Evril Turon (Mamadali Mahmud) White Flower (A true story) — 1
(Mamadali Mahmud)
White Flower
(A true story)
I dedicate this to my friends
who truly love their country
Today is the 20th day of the 4th month of 2011. As usual before breakfast I am sat working under an apricot tree. All of a sudden, an unripened apricot lands on the ground. This saddens me.
“-Fell off before it’s time, -I told myself, -poor unripened apricot! Why?”
“God’s “work” -said a voice inside me, “-he creates, he finishes. Why? There is no answer for that. There will never be”
I am buried deep in silence.
Thought, reminiscence and memory have such power:
A barrier, a limit and distances are powerless before that. It turns the clock back, resurrects the dead.
Unripened apricot’s effect: time retreated:
Back to 55 years ago.
The Uchkuloch gold mine, sparse crowd and a school appeared before my eyes.
Then the classroom of 8th year pupils, the front row desk, Omongul…
55 years…
During this time so many of my acquaintances, loved ones, relatives have faded out of my memory. Faded out to eternity. But Omongul?..
I remember her diamond-like sharp face and eyes, arched eyebrows, a slender nose, thick hair in a single braid, natural red lips and head held high dignified behaviour. As if time has stopped, I remember it as if it had happened just now.
German, English, French, Jewish, Polish, Hungarian, Ukrainian, Russian, Bulgarian, Korean, Japanese, Chinese, Latvian, Georgian, Arabic, Armenian, Persian… in short I have seen the beauties of various nations in the world. But I have never come across anyone as naturally beautiful as Omongul*. She was literally innocent and unique. I likened her to a freshly blossomed white flower. I called her “White flower” by myself only in my mind. I didn’t dare totell her that. Not only me, even others couldn’t dare look in the eyes of Omongul. Even teachers talked to her mindfully. I don’t know the exact reason for it. Probably, it was because she was more beautiful than others, her excellence in studying, abruptness and self-contain and not every word was to her liking.
—————————————————————————————————————————*Uchkuloch – a village in Jizzah province in Uzbekistan
*Omongul – literal meaning is a survived flower.
1
I thought she had a mysterious secret in her personality. I could feel that in her eyes, the eyes that could see a person’s internal world. She didn’t resemble anyone in the world. Sometimes I used to compare her to “A sky girl”. She used to hold herself high and proud. Not deliberately. It was her nature. Omongul’s every move, every word, was as natural as a flower. Despite that, not all girls liked her. Maybe out of jealousy, sometimes they used to mutter under their breath:
“ –Snob/Snooty”
“ – Arrogant!..”
“ – Cold!..”
During those times between Omongul and me there was nothing but “hi” and “bye”. Apart from occasional short meetings and a few words.
Once she called my friend Bektemir to the recently hung “Towards Communism” notice board and asked him:
-Did you write this?
-Yes.
-Read.
The Blacksmith’s son* Bektemir despite being more muscular than his age, strong and proud, he obeyed Omongul without a word:
“Lenin is our father,
Russians our brothers.
Towards Communism,
Boldly we march together.”
Omongul stung him like a hornet:
-I can see where your ancestries blood comesfrom, Bek*. Soon, apologist poets will be out of work. I thought you could become a good blacksmith. Now?..
Bookworm* Bektemir didn’t say anything against Omongul. Probably, it’s because he wrote this quatrain at the instruction of our language and literature teacher, against his own will? Maybe, it’s because of his feelings towards Omongul? Maybe, maybe not?
Omongul marched outside staring at me with a cold gaze.
——————————————————————————————————————
*Blacksmith’s son – Bek was the son of a famous blacksmith Sunnat in Forish district.
*Bek – the local people in Bogdon and Uchkuloch used call Bektemir as Bek. Sometimes they called him “Genghis Khan” as well.
*Bookworm – Bek was fond of fiction.
2
Cold gaze?..
Why?
Is it because Bek was my close friend? I couldn’t resist the urge to tell her something catty:
— So much arrogance, Okgul*?
— What?! — She stopped dead in her tracks and turned to me. Then I saw her eyes flashing like lightning and that gave me goose bumps.
-Sorry, Okgul, I … inadvertently…
— I have got my own name, — she calmed down.
If my gut feeling didn’tlet me down, my saying «Okgul» might have bruised her ego, but somehow she liked it. God know best, anyway.
After that everyone started calling her «Okgul». Teachers as well. Omongul slowly got used to that.
— It’s because of you, moron! — Okgul said one day on our way from school.
— My name is Evril.
-Your name is Mamadali.
— That’s in Arabic…
-That’s what your parents named you.
— They were mistaken… It’s not to my liking. I am Oghuz*. I named myself in my own language. Evril Turon.
— Are you a racist?
— I am a nationalist. I challenged myself to a «National Identity” battle…
— Bragger! — she interrupted me.
— You don’t have to believe it, if you don’twant to. My heart says so. That’s why I named you in my style:
Okgul! I likenyou to a white flower. A recently bloomed white flower, a flowershoweredwith dewdrops.
— A paper flower doesn’t enlighten the heart of a person, I like simple, plain words. Speak with no exaggeration, no nervousness. I think, beauty means: being simple in hearts. I don’t tolerate praise. Everywhere is full of praise, fake praise. Like Bek’s saltless quatrain. No benefit to anyone. The harm is countless.
Fake praise — suffocates growth
Fake praise – the enemy of society
Fake praise — a road to subjugation
*Okgul – White flower. Ok – White, Gul – flower.
