# Chapter 2 of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Letters of "mizhappar "

Вулкан Холдор

One day, Qurumboy managed to bribe one of the guards, and this bribe taker brought me a secret letter from Qurumboy. To be honest, at first I was afraid to open the envelope, thinking that Qurumboy in his letter scolded me, probably worth. No, on the contrary, he even thanked me for being in prison. The content of the letter was as follows: - Hi, Mizhappar! Thank you so much, my best friend, for helping me go to jail, I"m given three times a day for free bread and clothing. In short, people live here better than at will. You, and even my family, let them as soon as possible after committing some heinous crimes, will sit in the dock and that would be to lengthy periods of imprisonment, hire additional prosecutors, together a lawyer. If they find a way, they'll be empty for life, because in the wild they can die from lack of food and without clean water, with great gratitude, your friend Qurumboy.

The second letter of Mizhappar of the short novel of Holder Volcano


The letter writing now, as well as the first letter let raging like a Typhoon or tsunami tropical shores of the ocean, will reach the hands of Mr. Sitmirat, who lives in the high mountains, over blue seas and the boundless forests in far Canada, thoughtfully Smoking his tobacco. Hello, dear Mr. Sitmirat. If you ask me, then I go dragging my foot cloth made from red slogan that stretches sticking out my torn of tarpaulin boots without soles, bothering the evil, stray dogs, laugh of children that ringing laughter ran after me, pointing to my tarpaulin boots without soles and shouting in unison, like a pack of monkeys. Now I will write about news. If you start with good news, the picture emerges something like this. My age and a relative who lives in the Village ''Lattaqishlaq'' Qurumboy thundered in the Slammer. Generally, he himself is to blame in this. It was like this. When we met him in the center of our village, Qurumboy told me that he has for me is very interesting news and he says the news only when I make a feast, slaughtering one sheep. -Well, there is no market. Our life is beautiful, our sky is clear and our bread is not expensive. You tomorrow evening along with Yoldashvoy and Mamadiar come to an abandoned pigsty, one sheep with me. I will arrange as they say, a magnificent Banquet in exactly, and there you will tell me that important news - I said. On the following day, according to my promise, I slaughtered a sheep with paws and a collar around its neck, without a muzzle. Poor so whined as if begging me so I let her live, sorry. - I'm sorry, buddy, I must lead you in victims. How else are my friends drinking vodka? Guess there's nothing to eat. We have to make you a healing soup called "Kuksi". So, good bye, my friend, I said, and I stabbed her with a sickle. What to do? I'm not Robespierre, to have a sharp guillotine. In short, I made a healing soup, where the meat was swimming sad poor dog. Seeing these delicate, Qurumboy refused to eat. He said - I will not eat dog meat. Yoldashvoy said that if vodka, then not only he is ready to eat dog meat, but donkey meat. After these words, I was just forced to bring a couple of bottles of vodka from the center of the village. After the first cups of vodka my friends played appetite, and they began to drink soup and eat dog meat, licking their fingers. Then I had to run again for vodka in the center of the village "Chapaev". We had a nice drink and we were cold. You see, the eyes of my friends slightly cross eyed and they are hard to hear words. They moved lazily, like a zombie. I got scared and began to ask Qurumboy about the news, which he promised to say. - Well, Qurumboy, out now the news you promised to tell. Tell me before it faded mirror of the mind - I said. Qurumboy picked off their used skullcap. Then come you didn't stay up from the inner pocket of his soldier's overcoat, filled her tobacco and began to smoke. - Well, Mizhappar - he said, smoking his pipe. - In short, your letter which you wrote on a roofing material, oppositionists published on the website - he told, having long and loudly rumbled. Look how ill-mannered he is. You are called on you, Mr.Sitmirat! The website said. Hearing his words, I began to climb the roof. - Uh, Qurumboy, why treat a respected Mr. Sitmirat what you are. Such a respected father, and you call it a Website! Not good - I said. Qurumboy in the place ashamed began to laugh. I was doing Kung Fu. I have a simple leather belt from pantaloons black in karate. Looking to the side lying sickle with a wooden handle, wrapped with blue duct tape, with the help of which I recently stabbed a poor dog. I grabbed the sickle, and rushed at Qurumboy. I only began to decapitate, appeared the local policeman, a friend of Shgabuddinov with a gun in the hands of mark "Mauser". - Hands up and face the wall! Shoulder width feet! Tell who! What's going on, huh?! Why fight, you bastards?! Answer me now! I'll shoot you on the spot without trial or investigation! - He shouted, nervously waving his "Mauser'.

-Qurumboy called respected man, Mr. Sitmirat's website -I said. Hearing my words, local policeman Shgabuddinov freaked out! He called Sitmirat of Sattarovich Site?! Oh you bastard, you redneck, how dare you call our beloved chief?! Do you even know who he is?! He, for twenty years headed the largest and most feared prison in the world! Such a commander called the site?! Well, consider yourself dead. I'll show you what's what! Come on, gather round, Scorpion green, let's go to the station, there we'll talk one on one! - Said local policeman Shgabuddinov. Then, with a kick in the ass, took Qurumboy to the station, after this incident of Qurumboy was tried and sentenced to long terms of imprisonment, rightly said our ancestors that words are stronger than nuclear bombs. Because of the word of Qurumboy put on nine years! To think only! Uzbek poet Cosimiy knowingly wrote.


