Aitmatov white sail. Chingiz Aitmatov - White Steamer

He had two fairy tales. One of his own, about which no one knew. Another one that my grandfather told. Then there was not one left. This is what we are talking about.

That year he was seven years old, he was in the eighth. First, a portfolio was bought. Black leatherette briefcase with shiny metal snap closure that slips under the brace. With a patch pocket for small items. In a word, an extraordinary ordinary school bag. This is probably how it all started.

Grandfather bought it at a visiting shop. The caravan, driving around with the goods of the pastoralists in the mountains, sometimes dropped in to them at the forest cordon, in the San-Tash pad '.

From here, from the cordon, along the gorges and slopes, a reserved mountain forest ascended to the upper reaches. There are only three families in the cordon. But still, from time to time, the shop came to visit the foresters.

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

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

The wheel road made its way here from the coast of Issyk-Kul, all the time along the gorge, along the river bank, all the time over stones and bumps. It was not very easy to drive on such a road. When she reached Karaulnaya Gora, she climbed from the bottom of the gorge to the slope and from there descended for a long time along the steep and bare slope to the foresters' yards. The Guard Mountain is very close - in the summer, almost every day the boy ran there to look at the lake with binoculars. And there, on the road, everything is always visible at a glance - both on foot, and on horseback, and, of course, a car.

That time - and it happened in a hot summer - the boy was swimming in his dam and from here he saw the car get dusty on the slope. The dam was on the edge of a river bank, on pebbles. It was built by my grandfather from stones. If it were not for this dam, who knows, maybe the boy would have been dead for a long time. And, as the grandmother said, the river would have washed his bones long ago and would have carried them straight to Issyk-Kul, and fish and all kinds of water creatures would look at them there. And no one would look for him and kill him - because there is nothing to get into the water and because it doesn't hurt who needs him. So far, this has not happened. And if it happened, who knows, the grandmother might really not have rushed to save. He would also be her family, 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. A stranger ... What if he doesn't want to be a stranger? And why exactly should he be considered a stranger? Maybe not he, but the grandmother herself is a stranger?

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

So, then he saw a caravan, it was coming down from the mountain, and behind it along the road the dust was swirling behind it. And so he was delighted, he knew for sure that a portfolio would be bought for him. He immediately jumped out of the water, quickly pulled on his trousers over his skinny thighs, and, himself still wet, turning blue — the water in the river is cold — ran along the path to the courtyard to be the first to announce the arrival of the caravan. The boy ran quickly, jumping over the bushes and running around the boulders, if he was not able to jump them, he did not linger anywhere for a second - neither near tall grasses, nor near stones, although he knew that they were not at all simple.

They could be offended and even substitute a leg. “The shop car has arrived. I’ll come later, ”he threw to“ Lying Camel ”as he walked. This is what he called the red, humpbacked granite that sank into the ground up to his chest. Usually the boy did not pass by without patting his "Camel" on the hump. He clapped him in a proprietary manner, like the grandfather of his bob-tailed gelding - so, casually, casually: you, they say, wait, and I will be absent here on business. He had a saddle boulder - half white, half black, piebald stone with a saddle, where one could sit astride a horse. There was also a stone "Wolf" - very similar to a wolf, brown, with gray hair, with a powerful nape and a heavy forehead. He crawled up to him and took aim. But the most beloved stone is "Tank", an indestructible block near the river on the washed-out bank. So wait, "Tank" will rush from the bank and go, and the river will gurgle, boil with white breakers. Tanks go to the cinema that way: from the shore into the water - and went ... The boy rarely saw films and therefore remembered what he saw. My grandfather sometimes took his grandson to the cinema at the state farm pedigree farm in the neighboring tract behind the mountain. That is why “Tank” appeared on the bank, always ready to rush across the river. There were also others - "harmful" or "good" stones, and even "cunning" and "stupid".

Among the plants, too, there are “beloved”, “courageous”, “fearful”, “evil” and all sorts of others. A prickly thug, for example, is the main enemy. The boy hacked him dozens of times a day. But the end of this war was not in sight - the thug grew and multiplied. But field bindweed, although they are also weeds, are the smartest and funniest flowers. They are best greeted by the sun in the morning. Other herbs do not understand anything - that morning, that evening, they do not care. And the bindweed, just warm the rays, open their eyes, laugh. First one eye, then the second, and then one by one all the swirls of flowers bloom on the bindweed. White, light blue, lilac, different ... And if you sit next to them quite quietly, it seems that they, waking up, are inaudibly whispering about something. Ants - and they know it. In the morning they run through the bindweed, squint in the sun and listen to what the flowers are talking about among themselves. Maybe dreams are told?

During the day, usually at noon, the boy liked to climb into thickets of stalked shiraljins. Shiraljins are tall, there are no flowers on them, but fragrant, they grow in islands, gather in a heap, not allowing other herbs to come close. Shiraljins - faithful friends... Especially if there is some kind of insult and you want to cry so that no one sees, it is best to hide in shiraljins. They smell like a pine forest at the edge. Hot and quiet in the shiraljins. And most importantly, they do not obscure the sky. You have to lie on your back and look at the sky. At first, through tears, almost nothing is discerned. And then the clouds will come and they will make whatever you think of above. The clouds know that you are not very good, that you want to go somewhere or fly away so that no one finds you and that everyone then sighs and gasps - the boy disappears, they say, where will we find him now? .. And so that this does not it happened that you would not disappear anywhere, that you would lie still and admire the clouds, the clouds will turn into whatever you want. The same clouds make all sorts of things. You just need to be able to find out what the clouds represent.

