This brochure is translated into English by means of the robot translator on http://www.translate.ru/ The author corrected only appreciable, gross errors of machine translation. The author understands and recognizes: the high-quality translation of this brochure is a difficult task even for the professional translator. The author hopes that the translation of the brochure will give useful information to English-speaking readers. The author asks them to be indulgent to the translation, not to be irritated against the translator, that is the robot.
Äàííàÿ áðîøþðà ïåðåâåäåíà íà àíãëèéñêèé ÿçûê ïðè ïîìîùè ðîáîòà-ïåðåâîä÷èêà íà translate.ru. Àâòîð èñïðàâèë òîëüêî ÿâíûå, ãðóáûå îøèáêè àâòîìàòè÷åñêîãî ïåðåâîäà. Îí ïîíèìàåò è ïðèçíàåò: êà÷åñòâåííûé ïåðåâîä äàííîé áðîøþðû – ýòî òðóäíàÿ çàäà÷à äàæå äëÿ ïðîôåññèîíàëüíîãî ïåðåâîä÷èêà. Íàäååòñÿ, ÷òî íèæåñëåäóþùèé òåêñò äàñò ïîëåçíóþ èíôîðìàöèþ àíãëîÿçû÷íûì ÷èòàòåëÿì. Ïðîñèò èõ áûòü ñíèñõîäèòåëüíûìè ê ïåðåâîäó, íå ðàçäðàæàòüñÿ ïðîòèâ ïåðåâîä÷èêà, òî åñòü ðîáîòà.
Îðèãèíàë áðîøþðû - http://www.stihi.ru/2015/04/28/2756
The original of the brochure - http://www.stihi.ru/2015/04/28/2756
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"Spirals and Textures of Times" is, if I may say so, the concentrate received by reduction five times and transformation of the following brochure. Even not reduction, but cutting of introductory part and nearly four components of the brochure from six. And transformation is a removal from two other "packs" of some "cards" (paragraphs), addition from under "scissors" of some "rags", a reshuffle and an apportion of the received collecting, but not in a casual order, and according to an architectural plan. And all this is made to create compact to "syuzena" with three main ideas of the brochure: "All good in the person – from parents", "To wars – no!", "Our memory of the Great Patriotic War – is sacred". It is made for you, fans of rapid reading and the pragmatical relation to knowledge. And for you who loves that was and it is cheap, and it is angry. To you, dear, – there, aside, on the author's site where it placed "STT": http://avaz-nurzef.info/spirali
Later, on May 3, "concentrate" will be hung out and here, on the stihi.ru
And for you who wishes to have not to "syuzena", but big "carpet", in its solid sizes, in all patterns and ornaments, completeness of a palette who prefers to read and learn the edition in native vision of the author, – the integral brochure. To you, my dear, – directly, at the rate, forward.
Let's roll!
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70-th ANNIVERSARY OF THE VICTORY: ALL OF US IT IS FROM THAT GREAT WAR
All of us: the people who remained on fields of battles, gone to a
better world in post-war times, well the people of advanced, senior
and average age, the youth, the teenagers, children, babies who yet
weren't born and who even aren't conceived, – all of us is from that
Great War.
Six the interconnected essays made this brochure. It is thought, it will represent a certain interest and to those readers who is familiar with its components according to separate publications. First, opportunity to take a necklace in hand or to touch separate beads separately, incidentally and randomly – a difference essential. Secondly, each "bead" before it was strung on "thread" in a certain order, passed an additional facet and polishing. And some "sapphire" are added. The attentive person will notice all this, will note and will estimate. And for those who read not all materials, or even I didn't see any, this brochure – at all to an izdanyitsa optimum. Fifthly, the semi-precious stones processed by the expert show the advantages fully exactly assembled. This especially is important for our "jeweler" that, sixthly, among the audience (readers) there are also experts. The last circumstance is closed – incidentally, but it is successful! – with the first. Ring …
There is more: six "beads" – and six reasons of their data in one "necklace". Mystical algorithm …
It is also necessary to emphasize that in materials such – documentary, memoirs, publicistic, – also the evident part is very desirable. Before you, misters-comrades and mistresses-citizens, cabinet of curiosities of illustrations of all collection. Lines of yellow color differentiate group of the pictures which are previously united in a separate collage and relating to this or that essay. The put-down numbers correspond to sequence of following of texts. It is possible to look at any of the differentiated groups of photos of a kaleidoscope in the bigger scale and the best quality according to the link. It every time precedes the text of the corresponding work of the brochure.
Misters-comrades!
Mistresses-citizens!
Your Russian cabbage soup is high-calorie
Also steering-wheels are tasty …
Joke! That is – a joke share! The rest – seriously: if at the beginning of the movie we see the gun on a wall, closer to the end it will shoot …
ONLY THE GREAT PEOPLE COULD CREATE THE GREAT VICTORY
Illustrations –
I
Current 2015 to the Great Victory – 70.
"In this life to die it isn't new,//But also to live, of course, isn't newer". It is an epigraph to a diptych "Aiy-Ine", final lines from S. A. Yesenin's poem "Good-bye, my friend, good-bye", 1925.
"You went, as they say, to a better world …" It is the name of the first part of a diptych, an initial line from V. V. Mayakovsky's obituary to "Sergey Yesenin", the 1926th.
Below – the first half of my work.
It is convenient to write off life and death, affairs and history for God or the Devil …
Aiy – our way, in Uzbek, the moon.
Ine – in one of our dialects, – mother.
In heart we wash these words are weaved into a sheaf,
in which about it, about the Father, memory is heard:
"Ine!" – my Parent in a dream shouted, –
and even in a time of the advanced age…
And it is necessary to think of the shattered Homeland fate,
former, it would seem recently, uniform …
The devil is imperious in murders, destructions and other villainies, sins and sins …
Bread and shows! – eternal lever of a manipulation person and masses.
Being "small screw" of "show" bloody, global, extremely responsible,
The father in the Caucasus was wounded and filled up in an entrenchment with the earth reared by explosion.
It wouldn't return from war – to the enemy of opposition really Domestic, –
there would be neither I, nor my little sisters, our children and grandsons …
Roses blossomed in our front garden and the clear sky shone
in a Fortieth anniversary of the Great Victory in the war which carried away countless multitudes of lives …
Only fifty days later the Father suddenly didn't become...
The darkness of villainies for which to kill, – isn't enough; darkness of villains that finish the century, without living in misery …
You didn't live, the Father, prior to the beginning of the end of the Unique Power,
where "the happy people" in a bridle a whip, gingerbread and lie were kept.
Up to an instant when jerked the Indestructible union in splinters, you didn't live.
"It was lucky!" – Mother in grief grins …
You were, the Father, the simple person …
But only now, when in zigzags of wordly vanity
brings also the youngest of my children,
I, the Father, realized greatness of your that simplicity.
Forgive...
Aiy-Ine... On heart presses on the family,
which among us are already not present.
Aiy-Ine... There are before eyes images of the Father, little sister, other relatives, the wife …
Again round date: year after year 20 passed years …
Aiy-Ine... Streams of lunar silver flow on the mother earth …
I ask, about Supreme,
let's stay longer
with Mother to us in this life...
God is imperious in Love, Creation and Forgiveness …
Yes, the diptych is 10 years old. Where they departured so soon and so imperceptibly? In what clouds? Whether I managed to use last decade at least in a half of a full measure?
II
In the current year to the Great Victory – 70.
My hometown – Karshi, the regional center, 500 kilometers from Tashkent in the southwest direction. I don't know date of creation, but the military and air part with airfield near the city worked already in my early childhood. Hanabad who had all-Union value. That in which in Post-Soviet times for a while let Americans. Wings of army of Uzbekistan generally there are also based.
To me who lived much, remembering strips of projector light, continually lighting the night sky somewhere to the middle of the 50th, that is years 10 and after the Great Victory, holding war decorations of the father and uncle in the children's hand, the Great Patriotic War is first of all not Hitler, not Stalin, not two political systems which coexistence was excluded, but dreadful test in which relatives – mine and my schoolmates, friends, classmates, contemporaries, – won, without having stood behind the price, having left on fields of battles of many and many, having undergone incredible deprivations and losses, making heroic overcoming on fronts and in the back. It is a pity, war decorations of the father got lost in everyday life of a post-war survival and the subsequent ideological shake-ups, but medals with which the Power began to award the defenders subsequently, – were stored carefully, and I in March of the 2008th transported them, with the permission of mother, from Karshi to Tashkent. Then the eyelid which is released to mother there were one and a half years …
No, for me an award of parents – not a trinket. No, among them the Order of Lenin isn't present. There is an anniversary medal to the 100 anniversary since the birth of the leader by which the father was awarded. But if there would be also an award, I would be proud of it immensely and now. Because the Order of Lenin is not a shadow of the person with whom nowadays connect all nightmares and crimes of communistic system, but a sign of huge work and titanic overcoming, made by the awarded: Lenin anybody wasn't given just like that, but only for outstanding merits which are immortal, aren't subject to corrosion of times, aren't subject to revision. The speech, clearly, not about executioners order bearers like Beria, and about thousands and thousands of ordinary people.
"I will buy the Order of Lenin", – about five years ago near the market I saw the announcement visible from far away. Also sell! And whether understand, what betray? Itself if the award was own. The father or mother if Lenin once glorified someone from parents...
Well! Not such at us life mean to afford such sales! Not from extreme need they emerged on a surface, but with envy to someone from neighbors, managed to adapt successfully to new conditions, from greed and devaluation of moral!
Each of awards of my parent and my mother who are called by Avaz and Nurzifa, has also the certificate. My parents never aspired to awards, didn't think of them, as is the indisputable certificate that my father and my mother, as well as millions it similar, being most that on is ordinary people on a rank, are actually great in dedicated performance of the mission.
In the fall of the current 2015, in a month of my birth, 6 years as mother will be executed went to a better world. Already 6! And the father isn't present with us exactly in 5 times more. But in my consciousness images of parents, a timbre of their voices, speeches, the movements, views didn't lose the lines, vivacity and features at all. In the long January nights endured now we several times communicated with the father in my dreams …
III
Tashkent – Ulyanovsk, the first evening of April, 2015:
Nelya, hi!
It was suddenly remembered old, and I can't call names.
I don't know, it is known to you or not. I think that you know. That Ilyas Iskanderov in war, being the wounded, he was taken prisoner. He contained in the Western Ukraine, in Ivano-Frankovsk. He was nursed by the local girl. After release and the end of war it brought it to Karshi. They gave birth to the daughter. Our grandmother didn't give life to the Ukrainian daughter-in-law. And that soon the daughter-in-law left the home. I know all this from the mother.
Somewhere in a year the 1964th I, being 11 grader, I wrote the letter to Ivano-Frankovsk. I don't remember, from where I took the address. Likely, mother gave. And at it from where, too I don't know now. Soon enough I received the answer from the daughter of the uncle Ilyas, my cousin, and yours – elder sister. In the letter there were also photos. It – already developed large girl: then to me was 17, and it – years 20. Whether there are these photos now somewhere, besides don't know. Correspondence then too didn't develop: I was absorbed, probably, by final efforts and preparation for receipt in prestigious higher education institution. Then after all there was no tutoring. I appointed myself by the tutor already from the very beginning of the 11th class.
And so, thoughts suddenly directed in the past, and to remember neither a name of the Ukrainian sister, nor a name of her mother I can't. And whether the sister carried a surname of the father? Help, please. After all, if you also don't know, the aunt Olya remembers everything...
Perhaps they are also not present in the live now. Even the sister.
All right. Or perhaps you when studied in Kiev, visited at them the Western Ukraine? Tell, if "yes".
How my aunt Olya? Bow to it from me.
Tashkent – Ulyanovsk, half an hour later, after the first letter:
I remembered how mother called... Stifa! This is mother of the daughter of the uncle Ilyas. And as the daughter was called – yet I can't remember. Help...
Ulyanovsk – Tashkent, dead of night:
Hi, Marat!
I too heard this history, however, thought that our father was in captivity in Germany and there got acquainted with Stefania who was from Ivano-Frankovsk. They worked together for the German landowners. And that they gave birth to the daughter Lidiya, I too know. Moreover, we kept its photo, beautiful very much, the girl, similar to the father, in a winter fur coat or a coat in a white down hat. I knew since the childhood that she is our elder sister. It very much was pleasant to me in absentia, and I called all the dolls by the name Lidiya. It seemed to me that this most beautiful name in the world! Already living in Ulyanovsk, I wrote to the "Wait for Me" broadcast with a request to help to find it, but... without results... Here such here I put...
And that you remembered it... You suspect a subject war and people...?
And what you know about participation of our father in war? Where he served, on what front was at war? Whether there were awards? As well as where was taken prisoner? I know only that he was a tankman. Some group photos remained.
For hi – from mother gratitude and reciprocal hi.
Tashkent – Ulyanovsk, 02.04.2015, a pre-dawn time:
Perhaps and in Germany. About Ivano-Frankovsk I conjectured now. Most likely, in Germany. But that Stefania nursed wounded Ilyas, it is exact. And here is how and where he was at war – zero: anything, never I knew. They, the real veterans, not only didn't talk profusely about war, even scraps didn't share. Perhaps in the first years also told something. But I then wasn't yet. And then – it was small. But I think that the developed talk wasn't. And without them the native, worried burdens and to the starvation of the back, represented horrors of war. Besides then only about recently passed war movies also twisted. Compensating to the population silence of veterans. And we, the children of the 40th who were born to in time and after war, already being even teenagers, only also loved movies about Germans and Russians, that is military.
The uncle about war almost didn't tell, probably, anything. Otherwise the aunt Olya would know something. Perhaps there is also ban of People's Commissariat for Internal Affairs. After all in the first years as I know besides according to the dropped phrases of mother in my childhood, the uncle was tormented not once or twice by bodies. Took away from the house in the middle of the night. Put to a wall under a gun barrel, forcing to admit treachery. These tortures, of course, threw up a negative in heart, and it once when Cerberuses 7-8 and didn't disturb years, didn't sustain …
My father didn't extend about war also. It in general was not the chatterer. But the story-teller he was interesting. He didn't tell! Only its expression: "Caucas havosy" (the Caucasian weather), – became winged in our family. So the father characterized climatic realities in Karshi when the heavy rain was quickly replaced by a bright sunny day, or on the contrary. We with Sonya as required still say this phrase, we smile and we know, about what the speech. And one more notch in my memory: the father and at the front didn't eat pork, gave it to the friend, the Russian; and that returned when soup was on beef or mutton …
Yes, the parent was at war in the Caucasus, there was wounded, there it covered with earth from the become torn shell, there was contused, from there it wrote off in the 44th to the back.
