That year he turned seven years old and was eighth.
First, a briefcase was purchased. A black leatherette briefcase with a shiny metal latch that slides under the bracket. With a patch pocket for small items. In a word, an extraordinary, ordinary school bag. This is probably where it all started.
Grandfather bought it at a visiting auto shop. The truck shop, driving around the cattle breeders in the mountains with goods, sometimes dropped in on them at the forest cordon, in the San-Tash Pad.
From here, from the cordon, a protected mountain forest rose through gorges and slopes to the upper reaches. There are only three families at the cordon. But still, from time to time, the auto shop also visited the foresters.
The only boy in all three yards, he was always the first to notice the auto shop.
- He's coming! - he shouted, running to the doors and windows. - The store car is coming!
The wheeled road made its way here from the coast of Issyk-Kul, all the time along the gorge, along the river bank, all the time over rocks and potholes. It was not very easy to drive on such a road. Having reached Karaulnaya Mountain, she climbed from the bottom of the gorge onto a slope and from there descended for a long time along a steep and bare slope to the foresters’ yards. Karaulnaya Mountain is very close - in the summer, almost every day the boy ran there to look at the lake through binoculars. And there, on the road, everything is always clearly visible - on foot, on horseback, and, of course, the car.
That time - and it happened in a hot summer - the boy was swimming in his dam and from here he saw a car gathering dust along the slope. The dam was on the edge of the river shallows, on pebbles. It was built by my grandfather from stones. If it weren’t for this dam, who knows, maybe the boy would not have been alive long ago. And, as the grandmother said, the river would have washed his bones long ago and carried them straight to Issyk-Kul, and fish and all kinds of water creatures would have looked at them there. And no one would look for him and kill himself for him - because there is no point in getting into the water and because it doesn’t hurt anyone who needs him. So far this has not happened. But if it had happened, who knows, grandma might not have really rushed to save her. He would still be her family, otherwise, she says, he’s a stranger. And a stranger is always a stranger, no matter how much you feed him, no matter how much you follow him. Stranger... What if he doesn't want to be a stranger? And why exactly should he be considered a stranger? Maybe not he, but the grandmother herself is a stranger?
But more about that later, and about Grandfather’s dam later too...
So, then he saw a truck shop, it was going down the mountain, and dust swirled behind it along the road. And he was so happy, he knew for sure that a briefcase would be bought for him. He immediately jumped out of the water, quickly pulled his pants over his skinny hips and, still wet and blue in the face—the water in the river was cold—ran along the path to the yard to be the first to announce the arrival of the truck shop.
The boy ran quickly, jumping over bushes and running around boulders, if he was not strong enough to jump over them, and did not linger anywhere for a second - neither near the tall grasses, nor near the stones, although he knew that they were not at all simple. They could be offended and even trip up. “The store car has arrived. “I’ll come later,” he said as he walked, “Lying Camel” - that’s what he called the red, humpbacked granite, chest-deep in the ground. Usually the boy did not pass by without patting his “Camel” on the hump. He clapped him in a masterly manner, like the grandfather of his bob-tailed gelding - so casually, casually; You, they say, wait, and I’ll be away here on business. He had a boulder called “Saddle” - half white, half black, a piebald stone with a saddle where you could sit astride a horse. There was also a “Wolf” stone - very similar to a wolf, brown, with gray hair, with a powerful scruff and a heavy forehead. He crawled towards it and took aim. But my favorite stone is “Tank”, an indestructible block right next to the river on the washed-out bank. Just wait, the “Tank” will rush from the shore and go, and the river will rage, boil with white breakers.
He had two fairy tales. One of our own, which no one knew about. The other one is what my grandfather told me. Then there was not one left. This is what we're talking about.
That year he turned seven years old and was eighth. First, a briefcase was purchased. A black leatherette briefcase with a shiny metal latch that slides under the bracket. With a patch pocket for small items. In a word, an extraordinary, ordinary school bag. This is probably where it all started.
Grandfather bought it at a visiting auto shop. The truck shop, driving around the cattle breeders in the mountains with goods, sometimes dropped in on them at the forest cordon, in the San-Tash Pad.
From here, from the cordon, a protected mountain forest rose through gorges and slopes to the upper reaches. There are only three families at the cordon. But still, from time to time, the auto shop also visited the foresters.
The only boy in all three yards, he was always the first to notice the auto shop.
- He's coming! - he shouted, running to the doors and windows. - The store car is coming!
The wheeled road made its way here from the coast of Issyk-Kul, all the time along the gorge, along the river bank, all the time over rocks and potholes. It was not very easy to drive on such a road. Having reached Karaulnaya Mountain, she climbed from the bottom of the gorge onto a slope and from there descended for a long time along a steep and bare slope to the foresters’ yards. Karaulnaya Mountain is very close - in the summer, almost every day the boy ran there to look at the lake with binoculars. And there, on the road, everything is always clearly visible - on foot, on horseback, and, of course, the car.