*Oghuz — a historical Turkic tribal confederation conventionally named the Oghuz Yabgu State in Central Asia.
3
Okgul’s mistrust hurt me. My self confidence got bruised. A person hardly admits his mistake, his imperfection. I can’t take criticism. Even though it’s valid criticism.
» A paper flower doesn’t enlighten the heart» I said to myself in my head.
-How about yourself, Okgul? Aren’t your words meticulous? I am not saying it to your face, am I? Selfish!
Near the first operated mine in Uchkuloch we departed without saying goodbye to anyone. I walked up to the stones, which were laid like a hill. From here Okgul’s house is clearly visible. Although it didn’t look any different than others’, it looked somehow mysterious to me.
Here she is, Okgul in a violet flower embedded white dress “sailing” like a white swan (sailing at sea) to the patio from her room. And started water cooling the patio with an old tin bucket.
Even though, it’s not an appropriate time let me say: Okgul in her way, used to dress in a style that even top European girls would envy. In that elegant, neat and beautiful dress she used to flourish like a white flower.
For a while I sat feeling upset with her. But in one part of my brain: a message of «Okgul is right» was resonating. The stronger I triedto push it away, the stronger it was resonating. Under the influence of that, a question popped up in my mind:
«Can a human completely control himself?» . Someone answered this question:
«-More or less «Yes», completely «No».
Who is that?
No one around me. It’s quiet around me. Another sound whispered into my ears:
«-Although a human is given intellect, he is constantly under an invisible and incomprehensible rein…»
«-Whose rein?»
«-A human never got to the bottom of it. This is a mystery. Who took you up to this hill now?»
«-I don’t know. Maybe, unknown power? … Probably, thoughtfully… inadvertently …»
«The power which is out of your control: the owner of the rein»
«-Probably?…»
“- He led you up to this uninhabited “hill” to remove the stone that stuck in and hurt your heart. Created a chance for you to meditate about yourself. Now think neutrally by being merciless to yourself. Probably, thus, you will reach the right solution. Maybe, your views about Okgul will change…”
Under the influence of this unknown power, I look at Okgul. She is reading a book lying on the double pillow and the atlas* duvet on the king size garden bed under the apple tree.
—————————————————————————————————————————
*atlas –Uzbek national handmade and authentic woven fabric.
4
“- What kind of book? – I thought, — a school book? No. Fiction, probably? Maybe history? Or philosophy?…”
Suddenly, the gossip of a girl, who was Okgul’s rival (can’t remember her name), crossed my mind:
“- Okgul chirps that she learned old inscriptions from her uncle. Parrot! Loves showing off, looking down her nose. Selfish!”
Bektemir asked her with a hoarse voice, which was unsuitable for his age:
-Has Okgul got an uncle?
-They say so.
-Where?
-In Tashkent.
-What does he do?
— A scientist they say. They say Okgul spends every summer holiday at her uncle’s.
-Tittle-tattle…tittle-tattle… You are so good at bending the truth. She hasn’t been out of Uchkuloch for the past two years. Only once she visited Osmonsoy*.
-Say Balandosmon* to be correct, Bek – corrected him Okgul’s friend and neighbour Marvarid.
— What do you think you know, frog? –said Okgul’s rival.
— Melolonthinae!? — said Marvarid, as Okgul’s rival’s neck was short, shortly attached to her body.
-Birds of a feather flock together!You are cold faced like Okgul!. –she said.
Bektemir butted in:
-Leave Okgul alone!
-Did she steal your heart?
-Shut up! – Bek’s eyes flashed with anger. – A fox couldn’t reach clusters of grapes and beguileherself of her disappointment saying “Sour grapes”. You can’t be Okgul. You have got a black heart. You will spend your life making cowpats. Okgul will become an academic.
-That witch seems to have hexed you. Your eyes are blind.
— Enough, melolonthinae! Otherwise, I will pull your tongue out! – Bektemir was fuming.
-Don’t you recognize what our teachers said about Okgul? – Marvarid muckedintruded in the conversation.
-Leave them alone –said Okgul’s rival.
—————————————————————————————————————————
* Osmonsoy – a mountainous village in Forish district
*Balandosmon – another village in Forish district.
5
-Even the school headmaster said that Okgul would become an academic, you mean!
Suddenly a honeybee stung my right cheek. My thoughts pulverized. “Probably, my mother has been waiting for me” struck my mind. I marched home forgetting both pain and Okgul.
2
The talk about Bektemir’s quatrain reached the school headmaster as well. Maybe, the melolonthinae snitched it. Maybe, the girls don’t like Okgul.
Not even seven days after that incident, our language and literature teacher instructed us to write an essay about “My ancestry”. But she kept quiet for about ten days about the essay results. Later, I don’t know why, a representative from the Samarkand region* education department visited. A middle-aged, thin man with captious eyes. The teacher announced the marks to the class in his presence. But Okgul was left out. The representative asked her:
— You linked yourself with Oghuz Khan*, Bilge Khagan*, Tamerlane*. Who are they?
— My ancestors.
-Are they historical figures?
-Yes.
-Hmm… I haven’t heard about Oghuz Khan, Bilge Khagan before. But I know Tamerlane as an invader, a pillager and a cutthroat.
The representative’s broken Uzbek with Persian tone and calling great Timur as Tamerlane wasn’t to Okgul’s liking. She inadvertently looked at the representative with a cold gaze. The representative noticed that and seemed to have corrected his mistake:
— The world sees it this way about Tamerlane.
Okgul was genetically this type of girl: if she knows that she is absolutely right, she would make her point to anyone. His position, mightiness wouldn’t fear her.
