After I had quit work at Uvada Factory I got a job as a motor-scooter driver in the "Almatras" firm which was involved in wool processing. The director of the firm was
Saidnazar Sariksimaskalov, the man resembling Kalankhan Adalatov, except that he was red haired and with a red beard. He was bald, had little ears and green eyes. When I had passed his strenuous test he publicly handed me in the key to the scooter. My mission was to purchase wool from people at lowest price.
I drove the scooter in a crash helmet. The scooter"s booth was made of veneer by the local carpenter, like that of the vehicles that during World War II used to carry shells to the front lines. I rode singing songs as if sitting on a window frame, with the road and the blue expanse stretching along...
Outside the window frame I could see poplars, weeping willows and cotton fields; in short, it was a boiling and smoking bowl of the valley. I rode noisily scaring off frightened hens, ducks and geese.
One fine morning I set out to a mountain village to gather wool and dropped in at the next
yard. A woman of about forty, plump, with a fair face and a big backside, came out to see what I wanted.
- What do you want? - she asked.
-Well, you see, I am buying wool. Do you have any?
-Of course, I have - she said. Nut much though, but I will give you some. Come along!
I followed her, and we went into the house. As we walked along the corridor, God knows why, we entered the bed-room, where comfort and peace reigned, like in five star hotel rooms on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean. The bed was covered a with white silk quilt, and the white soft pillows looked like clouds.
I nearly got drunk from the sweet odor of the French perfume, while the plump woman with a big backside shut the door quickly and locked it, and for some reason threw the key outside, through the opening in the window. Then she started pulling down her tender breeches made of satin and said passionately:
-Here is my wool, soft and tender. Ten grams. Do you like it? Oh, my handsome man, come closer, comes, my dear.
Frankly, I did not expect that. I resisted, of course, but the plump woman, pulled me to herself forcibly, like an elephant. I protested:
-What are you doing? Let me go now! Do you hear? Ah-a-a-a! Help!
But the woman"s arms held me tight unwilling to set me free.
-Don"t shout, sweetie. I"ve been waiting for you so many years! At last!... Don"t reject me, please. My howitzer has become rusty. Where is your shell? Oh...please, do it a couple of times... At least, once. Please, come here... come, honey...
-And what if your husband comes, what shall we do? - I said swallowing the saliva with my tongue getting dry from excitement. He won"t come. My husband...
I could" stop now... It was shaitan"s work again. In other words, I had committed a sin. Forgive me, my Lord!
After the ablution, wiping myself with a towel, I asked her:
-And where does your husband work?
He is the director of the Almatras firm. On hearing this, I turned to stone.
After this happening I couldn"t come round for a long time. I was conscience-stricken. I couldn"t look into my wife"s eyes. I felt shame thinking about God.
To avoid the occasion of sin, I quit the new work. I was lying now on the torn sofa without a leg, an invalid, so to say. I couldn"t sleep because the cockroaches gave me no rest. They were running on the wall like crazy as if competing in speed and mocking me. When I raised my head they would disappear at once. The minute I lay down they would turn up again, moving their feelers. Then I slowly and imperceptibly stretched my hand gripping the top of Babat"s high boots. Then, choosing the right time, I prepared to attack the troublesome insects. When a huge swarm of them had crowded on the wall I hurled the boot, like a rocket launcher. But, unfortunately, I missed for once. The boots hit the black and white TV set which we would turn on and off using pliers for lack of the hub. The screen exploded and turned into a broken box. My wife and the kids were offended.
-What shall we watch now? - they wondered.
-What if we make an aquarium out of it? - I suggested.
My wife didn"t agree and said:
- No, we"d rather use it as a bred-basket.
Then I used the broken TV set to make a nice bred-basket with a lid closing hermetically to prevent the disgusting cockroaches from getting into our repository and stealing our stocks of bread.
I lay on the sofa, pleased and contented, leafing through a magazine and from time to time glancing at the crazy throng of hungry cockroaches. Suddenly, I saw an enigmatic headline: "A Cockroach Firm". Greedily, I started devouring the article written by a cockroach investigator from the USA. He was describing the technique of breeding pedigree cockroaches.
You will not believe me, but I had read the article through, from beginning to end and from end to beginning. I had read it ten times, and I almost learnt it by heart. Frankly, I could say with certainty that the article had inspired me to set up my own cockroach firm. I started feeding them by daily ration. It was exciting. I was the manager of the firm. The elder son Arabboy was the accountant, the younger one, Sharabboy, was the animal technician and my wife worked as the unpaid charwoman.