Our fathers didn't live up to times when drove the real veterans on schools and technical schools where they shared the real memories about war. Yours left the young at all. To 37 it was. And me then there was the 11th. And previous years 6-7 I remember. I remember what was the uncle Ilyas authoritative among all relatives and acquaintances. What it was to me is indisputable, inaccessible the adult. And after all to it was hardly for 30. War made generations of young people veterans such. But the uncle still had a unique, irresistible natural charm. He not only was respected, he was loved truly by all.
Only one example. Some period, year - two, my parents (and also the grandmother Vazifa) lived in a kishlak, Hilale. Of course, you remember it on the right river bank Kashakadarya. And opposite, on other coast, in the distance, – Hanabad. Then the uncle Ilyas lived some months in a kishlak also. Perhaps I worked on MTS (mashinotraktorny station). During this time he taught my half brother Rahman, the senior from children of our father, to drive the car, "1.5 inch tubing". To me then, likely, was years two, and to Rahman-aka, it turns out, years 17. But an essence not in exact dates and years. And that Rahman Avazov all life was a driver, I grew up 11 children, he gave much of them the higher education and even in old age with awe he remembered the Teacher, Ilyas-aka.
I remember how relatives and fellows villager of my mother often gathered. In such sit-round gathering I always waited for art part when started singing. Surely singing. Natives of the Tatar auls of pre-war Russia knew many songs, sang them well and cordially. Mother washing there was one of the main singer. It, apparently, especially liked serious, lingering songs: the head slightly on one side, the person brightened, breathed internal delight, externally first slightly embarrassed, and then got used to execution and by a beautiful, strong voice extended long, difficult sounds. And then and broke into a dance, tapping around heels in an accordion step.
I remember how they strong drank and well ate. And as all were already on the last legs, reeling, and the uncle Ilyas was still direct, and eyes had, as always, sober, clever, with the kind smile concealed in depths as if at all he didn't drink. And the uncle Yunus got drunk, became pink, and its slightly guilty smile flew from eyes, from lips and, appear, even from ears …
Yes, of course, Lida parents named our Ukrainian sister. Nurzifa, Stifa, Vazifa... Eh, grandmother!. Though everything that happens, – to the best...
Lydia now somewhere the 71. I hope – it is live. Of course, children, grandsons. Respond, Ukraine! Respond, Ivano-Frankovsk! Respond, the Ukrainian tribe of my beloved uncle Ilyas!
IV
Illustration (Shomakhmudov Shoakhmad and Bahri's monument on his initial place) –
Recured the moments connected with mother in the years of War which had continuation in post-war times to the memory.
It is well-known that Middle Asia not only assumed the plants evacuated from occupied territories and adjusted their work on the Victory, but also sheltered great variety of refugees – women, old men, children. It accepted them as native, warmed, fed, provided a survival. Subsequently – it gave a start in life younger generations.
Sincere desire to support the person in trouble, unselfishness in the help, – these properties are inherent in people of indigenous people of Middle Asia and Kazakhstan on the birth, mentality, a way of life. It is possible to tell, genetically.
I personally knew matchless kindness of three Uzbek women: my grandmother Sufiya, farther's mother; our neigbour in Eski Shahar of Karshi, the Old City which all called Oyte (I don't know, a name or the address); and to Bonu, inhabitants of the former kishlak Kuchkak (those places and nowadays call in the old manner, though they already many years as are included in city boundaries of Karshi).
I remember how the grandmother Sufiya treated to flour soup of the preparation me. Anything more tasty, than this "atalya" (it is so said, and "atala" is written), I didn't eat in all the life. Therefore – that I the still anything not turbid intuition felt as the grandmother loves me: really, all heart, without any reasons. Present – so aren't able, are simply incapable: they, at least in soul, surely have some "knots and hitches"...
I remember how the father cried when his mother went to a better world (in my slightly more than two years). After all not without reason he before the most death in 76 shouted in a dream: "Mother!" (see above chapter I, the beginning). More I it never saw crying...
Oyte was not only kind, but brave, resolute. In the 1950th in Eski Shahar snakes were still frequent. Once the large individual (length about one and a half meters) of these reptiles inspiring to people instinctive fear came crawling to us and took a position near entrance gate, having twisted in a crevice between an electrocolumn and a wall. Mother and I (to me years 7-8, and the father was at work in the area, not every day he came back home) were locked in the yard until the situation became known to the neigbour Oyte. Right there she was to us with a shovel and an axe, she pulled out "terrorist", and then she cut. Of course, present Greenpeace members will twist lips. But unless people can remain hostages of a snake! And if it still stung someone from us! We will tell, at night...
During War my future relatives – the grandmother Vazifa, her daughter Nurzifa and the son Yunus were cut off from the native village in Orenburg region, actually appeared in position of refugees (as it occurred – in more detail in chapter I of the essay "To wars – no!", the last in the summary brochure). Some time Nurzifa edified in a kishlak Kuchkak and lived at Bonu. She taught to teenagers elements of the Russian and German languages. Including, she acquainted them with widespread military teams: "Quietly!", "At Ease!", "On the left!", "To the right!", "On a shoulder!", etc. Probably, as preliminary preparation for future appeal in field army. To the Bonu-hola (aunt Bonu) interfered in a class during lessons more than once. On weak protests of Nurzifa (then – absolutely very young girl) only Bonu smiled, kindly and it is a little guilty. Every time she brought a flat cake, quite often hot, from the tandoor. That with a milk, with a tea teapot, with grapes and a fig, with hot food: "Eat, the daughter!". Among Nurzifa's pupils there was also Hassan, the son to the Bonu-hola (Hassan and Husan, Hassan and Zukhra – traditional names of twins, but at Bonu remained only the senior). Nurzifa and Hassan of steel "tutingan opa-uka" (called elder sister and the brother). It, already being adult, silent, smiling, friendly and kind, quite often Hassan visited mother and our family when we lived both in Eski Shahar, and in Yangi Shahar (in old and new parts of the city). There were also we at them. Last time – in the hot summer of the 1966th, on my university vacation after the 1st course. To the Bonu-hola still was well, however, already badly she saw. But still, with all the heart, she was glad to us. In their garden I then was surprised huge lousy trees (fig), with the very thick trunks, very tall which it was possible to climb as on a big sprawling birch.
Kuchkak was famous in our corner of the world for the excellent fig and the most sweet grapes of a grade of "husayna" ("a ladies' finger") for a long time. Development of the Karshi's steppe (All-Union Komsomol building) began with the second half of the 1960th Amu-Darya's waters poured on virgin fields. Mismanagement, neglect irrigational and meliorative and agricultural norms raised the level of the bitter and salty ground waters which were earlier lying very deeply. And, including, ruined fig and vineyards of a kishlak Kuchkak. And later – and the Aral Sea began to die. How many speeches, councils, appeals, forums, actions, any funds and financial means enclosed in its revival for the last years 30! And how many money departured by – one Allah knows! And now guardians and "guardians", it seems, despaired and agree to that Aral at least breathed, let and on an incense, but longer …
Present Uzbeks of advanced age too dobras, especially in kishlaks. But after all not as the women who were using to know pre-revolutionary times. After all the present were born in the Soviet Uzbekistan, endured in the childhood War or the post-war period, endure burdens and, so to say, intricacy and ingenuity of a Post-Soviet era. All these material, household, moral, psychological, political "wars" (with an environment and with themselves), and also climatic changes, can't but make negative impact on the person. And to Sufiya, Bonu and Oyte – people of the XIX century …
But we will return once again in the years of military tests for all Power and the Soviet people, and then – we will make projections for the days passing behind a window...
Residents of Tashkent the smith Shoakhmad Shomakhmudov and his wife Bahri (they – too it is since before bolshevik's era!) adopted during War of 15 orphans of eight nationalities. About them – the movie "You Are Not an Orphan" (1962, the director Shukhrat Abbosov).
In Post-Soviet times grandsons and great-grandsons of Shoakhmad-ota and his tribespeople contemporaries – on the contrary! – were compelled to look for, on favor of "fathers" of the people, a daily bread in Russia. To perform work necessary but which the local consider below the advantage. Even despite an economic crisis and decrease in earnings, in Russia, far from homes, there are still a lot of Uzbeks, Tajiks, Kyrgyz. And as it is bitter and a pity that them, hapless guest workers, pride, arrogant and bad "natives" of the Great Country (it is frequent also semiliterate), contemptuously brand "churka", "chebureks", "donkeys", beat and even, sometimes, kill...
Here also therefore don't wish reunion with Russia Belarus, Ukraine. After all they too have been through a lot and suffer from great Russian chauvinism. Without speaking about other republics, former Soviet, socialist...
The monument in honor of high hearts Shoakhmada and Bahri Shomakhmudov (spouses – in an environment of all the children) built in Soviet period was many years sight in the central part of the capital of Uzbekistan, from all foreshortenings visible from far away, on open space before the Palace of Arts, representing its name – "Friendship of the people". In the 2009th the sculptural composition was moved on the suburb, on the border of the city and area, the Palace – is renamed into "Istiklol" (independence), and the station of metro of the same name ("Friendship of the people") – in "Bunyodkor" (creator), with removal of all 15 coats of arms of the former federal republics decorating walls in both directions of the movement of metrotrains.
The toponymics of all republic for the last two decades both is oversown, and grows on the new soil. At the end of the 2010th Tashkent once again worried booming renamings, but the unexpected, strange, deprived, apparently, logicians and common sense: one of areas and the metro station from Soviet period bearing a name of Sabir Rakhimov began to be called "Olmazor" (an apple-tree garden). In a week - one and a half, at the beginning of January, also the four-meter monument to this valorous soldier, native of Tashkent, to the only Uzbekistan general of the Great Patriotic War, the commander of a division of guards who was killed at the end of March of the 1945th in battles near Danzig, to the Hero of the Soviet Union was withdrawn. However, after a while the monument appeared in park of Gafur Gulyam. But not on a look, as before, not on a high pedestal, but in a deaf corner, but almost on the earth, but without any designations. Simply scenery …
And matter isn't that now, it seems, it is necessary to recognize that Rakhimov after all the Kazakh though at communists it was declared by the national hero of Uzbekistan, until recently and was registered as the Uzbek, and Erkin Vakhidov who had an official rank of the national poet called him in the book the nice son of the Uzbek people. Yes what there! All of them, official writers, both Soviet and Post-Soviet, were and there are weather vanes in "winds" of instructions and opinions of power structures. And will bother to twirl by a tail or to be the panegyrist though most approximate to "throne", – you will take off for disgrace. As Abdullah Aripov, national poet, talented, author of the Anthem and Hero of Uzbekistan, chairman of the Union of writers. "Send away" in the 2009th even Aripov! And current attempts of the authorities to cover the actions with that "is refused" to the Hero of the Soviet Union Sabir Rakhimov allegedly according to wishes of workers, are at the same time cynical and ridiculous …
No! The people didn't wish that! The true reasons lie in other plane and at other level, namely: withdrawal of images and symbols of the past era aims to erase them in consciousness of the most part of the population far from books and the Internet. And then it is possible to occupy thus the past that, drawing it, selling potboilers in whom never, unfortunately, there is no shortcoming, can put to please to the authorities a retouch which will look a nature, and fabricated – to be perceived (we will tell, from the TV screen, it is watched by all!) as occurring actually. Who owns past, that owns present... [On Orwell's anti-Utopia "1974"]
Yes! Owns! But not the people! At the people beholding at silence of the intellectuals copying for youth and children of history, events and which facts are still live in memory, souls and hearts of the senior and average generations, – at such people the present is mouldering, and the future is fraught with distempers.
It was necessary to hear from people of advanced age both at different times – and about 20 years ago, both 10, and 5: if on us hordes of aggressors as in that War, the people can not rise on mortal fight with the enemy now pull hard...
Truly: what khan – such is and a horde...
V
Current 2015 to the Great Victory – 70.
"No, all I won't die …" It is heading of the second part of a diptych "Ayi-Ine", a line from A.S. Pushkin's poem "I erected a monument to not made by hand", 1836. He, Alexander light-Sergeyevich, said this phrase and about my father, both about the uncle Ilyas, and about all people who are leaving behind good fulfillments, a reputation, posterity.
The father from war wouldn't return, there would be neither I, nor my little sisters, our children and grandsons. There would be no above-stated correspondence with my cousin Nailay who served two decades in Karshi as the journalist, also the staff reporter of the "Pravda Vostoka" newspaper on the Kashkadarya region, and only in the 2003rd with mother, my dear aunt Olya, got over to Ulyanovsk where they were waited long ago by younger family members.
If Mamatkulov Avaz remains on war fields, would be nothing from this that took place to be and happens to Marat Avaz-Nurzef. Wouldn't be on the Internet of this name. And the person such, not a sin to repeat, wouldn't appear in this world in no shape or form.
And how many still the interesting and considerable it happens in his life! Ogo-go-go!.
My Ayi-Ine, my Ayi-Ine...
Call of soul, mirror, delusion...
There was for descent I, and you – to ascension...
Not towards – in other party...
My Ayi-Ine, my Ayi-Ine...
My pass long ago behind...
And to slide to me only downhill,
and to obey melancholy just right,
to voice of heart to decay in a breast...
My pass long ago behind...
I was written-off already...
To fly up over the gorge of despondency,
I risked on secret wings,
having dispersed, in a cool bend...
I was written-off already...
Oh, elements of verbal wings...
It didn't reject me, accepted,
from despondency away moved,
vanities, loneliness, fears...
Oh, elements of verbal wings...
Ayi-Ine saw me...
She took me for a young eagle,
having got accustomed, called destiny, –
it wasn't dreamed and in a dream...
Ayi-Ine saw me...
My Ayi-Ine, my Ayi-Ine...
Will embrace, will kiss, will warm...
We will fix a new sail on a yard...
But so far... I soar in height...
My Ayi-Ine, my Ayi-Ine...
VI
Each generation endures the own battles.
Each person has the own war.
Or overcomes in it.
Or perishes physically.
Or … Other options – a set.
THE TEACHER
The essay "Teacher" was written at once after creation of a diptych "Ayi-Ine", in April, 2005. Both works, and together with them the author, celebrate first "ten", small anniversary in the present days of April of the 2015th. The diptych as the hero of the anniversary delegated the first half to vanguard of the yesterday's publication "Only the Great People Could Create a Great Victory", and the second part – to the final of these, so to speak, of mini-memoirs. The essay "Teacher" besides using indulgences on the occasion of round date of the life, again leaves to the reader. Again and again looking through work, the author came to the conclusion that it isn't necessary neither to reduce it, nor to dismember on 2-3 independent materials. That it has to be oneself. But now is in it and new – illustrations. Both 10 years, and 5, and even 3 years ago the author wasn't able to restore old photos yet. Therefore they also couldn't be in the publication of 10-year. And now – is. The important, necessary, actual, supplementing yesterday's. So, sounding in unison with the 70 anniversary of the Great Victory.
