Chapter 4 of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves"
Sitting in the shade of old willows, Khurshida was closely followed by driving the tractor to Sultan, working on a hot cotton field for poplar grove. She wanted to make a joke, and took out the mirror; she pulled him to the side of the tractor of Sultan. The reflected rays of the sun, bunnies, start cutting Sultan's eyes. He stopped his tractor and jumped down. Shaking off the dust from clothes with a skullcap, he headed in the direction of shady willows, where she sat and mischief, Khurshida. He walked along the path, on the way making a bouquet of wildflowers. Butterflies flew, almost touching him...
Oh, Bonjour, Madam Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pace sua e fusible manege! - said Sultan, using the weight of the Arsenal of French words that he learned in school. Then he went on:
- Then you sit there in the shade like a lazy person, when people are working heroically overcoming all the difficulties and vagaries of nature in the name of our prosperity of the economy of our impoverished country?!
Moreover, you interfere with the work of guards of the fields, advanced mechanics, blinding their eyes from afar, using the secret weapon of saboteurs, high-power laser mirror- he continued, and smiling cheerfully.
- Sufficient working comrade Communist, Monsieur Sultan de La Crua je'mapple a la maison general, la bien, merci beaucoup moi! It's time to move to the shady trees! - Khurshida said, also laughing. After this dialogue, they shook hands and sat side by side.
- What a Scorcher, Lord! - said Sultan, waving his cap like a fan.
Yeah, don't tell, , Monsieur Sultan de La Crua je'mapple a la maison general, la tge bien, merci beaucoup moi!. If the spring will be this hot what about in summer? Some natural anomaly now moves into our territory - agreed Khurshida.
Somewhere out there, beyond the olive grove, rhythmically and plaintive moaning, panting from the heat of the wild pigeon gurrak. Two lovers sat silently, listening to the sad moans of a lonely bird. Khurshida was the first to break the silence.
- Last night sleep, and suddenly I dreamt of you - she said.
- Yes? I wonder what I was doing there, in your dream - asked Sultan.
- Nothing, just led his lone tractor night in the autumn fields in a thick fog.
- What are other people's nightmares dreaming of you-said Sultan.
- And you only Comedy, whether that dream with the participation of Luis de Funs? - said Khurshida.
- No, why? I dream and drama, and soap operas, and documentaries too.
Khurshida laughed, listening to the words of Sultan.
- You straight as Baron Munchausen - she said.
-Oh, if I was a Baron Munchausen! Such a great sage! This literary hero sometimes seems to me historical figure. If you are referring to the falsity of the Background of Baron Munchausen, I think you are greatly mistaken, Mademoiselle. The fact that the Baron Munchausen - the true man in the world. Yes, Yes, and don't be surprised. For example, he talks about how he saved himself and his horse, pulling out of a swamp seizing him by the hair, right? But, you know, he's right. That is, the man himself has to rescue himself by pulling himself to the top of your hair, pulling out of the quagmire of sins. Otherwise, he, after his death, will have to burn in a fiery hell. A man saves himself, purged from the swamp slime of sin. When Baron Munchausen says, that he flew while riding on the Cannonball, it meant the planet similar to a Cannonball, a flying man, he meant mankind that flies cannon fodder in the giant-called "Earth". Indeed, the core of the Earth moves along its trajectory, and millions of people die in the hot spots of the world. And we of Baron Munchausen laugh, while the need to cry - said Sultan.
- Yeah, obviously, you check well-read, wise as a member of the Academy of Sciences, Khurshida smiled, and then asked:
- You have, among other things, the Royal name is Sultan! And Sultans rule the state. And why you operate a tractor, ride on your old unit, kicking up dust behind him - Khurshida said smiling.
- What's the difference between a tractor driver and Sultans, who is the President of the country? After all, the state is also a tractor driver, right? For example, if I'm wrong I get to drive my tractor; it could easily go off the track and fall into a deep ravine. Also, if the President does not properly manage state, oppressing its people, banning freedom of speech and a free press, illegally extending their powers by bogus referendums, expelled, say their opponents from the country and fabricate against them false accusations, such a state will also collapse along with his driver and a dictator in the political deep ravine, just as incorrectly managed the tractor. I, for example have to settle for a piece of bread. Go wherever I want and anytime I can go wherever I want. Roam unguarded along the path wide fields, where the walk winds. I stop in the middle of the morning a field of rye where rye larks sing happily, merrily fluttering in the air. I can spend the night in the fields, lying on the haystack when the haystack is shining bright a month and, the diamond lit stars in the dead silence. As well lie above the stack at night and listen to the murmur of water in the meadows, under the moon, where the swaying sea of daisies. So I have the opportunity and sufficient time to observe the sun at the crimson horizon and the slowly rising moon, to listen to the singing of the crickets and choral croaking of distant frogs, like a whisper. To sleep on a cot at the field camp under the huge willows and poplars, and night when blowing nice cool breezes carrying the smell of blossoming olives. Wake up in the morning by a loud friendly discordance birds, washing transparent dew, quietly to lunch, not thinking about the possibility of poisoning. Then again, somehow, I pause for a moment, only to listen to the sad call of the hoopoe, which was coming from over the fields. Live easily to throwing off all unnecessary loads. Live in harmony with nature.
How about Presidents? They will not step unable to leave their residences without enhanced protection and move freely, as an ordinary person in the city. Live with an overwhelming fear in the heart. They almost do not sleep at night for fear of not going to raise a riot the angry people, like a Typhoon in the ocean and shudder to think and not hang them, the people who are not happy with their policy. Their hearts are filled with blood when you start to think about their officials, the sycophants in his entourage, who easily turns away from them when they are deprived of the throne of the Sultanate -government, and they will be the first water them with dirt, praising new Sultan! They are wagging their tails in front of the new ruler, humbly looking into his eyes, raising his eyebrows and smiling lips, like a rosebud.
Such thoughts they can't sleep until the morning. Even the sleeping meds will not help them.
To be a ruler - it's like that burn in hell in life.
So it is better to be Sultan of a tractor than Sultan-ruler - Sultan said, looking thoughtfully at the butterfly that flew over a lonely trail, overgrown from two sides by high grass.
- God, what a fragile and delicate winged insect. Quietly roams the field, no noise, like a living image of blessed silence. Even catch them sorry. They say that they live only one day and not much upset because of this. On the contrary, pleased and satisfied. It's pitifully short life they spend in joy and peace, flying in the wilderness where there is no noise. Fly in Paradise. Then, not complaining of anything die quietly. We do not even notice when and how they bid farewell to life, and the people? They live a relatively long time, but his long life they absorb the poison of hatred and envy, for profit killing of his brother, mocking the weak and the poor, oppressing the people and forcibly grabbing someone else's business, poisoning the lives of others. People are fighting among themselves, destroy, kill children, destroy whole Nations flattening of the beautiful city, where the wreckage killed innocent people, burned alive in the cellars whole families lying in the streets part of the human body, torso without heads, dead little children with torn feet, crazy mother, looking at the broken shells of the bodies of their small children...
Yes, agreed, Khurshida, also not taking her eyes from the fluttering white butterfly, which flew like a fragile and delicate petal of the flower of acacia.