Aitmatov Chingiz Torekulovich. white steamer

The action takes place on a dense forest cordon, high in the mountains, far from inhabited places. A seven-year-old boy, the granddaughter of old Momun, lives alone among adults, without friends, without mother and father; he is "abandoned". Only grandfather Momun loves and pities him - kind, but weak-willed, weak-willed. But the drunkard, fighter and despot of the entire Orozkul village hates and despises the defenseless kid. He mocks both his grandfather and his wife ...

From the top of the Karaulnaya Mountain, a view opened up in all directions. Lying on his stomach, the boy tried on binoculars to his eyes. These were strong field glasses. Once the grandfather was awarded for long service on the cordon. The old man did not like to mess with binoculars: "I have my own eyes no worse." But his grandson loved him.

This time he came to the mountain with binoculars and a briefcase.

At first, the objects jumped, shifted in the round window, then suddenly acquired clarity and immobility. This was the most interesting thing. The boy held his breath so as not to disturb the trick he had found. Then he shifted his gaze to another point - and again everything shifted. The boy began to turn the eyepieces again.

Everything was visible from here. And the highest snowy peaks, above which only the sky. They stood behind all the mountains, over all the mountains and over all the earth. And those mountains that are lower than the snowy ones are wooded mountains, overgrown with deciduous thickets below, and dark pine forests above. And the Kungei mountains facing the sun; nothing grew on the slopes of the Kungei except grass. And the mountains are even smaller, on the side where the lake is, just bare rocky ridges. Ridges descended into the valley, and the valley merges with the lake. On the same side lay fields, orchards, villages... Through the greenery of the crops, yellowness was already showing through the streaks - the harvest was approaching. Like mice, tiny motor vehicles ran along the roads, and long dusty tails curled behind them. And on the farthest edge of the earth, where the eye could only reach, behind the sandy coastal strip, the convex curvature of the lake was thickly blue. That was Issyk-Kul. There, water and sky met. And then there was nothing. The lake lay still, shining and deserted. Only slightly noticeable was the white foam of the surf stirring near the shore.

The boy looked in that direction for a long time. "The white steamer didn't show up," he told the briefcase. “Let’s take another look at our school.”

From here one could see the entire neighboring valley beyond the mountain. Through binoculars one could even see the yarn in the hands of an old woman who was sitting near the house, under the window.

The Jelesai hollow was treeless, only in some places old lonely pines remained after felling. There used to be a forest here. Now barnyards stood in rows under slate roofs, and large black piles of dung and straw could be seen. Here the breeding young animals of the dairy farm were raised. Immediately, not far from the cattle yards, perched a short street - a village of livestock breeders. The street descended from a gentle hillock. On the very edge of it stood a small house, uninhabited in appearance. It was a four-year school. The children of the senior classes went to study at the state farm, at the boarding school. And the kids were learning.

The boy was in the village with his grandfather at the paramedic when his throat hurt. Now he was staring through binoculars at a small school under brown tiles, with a lone rickety chimney, with a homemade inscription on a plywood sign: “Mektep”. He could not read, but he guessed that this word was written. Through binoculars, everything was visible to the smallest, improbably small details. Some words scrawled on the plaster of the wall, glued glass in the window frame, the bent, chipped boards of the veranda. He imagined coming in here with his briefcase and stepping through the door that now had a large padlock on it. And what is there, what will be there, behind this door?

When he had finished examining the school, the boy turned his binoculars back to the lake. But everything was still there. The white steamer has not yet appeared. The boy turned away, sat down with his back to the lake and began to look down the mountain, putting the binoculars aside. Below, right under the mountain, along the bottom of an oblong hollow, a stormy, rapids river silvered. Along with the river, the road wound along the bank, and together with the river, the road was hidden behind the turn of the gorge. The opposite bank was steep and wooded. This is where the San-Tash Reserved Forest began, going high into the mountains, under the very snow. The pines climbed the highest. Among the stones and snow they bristled like dark brushes on the crests of mountain ranges.

The boy mockingly looked at the houses, sheds and outbuildings in the courtyard of the cordon. They looked small and fragile from above. Beyond the cordon, further along the coast, he could make out his familiar stones. All of them - "Camel", "Wolf", "Saddle", "Tank" - he first saw from here, from Karaulnaya Hill, through binoculars, then he gave them names.

The boy smiled mischievously, got up and launched a stone towards the yard. The stone fell right there on the mountain. The boy sat down again and began to examine the cordon through binoculars. First, through large lenses into smaller ones - the houses ran far, far away, turned into toy boxes. The boulders became pebbles. And the grandfather's dam on the river bank seemed completely ridiculous - a sparrow knee-deep. The boy chuckled, shook his head and, quickly turning the binoculars over, adjusted the eyepieces. His favorite boulders, enlarged to enormous proportions, seemed to rest their foreheads on the glasses of the binoculars. "Camel", "Wolf", "Saddle", "Tank" were so impressive: notched, cracked, with spots of rusty lichen on the sides; and most importantly, they were really very similar to what the boy saw in them. “Wow, what a wolf! And "Tank", wow! .. "

Behind the boulders on the shallows was the grandfather's dam. With binoculars you can clearly see this place near the shore. Here, on a wide pebbly shoal, the water ran casually from the rapids and, boiling up on the rifts, ran back into the rapids. The water in the shallows came up to the knees. But the current was such that the current could easily carry a boy like him into the river. In order not to be blown away by the current, the boy grabbed hold of the coastal willow tree - the bush grew on the very edge, some branches on land, others rinsed in the river - and plunged into the water. So what is swimming? Like a horse on a leash. Yes, how many troubles, swearing! Grandma reprimanded grandfather: “He will take him into the river, let him blame himself - I won’t lift a finger. Painfully needed! Father, mother abandoned. And I have enough other worries, I have no strength.

What will you tell her? The old one seems to be right. But the boy is also sorry: the river is nearby, almost at the door. No matter how the old woman frightened, the boy still climbed into the water. That's when Momun decided to build a dam of stones on the shallows, so that there was a place for the boy to swim without fear.

How many stones old Momun dragged, choosing those that were larger so that they would not be carried away by the current! He wore them, pressing them to his stomach, and, standing in the water, laid them one by one so that the water flowed freely between the stones and flowed out just as freely. Funny, skinny, with his sparse little beard, in wet trousers sticking to his body, he fiddled with this dam all day. And in the evening he lay in bed, coughing, and he could not straighten his lower back. This is where the grandmother went with might and main: “The little fool is the little one, but what can I say about the old fool? What the hell were you up to? You feed, you eat, so what else? You indulge every whim. Oh, it will not bring it to good! .. "

Be that as it may, the dam on the shallows turned out to be excellent. Now the boy bathed without fear. Grasping a branch, he climbed off the bank and threw himself into the stream. And always with open eyes. Open because fish swim in the water with their eyes open. He had such a strange dream: he wanted to turn into a fish. And float away.

Looking through the binoculars at the dam now, the boy imagined how he takes off his shirt, pants and, naked, shivering, climbs into the water. The water in the mountain rivers is always cold, it takes your breath away, but then you get used to it. He imagined how, holding on to a willow branch, he rushes face down into the stream. How noisily the water closes over your head, how it flows hotly under your stomach, down your back, down your legs. External sounds are silenced under water, and only a murmur remains in the ears. And he, wide-eyed, diligently looks at everything that can be seen under water. His eyes sting, his eyes hurt, but he smiles proudly to himself and even shows his tongue in the water. He is the grandmother. Let him know that he will not drown at all, and is not at all afraid of anything. Then he releases the branch from his hands, and the water drags him, dragging him until he rests his feet on the stones of the dam. This is where the breath stops. He immediately jumps out of the water, climbs out onto the shore and again runs to the willow bush. And so many times. At least a hundred times a day he was ready to swim in the grandfather's dam. Until it eventually turns into a fish. And he definitely, by all means, wanted to become a fish ...