Illustrations –
Be I on the birth the Christian – even if and not received a sacral baptism and never happening in church, – that would become, without doubts, devoutly to be christened when SOMETHING suddenly occurred during that instant about which it was begged in thoughts when it also was expected with a sinking heart …
Behind a window April of the 2005th, and farewell to school – the 1965th – remained at a depth of 40 years.
Nadezhda Sergeyevna and Veniamin Andreevich Shigarev (the first and main; history and life; joint trips in the 50-60th years; Moscow, Moscow area, Siberia, Urals; Karshi and Chimkurgan; the wood, mosquitoes, mushrooms, berries, the river, fishing, a fire, fish soup, tent, a smooth surface of the night lake), Aemilia Pavlovna Chubakova (chemistry and biology), Alexander Ivanovich Morkovkin (mathematics), Tamara Semenovna Makarova (Russian and literature), Galina Sergeyevna Kireeva (physics), Valentina Alekseevna Bobina (physical culture), – my school teachers.
Where are you? What you? In my native Karshi you aren't present: precisely I know, I looked for …
And our school of Krupskaya too isn't present. It, thick-walled, high-ceiling, from a brick, with sound timber floors, about 10 years ago for some reason took down and replaced with a concrete building. Somehow it is advisable to stop the car, to leave, walk on the avenue to school and to look, whose name it carries now …
[Here it is necessary to make the amendment: at the end of January, 2014 I found unforgettable Aemilia Pavlovna Chubakova. But about it is the separate narration. Tomorrow...]
The city of Karshi in the ancient time was called Nasaf. Already very few people know and remembers that once impressive ruins – fortification remains tried to keep step with city stadium. Years 50 as they are already not present. Got rid of them, as of hindrances. And it was necessary to find out WHOM and THAT it, the serf, remembers. And to leave it. And to protect …
Bactria, Akhemenida, Alexander of Macedon, Greek-Baktriya and Kushan of a kingdom, Tokharistan, Amir Temur and others, – the sky and steppes of my small homeland saw them and remember. Not subtly: in the fall to the city of Karshi it is executed 2700 …
And to us, graduates-65, there is already a lot of. We – generation of the fortieth, post-war. And how many to our teachers now? Alexander Ivanovich was the participant of the Great Patriotic War …
Central Asia World War II didn't bite into lands entrenchments and explosions. But it, each its city, each kishlak made a worthy contribution to the Victory …
Gratitude and Memory if they true, aren't subject to demolition. Them is the person to whom is is still living what to remember and for what to thank, – not to force, not to break.
And imprinted in the word, they find if not eternal, then very long life.
And the Word issued to the virtual world – property of the planet …
Know I the any prayer having though the least attitude towards any of the religions existing on light, I would say it, would repeat and repeated, whether having fallen on knees or it is simple âçäåâ hands up. But neither that (sacral Christianity), nor another (the consecrated prayer) at me isn't present, and therefore in That Instant …
Give I I will tell about everything one after another better.
In the recent essay "In This Life the Will Is Not Present, but Proud the Poet Is Living" published by several Internet editions [for example, http://litnet .ru/authors/avaz/46.php], it was said that only about three years ago I was convinced that my Path – not journalism and even not art prose, but poetry. This conviction quite could come to me for about forty years earlier. But I didn't come. It is a pity. It is madly a pity. And banal formula: "Better late than never", – very cold comfort. Because my current poetic disorders – only a ripple in comparison with tsunami which were endured by me much earlier, endlessly and edges, and already then were realized, except all the rest, as desires of literary creativity.
The number of the reasons of so late understanding of by the poet – situational, family, personal, national, subjective, objective, political, ideological, external, internal, other is great, very great. Very best as I see now, was two.
The first: youthful, maximal, jealous protection of own advantage before my idols – at first Lermontov, and then Pushkin.
The second: the unsteadiness of my literary and book erudition caused by features of destiny and the education far from a feather, literature and philology; and in versification science – at all there was an impassable ignorance in which some gleams began to appear only about two years ago.
"The theory, my friend is dry,
but life tree
eternally turns green", –
Goethe told once.
Oh, young Werther!
And you, great aged man!
Doubts can't be!
But in our business nevertheless
the theory – the foremost tool …
At school all lessons came easily, but time the "five" went and in those subjects which those years all admitted the most important, paramount, so my path and has to conduct in one of these areas – physics, mathematics, chemistry. So it also left: I became the student of MSU and it is persistent, through difficulties, through huge competition at faculty, it was in biophysics – a joint of four sciences (called and biology), being at that time the most prestigious among students, and from the 3rd course I moved forward through "I don't want".
At school I was the excellent pupil both on languages, and on the Russian literature. But then at me and in thoughts didn't arise that for the person having noticeable abilities to the exact sciences, literature can be not only a sign of culture, a source of thoughts and feelings, a subject of empathy, inquisitiveness and entertainment, but also the center of own creative aspirations. Therefore the lesson – it was, precisely I remember! – about percussions and unaccented syllables in verses, about trochees and the yambakh didn't touch soul, any of strings, and only not clear sound got stuck in some section of a brain located far on a background. This lesson if I am not mistaken, was somewhere in the eighth class …
I and then understood and now I recognize that our form-master, the teacher of Russian and literature Tamara Semenovna Makarova knew and loved the subject. It conducted us with 5th on the 9th classes, but then, unfortunately (and then, but especially – now!), she went to Russia. Why? – for me a riddle still. After all it was the beginning of the 60th of the 20th century of a new era. Those years the Russian people felt in Central Asia even better, than on, so to speak, the historical homeland. Actually, then such we didn't hear concept: all had a Homeland one – the Soviet Union. It only in 30 years, at the beginning of the 90th, the mass wave of an outcome of not indigenous people from the new independent states rose. For a long time, despite everything, clearly that each of them goes the way. We will tell, in turns in Embassy of Russia in Tashkent now, in the 2005th, Russians, speak, almost didn't remain. Generally – Uzbeks! Run …
Tamara Semenovna was the strict teacher, times – angry. We were afraid of it. But it as to the excellent student had a kind feeling for me. In years two of its phrases dropped at lessons of literature and which involuntarily settled in consciousness emerged. When we learned "I won't see reason … is guilty, and I listen, I don't understand …" from Griboyedov's comedy "Woe from Wit", Tamarushka smiled somehow confusedly that it wasn't peculiar to it: "You can't understand up to the end yet all dramatic nature of a situation in which there was Chatsky, all depth of his experiences. Perhaps, only with time also you will understand …"
Truly so: I, for example, needed the whole decade!
And when passed "Auditor" and "Dead souls" Tamara Semenovna grinned: "Gogol – yes in our life! And we have that only one opportunists, and satirists – any!" …
And this thought, for those times – now it is clear! – seditious, it became clear only many years later …
After Tamara Semenovna Valentinà Dmitriyevnà Praslovà taught us to Russian and literature some time of, too the outstanding personality and too a supporter of aggressive pedagogics. Not without reason she, already for us, was many years the director of our school. And then, in the 64th, there was a new teacher. It also became our cool and ruslit with which we also finished an 11th class. On strange coincidence, she too was Tamarushka, but … neither fish nor fowl …
Tamara Semenovna Makarova – the extraordinary person and the teacher (God grant that she was well and until now). But! She, as well as most of teachers – both of that time, and present, – apparently, after all didn't know that from school boys and girls have to take out three things for the rest of life: the multiplication table, concepts about versification and that two wires of different polarity or different staging going from the same, rather powerful source of electric current it is impossible to short-circuit itself. The first – at the very least accustoms. To remember the last – if not a teacher, so life will force. With the second – the situation is extremely badly. And therefore, as they say, and result …
As for other of the formulated reasons of my former braking in poetic creativity, it, perhaps, most important. Testing an invincible itch of a feather somewhere from 19 years, enduring in itself nearly from the cradle storms of emotional life: in the pink childhood – horror stories and chimeras generally at the intuitive level, then – more conscious imaginations, and then – everything that is only possible, – I considered that I – not the poet. And not on someone's favor, namely my idols, – Mikhail Yuryevich and Alexander Sergeyevich. In my consciousness, ignorant concerning the theory of versification, Pushkin's classification phrase got stuck:
I waved a hand – and rhymes began to flow the river.
Moves of such result didn't bring to me – in 20 when for the first time I tried to compose verses, 6 years later when became Mazhnun's repetition from Alisher Navoi poem "Layli va Mazhnun" ("Leyla and Medzhnun"). Some verses, in general, were given, but with great difficulty. I see! I am the wrong person for the job! Not the poet I! Not the poet …
Internal need to tell how my last poem – a diptych "Aiy-Ine" was created – is very insistent. It is dictated, first of all, by some external circumstances – household, ordinary, casual, unexpected. Moreover, they shouldn't have been. Emergence of these circumstances (for certain, on negligence or an arbitrariness of the Unknown switchman, live, real, but not giving in to identification by any efforts), and is even more – their sudden elimination, so oddly intertwined with closing stages of work on a diptych, as now when already there passed the whole week, it is necessary or to explain That Instant with the most amazing, most incredible coincidence, or to recognize that FROM ABOVE the most convincing arguments in favor of existence of supernatural forces were brought my home.
As from That Instant we are separated now much by a smaller distance, than at the very beginning of a way, it will be probably useful to note that in the subsequent statement, as well as in previous, there is no fiction at all, imaginations, mystifications, draw, distortions. However, only the truth and anything, except the truth.
In the mountain district, having climbed up the next hill represented below single, you find continuation of rise which conducts to the following height which is also seeming only, isn't connected with rocks that become blue in the distance, communicating with clouds. On the course of overcoming of the second rise the further prospect – the following eminence can already clear up. Having made, at last, ascension, suddenly you realize that passed already a lot of time, hour two not less you look at the watch and if they aren't present in addition your aspiration represented a walk sort, but not special occupation up, the internal voice becomes even more exacting and importunate: "It is necessary to go down!". If despite a voice and that below there were your loved ones who will worry, you decide on the third rise and you take it, there, on the next platform, with the wrong forms and a rough surface, it is possible to tell, a terrace, you, without being the geologist or the climber, you start penetrating into sense somewhere of the read or heard phrases: highland, massif. Also you realize that if to go forward and forward, to rise above and above, to bypass or overcome counter gorges or even abysses, once it is possible to reach and those rocks which are closer as though didn't become yet and still become blue in the neighbourhood with clouds. Also you understand that overcoming of the obstacles – not around, and in the direct direction, – will demand some adaptation created to you: a ropeway, the shaky trailing bridge, simply the rope connecting two coast. If there is neither that, nor another, the third if you have no wings, well, at least in the form of a folding hang-glider in a backpack if to make a detour too long and tiresomely, – then it is necessary only to go down, on a bottom, and then again to storm height …
So – and in literary creativity. So in my case – for others I don't speak. And nevertheless I will dare to state the general rule: the literature created out without any ascension … However, without ascension of anything it is impossible. Means, it is all about the one who goes up what it submits the mountain, for what, whether there are there in the distance becoming blue rocks and whether it is ready to go to them. After all other will scramble barely on a hillock in the middle of the plain, and it seems to it that it is higher than all now. Let, but after all him about it start clanging all bells. And if besides its "masterpiece" appeals to the naked, primitive feelings and consumer aspirations of the liberated person, then such handyman can even charm for some time nearly of the half-world …
Not each poetic work demands ascension uphill in some stages. Most often creation of the concrete poem is just rise on a separate hillock or the hill. Sometimes, at special circumstances and a condition of spirit, it is possible to take at once, on one breath, quite considerable heights. More often, on the contrary, and on small heights it is necessary to clamber on all fours. But all these take-off, ascensions and overcomings are united by one: there, on the top of a separate height, the road comes to an end, above – there is no place.
And here in creation of a diptych "Aiy-Ine" over and over again it was necessary to overcome some rises. But before to continue the story, I would like to assure the reader that That Instant became even closer. Prick so, I deem it appropriate to bring clarity and unambiguity in the next moments.
I don't know how it to call shorter yes more precisely: analytical mind, atheistic education, materialistic outlook (these phenomena and concepts related though, of course, and not equivalent), – but I avoided and avoid any anomaly, somehow: mysticism, hypnosis, ghosts, spirits, fortune-telling, interpretation of dreams, horoscopes, any ways and means of entry into a condition of a trance, etc., etc.
"Whether there is God?" – this sacramental question only 20 years ago, at almost four tens lived by me by then, simply didn't exist. But also then my atheism the militant couldn't be. At least because the soul of the person always was for me not simply a sound, but reality. Over time there was an understanding that there are such phenomena in life, thoughts and feelings of the person, and also in human relations which don't keep within the Procrustean bed of materialism, atheism, primacy of a matter and domination of life over consciousness. That I wrote, the words God, Supreme began to appear. Not as unambiguously positive decision for itself a question of existence of a certain extraterrestrial or elevated essence, and as reflection of that understanding. But the other day, I repeat, to me there was a case, so amazing that the bowl of scales coolly left the developed condition of passive balance.
So the vector of my story is also directed towards this anomaly.
I won't develop a stage of creation of a diptych by me "Aiy-Ine" here: only terraces, the following one by one, was as it is designated higher than, slightly, each of rises was rather difficult, and creative process – very and very labor-consuming. Also I won't concern roots and sources of work: in them there are a lot of deeply personal and even the intimate moments. I will tell only that the composition was conceived as if for fun, as if in imitation Sergey Yesenin. The poem reminded of the last poet of the village only a stanza pentalines form, a metrics yes the address like "My Shagane, my Shagane". The contents and – that isn't less important! – power, of course, were absolutely others, independent. The female name in my work on which it would be possible to point to one person, was transformed (besides in stages) and, eventually, turned in Aiy-Ine. In two days of the strengthened works the poem was created in six stanzas (at Yesenin – five) and brought to standard.
Then there was a logical requirement to give the explanation to the name which is thought up by me: Aiy – in Uzbek, the moon; Ine – in one of dialects Uzbek, mother.
Bigger it wasn't required to the poem: all the rest was in him. But from this explanation, I consider, the mysticism and began.
Ine and Aiy touched the internal strings passing through heart, mind and soul. Sounding of strings was transferred to words. Other poem, of irregular shape and structures, connected with the first through that linking of two Uzbek words – Aiy-Ine was born.