That time - and it happened in a hot summer - the boy was swimming in his dam and from here he saw a car gathering dust along the slope. The dam was on the edge of the river shallows, on pebbles. It was built by my grandfather from stones. If it weren’t for this dam, who knows, maybe the boy would not have been alive long ago. And, as the grandmother said, the river would have washed his bones long ago and carried them straight to Issyk-Kul, and fish and all kinds of water creatures would have looked at them there. And no one would look for him and kill himself for him - because there is no point in getting into the water and because it doesn’t hurt anyone who needs him. So far this has not happened. But if it had happened, who knows, grandma might not have really rushed to save her. He would still be her family, otherwise, she says, he’s a stranger. And a stranger is always a stranger, no matter how much you feed him, no matter how much you follow him. Stranger... What if he doesn't want to be a stranger? And why exactly should he be considered a stranger? Maybe not he, but the grandmother herself is a stranger?
But more about that later, and about Grandfather’s dam later too...
So, then he saw a truck shop, it was going down the mountain, and dust swirled behind it along the road. And he was so happy, he knew for sure that a briefcase would be bought for him. He immediately jumped out of the water, quickly pulled his pants over his skinny hips and, still wet and blue in the face—the water in the river was cold—ran along the path to the yard to be the first to announce the arrival of the truck shop. The boy ran quickly, jumping over bushes and running around boulders, if he was not strong enough to jump over them, he did not linger anywhere for a second - neither near the tall grasses, nor near the stones, although he knew that they were not at all simple.
They could be offended and even trip up. “The store car has arrived. I’ll come later,” he said as he walked, “Lying Camel” - that’s what he called the red, humpbacked granite, chest-deep in the ground. Usually the boy did not pass by without patting his “Camel” on the hump. He clapped him in a masterly manner, like the grandfather of his bob-tailed gelding - so casually, casually: you, they say, wait, and I’ll be away here on business. He had a boulder called “Saddle” - half white, half black, a piebald stone with a saddle where you could sit astride a horse. There was also a “Wolf” stone - very similar to a wolf, brown, with gray hair, with a powerful scruff and a heavy forehead. He crawled towards it and took aim. But my favorite stone is “Tank”, an indestructible boulder right next to the river on a washed-out bank. Just wait, the “Tank” will rush from the shore and go, and the river will rage, boil with white breakers. That's how tanks go in movies: from the shore into the water - and off they go... The boy rarely saw films and therefore firmly remembered what he saw. The grandfather sometimes took his grandson to the movies at the state farm breeding farm in the neighboring tract behind the mountain. That’s why the “Tank” appeared on the bank, always ready to rush across the river. There were also others - “harmful” or “good” stones, and even “cunning” and “stupid”.
Among the plants there are also “favorite”, “brave”, “fearful”, “evil” and all sorts of others. The prickly thistle, for example, is the main enemy. The boy fought with him dozens of times a day. But there was no end in sight to this war - the thistle grew and multiplied. But field bindweeds, although they are also weeds, are the smartest and most cheerful flowers. They greet the sun best in the morning. Other herbs don’t understand anything - whether it’s morning or evening, they don’t care. And the bindweeds, just warming the rays, open their eyes and laugh. First one eye, then the second, and then one after another all the swirls of flowers bloom on the bindweed. White, light blue, lilac, different... And if you sit next to them very quietly, it seems that they, having woken up, are inaudibly whispering about something. Ants know this too. In the morning they run through the bindweed, squint in the sun and listen to what the flowers are talking about among themselves. Maybe dreams tell stories?
During the day, usually at noon, the boy liked to climb into the thickets of stem-like shiraljins. Shiraljins are tall, have no flowers, but are fragrant, they grow in islands, gather in heaps, not allowing other herbs to come close. Shiraljins are true friends. Especially if there is some kind of offense and you want to cry so that no one sees, it is best to hide in shiraljins. They smell like Pine forest at the edge. Hot and quiet in shiraljins. And most importantly, they do not obscure the sky. You need to lie on your back and look at the sky. At first, it’s almost impossible to discern anything through the tears. And then the clouds will come and do whatever you imagine above. The clouds know that you are not feeling very well, that you want to go somewhere or fly away so that no one finds you and then everyone sighs and aahs - the boy has disappeared, where can we find him now?.. And so that this doesn’t happen. It happens that you don’t disappear anywhere, that you lie quietly and admire the clouds, the clouds will turn into whatever you want. The same clouds produce a variety of different things. You just need to be able to recognize what the clouds represent.
But the Shiraljins are quiet, and they do not obscure the sky. Here they are, the Shiraljins, smelling of hot pine trees...