Looking at the river bank, the boy moved the binoculars to his yard. Chickens, turkeys with turkey poults, an ax leaning against a block of wood, a smoking samovar and various odds and ends in the courtyard turned out to be so incredibly large, they were so close that the boy involuntarily extended his hand to them. And then, to his horror, he saw through binoculars a brown calf enlarged to elephant size, calmly chewing linen hanging on a rope. The calf screwed up his eyes with pleasure, saliva flowed from his lips - it was so good for him to chew grandmother's dress in his full mouth.

- Oh, you fool! The boy stood up with binoculars and waved his hand. - Well, away! Listen, get out! Baltek, Baltek! (The dog in the lens was lying quietly under the house.) Bite, bite him! he ordered the dog in desperation.

But Baltek did not even take an ear. He lay to himself as if nothing had happened.

At that moment, my grandmother came out of the house. Seeing what was happening, the old woman threw up her hands. She grabbed a broom and rushed to the calf. The calf ran, the grandmother followed him. Without taking his binoculars off her, the boy sat down so that he could not be seen on the mountain. Having driven away the calf, the old woman, cursing, went to the house, choking with anger and rapid walking. The boy saw her as if he were next to her and even closer than next to her. He held it in the lens close-up, as in the movies, when a person's face is shown separately. He saw her yellow eyes narrowed with rage. He saw how her wrinkled, heavily lined face was turning red; like in a movie, when the sound suddenly disappears, grandmother's lips in binoculars moved quickly and soundlessly, exposing gapped, sparse teeth. It was impossible to make out what the old woman was shouting from afar, but her words to the boy were heard so precisely and clearly, as if she were speaking right under his ear. Oh, how she scolded him! He knew by heart: “Well, wait… You'll be back. I'm for you! And I won't look at my grandfather. How many times have I told you to throw that stupid peeper out. He ran up the mountain again. May it fail, that damned steamer, may it burn down, may it sink!..”

The boy on the mountain sighed heavily. It must have been on such a day when they bought a briefcase, when he was already dreaming of how he would go to school, to overlook the heifer! ..

The old woman did not hesitate. Continuing to scold, she looked at her chewed dress. Guldzhamal came out to her with her daughter. Complaining to her, the grandmother dispersed even more. She shook her fists at the mountain. Her bony dark fist loomed menacingly in front of the eyepieces: “I found some fun for myself. Damn it, damn ship! So that he burns, so that he drowns! .. "

The samovar was already boiling in the yard. It was visible through binoculars how jets of steam escaped from under the lid. Aunt Bekey went out to fetch the samovar. And then it started again. Grandmother almost shoved her chewed-up dress into her nose. On, they say, look at the antics of your nephew!

Aunt Bekey began to calm her down, to persuade her. The boy guessed what she was saying. About the same as before: “Calm down, eneke. The boy is still a fool - what a demand from him. He is alone, he has no friends. Why scream, why instill fear in the child?

To which the grandmother, no doubt, answered: “You don’t tell me. You yourself try to give birth, then you will find out what demand is from children. Why is he sticking out there, on the mountain? Heifer lasso him once. What is he looking for? Your unlucky parents? Those that gave birth to him and fled in different directions? Good for you, barren ... "

Even at this distance, the boy saw through binoculars how aunt Bekey's sunken cheeks turned deathly gray, how she thumped all over, and how - he knew exactly how the aunt was supposed to repay - she blurted out in the face of her stepmother: “And you yourself, the old witch How many sons and daughters did she raise? Who are you yourself?"

What started here! .. Grandmother howled with resentment. Guldzhamal tried to reconcile the women, persuaded, hugged her grandmother, wanted to take her home, but she became more and more inflamed, rushing around the yard, as if distraught. Aunt Bekey grabbed the boiling samovar, spilling boiling water, almost running carried it into the house. And the grandmother wearily sank down on the deck. Sobbing, she bitterly complained about her fate. Now the boy was forgotten, now the Lord God himself and the whole wide world got it. “It's me! Are you asking me who I am? - the grandmother was indignant after her stepdaughter. - Yes, if God had not punished me, if he had not carried away my five babies, if my son, the only one, had not fallen eighteen years old under a bullet in the war, if the old man, my beloved Taygara, had not frozen in a snowstorm with a flock sheep, would I be here among you forest people? Am I the same as you, a non-bearer? Would I have lived in my old age with your father, stupid Momun? For what sins-offenses did you punish me, damned god?

The boy took the binoculars away from his eyes and lowered his head sadly.

How are we going to get home now? he said softly to the briefcase. “It's all because of me and the stupid calf. And also because of you, binoculars. You always call me to look at the white steamer. You are to blame too.

The boy looked around. Around the mountains - rocks, stones, forests. From the heights, from the glaciers, sparkling streams fell silently, and only here, below, did the water seem to finally acquire a voice to eternally, incessantly make noise in the river. And the mountains were so huge and boundless. The boy felt at that moment very small, very lonely, completely lost. Only he and mountains, mountains, high mountains everywhere.

The sun was already setting on the lake side. It didn't get so hot. On the eastern slopes, the first, short shadows took up. The sun will now sink lower and lower, and the shadows will crawl down to the foot of the mountains. At this time of the day, a white steamer usually appeared at Issyk-Kul.

The boy turned the binoculars to the furthest place he could see and held his breath. Here he is! And everything was forgotten at once - there, in front, on the blue-blue edge of Issyk-Kul, a white steamer appeared. Came out. Here he is! With pipes in a row, long, powerful, beautiful. He swam, as if on a string, smoothly and straight. The boy hurriedly wiped the glasses with the hem of his shirt, adjusted the eyepieces once more. The outlines of the ship became even clearer. Now one could see how it swayed on the waves, how a bright foamy trail was left behind the stern. Not looking up, the boy looked with admiration at the white steamer. If it were his will, he would have begged the white steamer to sail closer so that he could see the people who were sailing on it. But the ship didn't know about it. He slowly and majestically walked his way, no one knows where and no one knows where.

It was seen for a long time how the steamer was sailing, and the boy thought for a long time about how he would turn into a fish and swim along the river to him, to the white steamer ...

When he first saw a white steamer on the blue Issyk-Kul from Karaulnaya Mountain, his heart throbbed so much from such beauty that he immediately decided that his father, an Issyk-Kul sailor, was sailing on this white steamer. And the boy believed it because he really wanted it.

He didn't remember his father or mother. He never saw them. None of them ever visited him. But the boy knew: his father was a sailor on Issyk-Kul, and his mother, after they separated from his father, left her son with her grandfather, and she herself left for the city. As she left, she disappeared. She left for a distant city beyond the mountains, beyond the lake and beyond the mountains.