And in the shiraljins it is quiet, and they do not obscure the sky. This is how they are, shiraljins, smelling of hot pines ...

And he also knew different differences about herbs. He treated the silvery feather grass that grew in the floodplain meadow with condescension. They are weirdos - feather grass! Windy heads. Their soft, silky panicles cannot live without wind. They just wait - wherever it blows, there they lean. And everyone bows as one, the whole meadow, as if on command. And if it rains or a thunderstorm starts, they don’t know the feather-grass where to stick to. They rush, fall, cuddle to the ground. If there were legs, they would probably run away wherever their eyes look ... But they are pretending to be. The thunderstorm will subside, and again frivolous feathers in the wind - wherever the wind goes, there they too ...

Alone, without friends, the boy lived in a circle of those simple things that surrounded him, and unless the shop could make him forget about everything and run headlong towards her. What can I say, the shop is not stones or herbs. What is not there, in the shop!

When the boy reached the house, the caravan 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 bank, and on the other side of the river, immediately from the washed-out ravine, the forest rose steeply up the mountains, so that there was only one approach to the cordon - behind the houses. If the boy had not reached in time, no one would have known that the caravan was already here.

There were no men at that hour, everyone had left in the morning. The women were doing household chores. But then he screamed shrilly, running to the open doors:

- Has arrived! The shop car has arrived!

The women were alarmed. We rushed to look for the 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 shop himself. He was happy that he brought them the news, because he rushed with them into the backyard, because he was jostling with them at the open door of the van. But here the women immediately forgot about him. They had no time for him. The goods are different - the eyes ran up. There were only three women: grandmother, aunt Bekey - the sister of his mother, the wife of the most important man in the cordon, the patrolman Orozkul - and the wife of an auxiliary worker Seidakhmat - young Guldzhamal with her girl in her arms. Only three women. But they fussed so hard, sorted out and stirred up the goods so that the shop assistant had to demand that they keep to the queue and not chatter all at once.

However, his words had little effect on women. At first they grabbed everything, then they began to choose, then return what they had taken away. They put off, tried on, argued, doubted, asked dozens of times about the same thing. One thing they didn’t like, 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 car shop on the mountain disappeared. The shop suddenly turned into an ordinary car, filled with a bunch of various rubbish.

The seller frowned: it was not evident that these women were going to buy anything. Why did he go here, so far, over the mountains?

And so it happened. The women began to retreat, their ardor was tempered, they seemed to be even tired. For some reason, they began to make excuses - either to each other, or to the seller. The grandma was the first to complain that there was no money. And if you don't have money in your hands, you won't take the goods. Aunt Bekey did not dare to make a major purchase without her husband. Aunt Bekey is the most unhappy among all women in the world, because she has no children, for this Orozkul beats her intoxicated, that's why grandfather suffers, because Aunt Bekey is his grandfather's daughter. Aunt Bekey took a few small things and two bottles of vodka. And in vain and in vain - the very same will be worse. The grandmother could not resist.

- Why are you calling trouble on your own head? She hissed so that the seller would not hear her.

“I know myself,” Aunt Bekey snapped shortly.

“What a fool,” the grandmother whispered even more quietly, but gloatingly. If it weren't for the salesperson, she'd be scolding Aunt Bekey right now. Wow, they swear! ..

Young Guljamal helped out. She began to explain to the seller that her Seidakhmat was going to the city soon, the money would be needed in the city, so she could not fork out.

So they knocked about near the shop, bought goods "for a penny", as the seller said, and went home. Well, is this trade? Spitting after the departed women, the seller began to collect the loose goods in order to get behind the wheel and drive away. Then he noticed the boy.

- What are you, big-eared? - he asked. The boy had protruding ears, a slender neck, and a large, round head. - Do you want to buy? So hurry up, or I'll close it. Do you have money?

The seller asked so, just because there was nothing to do, but the boy replied respectfully:

- No, uncle, no money, - and shook his head.

“And I think there is,” the seller drawled with mock disbelief. “You’re all rich here, just pretend to be poor. Do you have money in your pocket?

“No, uncle,” the boy answered, still sincerely and seriously, and turned out his tattered pocket. (The second pocket was sewn up tightly.)

- So your money was waking up. Look where you ran. You will find it.

They were silent.

- Whose will you be? - the seller began to ask again. - Old man Momun, or what?

The boy nodded back.

- Are you a grandson?

- Yes. The boy nodded again.

- Where's your mother?

The boy said nothing. He didn't want to talk about it.

“She’s not giving news of herself at all, your mother. You don't know yourself, or what?

- I do not know.

- And the father? Don't you know too?

The boy was silent.

- Why are you, friend, do not know anything? - the seller jokingly reproached him. - Well, okay, if so. Here you go. - He took out a handful of sweets. - And be healthy.

The boy was shy.

- Take it, take it. Don't delay. It's time for me to go.

The boy put the sweets in his pocket and was about to run after the car in order to escort the shop to the road. He called Baltek, a terribly lazy, shaggy dog. Orozkul kept threatening to shoot him - why, they say, keep such a dog. Yes, the grandfather begged to wait a little: it was necessary, they say, to get a shepherd dog, and take Baltek somewhere and leave. Baltek did not care about anything - the well-fed slept, the hungry always suck up to someone, to his own and strangers indiscriminately, just to throw something. That was how he was, the dog Baltek. But sometimes, out of boredom, he ran after cars. True, not far. It will only accelerate, then suddenly it will turn around and start scurrying home. Unreliable dog. Still, running with a dog is a hundred times better than running without a dog. Whatever it is, it's still a dog ...