It became clear: there was a diptych. In which originally created poem became the second part, and the subsequent, non-standard, – the first.
The non-standard of the first half of a diptych should be seen, described – long. However, it is shortly possible to tell in the language of digits: both half of a diptych are approximately equal on total of lines, but thus number of symbols in non-standard part more than two times bigger than that regarding harmonious, which line isn't small at all, isn't short because it is written by a trimeter anapaest.
Emergence of a non-standard demanded absolutely insignificant editings in already standard second part. Thus the last from purely love poem turned – of course, in complete surroundings of a diptych, – into something bigger, the general, generalizing. Here Aiy-Ine – both Mother, and Darling, both the Woman, and Poetry, both the Muse, and the Homeland, both the Nature, and Earth, and Grief, and … Grave. Ten ladies in one image are one could be already apprehended as manifestation of mystic forces. But for me this is quite clear: magic and magic are certainly inherent in the Word. Here I not only don't avoid a anomaly
, but also entirely I worship to it: at the beginning there was a Word, its power and miraculousness in this world are immeasurable for ever and ever.
Running forward, I will tell that the magical force of the Word was shown in one.
In this life to die it isn't new,
But also to live, of course, isn't newer.
These lines – the termination of one of poems of the last year of life of Sergey Yesenin. From the moment of emergence of a diptych they, respectively, steel headings of the first and second parts of work and in these roles stayed long enough. But on one of stages headings reunited and became an epigraph to all diptych. And the arisen vacancies of headings took places from Vladimir Mayakovsky's poems ("Sergey Yesenin") and Aleksander Pushkin ("I erected a monument to not made by hand"): "You went, as they say, to a better world" and "Isn't present, all I won't die …".
Epigraph, headings, their sources, relationship of the second part from Esenin's "Shagane", – signs which in combination with the maintenance of a diptych built the certain spiritual design perceived and felt by me as link of times, eras and the people, – through poetry, poets their lives, creativity, destinies and souls. The materialism has a rest here …
However, we will return to rises.
So, multi-stage ascensions were demanded by non-standard part of a diptych. The third terrace seemed to the final: the fog of fatigue which shrouded me and slight dizziness from height, together with the self-satisfied content reached for the present hid distant prospects …
The non-standard part of work is a narration about the Father, Mother, War, the Victory, the Homeland, Life, today. There was an idea to offer Internet editions in which I am constantly published, to spin a wreath from such compositions. Besides running forward, I will tell: the idea is published and now is realized, the joint action received the name "the 60 anniversary of the Great Victory. The wreath of Gratitude, Memory and Grief", is already three branches (the foundation is laid by a diptych "Aiy-Ine"), author's materials arrive, all there will be six preliminary publications of selections to a wreath (on one – for every decade), its assignment – the simultaneous edition the separate collection of 10 best works in "New Literature" and "Black Horse" Internet magazines, and also my literary mailing "In Tashkent isn't present will, but proud the poet is living", – will take place on May 9. [All planned was executed]
The idea of a wreath then arose when I in work over "Aiy-Ine", climbed up the third terrace. The letter I acquainted with idea the addressees called above. I added that the first branch in a wreath is ready that the diptych will be published in the closest release of my mailing, and they will receive it from me also special departure. Till Sunday – day of weekly release of my mailing – there were three more days which, I considered, quite will be enough to bring in work able to arise small corrections.
It wasn't necessary to rest on laurels long. Fog vanished, and it was found out that it is necessary to go again as Vladimir Vysotsky sang, forward and up, and there...
And there the real mountains, long ascension, obstacles which demanded the maximum tension of forces only also began. Commonplace: in creative storm I give all the best, in a different way I can't, I don't want. But, day and night, welcome so total devotion, I squeeze out of myself for the first time. I will dare to emphasize the last once again: loadings were so great that I in absolute calm of my room began to feel in a certain approach to shop of compressed air with continuously threshing compressors. Before such never happened to my ferroconcrete organism. Since that moment and to this day a rumble in the head and noise in ears don't abandon me not for a moment. War after all proceeds! That is, literary work in the limit mode. If it is possible to get rid of them now, noise and a rumble of war, for this purpose it is necessary to leave at least for a week there where there is neither electricity, nor the computer, neither phone, nor books, neither paper, nor the handle, neither a pencil, nor people …
… At last, the bar was cleared. And standing on it, I marveled as far below I remained previous, the third. Also I was surprised to that here already qualitatively other world, other planet: air, a geographical landscape, feelings, – all another. Also I felt such pleasure, such satisfaction which can be given only by creativity to which only long-awaited favor of the beloved can be compared unless …
Saturday. April 2. Morning. An hour more two I tried to discover possible defects in a non-standart of a diptych. No, to carp there is nothing. I was accepted to development of the materials necessary for realization of idea of the Wreath: the text of the announcement of an action on homepages of the sites, information for authors, the working Provision on all organizational, technical and creative issues. Hour through two everything it was ready. It is possible to send to my colleagues from "New literature" and "Black horse" who, according to the first stage of negotiations, waited from me for all these materials.
It became clear that to send it won't turn out: phone which was serviceable only recently, didn't breathe now, and the network of the Internet was, naturally, is inaccessible. Attempts from neighbour's phone to punch the that before repeatedly it was possible to do, this time were vain. With the letter it was possible and to wait, but tomorrow's release of mailing in which the diptych has to be published, still it was necessary to prepare and enter into system of distribution of "Subscribe". So, it is necessary to go urgently to telephone exchange behind communication restoration. Otherwise will be late: not enough working hours remained in short Saturday. If not to be in time now, tomorrow day at all the non-working. And phone will hang till Monday. And the next release of my Sunday literary mailing won't take place. That for me having sufficient experience in various paper weeklies it would be equivalent to failure of future issue of the newspaper. However, mailing – is also the newspaper. Own. The individual …
Phone needs to be made by all means!
At telephone exchange it is populous. Turn in all windows. Uneasy voices of the people who are finding out on internal communication of the reason of unexpected execution. I am not lonely in the telephone sufferings. But from it isn't easier for me.
I know absolutely unambiguously: on long since to the acting practice besides supported with the contract between clients and a telephone exchange, it is possible to bring a monthly fee to the 10th day of the current month. Today only the second.
I, of course, don't have business before why switched-off phone to this or that subscriber from this crowd. Doesn't interest me why in this crowd it is absolutely groundless, without any prevention, the word without having asked, threw also me. I am not angry with a joke which unknown, faceless employees of some knots of this telephone exchange played with people not yesterday, not on April 1, and with delay when April Fools' Day already took place. I even have no thought, and whether is admissible to joke in general thus. To think and ask similar questions permissibly somewhere in other country, well, at least in Upper Volta or Ivory Coast. But at us, in Uzbekistan, – it doesn't make any sense. And therefore I ask only one: "When?!" "Now, now will connect!" – the cashier assured, accepting from me a monthly fee.
Houses at once I undertake a receiver. Is silent still. Have dinner with the son. Phone didn't recover. Again I go to station.
"At me shows that at you it is connected", – the same cashier speaks, looking in the monitor. Seeing in me signs of the accruing indignation, continues: "Not we disconnected it – central. Try to call on internal".
I lift a tube of a direct phone. On other end of a wire don't answer. But I everything press a tube to an ear, hoping for a miracle. The porter standing slightly at some distance gives me a sign – the hands crossed in wrists: "End!" And it is exact: from there already go some girls and women. Pass the porter, pass by me and go to an exit. And what such the central? Yes what now difference! It is possible to think that there it will be possible to catch now someone from those who though something solves or is able! In a word, finita la commedia! My problems are only my problems!
… It is humiliating to be cut off from the outside world. Such feeling what, probably, happens at the person when it on the street is enough isn't known for as throw for a lattice. To such, of course, don't bring, Allah …
On the monitor – again a diptych. I read time, two. No, defects aren't present. There would be a communication, now would place work in mailing that it was possible to relax after all works and stresses, to have a rest a little, being quiet that the next release will get to boxes of my followers in time. They in the majority, naturally, are unknown to me. But to familiar addresses in Uzbekistan, Russia, Greece, Israel, America I know that in my audience scope of scissors of time zones is almost maximum. The server of the Subscribe company works Moscow time. Therefore I thus plan mailing that even those from my followers that live in the east of Russia, could on Sunday since early morning read my newspaper on the monitor. To my Americans it marked Sunday date, probably, arrives on Saturday evening. Too it is quite good. Moreover, – one more of miracles of the virtual world. But this time the schedule broke, the tradition was broken that caused rather notable sincere discomfort.
What to do?
It is some options.
It is possible to live till Monday, to achieve restoration of phone, and then at once to publish mailing. After all it – business voluntary, for followers – free. Authors of some mailings which I receive as the reader, happens, for months are silent, others – work irregularly. And anything, the world from it doesn't fall. Especially as where it is free, anybody for anything doesn't answer and doesn't ask. But I so can't. I from myself ask. Before by itself I answer. You won't leave yourself anywhere …
Internet cafe … There is a lot of signs, but they, as a rule, only a camouflage for trivial play station (in Tashkent they that are resolved, forbid), which are occupied by the teenagers obsessed with mania of computer games. Not in each cafe there is an Internet connection, but even where is, a situation for me unusual, inconvenient, not disposing to thoughtful work …
It is possible to be declared with the computer to the neighbor, he is a person good, open, friendly, will understand. But it is inconvenient …
It is better to ship, probably, all equipment on the car and to go to the daughter and if at it it doesn't turn out (anybody isn't present houses or phone too it is faulty), then to the mother-in-law. But fuss how many …
Again and again touching about itself all options, I continued to check a diptych for purity. From time to time I lifted phone tube: the miracle didn't occur. Two-three small editings in a non-standart after all appeared. But no more. With that and night came. Around ten. I went to bed. As in the fairy tale: tomorrow is a new day...
Whatever I was tired, I can't sleep more than four hours in succession.
I woke up. I lie in the dark. I decide to get up. In phone there were some not clear noise and rustles, but beep - No. I turn on the computer. I read. Again and again. And suddenly prospects of new rise start opening. Step by step I leave further and above.
Behind a window starts dawning. The son works every other day, for 12 hours. Today to it just for work. Leaves early. On some of steps of new ascension in a crack between the closed door of my room and a floor there was light. Aha, so he got up! The son, as usual, digs long. He ate or not, I don't know. If I get up because of the computer, I collect on a table, eats willingly. Being provided to itself, often leaves without breakfast.
… Through a window curtain sun beams already make the way. And I clamber on close approaches of the fifth height. And here it is taken. And again I marvel as it strikingly differs from previous, only recently seeming a limit of all limits. It is good that to phone there was such hitch! Not that I would issue future issue of mailing in the evening and today would appear before the world not in the best possible way. However, the world also didn't notice it. But me would open sooner or later that it is necessary to go above. Also I then would abuse myself for the short-sightedness and haste. Not for nothing speak: everything that happens, to the best …
Yes, I forgot! At night, well when I somewhere around two got up, I on the whole sheet of paper (that was evident) exposed in a corridor a note with wishes to the son to do everything possible: from an office number to try to punch house if it doesn't turn out, to call on a telephone exchange of our area, further – through 09 to learn number central and to call there; in need of attempt to repeat 2-3 times during the day.
Phone still stayed in a coma. Means, it is impossible to punch to the son. Perhaps he will manage to achieve to use from telephone services? Running forward, I will answer: neither on knot, nor on central as it became clear in the evening, the son didn't phone …
"… The whole world on a palm, you are happy and mute …"
In the happy dumbness I again and again re-read complete work. Benefit, not the novel …
When settling new buildings the land space between back sides of the neighboring houses as it is accepted at us in Uzbekistan (of course where it is possible), understands on garden sites. From my window such back is also visible. There, among violence of trees, bushes, carelessness, abandonment and oblivion, remind of former moods and aspirations of age-old new settlers and their successors only remained and until now dividing fences, – diverse, lop-sided, rusty, pathetic. I pass in other end of the apartment, on a loggia. I raise a curtain. From height of the fourth floor, the last, I see very habitual picture: the hob-nobbing men, including my neighbor in the general landing. It is good! Means, it so far within reach.
Every time when I see how my neighbors that for hours stay at home in a front garden at an entrance next, play cards, arrange tea drinking, simply stand at our entrance, I envy that they have such a great lot of free time. Would share with me! About what speech, perhaps, from forty to fifty five. There are also other groups, more young and more young, well, and children … Decades replace each other, but the current of time, apparently, avoids noisy bands of school and preschool age: them near any multystoried housing in Uzbekistan still multitudes. With neighbors I at my rare sorties to the world greet, thrown nearly under way by a two-three of nothing the meaning phrases, and on the bigger – kill, but I won't be enough. It is necessary to tell that our houses are about 20 years old, and we with the son moved from other district of Tashkent here only 7 years ago. Perhaps also therefore neighbors, at my obvious strangenesses, are permanently benevolent to me. And they know about that, on what I exhaust all the time. "Well, and let composes, blissful", – they interpret, probably, between themselves … It also is clear – strangers! And here native all life, to put it mildly, marvel: "Why all this is necessary if kopeks doesn't bring!"
Perhaps to go down and learn how it, my next neighbor, will look if I somewhere through a half-hour for about ten minutes move to it with the computer equipment? Hardly I kept. And can … No, no, isn't necessary. Well, what you will puzzle him? And if it has to leave somewhere? Especially as still few times it is necessary to walk on a non-standart. Be convinced seven times that the limit is reached, then once and disturb the person. There will be it by then at home – will ask. Won't be – to the daughter you will go …
Time, two, three … Well, here, you see, there is still an editing. And that if … Well, probably, isn't necessary. Well, nevertheless …
And I decided to enter between stanzas of a non-standart according to one prosaic offer. Here – so, here – so, and here – so. And suddenly revelation sparkled! Yes after all it is top! Peak! Which there, below, on the fourth ascension, it seems, appeared in the distance, but for so short moment and in such foggy environment that was thought: ghost, optical illusion, optical effect, mirage … Though the first happens in an ocean, the last – in heat of the desert … But not in mountains …
And so you are what, the Blue Rock! Whether you communicate with white, gray or black clouds, whether is left alone these creations, windy, gloomy, terrible, whether doze or think the high thoughts, – to the Sun you is invariable closer than any of all the district!
Still up, still, still … Will be enough, probably, how many it is possible! Still, still …
Whether and phone works? No, still rustles – and only!
Efforts are directed on operational development of those prosaic inserts now. And the non-standart has to begin, it appears, from the separate offer placed before the first stanza namely:
"It is convenient to write off life and death, affairs and history for God or the Devil …"
Still editing, still polishing …
And what if phone suddenly will ring out as soon as the very best last stroke is brought in my storm lasting day and night six days?