And he knew various other things about herbs. He treated the silver feather grasses that grew in the floodplain meadow condescendingly. They are eccentrics - farriers! Windy heads. Their soft, silky panicles cannot live without wind. They just wait - wherever it blows, that’s where they go. And everyone bows as one, the whole meadow, as if on command. And if it rains or a thunderstorm begins, the feather grasses don’t know where to hide. They rush about, fall, press themselves to the ground. If they had legs, they would probably run away wherever they look... But they are pretending. The storm will subside, and again the frivolous feather grass will flutter in the wind - wherever the wind goes, so will they...
Alone, without friends, the boy lived in the circle of those simple things that surrounded him, and only a car shop could make him forget about everything and rush headlong towards it. What can I say, a mobile shop is not like stones or some kind of grass. What is there, in the drive-thru shop!
When the boy reached the house, the truck was already driving up to the yard, behind the houses. The houses on the cordon faced the river, the outbuilding turned into a gentle slope straight to the shore, and on the other side of the river, immediately from the washed-out ravine, the forest climbed steeply through the mountains, so that there was only one approach to the cordon - behind the houses. If the boy had not arrived on time, no one would have known that the auto shop was already here.
There were no men at that hour; everyone had left in the morning. Women did household chores. But then he screamed shrilly, running up to the open doors:
– I’ve arrived! The store car has arrived!
The women were alarmed. They rushed to look for the hidden money. And they jumped out, overtaking one another. Grandma - and she praised him:
- He’s such a big-eyed guy!
The boy felt flattered, as if he had brought the auto shop himself. He was happy because he brought them this news, because he rushed into the backyard with them, because he jostled with them at the open door of the van. But here the women immediately forgot about him. They had no time for him. The goods were different - my eyes ran wild. There were only three women: his grandmother, Aunt Bekey - his mother’s sister, the wife of the most important person at the cordon, the patrolman Orozkul - and the wife of the auxiliary worker Seidakhmat - young Guljamal with her little girl in her arms. Only three women. But they fussed so much, they sorted and stirred up the goods so much that the seller of the car shop had to demand that they keep the line and not chatter all at once.
However, his words did not have much effect on the women. At first they grabbed everything, then they began to choose, then return what they had taken. They put it off, tried it on, argued, doubted, asked dozens of times about the same thing. They didn’t like one thing, another was expensive, the third had the wrong color... The boy stood aside. He got bored. The expectation of something extraordinary disappeared, the joy that he experienced when he saw the auto shop on the mountain disappeared. The auto shop suddenly turned into an ordinary car, filled with a bunch of different rubbish.
The seller frowned: it was not clear that these women were going to buy anything. Why did he come here, so far away, through the mountains?
And so it happened. The women began to retreat, their ardor moderated, they even seemed tired. For some reason they began to make excuses - either to each other, or to the seller. The grandmother was the first to complain that there was no money. If you don’t have money in your hands, you can’t take the goods. Aunt Bekey did not dare to make a large purchase without her husband. Aunt Bekey is the most unfortunate among all women in the world, because she has no children, and that’s why Orozkul beats her when she’s drunk, and that’s why grandfather suffers, because Aunt Bekey is his grandfather’s daughter. Aunt Bekey took some small items and two bottles of vodka. And in vain, and in vain - it will be worse for herself. Grandma couldn't resist.
- Why are you calling trouble on your own head? – she hissed so that the seller would not hear her.
“I know it myself,” Aunt Bekey snapped curtly.
“What a fool,” the grandmother whispered even more quietly, but with gloating. If it weren’t for the salesman, how would she now scold Aunt Bekey. Wow, they're fighting!..
Young Guljamal came to the rescue. She began to explain to the seller that her Seidakhmat was going to the city soon; she would need money in the city, so she could not fork out.
So they hung out near the auto shop, bought goods “for pennies,” as the seller said, and went home. Well, is this trade? Having spat after the departing women, the seller began to collect the scattered goods in order to get behind the wheel and drive away. Then he noticed the boy.
-What are you doing, big-eared? - he asked. The boy had protruding ears, a thin neck and a large, round head. - Do you want to buy it? So hurry up, otherwise I'll close it. Do you have money?
The seller asked like this, simply because he had nothing better to do, but the boy answered respectfully:
“No, uncle, there is no money,” and shook his head.
“I think there is,” the seller drawled with feigned disbelief. “You’re all rich here, you’re just pretending to be poor.” What do you have in your pocket, isn’t it money?
“No, uncle,” the boy answered, still sincerely and seriously, and turned out his tattered pocket. (The second pocket was tightly sewn.)
- So, your money woke up. Look where you ran. You will find it.
They were silent.
-Whose will you be? – the seller began to ask again. - Old Momun, or what?