Slowly, so that the seller would not see, the boy threw one candy to Baltek. “Look,” he warned the dog. "We'll run for a long time." Baltek squealed, wagged his tail - he waited more. But the boy did not dare to throw in another candy. After all, you can offend a person, he did not give a whole handful for a dog.

And just then the grandfather appeared. The old man went to the apiary, but from the apiary it is not visible what is going on behind the houses. And so it turned out that the grandfather arrived in time, the shop has not left yet. Happening. Otherwise, the grandson would not have a portfolio. The boy was lucky that day.

Old man Momun, whom many-wise people called the Smart Momun, was known by everyone in the neighborhood, and he knew everyone. Momun earned such a nickname for his unchanging friendliness to everyone he knew at least in the slightest degree, his willingness to always do something for anyone, to serve anyone. And, however, no one appreciated his diligence, just as gold would not be appreciated if suddenly they began to distribute it for free. No one treated Momun with the respect that people of his age enjoy. They treated him easily. It happened that at the great commemoration of some noble elder from the Bugu tribe - and Momun was a Bugin native, 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. Isn't there a little trouble at large commemorations, 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 the others. Young women of ail who had to receive and feed this huge horde of guests, looking at how Momun managed his work, said:

- What would we do if it weren't for the Smart Momun!

And it turned out that the old man, who had arrived with his grandson from afar, turned out to be in the role of an henchman-samovar driver. Anyone else in Momun's place would have burst from insult. And Momun, at least what!

And no one was surprised that the old Quicky Momun was serving the guests - that's why he is the Quicky Momun all his life. It’s his own fault that he’s Eager Momun. And if any of the outsiders expressed surprise why, they say, you, an old man, are running errands for women, are there young guys in this village, Momun replied: “The deceased was my brother. (He considered all the Buginites as brothers. But no less they were “brothers” and other guests.) Who should work at his commemoration if not me? That's why we, Buginites, are related to our very progenitor - the Horned Mother Deer. And she, the wonderful mother deer, bequeathed to us friendship both in life and in memory ... "

That was how he was, Smart Momun!

Both the old and the small were on "you" with him, it was possible to play a trick on him - the old man is harmless; he could not be reckoned with - an unrequited old man. It is not in vain, they say, that people do not forgive someone who does not know how to force them to respect themselves. But he could not.

He knew a lot in life. He was a carpenter, he played saddlery, he was a skirdoprav: when he was still younger, he put such ricks on the collective farm, that it was a pity to disassemble them in winter: the rain flowed down from the rick, like off a duck, and the snow fell with a gable roof. In the war he laid the factory walls as a labor army in Magnitogorsk, and called him a Stakhanovite. I came back, cut down houses at the cordon, I was engaged in the forest. Although he was listed as an auxiliary worker, he looked after the forest, and Orozkul, his son-in-law, for the most part visited the guests. Unless when the authorities appear, then Orozkul himself will show the forest and arrange the hunt, here he was already the master. Momun went after cattle, and he kept an apiary. Momun lived all his life from morning till night at work, in troubles, but he did not learn to make himself respect him.

And Momun's appearance was not at all aksakal. No gravity, no importance, no severity. He was a good-natured person, and at first glance this ungrateful human property could be discerned in him. At all times they teach such: “Don't be kind, be evil! Here's to you, here's to you! Be evil, "and he, unfortunately, remains incorrigibly good. His face was smiling and wrinkled-wrinkled, and his eyes were always asking: “What do you want? Do you want me to do something for you? So I am now, just tell me what your need is. "

The nose is soft, duck, as if completely without cartilage. Yes, and a small, nimble old man, like a teenager.

What a beard - and that failed. One laughingstock. On a bare chin, two or three reddish hairs - that's the whole beard.

Whether it's the case - you see suddenly, a dignified old man is driving along the road, and his beard is like a sheaf, in a spacious fur coat with a wide merlushka lapel, in an expensive hat, and even with a good horse, and a silvered saddle - what is not a sage, what is not a prophet, such and it is not shameful to bow, such an honor is everywhere! And Momun was born just a Quick Momun. Perhaps his only advantage was that he was not afraid to drop himself in someone's eyes. (He sat down wrong, said wrong, answered wrong, smiled wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong ...) In this sense Momun, without suspecting it himself, was extremely happy person... Many people die not so much from illness as from the irrepressible, eternal passion that eats away at them - to pretend to be more than they are. (Who doesn't want to be reputed to be smart, worthy, handsome and, moreover, formidable, fair, decisive?)

And Momun was not like that. He was an eccentric and was treated 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 upset, 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 troubles and sorrows, from which he suffered, from which he cried at night. Outsiders knew almost nothing about this. And their people knew.

When Momun saw his grandson near the 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-aleikum, great merchant! He said half in jest, half seriously. - Has your caravan arrived well, is your trade going well? - All beaming, Momun shook the seller's hand. - How much water has flowed under the bridge! Welcome!

The seller, condescendingly laughing at his speech and unprepossessing appearance - all the same well-used tarpaulin boots, canvas pants sewn by an old woman, a shabby jacket, a felt hat brown from the rain and the sun - answered Momun:

- The caravan is intact. Only now it turns out - the merchant comes to you, and you from the merchant go through the forests and along the valleys. And you punish your wives to keep a penny, like a soul before death. Here even though they are overwhelmed with goods, no one will fork out.