The Nightingale sang, sitting on a branch,

Because of the song he got in the cage.


One day, Qurumboy managed to bribe one of the guards, and this bribe taker brought me a secret letter from Qurumboy. To be honest, at first I was afraid to open the envelope, thinking that Qurumboy in his letter scolded me, probably worth. No, on the contrary, he even thanked me for being in prison. The content of the letter was as follows:

- Hi, Mizhappar! Thank you so much, my best friend, for helping me go to jail, I'm given three times a day for free bread and clothing. In short, people live here better than at will. You, and even my family, let them as soon as possible after committing some heinous crimes, will sit in the dock and that would be to lengthy periods of imprisonment, hire additional prosecutors, together a lawyer. If they find a way, they'll be empty for life, because in the wild they can die from lack of food and without clean water,

with great gratitude, your friend Qurumboy.


As soon as I read the letter of my friend, the Barber Usta Garib, Cycling through the streets of our village, with a loud voice called the people to the funeral called Muslims "Janaza". It turned out that last night died the mentor and chief of the local policeman Shgabuddinov Sitmirat Sattarovich, that is, your swine. Poor, Sitmirat Sattarovich was still quite young. Last year, he just turned eighty nine years. I used to think that leaders do not die, that is, they live forever. I miscalculated, find themselves leaders, too, and die. When the call to Gansu, every Muslim is obliged to go and attend this event. Leaving this law, I'm wearing my tarpaulin boots, which gave me for the birthday a son-in-law, that is, my sister's husband, who works in the fire Department. Then put a cotton vest on clapped on the head of his old, worn skullcap put on jeans. When I came to the house late Sitmrat Sattarovich, there were heads of all kinds and grades mournfully bowed their too smart super gravy, crossing his hands like a rake with which they raked the bribe, and, in large amounts. The local policeman Shgabuddinov here, too, sadly bowed his head, polished his service weapon by brand "Mauser" in the sleeves of his worn shirt, as if he would kill himself due to despair. Over the grave of Sitmirat Sattarovich roared hired plurality that came from bazaar. They were crying, tearing their hair and dresses to shreds, pretending to be in sisters and daughters of Sitmirat Sattarovich:

- Oh, father, why you have left us?! As we are now without you going to live?!

- Oooooh, my brother! You yes he was very young! What very long arms you had and incredibly short, crooked legs! What a bloated belly! What was your long thin neck and small head and bulb shaped head made from narrow-minded! You were a scythe and no you have a chin! Oh, the nose?! Your nose was like a potato! I do not believe that such a beautiful person like you is dead! You're probably faking it! Will the angels die too?! A whole twenty years he directed the terrible prison! Now orphaned yours, oooo, and my handsome brother! How will the poor convicts live without you now?! - They roared. Then the team no beard mullahs in tuxedo black light, we lined up on jeans near the tomb of Sitmirat Sattarovich. - Comrades, will be sold with! Now we read janaza in honor of our dear head of Sitmirat Sattarovich. Attention! - Said the beardless mullah, adjusting his tie, like a butterfly. We adopted the Attention and beardless Mullah saying, "Eyes left!"I approached the portrait of the deceased, and then long praised wise sitmirat Sattarovich. He had long read the praises, already got bored around. In the cold February air, the snow began to fall lazily, like dandruff of unkempt human hair. Then I accidentally saw their tarpaulin boots, I almost laughed. It turns out that in my rush I put them on inverted, that is, the left to the right foot and the right on the left leg. Here it was not possible to disguise them. Suddenly I saw the face of a bearded Mullah and laughter intensified. Because of this the mullahs, who wore on his head a black skullcap with plastic wrap covering it. His teeth were like the teeth of a rabbit, that is, these large teeth sticking out even when Mullah tightly closed his mouth, his teeth was still showing. If that was not enough, the voice beardless Mullah was like the sound of a saxophone. I can't guarantee not to laugh in these situations. Laughter accumulated in me like water in a reservoir and I started to laugh silently, clenching my shoulders. I would have stopped my laughter if I do not see in front of a man dressed in his shaved Fantomas above the head skullcap wrapped in a plastic bag. I'm laughing and raze I can't will stop. Then one man, who was standing next to me, turned out to be a strong devil, and began to laugh. No sound either. We looked at each other and laughed at each other stronger, blushing until neck from tension. It turns out; laughter is also like a plague spreading fast. You see, other people have caught on to this epidemic and began to laugh in unison, laughing. Then we were joined by itself the beardless Mullah and he too began to laugh, shaking his stomach. I see the owners of the corpse are giggling, too. Here I laughed in a loud voice, others too. Thus the funeral of Sitmirat Sattarovich turned into a Comedy. These are the things we have, Mr. Sitmirat. Okay, I have to go to the cotton field. Say Hello to everyone,

sincerely, worker of the collective farm 'Chapaev' Mizhappar.


February 2, 2008. 13 hours and 22 minutes a day.

The collective Farm "Chapaev".