Chapter 19 of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves"
A month later, it became clear that Pathella was a sick man. When he started having an attack, his stomach stopped working, and the undigested food left in full swing. He was tormented by terrible headaches. At such moments, Khurshida lost in panic, not knowing what to do and assisted him as best they could, giving him the pills with water. Pathella often was in the hospital and was treated. But since his illness was chronic, he could not fully recover. However, the district social security he was given a pension of a disabled person, but this meager pension is not enough even for medications. For this simple reason, Khurshida had to get a job to survive. She did just that. Found a job in the city and settled into the dining room where she had to clean the vegetables, boil water, clean the boilers, to watch out for cottonseed oil in the cauldron, where the fried ingredients to the broth and, accordingly, to clean the premises and territory of this enterprise catering. The work was heavy. But Khurshida did not complain. It was much better than sitting at home. She was the first to arrive by bus at dawn, when the streets were dominated by the sleepy silence, and sad red street lights. Sweeping the area of the canteen, she was thinking about Sultan recalled with a sigh those unforgettable bright days that are gone forever into the past, into eternity. She worked all day tirelessly and the evening, wearily returned home, sometimes falling asleep in the bus standing. Arriving from work, she cooked dinner and after dinner washed dishes, made the bed for her mother-in-law. Only after that and she went to bed. One day she woke up from her husband's sobs and was scared. Quickly jumping off the place, she asked her husband, what about him?
-What is happening Pathella!? Again your stomach is bothering you? Is it a headache? Let me take your temperature. I now will light up and will bring you some pills - she said.
- No, Khurshida, do not, honey, do not worry. My stomach is not in pain - said Pathella.
- Then why are you crying? - surprised Khurshida.
- You know, I had my first wife Oktamhon Sharovarova.I saw her in my dream - answered Pathella, continuing to cry. Hearing this, Khurshida froze like a wax figure in Madame Tussauds Museum in distant and foggy London. Coming a little to herself, she looked at her husband in disbelief and asked:
- Were you married before?
- Yes, Khurshida. I'm sorry, honey, I didn't tell you that before. You know, love, I was afraid you'd leave me when you found out I was married. Correct to say that an owl in a sack cannot hide, even if the bag is leather. You see, the mystery came out of my mouth. And why hide truth from you, when you the most a close and staunch man for me? You work day and night to keep our family afloat. Sometimes I feel ashamed that I can't help you. I was supposed to be working, and you're supposed to be at home, like a Princess. You don't think my conscience hurts me? No, I sometimes cry at night, clenching my teeth to creak so that you don't wake up. I pay that I sit at home instead of providing you and our family with all necessary things, working as the guest worker in the neighboring countries, as well as many our compatriots. Earn money and build a gorgeous house, buy a car, buy you gold chains, rings with diamond jewelry, expensive dresses... I am eternally indebted to you, Khurshida. You're my angel in human form... - softly cried Pathella, shaking her shoulders.
At this time in front of Khurshida also began to Shine, the bitter tears, in the light of the moon shining over the translucent curtains of the Windows. She rushed into the pastel and by firmly pressing a pillow to his eyes, began to sob bitterly. Pathella wanted to reassure her, but she removed his hands that touched her. Those hands she felt suffocating serpents of the tropical forests of South America. Khurshida did not tell her mother that her husband Pathella was married to her. She just didn't want to stab at the heart of her mother. Sorry mom already afflicted with suffering. On the contrary, as if nothing had happened, she continued to work in the same dining room where she worked and at least for some time, forgetting about the negatives, plunging into an endless ocean of memories connected with the tractor driver Sultan. Recently she went to her parents and went to the field to the camp, where, as before, the blossoms of white acacia, which has become a symbol of love Khurshida and the tractor driver Sultan. It turns out that she, as before, vigorously flourished, and the nest of the magpie disappeared, being covered with bunches of white acacia flowers, where Khurshida and Sultan was sitting, enjoying the beauty of the Paradise tree. From the branches of acacia quietly and sadly, like tears, fell on a wandering spring wind white petals, blooming bunches. Khurshida wanted not only just to visit but to live alone and the rest of her life, wandering around the paths through the fields, thinking about those days, about the hilarious conversations, the smiles, ringing laughter, the gentle touch of hands and a passionate searing kiss.
Then something wonderful happened. Khurshida was working in the kitchen, frying meat in a huge cauldron, where the noisy warm cotton oil, making sparkling sounds. Suddenly one of the officers the dining room, which the maid who cleaned the tables, told Khurshida that someone asks.
- I do not know a man named Sultan. He's wearing a plaid cap, sitting at a table by the fountain, and he asked me to call you! - She said.
Hearing these words, Khurshida almost fell down. She stood there like a dope with a skimmer in her hand and couldn't move as if her legs were nailed to the floor. In a minute she came to herself, and did not know what to do.
- My God, really?.. Is it true, Gulshanoy?! But today is not the first of April by chance? No...Oh, uh, hot oil, leaving it unattended is dangerous. It can burn and flame to envelop the whole kitchen. Expensive ingredients will burn... And what if I turn off the stove for a while... No, you cannot... The chief's gonna get me out of work. Oops, water in the pot boiled!.. she thought, and she quickly lifted the lid of the pan.Then accidentally dropped it on the floor. The lid thundered and a few drops of boiling water fell on her thigh. She jumped from the burn, making a face.
- Vss-ah! Vss-ahhhh! - Khurshida hissed, clutching her thigh, involuntarily remembering that distant incident with the tractor driver Sultan, when she scalded his leg, spilling boiling water from a samovar field.