“Don't ask me, dear,” Momun apologized embarrassedly. - If you knew that you would come, they would not leave. And that there is no money, then there is no trial and there is no trial. Let's sell potatoes in the fall ...

- Tell me! - the seller interrupted him. - I know you, stinking beys. 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 an apiary? And give a penny - press. Buy here a silk blanket, the sewing machine is left alone ...

“By God, there is no such money,” Momun defended.

- So I will believe. You are being curmudgeonly, old man, you are saving up money. And where to?

- By God, no, I swear by the Horned Mother Deer!

- Well, take the corduroy, you will sew new pants.

- I would, I swear by the Horned Mother Deer ...

- Uh, what's the deal with you! - the seller waved his hand. - I shouldn't have come. And where is Orozkul?

- In the morning, it seems, I moved to Aksai. Shepherds have business.

- He is visiting, therefore, - the seller clarified understandingly.

There was an awkward pause.

“Don't be offended, dear,” Momun said again. - In the fall, 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.

- Not for that I came, - the seller refused.

He began to close the door of the van and then he said, glancing at his grandson, who was standing next to the old man already at the ready, holding the dog by the ear in order to run with her behind the car:

- Well, buy at least a briefcase. Is it time for the boy to go to school? How old is he?

Momun immediately seized on this idea: he would buy at least something from the annoying car shopkeeper, his grandson really needs a portfolio, this fall he will go to school.

“But it’s true,” Momun fussed, “I didn’t think. Well, seven, the eighth already. Come here, - he called his grandson.

Grandfather rummaged in his pockets, took out a hidden five.

For a long time she, probably, was with him, it was already caked.

- Here you go, big-eared. - The seller sly winked at the boy and handed him a briefcase. - Now study. And if you do not master the letter, you will stay with your grandfather forever in the mountains.

- Will master! He's smart, ”Momun said, counting his change. Then he glanced at his grandson, awkwardly holding a brand new briefcase, hugged him to him. - That's good. You’ll go to school in the fall, ”he said quietly. Grandfather's firm, weighty palm softly covered the boy's head.

The boy and his grandfather lived in a forest cordon. There were three women in the cordon: grandmother, aunt Bekey - grandfather's daughter and wife of the main man in the cordon, the patrolman 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 this Orozkul beats her intoxicated. Grandfather Momun was nicknamed the agile Momun. He earned such a nickname with his constant friendliness, his willingness to always serve. He knew how to work. And his son-in-law, Orozkul, although he was listed as the chief, mostly traveled around the guests. Momun followed the cattle, kept an apiary. All my life from morning to evening at work, and I have not learned to force myself to respect.

The boy remembered neither his father nor his mother. I have never seen them. But he knew: his father was a sailor in Issyk-Kul, and after a divorce, his mother left for a distant city.

The boy loved to climb the neighboring mountain and look at Issyk-Kul through his grandfathers' binoculars. Towards evening, a white steamer appeared on the lake. With pipes in a row, long, powerful, beautiful. The boy dreamed of becoming a fish, so that only his head would remain of his own, on a thin neck, large, with protruding ears. He will sail and say to his father, the 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 just shouts!

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

In ancient times, a Kyrgyz tribe lived on the banks of the Enesai River. The tribe was attacked by enemies and killed everyone. Only the boy and the girl remained. But then the children fell into the hands of enemies. The Khan gave them to Pockmarked Lame Old Woman and ordered to put an end to the Kirghiz. But when the Pockmarked Lame Old Woman had already brought them to the banks of the Enesai, a maral's mother came out of the forest and began to ask for the children. “People killed my deer,” she said. - And my udder is overflowing, asks for children! The Pockmarked Lame Old Woman warned: “These are children of men. They will grow up and kill your deer. After all, people are not like animals, they do not feel sorry for each other either. " But the deer mother begged the Pockmarked Lame Old Woman, and brought her children, now her own, to Issyk-Kul.

The children grew up and got married. The woman's childbirth began, she suffered. The man got scared, began to call the mother deer. And then an iridescent ringing was heard from afar. The horned mother deer brought a baby cradle on her horns - 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 - Bugubai. From him came the Bugu clan.

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

Autumn has come again in the mountains. Along with the summer, Orozkul was leaving the time of visiting the shepherds and herdsmen - the time had come to pay for the offerings. Together with Momun, they dragged two pine logs through the mountains, and that is why Orozkul was angry with the whole world. He would have to settle down in the city, they know how to respect a person. Cultured people ... And for the fact that they received a gift, then there is no need to carry the logs. But the state farm is visited by the police, the inspection - well, they ask where the forest is from and where. At this thought, anger towards everything and everyone boiled up in Orozkul. I wanted to beat my wife, but the house was far away. Then this grandfather saw the 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, taking him out of school for a walk. It got to the point that he threw the stuck logs in the river and rode off after the boy. It didn't even help that Orozkul hit him on the head a couple of times - he broke free, spat blood and left.

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

The boy wanted to tell his grandfather what he saw marals in the forest - they came back all the same! - but the grandfather was not up to it. And then the boy again went into his imaginary world and began to beg his mother deer to bring Orozkul and Bekey a cradle on the horns.

Meanwhile, people came to the cordon behind the forest. And while they were pulling out the log and doing other things, grandfather Momun minced after Orozkul, like a loyal dog. The visitors also saw marals - apparently, the animals were not frightened, from the reserve.

