angrily. To the Russian mosque?”

“Khoji granddad, God is unique”, - he said raising his head.

Hearing his words my uncle got angry, his face changed that no one could recognize, his moustache seemed wilted.

“You are stupid! You are the Muslim’s child! Do you have (swearing)… in church?! Where is honesty? It is a sin! Damn you, you led him too there!- he said, pointing to me. Weren’t you afraid of a sin? A sin?”

Insulted Murshid couldn’t tolerate:

“I am afraid of my one sin,- he said. I am having people eat pig’s medicine.”

My uncle didn’t expect this kind of answer: he couldn’t control himself and said: “You, ungrateful!”

He slapped Murshid hard across his face. Murshid burst into tears. He kept silence for a while, then started walking outside and stopped turning his back.

“You hit me, God will hit you!” - he said and went out angrily.

  Whether my uncle understood that he exaggerated or he was afraid that Murshid would reveal his secret, he said in a smooth voice:

“You will understand your mistakes one day! You forgot whose ummat[1] you are. You are misled!”

But Murshid didn’t hear his words- he went already. This unpleasant turmoil happened unexpectedly and quickly; then all of us went on our own work slowly. The next day I didn’t want to go to work. To tell the truth, I noticed that I couldn’t dare to look at my uncle. The day after tomorrow also I pretended to my granny and mother.

After this accident, I was afraid to look at the threshold as if a rat would be in my shoe and someday the same unpleasant meeting would happen to me. After several weeks my uncle’s son (he works as an accountant) came our home. All of us showed a great respect for him.

“My father sent me to you,-the guest said,- after finding Murshid both of you should go to work tomorrow; my father forgave him.”

But I was sure that Murshid would never go back there. Later I told to my family members I would find another work. They worried about me. My granny, as usual, began swearing my father.

“That devil made him change his mind! Oh God, if only street boys would stab you to death!”

After being bored with idleness, I went to my father. He was in his room, he greeted me by nodding his head and continued his threat to a teenager sitting in front of him with fear:

“Oh, you are little ox, why did you do like that? Speak, you are unlucky! You are ashamed us. Was that the hope for you?!”

As the boy kept silence bending his head, my father continued in another voice. That poet was our guest, we invited him. He came here to read a poem to you. With the purpose to give education to pupils like you…”

It was clear from the tune of the sentence that when the poet was reading a poem about Motherland, this naughty boy pointing at his forehead, threw a potato. The boy still didn’t say any word, so my father lets him go.

I told about everything to my father, he regretted …

“All right, all happened, - he said, but it is not good being idle anymore. You had abilities in painting and dyeing occupation. We have a master: if you want, I will give you him as an apprentice.”

“But I cannot come here”, - I objected.

“Don’t worry, the masterworks in another place”, - he calmed me.

I agreed, but the situation changed at night. My granny and mother had called my brother-in-law (he is a candidate in the construction faculty) and my sister. They had decided for my fate.

“It is not good being idle,- my brother-in-law began advising, - you had the better study or work somewhere.”

Others supported him and he continued.- If you want to study in our faculty, I will search for other ways. It wouldn’t worse if you did- you will get high education. Besides, you have an interest in this field.

My granny and mother answered for me, clearly, they emphasized that it is important to study. I hesitated.

My brother-in-law has some lessons. I don’t know whether he takes money from students or not. But I knew that he couldn’t defend his dissertation. I was worrying that I might put my mother and granny in a difficult situation if studied. I also had a hope in my soul that in this university I could learn painting and art.

So, I began preparation for entering examinations. My father was very pleased hearing about it.

“Seeing this vague pupil I have a great worry about your fate, - he said. It is not harmful if you study.”

But before the exam, my brother-in-law checked my knowledge and hesitated: he came to a conclusion that it was better to find another way. My mother played village party with her colleague (she appreciated her job and colleague), in other words, they gathered in every 15 days and collected money. In my opinion, she gave her one-year – saving to my brother-in-law. They helped me a lot in entering the examination.

“Don’t mark tests”, -  my brother-in-law said before entering the exam.

While I was reading tests, a man came quickly and took several people’s tests and mine too. After some time he handed out these tests with their answers in that quick manner.

I became a student after all. Ok, let’s experience “golden years”…

At first, we had a drawing, history, mathematics, law. Teachers tried hard o give knowledge to us. Order and discipline were on norms. I got along well with my course mates. Three months later first exams started (it was called midterm exams) and most of us felt somehow worried. The rumours spread about teachers’ rates. They said that different teachers got a different amount of money. But I prepared very well and passed all my exams. A number of students in my group were ready to give money to get marks and they chose this way very handy. Then literature and sociology were added. At school, I got only mark “five” and read several books on literature. That’s why I didn’t face any difficulty with this subject. However, when it was about sociology, I heard very attentively and read a lot, but I didn’t understand anything.

“If a person doesn’t have belief in his soul, he is nothing but a robot”, - one-day sociology teacher said.

“I tried very hard to remember exactly where I heard these words, and finally, I remembered the church. The teacher was continuing:

“The tragedy of some youth in our country is that they have weak concepts and beliefs. Therefore, some people go overseas to work instead of serving their country and make it flourish. Moreover, they enter the way of drug addiction, alcoholism, immorality and others as a result of disbelief. Even they join bloodthirsty groups doubtlessly.”

After that, he criticized hollow promises in the period of Soviets.

At the end of the lesson one of my course mates gave the question which I was going to give:

“What kind of concepts and beliefs should we have?”

“I will you about it at the next lesson”, -the teacher shortened.

But at that time the exams started. Hearing about the rate of our sociology teacher was equal to the amount of my mother’s a monthly salary my heart was pained. I didn’t want to give the money which my mother earns by washing others’ injuries, cleaning their dirtiness to this concept seller.