In the magazine where I read the article about cockroach science I saw another thing. It said, for instance, that speedy cockroaches were in high demand, particularly with tourists, and sold at a high price. I learnt that they arranged competitions where cockroaches ran competing in speed, running along the race-track. And, naturally, heated spectators staked such big sums of money that you couldn"t even dream of.
This kind of competition spread so far away that I even came across a club of cockroach fans in the outskirts of the city. Gradually, like the other members of the club, I found friends abroad and started exchanging letters with them.
One of my pen pals wrote me about the world cockroach running contest which was to take place in Bangladesh under the slogan "Cockroaches are our friends". Most pedigreed cockroaches, irrespective of color, no matter black or brown, red or gray, would compete for the cup named "The Golden Bit". The participants of the insect contest would be provided with free air tickets. The sponsor of the contest was the "Cockroach International Company".
I, too, flew to Bangladesh along with my cockroach by the name of "Satiboldy" which I carried along in a mach-box. In the Olympic village I got acquainted with a woman who also came from Russia to take part in the contest.
As we walked down the street in Bangladesh one day she started talking with her cockroach:
-Marusya, baby, dear, oh, chop-chop-chop...
I asked her in surprise:
Excuse me, Madam-mademoiselle-seigneurita-khanum , why do you call your cockroach Marusya? Is your cockroach a girl, I wonder?
- Yes, - the woman said - of course.
She took a small magnifying glass, a loupe, out of her bag and said:
-There! You see? If a cockroach has got that organ then, it"s a girl. Will you show me your little cockroach? We shall see if it it"s a girl or a boy.
- I was excited and did as she told me withdrawing the match-box from my pocket and taking out my Cockroach.
-Well, come out now, Satiboldy, the aunty will examine you.
The woman started examining the insect, as if she was a doctor examining a patient.
-Well, my little one, come to your mommy, don"t be afraid. Satiboldy, will you show it to us... Oh, your cockroach happens to be a boy!
- Really? - I said in surprise. -That-a-boy! So I was right when giving you a male name- I said addressing my cockroach admiringly.
The woman put her cockroach into the match-box, shut it and started telling me stories. I learnt that there is a tribe in Africa that catch cockroaches to fry them in a pan and eat.
With this story we got on a bus. It was crowded and cramped.
We hardly got to the Olympic village and jumped off. I looked at the woman and saw that she was crying. It so happened that her cockroach had been crushed in the crowded bus. I hugged her and conveyed my condolences.
At home she mourned and mourned over her deceased cockroach. She was particularly mournful when it was buried in the green lawn of the boulevard. She was sobbing hysterically.
- God rest his soul, may he rest in peace! - I said wiping the bitter tears off the lady"s face. To soothe her, I gave her my cockroach and flew off not even willing to participate in the race.
I returned home.
I was now lying on the same old torn, three legged sofa. It had bricks to support it, instead of the missing leg. I was reposing, sad and dejected. Suddenly, - oh my! - I saw Sotiboldy looking at me out of my jacket"s sleeve. I cheered up. But then my joy somehow changed into an unbearable agony. I lay curled up like a dog, howling with pain.
When Babat, that is my wife, learnt what had happed to me she wanted to cal the First Aid and ran to the Uvada Factory where they had a telephone. She called the "first aid" but the ambulance didn"t come. Thanks to my friend Matash, who brought the wheelbarrow which he used to carry rubbish. My sons wrapped me carefully in a military overcoat, which I had brought from the army when I served in Leningrad Military Circuit. Then we set out towards the hospital which was located in the center of Altinkul District.
Matash wheeled the barrow and, by pure accident, dropped me out. It so happened that my sleeves got caught and wound round the wheel. I lay in the dirt grunting and writhing. Matash, with the help of my sons, loaded me back into the barrow and we moved on. When we reached the militia check point, a state auto inspector told us to stop. Unfortunately, Matash was a little drunk, and, not willing to lose his driver"s license, off he wheeled the barrow where I sat, as fast as he could.
Matash speeded on, while I lay moaning and gasping from a horrible pain. The inspector pursued us keeping pace with the barrow. His boots, cleaned with shoe-polish or fuel oil, pawed the ground emitting the clattering sound: "plod-plod!", "plod-plod!", "plod-plod!".
The race went on and on until the state auto inspector started limping. He limped and limped and then fell down. We didn"t pay attention to him for we had no time to lose. So we wheeled on. We were in a hurry.
