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The fifteenth letter of Mizhappar of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Letters of Mizhappar "

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  The fifteenth letter of Mizhappar of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Letters of Mizhappar "
  
  
   In the center of the village I said goodbye to my friends until tomorrow, and we went home. I walked along my native, deserted street. Approaching the gate of our house made of cans from the barrels of pesticides, I've knocked until you answered my concerned stepdad. Dissatisfied and grumbling sleepily, he walked up to the gate, holding a lighted kerosene lamp. Looking at the gap, I saw the face of my stepfather, illuminated by the light of the lamp.
   - Well, comrade Shigabutdinov, it's You again?! To be honest, You're boring us. How can you explain Mizhappar went to America along with his fellow party members to continue to fight abroad against the dictatorship.
   - It's me, stepfather! It's me! Open the gate! - I said.
   Recognizing my voice, my stepfather was confused.
   - Mizhappar, is that you, foster son?! I can't believe my eyes and ears! Why are you so quick to come back from America? Or forgot to take something back for my things?! - he asked, opening the gate.
   - No, a stepfather, we were seated at what we were the political opposition of character.We were imprisoned only for the fact that we wanted our country to have democracy, freedom of thought, free and fair elections with the participation of real opposition parties. Now I am back - I said smiling.
   My step-father embracing and said Hello:
   - Planted and returned? How? Did you escape or was you released on Amnesty? - he asked.
   - Over Amnesty, stepfather-responded I. Then asked:
   -Where is my stepmother?
   -Oh, Mizhappar, your stepmother was sick, lying in the hospital, poor. After you left, her blood pressure went up to 280. After a heart attack, she was constantly crying. She cried, cried and went blind in the end. Now sings, poor, one sad song about a son who left his stepmother. When I listen to this song, my heart breaks. Turns out jealousy is bad for the heart.
   - Blind?! Yeah, what are you, stepfather?! How come? I must visit her immediately! - I said, opening the closet where we used to keep our bike with the biker wheel. I took the bike and quickly went outside.
   -Mizhappar, sleep , maybe you will visit her this morning?! - said stepfather.
   - No, I have to go now! She went blind because of me!.. - I said, twisting the pedals of a Bicycle and taking the crackdown.
   So I went on my bike to visit my stepmom. Since the wheels of the bike had only tires, and there were no cameras, they rattled while I was driving. i had to go on the not paved road it was difficult, as at this time the moon disappeared behind the clouds. When I arrived in the district center, the hospital was dark. Only whitewashed robes duty nurses and orderlies. Leaving my bike with a biker wheel, I went to the reception window and asked the nurse on duty, which is distinguished only by the voice and by the robe, in which room is my stepmother.
   What's your stepmom's name? the nurse on duty asked.
   -Toskhon.
   And Toskhon? Who sings all the time?
   - Yes, Yes, accurately she - said I, delighted.
   - She lies in the house, which pulled the door. This room is near the toilet. Go along this corridor and turn right. This is at the very end of the corridor - explained the nurse on duty.
   -Okay -I said and walked down the dark corridor at random and, having hooked by a foot for a bucket cleaners, fell on the floor. When I got up, I told the nurse on duty:
  
   - Uh, what a hospital! Is it really impossible to light at least a candle or a lamp kerosene?!
   - What can we do to light, if there is no kerosene or candles?! Two months without electricity. Those candles which gave us for a month, were taken away by the wife of the chief physician and all to one used on birthday of the daughter. No kerosene for the smoker. Last week, when they lit a kerosene lamp, filled it with gasoline, it exploded like a bomb, my God, and a fire broke out. As a result, half of our hospital burned down. And you say corridor is dark. Imagine, there is no light even in the operating room. Our surgeons operate on patients by touch. Recently, one patient who had appendicitis was operated on. Then, instead of appendicitis sewed his mouth. When they removed the seam, they saw that this patient's lips healed like a wound. Then these healed lips again had to open, cutting them with a scalpel. After that, the patient became a singer. Began to sing merry songs, as if thanks to our great surgeons. Let him sing himself, but would not say political speech, demanding their rights - said our wise doctor. That patient was a good singer, God rest his soul!
   In the name of the father and of the son and of the Holy spirit, Amen! said the nurse on duty in the dark. I again to not get into any trap began to move very carefully, like a sapper, which clears the road of mines in hot spots in the world. Finally, I managed to find the room where my stepmother was lying. I hear her singing a sad song:
   Listening to my stepmom's song, I couldn't stand it. Tears involuntarily rolled from my eyes.
   -Hey, stepmother, I'm your adopted son mixed martial artist Mizhappar! - I said loudly. The stepmother recognized my voice and began to cry.
   Is that you, my adopted son? Did you really come back? the poor stepmother cried, feeling my face with her thin bamboo-like fingers.
   - Yes, it's true, mother. I've returned. Please forgive me... - I cried.
   Stepmother also dropped tears and rejoiced: - Here, son, I also became a singer in my old age. Once you heard my voice, being far away, outside our collective farm and came worried, then I sing quite loudly, and my voice is priceless.
   - Yes, stepmom, you're a good singer. Every mom is a good singer. They raised us with a song, singing a lullaby when we were helpless babies and crying. They reassured us, putting us to bed, and they did not sleep. Sometimes we forget about you, reproach, take you to the kitchen, so that the mood is not spoiled our rich friends-businessmen who look at you as if not the mother gave birth to us, but we fell from the moon. But you, like angels, forgive us. We are committed to you only when we went bankrupt and our rich friends businessmen leave us when we leave a beautiful mistress, when buying a new wealthy lovers, when we're alone together with her shadow crying, hunched on the wall, where no one except us.
   Hearing my words, my stepmother started her habit to howl like a wolf on a high cliff of snow-capped mountains, where in heaven wandering the cold, lonely moon.
   - It will, mother, don't cry. And you'll hear your cry from afar, unable to come hungry wolves in search of edible, when there is nothing to eat themselves. You sit here and drink. I will quickly go home and bring you a piece of bread, if my stepfather did not empty our bakery - I said.
   The stepmother agreed and blessed me. I took off again at random through the dark hallway, and again my feet got caught in a bucket cleaners. Then, rattling a bucket I fell to the floor. Then I rose to my feet again and went outside. From behind the clouds the moon Breathing the pure air of the Motherland, I wore Builder gloves , as my hands were freezing here and I look - not seen my bike in a Moto wheel. Well, I think, Holy smoke, look for fistula - nowhere. The attackers stole it. Had to walk. The road to Chapaevka far. I walked, walked through the deserted roads under the quiet moon, across the field, through the graveyard, frantically reciting prayers, and away went the owl, and the morning I came home.
   Okay, then, good morning, Sitmrat aka! Until new letters!
   With morning, physical greetings- mixed martial artist Mizhappar.
  
  
  
   October 21, 2008.
   8:33 minutes in the morning.
   Village, "Chapayevka" .
  
  
  
  
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