Grandfather Momun once went to this city to sell potatoes. He disappeared for a whole week and, returning, told Aunt Bekey and grandmother over tea that he had seen his daughter, that is, his mother, the boy. She worked at some large factory as a weaver. She has a new family - two daughters, whom she sends to kindergarten and sees only once a week. He lives in a big house, but in a small room, so small that there is nowhere to turn around. And in the courtyard no one knows anyone, as in the market. And everyone lives like this - they will enter their room, and immediately the doors will be locked. Locked up constantly sit, as in prison. And her husband is like a driver, carrying people through the streets in a bus. Leaves from four in the morning until late. It's also hard work. His daughter, he said, kept crying, asking for forgiveness. They are next in line for a new apartment. When they will receive it is unknown. But when they receive it, he will take the son to himself, if the husband allows. And she asked the old man to wait. Momun's grandfather told her not to be sad. The most important thing is to live in harmony with her husband, the rest will be settled. And as for the son, let him not be killed. “As long as I’m alive, I won’t give the boy to anyone, but if I die, God will lead him, a living person will find his fate ...” Listening to the old man, Aunt Bekey and grandmother sighed and even cried together.

Just then, over tea, they started talking about their father. Grandfather heard that his former son-in-law, the boy's father, was still a sailor on some steamer and that he also had a new family, children, either two or three. They live near the pier. It looks like he stopped drinking. And every time the new wife goes out with the kids to the pier to meet him. “So,” thought the boy, “they meet this one, his steamer…”

And the ship sailed, slowly moving away. White and long, he glided along the blue surface of the lake with smoke from the pipes and did not know that a boy was swimming towards him, turning into a fish-boy.

He dreamed of turning into a fish so that everything he had was fish - body, tail, fins, scales - and only the head would remain its own, on a thin neck, large, round, with protruding ears, with a scratched nose. And the eyes are the same. Of course, so that at the same time they were not quite the same as they are, but looked like fish. The boy's eyelashes are long, like a heifer's, and they keep flapping all the time for some reason on their own. Guljamal says - if only her daughter would be like her, what a beauty she would grow up! Why be beautiful? Or handsome? Very necessary! Personally, he does not need beautiful eyes, he needs such ones to look under water.

The transformation was to take place in the grandfather's dam. Once - and he is a fish. Then he would immediately jump from the dam into the river, right into the seething rapids, and go downstream. And so on - jumping out and looking around; It is not interesting to swim only under water. He rushes along a fast river along a large red-clay cliff, over rapids, along breakers, past mountains, past forests. He says goodbye to his favorite boulders: "Goodbye Lying Camel, goodbye Wolf, goodbye Saddle, goodbye Tank." And when he swims past the cordon, he will jump out of the water, wave his fin to his grandfather: "Goodbye, ata, I'll be back soon." Grandfather would have been dumbfounded by such a diva and would not have known what to do. And the grandmother, and aunt Bekey, and Guldzhamal with her daughter - they would all stand with their mouths open. Where is it seen that the head was human, and the body of a fish? And he waves his fin at them: “Goodbye, I am sailing away to Issyk-Kul, to the white ship. My dad is a sailor there.” Baltek, probably, will rush to run along the coast. The dog had never seen anything like it. And if Baltek decides to throw himself into the water, he will shout: “You can’t, Baltek, you can’t! You will drown! - and he will swim further. It will dive under the cables of the suspension bridge, and further along the coastal tugai, and then down the roaring gorge, and swim straight to Issyk-Kul.

And Issyk-Kul is a whole sea. He swims along the Issyk-Kul waves, from wave to wave, from wave to wave - and then a white steamer meets him. “Hello, white ship, it's me! he says to the ship. “It was I who always looked at you through binoculars.” People on the ship would have been surprised, they ran to look at the miracle. And then he will say to his father, the sailor: “Hello, dad, I am your son. I swam to you." “What kind of son are you? You are half-fish, half-man!” - "And you take me to your ship, and I will become your ordinary son." – “That's great! Well, let's try." The father will throw the net, fish him out of the water, lift him to the deck. Here he turns into himself. And then, then...

Then the white steamer will sail on. The boy will tell his father about everything he knows, about his whole life. About the mountains among which he lives, about those same stones, about the river and the reserved forest, about the grandfather's dam, where he learned to swim like a fish, with his eyes open.

He will tell, of course, how he lives with his grandfather Momun. Let the father not think that if a person was nicknamed Quick Momun, it means that he is bad. There is no such grandfather anywhere, the best grandfather. But he is not at all cunning, because everyone laughs at him. And Uncle Orozkul, so he shouts at him - at the old man! It happens that in public he will yell at his grandfather. And the grandfather, instead of standing up for himself, forgives everything to Uncle Orozkul and even works for him in the forest, around the house. What works there! When Uncle Orozkul arrives drunk, instead of spitting in his shameless eyes, grandfather runs up to him, puts him off the horse, takes him to the house, puts him on the bed, covers him with a fur coat so that he does not get cold, so that his head does not hurt, but the horse unsaddles, cleans and feeds him. And all because of the fact that Aunt Bekey is non-bearing. Why is that, dad? It would be better: if you want - give birth, if you don't want - don't. Grandpa is sorry when Uncle Orozkul beats Aunt Bekey. It would be better if he beat the grandfather himself. So he suffers when Aunt Bekey screams. What can he do? He wants to rush to the rescue of his daughter, so his grandmother forbids him. “Don’t bother,” he says, “they will sort it out themselves. What do you want, old man? The wife is not yours, well, sit down. “So she’s my daughter!” And the grandmother: “What would you do if you didn’t live nearby, house to house, but far away? Every time you would ride on horseback to separate them? And who would then keep your daughter as a wife!

The grandmother I am talking about is not the one that was. You probably don't know her, Dad. This is another grandmother. My own grandmother died when I was little. And then this grandmother came. We often have incomprehensible weather - sometimes clear, sometimes cloudy, then rain and hail. Here is the grandmother, incomprehensible. Either good, or evil, or none at all. When angry - seize. My grandfather and I are silent. She says that no matter how much you feed a stranger, no matter how much you drink, do not expect good from him. So after all, I, dad, am not a stranger here. I have always lived with my grandfather. She is a stranger, she then came to us. And she began to call me a stranger.

In winter, we have snow piled up to my neck. Oh, and snowdrifts! If you go into the forest, you can only ride on the gray horse Alabash, he breaks through the snowdrifts with his chest. And the winds are very strong: you can’t stand on your feet. When the waves go on the lake, when your ship falls from side to side - know that our San-Tash wind shakes the lake. Grandfather said that a very, very long time ago, enemy troops were coming to capture this land. And then such a wind blew from our San-Tash that the enemies could not sit still in their saddles. They dismounted from their horses, but they could not go on foot either. The wind bled their faces. Then they turned away from the wind, and the wind drove them in the back, did not let them stop and drove them out of Issyk-Kul, every one. That's how it was. And here we are living on this wind! It starts from us. All winter the forest across the river creaks, hums, groans in the wind. Scary even.

In winter, there is not much to do in the forest. In winter, we are completely deserted, not like in summer, when nomads come. I love it very much when in the summer on a large meadow they stop for the night with flocks or herds. True, in the morning they go further into the mountains, but it’s still good with them. Their kids and women come in trucks. The yurts are also carrying various things in trucks. When they settle down a bit, my grandfather and I go to say hello. We greet everyone by the hand. And me too. Grandfather says that the youngest should always be the first to give a hand to people. Who does not give a hand, he does not respect people. And then the grandfather says that out of seven people, one can be a prophet. He is a very kind and smart person. And the one who greets him by the hand will become happy for life. And I say: if so, then why does not this prophet say that he is a prophet, and we would all shake hands with him. Grandfather laughs: that's the point, he says, that the prophet himself does not know that he is a prophet - he is a simple person. Only a robber knows about himself that he is a robber. It’s not entirely clear to me, but I always say hello to people, although I sometimes feel a little ashamed.