Furthermore, the information which I heard from my course mates made me think. Only three graduates (last year 50 students graduated our faculty) were working on their specialization. They are working as an accountant and a timekeeper now. Most of the girls are housewives and only two are busy with the trade. They told me that 15 boys went to work to Russia and Kazakhstan, but no one knows what they are busy.

“It is unpleasant statistics, isn’t it?”

All of these made my mood ruin. Even after going home my heart was in pain: I couldn’t sleep.

At night while I was going out, suddenly strange and very unpleasant situation happened: I saw a rat in my shoe at the threshold staring at me and I trembled. Looking around I saw a shampoo and threw it at the rat. The rat disappeared. But my annoyance increased day by day. Unintentionally, I remembered Murshid and I thought that what nuisance this condition would bring.

“Ok, what about the money?- my monitor asked when he met me. You had only two chances: either the deadline should be lengthened or you should study next year in this course…”

“I chose third one, - I stopped him from talking, with self- confidence. I will drop the university!”

The troubles at home were much more than I expected. My mother cried a lot, my granny swore my father with new swearing, my brother-in-law begged and so on.

After being idle about 15 days, I started repairing our house: I brought dye, plaster, lime; I repaired fallen and destroyed parts of the house; I scraped the colours of the doors and the windows and then I started to repaint them. I varnished the wall and the ceiling then I made flowers. Seeing these, my granny and mother were very glad. I went to my father. When I said about all I had done, he also was very pleased.

“I have one gifted hand master fellow: we are soul-mates, it would be good if you apprentice him”, - he said.

I accepted his offer because he had given this offer before I entered the university. We agreed to go to master’s the next day.

This new house was situated in the countryside. It was spread over a large area. It reminded a basement. On the veranda, on the face of the house, there were boxes, cellophane bags- it wasn’t hard to know that they filled with various dresses, shoes from their labels. Later I knew that they belonged to a widow. She has been to China, Iran and sent goods. Her relatives here distribute them.

Tall and good-hearted master was drawing a pattern of embroidery. If someone looked at that he might think new embroideries were knocked on the wall. I had seen this kind of pattern for the first time, so I was very surprised. Seeing my father and me the master began to shake his hand in a negative meaning:

“It is not necessary! It is not necessary!”

I was wondered. Getting closer my father spoke smiling.

“Master Bako, don’t beat knowing the purpose! This is my own son.”

“Really? - he said with relaxation. I was afraid that you were bringing one of your school pupils.”

They laughed.

“Of course, no! He has a real passion for this occupation”, - my father said.

“Is this boy from your ex-wife?”

My father nodded his head this mirthless question. Next day I came here carrying all my work clothes.

The master said that we would draw a picture of Registan on the high wall on the veranda. Before doing this we should prepare the wall. I took on this responsibility and began the work. The master had another apprentice besides me. He made the frame… from plaster and went somewhere.

The master seemed to be rude at first, but in the afternoon he became gentle.

“I will explain to you the reason why I said “No” to your father, - he continued in a talkative mood. One day your father led two boys with him.” 

 “Master Bako,- he said,- we are close friends with you, we studied together. Take them as your apprentices”.

I agreed with him. They did all that I said until afternoon. Then one was lying on the corner. I worried that something had happened to him. I went close him. There was a little glass in his hand- he smelt benzene. I punished him. The other disappeared suddenly. Then we knew that he ran away stealing my apprentice’s and my money from our pockets. When I saw your father I reminded him Navoi’s poem:

“If you educate a dog and a donkey,

They will be a dog and a donkey, but never a man…”

But your father doesn’t agree with this concept. Getting irritable, he doesn’t tire of counting candidates and public prosecutors brought up among them. He likes and believes those vague boys. After two months he again led two boys with him. “Both of them came from a village. I want them to learn some kind of trade. I believe them”-, he said. I agreed. Those boys worked until afternoon: Our brother is getting married in the village- he invited you too” they said. I said them that I couldn’t go, “In this case, let us go”, they said bending their necks. I agreed to their request. They didn’t come for three days. Then coming they begged my pardon and they put a robe (national coat) on me. “That was yours,” they said.

Being anxious, I went to your father. When I told all about them to him, getting annoyed he rebuked me: “I told you not to let them go anywhere: both of them are addicted, pickpockets! They came stealing some poor person, pimps! They stole that robe from him”.

Master Bako kept silence some time then he continued:

“They are unfortunate. They aren’t used to living by their own work. Most of them aren’t from normal families. If you make an inquiry about them, it will be clear that either they are from abnormal families, or they were born from some prostitute, an alcoholic. They have no any idea about learning some occupation, living by their own work or leading a no need for thanks, life!” Thus Sadi writes:

“A man is eating bread by his own work,

Is free from the debt of noble man’s kindness?”

Listening to his words I remembered my father had given his two pupils to a barber as apprentices. They had stayed until the evening and without any reason, they had beaten the barber. Then they ran away not taking any penny from him. My father had to pay for their misbehaviour.

So, we began to paint Registan ensemble. It had a sheer volume and it was a responsible job. Due to this responsibility, my master became reticent. He usually read classic poems and was never tired of explaining their meaning. He had several photos and wallpapers of Registan which was taken from diverse distances and in different ways as a draft.

“Sunnatillo,- he said while drawing a sketch. Go further and look through. Tell me if I draw some part of it wrong. Pay attention, especially, to the symmetry.”

Next day the master ordered me to colour tiles.

“I myself will colour the domes. It is very delicate work.”

Paints exported from overseas and they were protected from the effects of the sun and water. It was said that ancient architectures used 30 types of paints to colour Registan. But we could only find seven types. It was demanded that we should work accurately. We should be careful not to damage it. Both of us worked so hard that sometimes we forgot to have lunch or when the darkness fell we kept on working in the light of a lamp.