The boy nodded in response.
– Are you his grandson?
- Yes. – The boy nodded again.
-Where is mother?
The boy didn't say anything. He didn't want to talk about it.
“She doesn’t give any news about herself at all, your mother.” You don’t know yourself, do you?
- Don't know.
- And the father? Don't you know either?
The boy was silent.
- Why don’t you know anything, friend? – the seller playfully reproached him. - Well, okay, if so. Here you go. – He took out a handful of sweets. - And be healthy.
The boy was shy.
- Take it, take it. Don't delay. It's time for me to go.
The boy put the candy in his pocket and was about to run after the car to escort the auto shop onto the road. He called Baltek, a terribly lazy, shaggy dog. Orozkul kept threatening to shoot him - why, they say, keep such a dog. Yes, my grandfather kept begging me to put it off: he needed to get a shepherd dog, and take Baltek somewhere and leave him. Baltek didn’t care about anything - the well-fed one slept, the hungry one was always sucking up to someone, to his own people and strangers, indiscriminately, as long as they threw something at him. This is what he was like, the dog Baltek. But sometimes, out of boredom, I ran after cars. True, it’s not far. It will just accelerate, then suddenly turn around and trott off home. Unreliable dog. But still, running with a dog is a hundred times better than running without a dog. Whatever it is, it’s still a dog...
Slowly, so that the seller would not see, the boy tossed Baltek one piece of candy. “Look,” he warned the dog. “We’ll be running for a long time.” Baltek squealed, wagged his tail, and waited some more. But the boy did not dare to throw another candy. You can offend a person, but he didn’t give a whole handful for the dog.
And just then the grandfather appeared. The old man went to the apiary, but from the apiary you cannot see what is happening behind the houses. And it turned out that the grandfather arrived on time, the auto shop had not yet left. Happening. Otherwise, the grandson would not have had a briefcase. The boy was lucky that day.
Old Momun, whom wise people called the Efficient Momun, was known to everyone in the area, and he knew everyone. Momun earned this nickname by his invariable friendliness to everyone he even knew in the slightest degree, by his readiness to always do something for anyone, to serve anyone. And yet, his diligence was not valued by anyone, just as gold would not be valued if they suddenly began to give it away for free. No one treated Momun with the respect that people his age enjoy. They treated him easily. It happened that at the great funeral of some noble elder from the Bugu tribe - and Momun was a Buginian by birth, he was very proud of this and never missed the funeral of his fellow tribesmen - he was assigned to slaughter cattle, greet honored guests and help them dismount, serve tea, and then chop wood and carry water. Isn’t there a lot of hassle at a large funeral where there are so many guests from different sides? Whatever Momun was entrusted with, he did quickly and easily, and most importantly, he did not shirk like others. The village young women, who had to receive and feed this huge horde of guests, looking at how Momun managed his work, said:
– What would we do if it weren’t for the Efficient Momun!
And it turned out that the old man, who came with his grandson from afar, found himself in the role of an assistant to a samovar-making horseman. Who else in Momun’s place would have burst from the insult. And at least something for Momun!
And no one was surprised that old Efficient Momun was serving the guests - that’s why he has been Efficient Momun all his life. It’s his own fault that he’s the Efficient Momun. And if any of the strangers expressed surprise, why, they say, you, an old man, are running errands for women, are there really no young guys in this village, Momun answered: “The deceased was my brother. (He considered all the Buginians to be brothers. But they were no less “brothers” to the other guests.) Who should work at his wake, if not me? That’s why we Buginians are related to our very ancestress – the Horned Mother Deer. And she, a wonderful mother deer, bequeathed to us friendship both in life and in memory..."
That’s what he was like, Efficient Momun!
Both the old man and the little one were on first name terms with him; one could make fun of him - the old man was harmless; one could not take him into account - an unresponsive old man. It is not for nothing, they say, that people do not forgive those who do not know how to force themselves to be respected. But he couldn't.
He knew a lot in life. He worked as a carpenter, a saddler, and was a stacker: when he was younger, he set up such stacks on the collective farm that it was a pity to take them apart in the winter: the rain flowed off the stack like off a goose, and the snow fell on the gable roof. During the war, he built factory walls in Magnitogorsk as a labor army worker and was called a Stakhanovite. He returned, cut down houses on the border, and worked in the forest. Although he was listed as an auxiliary worker, he looked after the forest, and Orozkul, his son-in-law, mostly traveled around visiting guests. Unless when the authorities arrive, Orozkul himself will show the forest and organize a hunt, here he was the master. Momun looked after the cattle, and he kept an apiary. Momun lived his whole life from morning to evening at work, in troubles, but he did not learn to force himself to be respected.