End of introductory segment.

He had two stories. One of its own, which no one knew about. The other is the one that my grandfather told. Then none remained. This is what we're talking about.
That year he was seven years old, he was eighth.
First, a briefcase was purchased. Black leatherette briefcase with a shiny metal clasp that slides under the shackle. With slip pocket for small items. In a word, an unusual most ordinary school bag. This is probably where it all started.
Grandfather bought it in a visiting car shop. The truck shop, driving around with the goods of cattle breeders in the mountains, sometimes looked at them at the forest cordon, in the San-Tashskaya pad.
From here, from the cordon, along the gorges and slopes, the reserved mountain forest rose to the upper reaches. There are only three families on the cordon. But still, from time to time, the mobile shop visited the foresters.
The only boy in all three yards, he was always the first to notice the mobile shop.
- Goes! he shouted, running to the doors and windows. - The car-shop is coming!
The wheel road made its way here from the coast of Issyk-Kul, all the time through the gorge, the river bank, all the time over stones and potholes. It was not very easy to drive on such a road. Having reached the Karaulnaya mountain, it climbed from the bottom of the gorge to the slope and from there it went down a steep and bare slope for a long time to the yards of the foresters. Karaulnaya Gora is very close - in the summer almost every day the boy ran there to look at the lake with binoculars. And there, on the road, you can always see everything at a glance - both on foot, and on horseback, and, of course, a car.
That time - and this happened in a hot summer - the boy was swimming in his dam and from here he saw how dusty the car was on the slope. The dam was on the edge of the river bank, on a pebble. It was built by my grandfather from stones. If not for this dam, who knows, maybe the boy would not have been alive for a long time. And, as the grandmother said, the river would have washed his bones long ago and carried them straight to Issyk-Kul, and fish and every water creature would have looked at them there. And no one would look for him and kill himself on him - because there is nothing to climb into the water and because it does not hurt anyone who needs him. So far this has not happened. And if it happened, who knows, the grandmother, maybe, really would not have rushed to save. He would still be her own, otherwise, she says, a stranger. And a stranger is always a stranger, no matter how much you feed him, no matter how much you follow him. Alien ... And what if he does not want to be a stranger? And why exactly should he be considered a stranger? Maybe not he, but the grandmother herself is a stranger?
But more about that later, and about the grandfather's dam, too, later...
So, he then saw a mobile shop, it was descending from the mountain, and behind it, along the road, dust swirled behind. And so he was delighted, he knew for sure that a briefcase would be bought for him. He immediately jumped out of the water, quickly pulled his trousers over his skinny thighs, and, still wet himself, turning blue - the water in the river was cold - ran along the path to the yard in order to be the first to announce the arrival of the mobile shop.
The boy ran quickly, jumping over the bushes and running around the boulders, if he could not jump over them, and did not linger for a second anywhere - neither near the tall grasses, nor near the stones, although he knew that they were not at all simple. They could be offended and even turn their legs. “The car-shop has arrived. I’ll come later, ”he threw on the go to“ Lying Camel ”- that is how he called the red humpbacked granite, chest-deep into the ground. Usually a boy didn't pass by without patting his Camel on the back. He clapped it in a businesslike way, like the grandfather of his short-tailed gelding - so, casually, casually; you, they say, wait, and I'll leave here on business. He had a boulder "Saddle" - half white, half black, piebald stone with a saddle, where you could sit on horseback, like on a horse. There was also a stone "Wolf" - very similar to a wolf, brown, with gray hair, with a powerful scruff and heavy forehead. He crawled up to him and took aim. But the most favorite stone is "Tank", an indestructible block near the river on the washed-out bank. So wait, the “Tank” will rush from the shore and go, and the river will boil, boil with white breakers. After all, tanks go to the cinema like this: from the shore to the water - and they went ... The boy rarely saw films and therefore remembered what he saw. Grandfather sometimes took his grandson to the cinema at the state farm breeding farm in a neighboring tract beyond the mountain. That's why the "Tank" appeared on the shore, always ready to rush across the river. There were also others - "harmful" or "good" stones, and even "cunning" and "stupid".
Among the plants, too - "favorite", "brave", "fearful", "evil" and all sorts of others. The prickly bodyak, for example, is the main enemy. The boy fought with him dozens of times a day. But the end of this war was not in sight - the bodyak grew and multiplied. But field bindweeds, although they are also weedy, are the smartest and most cheerful flowers. Best of all they meet the sun in the morning. Other herbs do not understand anything - what is morning, what is evening, they do not care. And bindweeds, only warm the rays, open their eyes, laugh. First one eye, then the second, and then, one by one, all the twists of flowers bloom on the bindweeds. White, light blue, lilac, different ... And if you sit very quietly near them, it seems that when they wake up, they whisper inaudibly about something. Ants - and they know it. In the morning they run through the bindweeds, squint in the sun and listen to what the flowers are talking about among themselves. Maybe dreams tell?
During the day, usually at noon, the boy liked to climb into the thickets of stalky shiraljins. Shiraljins are tall, there are no flowers on them, but they are fragrant, they grow in islands, they gather in a bunch, not letting other herbs close. The Shiraljins are true friends. Especially if there is some kind of offense and you want to cry so that no one sees, it is best to hide in shiraljins. They smell like a pine forest on the edge. Hot and quiet in shiraljins. And most importantly - they do not obscure the sky. You need to lie on your back and look at the sky. At first, through the tears, almost nothing can be distinguished. And then the clouds will come and do whatever you think of above. The clouds know that you are not feeling well, that you want to go somewhere, go fly away so that no one finds you and that everyone sighs and gasps later - the boy disappeared, they say, where can we find him now? .. And so that this is not it happened that you would not disappear anywhere, that you would lie quietly and admire the clouds, the clouds will turn into whatever you want. From the same clouds, a variety of things are obtained. You just need to be able to find out what the clouds represent.
And it is quiet in shiraljins, and they do not obscure the sky. Here they are, shiraljins, smelling of hot pines...
And he knew all sorts of other things about herbs. To the silvery feather grasses that grew on the floodplain meadow, he treated indulgently. They are eccentrics - feather grasses! Windy heads. Eid soft, silky panicles cannot live without wind. They just wait - wherever it blows, they tend to go there. And they all bow as one, the whole meadow, as if on command. And if it rains or a thunderstorm begins, the feather grasses do not know where to stumble. They rush, they fall, they cling to the ground. If there were legs, they would probably run away wherever they look ... But they are pretending. The storm subsides, and again the frivolous feather grasses in the wind - where the wind goes, they go there ...
Alone, without friends, the boy lived in a circle of those simple things that surrounded him, and only a mobile shop could make him forget about everything and headlong run to her. What can I say, a mobile shop is not stones or some kind of herbs for you. What is there just not in the car shop!
When the boy ran to the house, the mobile shop was already approaching the yard, behind the houses. The houses on the cordon faced the river, the courtyard turned into a gentle slope straight to the shore, and on the other side of the river, immediately from the washed-out ravine, the forest rose steeply over the mountains, so that there was only one entrance to the cordon - behind the houses. If the boy had not run in time, no one would have known that the mobile shop was already here.
There were no men at that hour, everyone dispersed in the morning. The women were doing household chores. But then he screamed piercingly, running to the open doors:
- Arrived! The car shop has arrived! The women got excited. They rushed to look for hidden money. And they jumped out, overtaking one another. Grandma and she praised him:
-Here we have what big-eyed!
The boy felt flattered, as if he had brought the mobile shop himself. He was happy because he brought them this news, because he rushed to the backyard with them, because he pushed with them at the open door of the van. But here the women immediately forgot about him. They were not up to it. The goods are different - the eyes ran wide. There were only three women: a grandmother, aunt Bekey - his mother's sister, the wife of the most important person on the cordon, the ranger Orozkul - and the wife of an auxiliary worker Seidakhmat - a young Guldzhamal with her girl in her arms. Only three women. But they were so fussy, sorting and stirring the goods, that the seller of the mobile shop had to demand that they respect the queue and not chatter all at once.