- Here Satan, and, as luck would have it... No,I'll turn the stove off. Whether, that will... What happiness and, what happiness! He arrived on the end of the! Found me all -???! Thank you, Lord God, thank you! I'm out of here... I'll go out now... we will meet again... Oh, how I worry, my hands shaking... Hey, where am I in that dirty robe? What will Sultan think when he sees me like this? I need to change - thought, Khurshida and turning off the stove, ran to the side of the cupboard with clothes. But Khurshida tripped in a pot and fell on the floor. It was the cave of aluminum pots, which she had recently washed, as they say, to the holes. There were pans and buckets, like basins in the Eastern bathhouse with good acoustics. She quickly extricated herself from the dishes and ran back towards the locker where she'd changed clothes after work, for a small screen. Khurshida took off the robe and quickly dressed as the experienced soldiers re-enlisted during the alarm and was going to run on the street, but stopped again, seeing that she put on a dress inside out.
- Oh, well, what is it, huh?! - Nervous Khurshida, dressed, rushed to the exit. But in the dishwasher, her dress caught on to some tin, and it was torn wide screen! She wouldn't stop if the size of the hole wasn't that big.
- Oh, not this, God!.. Well, why am I so unlucky?! Now ripped my favorite one dress, and there waiting for me my beloved Sultan! What am I supposed to do? Let me put on my robe. Let it dirty, but it will cover the torn part of the dress, she thought, and ran again to the side of the locker. There she wore a dirty robe over her dress, removed the white cap from her head and corrected her hair. Then I remembered the lipstick.
Somewhere in her robe pocket needs to be lipstick... Ah, here is, seems, has found... she thought, fumbling in the pockets of the robe, shaking like a drunk with her hands.
Looking at the piece of mirror that was attached to the wooden door of the cabinet, Khurshida started painting her lips. But the excitement she had put on lipstick wrong and wanting to correct this, she smeared lips. Khurshida quickly wiped the smeared lipstick, with the hem of her robe. After that, Khurshida decided to go outside, no matter what. But when she was running, suddenly she tripped and fell on the tiled floor of the dishwasher hurt her feet. Severe pain forced her to sit. She cried grabbing her sprained leg. At this time, we ran Gulshanoy , that same employee dining room that were cleaning tables. She began to reproach Khurshida supposedly why she hesitates when there waits for it the person?
- Why are you sitting, Khurshida?! There waiting for you you're man! Who is he? He's probably a money-lender, and he came to ask for a favor from you to repay your interest-bearing debt. It's not good to keep a person waiting that long. Come on, rise up! Why are you sitting here?! - She said.
- No, I can't Gulshanoy, I twisted my leg inadvertently - said Khurshida.
- Yeah?! Oh, My God! Sorry, Khurshida, I don't know! Oh, does it hurt? - The cleaning lady said.
- Yeah, - nodded Khurshida, continuing to cry and looking at Gulshanoy through tears.
- No, I have to go! Let us, help me, please, to stand up, Gulshanoy. I leave, and you turn on the stove and watch the stove for me-she said, trying to rise. Cleaning lady tables Gulshanoy helped her up, and she got up. Khurshida went, hobbling on one leg and resting her hands on the wall. But when she got out, there was nobody at the table by the fountain. Seeing this, Khurshida's heart trembled. When she went to the Desk, there lay a large bouquet of red roses and a note. Khurshida quickly took the note and recognized the handwriting of her beloved Sultan.
- No, don't go, don't go! - she roared, not hesitating visitors who were sitting at tables and eating Uzbek the delicious spaghetti, called "Lagman". Khurshida looked around, continuing to cry from sorrow with a distorted face, like a drunken alcoholic. Then, sitting at the table, began to read the note of the Sultan through the tears trembling in her eyes. The content of the note was as follows.
I apologize for what I stupid coming put you in an uncomfortable position in front of your management and to the labor collective. The thing is, I, through my old acquaintances, found out about you and your workplace, and I just wanted to see you. To see and to speak as before at least an hour, even for a minute. I am a fool; ever allow such unforgivable mistakes in relation to you and each time hurting you. Here I am again disturbing your quiet moonlit pier, bursting in here like a terrible Typhoon. At first I thought you were mad at me so much that you didn't even want to come out here and see me. Then I came to the conclusion that you simply did not come to a meeting with me, only to preserve the reputation of your beloved husband, their parents and fear of gossip and rumors. And I think you did the right thing. But believe me, Khurshida, I am glad with all my heart that you are alive and well and have finally found your happiness. I won't bother you anymore. Say hello to aunt Raheela and forgive me again for disturbing you. I now live in a very different far-off state, which is called memory. Live there, as before, sitting at our familiar family field table under blooming white acacia, running with you in the direction of the field camp, when there's a storm coming, under the crashing of spring thunder, illuminating my face in the lightning and soaking wet, laughing. In the autumn all thoughts drive your bulldozer "Altai" in yellow on a night the fields covered with fog, thinking only about you. You pop up in my memories like that beautiful blooming white acacia in the distant spring. Sincerely yours, still loving tractor driver Sultan.
After reading the letter, Khurshida for a moment froze. Then clung her head to the table and screamed:
- Nooo! nooo! - She cried a wild voice, hitting her fist on the table. She was crying, no hesitating, even visitors who froze in surprise with forks in hand. Then, Khurshida stood up abruptly and dash ran outside, hoping to have time to see the tractor driver Sultan who sits in a taxi and immediately to stop it. But the tractor driver Sultan was not there.