And Momun’s appearance was not at all that of an aksakal. No sedateness, no importance, no severity. He was a good-natured man, and at first glance one could discern this ungrateful human quality in him. At all times they teach people like this: “Don’t be kind, be evil! Here you go, here you go! Be evil,” and he, to his misfortune, remains incorrigibly kind. His face was smiling and wrinkled, wrinkled, and his eyes always asked: “What do you want? Do you want me to do something for you? So I am now, just tell me what your need is.”
The nose is soft, duck-like, as if there is no cartilage at all. And he is a small, nimble old man, like a teenager.
What's the point of the beard? It wasn't a success either. It's a joke. On his bare chin there are two or three reddish hairs - that’s all the beard is.
It’s different - you suddenly see a handsome old man riding along the road, with a beard like a sheaf, in a spacious fur coat with a wide lambskin lapel, in an expensive hat, and on a good horse, and a silver-plated saddle - something like a sage, something like a prophet, such and there is no shame in bowing, such a person is honored everywhere! And Momun was born just the Efficient Momun. Perhaps his only advantage was that he was not afraid of losing himself in someone’s eyes. (He sat down wrong, said wrong, answered wrong, smiled wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong...) In this sense, Momun, without even knowing it, was extremely happy man. Many people die not so much from illnesses as from an irrepressible, eternal passion that consumes them - to pretend to be more than they are. (Who doesn’t want to be known as smart, worthy, beautiful and also formidable, fair, decisive?)
But Momun was not like that. He was an eccentric, and they treated him like an eccentric.
One thing could seriously offend Momun: forgetting to invite him to the council of relatives on organizing someone’s funeral... At this point he was deeply offended and seriously worried about the insult, but not because he was passed over - he still didn’t decide anything at the councils, he was only present , - but because the fulfillment of an ancient duty was violated.
Momun had his own troubles and sorrows, from which he suffered, from which he cried at night. Outsiders knew almost nothing about it. And their people knew.
When Momun saw his grandson near the auto shop, he immediately realized that the boy was upset about something. But since the seller is a visiting person, the old man first turned to him. He quickly jumped out of the saddle and extended both hands to the seller at once.
- Assalamualaikum, great merchant! - he said half jokingly, half seriously. – Has your caravan arrived safely, is your trade going well? – All beaming, Momun shook the seller’s hand. - How much water has flown under the bridge, and we haven’t seen each other! Welcome!
The seller, condescendingly laughing at his speech and unsightly appearance - all the same well-worn tarpaulin boots, canvas trousers sewn by an old woman, a shabby jacket, a felt hat browned from rain and sun - answered Momun:
- The caravan is intact. Only it turns out that the merchant comes to you, and you leave the merchant through the forests and valleys. And you tell your wives to hold on to a penny, like your soul before death. Even though they are piled high with goods, no one will fork out for it.
“Don’t blame me, dear,” Momun apologized embarrassedly. “If they knew you were coming, they wouldn’t leave.” And if there is no money, then there is no trial. We'll sell potatoes in the fall...
- Tell me! – the seller interrupted him. - I know you, stinking warriors. Sit in the mountains, land, hay as much as you want. There are forests all around – you can’t travel around in three days. Do you keep cattle? Do you keep an apiary? But to give a penny, you’ll squeeze. Buy a silk blanket here, sewing machine left alone...
“By God, there is no such money,” Momun justified himself.
- So I’ll believe it. You're being stingy, old man, saving money. And where to?
- By God, no, I swear by the Horned Mother Deer!
- Well, take some corduroy and make new pants.
- I would take it, I swear by the Horned Mother Deer...
- Eh, what can I talk to you about! – the seller waved his hand. - I shouldn’t have come. Where is Orozkul?
“In the morning, I think I went to Aksai. Shepherds' affairs.
“He’s visiting, then,” the seller clarified understandingly.
There was an awkward pause.
“Don’t be offended, dear,” Momun spoke again. - In the fall, God willing, we’ll sell potatoes...
- It's a long time until autumn.
- Well, if that’s the case, don’t blame me. For God's sake, come in and have some tea.
“That’s not what I came for,” the seller refused.
He began to close the door of the van and then he said, looking at his grandson, who was standing next to the old man, already at the ready, holding the dog by the ear to run with it after the car:
- Well, at least buy a briefcase. It must be time for the boy to go to school? How old is he?
Momun immediately grabbed onto this idea: at least he would buy something from the annoying auto shopkeeper, his grandson really needed a briefcase, he was going to school this fall.
“That’s right,” Momun fussed, “I didn’t even think about it.” Why, seven, eight already. Come here,” he called his grandson.
Grandfather rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a hidden five.
It had probably been with him for a long time, it had already been packed away.
- Hold it, big-eared one. “The seller winked slyly at the boy and handed him the briefcase. - Now study. If you don’t master reading and writing, you’ll stay with your grandfather forever in the mountains.