In the morning Matash delivered me to hospital all right. I was examined, and the case was diagnosed as "appendicitis". I was taken to the surgical ward for an operation. The surgeon turned out to be a woman. First she stripped me naked, examined me carefully and then said:
- You know, comrade, if a patient is badly off we carry out the operation without anesthetics.
I stared at the knife in the surgeon"s hand which looked like a chisel with an insulated handle. The insulation was of blue color which made the knife, a sort of scalpel, look still more horrific. The surgeon raised the knife stretching it forward, like a fencer. Then, putting her legs apart, she flourished the knife, like a sword.
-What are you doing? - I asked her
- I am limbering up before the operation - she answered.
Then she clapped her hands, like a Padishah that calls an executioner to the block where a condemned man is decapitated.
On hearing this, musicians entered the room. When the surgeon put on the gloves full of holes, one of the musicians, as thin as a dragon-fly, asked:
- What music shall we play?
- Well, Maestro, we"ll sing "Good bye, my friend, good bye" - the short, fat musician with a drum said.
- No-oo, it"s music for a heart operation - the musician with a saxophone objected.
For appendicitis we usually play, let me see, something like this:
The forest raised a Christmas tree,
"Twas silent and serene
In winter and in summer
It was slender and so green.
The wind sang it a lullaby:
Sleep Christmas tree, sleep tight!
The snow was making clothes for it:
It was a pretty sight!
A trembling bunnyt himself
Beneath its arms so wide;
The hungry wolf just passed him by -
A lovely place to hide!
Some sleigh bells rang throughout the woods,
The snow was crisp and clean,
A horsey brought a forester
To hew that tree so green.
And now it comes to visit us,
With lights and garlands bright,
While all the children dance and sing
To greet it with delight!
- Don"t confuse the guy, we use this music when repairing a hernia! - the surgeon said reproaching the musicians who accompanied operations by music. Remember, last time, by confusing the tune, you sent the patient up there?.. - she pointed at the ceiling.
- Sent where? - I asked
- There - the surgeon said pointing at the ceiling. The country no one ever returns from. They probably like it there. If they didn"t, they would have come back right off. They must be living in luxury there.
When I heard these words my throat got dry.
- Let"s sing the song "My heart will go on" from the film "Titanic" - the surgeon said - because this operation will last long.
- The musicians started singing. The surgeon touched my abdomen with the knife looking like a chisel and burst out laughing. Her hand was shaking as she laughed. I looked at the chisel in fear and said:
- Ah, be careful! What are you laughing at? How can you laugh in such a serious situation? Pull yourself together!
The surgeon went on laughin. She just couldn"t help it.
Oh, my Lord, the moment I recall that patient whom we operated on yesterday I start laughing. He, too, had appendicitis. I looked at his feet and saw that his socks were worn through, full of holes. He kept scratching his toes. He told us his friends had given him as a birthday present a little rake with along handle so that he could scratch the spots difficult of access. I feel sorry for the guy, for when my hand suddenly shook I cut his vital organ and he passed away.
On hearing this I started praying to God, while the surgeon began to operate on me to the tune "Kalinka" which went like this:
Juniper, juniper, my juniper,
in the garden there's the berry, my
raspberry.
Under the pine, under the green pine,
lay me down to sleep,
aida, Lyuli, Lyuli, aida, Lyuli, Lyuli,
lay me down to sleep!
Juniper, juniper, my juniper,
in the garden there's the berry, my
raspberry.
Oh you dear pine, oh you green pine,
don't you rustle so loud over me,
aida, Lyuli, Lyuli, aida, Lyuli, Lyuli,
don't you rustle so loud over me!
Juniper, juniper, my juniper,
in the garden there's the berry, my
raspberry.
Beautiful maid, dear maid,
please fall in love with me,
aida, Lyuli, Lyuli, aida, Lyuli, Lyuli,
please fall in love with me!
Juniper, juniper, my juniper,
in the garden there's the berry, my
raspberry.
I don"t know the rest of the song. Listening to the magic tune I somehow fell asleep. I regained consciousness in the ward. My wife and our kids were by my side. I smiled to them feebly. They were happy. Especially, Babat. I looked at the pillow and saw my cockroach Satiboldi running up to me. He, too, came to see me.
Shaitan 1. Islam. The Devil; Satan. 2. An evil spirit; a fiend.
Khanum - a polite form of address for a woman in Central Asia, with the suffix added at the end of the name
Padishah - 1. Used formerly as a title for the monarch of Iran. 2. Used formerly as a title for the sultan of Turkey