“In Bukhara we have a saying: “Sell your day and buy your light” (in Tadjik) - let’s go and find a larger lamp”, - the master said to us at that times.

Although the yard of Registan was made from stone, the master painted a picture of bright green grass and explained its reason.

“In terms of the background, you need to be creative. If you do so, some lacks will be covered.”

After finishing the work, we felt much more relaxed. Going every corner of the yard we couldn’t stop watching our creation, monumental Registan.

“How and where did you learn this job? I asked him wondering and seeing him in a very good mood.”

Master Bako began telling his story in detail not taken aback.

“Obviously, I came to Samarkand from Bukhara to enter the university, but I couldn’t. I went to the day-labourer market as I was broke. A plasterer took me with him. I prepared a mixture. He made patterns. After some time he ordered me to paint. Time to time he ordered me to make flowers from plaster. I understood that I needed to learn my master’s job. God blessed: a year later I became his son-in-law. So, our share strewed here…”

We were told that the following day the owner would come and see our work. We began our preparation without much worry: We cleaned the yard, scraped some unnecessary hardened colours and plasters.

They began preparation from the early morning for the sister’s visit: the smell of fried onion and kabob[2]. The strange people appeared.

If I described this woman, I needed to emphasize her unearthly beauty. Rare dresses of a foreign country were so well-fitted her figure. At first, she stopped at the shoe boxes and asked something from people around her.She turned to us and she smiled at us watching one of the seven wonders of Uzbekistan. The master and I relaxed looking her reaction. When the mistress came close to us, slightly bowing we greeted her. She stayed long looking at the picture.

“Something needs adding”,- she said ambiguously.

Attracted with her beauty the master explained with a smile and kindness although feelings should be kept secret in this situation.

“Mistress, one should look at the sun, a beautiful woman and a masterpiece from the distance. I will ask you to watch this picture taking three or four steps backwards. The woman smiled sweetly, took several steps behind and looking at the picture smiled again. But she had to say something and pretend herself to be aware of this field.”

“Doesn’t it need some more colour?”

“Oh, you have a great taste, - continued the master, - we did on purpose. We wanted it to resemble the genuine model. If you want we will make the paint thicker…”

“No, it is ok, - she said and asked the people around. Did they have lunch?”

“Not yet.”

“Host a good banquet to them! They did a great job!”

“The mistress looked at us again. She showed her dimple to the master and spoke like a poetess.”

“The place of green fields, Registan…”

It wasn’t difficult to understand that the master wanted to speak with her and pay a compliment to her. But the woman ended their conversation and said goodbye to us.

When all went out, the master set free his emotions.

Navoi writes;

“When I need them, they wouldn’t make me their dear,

When they need me, my soul wouldn’t want them to hear.”

After some break he continued: Fuzuli writes:

“That angelic is the sultan of charm belongings,

Judgement is her judgement, an order is her order.”

    

“Wash your hands. The banquet will be very good.”

I didn’t know how much money the master got because it was impolite to interest it. I also got some money. I know that you don’t interest in others’ pocket. So, it is not necessary to tell this to you.

“Now we will go to Urgut, - the master said. My one rich fellow had the building built and had it painted too. We should decorate his building. Remember: if you do someone’s work, do the riches!”

We had a rest one day. In the morning we went to Urgut. The owners of the house welcomed us. They told that we should decorate only the living room and veranda.

During this period I knew that master Bako had copied from the covers of ancient books, from the surface of the trunk called tiny nail and from the embroideries of different regions. And he had made a model from the copies.

“That was very difficult work, but I wasn’t lazy. Only I had this kind of model. Some colleagues asked a copy, but I didn’t give them it.”

“Why didn’t you give them it?” - I asked.

“It’s not necessary, - he said. People appreciate this kind of models in Tashkent and in Moscow. Last year I painted embroideries of the trunk for a businessman to his summer cottage. Then lots of orders were given to me. But it was so cold there and I came home. I promised to go there this year. The value of these embroideries will rise in our country. Presently, no one understands their value.”

The master chose the patterns of Shakhrisabz and Kitab and we started the work.

“When we complete this work, we will go to Moscow together, - said the master, we will earn some more money. I need to arrange weeding for my son.”

I nodded the head as the meaning “yes”.

 “Husanvoy morboz will come to pick us up at the airport”, said the master.   

He had arranged with him on the phone. Even I didn’t understand the meaning of “morboz”, I couldn’t ask for shame.

Smartly dressed Azerbaijan fellow came for the meeting with us. I knew later that his name was Gusein and the master meant this man. I understood later that this fellow wasn’t an employer, but a middleman. Showing a respect, he invited us to his car.

Moscow.

This was that large city with crowds of people, full of life. In my childhood, I read about it in books, watched in films and I wanted to see this city. I remember at my fifth grade I learned by heart Lermontov’s one poem called “Borodino.” I imagined Moscow on fire and Napoleon’s abstract figure.

While our car was going ahead very fast in the wide and noisy streets of the city, I remembered I read somewhere “Big cities- full of cunning. They always whisper in your ear something”.

As I watched the city, I also listened to the conversation of the master and Gusein.

“There are lots of orders: Don’t hurry to your home as you did last time”, - he said in Azeri dialect.

“I said you we have a wedding ceremony. We haven’t married my youngest son.”

“You have two most important work, - Gusein continued and explained about the orders for a while. As I was watching the awesome sceneries of the city and I didn’t understand the Azeri language I was unable to comprehend most of their sentences. I understood only a little information that we should paint a picture of some historical building, then going somewhere we should reflect the embroideries of book covers. They would pay us a lot.”

