At last I returned to my former job. Precisely on that day all men of Uvada Factory went out for a picnic to the recreation zone known as "Shirmanbulak" which was located near the Suleiman Tog Mountains. We put up at the house of Ashuraly Klychev, the battery attendant. He not only fixed batteries but also played musical instruments, sang and told jokes better than the actors of Comedy Satire Theatre, and, to cap it all, he loved and appreciated poetry.
-If you want, you can climb the mountainside walking along that path over there - Ashuraly Klichev said.
- Leaving Usta Churan, the factory"s watchman, at the camp to prepare supper for us we made our way up the path which the battery attendant had shown us.
Gathering tulips and admiring the mountain scenery, we walked around the mountainside until late in the evening. When we returned to the camp the supper was ready. We washed, had supper and thanked Usta Churan for the good meal.
Usta Churan was a short man, as swarthy as pig-iron, and with a mustache. His gray hair stuck out of his skull-cap like a hedgehog"s needles. His eyes were exceedingly slanted. I involuntarily wandered how on earth he could see through such narrow slits.
But he could see by far better than other people. His ears were also as good as those of a dog. Owing to these traits he had won the contest and got the job of the watchman at the factory.
After supper Usta Churan made a pause and then gave us a sign to keep silent. Then he lay down on the ground by the table and pricked up his ears. He was listening to the ground like an Indian that can hear the clatter of enemy"s horses' hoofs coming from afar. He said he could hear people crying under the ground. We looked at one another in silence, and then we joined Usta Churan. We lay down and listened. Yes, indeed. There was a low sound of cry coming from under the ground. Frankly speaking, I was scared.
- Those are people whom we have buried alive. They are asking us for help -
Ramazanov said.
- Maybe, they are evil spirits? They are displeased with our coming here. We"d better leave this place before they do us harm - I said.
At this point, to set those buried at ease, Ramazanov started praying. When he finished his prayer Kalankhan Adalatov, being an Orthodox Christian, crossed himself and started singing a psalm from the Bible. But their prayers didn"t help.
- Once the prayers have had no effect upon them they are alive. Maybe, the earth has really swallowed them up and they cannot get out? Maybe, they are miners, and there was an explosion of methane in the pit? We should help them immediately. Go and find some excavation tools - Kalankhan Adalatov said.
Supporting the suggestion of our wise Director, we brought spades, a pick, a crow-bar and a pneumatic chipper from the barn of battery attendant. Ashuraly. As the ground was rocky, we had to toil at it pretty hard. When the hole was one meter deep we could distinctly hear voices coming from under the ground.
Suddenly, we all fell into the ground, along with Usta Churanov. Shouting with fear, we tumbled onto the solid ground.
When the dust had cleared away we could discern peple sitting as if on a picnic. We were the first to recognize Ashurali Klichev, the battery attendant and the host of the house. He turned out to be in the wine cellar treating his friends to the wine he brew at home.
Now Kalakhan Adalatov, sticking his head through the hole we had fallen in, shouted:
- Al Kazim! Churanbai! Where are you? Are you alive?
- Yes, Kalankhan Adalatovich, we are safe and sound! It happens to be Ashuraly Klichev"s cellar! Come down!
The men sitting at table stared at us, and Ashuraly Klichev, drunken-eyed, came up to us saying:
- What"s the matter? There"s a door here, and you burst in like beasts... You guests, may you be cursed.
At this moment Kalankhan Adalatov and Ramazanov, like huge spiders, came down by means of a rope. Kalankhan Adalatov introduced us to his friends: Tapal Zhalal, a journalist, Afarin, a poet, and the local human rights fighter Kaitmas Kambar.
For a start, we drank to our acquaintance, then we raised glasses to our friendship, then to our charming ladies, and so on. I looked in fear at the director"s eyes. It was an open secret that his eyes were like a barometer for me. I saw that he was now cast in the eye, like a rabbit. Well, I thought , that"s the end. Right then Ashuraly Klichev, adjusting his glasses, said:
- My dear pirate friends! Before our "Titanic", so to say, has drowned in the ocean of vodka, she will take course to latitude 30 West and longitude 96 East. We will sail towards the "Mororua" Atoll coral reef where our dentist Kelsinbaiy lives and have a drink of strong rum from a black bottle with him.
- We are unanimous! - said poet Afarin.
Ashurali Klichev, like a ship captain, uttered triumphantly:
- Cast off! Let go the anchor!
- Aye-aye! Cast off, let go the anchor! - Tapil Zhelal screamed.
Like pirates that embarked in the open sea, we set out shaking from side to side. Meanwhile the poet Afarin, began to dance singing a merry song. We applauded him shouting joyfully and clapping our hands. We went on, like pirates in the deep of joy, crying and whistling.
The houses looked like icebergs. We sailed on and on until Tapyl Zhelal cried out:
- Mr. Captain, land is ahead!. It must be the Mororua Atoll coral reef where Kelsinbay lives! - he shouted
Ashurali Kalychev also shouted in reply. It felt like powerful waves of the sea were roaring around.
- Starboard! Cast off and clew down! Cast anchor!
- Aye-aye, clew down! - Tapyl Zhelal cried.