"The devil is imperious in murders, destructions and other villainies, sins and small sins …"
Exactly! Perhaps the Devil and a fallen angel, according to priests, attendants and blessed parishioners, but since his falling it good luck had a division of the power!
Not all in God's will! At them, inhabitants of heaven, in the same way, as at people! Everybody is different! Both the friend without friend Diavol and God – can't!
Yes! Yes! And it is necessary to tell about God at the very end of the first part of a diptych!
"God is imperious in Love, Creation and Forgiveness …"
Only I transferred this phrase to a due place, the trill so began to sound.
- How you, dada?
- Everything is normal, the daughter! You to me punched phone! It didn't work more days! How you?
Having shortly talked over with the daughter, I carefully enclosed a tube in a nest.
Be I on the birth the Christian – even if and not received a sacral baptism and never happening in church, – that would become, without doubts, devoutly to be christened when the SIGN SIGNAL sounded during THAT INSTANT about which it was begged in thoughts when it also was expected with a sinking heart. Know I the any prayer having though the least attitude towards any of the religions existing on light, I would say it, would repeat and repeated, whether having fallen on knees or it is simple threw hands up.
But neither that, nor I don't have another …
Measurement.
I blinked.
I threw up hands in heavens.
Aiy-Ine!
Father!
Teacher!
Also I laughed.
There is more.
There is more.
Also it was happy, more than ever...
AEMILIA PAVLOVNA CHUBAKOVA
Illustrations –
As it was told in the yesterday's publication "Teacher" (the essay was written 10 years ago, in April, 2005), I without results looked for the teachers in the hometown of Karshi. N.S. and V.A. Shigarev meant. Others left in the first years after collapse of the USSR. Nadezhda Sergeyevna – I am not tired to repeat – the first teacher. It is the 1954-58th years. In a photocollage to "Teacher" there is also Nadezhda Sergeyevna's picture, summer of 1969. I the last time saw Shigarev in a year the 1995th. In a year or two they weren't any more: migrated to Russia. I will tell about them pages of the book "By Birth and on Life" tomorrow.
And today I address to E. P. Chubakova (except today's collage, her shape is and in yesterday's placement: same 1969, same microphone, congratulatory speech on the same action).
Dear Aemilia Pavlovna!
I am Marat Avazov, one of a great number of your pupils. I know: You remember me. Not so because I was the excellent pupil but because we were your first pupils in the city of Karshi where you arrived from... I after all also don't know, from where you arrived to our city. I know only that the Georgian city of Poti – your first homeland...
You, of course, remember the end of January, 1966 when I, the first-year student of the Moscow university of Lomonosov, after the first examinations which are handed over on "perfectly" arrived on vacation and came to native school, to you. I told your pupils of that time who should become in some months graduates, to leave school and to think of the further steps, – I told them about receipt in higher education institution, about MSU, the difficulties at first. Also I told that if to me, the excellent pupil of school of the city of Karshi unimportant at that time, it was necessary to make up for omissions on mathematics and physics, in chemistry the continuity of knowledge was without painful failures, smooth and harmonious. "And it, – I emphasized, – thanks to talent and our dear Aemilia Pavlovna's works".
For the second time in my students, that is after the 1965th, year of our release, we saw in the summer of the 1969th when in the yard of my parental house in Karshi my marriage was celebrated. You then, as well as my first teacher Nadezhda Sergeyevna Shigareva, told the congratulatory word. These amateur pictures remained and along with a final vignette of our class found the place in the photobook No. 1 which received the name "In a Circle the First". [They entered and a photocollage of the yesterday's publication]. This album – one of many components of the big edition "Sound Mind — a Sound Body". But about it and other my books I will tell a bit later...
It is more we, dear Aemilia Pavlovna, till today didn't see. But all flowed-away years, and them is it dread to think! – dropped 45, I quite often thought of you, and about 15 years ago, during my next arrival to Karshi, and saw from far away: You stood on a porch of the house. But to approach – it was a shame. No, even not so. Shameful I for last decades didn't make anything. But I didn't want and to justify before you for that I didn't justify nobody's hopes and ambitions – neither the, nor parental, neither teacher's, nor other people. I after all graduated from MSU, the thesis defended on "perfectly" (it contained data on the verge of opening at all), could even gain the "red" diploma, but didn't want: essentially I didn't prepare for state examination in philosophy, I received "four" and even I didn't think of a repeating an examination. After the termination of university on the fashionable and prestigious specialty "biophysics", I in science held on two years, too in Moscow, then – year at the academic institute in Tashkent (where spoke to me that the work made by me in the Main Capital already pulls on the master's thesis), and then – rejected a call in "white stone", lovely heart has more than all cities of the Planet together taken refused a place in postgraduate study and became the walker on life. With whom I only worked!. The teacher, the supplier, the livestock specialist, the builder-assembler, the collective farmer, the operator of installation at gas-processing plant, the watchman, the driller, – not the full list of my professions. Gorbachev reorganization found me as the senior dizelist on boring deep drilling and soon made the journalist writing with the person for that I was eager still being on the 2nd course of MSU. I became the active and fighting newsdealer, with a sharp, acute and effective feather. And, it seems, I got out of a hole, of a non-existence, of awkwardness, of unwillingness to see neither teachers, nor the former classmates in what I stayed since then when it appeared in the provision of the train which derailed 13 years ago. Or rather, I took myself for withers and I threw out from a beaten track.
So, I became a journalist. But very reorganization died soon. The Union indestructible the republics free, Russia great rallied forever, failed suddenly, collapsed on the independent 15 states. The journalism and a freedom of speech were chained in Uzbekistan again, and the second stage of my circulations on life began. By then I, except all the rest, managed to get divorced from the first wife, to marry for the second time, to have in each of the marriages on the girl and the boy, to bury the second wife, only in my life really the beloved...
Small children grew up. At everyone the life. I have 4 grandsons and 2 granddaughters. Already could become the great-grandfather also: to the senior grandson on April the 2015th had 24, and the senior granddaughter – 20 in July. By the way, Irakli, the father of my senior grandson Nugzar, too, as well as you, was born in Poti...
Since that old time mentioned above when was on the 2nd course of MSU I looked for the road to literature. In a new, current, 21st century, at last, seriously I started literary creativity: the first 6 years with breaks on getting of a daily bread and removal of children in people, and then closely. And without small one and a half decades mentally I represented our, dear Aemilia Pavlovna, I will meet when I come to you with the books...
On the Internet my works collected. But we after all with you people of the last century. That is, on the birth and habits. To us few virtual publications. Submit us real books which can be taken in hand, to examine, look through – and downstream, and up the course, both lengthways, and across...
In October of the 2011th, being in Karshi, I asked about you the sister Soniya Avazovna, known in the city and the country of the head of national education. I learned that you are well. Then I already had many printing publications in the different collections published in Moscow, Greece, Germany. But for me it was a little to be before you...
Nevertheless in October of the 2012th I after all came to your house and found its dilapidated: front walls still stood, and internal were disorganized. And in general, all central street of Karshi, the former Lenin, was twice expanded and was built up anew. Process goes and until now. And, most likely, will proceed for a long time. In a word, our Karshi is unrecognizable! Passable on the central street, I hardly distinguish even two, following one by one, turn to our former house...
In the second week of January, 2014 I received the books from Kiev. Not collections of a great number of coauthors, namely the, under the name and only the. And there are a lot of these books. And they even quite solid on volume. Also are very quite good on the technical characteristics. And quality of texts, I will tell without false modesty, are that that it isn't a shame with them – now, neither in the future, nor after me. And here I for a long time, for the whole 10 days, arrived to Karshi with intentions to show the works to the father, mother, the little sister, uncles and the grandmother (mother's brothers and mother). That I also made: all of them in different years found eternal rest (mother – the last, in October of the 2009th). In the second half of the same day, on January 29, Wednesdays, I looked for you, Aemilia Pavlovna, and after multiple-pass combinations, meetings with many people in the organizations and inquiries on the street, in the approaching twilight, at last, found...
I visited a family of your son Dmitry, communicated with him, his wife Natalya and your grandsons, Katenka and Mishenka. They – your continuation. Dima – the friendly and kind person. When I was going to leave, behind a window cold winter night with might and main dominated. Dima, despite my objections, brought me on the white Lacetti to the place called by me, to the opposite end of the city, to my relatives. But such respect to the guest is, in general, in norm for Karshi. Your son struck me with another: it was called few times by business partners, and he with them quickly and easy expressed in the Uzbek language.
And still you are in my works: in the poetic novel "Youth", in a photo album "In a circle the first" and in the documentary story "By Birth and on Life", one of six works of the Book of texts of the "Sound Mind — a Sound Body" edition. This edition consists of two parts, two independent massifs: texts and photo albums (which 8, and with cover options – 10). And together, in unity, – force in "square". Besides, I received two chubby volumes under the name "Notebooks of Verses and the Accompanying Judgments" (A Pile 1 and the Pile 2): cycles of poems, mini-poems, mini-melodramas, essay, critiques. And also the book of a big format in which three independent novels which, being reduced under one "roof", formed a uniform construction under the name "Times" where received the new "names" corresponding to "roof": from "Youth" to "Maturity".
Yes, having arrived to Karshi from strange lands, you were fated to live in it is mute long and worthy life. To it you, unlike the vast majority of colleagues of not radical origin, were faithful up to the end. For what the Karshi's earth also accepted you for ever. With direct, real-life communication with you I was late for 9 months. Forgive …
I believe: You now hear me. Thank you for everything, Aemilia Pavlovna! From yourself, from my schoolmates of the 11th, from pupils parallel the 11th where you were form-master, from all your subsequent pupils. And let Dmitry, Natalya, Ekaterina, Mikhail and future carriers of your blood and a surname know that in the young girl who arrived to Karshi and went to work in our school No. 1 of Krupskaya we, ninth-graders of that time, distinguished at once the Teacher from capital letter. Thank you, Aemilia Pavlovna, to the Teacher that is called from God! Your knowledge, your works proceed in us, in your pupils, children, grandsons. We work and to this day. And we will go to a better world – so is to whom to succeed us! You, the Teacher, are immortal!
SHIGAREVes
Illustrations –
All good in the person – from parents, roots of all his progress and achievements in adulthood lie in the childhood and adolescence, are put by insight, actions and means of the father and mother. Quite often children of that don't understand, even being quite adult. That is, according to the passport: while the person doesn't realize a role and value of parents, won't like hearty thanks to them, it is still insufficiently adult, even if to it for 40. Sometimes, that the person is also not in time …
Parents me, the teenager who passed into the 9th class and to which there was the 15th year (we got under experiment: carried out at school of 11 years), sent with tourist group of school students to Moscow. In a picture: we against MSU and a monument to Lomonosov. Three adults: extreme at the left – the director of Karshi's station of young naturalists Sharif Davletov; two others – our teachers, the husband and the wife Zinaida Vasilyevna Glazova (director of studies) and Alexander Ivanovich Morkovkin (the mathematician, is twice remembered in the essay "Teacher"). Before them – their daughter, she was called, apparently, Natasha: it was forgotten partially as she studied not at our school, at another. – all I remember the others, and from that our trip passed more than half a century (there was a June, 1962). Stand from left to right: Sasha Rabin, Naim (from the Uzbek school) and my schoolmates – Masha (Muyassar) Sagdiyeva, Zoya (Zukhra) Kadyrova, Slavik Bekrenyov, Valera Mikhaylov. On cards – Dima (Glazova and Morkovkin's son, too studied at other school), Grisha (Gani) Fayziyev, Marat Avazov and Kolya Askarov. Sasha, Grisha and Kolya – too schoolmates, but is younger than us for a year.
Muyassar and Marat in three years became first-year students of this university.
The aforesaid – an introduction and in an explanation of the lower part of a photocollage. And the narration – follows further (pages of the book "By Birth and on Life", as well as it was promised in the introduction to the yesterday's publication "E.P. Chubakova").
Final vignette of our class. But I thoroughly remade the original: our placement there, in my opinion, absolutely any, casual. I brought together schoolmates on a journal order on one page, teachers – on another.
And at the same time I corrected outrage: I added the missed our first teacher N. S. Shigareva. 11th "B" began with 1 "B" which was lifted four years uphill by Nadezhda Sergeyevna. One of schoolmates didn't have a place on the previous page. Muyassar Sagdiyeva was necessary to allocate and to place it among teachers: she is a medallist, long ago – the doctor of science, and later, speak, and professor.
In a picture of F1:142 us, pupils of the 3rd, 29 people (for some reason there is no my friend Radik Gerfanov). But only seven of these wards of Nadezhda Sergeyevna would get on a vignette 11 (F1:143), on which 21 graduates (together with Muyassar Sagdiyevoy): Nicka (we both with it and in a kindergarten were together), Kolya, Olya, Sveta, Zoya, Gena and Marat. The others – dispersed. Who where and in different years. Others came. Other of them again left. And we – kept! Gena Gulyaev went to a better world, without having lived and up to 35. Kingdom to it heavenly! There are also other losses in our ranks. Rest in peace! To you who already hurried to leave and in the future to us, still live. In total there we will be. Who earlier, who later …
Veniamin Andreevich Shigarev (he got to a vignette of 1965 as the party organizer of school) in 5 or the 6th class conducted at us physical culture a little. Later, when we already were in a class the ninth, he, having gained the diploma, became the historian at those who was younger than us for 2-3 years. Among children of all age it had a uniform nickname – Vitamin …
How among themselves pupils called the teachers, usually and was modification of a name: Tamarushka, Galinushka, Emilyushka. With the physical education teacher Talgat Zakirovich, the lanky and quiet young man who appeared at our school when we were in the 10th class managed more coolly: Tolkay Zashivorot (push for a collar). However we and called the mathematician by last name which in itself, probably, was perceived by us as a nickname: Morkovkin. But after us, years through 5-6, it was "crossed", and it is very ridiculous: Sabzyshkin (morkov and sabza – in Russian and Uzbek carrots). I know from little sisters …
Shigareves in 1957, on summer vacation, took me with themselves in a trip home of Veniamin Andreevich, in the village of Kozlovo in Moscow area. Wikipedia gives the reference: in the Moscow region 5 villages of Kozlovo, in the Tverskaya – 19, Tula – 1, Kaluga – 2. To what of them we carried out days 20, it isn't less? In what us, children of Karshi where the climate those years was still very droughty and didn't know a rain at all from May to December where for all this period all wild-growing greens were burned out by the sun (the rivers bearing the waters to Aral didn't pour on chanel, fields and collectors yet), – in what of the villages of Kozlovo situated near Moscow we were struck by an emerald grass carpet? Where we with Shigarev's little son Vitalik (to it there were years four, and me – without few months ten) rode (rotated in lying situation) on such carpet? I can't answer. And to ask there is nobody …
"Festival" – I held this word said by Shigarev in remembrance. Because of it we weren't let neither on Red Square, nor to the Mausoleum. The reference from BSE: the 6th World festival of youth and students took place in Moscow, from July 28 to August 11, 1957.