We stopped at the entrance of a skyscraper. Holding our loads we went upstairs. The rooms were big and tall. The owners of the flat had moved to the summer cottage. We should paint the picture of Maiden Tower in Baku to the wall of the living room. Our middleman spoke much and explained the essence of this work. He spread the large sized pictures and wallpapers of the building taken from all sides. This monument was built in middle ages. It was constructed from large stone blocks. Its surface wasn’t covered with tiles and it didn’t need diverse colours. The monument looked like a small fortress. If you look carefully, you can see that it is much more complex from the point of the geometric design. Mezana[3] was several meters outer from the body. The cornice was made from brick as staircases. At the edge of the roof columns like the Great Wall of China were built for guards. If we ruined the symmetry it might lose its natural view. But in spite of these, the simple construction of the monument comparing with Registan ensemble strengthened my confidence.

We had some argument on the payment and the master agreed to 1500 dollars. They said that they would provide with living conditions, needed things and food.

The master wasn’t satisfied with the condition of the wall. So we cleaned it with sandpaper and repainted it. Then both of us prepared a framework from plaster. It took about ten days to dry, fix, and paint it. But I thought that we could finish these things in a week.

Gusein was with us lots of time. He watched our work. Even though the master didn’t promise, he repeated to bring us to finish the order in Baku. But at that time my master always changed the theme.

“Well, Khusanvoy, read one ghazal[4] from Fuzuli”, - said, my master, one day.

He admitted he was far away from poetry. My master was slightly disappointed and began himself:

“My heart, you loved her arrows[5], don’t you need your soul?

You injured yourself, don’t you need your beating heart?”

The master drew the draft then we looked at it carefully and began to paint it. The master reflected trees in blossom in the background, which was the differing feature from the photos. Every night looked at our work, corrected our mistakes and we were excited watching this monument being created in front of us.

After we completed our work, the client wanted to come and pay for the work.

This man also was an Azerbaijan and he looked like Gusein. When my master and I were really worrying, he looked at the wall and laughed out loud. Then he greeted us. He said something to Gusein, but I caught the meaning of their conversation.

“Do you take ruble[6] or dollar?” -he asked the master. The master said: “USA Dollar”. The client counted $3500 in front of our eyes and gave it to Gusein and he left saying goodbye.  The middleman counted $1500 and gave it to the master. He added in a cold manner:

“We agreed with you this in the contract.”

“I didn’t like this man’s way of earning more money than us doing nothing.”

“Now I will lead you to Baku,- Gusein repeated, you will draw the embroidery of book covers in a large library in the city. The world should be surprised by watching how Muslims can decorate books skillfully!  They will pay you well.”

“I can’t go, Khasanvoy”, - the master failed to live up his expectations.

Gusein toadied to my master and repeated his request. But my master didn’t accept his request.

“In this case, may I bring him”, - he pointed to me.

“He can’t do it”, - the master cut short.

In fact, I could do this task. I would attach a model with a nail and paint it with various colours. It wouldn’t be difficult.

When we were alone, my master explained why he has been disagreed Gusein’s offer.

“Walking town to town I copied from books for three years. It seems that they have known about their value. But it would be a mistake if we gave away our dignity to others for the unworthy amount of money. I am planning to pattern it in a lecture hall of the big library in Samarkand. But I afraid that our people wouldn’t appreciate it...”

Next morning I said his goodbye.

“I will go home, - he said, but you should stay here: Find money and honour!”

“Maybe you will come after the wedding ceremony. I said with hope. I thought that I would face challenges without him.”

“It is enough for me.”

While I was seeing off my master, I gave $100 to him from my share.

“Please, give it to my mother, if she gets a cell phone, I can contact her…”

I decided not to use the middleman’s service. So, as my master said I started looking for newspapers, precisely, I started reading announcements. Unfortunately, announcements needed only house-painter and whitewasher. Then I gave announcements: declared that I could draw decorative pictures and ornaments to the buildings. That worked: the day when the newspaper was printed my phone rang. A strange man asked about what I could do. Hearing my answer he wanted to meet with me.

A calm and serious looking man (he was around his mid-thirties) entered my room (I was still living in that picture painted room).

“You look like an Uzbek,- he said and not waiting my answer he continued,- we are speaking in Russian.”

He introduced himself as Ernafas. He came from Kashkadarya and was living in Tashkent. If we believe his words, he was a candidate.

“I was listing Uzbeks in Russia. I will add your name too. But let’s talk about a job at first. It is a serious job, but I need to watch your works.”

“We painted this picture”, - I said pointing at the wall.

He looked very carefully and long at Maiden Tower and smiled with satisfaction.

“I found a big job...”

“Are you a middleman too?” - I interrupted his words showing my disappointment.

“But I am not like those dishonest people, you will make a contract with the client: it is enough if you give me 1/10 percent. If you do a good job, he will pay well.

“What kind of work?” - I was interested in it.

“There is one businessman. He is a parliament member. His hobby is horses,- he said,- you should paint their picture.”

The next day we went there. According to my new fellow, that businessman had seven horses. Ernafas suggested painting their pictures in the entrance of the stable.

I felt later that his patriotic, national intentions were top priorities for him. I will talk about it later.

We went to the countryside. My partner talked about our countrymen's situations here. He said worrying that who had a job in his hand was earning well, but most of them were only earning money by digging holes and carrying handbarrow.

“The worst is that: children don’t know Russian. We sent a letter to the educational ministry of our Republic; I signed a hundred people. We suggested increasing the number of Russian lessons at schools; we elucidated the reasons for this action. We are waiting for the response. Again: children are without any job. Some foolish teenagers can’t even prepare a mixture for construction.”

My new fellow expressed his scientific opinions about nation, belief and valuable things in a very anxious manner. I felt deeply that I should spend most of my time with him.

“The main reason is that in which period of development your mother gave you birth,- he continued his philosophical opinions. We were born a bit earlier. After about 30-40 years the earth will become like heaven. But it is essential not to forget the fact that the key factor that makes a person a real person in any period is this person’s objection to his own living environment.”