However, his words did not really affect the women. At first they grabbed everything, then they began to choose, then return what was taken away. They put it off, tried it on, argued, doubted, asked dozens of times about the same thing. They did not like one thing, the other was expensive, the third had the wrong color ... The boy stood aside. He got bored. The expectation of something extraordinary disappeared, the joy that he experienced when he saw a mobile shop on the mountain disappeared. The mobile shop suddenly turned into an ordinary car, stuffed with a bunch of different rubbish.
The seller frowned: it was not clear that these women were going to buy at least something. Why did he come here, to such a distance, through the mountains?
That's how it learned. The women began to retreat, their ardor abated, as if they were even tired. For some reason, they began to make excuses - either to each other, or to the seller. The grandmother was the first to complain that there was no money. And there is no money in your hands - you will not take the goods. Aunt Bekey did not dare to make a big purchase without her husband. Aunt Bekey is the most unfortunate among all women in the world, because she has no children, for this Orozkul beats her drunk, and therefore the grandfather suffers, because Aunt Bekey is his grandfather's daughter. Aunt Bekey took some change and two bottles of vodka. And in vain, and in vain - the very same will be worse. Grandma couldn't resist.
- Why are you calling trouble on your own head? she hissed so the salesman wouldn't hear her.
“I know it myself,” Aunt Bekey snapped shortly.
- Well, you fool, - the grandmother whispered even quieter, but with gloating pleasure. If there hadn't been a salesman, she would have reprimanded Aunt Bekey right now. Wow, they are arguing!
Rescued young Guldzhamal. She began to explain to the seller that her Seidakhmat was going to the city soon, the city would need money, so she could not fork out.
So they hung around near the truck shop, bought goods "for a penny", so the seller said, and went home. Well, is it a trade! Spitting after the departed women, the seller began to collect the disheveled goods in order to get behind the wheel and leave. Then he noticed the boy.
- What are you, eared? - he asked. The boy had protruding ears, a thin neck and a large, round head. - Do you want to buy? Hurry up, or I'll close it. Is there money?
The seller asked like this, just because there was nothing to do, but the boy answered respectfully:
- No, uncle, no money - and shook his head.
- And I think there is, - the seller drawled with feigned distrust. - You're all rich here, you just pretend to be poor. And what do you have in your pocket, isn't it money.
- No, uncle, - the boy answered sincerely and seriously and turned out his tattered pocket. (The second pocket was sewn shut.)
- So, your money woke up. Look where you ran. You will find.
They were silent.
- Whose will you be? - the seller began to ask again. - Old Momun, or what?
The boy nodded in response.
- Do you get to know him as a grandson?
- Yes. The boy nodded again.
- Where's the mother?
The boy didn't say anything. He didn't want to talk about it.
- She does not give news about herself at all, your mother. You don't know yourself, do you?
- I do not know.
- And the father? Don't you know either?
The boy was silent.
- What is it you, friend, do not know anything? - playfully reproached his seller. - Well, okay, if so. Hold, - he took out a handful of sweets. - And be healthy.
The boy hesitated.
- Take it, take it. Don't delay. It's time for me to go. The boy put the sweets in his pocket and was about to run after the car to see the truck down the road. He called Baltek, a terribly lazy, shaggy dog. Orozkul kept threatening to shoot him - why, they say, keep such a dog. Yes, grandfather begged everyone to wait: it is necessary, they say, to get a shepherd dog, and take Baltek somewhere and leave it. Baltek didn’t care about anything - the well-fed slept, the hungry always sucked up to someone, to their own and others indiscriminately, if only they would throw something. That's how he was, the dog Baltek. But sometimes, out of boredom, he ran after cars. True, not far. It will only accelerate, then suddenly turn around and trot home. Unreliable dog. Still, running with a dog is a hundred times better than running without a dog. Whatever it is - still a dog ...
Slowly, so as not to see the seller, the boy tossed Baltek one piece of candy. “Look,” he warned the dog. "We'll be running for a long time." Baltek squealed, wagged his tail - he waited for more. But the boy did not dare to throw another candy. After all, you can offend a person, but he didn’t give a whole handful for a dog.
And just then, my grandfather showed up. The old man went to the apiary, but from the apiary one cannot see what is happening behind the houses. And it turned out that the grandfather arrived on time, the mobile shop had not yet left. Happening. Otherwise, the grandson would not have a portfolio. The boy was lucky that day.
Old Momun, whom the wise people called Quick Momun, was known by everyone in the area, and he knew everyone. Momun earned such a nickname by his invariable friendliness to everyone whom he knew even the slightest bit, by his readiness to always do something for anyone, to serve anyone. And yet, his zeal was not appreciated by anyone, just as gold would not be appreciated if it suddenly began to be distributed free of charge. No one treated Momun with the respect that people of his age enjoy. He was easily dealt with. It happened that at the great commemoration of some noble old man from the Bugu tribe - and Momun was a Bugin by birth, he was very proud of this and never missed the commemoration of his fellow tribesmen - he was instructed to slaughter cattle, meet honored guests and help them get off the saddle, serve tea, and then chop wood, carry water. Is it not enough trouble at a big commemoration, where there are so many guests from different sides? Everything that Momun was entrusted with, he did quickly and easily, and most importantly, he did not shirk like others. The aiyl young women who had to receive and feed this huge horde of guests, looking at how Momun managed his work, said:
“What would we do if it wasn’t for Quick Momun!”
And it turned out that the old man, who came with his grandson from afar, found himself in the role of an assistant dzhigit-samovar maker. Who else in Momun's place would burst from insult. And Momun at least that!
And no one was surprised that the old Quick Momun served the guests
- that's why he has been Efficient Momun all his life. It's his own fault that he's Efficient Momun. And if any of the outsiders expressed surprise why, they say, you, an old man, are running errands for women, did young guys disappear in this village, Momun answered: “The deceased was my brother. (He considered all the Bugins to be brothers. But they were no less “brothers” to other guests.) Who should work at his commemoration if not me? That's why we Bugins are related to our ancestor herself - the Horned Mother Deer. And she, the wonderful mother deer, bequeathed to us friendship both in life and in memory ... "
This is how he was. Quick Momun!
Both the old and the young were with him on "you", it was possible to play a trick on him - the old man is harmless; one could not even reckon with him - the old man was unrequited. No wonder, they say, people do not forgive those who do not know how to make themselves respected. And he couldn't.
He did a lot in life. He worked as a carpenter, as a saddleman, he was a stacker; when I was still younger, I used to set up such stacks on the collective farm that it was a pity to take them apart in winter: the rain flowed down from the stacks like from a goose, and the snow fell like a gable roof. During the war, the Labor Army soldiers in Magnitogorsk laid factory walls, they called them a Stakhanovite. He returned, cut down houses on the cordon, and was engaged in forestry. Although he was listed as an auxiliary worker, he kept an eye on the forest, and Orozkul, his son-in-law, mostly visited guests. Unless when the authorities come, then Orozkul himself will show the forest and arrange a hunt, then he was the master. Momun went for cattle, and he kept an apiary. Momun lived all his life from morning to evening in work, in troubles, but he did not learn how to force himself to be respected.
And Momun's appearance was not at all aksakal's. No degree, no importance, no severity. He was a good-natured man, and at first glance this ungrateful human quality was discerned in him. At all times they teach such: “Do not be kind, be evil! Here's to you, here's to you! Be evil, ”and he, to his misfortune, remains incorrigibly kind. His face was smiling and wrinkled, and his eyes were always asking: “What do you want? Do you want me to do something for you? So I am now, you just tell me what your need is.
The nose is soft, ducky, as if completely without cartilage. Yes, and a small, nimble, old man, like a teenager.
What a beard - and that failed. One laugh. On a bare chin, two or three reddish hairs - that's the whole beard.