Together with us in Kozlovo the wife and two children of Nikolay, the elder brother Veniamin Andreevich stayed for a while. They arrived from Siberia.
In archive there is a couple of photos of children's part of guests of the village situated near Moscow. Working on albums, I considered them more than once, but for some reason didn't use. Now, when a few days ago, on September 2nd (2013th), at last I loaded photobooks into system of Publishing house, I ordered, I paid, and they are already printed and stay in the long road between Kiev and Tashkent, and I was engaged in this book which, unlike others, still demands many efforts, time, changes, alterations and additions, – now I regret that any Kozlowski isn't present a shot "In a circle the first", neither in "Wide range", nor in other album.
It is a lot of memoirs according to Kozlowski to summer of 1957. Only a few from them: a log hut, the Russian furnace, outer entrance hall, a closet, a big lawn near the house, slightly at some distance – the thrown shed, nearby – a bird cherry (ate too much, and then scraped teeth on language!) wood; the special feeling covering me in pine pine forest which wasn't forgotten in the next decades and every time excited again, once I appeared among pines (even in Karshi of the 60th years, near the building of regional committee of party to which the city town committee drove later); the Russian thunder-storm, with a pouring rain, a thunder roar, a sparkling of lightnings and their snakes from the high sky and, appear, to the earth; wild strawberry and a natural raspberry brake in the wood. Somehow we gathered raspberry, and Veniamin Andreevich heard that in the distance, behind trees, there were still people. And he put palms one to another and blew between them. Unusual whistle – both loud, and booming, and reserved sounded. "Such sounds are made by a bear when it is fed with raspberry and snuffles, – the teacher explained. – It I so frighten off those, others. Let think that here a bear …". Really, strangers didn't appear in our raspberry brake …
Then, in the 1957th, and I learned such whistle. And recently I taught it and the grandson Otabek. Here and now I show it in front of the computer: the left hand the edge lays down on the right palm (to lefthanders, likely, on the contrary), then brushes develop in such a way that form the small closed space, thus both thumbs lay down on a forefinger of the left hand, forming among themselves a narrow crack. In it is also necessary to blow. A sound that is necessary! As beep of the steamship! And the bear can be frightened!.
By the way, there is a lot of villages of Kozlovo and on other regions of Russia, both in European, and in Asian its parts. Here after all what respect and addiction to a goat was (kozyol - in Russian goat). And now what people are called goats?!.
Two years of later, in the summer of the 1959th, after my fifth class (I will remind: elementary school was 4-year-old), Shigareves took me in Siberia, to Nikolay Andreevich. Early in the morning we appeared in Omsk. Around there were neither people, nor cars yet, only the water cart went on the very broad street which is smoothly asphalted, pure (can, it was the station square? – I don't remember) and I performed the work. Now I can't tell with confidence, whether I knew then or not the name of the village where Nikolay Shigarev's family lived. Also the name of the wife of the head of family though I knew it with Kozlovo was erased in memory. But externally I remember it well: average height (below Nadezhda Sergeyevna), full-faced, dark-haired (Nadezhda Sergeyevna – fair-haired), nice, smiling, not talkative, with a low voice, kind. And at it there were very "tasty" hands: its pies – that at the mother-in-law in Kozlovo that at home, – in the general opinion (to mine – among the first), went on the highest point.
At them in a family was three children: two son and daughter. The senior – my age-mate, the robust fellow, was remembered also by that showed once discontent with my table appetite. Then at me in the head the thoughts which are reduced to that I after all eat not for nothing that my parents rushed... But I is proud I kept silent. Perhaps and therefore that couldn't focus the experiences and reaction in one sharp word yet: "It's paid!".
Other of boys and the girl I knew since our joint stay in Moscow area.
One of brothers, apparently, the second, was called Vitya. I don't remember other boyish name: can, Sasha, or perhaps other. Once again it is a pity that didn't give a kozlovo's photo in an album. [But here we – in the center of the top part of a collage. From right to left: Tatyana, her brother Victor, Vitaly and Marat].
My appetite at a table till their time isn't small …
Nikolay Andreevich had a rank of the captain and was the chief of local militia. Means, it was the village. Or perhaps is also not present. Perhaps it went for work in the neighbourhood somewhere. Externally the uncle Kolya strongly differed from the brother: thickset, dense, with a noticeable paunch, on a big round face (the very picture of health) a large nose, but not Greek, eyes dark, lips thin, and quite narrow forehead. And Veniamin Andreevich and growth was higher, and the nose had a straight line, both lips chubby, and eyes blue, and skin white, with a pinkish shade, and the falling-down trousers tightened the joint movement of both hands, but not fingers, and pillows of palms, and spoke a chest, melodious tenor. All this made impression of some transparency and reminded a drugstore. Vitamin! Neatly! Seemingly neatly only on external signs. Actually the unforgettable teacher was the person resistant, brave, hardy, reliable. That is and inherently Vitamin if nobility and understand a role of vitamins of activity of an organism.
Nikolay Andreevich near the house put the new. Naturally, too the wooden. There I both saw for the first time and remembered well as huge logs are squared since the ends and as by means of the connections of a log created thus are got at each other and form a dwelling wall.
Still unforgettable impressions: dark and bushes covered with bilberry; the lake Grows old in which district of furious mosquitoes there were countless multitudes; the river Tara (in which I once, having enough sailed from the coast, I turned, as usual, not back and unexpectedly for myself I set further and I reached the far opposite side); timber rafting down the river; the steamships which are quite often passing in this or that direction to which we swam up closer to rock on the waves arranged by them; and the most important – fishing.
Our first Karshi's house in so-called Eski Shahar (the Old City), in the makhalla (the residential district of private dwellings on the earth) "Charimgar" (tanner), was located near a place of merge of two big aryk (channels) which formed something like the peninsula there. It was possible to get on its extremity either by swimming, or around, through the bridge located from our house in meters of hundred. On it I quite often sat with a rod. Fish in the aryks was found: when for their cleaning water was blocked, in the pools formed here and there was a lot of production which children, teenagers and young people caught who as could: hands, small nonsense, gauze, the undershirts. However on a rod business wasn't especially argued: so, for half a day of 2-3 small fishes, about a finger or a palm. But I liked process: expectation, a sinking heart when started pecking, internal triumph and satisfaction when it was possible to pull out. Once there was a case out of the common: the big fish got, 40 centimeters long and under kilogram is powerful. Since then I at contemporaries waved I had a reputation for the fisherman. On Tara …
[By the way, to my return from distant distances in 1959 parents bought the house in Yangi Shahar, the new city where we also lived then. Everything was near: school, regional committee and regional executive committee, central square, tribune of parades and demonstrations, other establishments. Somewhere in the mid-seventies the authorities of area moved to new buildings with a new area in areas which else in our youth were cotton fields. And the present population of Karshi in many respects consisting of the former residents of the areas and kishlaks of area (which took a place radical, moved who to Tashkent, who to Russia and who and far away), to the district of our second house too calls Eski Shahar. Evolution of the city, population and concepts...]
First I and on Tara stayed with a rod. And results too were not all that well. Then someone prompted that it is necessary to catch on zakidushka (on a long scaffold of 7-10 hooks). I made, I tried, I learned to shower. Well, absolutely other color! Every morning I left on Tara. It was near: through kitchen gardens and down on the flat sandy coast. I began to come back home with a considerable catch soon: ruffs, white breams, perches. Once the pike somewhere from half-meter got: the small fish sat down on a hook, and the river predator coveted an easy mark and was pulled out on the coast. But as it drove here and there! As resisted! Still I remember! And it is still pleasant! And another time the large carp, probably, who ran away from Staritsa got. Too strong and restive fish! And with it there was a fascinating fight!.
Having stayed for a while with the uncle Kolya many days, we set to the Urals where under the city of Miass, in the wood, there lived Nadezhda Sergeyevna's parents (the father, apparently, was a forest warden). At them we stayed not for long, it is no more than a week, but the beauty and features of the local wood, overgrown mountains and rocks left a trace for the rest of life. There too was a fishing: on a rod, in the small river with crystal-clear and ice water, a trout. Pecked and pulled fine, but I couldn't take any in hand, broke that in water, already in air: trout, fish motley, beautiful and tasty, but also strong, prompt, rebellious. Veniamin Andreevich managed to pull out a couple: probably, fast, sharp, effective reaction to a biting of a trout requires force of a male hand, and the nursery – on that it isn't enough.
We fished with Veniamin Andreevich later when I was already a senior. Shigareves were on friendly terms with Gulyaeves, parents of my schoolmate Gena. His father was military, maybe, even the colonel, and loved fishing, as well as any Russian person of those times. Few times all of us together went on the Chimkurgan reservoir, to which kilometers 35-40 from Karshi. After arrival before dark, then having a snack, spending the night, then the smooth surface of the pre-dawn lake continually revolted by entertainments of the woken-up fish, a special biting, sunrise, fish soup, collecting and return to the city into place fished.
And when I was already a student, we with Veniamin Andrevich together visited with spending the night Chimkurgan.
On a teacher's collage Shigarev are placed near with each other. And below and more to the right – the shot is larger: Nadezhda Sergeyevna delivers a congratulatory speech at my wedding, June, 1969, the yard of our house in Karshi. Is even more right – other picture from the same wedding celebration: with E. P. Chubakov's microphone, the teacher of chemistry and biology, the form-master 11 "a", parallel to ours. [These shots got to a photocollage to the essay "the Teacher"]. Aemilia Pavlovna – the teacher, as they say, from God. The knowledge gained by us from it at lessons at provincial school was, say, for me quite compatible to continuation of studying of chemistry at the Moscow university. Thanks, Teacher!
I the last time saw Shigareves in a year the 1995th. I found and visited at them the apartment in the Karshi's residential district "Pakhtazor" (and in general they that is called all life lived in the Finnish house at school). Both of them were some years on pension. While Nadezhda Sergeyevna pottered in kitchen and set in a hall the table, Veniamin Andreevich descended in the next epicure behind a port small bottle. Sat, ate, drank, talked. Veniamin Andreevich and on deserved rest didn't do nothing: he mastered tailoring of the summer caps very demanded in the conditions of solar Karshi, he bought the machine, materials and he gave out production. I don't remember, whether he sewed only to order or gave wholesale in any commission shop. An essence not in it, but that the pension is, as they say, on support of trousers. And if the person not the idler, not the shirker, finds a way to help itself and a family, and at the same time and some defects of our favourite and kind Fatherland will dolly up …
Then Veniamin Andreevich took measurements of my head and next day presented a cap of dark blue color. On all frames of my bicycle race "Tashkent-Karshi" in 2007 I in it made hands of dear teacher and senior friend. Best of all it can be made out in pictures 116 and 121. I have it and now. Also will be always while I am. Relic…
In a year or two after that meeting with their Shigareves wasn't any more: migrated to Russia. The only son and the child was there long ago, here they, probably, also stretched to it. Where, where? – I don't know. And to ask there is nobody. I wrote the essay "Teacher" of 2005 also because hoped for any response on Shigareves and to other mentioned teachers. Silence, though many years flew by.
Nadezhda and Veniamin Shigarev is more senior than me for about 13-15 years. Means, to them in current, in the 2015th, 81-83. To Vitaly Veniaminovich – slightly for 60. His cousens and the sister – have a little more. For certain, there are Nikolay and Veniamin Shigarev subsequent generations: grandsons, great-grandsons. Respond somebody! Respond! And in general: if someone knows something about my Shigarev (Karshian, Siberian) and their posterity, – let know …
YEARS FORMER AND THE 2015TH: PERSONS, AWARD, DOCUMENTS, FACTS
Illustrations –
Yes, it now, in a century of digital equipment when all have mobile phones (even dealers old women on a Dehkan market and other "second-hand markets") when "hundred part" most of users with the built-in cameras, – now has no problems with perpetuation of an image and similarity – the and relatives. Now we "click" everyone and everything. And itself, and native, and others, and world around. Both in time, and in space, and in different foreshortenings. Both in a statics, and in the movement, and with a sound (video). And in completeness of all palette of paints. And right there all this can be repeated on the monitor. And without any developers fixers, photographic enlargers and other personal belongings to unpack. And to create archive on the hard drive of the computer and compact disks. Therefore the whole kind of the professional photographers who were active on photographings of citizens occasionally – street, beach, sanatorium and other almost also disappeared (with delivery of prints in a day or two or dispatch by mail). And those cases weren't frequent. But when they occurred, pros were sure to appear. However, the amateur photo too took the place.
Here some shots from archive of the author which entered a photo album "In a circle the first" the big edition "Sound Mind — a Sound Body", mentioned in one of publications to the 70 anniversary of the Great Victory in War ("Aemilia Pavlovna Chubakova").
The student of the 1st course of MSU Marat Avazov after spring examinations on a visit in a native home, in the bosom of the family, May, 1966 (a picture in the top left corner). The Muscovite – in the center of a shot. On two parties from it – sisters Saimaa and Soniya, still absolutely little girls (the 11th and 13th went them then). Beyond Saimaa – mother, Iskandarova Nurzifa, absolutely young (but the son then didn't understand it yet). Further – Siradzhi (the cousin of mother, their fathers, Gimadi and Shaykhilislam, – brothers) and his wife of Naya. Now everything, except Marat and Sonya, the deads. Soniya Avazovna was mentioned in the same material "E.P. Chubakova".
The father and Saimaa arrived to me to Moscow, summer of 1967 (a shot in the bottom left corner). The photographer photographed us in the Kremlin, near the Tsar Cannon.
One more of the few pictures in which the parent (an average photo of the top row) is depicted. Summer of 1971. The father in an undershirt: in a hot season a house form in a circle of the family. Near it – Soniya. Not that timid girl that on the first illustration, but the 18-year-old girl. And the baby in her hands – Zukhra, my oldest daughter, future mother of Nugzar mentioned in the same essay "E.P. Chubakova".
Summer of the 1997th, color photo (clearly, still film, not digital): the last arrival of mother to me to Tashkent. Somehow so it turned out that she didn't leave city boundaries of Karshi any more though it still released almost 12 years of life.