We stopped at a building like a castle near the forest. This was a stable. It was built in a contemporary style and its roof was fully covered. There was a big mew.

The horses were invaluable and thoroughbred. Each of them had their sobriquets, and there was written their age and breed. I regretted that until this time I couldn’t differentiate the horse breed. It was the first time I had seen a Vladimir breed horse, which was used mostly for carrying loads: it had thick legs, shaggy mane and big body. But a saddle Arabian horse had thin legs and back, and it was extremely gorgeous. But I couldn’t differ Russian and English horses (the owner participated them in a horse race), as well as Asian horses from each other.

A wall was made from a thick veneer on the front side of the place where horses slept. But the wall needed preparing for painting: some wood needed changing to new ones. All of them should be put into the size, polished with sandpaper and then painted.

There were four people (Uzbek or Tadjik) digging a stream, besides a security guard, a groom.

“They are our fools,- said Ernafas,- make them work!”

He called to the owner and talked for a long time. I heard some part of their conversation.

“I don’t need a contract! Let him paint! Let him use his imagination”, - he said. 

That day the groom found the photos of these horses. In order not to make a mistake I drew several pictures of horses on a paper.

I moved here before starting the work. Ernafas often called and asked if I needed something and provided with all the essential colours and alloys. I ordered those “our fools” to destroy the wood and knock new ones instead of them. It was clear from the conversations with them during the painting that Ernafas had found them and ordered to fix a pipe in the stable. They were from the countryside of Samarkand and Kharezm and were paid $500 per month.

They told they gave $50 to Ernafas. After then my opinion about him changed. This situation seemed as egoism and insincerity; I thought that his patriotic speeches and selfish actions were contrary to each other.

I was aware that a middleman brought them to load cement with the term of paying $300. They told about it in sorrow.

“We had experienced difficulties there: our shoulders injured because the cement was hot.”

Besides, some kind of strange people had made them pay taxes: they threatened by killing them if they wouldn’t give $ 100 per month.

Hearing about it Ernafas brought them here. But their work wasn’t easy here: the groom and the security guard ordered anything to do and laughed at them as they didn’t know Russian. 

“Look at me, -one day I said to Ernafas,-you speak about beliefs and concepts, but take taxes from the “fools”.

“These afandis[7], - he said,-loaded or delivered cement for twelve hours a day. They got $ 300. Moreover, two Caucasians took taxes by threatening them. If these four united, they could prevent themselves from them. But all illness is that we cannot unite. We should take other nations as an example it this matter. A month ago our two regions children fought with each other: one teenager was stabbed. Oh, all of you are one nation’s children, you are Uzbek! Unite in a strange country! We sent that dead boy’s corpse to his home. We paid for it from our own budget. Not all know that sending a corpse is more than ten times expensive than sending an alive person.”

It was clarified from the conversation that they organized an unofficial staff consisting of three-four people and helped our countrymen who needed a help.

“It is not true to shame when watching our countrymen who are digging a hole or loading cement. A boy who was carrying a small cart three years ago has a private enterprise. It means that the head works. The only thing here is that we should protect and make them unite! In the French, there is a saying: “Boys leave to return someday”. We won’t stay here forever!”

When he was talking about kindness to the country and to the nation, I was distracted; because I was bored from hearing these sentences frequently. My partner noticed my mood very attentively.

“In fact, our mass media spoke about the best feelings so many unnecessary things that they made them clichés. In fact, not admitting the holiness of Motherland is not anything but ingratitude. Thousands of youth are working in this country and sending their money to their homes. The birth rate is on the increase in our country, so it is impossible to provide all of the people with work. But what if we improve our experience here and return to home or else if we teach our children here and send them to Motherland, then we will serve for the development of our country. The Russians are open-hearted. We must be together with them! Today’s politics, situation and even the Russian people are completely different!”

“Maybe, should your staff be broadened and made it some kind of official fund or association?”

“We already started this project. We will organize one union in each big city and province of Russia. Uniting and protecting our countrymen in that area will be under the responsibility of that union. Unfortunately, some of our children are dying as a result of illnesses, car accidents and technical safety. Sometimes they are being killed… This is our Motherland’s tragedy, the tragedy of Uzbekistan! In the twenty-first century!”

Ernafas talked about it long. I was bored. Noticing this, he changed his tone.

“For example, you: You became a master quickly. Today is your day. But the gullible people coming to this country, as I mentioned above, don’t possess any occupation. Moreover, they don’t have documents. Russia needs lots of barbers, drivers, painters, and welders. You should take two apprentices in all honesty…”

I agreed with him.

I started the work from a Vladimir horse. I drew his picture and reflected a naked boy (a boy in a dress dressed by Adam and Eve) who was giving grass to the horse. There was a kindness in both a boy’s and a horse’s eyes.

I described Asian horse (I think it was karabayir[8]) as jumping to the sky staying on two legs. I had to draw an Arabian horse in the background of a desert.

I described Russian and English horses running in a horse-race and it was so alive that I myself didn’t expect such result.

After I had finished the work, Ernafas paid a phone call to the owner. I was a bit worried: If the owner was an art man or brought some painter, they would find many errors. Fortunately, it wasn’t like that. The deputy came afternoon with his family. They all were very glad and said good comments to Ernafas even before me. But I wasn’t annoyed by this situation however, I was very pleased.

“Look at me, Uzbek boy,- the owner said. How much do you want?”

“As you want”,- I said.

“Do you agree if I give $500 to each of them?”

He didn’t wait for my answer and gave me money. I didn’t expect this kind of kindness and generosity: honestly, I was blissfully happy. I gave Ernafas $500 at that very moment. Next day I called to my mother and said that I was going to send money.