Whether it's a matter - you see suddenly a portly old man is riding along the road, and his beard is like a sheaf, in a spacious fur coat with a wide lambskin lapel, in an expensive hat, and even with a good horse, and a silver-plated saddle - what is not a sage, what is not a prophet, and bow to such it’s not shameful, such an honor is everywhere! And Momun was born only Quick Momun. Perhaps his only advantage was that he was not afraid to drop himself in someone's eyes. (He sat down in the wrong way, said the wrong thing, answered the wrong way, smiled the wrong way, wrong, wrong, wrong…) In this sense, Momun, without suspecting it himself, was an extremely happy person. Many people die not so much from diseases, but from an irrepressible, eternal passion that gnaws at them - to pretend to be more than they are. (Who doesn't want to be known as smart, dignified, handsome and, moreover, formidable, just and decisive?..) But Momun was not like that. He was an eccentric, and they treated him like an eccentric.
One could greatly offend Momun: forget to invite him to the council of relatives on arranging someone's commemoration ... At this point, he was deeply offended and seriously worried about the insult, but not because he was bypassed - he still did not decide anything at the councils, only attended - but because the fulfillment of an ancient duty was violated.
Momun had his own troubles and sorrows, from which he suffered, from which he cried at night. Outsiders knew almost nothing about it. But their people knew.
When Momun saw his grandson near the mobile shop, he immediately realized that the boy was upset about something. But since the seller is a visiting person, the old man first turned to him. He quickly jumped off the saddle, extended both hands to the seller at once.
- Assalam-alaikum, big merchant! he said half jokingly, half seriously. - Has your caravan arrived safely, is your trade going well? - all beaming, Momun shook the hand of the seller. - How much water has flowed under the bridge, how not to see each other! Welcome!
The salesman, condescendingly laughing at his speech and unsightly appearance - all the same well-worn tarpaulin boots, canvas trousers sewn by an old woman, a shabby jacket, a felt hat turned brown from rain and sun, - answered Momun:
- The caravan is safe. Only now it turns out - the merchant to you, and you from the merchant through the forests and down the valleys. And you punish your wives to keep a penny, like a soul before death. Here, at least they fill up with goods, no one will fork out.
“Don’t demand, dear,” Momun apologized embarrassedly. - If you knew you were coming, you wouldn't leave. And if there is no money, then there is no court. Let's sell potatoes in the fall ...
- Tell me! - the seller interrupted him. - I know you, smelly bais. Sit in the mountains, land, hay as much as you want. Forests all around - you can’t go around in three days. Do you keep cattle? Do you keep a paska? And to give a penny - you squeeze. Buy here a silk blanket, the sewing machine is left alone.
- By God, there is no such money, - Momun justified himself.
- So I believe it. You're stingy, old man, you're saving money. And where to?
- By God, no, I swear by the Horned Mother Deer!
- Well, take the corduroy, sew new pants.
- I would take it, I swear by the Horned Mother Deer ...
- Uh, what's the deal with you! - the seller waved his hand. - In vain came. Where is Orozkul?
- In the morning I still went, it seems, to Aksai. The affairs of the shepherds.
- Staying, therefore, - knowingly specified the seller.
There was an awkward pause.
“Don’t be offended, dear,” Momun spoke again. - In the autumn, God willing, we will sell potatoes ...
- It's far from autumn.
- Well, if so, do not blame me. For God's sake, come in and have some tea.
“That’s not what I came for,” the seller refused. He began to close the door of the van, and then he said, glancing at his grandson, who was already standing beside the old man, holding the dog by the ear to run after the car:
- Well, buy at least a briefcase. It's time for the boy to go to school, right? How old is he?
Momun immediately seized on this idea: at least he would buy something from a stubborn autoshop, and his grandson really needed a briefcase, this fall he would go to school.
“It’s true,” Momun fussed, “I didn’t even think about it. As same, seven, the eighth already. Come here, - he called his grandson.
Grandfather rummaged in his pockets, took out a hidden five.
She must have been with him for a long time, already caked.
- Hold on, big-eared. - The seller winked slyly at the boy and handed him the briefcase. - Now study. And if you don’t master the letter, you will stay with your grandfather forever in the mountains.
- Master it! He is smart, - Momun replied, counting the change.
Then he looked at his grandson, awkwardly holding a brand new briefcase, pressed him to himself.
- That's good. You'll go to school in the fall," he said softly. The firm, weighty palm of the grandfather softly covered the boy's head.
And he felt how suddenly his throat was strongly squeezed, and he sharply felt the thinness of his grandfather, the familiar smell of his clothes. He smelled of dry hay and the sweat of a hard-working man. Faithful, reliable, dear, perhaps the only person in the world who did not look for a soul in a boy, was such a simple, eccentric old man, whom the wise men called Quick Momun ... So what? Whatever it is, it’s good that you still have your own grandfather.
The boy himself did not suspect that his joy would be so great. Until now, he had not thought about school. Until now, he only saw children going to school - there, beyond the mountains, in the Issyk-Kul villages, where he and his grandfather went to the wake of noble Bugin old people. And from that moment on, the boy did not part with the briefcase. Rejoicing and boasting, he immediately ran around all the inhabitants of the cordon. First he showed his grandmother, - so, they say, grandfather bought it! - then to Aunt Bekey - she was also pleased with the briefcase and praised the boy himself.
Rarely is Aunt Bekey in a good mood. More often - gloomy and irritated - she does not notice her nephew. She is not up to him. She has her troubles.
Grandmother says: if she had children, she would be a completely different woman. And Orozkul, her husband, would also be a different person. Then grandfather Momun would have been a different person, and not the way he is. Although he had two daughters - Aunt Bekey and even the boy's mother, the youngest daughter - it's still bad, bad when there are no children of his own; it's even worse when the kids don't have kids. That's what grandma says. Understand her...
After Aunt Bekey, the boy ran to show the purchase to young Guldzhamal and her daughter. And from here he set off for haymaking to Seidakhmat. Again he ran past the red stone of the "Camel" and again there was no time to pat him on the hump, past the "Saddle", past the "Wolf" and "Tank", and then all along the coast, along the path through the sea buckthorn bush, then along the long swath in the meadow he ran to Seidakhmat.
Seidakhmat was alone here today. Grandfather had already mowed down his plot long ago, along with Orozkul's plot. And they had already brought the hay - the grandmother and aunt Bekey were raking. Momun applied, and he helped his grandfather, dragged the hay to the cart. They piled two stacks near the cowshed. Grandfather made them so carefully that no rains will flow. Smooth stacks combed like a comb. It's like that every year. Orozkul does not mow hay, he blames everything on his father-in-law - the boss, after all. “If I want,” he says, “I’ll kick you out of work in no time.” This is him on the grandfather and Seidakhmat. And that's for a drunken case. He can't get rid of his grandfather. Who will work then? Try without grandpa! There is a lot of work in the forest, especially in autumn. Grandfather says: “The forest is not a flock of sheep, it will not scatter. But I'll keep an eye on him. Because if a fire breaks out or a flood hits from the mountains - the tree will not bounce, will not leave the place, it will die where it stands. But that's what the forester is for, so that the tree does not disappear. And Orozkul will not drive Seidakhmat away, because Seidakhmat is meek. Does not interfere in anything, does not argue. But although he is a quiet and healthy guy, but lazy, he loves to sleep. That's why he got into forestry. Grandfather says: “These guys drive cars on the state farm, they plow on tractors.” And Seidakhmat overgrown potatoes with quinoa in his garden. Guljamal, with a child in her arms, had to manage the garden herself.
And with the beginning of the mowing, Seidakhmat dragged on. The day before yesterday, my grandfather scolded him. “Last winter,” he says, “I didn’t feel sorry for you, but for the cattle. That's why he shared the hay. If you are counting on my old man's hay again, then tell me right away, I'll mow for you. I got it, Seidakhmat waved his scythe in the morning today.
Hearing quick footsteps behind him, Seidakhmat turned around and wiped himself on his shirt sleeve.
- What are you? They call me, right?
- Not. I have a briefcase. Here. Grandfather bought. I will go to school.
Is that why you came running? Seidakhmat chuckled. - Grandfather Momun is like that, - he turned his finger near his temple, - and you are there too! Well, what's a briefcase? - He clicked the lock, twisted the briefcase in his hands and returned it, shaking his head mockingly. “Wait,” he exclaimed, “what school are you going to?” Where is she, your school?