The last award of the father veteran – an award of Patriotic War of the I degree together with its nominal certificate, in honor of the 40 anniversary of the Great Victory, May, 1985: signature of the secretary of Presidium of the Supreme Council of the USSR, press.
Here the text of the Decree, which nowadays not only the old document, but also the certificate of history – Wars, post-war times, the Power. Walk on it, readers, don't take the excess trouble. Because the comments representing will follow then as the author considers, a certain interest.
DECREE OF PRESIDIUM OF THE SUPREME COUNCIL OF THE USSR
About rewarding with an award of Patriotic war of active participants
Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945
Presidium of the Supreme Council of the USSR
decides:
1. For the bravery, firmness and courage shown in fight against fascist aggressors and in commemoration of the 40 anniversary of the Victory of the Soviet people in the Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945 to make rewarding:
Award of Patriotic war of the I degree
Heroes of the Soviet Union – participants of the Great Patriotic War;
the persons who are awarded the order Slava of all three degrees;
marshals, generals and admirals who were directly involved in the Great Patriotic War as a part of field army, guerrilla formations or in an underground irrespective of their military rank in the period of the Great Patriotic War;
the persons which were directly involved in the Great Patriotic War as a part of field army, guerrilla formations or in an underground, who got wounds in the fights awarded in the period of the Great Patriotic War by awards of the USSR or the medals "For Courage", Ushakova, "For services in battle", Nakhimova, to "The guerrilla of Patriotic war";
the disabled people of the Great Patriotic War who got wounds in fights.
Award of Patriotic war of the II degree
The persons which were directly involved in the Great Patriotic War as a part of field army, guerrilla formations or in an underground if they aren't subject to rewarding with an award of Patriotic war of the I degree according to the present Decree.
2. Rewarding with an award of Patriotic war of the I degree and an award of Patriotic war of the II degree of active participants of the Great Patriotic War is made on behalf of Presidium of the Supreme Council of the USSR by the Minister of Defence of the USSR, the Chairman of Committee for State Security of the USSR, the Minister of Internal Affairs of the USSR.
The order of representation and consideration of petitions for rewarding with an award of Patriotic war of the I degree and an award of Patriotic war of the II degree of active participants of the Great Patriotic War is defined by the Minister of Defence of the USSR, the Chairman of Committee for State Security of the USSR, the Minister of Internal Affairs of the USSR.
3. To extend action of the present Decree:
on participants of war with militaristic Japan;
on direct participants of combat operations on elimination of a nationalist underground (gangsterism) in the territory of Ukrainian the Soviet Socialist Republic, Belarusian the Soviet Socialist Republic, Lithuanian the Soviet Socialist Republic, Latvian the Soviet Socialist Republic and Estonian the Soviet Socialist Republic from January 1, 1944 to December 31, 1951;
on persons to whom according to the resolution of the Central Committee of CPSU and Council of ministers of the USSR of February 27, 1981 N 219-69 the privileges established for participants of the Great Patriotic War from among the military personnel and guerrillas are extended.
First Deputy Chairman
Presidium of the Supreme Council of the USSR
V. Kuznetsov
Secretary of Presidium
Supreme Council of the USSR
T. Menteshashvili
Moscow, Kremlin
March 11, 1985
Due to present very unsuccessful relationship of Russia with Ukraine, the countries of Baltic, Europe and USA the second point of the third paragraph of the Decree attracts attention. Likely, the military vehicle USSR, having gathered dispersal for years of War, already it couldn't cope with inertia of the movement in any way. Therefore it staked on a power solution, namely: on elimination of nationalist undergrounds in the western regions of the country. And they, undergrounds, persistently resisted to actions of the central power. Not without reason elimination was tightened for 8 years, since January 1 the 1944th on December 31, 1951. It turns out that the Power twice was at war with part of the population, let small, but discordant with its orders, than with fascist Germany more long. Also follows from this point of the Decree that the Power carried out an equal-sign between War on protection of the Homeland against an aggressor and military operations on elimination of opponents among the citizens. Whether Stalin could make orders on destruction of nationalist undergrounds, but to solve their purposes and requirements by negotiations? A question from the category of the rhetorical. But, as showed succession of events, become obvious at the I Congress of People's Deputies of the USSR in 1989 and proceeding to this day, separatist sentiments of the certain part of the population pushing the people to self-determination are ineradicable (or to reunion with the neighboring state in its last borders).
Here only a few facts of common knowledge of the contemporary history.
Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia at once as soon as the Soviet Union was disorganized by "the belovezhsky three", rushed in embraces of the West. And that quickly admitted them both to the EU, and to NATO.
The same happened and to the countries of Eastern Europe entering a camp of so-called socialist camp. Even Bulgaria buried in oblivion that sincerely thanked Russia and in the 19th century, and in the past. How here not to remember the phrase of artfully pinned up Caesar: "And you, Brut!." And to carry it … No, not to the people! – To governors of present Bulgaria! The people remember brotherly communication with Russians. And it, memory national, once, in the future, will have an effect. Will demand to return the kind relations and communications with Russia.
In today's Ukraine currents which are ready to bear the country anywhere though in an abyss, but only far away from the Russian Federation, the direct and main successor of the USSR boss.
Belarus? Kazakhstan? Allies of Russia? Yes, but not without reservations. And punctures happen. And mutual pricks. Whether not therefore, what in advance outlined friction, and presidents aren't capable to reveal devices of governors – can't agree in time? There is an impression that Brazil – more reliable partner of the Russian Federation, than her next friends neighbors.
In the former Soviet Baltic republics, and nowadays sovereign states, not only legalize the SS-men – for the sake of policy! – but also heroize them. Because leaders of these countries consider Russia aggressive, obsessed imperial and revanchist ambitions, unpredictable. Also call the West for new and new sanctions against it. That to it there was the same that to the Soviet Union, – decomposition, anarchy, death.
And unless the authorities of today's Ukraine which if don't depend on probandera "Right Sector", jump with it in one team and constantly look back at it, – unless the authorities independent Ukraine don't operate on Donbass on the same curves on which the Western Ukraine was smoothed out once from an anti-Soviet underground? One to one! There – bandits, here – terrorists. There – protection of the population against bands, here – anti-terrorist operation. Both there, and here – a defiance to will discordant, to life protecting the principles, language, families and houses. Both there, and here "we behind the price won't stand to destroy enemies of our light way and unity". Only there "gangs", eventually, suffered defeat. And here … Of course, of course! Russia provides to Donbass only humanitarian aid. Isn't the participant of the intra Ukrainian conflict, that is civil war at all. But after all, as they say, it is clear to a hedgehog… And so, also ask a hedgehog, from where miners of DNR and LPR have so many guns, tanks and other arms, from where at rebels such ability to be at war, what they appeared and appear too hard to neither AFU, nor mobilization attempts of Kiev, secret maneuvers and the help of Washington?
Where people – and they on the Planet everywhere! – there everything is ambiguous, changeable, quite often has the secret purposes and propellers, is fraught with changes of polarity in actions and estimates. Both in big, and in the smallest.
My father, Mamatkulov Avaz, has no relation to military operations on elimination of nationalist undergrounds on the western suburbs of the USSR. Only the top part of the Decree – about rewarding with an award of Patriotic war of the I degree concerns it. Also it would be very pertinent to finish this publication with a diptych "Aiy-Ine". But it was included into the first and fourth chapters of the essay "Only the Great People Could Create a Great Victory". Therefore – only one stanza of a diptych. Too – the facts. And document.
Bread and shows! – eternal lever of a manipulation person and masses.
Being a small "screw" of a "show" bloody, global, extremely responsible,
The father in the Caucasus was wounded and filled up in an entrenchment with the earth reared by explosion.
It wouldn't return from war – to the enemy of opposition really Domestic, –
there would be neither I, nor my little sisters, our children and grandsons …
Roses blossomed in our front garden and the clear sky shone
in a Fortieth of the Great Victory in the war which carried away countless multitudes of lives …
Only fifty days later the Father suddenly didn't become...
TO WARS – NO!
Illustrations –
I
If War suddenly didn't burst … Suddenly – for ordinary citizens. They after all at any modes live the problems. Small in comparison with problems of the state and the interstate relations. But for them, ordinary people, paramount. Quite often having a direct bearing on a survival.
At the beginning of summer of 1941 Vazifa Iskandarova who became a widow several years ago, her 17-year-old daughter Nurzifa and the 14-year-old son Yunus arrived to visit the eldest son and the brother Ilyas passing military service in Karshi. And at the same time and to visit, whether on the matter in Uzbekistan easier to live as wrote soldiers. But here invasion of Hitlerite hordes began. Ilyas was sent to a front line. His mother, the little sister and the brother remained in Karshi. And their big house near a pond in the native aul Lower Chebenki in the Orenburg region waited nearly one and a half decades for return of owners. In the summer of the 1953rd when the aul after long separation was visited by Ilyas and Nurzifa, the house still stood. With them there was also Marat to whom there was the 6th year. The tenacious memory he remembered that the house still was loyal to hands of the grandmother, driven in cross-wise a sun blind and a door before departure to unknown edges. Before War …
If there would be no War, it isn't known how then there would be a destiny of a family and children of Vazifa. Perhaps after Ilyas's demobilization all together would return to Chebenki. Chybenne – the name of the aul in Tatar so sounds. Translation: a place where there are a lot of flies. Literally: "fliesly". Really, flies in the aul in volume the darkness was the 53rd. And large. Covered on light window glass from the room, filling it with the hum.
If war doesn't burst, Iskandarovs, perhaps, after all would remain in Karshi. And under the peace sky located with larger feeling, sense and arrangement as Tatars are able to do it. Or perhaps still somehow roads of their life in a different way would proceed. But one isn't subject to doubt: if not War, Nurzifa would have other husband. And I would be not I.
If Mamatkulov Avaz doesn't return from the front, Nurzifa never and wouldn't learn that such person existed. And then the husband besides would be another. And her son, even being named Marat, besides there would be not I.
And I wouldn't be absolutely.
But I am just because Avaz who recovered from wounds was written off to the back in the 1944th and came back home. In a native kishlak Hilal located near Karshi. Where peasants visited on market days astride donkeys, horses or on bullock carts (and now – so, only on cars). In one of the arrivals to the city of Avaz he met Nurzifa by chance. He was fascinated by girl. And then in the persistence he persuaded to become the wife.
The higher mathematics in the proof of the theorems operates with categories of need and sufficiency. And so War was a necessary condition and Avaz's return live from the front was a sufficient condition of my birth. Paradoxically, but fact: there would be no War – at all there would be no me!
In a word, Marat – is from War.
As well as his contemporaries, schoolmates, classmates. And also sisters, children, nephews, grandsons …
Marat's mother as it was shown above, too dropped out of the War. And literally, and in the figurative. But the same can be claimed about all women who became mothers – for the first time or repeatedly, – in the forties, military and post-war. All of them, let the destiny of everyone also differed in details, the successor of the War.
Our teachers in kindergarten, the teacheress (who were at war and not being at war), teachers, the senior relatives and all people of our environment who in War wasn't a soldier on age or other circumstances also dropped out of the War.
Take Hitler in December the 1941st Moscow – and it isn't known how there would be their destiny who would be passed by a barbed wire of concentration camps who would remain it is live and would continue the sort and who would disappear in bondage.
But also without such hypothetical defeat, that is at reality of the Great Victory, there is in open spaces of the former USSR no person, in whose family tree there would be no the branches and threads conducting to that Patriotic War. All of us: the people who remained on fields of battles, gone to a better world in post-war times, well the people of advanced, senior and average age, the youth, the teenagers, children, babies who yet weren't born and who even aren't conceived, – all of us is from that Great War. Someone can not know that, someone – not to remember, not to think of that, others – can not understand or to please to the mercantile interest reject that. But it – so!
And the further Time forward – and we now, in April of the 2015th leaves, we stand in the run-up to the May 70 anniversary of the Great Victory of the Soviet People in World War II, – the more clearly evolution of subject and tasks of the writer addressing in a case and under any foreshortening to notches of that opposition of the Soviet Union and Germany will be felt.
The May – because on September 2 the 1945th there was an unconditional surrender of Japan. To which the American atomic bombs dumped to Hiroshima and Nagasaki preceded. Not so much for execution of the enemy, how many for intimidation of the most important, strongest and most dangerous ally. But in a victory and over Japan actions of the Soviet troops – defeat of Kvantun army armed cap-;-pie in Manchuria in which there were more than 1 million 300 thousand bayonets imperial "gun meat" were most of all important.
The real veterans and writers-veterans almost didn't remain. We will tell, to Daniil Granin there is the 97th year. But the century which is released to it – a rarity for soldiers of that War, one of the few exceptions.
I think that considerable part of people whom nowadays call veterans, it the faces of respectable age equated to participants of war for merits in the back and/or subsequently in work. Not without reason among such "veterans" there are a lot of women. Participants of War – valid and equated to them – are necessary to the authorities that by means of to excite them able-bodied population, youth and younger generation to influence their consciousness and subconsciousness in the foreshortenings and accents demanded for the authorities. And also, that on holidays and anniversaries to caress and present aged men and the aged women and by that through mass media to inflate the rating of democratic character, philanthrophy and care of the people. And thus is so proud to stick out a breast that else slightly – and even the opposition will be assured of what they dominating the authorities brought Army, the Power and the People out of that Sheer Hell to the Victory.
We will address to official figures across Uzbekistan.
According to public fund "Nurony" ("Veteran" – such value is attributed to this Uzbek word which, generally, is translated as "comely"), over 1,4 million residents of Uzbekistan participated in the Great Patriotic War, from them more than 400 thousand were lost, 130 thousand were missing. NOW IN the REPUBLIC LIVES ABOUT 3,5 THOUSAND PARTICIPANTS of WAR. In too time, on statistical data, the age of 225 thousand citizens of Uzbekistan exceeds 80 years, 44 thousand — 90 years, and 8,7 thousand people stepped over a 100-year boundary.
In other words, human resources, from where the authorities will and scoop "veterans" in the future, are great. Also LET'S LIVE, ow ALLAH, UP TO the 100 ANNIVERSARY of the GREAT VICTORY AND to READ in mass media THAT IN UZBEKISTAN CELEBRATE PARTICIPANTS of GREAT WAR, WHICH IN the COUNTRY ABOUT 4 THOUSAND PEOPLE!
I will emphasize: the sounded irony doesn't belong neither to War, nor to the real veterans, to nowadays well long-livers equated to them, to endured burdens of a wartime in the back and in occupied territories, neither to burned in crematoriums, nor to survived in captivity and concentration camps, neither to the subsequent generations, nor to the uniform person of all age who has no relation to so-called policy – external and internal. And the irony of my thoughts and a feather marks at those who in extraordinary, decisive, big, small and even if in a microscopic share it is involved in it, policy. I won't list professions and leaders, commanders and specialists, performers and henchmen of army of the involved: it is a pity for a place in the material. I will tell only that is farther in it – no grana of irony.