Ernafas started speaking about our emigrants’ problems.

“The deputy was very pleased. I told him my anxiety using this situation.”

“What kind of anxiety?” - I asked with interest.

“Our countrymen work here for years, but when they are retiring nobody takes into account their length of service. He agreed to help solve this issue.”

Later I came to a conclusion that how much my father estimated his vague children and my mother estimated her patients, Ernafas was so much closer to our emigrants.

His next work was easy too: I should draw a picture of the thick conifer forest in the front wall of the governor’s office. The reason for its complexity was that I had to draw one by one million of leaves.

“You should this work in any way: he can supply hundreds of our countrymen with work. We should strengthen the contact with him. Some cheats are having our children work, but they are not giving their wages”,- Ernafas tried to persuade me.

I agreed with him. The director’s assistant led us to a wide office. The governor (his surname was Miftakhuddinov) was talking on the phone and didn’t pay attention to us. I looked through the walls and offered to draw the forest in the middle and the embroideries of Samarkand and Bukhara in two other sides; I told them if I did like that the thorough composition might be produced. Listening to my words the governor disagreed with my suggestion. However, he asked me to show the photos of the embroideries. Again he asked a question as soon as I showed him them. “Do you have Bukhara’s embroideries? I lived there”. 

I had six photos of them. With pleasure, I spread them on the table. The governor was so happy that he seemed as if he had found the thing he had lost before.       

Next day I began to watch and learn the various views of the cypress and pine forests. After one week when I was going to begin to draw the picture with my two apprentices, the situation changed.

“You can begin drawing the embroideries to the one side of the wall, - the assistant said. We will stick a widened photo of the forest in the middle.”

I relaxed hearing his words: Because I had inadequate experience in drawing

We started the work.

I wasn’t aware of the thing which could change my fate into opposite direction.

One day Ernafas said that a rich man whose business was selling cars wanted to have his only daughter’s picture painted on the wall of a swimming pool. But I had never painted this kind of picture, that’s why I both hesitated and interested it. Before promising, I needed to see the surface of the wall, how much it was ready to draw a picture on it and, of course, the beauty of the girl.

Next morning we went there.

Sparse but very luxurious houses (probably, they were cottages) could be seen in a place whose one side attached to the forest. We stopped at the gate of one of those houses. The swimming pool was big and its wall was tall. But it needed scraping and varnishing first.

“If you need, I will find a day-labourers: they will prepare the wall for you,- said Ernafas. But you should control them.”

“We will do it on our own”,- my new apprentice answered for me.

“It is not necessary to make a contract with them- you may ask as much as you want. You will give me too honestly.”

In fact, it was a job of a master and experimented painter. But it would be cowardice if I didn’t use the chance. If the picture was painted on the whole surface, it would be awkward. So I needed to draw it at the same size with the girl’s figure. But if I did so, three square meters would remain empty. I considered that the empty space should be filled with the embroideries of Fergana volley.

Ernafas called to the owner and took his consent.

 We completed drawing the embroidery quickly and as expected. The frame made of plaster was prepared (it should be placed in space where the girl’s picture needed describing). After that I said I needed to see the girl’s (Svetlana) photos and herself. She was about seventeen years old and she had white skin and slim figure. All were addressed to her with respect, and I did so. The girl showed me her photos captured in various positions and emphasized to use them. At first, I liked her one photo: she was at the beach in a swimming costume and she was lying on side bending her feet.

  I remembered my master’s words. I imagined the girl as a mermaid or a beauty in a background with seagulls. I needed to describe a sea as in reality. But before all, I should practice several times.

“It is necessary to take a copy from you for its natural look”,- I said with kindness.

“You speak well in Russian. Where did you learn it?” -she asked for a response.

I said that I studied at the Russian school. She sat in front of me. Although I didn’t like her long phone conversations, I started my work without any objection. Next day I felt that she wanted to talk with me and we spoke with her unintentionally.

“Do men beat their wives in Asia?” -she asked.

“They do, -I answered in a calm manner. If they don’t obey their husbands, they beat them…”

“What a cruelty!” -she didn’t hide her refusal.

“Do men get married to several women?”

“As many as they want, miss”,- I exaggerated on purpose.

She nodded her head in a displeased meaning.

“Why is the number of them so many in Moscow?  Is the life hard in your country?” -she continued.

But I didn’t want to answer obviously I didn’t know what to say. Instead, I gave her questions. During the conversation, I knew that she had studied in London. She loved music and art. I liked her purity, openheartedness, and sincerity. I compared her to the countess’s daughters in Tolstoy and Turgenev’s books. I liked her support of open-mindedness and emphasis on human rights importance. So our conversation continued day by day.

“Why don’t you invite me to drink a coffee or an ice cream?” -Sveta asked one day.

“The smell of paint comes from me and my dresses are in an Asian style”, -I said.

“That’s why you should invite me”,- she said in affection.

I had a shower and smoothed out my shirt and trousers. We entered a restaurant. When a waiter offered a drink, both of us looked each other as if we were asking each other. I felt the inclination in her.

“Bring us the best wines”, -I ordered to him.

“I heard people don’t drink alcohol in your country.”

“Not drinking in such a situation is a sin”,- I replied.

There wasn’t any other talk. I saw her home. After that meeting I bought new dresses and started going to concerts, entertaining places together with her. She liked me more and more day after day. Little by little something abstract but uneasy feeling like love appeared in my heart. But the difference between us made me curb the feelings.

“Why don’t you pop the question from me?” -she said unexpectedly when we were coming back from the waltz night.

“You are a wealthy family’s daughter, but I am an ordinary painter.”

“But you love me…”

“It is not enough…”

Three days later the family invited me to dinner. I felt that they wanted to meet and get acquainted with me.