- He will master it! “He’s smart,” Momun responded, counting out the change. Then he looked at his grandson, awkwardly holding a brand new briefcase, and pressed him to himself. - That's good. “You’ll go to school in the fall,” he said quietly. The grandfather’s hard, weighty palm gently covered the boy’s head.
The boy and his grandfather lived on a forest cordon. There were three women at the cordon: grandmother, aunt Bekey - grandfather’s daughter and wife of the main man at the cordon, the patrolman Orozkul, and also the wife of the auxiliary worker Seidakhmat. Aunt Bekey is the most unfortunate person in the world, because she has no children, and that’s why Orozkul beats her when she’s drunk. Grandfather Momun was nicknamed the efficient Momun. He earned this nickname by his unfailing friendliness and willingness to always serve. He knew how to work. And his son-in-law, Orozkul, although he was listed as the boss, mostly traveled around visiting guests. Momun looked after the cattle and kept the apiary. I've been working all my life from morning to evening, but I haven't learned how to make myself respected.
The boy did not remember either his father or his mother. I've never seen them. But he knew: his father was a sailor in Issyk-Kul, and his mother left for a distant city after a divorce.
The boy loved to climb the neighboring mountain and look at Issyk-Kul through his grandfather’s binoculars. Towards evening he appeared on the lake white steamer. With pipes in a row, long, powerful, beautiful. The boy dreamed of turning into a fish, so that only his head would remain his own, on a thin neck, large, with protruding ears. He will swim and say to his father, the sailor: “Hello, dad, I am your son.” He will tell you, of course, how he lives with Momun. The best grandfather, but not at all cunning, and therefore everyone laughs at him. And Orozkul just screams!
In the evenings, the grandfather told his grandson a fairy tale.
In ancient times, a Kyrgyz tribe lived on the banks of the Enesai River. The tribe was attacked by enemies and killed everyone. Only a boy and a girl remained. But then the children also fell into the hands of enemies. The Khan gave them to the Pockmarked Lame Old Woman and ordered to put an end to the Kirghiz. But when the Pockmarked Lame Old Woman had already brought them to the shore of the Enesai, a mother deer came out of the forest and began to ask for the children. “People killed my fawns,” she said. “And my udder is full, asking for children!” The Pockmarked Lame Old Woman warned: “These are the children of men. They will grow up and kill your fawns. After all, people are not like animals, they don’t feel sorry for each other either.” But the mother deer begged the Pockmarked Lame Old Woman, and brought the children, now her own, to Issyk-Kul.
The children grew up and got married. The woman went into labor and was in pain. The man got scared and started calling the mother deer. And then an iridescent ringing was heard from afar. The horned mother deer brought a baby's cradle - beshik - on her horns. And on the bow of the beshik the silver bell rang. And immediately the woman gave birth. They named their firstborn in honor of the mother deer - Bugubay. The Bugu family came from him.
Then a rich man died, and his children decided to install deer horns on the tomb. Since then, there has been no mercy for deer in the Issyk-Kul forests. And there were no more deer. The mountains are empty. And when the Horned Mother Deer left, she said that she would never return.
Autumn has come again in the mountains. Along with the summer, the time for visiting shepherds and herdsmen was passing for Orozkul - the time had come to pay for the offerings. Together with Momun, they dragged two pine logs through the mountains, and that is why Orozkul was angry with the whole world. He should settle down in the city, they know how to respect people. Cultured people... And because you received a gift, you don’t have to carry logs later. But the police and the inspectorate visit the state farm - well, they’ll ask where the wood comes from and where. At this thought, anger boiled up in Orozkul towards everything and everyone. I wanted to beat my wife, but the house was far away. Then this grandfather saw the deer and almost came to tears, as if he had met his own brothers.
And when it was very close to the cordon, we finally quarreled with the old man: he kept asking his grandson to go and pick him up from school. It got so bad that he threw the stuck logs in the river and galloped off after the boy. It didn’t even help that Orozkul hit him on the head a couple of times - he pulled away, spat out the blood and left.
When the grandfather and the boy returned, they found out that Orozkul had beaten his wife and kicked him out of the house, and said that he was firing his grandfather from his job. Bekey howled, cursed her father, and the grandmother itched that she had to submit to Orozkul, ask for his forgiveness, otherwise where to go in her old age? Grandfather is in his hands...
The boy wanted to tell his grandfather that he saw deer in the forest, but they returned after all! - Yes, grandfather had no time for that. And then the boy again went into his imaginary world and began to beg the mother deer to bring Orozkul and Bekey a cradle on horns.
Meanwhile, people arrived at the cordon for the forest. And while they were pulling out the log and doing other things, grandfather Momun trotted after Orozkul, like a devoted dog. The visitors also saw deer - apparently the animals were not scared, they were from the reserve.