She was extraordinarily daring:
— A contradictory opinion against the historic fact.
——————————————————————————————————————*Samarkand province — a province in Uzbekistan.
*Oghuz Khan — a legendary and semi-mythological Khan of the Turks.
* Bilge Khagan — khagan of the Second Turkic Khaganate.
* Tamerlane – another name for Timur. Turkish conqueror and the founder of the Timurid Empire.
6
-The world’s opinion?!
The representative smirked. But underneath his smirk something cold as a coffin was hidden. Okgul sensed it. Instead of feeling timid she got supernatural power and:
-Europe recognizes Timur as their “Rescuer” — she said with adamant tone of voice, — even the Russians.
— Even the Russians? – asked the representative with a trembling voice.
The class turned to ice. The teacher’s face turned to a face of a corpse. Okgul answered shortly and concisely:
-My grandfather Timur liberated the Russians from the Mongols. Tokhtamysh Khan* abandoned the Golden Horde.
-How do you know this information?
-From Russian academics.
-For example?
-I have read Bartold, Bertels, Yakubovskiy. I have learned from another Russian lady.
-Russian lady?
-Yes.
-Maybe, she is a Russian Jew?
-Yes, that’s right. She is a russianised Jew.
— A Jew never gets russianised. Or a Jew never turns into another nation. In all circumstances, environment, situations, times a Jew keeps his “self”.
— I consider this as a right thing. Otherwise, they would becomeextinct as a nation. National identity – is power which saves the nation from the storms of time, divine power, I think.
The representative: “This little girl knows this thing — crossed his mind, — a Jew may teach her a thousand times, but if she is not gifted, it’s useless. She has got a gift. She thinks as if she is a scholar. When she grows up, she will turn to a dangerous person to the regime like academic Habib Abdullaev*…”
But he put a poker face on:
-Now I understand, — he said with a fake smile, — you were taught the “National Identity” by that Jewish woman.
Okgul objected tohim reading the gist of his words as “She debauched you…”:
— “National Identity” is in my blood.
— Has every Uzbek got this feeling?
-Without this spirit a nation can’t live as a nation.
In order not to give away his anxiety, the representative stroked his sleekly combed thin hair. Okgul felt his impressions: “He dislikes the Uzbeks” she thought.
* Tokhtamysh Khan — a descendant of Genghis Khan’s grandson
*Habib Abdullayev (1912-1962) – a prominent geologist, public figure who discovered various precious minerals and metals in Uzbekistan and later regretted that it was looted by the USSR regime. There is a controversial rumour about his death as he opposed the way the natural resources of Uzbekistan were dealt with by the USSR.
7
Bektemir inadvertently sighed. The pale faced teacher looked at him disgruntledly. The class was buried in further silence. The representative was teasingly thought to ask Okgul: “What do you think of Communistic spirit”. But he got jittery as Okgul could say “Fake spirit” in front of the pupils and he changed his mind. Instead:
-Do you speak Russian well? – he squeezed the question in.
-Like Russians.
The representative felt the absence of boasting signs in Okgul’s voice.
The teacher added:
-She is not bad at English either.
-How about Hebrew? – the representative smiled at Okgul.
-I can handle it.
-Did the Jewish lady teach?
-Yes… I have a Hebrew-Russian dictionary as well.
— Superb.
— What language did you read the academics’ books in?
-Russian.
-I guess, they are Jews, the names…. – He deliberately didn’t finish his sentence.
— I don’t know.
— Their thoughts are strange… Jewish…
Okgul sensed the representative’s point and cut him in sarcastic tone:
-I guess you believe in “Timur’s guides”*.
-Who would fault himself?
— Have you read Clavijo?
— No, but I have heard his “in return of gold” words… – he didn’t look in the eyes of Okgulto conceal his lie.
— I guess you don’t deny Ibn Arabshah, Khwandamir, Sharaf ad-Din Ali Yazdi, Abd-al-Razzaq Samarqandi*?
The representative was buried in thoughts for a second as he hadn’t read their books. Along with that he was astonished at girl’s erudition:
“-An 8th year pupil… Knows so much… Unbelievable… I have never come across anybody like her in my life”
Bektemir sighed again. The teacher came to him and twisted his ear quietly o that the rep didn’tnotice:
-Keep quiet!
The representative rose from an instantaneous thought and kick-started speaking:
* “Timur’s guides” – biographic book about Tamerlane, the first ruler in the Timurid dynasty.
* Arabshah, Khwandamir, Sharaf ad-Din Ali Yazdi, Abd-al-Razzaq Samarqandi — writers who lived during the reign of Timur.
8
-Times when king’s words were laws… What things couldn’t transpire?… Commands… Orders….
He deliberately talked abstractly. I sensed the hidden scorpion in his voice. But, I didn’t find courage in me to say what I read in a book:
— “If one throws a stone at history, he throws it at himself”
Okgul “attacked” the representative within the bounds of decency:
-You are saying a “cutthroat”?…
Even if a shepherd or a farmer contemplates Great Timur, undoubtedly, he will come to this conclusion:
-“Great Timur liberated our country from Mongol invasion. Great Timur formed a Great Country consisting of twenty seven countries in it. You say a “cutthroat”?…A cutthroat can’t build a vast Empire like Timur, which is unmatched inpower. A cutthroat is unable to self-rule let alone rule two people. Because he is stupid, donkey brain. That’s why he is a cutthroat. A sultan like Great Timur is born once in a thousand years: Oghuz Khan, Aleksandar III, Genghiz Khan…
Okgul was cut off. Unexpectedly, Bek rose and exploded with a trembling voice:
-No history – no future.