There was luxurious furniture: big piano, incomparable chandeliers, and other equipments, which seemed to be whispering continuously about your poverty and worthlessness.

Sveta’s father looked very young. I thought they would examine me, but they didn’t. They asked only about where I had learned this job, my attitude to Sveta, and my plans.

As my master repeated very often, maybe God blessed me, the wedding day was appointed. They took all the responsibilities and expenses on them. Until then I tried hard to complete the picture.

Before the wedding, I completed the work, had a shower and wore my new dresses. Then I invited Sveta’s parents. As I drew the picture with kindness, I liked it so much. Only I rubbed out the foot part of it, I had to repaint it. The reason was: according to my fantasy, the mermaid sitting on the shore- Sveta’s feet - had to resemble the tale of a dolphin. They came with lots of people and girl’s father standing far away: “Это же, настояшая русалка[9]!”, - said in a loud voice.

When they were officiating at the wedding ceremony, I looked at the men in smart dresses and graceful ladies wearing brilliant jewels and it seemed to me like a dream. Only Ernafas with his wife (maybe, she was his lover) came from my side as a guest. Watching this unbelievable extravagance I remembered my parents. Shouldn’t they be here with me on my wedding day? It was true that I hadn’t invited them, but if I had, anyway they couldn’t come. If they had come, they didn’t have a right stay with me spiritually. Master Bako said, - “Even a nest of sparrows shouldn’t be destroyed”. But they destroyed their family, they hurt my sister and me all our lives. My father looked after vague children my mother cared for her patients. But they didn’t think about our fate. I thought that Sveta and I should live in a harmony, fight for the family, have children and bring them up. I knew that this spoilt girl’s a lot of fastidiousness would appear and I prepared myself to overcome them with patience.

We planned to spend the main part of the honeymoon (in Samarkand we say “shakarmoh”) in Sochi. I couldn’t realize to whom this cottage located in near the city belonged. It was very splendid and looked at the sea. There were a large-sized television, luxurious furniture and others in the hall.

“There isn’t a piano”, -Sveta objected.

After some time they brought a piano made from nut tree. We swam at the sea after dinner every day and my beloved staying in front of the piano played pleasant music. Looking at her white-skinned fingers which were moving so quickly on the keys, I thought that this magic darling belonged to me and my whole body was filled with pride and enjoyment. Listening to these classic melodies brand new dreams appeared in my heart and I felt myself like flying in space. The idea of creating a monumental picture called “Family chain” awakened with the effect of this music.

In this picture, a woman and a man staying side by side with a little girl should be described. The little girl was hugging their feet and laughing. I planned to create this work not by oil paint, but by making the mosaic, clearly by pieces of glass or earthenware on the wall of the building. Later I arranged to collect white seashells densely instead of them. I planned to use brown seashells while describing hair and dresses. Then I painted this project on paper.

“This woman looks like me, - Sveta laughed out loud while looking through the draft. This man resembles you; so then you want our first child to be a girl…”

“I want her to be the chain of our family.”

“But I don’t want to have a baby yet, later…”

Maybe I had caught patriotism from my master and Ernafas, that’s why I decided to create this work in my country, not in Moscow. During this time we went to Turkey crossing the Black sea by ship. After returning there we watched Afon cave and Stalin cottage. Like that we were continuing our royal days.

One day my mother called. There was grief in her voice, I realized hidden pain.

“Your granny passed away,- my mother said,- you must be here. She brought up you…”

But in this situation, I couldn’t imagine leaving my beloved alone.

“Mummy, your daughter-in-law and I are spending a honeymoon in Sochi,- I said.- Forgive me.”

Then I stayed alone with my conscience and felt sorry for my granny.

Despite this, I informed Sveta that my granny had died.

“Was she old?” -she asked.

I nodded the head in the meaning “Yes”. In fact, at that moment I wanted to talk with her about my granny, about her special personality. But I didn’t notice this kind of wish. At that time I remembered Chekhov’s one story. A coachman whose wife died wants to share his grief with someone, but he cannot find anybody who can listen to him. Then he hugs his horse’s neck and tells his sorrow to it.

I wanted to have one of those horses which I painted their pictures and to tell about my granny to it.

After returning to Moscow our life continued as before. We didn’t know the amount of money we had: there was Russian rouble in one safe, in another was US dollars. We could use it as much as we wanted.

I didn’t want to work- I didn’t want to refuse this merriment, leave my beloved alone and cover with paint.

This time at the party an Armani fellow suggested Sveta waltz. When they were circling around, I noticed he whispered something in her ear; I was jealous. As a response, Sveta nodded the head meaning “Yes”. The Armani kissed her naked shoulder.

“Was it polite to give a kiss to a strange man”, -I said while we were returning home.

“Freedom is the most important for me”, - she said,- the rest is in the second position.

“There is a family responsibility, isn’t there?”

She was deeply disappointed for this word and stopped talking with me for a while. Then I made the situation better, pleased her.

Our life continued like this filled with happiness. In the autumn, Sveta got pregnant. After that, she became so nervous, angry and capricious that her attitude to be changed. She began shouting at her mother and doctors. We all knew all that because of her difficult pregnancy. Because she vomited what she ate, she was suffering both physically and mentally.

“Did anyone from your descendants contract any mental illness?” -she asked one day seriously.

“Why are asking this?” -I was interested.

“Just I am asking”, - she said.

I remembered that my one uncle had been mentally ill and committed suicide by hanging himself, but I didn’t find it necessary to tell. I kept thinking why she had asked that kind question.

I was forced to pander to her ever-increasing whims. But she responded with rudeness. But I needed to bear all of these in order to save my family.

“I will abort a child”, -she said one day unexpectedly.

“Darling, you will regret someday…”

“I don’t want to have a baby with you!”

“Why are saying that?”

“You are insane…”

“What are saying?” -I cut short her words in anger.