In the evening, the boy saw a cauldron boiling on a fire in the courtyard, from which a meaty spirit emanated. The grandfather was standing by the fire and was drunk - the boy had never seen him like that. A drunken Orozkul and one of the newcomers, squatting by the barn, were sharing a huge pile of fresh meat. And under the wall of the shed, the boy saw the head of a horned deer. He wanted to run, but his legs did not obey - he stood and looked at the disfigured head of the one who had yesterday been the Horned Mother Deer.

Soon they all sat down at the table. The boy was sick all the time. He heard drunken people chomping, gnawing, sniffing, devouring the meat of the mother deer. And then Saydakhmat told how he forced his grandfather to shoot the deer: he intimidated that otherwise Orozkul would drive 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 it summary story White steamer... We will be glad if you manage to read this story in its entirety.

He had two fairy tales. One of his own, about which no one knew. Another one that my grandfather told. Then there was not one left. This is what we are talking about.
That year he was seven years old, he was in the eighth.
First, a portfolio was bought. Black leatherette briefcase with shiny metal snap closure that slips under the bracket. With a patch pocket for small items. In a word, an extraordinary ordinary school bag. This is probably how it all started.
Grandfather bought it at a visiting shop. The caravan, driving around with the goods of the pastoralists in the mountains, sometimes dropped in to them at the forest cordon, in the San-Tash pad '.
From here, from the cordon, along the gorges and slopes, a reserved mountain forest ascended to the upper reaches. There are only three families in the cordon. But still, from time to time, the shop came to visit the foresters.
The only boy in all three yards, he was always the first to notice the caravan.
- Rides! he shouted, running to the doors and windows. - The shop car is going!
The wheel road made its way here from the coast of Issyk-Kul, all the time along the gorge, along the river bank, all the time over stones and bumps. It was not very easy to drive on such a road. When she reached Karaulnaya Gora, she climbed from the bottom of the gorge to the slope and from there descended for a long time along the steep and bare slope to the foresters' yards. The Guard Mountain is very close - in the summer, almost every day the boy ran there to look at the lake with binoculars. And there, on the road, everything is always visible at a glance - both on foot and on horseback, and, of course, a car.
That time - and it happened in a hot summer - the boy was swimming in his dam and from here he saw the car get dusty on the slope. The dam was on the edge of a river bank, on pebbles. It was built by my grandfather from stones. If it were not for this dam, who knows, maybe the boy would have been dead for a long time. And, as the grandmother said, the river would have washed his bones long ago and would have carried them straight to Issyk-Kul, and fish and all kinds of water creatures would look at them there. And no one would look for him and kill him - because there is nothing to get into the water and because it doesn't hurt who needs him. So far, this has not happened. And if it happened, who knows, the grandmother might really not have rushed to save. He would also be her family, 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. A stranger ... What if he doesn't want to be a stranger? And why exactly should he be considered a stranger? Maybe not he, but the grandmother herself is a stranger?
But more about that later, and about grandfather's dam also later ...
So, then he saw a caravan, it was coming down from the mountain, and behind it along the road the dust was swirling behind it. And so he was delighted, he knew for sure that a portfolio would be bought for him. He immediately jumped out of the water, quickly pulled on his trousers over his skinny thighs and, himself still wet, turning blue — the water in the river is cold — ran along the path to the courtyard to be the first to announce the arrival of the caravan.
The boy ran quickly, jumping over the bushes and running around the boulders, if he was not able to jump them, and did not linger anywhere for a second - neither near tall grasses, nor near stones, although he knew that they were not at all simple. They could be offended and even substitute a leg. “The shop car has arrived. I’ll come later, ”he threw to“ Lying Camel ”as he walked - this is what he called the red hunchbacked granite that sank into the ground up to his chest. Usually the boy did not pass by without patting his "Camel" on the hump. He clapped him in a businesslike way, like the grandfather of his bobtail gelding - so, casually, casually; You, they say, wait, and I will be absent here on business. He had a saddle boulder - half white, half black, piebald stone with a saddle, where one could sit astride a horse. There was also a stone "Wolf" - very similar to a wolf, brown, with gray hair, with a powerful nape and a heavy forehead. He crawled up to him and took aim. But the most beloved stone is "Tank", an indestructible block near the river on the washed-out bank. So wait, "Tank" will rush from the bank and go, and the river will gurgle, boil with white breakers. Tanks go to the cinema this way: from the shore into the water - and went ... The boy rarely saw films and therefore remembered what he saw. My grandfather sometimes took his grandson to the cinema at the state farm pedigree farm in the neighboring tract behind the mountain. That is why “Tank” appeared on the bank, always ready to rush across the river. There were also others - "harmful" or "good" stones, and even "cunning" and "stupid".
Among the plants, too, there are “beloved”, “courageous”, “fearful”, “evil” and all sorts of others. A prickly thug, for example, is the main enemy. The boy hacked him dozens of times a day. But the end of this war was not in sight - the thug grew and multiplied. But field bindweed, although they are also weeds, are the smartest and funniest flowers. They are best greeted by the sun in the morning. Other herbs do not understand anything - that morning, that evening, they do not care. And the bindweed, just warm the rays, open their eyes, laugh. First one eye, then the second, and then one by one all the swirls of flowers bloom on the bindweed. White, light blue, lilac, different ... And if you sit next to them quite quietly, it seems that they, waking up, are inaudibly whispering about something. Ants - and they know it. In the morning they run through the bindweed, squint in the sun and listen to what the flowers are talking about among themselves. Maybe dreams are told?