This hit the representative’s heart with poison like Okgul’s words. His face froze turning his bluish eyes to piebald. His brain shuddered:
-“These class pupils have caught nationalism disease?… Damn Jew!… She is a spy!… Spy!…Spy!!!”
The teacher quizzed Bektemir in order to calm the dreadfully angry representative down:
-Whose words are they?
-Lenin…
-Correct,- the teacher interrupted Bek.
— Yes-yes, that’s right – the representative suddenly brisked up, — what’s your name?
-Bek, — He wanted to say “They call me Genghiz Khan too”. Some supernatural power stopped him from that danger.
“-Bite your tongue!”
The teacher corrected him:
-Bektemir… He wrote “Lenin is our father, Russians our brothers” quatrain.
-Oh-Yes… Well done, Bek, well done!
9
-He wrote the essay for an excellent mark. – The teacher cheered up from the fact that the representative’s mood brightened.
-Congratulations. Bek! – the colour returned to his face. – Omongul’s is also excellent. I will take it to Samarkand as an example. I think this girl has got a bright future…
Everyone applauded. Even the jealous melolonthinae as well. My heart dropped. Despite sitting behind Okgul, I felt that the blood from her face was gone. How? I am unable to describe it. Maybe? Perhaps I got this feeling because her nice shoulders shook, proud head bowed down.
I think the teacher might have wanted to give a good impression to the representative about herself and suddenly pointed her index finger at me:
-Evril, read a poem for us.
I don’t know why, all of a sudden I remembered my mother’s words who experienced the oppression of the SPA*.
“- Son, always duck and dive. The times we live in are dangerous…”
I hesitated. The representative smiled and said:
-Read, read, don’t be shy.
I was backed into a corner. Then suddenly this idea sprung to mind:
“-Use this opportunity… This will also give moral support to Okgul…”
Then I read a sad poem in sad tone:
Monologue
Trust me, humiliation is a blessing in this world.
If we don’t use the knowledge, glory and honour
What is the point of having them?
Ebullient affection to shrewdness and freedom are useless
If you don’t use them.
.
We blossom for a short time and die soon,
Like the grasses of here, as the children of North.
Our lives are cloudy like the sun in the grey sky of the winter
But the monotonous flow of it won’t last too long…
Also it feels hard to breathe in the motherland,
It hurts your heart as well, soul is sorrowful…
Neither love is sensed, nor is sweet friendship,
Our adolescence suffers in storms,
The poison of villainy makes it fall like leaves.
Warmthless life is too bitter,
Nothing makes our souls jolly.
SPA*- State Political Administration
10
“-Excuse me,” — said the representative in his head and his yellowish face turned grey, — I didn’t get these lines:
«… Also it feels hard to breathe in the motherland»
Or:
» Our adolescence suffers in storms,
Villainy’s poison makes it fall like leaves…»
The representative was about to speak. Okgul’s neighbour asked him:
-Can I also read a poem?
-Yes.
She read:
Waves and people
Waves chase one another coherently,
They play and raise hoarse noise.
People pass one by one, endless,
A despicable crowd are like waves.
Coldness, restraint are priceless beauty
To the waves instead of the warm sun
People want hearts… What’s surprising?
Because their hearts are colder than waves.
«-They are worse than each other, — said to himself and repeated this couplet:
Coldness, restraint are priceless beauty
To the waves instead of the warm sun…»
How to comprehend this?»
As he is very cautious he refrained himself from rushing and by masking his impressions with a fake smile, he urged Okgul to read a poem. After a short preparation, she read the following:
Jew song
I used to see a night star
As it glitters on the creek-mirror,
As it shakes from the flows,
Silver dust disperses gently.
11
But don’t try to grab it:
Both wave and light are deceptive.
If you come closer, sinks your shadow,
If you move back further, each drop is shiny.
Even the restless silhouette of joy,
Urges you in this cold darkness.
As you try to grab, they escape playfully,
They do come back by duping you.
The representative repeated this couplet involuntarily:
«Even restless silhouette of joy,
Urges you in this cold darkness…»
Thenunable to look in the all-knowing and flashy eyes of Okgul, he whispered looking on the floor:
«in this cold darkness»…
The teacher sensed the representative’s anxiety. That’s why:
— These three poems were written by great Russian poet Lermontov, — she said.
-Really?… Hmm.. That’s right, — the representative tried to conceal the change he had inside him and deliberately kept his head down.
I don’t know others, but I felt this way.
-Pupils love Lermontov.
— I can feel it, — eventually the representative looked at us with an enlightened face.
It felt to me as if the classroom brightened up.
— Do you know Pushkin by heart too?
«-Yes — yes…» voices sounded in the class.
-Russian poetry is unique, — the teacher breathed a sigh of relief.
-Incomparable! — asserted the representative in a jolly voice.
That time headmaster Buron Hudoykulov entered the class. He was a well-built, broad foreheaded and fiery eyed man. Every word he says is well-thought through, well-processed in his brain and speaks with charisma. This «charisma» suited his great body build and it never looked unsuitable in others’ views.
Everyone stood up. The representative as well.
Like a fox would look small and weak before a lion, the skinny representative looked like a strand of hair before the big build of the head master.
No matter how devious he is, his thin, bloodless lips didn’t obey him, paled. He tried to smile in order to conceal it.
12
But, failed. Smiled like a fox. I heard the flapping heart of the representative. I can’t put it into words. Maybe, there is a heart’s «ear and eye» yet to be learned by science?