II
Our generation to which now under 70, still can write original materials about War. Can the memoirs which aren't borrowed, not read somewhere, but the. Memories of the fathers, uncles, other relatives and people who really were at war. But also stories about the teachers, elder brothers and sisters is too, anyway, War, even without direct mentions of it as all these people passed through Terrible Tests of those of years will concern.
And in 20 years and about us who were born in the fortieth post-war it will be possible to put stories which at desire and need can be connected with that Awful War.
Need of such coordinations – at us in blood, passes from father to son: festivals, celebrations, parades, the dated awards, awards and payments, and also meetings, competitions, marathons and other. Also isn't necessary to us neither to refuse the blood, nor to be forged under the tastes, bents, fashion and requirements flowing from the West or the East. The person and the People – be oneself!
Other is, including, and a talk-show. Only back we and words such didn't hear quarter of the century. And now a talk-show – one of the main means and on creation of visibility of interest in the ordinary person, and on production of excess steam among the population, both on a entertainment and on killing of the time by TV viewers. Precisely, as in America! And not only on the Moscow TV! But even on the Tashkent!.
Hmm! Without irony at us – though burst! – not to manage in any way …
III
Let War wouldn't be absolutely. Let without it Nurzify would have other son, not I. Let there would be no me at all. Though if to believe in soul human, her immortality and resettlement from one body in another … And people to whom not I am a couple trusted and trust: they are higher than me in intellectual and spiritual development. And in ancient times, both in the subsequent, and in the current. From contemporaries I will call Luule Viilma Estonian, to a great regret, died in road accident at the age of 52 years, and the well Canadian John Kehoe and American Louise Hay. They should be trusted: they have a wealth of experience and big practice of removal of thousands and thousands of people from darkness of delusions in which, in general, and try to keep the people strong and rich this world. And therefore I would be now and without that War. Let at other parents, blood, skin, bones and meat, but would take place among the live. And for certain would be more developed, more advanced. The same – and my contemporaries. And also – generations which follow us.
Wars is the evil! Reckless violation of all human norms and laws! Destruction of people! Destruction of their works and creations. Wars is in the person from animal type of hyenas: to pull hard pack, to take away and appropriate that is got or created by others, – every time led up in the history of mankind at all big people to the point of absurdity and even madnesses by avidity and short-sightedness of governors and others. So was and is: and in the Stone Age, both copper, and the subsequent, and present, nuclear.
To wars – no! To glorification of wars and conquerors even if in the history of the country more also there is nobody to excite patriotism and pride of the people, – no! Alas to you, presidents and prime ministers! Alas to you, the rich persons standing behind governors and pushing them in a back! What you are the powers that be if can't arrange the world peacefully! You continue to fatten and milk the Cow of Mars, being covered with verbalizations that there are wars aggressive and is fair that there are aggressors and there are defenders of the Fatherland that there is a totalitarianism and there is a democracy.
Alas to you, intellectuals and cultural figures! A pinch of snuff there are no yours sorbonnes, garvards and oxfords, it isn't worth a pin for yours nobels, oscars, grammy, nickas and other regalia and awards if you for the glory and profits, using mercenary indulgence of the authorities, continue to heroize war and blood, to popularize crimes, to dip readers and the audience with the head into low-standard fiziologizm, unimaginable or silly fictions! If can't unite against orgy of a profit and assignment of foreign good, foreign riches! If you betray the highest mission of the creative person, namely: to live and work for the sake of a peace arrangement on conscience, justice and mind!
Alas to all of us! We in essence still nearby left people of a cave eyelid. And in something became more cunning, artful, mean, cruel. Without speaking about perversity, affectation of our way of life, the majority of our requirements and habits. Such we also suit governors, their teams and oligarchs, masters and producers of entertainments, shows and leisure of masses. And they, let will be repetition introduced slightly higher than the idea, do everything possible also impossible that we such also remained from century to century. Therefore the Cow of Mars is also live, very well-fad and productive. Therefore with the doctrines and systems of the power urged to serve the people in defiance, counter, out of and over the norms and barriers established by the capital, irreconcilable war was waged and waged. And if someone also manages as speak to break, then he is (person), it is (doctrine), it is (system) or degenerates under pressure of an environment and the failures, betrays the initial ideals, is obvious or reserved; or suffers a crushing defeat; or perishes violent death. That weren't a beacon for the people. That didn't serve as a reproach to the international business, didn't interfere with a general robbing of people, supranational assignment of natural riches. That it was untempting to another. The Soviet Union, Muammar Gaddafi and his Jamahiriya – let and diverse, let and with reservations, but examples of that.
IV
The powers that be have one more means rather an idea, which puts on in democratic clothes, but in practice – smart and artful: restriction of the period of action of one person in the head of state and two-party system (parties, as a rule, it is more, but the main – two). The governor worked at most two terms (for the second too it was necessary to struggle with rivals) – and "give, good-bye!". And new election campaign, new candidate, new rhetoric, new hopes of electorate, even if candidate from the party of the power. When the people are tired of one party, are disappointed in it, then another succeeds, encouraging and tempting the population with dizzy promises. Anyway, after a while the new governor turns into same "dragon" to whom succeeded in the party or with whom recently, being in opposition, combated.
Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia, it seems, even without blood joined soon enough a drakonizm of the western manner.
Ukraine through regularly repeating Maidan, through revolution and civil war, through alienation from Russia, servility and grovelling of the governors before the West, also has some experience of a "civilized" drakonizm.
In Kyrgyzstan and Georgia for the Post-Soviet period too the head of state changed more than once. And too through disorders, revolts and loss of human life. Georgia besides "succeeded" and in civil war, and in military collision with the northern neighbor as a result of which lost Abkhazia and South Ossetia.
In Azerbaijan the power is descended: from the father – to the son. In Armenia – it changed through elections. These two neighboring countries were at war because of Nagorno-Karabakh, still are at enmity in view of a problem suspense.
In Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan – so far same "dragons", constant and irreplaceable, not young, and if in plain terms – elderly as dominate since a last breath of communistic system, that is already more than a quarter of the century.
In Russia – a bit different situation. Involuntarily there is a ridiculous thought: to it return of a monarchy – and just right …
Tajikistan endured civil war. Until recently in many respects it existed thanks to a gastrabayters in the main successor of the USSR. Now this feeding trough, speak, fairly it was worn out.
Turkmenistan – differs from neighbors. At least that is even more closed and stranger, than Uzbekistan.
Belarus … As her first and still only president (already more than 20 years), his country declares – is sovereign and independent, such remains always, and the Russian Federation never lifted a question of reunion. The Belarusian leader won't be on Parade of the Victory in Moscow. And it at all not for reasons of a protest order, either tactical, or servility before the Uncle Sam. In Minsk too there will be a big parade, and under the Constitution only the commander-in-chief can accept it.
Situation in present Central Asia. Earlier around the world so designated the natural country including the most part of China and Mongolia. And then four presidents of the newly made countries on lands of Middle Asia and Kazakhstan, probably, full of with feeling of own greatness, solved, what exactly they – the center of Asia. And so: a semi-feudal arbitrariness of the authorities under cover of democratic spells and slogans; life and security of most of the population are far from satisfactory level; friction between neighbors in territorial, water, power, national, transport and environmental problems; Afghanistan and Islamic extremism; collision of strategic interests of Russia, USA and China. Restlessly. It is fraught with political perturbations: the "dragons" who sat up in presidents aren't immortal; and to the Koschei Immortal as national legends say, the end comes once. Also military operations aren't excluded.
I hated L.I. Brezhnev. As well as many representatives of the intellectuals. Though in so-called years of stagnation, it seems, also I didn't treat her: I got a daily bread to a family and myself not intellectual professions. For that, including, also I hated. But now has to recognize: a Brezhnev's drakonizm – not ideal, not reasonable, not pure, not honest, but, perhaps, the best mode in all history of mankind for the vast majority of the people, that is for privates, so-called simple people.
The first years three Gorbachev drakonizm – the best for the Soviet intellectuals. That is hopes. Which not only didn't come true, but failed. Also turned back disintegration of the Soviet Union. And personal dramas in extreme forms.
Only two comparative facts. At Brezhnev most of the working people (and most of unemployed pensioners) living in any point of the huge Power was able to afford to have a rest every year though in Sochi, though in J;rmala, though in Sukhumi, though on Baikal, though on Kamchatka, though in Moscow. And everywhere you were the. And now … Personally I on 2-3 stops don't get on a city bus. I walk. It is useful. And, above all – it is economical. That is money. Not time. The uniform law in all present human relations – both others, and most close, by birth or on life: money – first of all. As for the city of my youth and my alma mater which loved very much and where there were no 20 years … What can be Moscow if, living in Tashkent, even on city transport save! And it doesn't inspire in me trust, the capital of Russia of the first quarter of the XXI century. I am not able to afford to be on its streets incidentally hackneyed or killed …
Summary: that we have now. To most of the people together with the conscientious intellectuals – is much worse, than was. Perfectly – to illegible, dexterous and successful figures of a mass culture with which creations the become stupid masses movable by an instinct, somehow try to facilitate the problems of a survival [generally – near a box "blue" (what color suspicious!)]. Well – a ruling clique, for the high-ranking officials and those who succeeded in "prikhvatization" (this without same "top" – it would be impossible). But also "kreslovik", and the oligarchs who ceased to arrange the Father happens, shake and shake up. Also suspect of frauds and theft. And those run for a cordon. Not in time prosecute. Put in prison. Sometimes shoot.
And everything that occurred and takes place now in the huge former Soviet Union, is the loop lasting from imperial Russia, revolutions, the pre-war USSR, War (which the Soviet people in rescue of and all Planet by all means had to win and won 70 years ago), degeneration of communists and communistic ideals in post-war times (from top to down, from the Politburo and the Central Committee to secretaries of primary organizations) ,"cold" war, races of arms, Brezhnev's "stagnation", Gorbachev babble, abolition of the Soviet Union by "the belovezhsky three".
This loop also induces to think: if in the XX century there would be no revolutions and wars, neither bloody, nor "cold", neither world, nor local, not only people, economy, science, culture would be much higher and better, than now, but also all countries, and the relations between them – kind, reliable, stable.
However all that was, – could be, alas.
But there is a strong wish to hope and believe that the drakonizm in which snare the people flutter since prehistoric times, isn't an inevitable and only fate of mankind. That after all it is possible to win against a drakonizm. That the current century gives a priority to the solution of internal, interstate and international problems by negotiations, but not wars. Demands different ways of management of masses, but not that, hardened and mossy, quasidemocratic or authoritative, dictatorial or still some others, obvious or secret with which people are still held for fools.
Otherwise – crash to the Planet.
For now … So far a drakonizm – it and in Africa a drakonizm. In all other Parts of the world – it is natural, too.
So far the most interested player in the international drakonizm, his most important inspirer, the generator, a source, the observer and the guard, the most productive forward goal-scorer is American Dollarchik. But to it Chinese Yuanka is already torn to change. Wants to take away from Dollarchik a rank world money. So, and the integral appendix – Vanka-Vstanki's prima role whom the American holds even more strong.
The most right and reasonable decision of the present: any mutual settlements between two states of a message in national currencies of the parties.
Listen, yours of the Excellency! Penetrate, your Majesties!
For now … So far war between Dollarchik and Yuanka already goes. Diplomatic, information and currency. As if I didn't burst armed with lethal means …
V
Oh! It already in any way not irony. – But alarm and grief. Whether you are light, my pechalyushka? – No, not from that row. It is serious. And even frowns brows.
Eh, we will drink, perhaps! We will fill in sorrow! We will turn it into fun and pleasure! Somehow was found among endured that War. We will drink, and then as it is got, we will sing.
What we will sing?
Yes here couplets. On the motive close to the song "Your Nobleness, Madam Udacha" from the movie "White Sun of the Desert". Well, let in a little rollicking arrangement.
Began! Amicably! Two last verses in each stanza – 2 times!
Yes both Pushkin, and Okudzhava listen to us!
Misters-comrades!
Mistresses-citizens!
Your Russian cabbage soup is high-calorie
Also steering-wheels are tasty.
Touched, but the servant
Rolls meat in a hot-water bottle,
And, as predator-pustelga,
All fell in plates.
Misters-comrades!
Mistresses-citizens!
Who nayet a seat,
Will get under tanks.
Why? Yes therefore,
That won't be able to scram,
And in a dream, shivering, in sweat,
Will tastefully cry.
Will cry and sob
Burning tears,
And to damn destiny
Bitter words.
And when, having woken up,
Will dump delusions,
Again will forget brakes
In race of an eating.
To you and crisis at all,
The Father protects you,
Ooh, orders at it –
Everywhere tear "to a paw"!
The people groan meanwhile …
What? In a dream? Not truly? –
Oh, you will wait, will find the ford
To tanks for a fencing.
VI
Nobody has to be forgotten. Nothing can be forgotten. Fulfillment of the Soviet people in the Great Patriotic War are unprecedented. The feat of the Soviet soldiers of all ranks is immortal. Our memory of that War, of those Soldiers, of those People – is sacred.
We will lift cups, somehow from olden days is found in Russia (and on all Earth – too), for millions and millions of people who made a contribution to the Great Victory! For the veterans who were killed in battles. For not survived in captivity and concentration camps, for burned in crematoriums. For nowadays well long-livers equated to participants of War. For all who endured War. Who worried on fire of battles. In captivity. Behind a barbed wire. In the back. In wounds. In hospitals. In the splinters which remained in a body. In amputations.
We will drink for all generations of the Soviet people, in dedicated work who restored the Power and removed it in world leaders in the most advanced branches of science, technicians and economies.
And yes there will be Great Soviet People an example of current generations. And that who will follow them during the near and future future.
And – for ever and ever!
Hurrah!
70-th anniversary of the Victory in the Great War
© Copyright: Ìàðàò Àâàç-Íóðçåô, 2015
Ñâèäåòåëüñòâî î ïóáëèêàöèè ¹115043001042
Ñâèäåòåëüñòâî î ïóáëèêàöèè ¹115043001042
Ðåöåíçèè
70-th anniversary of the Great Victory in the awful WWII
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Àëåêñàíäð Áëàãîâåñò 30.04.2015 10:30 • Çàÿâèòü î íàðóøåíèè
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Ìàðàò Àâàç-Íóðçåô 30.04.2015 10:44 Çàÿâèòü î íàðóøåíèè