At last we came to the gate of the house where the dentist Kesinbay lived. As I pressed the button installed by the gate there came exciting sounds like "ding-dong, ding-dong". A few moments later we heard the trampling of heavy boots and Kelsinbay himself came out.
He was a thick man with a swollen belly. Judging by his appearance, he made up a hundred kilograms by weight, if not more. One couldn"t see any hair on his physiognomy except for eyebrows and eye-lashes. His muzzle was as smooth as Mongolian plain. When he smiled his slanted eyes sort of disappeared.
He greeted us in a roaring voice and invited us into his house. We went in. Then, passing through the corridor, we proceeded to the sitting-room and sat down at the table. Ashurali took out a small jug of homebrew which he had brought along and put it on the table. Kelsinbay brought a light snack, and we began, clinking the pialas, to drink wine. Kelsinbay made his apology:
- I beg your pardon, comrade patients, that is, my dear friends, for the frugal dastarkhan. I have eaten all I had in the fridge. I like to eat and sleep well, as the saying goes... It"s good for my health.
I work nonstop from early morning till late at night pulling out my patients" teeth like carpenters pull out rusty nails from old boards and planks. If I piled up all the teeth that I have extracted then new mountains would be formed on the geographic map of the world. Having worked along this line for many years I have lost the feeling of compassion. As a matter of fact, I have got used to this profession. Even when I talk to people I have the wish to pull their teeth out. The cries and screams of my patients are like the music of Frеdеric Franзois Chopin to me. The mouths of my patients, widely open for fear of the dental drill, inspire me. Well, how shall I explain it to you... I should say... It"s poetry! I have got accustomed to it like a desperate drug-addict. I am the victim of my profession! Sometimes, walking about the room at home, I have the temptation to take the pliers and pull the teeth of my better half. At night I have particularly violent fits. There... It starts again! Where are the pliers? Oh, here they are... Will you open your mouth!... Say "Ah-ah-ah"... I want ...
With these words Kelsinbay went up to Kalankhan Adalatov. The latter, terribly frightened, tried to escape but the dentist, pliers in hand, attacked him. Then Kalankhan Adalatov jumped out of the window. From the powerful blow, the window got smashed into pieces. We ran out of the house through the front door left the yard. Then we helped Kalankhan Adalatov to get up and
went out into the street.
Presently, the moon shined illuminating the empty streets of the mountain village Shirmanbulak. By the moonlight we could see blood glistening on Kalankhan Adalatov"s cheeks.
The wound was rather deep and bleeding non-stop. The hospital was far away. So we decided to turn to people for help.
I long knocked at the iron gate until an old woman came out, flash-light in hand.
-Good evening, granny I said hurriedly.
- V-alleikum assalam - the woman answered. Then she shouted:
-What do you want? Fiddling about at night like a ghost! You give no rest to people at night...
- Excuse us, granny. Help us, please. Give us a needle thread please...
- And what do you need a needle and thread for, I wonder? Have you got your trousers torn, or what? You"ve been fighting, haven"t you? You shouldn"t drink so much...
- No-o-o, granny, that"s not the point. You see, our esteemed Director fell down by chance and had his face injured. You see the wound is bleeding. We must stop it. We should sew up the wound, as the surgeons put it.
The woman went up to Kalakhan Adalatov, raised the flash-light and examined the bleeding wound of our wise Director. She pondered a while and then said:
- It"s a woman"s job. You may do it the wrong way. Bring him here. I will sew it up myself. Oh, my Lord...Jesus, forgive our sins.
She kept muttering opening the gate as we went into the yard. We entered the house. The woman brought a needle and thread and told us to put the wounded man down on the floor. We did as she said and started holding Kalakhan Adalatov by his arms and feet. The woman began the operation.
Kalakhan Adalatov clenched his teeth, moaning and groaning for pain. The operation lasted a long time. At last she completed it and said:
-That"s all. You see, the wound is no longer bleeding. So don"t worry, sonny. As the saying goes, "a scar embellishes a man".
Then the woman glanced at the Director and suggested:
-Your eyes have turned red, sonny. They should also be treated before it"s too late.
The woman rose and went up to the cupboard and began to scour about the shelves in search of the medicine she wanted to use. In a few minutes she returned, holding a small bottle in her hand. I looked at the bottle and saw "Iodine" written on it. While the woman was opening the bottle I asked her:
-Granny, what are you going to do?
- The woman did not reply. Suddenly she poured all the content of the bottle into Adalatov"s left eye. Something like smoke or steam came out with a hissing sound -"sh-sh-sh"- out of the eye-socket of our wise Director. With a terrible scream, Kalakhan Adalatov got up and ran out into the street. We followed him.
So this nightmare marked the end of our picnic.
From then on Kalakhan Adalatov"s left eye looked like a white stone sticking out of a crack. Our Director was now wearing a black rubber band, like a pirate that at one time led a band of robbers and killers in the open ocean off the shores of remote Canada.
Dastarkhan - 1) tablecloth 2) table set for breakfast, lunch or dinner ; the food and drink served at meals;
v-alleikum-assalyam - the phrase used to greet someone