The headmaster discreetly looked down his nose at the representative. It happened at light speed. I am not sure about others, but I sensed it. You know: light can travel the earth seven times a second.
Why did the representative’s heart flap? This is not only the headmaster’s big build, but also he has got a powerful friend in Moscow. What if he snitches to his friend? He will lose his warm place, then will he be a shepherd or make mud bricks?… If he hasn’t got any profession…
-During the break will you pop in to see me, — he said to the language and literature teacher and he left the class while glancing at pupils with kindness. I felt that the representative’s displeasing face brightenup. He thought «The headmaster visited to calm me down».
I still remember this well-built man with deep respect. We called him Buron brother. I used to feel the «smell of storm» in his face and eyes, movements and speeches. And also natural gust and enthusiasm. He had genetically immeasurable love for his country and he tried to conceal it.
There were rumours that Buron brother was behind the bloody clash (year 1953) between the locals and the migrants in Uchkuloch. But, it might be baseless that’s why the regime was quiet about it… Or are they afraid of his powerful friend in Moscow?…
Who knows?
Powerful friend…
Frontline friend…
Who is he?
Buron brother used to keep it secret. People:
«-They say his powerful friend is Jewish. Suslov’s* relative», — that’s all they could say.
Occasionally, in tearooms, canteens and around ponds I used overhear the open swearing and resentful grumbling of drunk miners (Russian miners):
«-Moscow is in the hands of Jews!»
«-Say Russia!»
«-The whole USSR!…»
«-PolitBureau members, mainly Jews.»
«-Jews with Russian faces»
—————————————————————————————————————————————Suslov — second secretary of KPPS (Communistic Party of Soviet Union). The Second powerful leader in the USSR
13
«-There are a couple of Ivans.»
«-Window dressing.»
«-No Jew does a low-paid job.»
«-Sly fox.»
«-Hitler didn’t do it without a reason.»
«-A Jew puts himself ahead of every nationality.»
«-Because he is clever.»
«-Even the USA is the property of Jews.»
«-Say the whole world.»
«-They are a united nation.»
«-All prophets are Jews.»
«-The people who are turning the world upside-down are also Jews:
Marx,
Einstein,
Rutherford,
Bohr,
Freud,
Nietzsche,
Pierre Curie,
Marie Curie…»
I don’t know if these were close tothe truth. But, I knew that Buron brother was a close friend with Sokol who was a director of the Uchkuloch mine. Sokol was from Suslov’s team. He never hid that he was a Jew.
When Sokol met school pupils in the last winter:
«-A person who loves his nation, his history, his traditions is a real person, -he said, — otherwise he won’t love anyone but himself. It* will pretend to love… They are everywhere now…
A person with no motherland spirit will dance to anyone’s tune… It has got gradually eroding power: it’s a maggot in the root of society, civilisation, science… Eventually, he will destroy the regime he is «serving»…
I am a Jew!
In a nutshell: Jews stood at the forefront of religious, political, scientific turns atall times and periods. That’s not an exaggeration. That’s worldwide accepted truth. These are examples:
Moses founded religion Judaism. He received theTorah.
David received «Zabur».
Jesus formed Christianity. He received the»Bible».
—————————————————————————————————————————————*It- in the meaning of USSR.
14
Isaac Newton created the law of «Universal gravitation».
Albert Einstein invented the theory of «Special relativity».
Rutherford is the father of theatom and nucleus.
Karl Marx is the author of «Capital», the founder of theoretical communism.
Popov invented radio…
Music, poetry, art… My nation-mates’ names sound in turning points of all fields. I am proud of them. If a person doesn’t feel proud of himself, he doesn’t feel it of other’s either. I am proud of algebra and algorithm founder Khwarizmi, Al-Biruni who created the first ever globe of the earth. And the father of medical science is Avicenna. Al-Biruni was a great geologist too. The genius who determined the radius of the earth. You guys can be proud of them, overall you can be proud of your history…»
This was «Buron brother’s plan, — I thought, — via Sokol awakening our trust and affection to history…»
3
The bell rang. Break. All of us except Okgul stepped out of the class. The thought «The representative will probably ask about the Jewish lady» crossed my mind.
I was right…
After school Okgul, Marvarid, Bek and me headed together. Okgul’s white face was paler. Her eyes looked spiritless and anxious.
— I think, — she said in a sorrow and anxiety mixed voice, — the representative is from a “dodgy” side…
— Eh? – Marvarid stumbled to the stone on the stony road. I held her.
— Under the veil of…. – Bek smiled without finishing his euphemism.
— I don’t see whya smile is appropriate here? –Marvarid snapped at him… – You are so insouciant, like a duck who wouldn’t worry if the world is flooded.
Bek understood his mistake, blushed and apologized. Then secretly looked at Okgul once.
-He was interested in the Jewish lady – Okgul looked at me with broken spirit. I have never seen her like that before:
“-What a proud girl she used to be!…” crossed my mind.
Whoever hears SPA used to shake. I felt scared.
15
-Do you think nothing will happen to her?
As I could feel that Okgul was thinking of the Jewish lady’s safety rather than her own, a proud girl appeared before my eyes. I had heard that the Jewish lady was an orientalist, retired. She visited her junior brother Sokol in Leningrad. Based on that I replied.
-She is out of their reach.
The anxious expressions in Okguls’s eyes seemed to befading out. The colour returned to her face.
-What’s more, she is in Leningrad now.