The boy and his grandfather lived on a forest cordon. There were three women on the cordon: a grandmother, aunt Bekey - grandfather's daughter and wife of the main man on the cordon, the guard Orozkul, and also the wife of an auxiliary worker Seidakhmat. Aunt Bekey is the most unhappy in the world, because she has no children, for which Orozkul beats her drunk. Momun's grandfather was nicknamed agile Momun. He earned such a nickname by his invariable friendliness, readiness to always serve. He knew how to work. And his son-in-law, Orozkul, although he was listed as the head, mostly traveled to visit guests. Momun went for cattle, kept an apiary. All my life from morning to evening I have been at work, but I have not learned to make myself respected.

The boy did not remember either his father or mother. Never saw them. But he knew: his father was a sailor on Issyk-Kul, and his mother, after a divorce, left for a distant city.

The boy liked to climb the neighboring mountain and look at Issyk-Kul through his grandfather's binoculars. Toward evening, a white steamer appeared on the lake. With pipes in a row, long, powerful, beautiful. The boy dreamed of turning into a fish, so that only his head would remain his own, on a thin neck, large, with protruding ears. He will swim and say to his father, a sailor: "Hello, dad, I am your son." He will tell, of course, how he lives with Momun. The best grandfather, but not at all cunning, and therefore everyone laughs at him. And Orozkul keeps screaming!

In the evenings, the grandfather told his grandson a fairy tale.

In ancient times, the Kirghiz tribe lived on the banks of the Enesai River. Enemies attacked the tribe and killed everyone. Only a boy and a girl remained. But then the children fell into the hands of enemies. The Khan gave them to the Pockmarked Lame Old Woman and ordered to put an end to the Kirghiz. But when the Pockmarked Lame Old Woman had already led them to the bank of the Enesai, a maral maral came out of the forest and began to ask for the children. “People killed my deer,” she said. - And my udder overflowed, asking for children! The pockmarked Lame Old Woman warned: “These are human children. They will grow up and kill your fawns. After all, people are not like animals, they don’t spare each other either. ” But the mother deer begged the Pockmarked Lame Old Woman, and brought the children, now her own, to Issyk-Kul.

The children grew up and got married. A woman went into labor, she suffered. The man was frightened, began to call the mother deer. And then an iridescent ringing was heard from afar. The horned mother deer brought on her horns a baby cradle - beshik. And on the bow of the beshik a silver bell rang. And immediately a woman was born. They named their firstborn in honor of the deer mother - Bugubay. From him came the genus Bugu.

Then a rich man died, and his children decided to install deer horns on the tomb. Since then, there has been no mercy for the deer in the Issyk-Kul forests. And there were no deer. Deserted mountains. And when the Horned Mother Deer left, she said that she would never return.

Autumn has come again in the mountains. Along with the summer, the time for visiting shepherds and herdsmen was departing for Orozkul - it was time to pay for offerings. Together with Momun, they dragged two pine logs over the mountains, and because of this, Orozkul was angry with the whole world. He should settle down in the city, they know how to respect a person there. Cultured people ... And for the fact that I received a gift, then I don’t have to carry logs. But the police visit the state farm, the inspection - well, when they ask where the forest comes from and where. At this thought, anger towards everything and everyone boiled in Orozkul. I wanted to beat my wife, but the house was far away. Then this grandfather saw marals and almost came to tears, as if he had met his brothers.

And when it was very close to the cordon, they finally quarreled with the old man: he kept asking for his grandson, a walk of this, to pick him up from school. It got to the point that he threw stuck logs in the river and galloped off after the boy. It didn't even help that Orozkul hit him on the head a couple of times - he escaped, spat out blood and left.

When the grandfather and the boy returned, they found out that Orozkul had beaten his wife and kicked him out of the house, and, he said, he was firing the grandfather from his job. Bekey howled, cursed her father, and the grandmother itched that she should submit to Orozkul, ask his forgiveness, otherwise where would one go in old age? Grandfather is in his hands ...

The boy wanted to tell his grandfather that he had seen deer in the forest - they returned after all! - Yes, my grandfather was not up to it. And then the boy again went into his imaginary world and began to beg the mother deer to bring Orozkul and Bekey a cradle on horns.

In the meantime, people arrived at the cordon behind the forest. And while they were pulling out the log and doing other things, grandfather Momun trotted after Orozkul like a devoted dog. Visitors also saw deer - it is clear that the animals were not frightened, from the reserve.

In the evening, the boy saw in the yard a cauldron boiling on fire, from which a meat spirit emanated. Grandfather stood by the fire and was drunk - the boy had never seen him like that. Drunken Orozkul and one of the visitors, squatting by the barn, shared a huge pile of fresh meat. And under the wall of the barn, the boy saw a horned deer head. He wanted to run, but his legs would not obey - he stood and looked at the disfigured head of the one that just yesterday was the Horned Mother Deer.

Soon everyone was seated at the table. The boy was sick all the time. He heard the intoxicated people champing, nibbling, sniffing, devouring the meat of the mother deer. And then Saydakhmat told how he forced his grandfather to shoot the deer: he intimidated him that otherwise Orozkul would kick him out.

And the boy decided that he would become a fish and never return to the mountains. He went down to the river. And stepped right into the water...

We hope you enjoyed the summary of the story The White Steamboat. We will be glad if you manage to read this story in its entirety.

People and horses... Childhood and maturity... The past, seen either through a lyrical haze, or through the ruthless prism of history... The pain of growing up - separation, love, betrayal... The soothing, ancient and eternal beauty of the endless steppe, in which man, merging with nature, becomes wiser. Such are "White steamboat" and "Farewell, Gulsary" - works that are among the best of Chingiz Aitmatov.