During the day, usually at noon, the boy liked to climb into thickets of stalked shiraljins. Shiraljins are tall, there are no flowers on them, but fragrant, they grow in islands, gather in a heap, not allowing other herbs to come close. The Shiraljins are loyal friends. Especially if there is some kind of insult and you want to cry so that no one sees, it is best to hide in shiraljins. They smell like a pine forest at the edge. Hot and quiet in the shiraljins. And most importantly, they do not obscure the sky. You have to lie on your back and look at the sky. At first, through tears, almost nothing is discerned. And then the clouds will come and they will make whatever you think of above. The clouds know that you are not very good, that you want to leave somewhere, go fly away so that no one finds you and so that everyone sighs and gasps later - the boy disappears, they say, where will we find him now? .. And so that this does 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. The same clouds make all sorts of things. You just need to be able to find out what the clouds represent.
And in the shiraljins it is quiet, and they do not obscure the sky. This is how they are, shiraljins, smelling of hot pines ...
And he also knew different differences about herbs. He treated the silvery feather grass that grew in the floodplain meadow with condescension. They are weirdos - feather grass! Windy heads. Eid soft, silky panicles cannot live without wind. They just wait - wherever it blows, there they lean. And everyone bows as one, the whole meadow, as if on command. And if it rains or a thunderstorm starts, they don’t know the feather-grass where to stick to. They rush, fall, cuddle to the ground. If there were legs, they would probably run away wherever their eyes look ... But they are pretending to be. The thunderstorm will subside, and again frivolous feathers in the wind - wherever the wind goes, there they too ...
Alone, without friends, the boy lived in a circle of those simple things that surrounded him, and unless the shop could make him forget about everything and run headlong towards her. What can I say, the shop is not stones or herbs. What is not there, in the shop!
When the boy reached the house, the caravan was already approaching the yard, behind the houses. The houses on the cordon stood facing the river, the courtyard turned into a gentle slope straight to the bank, and on the other side of the river, immediately from the washed-out ravine, the forest rose steeply up the mountains, so that there was only one approach to the cordon - behind the houses. If the boy had not reached in time, no one would have known that the caravan was already here.
There were no men at that hour, everyone had left in the morning. The women were doing household chores. But then he screamed shrilly, running to the open doors:
- Has arrived! The shop car has arrived! The women were alarmed. We rushed to look for the 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 shop himself. He was happy that he brought them the news, because he rushed with them into the backyard, because he was jostling with them at the open door of the van. But here the women immediately forgot about him. They had no time for him. The goods are different - the eyes ran up. There were only three women: grandmother, aunt Bekey - the sister of his mother, the wife of the most important man in the cordon, the patrolman Orozkul - and the wife of the auxiliary worker Seidakhmat - young Guldzhamal with her girl in her arms. Only three women. But they fussed so hard, sorted out and stirred up the goods so that the shop assistant had to demand that they keep to the queue and not chatter all at once.
However, his words had little effect on women. At first they grabbed everything, then they began to choose, then return what they had taken away. They put off, tried on, argued, doubted, asked dozens of times about the same thing. One thing they didn’t like, 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 car shop on the mountain disappeared. The shop suddenly turned into an ordinary car, filled with a bunch of various rubbish.
The seller frowned: it was not evident that these women were going to buy anything. Why did he go here, so far, over the mountains?
And so it learned. The women began to retreat, their ardor was tempered, they seemed to be even tired. For some reason, they began to make excuses - either to each other, or to the seller. The grandma was the first to complain that there was no money. And if you don't have money in your hands, you won't take the goods. Aunt Bekey did not dare to make a major purchase without her husband. Aunt Bekey is the most unhappy among all women in the world, because she has no children, for this Orozkul beats her intoxicated, that's why grandfather suffers, because Aunt Bekey is his grandfather's daughter. Aunt Bekey took a few small things and two bottles of vodka. And in vain and in vain - the very same will be worse. The grandmother could not resist:
- Why are you calling trouble on your own head? she hissed so that the seller would not hear her.
“I know myself,” Aunt Bekey snapped shortly.
“What a fool,” the grandmother whispered even more quietly, but gloatingly. If it weren't for the salesperson, she'd be scolding Aunt Bekey right now. Wow, they swear! ..
Young Guljamal helped out. 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 knocked about near the shop, bought goods "for a penny", as the seller said, and went home. Well, is this trade! Spitting after the departed women, the seller began to collect the loose goods in order to get behind the wheel and drive away. Then he noticed the boy.
- What are you, big-eared? - he asked. The boy had protruding ears, a slender neck, and a large, round head. - Do you want to buy? So hurry up, or I'll close it. Do you have money?
The seller asked so, just because there was nothing to do, but the boy replied respectfully:
- No, uncle, no money, - and shook his head.
“And I think there is,” the seller drawled with mock disbelief. “You’re all rich here, just pretend to be poor. And you have that in your pocket, isn't it money.
“No, uncle,” the boy answered, still sincerely and seriously, and turned out his tattered pocket. (The second pocket was sewn up tightly.)
- So your money was waking up. Look where you ran. You will find it.
They were silent.
- Whose will you be? - the seller began to ask again. - Old man Momun, or what?
The boy nodded back.
- Are you a grandson?
- Yes. The boy nodded again.
- Where's your mother?
The boy said nothing. He didn't want to talk about it.