Bek sowed in a sentence:
-They say Jews can feel the “smell” of danger beforehand. Maybe, she is in Israel?… Like the “Jew song” says “light” is elusive…
-Don’t make up, Bek, -Marvarid didn’t second his opinion.
At the crossroad we departed quietly.
4
There are people in the world who can’t bite their tongue in some circumstances (would be a lie if said in all circumstances) even though they sense the danger ofjail, torture, even the danger of death…
Many days passed since the representative incident and exams started. We hit it off well again with Okgul. She has overcome the ordeal she was going through. But, a few days ago the place we departed fromin silence: a clash at the crossroad fuelled the dying fire. I was a random witness of a verbal clash. That’s how it happened:
A Russian guy Alik got in the way of Tangrikut* who was carrying two large baskets of grapes on his donkey from Yomchi*. He asks a bunch of grapes from him. Tangrikut tells him that he was going to sell them in the market. Alik:
-I am rushing to work, don’t worry, I will pay for it, — he said.
-My sale in the market won’t be good if I sell it before I reach the market. That’s my superstition. – refuses Tangrikut.
-I didn’t get it.
-My Russian is not good.
—————————————————————————————————————————
*Tangrikut – as I couldn’t remember his real name, I named him as Tangrikut with good intention.
*Yomchi – a village outside the Bogdon village, in Jizzah province of Uzbekistan.
16
-Don’t lie!
-Get out of my way! – Tangrikut’s face flamed.
— Speak Russian, chuchmek*! – Alik picks up a stone.
Tangrikut smirks:
He wanted to say “Uzbeks’ bread and salt make you blind as you don’t appreciate us”, but changed his mind for some reason. Instead:
-This is Uzbekistan, -he said, — I speak my language in my country.
— Separatist!… Uzbekistan is under the subjection of Russia. If you put one step out of it. No one understands Uzbek. Then you speak Russian. Because Russian is an international language. Speak Russian!
-Is that an order? Who are you?
— I am Russian.
-You are a migrant. You didn’t fit in your own country, you have come here to feed yourself. Wake up and know where you are, conversely, you speak Uzbek!
Even though he got the gist of it, he asked Okgul:
-What is this chump saying?
Okgul translated it. He got infuriated.
— Are you disregarding the Russian language?
Tangrikut sensed it with his gut feelings, he replied with a voice sunken in hatred.
-Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.
Okgul translated into Russian.
-Russian language is a great language, — by gritting his teeth he squeezed the stone harder in his hand.
Tangrikut was also at ayoung man’s age like Alik. His heart started pumping faster, glands in his throat and jaws hardened.
-Everyone’s language is valuable for himself. – He prepared himself for Alik’s attack. Alik threw himself at him with the stone.
Tangrikut who grew up fighting wild boars on mountains, dodged him and grabbed his neck swiftly and lifted him off the ground.
He was gasping and flailing.
-I will kill you!!! — Roared like a leopard.
-Let him go, — begged Marvarid.
-You will get in trouble, — I said.
-It’s not enough for him/He deserves more! – Okgul supported Tangrikut.
That time Bek arrived wheezing and grabbed Tangrikut’s grip:
-Think about the consequences, brother, let him go.
Tangrikut released Alik. He fell on the stone stuck on the soil.
—————————————————————————————————————————
*Chuchmek – a derogatory Russian term used to describe Central Asians.
17
— Go quickly now! – I said to Tangrikut, — not to the market, to Kozokovul*… He will run to the police now.
Tangrikut whipped his donkey.
Alik got up. Deliberately didn’t cleanse his clothes and ran to the police.
We ran to school.
No later than an hour Alik came back with a police officer. With his order our language and literature teacher (She was also a deputy headmaster) lined all the school pupils in the school yard. Alik recognised us. We went to the office of the deputy headmaster.
-Do you know the grapes-sellers? – asked the cop.
-No, — we said one after one.
-Which village does he look like from?
— We don’t know.
— I think from a Tajik village: From “Ohum*”, — lied Bektemir, — he drawls in Uzbek like you.
— I am Uzbek, — he coldly looked at Bek, — that’s the dialect in Samarkand.
-Sorry.
We were happy with Bektemir’s lie. Some changes happened on thecop’s face. Maybe, this is because of what Bek made up.
-Where did he go?
-To the market.
-He is not in the market.
-We don’t know.
-Who was the culprit?
-This Russian, -said Okgul, blocked his way.
-Why?
-Asked himfor grapes. He didn’t give them. Then had a spat. This person approached him with a stone. He defended himself. We separated them.
-Did he malign the Russian language?
— No.
—————————————————————————————————————————*Kozokovul – a neighbouring village.
*Ohum – is a vallage in Forish district.
18
-He claimed that he did.
-He said only “Everyone’s language is valuable for himself.”
— He is claiming that he said “You are a migrant. You didn’t fit in your country and you have come here to feed yourself”.
-That’s a lie, — said Okgul.
-Libel. – said Marvaird.
— Punish the robber/pirate himself, -said Bek, — got in the way of the farmer. Tried to seize his grapes.
-He insulted him saying “Chuchmek”. – I said, — it’s entirely his fault.
The cop listened to us with no emotion and with a gloomy voice he ordered:
— Write down a witness testimony without adding a word from your side, in Russian.
We wrote it.
Only Okgul wrote it in Uzbek. The cop objected.
-Write in Russian.
-I am bad at Russian. In addition: There is no law saying “Don’t write “Witness testimony” in Uzbek, write it in Russian”.
The cop hadn’t expected such an abrupt reply from her. His face reddened:
-Are you clever?
-Who is speaking against the law?
