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

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  The fourteenth chapter of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Letters of Mizhappar"
  
  
  The fourteenth letter of Mizhappar
  
  
  Thank you and your friends, Saitmirat-aka, for the letter with millions of signatures that you wrote and sent to the head of our prison, while exerting strong pressure on the administration of the colony. The results on the face, that is, we were released. We got our old clothes back. We even got money for the road, We rode on the bus "Borsa Kelmes" to the capital. Although, the words "Borsa Kelmes" sound translated as" Who went there, will never return from there, " yet, we were able to return. But when we arrived in the capital, we were in danger again. There we were stopped almost at every step by policemen and they checked our documents. Although we have all the documents were in order, but we are tired of all these endless checks. We decided to go home by train and so we bought tickets to the compartment wagon, we got on the train. After the announcement of the dispatcher, a whistle sounded on the autumn platform,and the train creaked. After the conductor checked the tickets, we were given torn, semi-dry bed linen. The conductor, walking down the corridor, warned the passengers:
  - Be alert gentlemen passengers! The locks in the door compartments are poorly closed, and we can not guarantee you full protection! At the stations our train could get armed bandits and rob you to the bone - he said.
  We drove in silence. We were traveling with a well-dressed type forty-five, who introduced us and talked about:.
  - My name is Tuhtasin, and my last name is Chemadanov. I'm a prominent businessman and owned a manufacturing and trading firm "The Edelweiss" abroad.
  - Bourgeois? - said Qurumboy, filling his pipe with tea leaves and lighting it.
  - Yes - said Chemadanov, then continued:
  - I am engaged in delivery of live goods under the contract. I mostly sell donkeys. There is a great demand for donkeys abroad.
  -What are You, really? - said Yuldashvoy surprised.
  - Yes, I swear on my firm! - he said, removing her black English jacket and carefully hanging it on a hanger. Then, adjusting his red tie on the background of his white shirt, went on to say:
  - The goods are at my fingertips, almost free. I go home, I buy for pennies of these donkeys, I lock them in commodity cars and I send to customers. That's all my work
  - Why do your customers need donkeys when everyone drives expensive foreign cars? Or do they ride these donkeys to the mountains to smuggle marijuana or weapons to neighboring countries? - asked Mamadiar.
  I don't care about that. I sell them, and let them do what they want with those donkeys. it's Their business. And I do not care - said Chemadanov.
  - You don't sell zebras? asked Yuldashvoy.
  - No, I don't sell zebras. Reluctant to go to Africa. I have my own Serengetti.
  Why do you ask about zebras? - surprised Chemadanov.
  
  - The fact is that we also have a good, young and obedient donkey. Could you help us sell it? - Qurumboy asked.
  - Well, of course I will. Do you have the papers on your donkey? I mean, the passport. Did you get his passport or not?
  We looked at Qurumboy. He took the pipe out of his mouth, looked at Chemadanov, and asked:
  -What is the passport? Don't donkeys have passports too?
  -Certainly. How could it be otherwise? No one can buy a donkey without a passport. Passport around the head! - explained Chemadanov.
  - I wonder what they look like... donkey passports? - asked again Yuldashvoy looking down from the third shelf of the compartment.
  - What? Have you seen the donkey's passport?! Well, well! The passports donkeys are the same as we have - said Chemadanov.
  - And, also there is no ID, - said Qurumboy.
  - Yes? That's bad. Then, I can't help you, gentlemen - said Chemadanov.
  Chemadanov and Qurumboy continued the conversation, we were getting ready to sleep. I could not sleep for a long time, looking through the window of the wagon into the night steppes, where sadly flickered distant lights. I also looked at the moon, which was running behind the train. The rhythmic tapping of the iron wheels on the rails, and the wagon rocking with a mill creak, were like a cradle for a child. I didn't notice when I fell asleep. I woke up from the noise of the tramp of feet and dull blows. I see the intruders have arrived in our compartment. They hit and kick Chemadanov, and he begs them not to kill him.
  - What, you got a rat?! Thought we'd never be able to find you, huh? That so-called slave owner you sold us to, we killed and took our passports! You're scum, how many of their compatriots were sold into slavery by deception for some pennies! Scoundrel, scum! Remember when you called us donkeys? And in fact, your companion, the slave owner of the shitty, he turned out to be the biggest donkey! Because we took away from him all the money, which he collected all these years at the expense of state workers, from whom he took away passports, so that they could not go out. Now he lies in a ditch with his trousers off. Now it's your turn to be a donkey like your friend. We are not the donkey, you are! Now we will cut your tongue off, or we will throw you off the train and murder you- said the uninvited masked guests.
  - Okay, okay.. Now... - said Chemadanov lying on the floor.
  He started to yak like a real donkey. Uninvited guests again began to kick him everywhere. Then they together raised Chemadanov and was thrown from the train through the window. I did a double somersault and jumped down when the masked murderers left. My friends at this time having slept, as if the bodies of the dead in the morgue. I woke them and told them, as uninvited guests threw businessman Tuhtasin Chemadanov from the train. After that, we couldn't sleep anymore.
  When the train stopped at the station named Vasily Chapaev, we jumped off the train and disappeared in the dark. We fled to the village on a footpath which crossed the cemetery, and in the light of the moon I saw Qurumboy. He ran ahead of us, wearing Chemadanov's black suit over his coat, which hung on the hanger before he left. Quietly dozing, the cotton fields were under the bright moon.
  
  
  
  
  October 20, 2008.
  1 hour 33 minutes night.
  Village, "Chapayevka".
  
  
  
  
  
  
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