Chapter 12 of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves"
Khurshida felt ashamed in front of the tractor driver Sultan, because of yesterday's events, when in a drunken brawl her father nearly stabbed him with the broken bottle. Oh, how he scolded how insulted, to remember even ashamed - she thought, blushing and crying. I suppose, Sultan was offended by my father and us, therefore -continued to think Khurshida. -Of course, offended. He just came to help us, and my father... What happens now? Is Sultan going to stop talking with me and go somewhere else? How can I live? Oh, Lord, make it so he left. Let us reconcile and be together again! He gave me this happiness and do not take it from me! - she thought, briskly walking in the direction of the field mill.
Meanwhile, the autumn sun was shining, dispelling the morning mists. Sad deserted fields and in the distance there were black mulberry trees, poplars and willows. On the empty fields there were no people, not a tractor of the tractor driver Sultan, except a bulldozer "Altai" at field camp, out of which protruded their feet. Apparently, the driver of the bulldozer was fixing the motor. Khurshida wanted to go to the bulldozer and to ask Sultan about the tractor, but then changed her mind for fear of rumors. She stopped, having lost the last hope to meet here my beloved man. It seemed that the world was empty as the autumn field. Would be at least one stack of cotton on the field, one would hopes on the appearance of the tractor driver Sultan in these places. All - he will not come here. He left, annoyed with my father! Oh, what a misfortune, eh? What a misfortune! It's that damn vodka is to blame! - She began to cry quietly, wiping her tears with the edge of her handkerchief. Now it was useless to look for and wait for the tractor driver Sultan in these places.
With these thoughts Khurshida wanted to turn around and go back home. But then she heard the familiar voice of her lover guy and stood rooted to the spot. She turned around and saw the tractor driver Sultan, who cried out to her, waving his hand that held a wrench.
Lady Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pa seue pasuble manege! Well, where are you going, leaving me in the deserted autumn field like Leila, which left Majnun on the boundless deserts of separation in the epics of the great Uzbek poet Alisher Navoi?! - he shouted.
Hearing these words, Khurshida just roared with joy. She smiled through the tears quivering in her eyes like the morning dew. Thank God that he's not offended - she thought and ran towards the bulldozer "Altai", where stood her lover boy tractor driver Sultan. She stopped just a few steps from the tractor driver Sultan, and they shook hands, not daring to cuddle, although they really wanted to.
- I am sorry, Lady Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pa seue pasuble manege that didn't shake your aristocratic white handle, as my hands are stained with fuel oil. Well, how's it going, beautiful? Why are you crying?- said the tractor driver Sultan.
- I'm happy you are not offended by my father, who had upset You in a drunken brawl, Sultan- she said, with downcast eyes..
I don't know what you're talking about, Lady Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pa seue pasuble manege? What a riot, its a disappointment? Something I do not remember .First, I'm not mad. As for uncle Abduljabbar, I think he is a good man, and he was just joking. And I check, you know, with a sense of humor. So the question of any sorrow disappears - smiled the tractor driver Sultan.
Thank you, Sultan that you are not offended by my father and on us. You are truly a noble man. No, you are not a man but a heavenly angel without wings - said Khurshida.
-Well, this praise with a wide range in any gate not climbing. Even in the next life. You are exaggerating, Lady Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pa seue pasuble manege. Well, what with me angel, God, even a demon will not pull - shy, smiling, the tractor driver Sultan.
- Fool-said Khurshida with a guilty smile, looking at the tractor driver Sultan from the bottom up.
- Here is the word exactly suited to my face. Yes, I the fool and, you know, I'm proud of it, honestly - said Sultan, wiping cloth soiled hands.
Then he added:
- You better help me. I just do not have enough assistant volunteer. I'll climb under the bulldozer, but will you let me help, handing me wrenches that I call. And then for the arrival of the agronomist I have to do the norm. Tractor in Park, took my vehicle tractor and told me to work on this bulldozer. In short, I have to plow
- Good Sultan- agreed Khurshida. The tractor driver Sultan climbed under the tractor, and she began to help him, bottom for him wrenches. Lying under the bulldozer, the tractor driver Sultan huffed and puffed, twisting the nuts and without interrupting conversation with his girlfriend.Khurshida felt like the happiest person in the world. She wanted always to be together with the Sultan and to help him. To live and work together. Plow on a deserted fields, wrapped in a thick autumn fog, sitting next to him. To dine with him on a foggy field at a fire, illuminating their faces in a flame, like a red silk flag.