The girl’s confident speaking wasn’t to cop’s liking. His thin lips nervously trembled. But, unwillingly, shrugged his shoulder.
-Your choice…
The thought “He planned something” crossed my mind.
Alik grumbled with a disgruntled voice.
— They are on the grapes-sellers side. I won’t leave it like this.
The cop asked him in an apathetic voice like a disappointed person.
-Don’t you have any other witnesses?
-No.
The cop deliberately spoke suspiciously and intriguingly:
-It will be difficult….
It gave Alik second thoughts.
“The cop sowed anxiety in him” I said to myself.
-If needed I will call you, — said the cop and Alik followed him.
We breathed a sigh of relief.
The teacher told Okgul off:
-Why did you argue? Would you have lost something, if you wrote it down obediently? You are too stubborn, Okgul. In any case, hopefully, it will have a happy ending…
19
Okgul didn’t say anything.
-I think those words of you reached the relevant authorities?
-Which words?
-Did you say “Russian is not our native language” to a Russian teacher?
-Yes.
-Why?
-Each child has got his birth mother. He hasn’t got a second mother. Thus: We have only one native language. Otherwise, she is a “Step mother”, it leads to a conclusion of a “Step language”. Is Russian is a step language? Through it we learn world science, world history, world literature. It serves us as a bridge.
We all supported Okgul:
-Absolutely right.
The teacher stood for a second as she was lost for words:
«This hellion has got a point. But, swimming upstream…? Too young to understand. But the stream doesn’t care young or old.»
We kept quiet in order not to interrupt the teacher’s thinking. Finally she said:
— The whole of Uzbekistan takes this term as the «right» term. Only you….
— I have my own opinion, sister.
— Stubborn girl.
— You think so.
— Not only me.
-But… -Okgul suddenly stopped and «arguing is foolish» she thought. Then compromised, — Maybe?…
— Because of you the headmaster got into trouble.
— Why?
-For one of your inappropriate words.
— Which?
-Once, when you went to Lelin collective farm in Jizzah for loosening the cotton field* what did you say to your neighbour at the irrigation ditch?
— I don’t remember.
— Did you say «There will come a time and we will switch back to Our Old Turkish inscription»?
Fear grasped Okgul and it fiercely cascaded onto her face. She didn’t reply. Feared.
-Careful what you say, times are dangerous, — the teacher went straight to the point.
«- This must have been snitched to the «representative» by «melolonthinae» — words struck Okgul’s mind. — That time she was loosening the cotton field a couple of ditches away. How did she overhear it?»
—————————————————————————————————————————* cotton field – child labour was widespread during the USSR.
20
-Who told you this? — Okgul came around after Marvarid asked this question.
-There are things which won’t be made public, ever!
-We didn’t see him for a while? — asked Marvarid hesitantly.
-«Heart attack» they say. In the hospital.
5
We headed together from school. Okgul put in a proposal:
-I am alone at home. My parents went to Ilonchi* early in the morning. Relatives had a baby boy. If you want we will have lunch at mine.
We happily agreed.
Suddenly these words crossed my mind:
«Okgul has got fear in her heart. That’s why she doesn’t want be on her own. Or are my senses deceiving me? I don’t think so…»
After getting freshened with the water from a copper water vessel, we got on the king size garden bed under the apple tree. Marvaird water cooled the patio and swept it without raising dust. Until then Okgul laid a snowdrop printed table cloth. She garnished it with bread, pastry, grapes and rock sugar. Then brought two pots of green tea and four cups.
We enjoyed eating and drinking. Then in jolly mood I asked Okgul:
-Can we see the books you got as a gift from the Jewish lady?
She quietly walked towards her room and after a while she came back with a pale face.
-My books have gone missing!!!
We were shell-shocked.
Maarvarid tried to put out the fire:
-Maybe your dad hid them before they left?
-I don’t know. This is unlikely. — A glimmer of hope faintly twinkled in Okgul’s eyes.
-You will see, it will turn out this way, — even Marvarid herself got inspired by her speculation.
-If your guess comes true, I will give this to you as a gift. — Okgul pointed at her golden ring in her middle finger.
—————————————————————————————————————————*Ilonchi — a village outskirts of Bogdon district.
21
-I don’t have a better friend than you in this world. This is a gift of God. This is not only a golden ring, but more precious than “Koh-i-Noor”*.
Okgul was about to say something to her. But Bek seemed to have sensed it, he hastily quizzed her:
-Were the doors locked?
-Yes.
-Were the windows tightened from inside?
-Yes.
-Did you inspect everything?
-Yes, everything is in order.
These words rotated in my head like a mill:
“-Is it not the representative’s work?… If it is the case, isn’t a lock a piece of cake for them?… My mother used to say:
“There is no such thing as a hurdle for SPA. They can do anything without leaving a trace, without a witness, without your notice, without your notice” – I repeated inadvertently.
-I took some written copies from those books to my notebook and kept it in-between duvets on top of the dowry chest, thankfully it’s there (not gone).
-Thank God: — Marvarid hugged Okgul.
-I have got a feeling. That “representative” was interested in those books… But, it’s not good to accuse someone without an evidence, Marvarid, -said Okgul.
Occasionally, Okgul used to call her Marvarid*. Maybe, this is because her teeth were as white as pearls, nicely laid, beautiful. When she smiles, she gets even more beautiful. Her pearly whites used to emerge through her rubin colour lips and seemed to emanate gleams around. Her wheatish colour face, pure black eyes were captivating and would enchant the person.