“I made sure this: every night you talk with someone, make someone leave in Uzbek; you are afraid of looking at the threshold, shoes as if you saw the angel of death. Your eyes aren’t as clear as before, you began looking around you like a mad and insane person!

She did what she wanted: She aborted a child and never returned home. I left alone in this big house.

Very boring and aimless days began. I drank whisky and watched TV all day; I could sleep in the evenings from unpleasant thoughts, I felt outward anxiety. I thought when and where I became a stepson of the life and its grief exceeded than it.

This time when I was in grief, I saw it. It was staring at me standing straight. This time I wasn’t afraid and looked at it. It increased in front of me and turned into a monkey. Its eyes were bigger and bigger.

“What do you want?”, -I asked with wrath.

It kept silence. When I was going to hit it, it disappeared.

After these events, I decided to go my home. I chose this way because I wanted to get rid of this dark shadow and to see my mother and relatives.

My relatives celebrated my arrival. Especially, my mother was deliberately happy. She led me to visit my granny’s grave.

“She died hoping to see you”, -she said crying.

Then I went to visit my father, my master and my cousins. I gave them the presents I had brought.

After several weeks I began to feel bored. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the situation because I used to live in a crowded city and luxurious life. It was true that no one was waiting for me in Moscow. Moreover, the cold days began there and it was hard to work outside.

My mother had moved to a little room near the gate since there wasn’t gas and sometimes the electricity was off here. My granny had stayed this room before and it had a sandal[10].

During those days I wanted to fulfill my dream project “The family chain”.

Before I made an agreement with the director of a newly built “The Home of Happiness”, I entered there and searched for the appropriate place for the mosaic.

There was a whole windowless wall on the left and I chose it. A polite slim woman greeted me with pleasure. After I told my plan, she watched the draft and gave some questions.

“Do you need to destroy the surface of the wall?” -she asked.

“Only the pace where I will draw the picture”, -I answered.

“If you do so, I cannot take the responsibility. I must take the authority’s permission. I will inform you the result”, - she said and jotted down my telephone number.

However, several weeks passed and she didn’t call me. I became more and more impatient. I suffered from insomnia as a result of my boredom. As I fell asleep, it seemed I saw that devil wide opening its eyes and I trembled with fear.

“Today I work the night-shift, - my mother said as she was wearing her coat.  Be careful: don’t put coal into the scandal: it makes you enfeeble; if the electricity is off, light a Russian candle. It burns up to two hours. But ours…”

Leaving alone, unpleasant thoughts came to my mind again. I became afraid of something. To get rid of this worry I went to bed earlier. But I couldn’t sleep.

I told to myself: “I didn’t sleep for a week. But nature likes justice – it will bring me my week- sleep. I will sleep now and I will wake up a week later”.

“Let’s hope so!”

I recognized the voice: it was that devil’s voice. But I didn’t turn to it. No, it wasn’t because I feared I did so to show my ignorance, my ignorance of its words and to show my pride. “What is it: is it a ghost, is it a demon or my imagination,” I thought for a while.

“As existence doesn’t disappear, non-existence doesn’t appear. In any case, I exist, I am here!”

“Is there a day when I get rid of you?- I said with anger. Will I get rid of you if I die?”

I did say it for reason: “I sometimes wanted to die not to see this dark shadow any longer.”

“No one wants your death: I want you to sleep as much as you want. Very sweet sleep…

“How it would come?” - I asked with interest.

“It is enough to put a dust-pan coal into the embers of the sandal.”

“I am not a fool!” -I answered it as I remembered my mother told me to put only the embers of wood into the sandal.

“Life is like living temporary in a foreign country, in somebody’s house,- it continued. A man is worthless like a thorn and hay: infidelities, lies, and physical and mental sufferings. In spite of these, it is strange that people don’t hurry their peaceful homes…”

I had read these words in some writer’s book recently.

“It means that this Devil also read it”, - I thought to myself.

“Your elder uncle was a fool,- it continued,- he committed a suicide by hanging himself- he underwent severe pains. But the smell of coal makes you sleep…”

“And it will kill me”, - I ended its word.

“It is not a death, sleep, eternal sleep. You distinguish them.”

Again my eyes saw only darkness, my hands seemed as shivered. I felt I was sinking into the endless sea of hopelessness. Then I stood up, brought a dust-pan coal and emptied it over the embers of the sandal. But it seemed so little that I brought again. I locked the door and went to bed. No sooner than I smelled the stink of coal. After some time this smell seemed to give me pleasure. I enjoyed as I drank a whisky.

I couldn’t remember how much time this situation continued; suddenly I understood that I made a terrible mistake: familiar faces appeared in front of eyes: my mother, a martyr person, was crying pulling her hair, my father who couldn’t stop crying, my kind sister and distressed Svetlana. I suddenly stood up, tried to go out, but, unfortunately, time passed. Obviously, my heart and brain were working, but whole my body was paralyzed. I was very painful; I strived to turn to the right and come close to the door, but, unfortunately, I didn’t manage; then like a fool who sunk in the morass up the throat my heart filled with grief. I tried to vomit, but I couldn’t do it too.

“At least, say your farewell”, - it asked with plea and complaint.

“Farewell!” -I said weakly.

Translated by Nargiza Muminova

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[1] Religious followers

[2] Kabob- pieces of mutton roasted on a spit

[3] The upper part of the tower in the mosque, where a muezzin calls to prayers

[4] A kind of poem about love, the number of couplets is between 7 and 15

[5] In Uzbek classic poetry women’s eyelashes were described like arrows and called “ghamza”

[6] The currency of the Russian Federation

[7] Nasruddin Afandi is a well-known hero of Uzbek tales and anecdotes

[8] The genus of horse

[9] This is a real mermaid

[10] Traditional heating stove