In the evening, the boy saw a cauldron boiling on a fire in the yard, from which a meaty spirit emanated. The grandfather stood by the fire and was drunk - the boy had never seen him like this. Drunk Orozkul and one of the visitors, squatting near the barn, shared a huge pile fresh meat. And under the wall of the barn the boy saw a horned head. He wanted to run, but his legs wouldn’t obey him - he stood and looked at the disfigured head of the one who only yesterday had been the Horned Mother Deer.
Soon everyone was seated at the table. The boy felt sick all the time. He heard drunken people slurping, gnawing, sniffling, devouring the meat of the mother deer. And then Saidakhmat told how he forced his grandfather to shoot a deer: he intimidated him that otherwise Orozkul would kick him out.
And the boy decided that he would become a fish and never return to the mountains. He went down to the river. And stepped straight into the water...
Plot
The basis of the story unfolds around a boy living among strangers, where his only relative (both by blood and in spirit) is his grandfather. His parents left him - his father, according to his grandfather, was a sailor, and his mother went to a distant city.
All his life the boy had a dream of seeing his father sailing on the White Steamship:
He had two fairy tales. One of our own, which no one knew about. The other one is what my grandfather told me. Then there was not one left. This is what we're talking about
In the story, the grandfather tells many legends and tales about his region. The end of the story is tragic - the boy loses faith in people and sails towards the "White Steamer" - his dreams:
But you floated away. Did you know that you will never turn into a fish? That you won’t sail to Issyk-Kul, you won’t see a white ship and you won’t tell it: “Hello, white ship, it’s me!” ... And the fact is that a child’s conscience in a person is like an embryo in a grain; without an embryo, the grain does not germinate. And no matter what awaits us in the world, the truth will remain forever, as long as people are born and die... Saying goodbye to you, I repeat your words, boy: “Hello, white ship, it’s me!”
Criticism and historical assessments of the story
The story " White steamer"received wide popularity among readers, mainly for extolling humanism and literary merits
All works of Ch. Aitmatov, and the story “The White Steamship” in particular, are characterized by the theme of good and evil as the central theme of the writer’s work
The main idea is tragic fate a child being among hostile people, the “betrayal” of his grandfather, and the destruction of his dreams (“fairy tales”):
Living in this complex reality main character story, a seven-year-old boy divides his world into two dimensions: real world And ancient world, fantasy world fairy tales and legends, goodness and justice, which, as it were, compensates for the injustices of reality
Notes
Literature
- Ch. Aitmatov. White ship. L.: 1981
- Prose of Chingiz Aitmatov in the magazine context of "New World"
Wikimedia Foundation. 2010.
See what “White Steamer” is in other dictionaries:
- “WHITE STEAMER”, USSR, Kyrgyzfilm, 1975, color, 101 min. Melodrama. Based on the story of the same name by Chingiz Aitmatov. Separated from the world, a seven-year-old boy and six adults live in a protected forest. The boy is lonely. Parents are replaced by a folk expert... ... Encyclopedia of Cinema
Jarg. Morsk. Joking. A cruise ship. Nikitina 1998, 312. /i>
White ship. Jarg. Morsk. Joking. A cruise ship. Nikitina 1998, 312. /i> Based on the reminiscence of the name popular novel Ch. Aitmatov “White Steamer” ... Big dictionary Russian sayings
White snow of Russia ... Wikipedia
This term has other meanings, see Tsar (meanings). "Tsar" Flag Russian empire... Wikipedia
Jurma Brielle Flag ... Wikipedia
Tsrna mačka beli mačor ... Wikipedia
Black cat, white cat Tsrna mačka beli mačor Genre Comedy Director Emir Kusturica Producer Karl Baumgartner ... Wikipedia
Black cat, white cat Tsrna mačka beli mačor Genre Comedy Director Emir Kusturica Producer Karl Baumgartner ... Wikipedia
Books
- White Steamship, Chingiz Aitmatov. "The White Steamer", "Early Cranes", "Piebald Dog Running by the Edge of the Sea". These three stories were created in different time, independently of each other, and, probably, neither the author nor the readers...
The boy and his grandfather lived on a forest cordon. There were three women at the cordon: the grandmother, Aunt Bekey - grandfather’s daughter and wife of the main man at the cordon, the patrolman Orozkul, and also the wife of the auxiliary worker Seidakhmat. Aunt Bekey is the most unfortunate person in the world, because she has no children, and that’s why Orozkul beats her when she’s drunk. Grandfather Momun was nicknamed the efficient Momun. He earned this nickname by his unfailing friendliness and willingness to always serve. He knew how to work. And his son-in-law, Orozkul, although he was listed as the boss, mostly traveled around visiting guests. Momun looked after the cattle and kept the apiary. I've been working all my life from morning to evening, but I haven't learned how to make myself respected.