Here Khurshida thoughts broke the voice of the cranes that flew in the sky and she screamed?
The tractor driver Sultan looked up sharply and banged his head on the crankcase of the motor.
- Well, Mrs. Lady Duchess Khurshidabanu Madame de La Marquise La tombala neige a pa seue pasuble manege?! - he asked, coming out from under the bulldozer.
- Cranes!- cried Khurshida, enthusiastically looking at the sky, where the blade flew a huge flock of cranes, covering half the sky.
- Yes-aa-ah! - admiringly said the tractor driver Sultan, looking at the autumn sky, removing a moth eaten hat and leaning against the bulldozer of yellow color. Cranes fly high, filling the sky with their sad cries. The lovers stared at crane for a long time until they completely disappeared from sight, disappearing into the sky.
- Here, the cranes also flew to distant lands. If the whole neighborhood had become an orphan and the soul too - sighed Khurshida.
- Yes, it is a Pity that we are not born cranes. We would fly also to the South side by side, after them, like cranes freely shouting noisily, over the autumn fields, over the forests over blue bays and oceans. In the spring we would return to the Far East or here in Uzbekistan. They would live together happily, among tall grasses in the meadows performing the mating dance, flapping their huge wings and jumping on long legs and waking the silence on the deserted lawns of spring with shouts of joy. Seeing us from the Windows of their huts, lonely poets would write haiku, draining to the bottom of a sea shell with rice vodka sake and sadly munching on a snack coarse grinding.
- You look more like a poet than a tractor driver. I'm sure that if you wrote poetry, there would be no equal on the planet "Earth". Your poems translated to all languages of the world, and people would have bought your books like hotcakes. Moreover, you would have awarded the international Nobel Prize. And you would be living in peace, somewhere out there, in the Swiss Alps or in Paris or in Canada. The crowd of beautiful girls ran up to you crying and asking for your autograph. Many of them have you finished the suicide by throwing herself from the Eiffel tower in Paris -said Khurshida.
- Who am I, a poet? I'm more like a chimney sweep. And to write poetry does not have to be a poet. Conversely, do not have to write poetry to be or become a good poet, because life itself is highest poetry. To drive a tractor and work alone in the fields covered by fog is thin, my poetry, my music, my delicate Symphony! Why do I have Paris, why the Swiss Alps, when there are fields where carefree walks drunken Uzbek the wind? Why do I need a crowd of beautiful Paris girls when I have you? And the tart smell of field weeds, the fragrance of the blooming roses and olive trees of the ravines and the delicate scent of acacia, to me a thousand times nice than the smell of different perfumes and deodorants! Believe me, I seriously say - said Sultan.
- I believe You, Sultan with all my heart, and I am grateful to my fate, that I met someone like you. I wouldn't want to leave you even for a minute, but you know that I have a strict father. I thank you for what you are offended by my father and me and my mom. Okay, I went. And then my mother starts to worry about me. Because, when I came here didn't warn her about it. I'm sorry that I just have to go home and I do not have the opportunity to help you continue to be with you even apologized Khurshida.
-All right, Khurshida. Thank you for coming. I am also very worried about You. Thank God that You are alive and healthy. Give my greetings to aunt Raheela, I respect her very much. Not only is she a good woman and a great mother, because she gave birth to such a beautiful girl with a gentle soul like you - said Sultan.
They barely parted, and Khurshida went home. The evening autumn fog had thickened to such an extent that it was difficult to see anything two steps away.Khurshida lay in the dark, listening to the distant roar of a lone tractor. This is it, my lover guy Sultan works there one, leading his bulldozer through the fog, plugging deserted field. God help don't let him sleep alone and fatigue, he lost control in thick fog, fell into a deep ravine with his bulldozer "Altai" she whispered.