Excerpt from the book

He had two stories. One of its own, which no one knew about. The other is the one that my grandfather told. Then none remained. This is what we're talking about.

That year he was seven years old, he was eighth.

First, a briefcase was purchased. Black leatherette briefcase with a shiny metal clasp that slides under the shackle. With slip pocket for small items. In a word, an unusual most ordinary school bag. This is probably where it all started.

Grandfather bought it in a visiting car shop. The truck shop, driving around with the goods of cattle breeders in the mountains, sometimes looked at them at the forest cordon, in the San-Tashskaya pad.

From here, from the cordon, along the gorges and slopes, the reserved mountain forest rose to the upper reaches. There are only three families on the cordon. But still, from time to time, the mobile shop visited the foresters.

The only boy in all three yards, he was always the first to notice the mobile shop.

Rides! he shouted, running to the doors and windows. - The car-shop is coming!

The wheel road made its way here from the coast of Issyk-Kul, all the time through the gorge, the river bank, all the time over stones and potholes. It was not very easy to drive on such a road. Having reached the Karaulnaya mountain, it climbed from the bottom of the gorge to the slope and from there it went down a steep and bare slope for a long time to the yards of the foresters. Karaulnaya Gora is very close - in the summer almost every day the boy ran there to look at the lake with binoculars. And there, on the road, you can always see everything at a glance - both on foot, and on horseback, and, of course, a car.

That time - and this happened in a hot summer - the boy was swimming in his dam and from here he saw how dusty the car was on the slope. The dam was on the edge of the river bank, on a pebble. It was built by my grandfather from stones. If not for this dam, who knows, maybe the boy would not have been alive for a long time. And, as the grandmother said, the river would have washed his bones long ago and carried them straight to Issyk-Kul, and fish and every water creature would have looked at them there. And no one would look for him and kill himself on him - because there is nothing to climb into the water and because it does not hurt anyone who needs him. So far this has not happened. And if it happened, who knows, the grandmother, maybe, really would not have rushed to save. He would still be her own, otherwise, she says, a stranger. And a stranger is always a stranger, no matter how much you feed him, no matter how much you follow him. Alien ... And what if he does not want to be a stranger? And why exactly should he be considered a stranger? Maybe not he, but the grandmother herself is a stranger?

But more about that later, and about the grandfather's dam, too, later...

The boy and his grandfather lived on a forest cordon. There were three women on the cordon: a grandmother, aunt Bekey - grandfather's daughter and wife of the main man on the cordon, the guard Orozkul, and also the wife of an auxiliary worker Seidakhmat. Aunt Bekey is the most unhappy in the world, because she has no children, for which Orozkul beats her drunk. Momun's grandfather was nicknamed agile Momun. He earned such a nickname by his invariable friendliness, readiness to always serve. He knew how to work. And his son-in-law, Orozkul, although he was listed as the head, mostly traveled to visit guests. Momun went for cattle, kept an apiary. All my life from morning to evening I have been at work, but I have not learned to make myself respected.

The boy did not remember either his father or mother. Never saw them. But he knew: his father was a sailor on Issyk-Kul, and his mother, after a divorce, left for a distant city.

The boy liked to climb the neighboring mountain and look at Issyk-Kul through his grandfather's binoculars. Toward evening appeared on the lake white steamer. With pipes in a row, long, powerful, beautiful. The boy dreamed of turning into a fish, so that only his head would remain his own, on a thin neck, large, with protruding ears. He will swim and say to his father, a sailor: "Hello, dad, I am your son." He will tell, of course, how he lives with Momun. The best grandfather, but not at all cunning, and therefore everyone laughs at him. And Orozkul keeps screaming!

In the evenings, the grandfather told his grandson a fairy tale.

In ancient times, the Kirghiz tribe lived on the banks of the Enesai River. Enemies attacked the tribe and killed everyone. Only a boy and a girl remained. But then the children fell into the hands of enemies. The Khan gave them to the Pockmarked Lame Old Woman and ordered to put an end to the Kirghiz. But when the Pockmarked Lame Old Woman had already led them to the bank of the Enesai, a maral maral came out of the forest and began to ask for the children. “People killed my deer,” she said. - And my udder overflowed, asking for children! The pockmarked Lame Old Woman warned: “These are human children. They will grow up and kill your fawns. After all, people are not like animals, they don’t spare each other either. ” But the mother deer begged the Pockmarked Lame Old Woman, and brought the children, now her own, to Issyk-Kul.

The children grew up and got married. A woman went into labor, she suffered. The man was frightened, began to call the mother deer. And then an iridescent ringing was heard from afar. The horned mother deer brought on her horns a baby cradle - beshik. And on the bow of the beshik a silver bell rang. And immediately a woman was born. They named their firstborn in honor of the deer mother - Bugubay. From him came the genus Bugu.

Then a rich man died, and his children decided to install deer horns on the tomb. Since then, there has been no mercy for the deer in the Issyk-Kul forests. And there were no deer. Deserted mountains. And when the Horned Mother Deer left, she said that she would never return.

Autumn has come again in the mountains. Along with the summer, the time for visiting shepherds and herdsmen was departing for Orozkul - it was time to pay for offerings. Together with Momun, they dragged two pine logs over the mountains, and because of this, Orozkul was angry with the whole world. He should settle down in the city, they know how to respect a person there. Cultured people ... And for the fact that I received a gift, then I don’t have to carry logs. But the police visit the state farm, the inspection - well, when they ask where the forest comes from and where. At this thought, anger towards everything and everyone boiled in Orozkul. I wanted to beat my wife, but the house was far away. Then this grandfather saw marals and almost came to tears, as if he had met his brothers.

And when it was very close to the cordon, they finally quarreled with the old man: he kept asking for his grandson, a walk of this, to pick him up from school. It got to the point that he threw stuck logs in the river and galloped off after the boy. It didn't even help that Orozkul hit him on the head a couple of times - he escaped, spat out blood and left.

When the grandfather and the boy returned, they found out that Orozkul had beaten his wife and kicked him out of the house, and, he said, he was firing the grandfather from his job. Bekey howled, cursed her father, and the grandmother itched that she should submit to Orozkul, ask his forgiveness, otherwise where would one go in old age? Grandfather is in his hands ...

The boy wanted to tell his grandfather that he had seen deer in the forest - they returned after all! - Yes, my grandfather was not up to it. And then the boy again went into his imaginary world and began to beg the mother deer to bring Orozkul and Bekey a cradle on horns.

In the meantime, people arrived at the cordon behind the forest. And while they were pulling out the log and doing other things, grandfather Momun trotted after Orozkul like a devoted dog. Visitors also saw deer - it is clear that the animals were not frightened, from the reserve.

In the evening, the boy saw in the yard a cauldron boiling on fire, from which a meat spirit emanated. Grandfather stood by the fire and was drunk - the boy had never seen him like that. Drunken Orozkul and one of the visitors, squatting by the barn, shared a huge pile of fresh meat. And under the wall of the barn, the boy saw a horned deer head. He wanted to run, but his legs would not obey - he stood and looked at the disfigured head of the one that just yesterday was the Horned Mother Deer.

Soon everyone was seated at the table. The boy was sick all the time. He heard the intoxicated people champing, nibbling, sniffing, devouring the meat of the mother deer. And then Saydakhmat told how he forced his grandfather to shoot the deer: he intimidated him that otherwise Orozkul would kick him out.

And the boy decided that he would become a fish and never return to the mountains. He went down to the river. And stepped right into the water...