“She’s not giving any news of herself at all, your mother. You don't know yourself, or what?
- I do not know.
- And the father? Don't you know too?
The boy was silent.
- Why are you, friend, do not know anything? - the seller jokingly reproached him. - Well, okay, if so. Here you go. ”He took out a handful of sweets. - And be healthy.
The boy was shy.
- Take it, take it. Don't delay. It's time for me to go. The boy put the sweets in his pocket and was about to run after the car in order to escort the shop to the road. He called Baltek, a terribly lazy, shaggy dog. Orozkul kept threatening to shoot him - why, they say, keep such a dog. Yes, the grandfather begged to wait a little: it was necessary, they say, to get a shepherd dog, and take Baltek somewhere and leave. Baltek did not care about anything - the well-fed slept, the hungry always suck up to someone, to his own and strangers indiscriminately, just to throw something. That was how he was, the dog Baltek. But sometimes, out of boredom, he ran after cars. True, not far. It will only accelerate, then suddenly it will turn around and start scurrying home. Unreliable dog. Still, running with a dog is a hundred times better than running without a dog. Whatever it is, it's still a dog ...
Slowly, so that the seller would not see, the boy threw one candy to Baltek. “Look,” he warned the dog. "We'll run for a long time." Baltek squealed, wagged his tail - he waited more. But the boy did not dare to throw in another candy. After all, you can offend a person, he did not give a whole handful for a dog.
And just then the grandfather appeared. The old man went to the apiary, but from the apiary it is not visible what is going on behind the houses. And so it turned out that the grandfather arrived in time, the shop has not left yet. Happening. Otherwise, the grandson would not have a portfolio. The boy was lucky that day.
Old man Momun, whom many-wise people called the Smart Momun, was known by everyone in the neighborhood, and he knew everyone. Momun earned such a nickname for his unchanging friendliness to everyone he knew at least in the slightest degree, his willingness 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 suddenly they began to distribute it for free. No one treated Momun with the respect that people of his age enjoy. They treated him easily. It happened that at the great commemoration of some noble elder from the Bugu tribe - and Momun was a Bugu native, 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. Isn't there a little trouble at large commemorations, 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 the others. Young women of ail who had to receive and feed this huge horde of guests, looking at how Momun managed his work, said:
- What would we do if it weren't for the Smart Momun!
And it turned out that the old man, who had arrived with his grandson from afar, turned out to be in the role of an henchman-samovar driver. Anyone else in Momun's place would have burst from insult. And Momun, at least what!
And no one was surprised that old Smart Momun was serving the guests
- that's what he is all his life Smart Momun. It’s his own fault that he’s Eager Momun. And if any of the outsiders expressed surprise why, they say, you, an old man, were running errands for women, unless there were young guys in this village, Momun replied: “The deceased was my brother. (He considered all the Buginites as brothers. But no less were they “brothers” and other guests.) Who should work at his commemoration if not me? That's why we, Buginites, are related to our very progenitor - the Horned Mother Deer. And she, the wonderful mother deer, bequeathed to us friendship both in life and in memory ... "
That was how he was. Agile Momun!
Both the old and the small were on "you" with him, it was possible to play a trick on him - the old man is harmless; he could not be reckoned with - an unrequited old man. It is not in vain, they say, that people do not forgive someone who does not know how to force them to respect themselves. But he could not.
He knew a lot in life. He was a carpenter, he played a saddle, and he was a rickety man; when he was still younger, he put such ricks on the collective farm, which was a pity to disassemble them in winter: the rain flowed down from the rick like from a duck, and the snow fell on a gable roof. In the war, the labor army in Magnitogorsk erected factory walls, called them a Stakhanovite. I came back, cut down houses at the cordon, I was engaged in the forest. Although he was listed as an auxiliary worker, he looked after the forest, and Orozkul, his son-in-law, for the most part visited the guests. Unless when the authorities appear, then Orozkul himself will show the forest and arrange the hunt, here he was already the master. Momun went after cattle, and he kept an apiary. Momun lived all his life from morning till night at work, in troubles, but he did not learn to make himself respect him.
And Momun's appearance was not at all aksakal. No gravity, no importance, no severity. He was a good-natured person, and at first glance this ungrateful human property could be discerned in him. At all times they teach such: “Don't be kind, be evil! Here's to you, here's to you! Be evil, "and he, unfortunately, remains incorrigibly good. His face was smiling and wrinkled-wrinkled, and his eyes were always asking: “What do you want? Do you want me to do something for you? So I am now, just tell me what your need is. "
The nose is soft, duck, as if completely without cartilage. Yes, and a small, nimble, old man, like a teenager.
What a beard - and that failed. One laughingstock. On a bare chin, two or three reddish hairs - that's the whole beard.
Whether it's the case - you suddenly see a dignified old man driving along the road, and his beard is like a sheaf, in a spacious fur coat with a wide merlushka lapel, in an expensive hat, and even with a good horse, and a silvered saddle - what is not a sage, what is not a prophet, such and such and bow no shame, such an honor is everywhere! And Momun was born just a Quick Momun. Perhaps his only advantage was that he was not afraid to drop himself in someone's eyes. (He sat down wrong, said wrong, answered wrong, smiled wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong ...) In this sense, Momun, without suspecting it, was an extremely happy person. Many people die not so much from disease as from the irrepressible, eternal passion that eats them up - to pretend to be more than they are. (Who doesn't want to be reputed to be smart, dignified, handsome and, moreover, formidable, fair and decisive? ..) But Momun was not like that. He was an eccentric and was treated like an eccentric.