-I have a proposal. – Bek referred to Okgul, — next Sunday let’s go to Bogdon, to the mountain.
-Do you think this is the right time while we are going through these, Bek? In addition exams… We need to do preparation.
—————————————————————————————————————————* Koh-i-Noor – diamond belonging to Babur Shah dynasty. The most expensive diamond in the world, priceless to be precise. Currently, in London.
*Marvarid – means a pearl in Uzbek. I can’t remember her real name as it was 55 years ago.
22
-I am saying it to disburden our minds. “Girlflown”, “Horseflown” summits… White Spring… Fresh air… Tulips, mint, ziziphora.
-Keep spoiling the person. – Okgul interrupted Bek smiling bleakly.
— We would really enjoy it. – Marvarid seconded Bek. – Through the gushing canyon we would get to the snowy mountain ridge, would eat rhubarbs with full enjoyment, would pick tulips and ziziphora from the caves. Mint from the gushing mountain river…
-Keep tempting.
— I like tandoori samosa, Okgul. How about you?
— You are coaxing me, hag.
— Say “OK”, Okgul, — I said, — it will be a picnic to remember for the rest of our lives.
— You say you want to be a writer, once upon a time comes, will you write this, Evril?
Out of joy I gave my word:
-Yes, Okgul.
— Let me see.
-Along with that we would pay a visit to Buron brother.
-It would hearten him, — supported Marvarid.
— In that case, “OK”.
All of us applauded.
6
Sunday morning we headed to the hospital in Forish’s district centre on Bek’s motorcycle*. We stopped at a thousand year old Honbandi* water reservoir. The engine got overheated. Until it cooled down, we watched with fascination the nine spillway dam built of stones. That time the blood tinted sun was rising from behind the plain mountains. The horizon is in scarlet colour. As if a scarlet river is flowing.
—————————————————————————————————————————
*Motorcycle – “Ural” brand. Got a sidecar attached.
*Honbandi – a water reservoir name, built in-between two mountains.
23
Cool wind fluffs our hair. Pinches our shirts, gives cool delight to our body. The long abandoned reservoir has been conquered by the centuries’ grime and muddy tributary flowing from the Nurata mountain range and that disheartened us.
-Poor water reservoir! – rued Okgul, — once upon a time, this land flourished because of this water, — she pointed with her right hand at the borderless and vast deserts on both sides of the dam. Even the very old cemetery near the coalpit and cooling towers also confirm it – she hinted at the North. -But it didn’t stand the test of time, it got flattened to the ground. Difficult to detect visually. The marble cuts, which turned nearly to ordinary stones also confirm it. I was saddened by this pitiful landscape. The fact that a person’s life is short and eventually it turns to soil, vanishes without a trace, never comes back to this world, broke my heart. For a long time I couldn’t come to terms with it.
Marvarid seemed to have been moved by these words, in a sad and sorrowful voice she said:
-Mankind spends this short and perishable life cheating each other and always at each other’s throats.
— Why is that, Okgul?
— I don’t know.
-Maybe, God’s will?
-Don’t blaspheme, Bek! – Okgul frowned and went quiet for a second. Then she said with an endless sigh:
-You can’t imagine, how strongly I want to live eternally, Marvarid!
-Who wouldn’t want to? But, it’s impossible, Okgul. However, you can leave your name behind you. For example: Like Al-Biruni.
-You are a fantasist.
-I believe in your ability to succeed in science, Okgul.
-If God gives me a chance, maybe. But, it’s difficult…
I thought this topic might get overstretched and lose its lustre, I swayed the conversation into the old channel:
-Each regime bypassing the Honbandi. But, I think once upon a time will come and one patriot will emerge who will look after this reservoir. Because this dam has still got its lustre and potential. Just the grime of the water reservoir needs cleansing.
-The Jewish lady also said the same thing. But this is only: a dream, a desire.
-Jewish lady?..
24
Okgul cut me and continued:
-The mine director brought us here in his company car. Frankly, I was fascinated by his words.
-Share with us, Okgul. –Marvarid kindly held Okgul’s arm.
Okgul told word for word what she heard from Sokol:
“-Do you know – said the mine director to his sister that time, — why this dam is still intact? Because, not even a handful of soil was used for its construction. Stones were ground like wheat ground to flour. Then it was mixed with camel milk and was used instead of cement”.
“-Probably other solutions were also added?”
“-I am not aware of the rest. But, it’s firmly standing the ruthless tests of time. That means: solidly built”.
“-If the water reservoir is cleansed, renovated, it will return to its previous condition. The scale of this task is on a government level. This requires funding, technology and management”
“-I second this, Maria. But the government doesn’t feel that it’s necessary. The reason: The underneath of the Nurata mountain range is full of endless gold, silver, uranium… in summary, various minerals. Including the underneath of Hanbandi as well”.
“-Resources are one matter, brother. But, I regret for the unused land. Poor land!”
“-If you are pointing out this area by saying “unused land”, you are wrong, sister”.
“-Why?”
“-This desert begins from the end of Jizzah city. Across Nurata mountain range the desert’s tens of kilometres width moves towards the North-West. To be precise: It moves alongside the borderline of Kazakhstan. It crosses Forish, Nurata districts. Then one point of it reaches the Kyzylkum Desert. The main part sinks into Karakalpakstan…”
“-Is it so vast?”
“-Yes. It’s absolutely idle, arable land and free from salt pans. It can feed tens of millions of people. Plainly speaking: A few Israel sized countries can fit in there”.
МАҚОЛАНИ ДЎСТЛАР БИЛАН БАҲАМЛАШИНГ