The boy did not remember either his father or his mother. I've never seen them. But he knew: his father was a sailor in Issyk-Kul, and his mother left for a distant city after a divorce.
The boy loved to climb the neighboring mountain and look at Issyk-Kul through his grandfather’s binoculars. Towards evening a white steamer appeared on the lake. With pipes in a row, long, powerful, beautiful. The boy dreamed of turning into a fish, so that only his head would remain his own, on a thin neck, large, with protruding ears. He will swim and say to his father, the sailor: “Hello, dad, I am your son.” He will, of course, tell you how he lives with Momun. The best grandfather, but not at all cunning, and therefore everyone laughs at him. And Orozkul just screams!
In the evenings, the grandfather told his grandson a fairy tale. “...This happened a long time ago. A Kyrgyz tribe lived on the banks of the Enesai River. The tribe was attacked by enemies and killed. Only a boy and a girl remained. But then the children also fell into the hands of enemies. The Khan gave them to the Pockmarked Lame Old Woman and ordered to put an end to the Kirghiz. But when the Pockmarked Lame Old Woman had already brought them to the shore of the Enesai, a mother deer came out of the forest and began to ask for the children. “People killed my fawns,” she said. “And my udder is full, asking for children!” The Pockmarked Lame Old Woman warned: “These are the children of men. They will grow up and kill your fawns. After all, people are not like animals, they don’t feel sorry for each other either.” But the mother deer begged the Pockmarked Lame Old Woman, and brought the children, now her own, to Issyk-Kul.
The children grew up and got married. The woman went into labor and was in pain. The man got scared and started calling the mother deer. And then an iridescent ringing was heard from afar. The horned mother deer brought a baby's cradle on her horns - beshik. And on the bow of the beshik the silver bell rang. And immediately the woman gave birth. They named their firstborn in honor of the mother deer - Bugubay. From him came the Bugu family.
Then a rich man died, and his children decided to install deer horns on the tomb. Since then, there has been no mercy for deer in the Issyk-Kul forests. And there were no more deer. Empty
whether mountains. And when the Horned Mother Deer left, she said that she would never return.”
Autumn has come again in the mountains. Along with the summer, the time for visiting shepherds and herdsmen passed for Orozkul - the time had come to pay for the offerings. Together with Momun, they dragged two pine logs through the mountains, and that is why Orozkul was angry with the whole world. He should settle down in the city, they know how to respect people. Cultured people... And because you received a gift, you don’t have to carry logs later. But the police and the inspectorate visit the state farm - well, they’ll ask where the wood comes from and where. At this thought, anger boiled up in Orozkul towards everything and everyone. I wanted to beat my wife, but the house was far away. Then this grandfather saw the deer and almost came to tears, as if he had met his own brothers.
And when it was very close to the cordon, we finally quarreled with the old man: he kept asking his grandson to go and pick him up from school. It got so bad that he threw the stuck logs in the river and galloped off after the boy. It didn’t even help that Orozkul hit him on the head a couple of times - he pulled away, spat out the blood and left.
When the grandfather and the boy returned, they found out that Orozkul had beaten his wife and kicked him out of the house, and said that he was firing his grandfather from his job. Bekey howled, cursed her father, and the grandmother itched that she had to submit to Orozkul, ask for his forgiveness, otherwise where to go in her old age? Grandfather is in his hands...
The boy wanted to tell his grandfather that he saw deer in the forest, but they returned after all! - Yes, grandfather had no time for that. And then the boy again went into his imaginary world and began to beg the mother deer to bring Orozkul and Bekey a cradle on horns.
Meanwhile, people arrived at the cordon for the forest. And while they were pulling out the log and doing other things, grandfather Momun trotted after Orozkul, like a devoted dog. The visitors also saw deer - apparently the animals were not scared, they were from the reserve.
In the evening, the boy saw a cauldron boiling on a fire in the yard, from which a meaty spirit emanated. The grandfather stood by the fire and was drunk - the boy had never seen him like this. Drunk Orozkul and one of the visitors, squatting near the barn, shared a huge pile of fresh meat. And under the wall of the barn the boy saw a horned head. He wanted to run, but his legs wouldn’t obey him - he stood and looked at the disfigured head of the one who only yesterday had been the Horned Mother Deer.
Soon everyone was seated at the table. The boy felt sick all the time. He heard drunken people slurping, gnawing, sniffling, devouring the meat of the mother deer. And then Saidakhmat told how he forced his grandfather to shoot a deer: he intimidated him that otherwise Orozkul would kick him out.
And the boy decided that he would become a fish and never return to the mountains. He went down to the river. And stepped straight into the water...
Retelling - Slyusareva I. N.
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