One could greatly offend Momun: forget to invite him to the council of relatives on arranging someone's commemoration ... Then he was deeply offended and seriously upset, 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 troubles and sorrows, from which he suffered, from which he cried at night. Outsiders knew almost nothing about this. And their people knew.
When Momun saw his grandson near the 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-aleikum, great merchant! he said half-jokingly, half-seriously. - Has your caravan arrived in prosperity, is your trade going well? - all beaming, Momun shook the seller's hand. - How much water has flowed under the bridge! Welcome!
The seller, condescendingly laughing at his speech and unprepossessing appearance - all the same common tarpaulin boots, canvas pants sewn by an old woman, a shabby jacket, a felt hat brown from the rain and the sun - answered Momun:
- The caravan is intact. Only now it turns out - the merchant comes to you, and you from the merchant go through the forests and along the valleys. And you punish your wives to keep a penny, like a soul before death. Here even though they are overwhelmed with goods, no one will fork out.
“Don’t ask, dear,” Momun apologized embarrassedly. - If you knew that you would come, they would not leave. And that there is no money, then there is no trial and there is no trial. Let's sell potatoes in the fall ...
- Tell me! - the seller interrupted him. - I know you, stinking beys. 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 an apiary? And give a penny - press. Buy here a silk blanket, there is only one sewing machine.
“By God, there is no such money,” Momun defended.
- So I will believe. You are being curmudgeonly, old man, you are saving up money. And where to?
- By God, no, I swear by the Horned Mother Deer!
- Well, take the corduroy, you will sew new pants.
- I would, I swear by the Horned Mother Deer ...
- Uh, what's the deal with you! - the seller waved his hand. - I shouldn't have come. And where is Orozkul?
- In the morning, it seems, I moved to Aksai. Shepherds have business.
- He is visiting, therefore, - the seller clarified understandingly.
There was an awkward pause.
“Don't be offended, dear,” Momun said again. - In the fall, 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.
- Not for that I came, - the seller refused. He began to close the door of the van and then he said, glancing at his grandson, who was standing next to the old man already at the ready, holding the dog by his ear to run after the car:
- Well, buy at least a briefcase. Is it time for the boy to go to school? How old is he?
Momun immediately seized on this idea: he would buy at least something from the annoying car shopkeeper, and his grandson really needs a portfolio, this fall he will go to school.
“That's right,” Momun fussed, “I didn't even think. Well, seven, the eighth already. Come here, - he called his grandson.
Grandfather rummaged in his pockets, took out a hidden five.
For a long time she, probably, was with him, it was already caked.
- Here you go, big-eared. - The seller sly winked at the boy and handed him a briefcase. - Now study. And if you do not master the letter, you will stay with your grandfather forever in the mountains.
- Will master! He's smart, ”Momun said, counting his change.
Then he glanced at his grandson, awkwardly holding a brand new briefcase, hugged him to him.
- That's good. You’ll go to school in the fall, ”he said quietly. Grandfather's firm, weighty palm softly covered the boy's head.
And he felt a sudden squeeze in his throat, and acutely felt the thinness of his grandfather, the usual 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 doted on the soul of a boy, was such a simple, eccentric old man, whom the wise men called the Smart Momun ... So what? Whatever it is, but 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 commemoration of the noble Bugin old people. And from that moment on, the boy did not part with his briefcase. Rejoicing and boasting, he immediately ran around all the inhabitants of the cordon. First he showed his grandmother - so, they say, my grandfather bought! - then to Aunt Bekey - she, too, was delighted with the portfolio 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 has no time for him. She has her troubles.
Grandma says: if she had children, she would be a completely different woman. And Orozkul, her husband, would also be a different person. Then Momun's grandfather would have been a different person, not what he is. Although he had two daughters - aunt Bekey and even the boy's mother, the youngest daughter - it is still bad, bad, when there are no children of his own; it is even worse when the children have no children. That's what the grandmother says. Understand her ...
After aunt Bekey, the boy ran to show the purchase to young Guljamal and her daughter. And from here he set out on haymaking to Seidakhmat. Again I ran past the red stone "Camel" and again there was no time to pat it on the hump, past the "Saddle", past the "Wolf" and "Tank", and then everything 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 here alone today. The grandfather had long since mowed down his plot, along with the plot of Orozkul. And they had already brought the hay - grandmother and aunt Bekey were raking it up. Momun applied, and he helped grandfather, dragged the hay to the cart. We piled two stacks near the barn. Grandfather made them so carefully that no rains will fall. Smooth as combed ricks. Every year so. Orozkul does not mow hay, everything falls on his father-in-law - after all, the chief is. "If I want," he says, "I'll kick you out of work in no time." This is it for grandfather and Seidakhmat. And then on a drunken case. He cannot drive away his grandfather. Who will work then? Try without your grandfather! There is a lot of work in the forest, especially in autumn. The grandfather says: “The forest is not a flock of sheep, it will not scatter. But I'll look after him no less. Because a fire happens or a flood hits the mountains - the tree will not rebound, will not leave its place, it will die where it stands. But the forester is for that, so that the tree does not disappear. " And Orozkul will not drive Seidakhmat away, because Seidakhmat is meek. He does not interfere in anything, does not argue. But although he is a quiet and healthy guy, and lazy, he loves to sleep. Therefore, I nailed to the forestry. The grandfather says: "Such guys drive cars on the state farm, they plow on tractors." And Seidakhmat overgrown his potatoes with quinoa in his garden. Guldzhamal, with the child in her arms, had to manage the garden herself.
And with the beginning of mowing, Seidakhmat delayed. The day before yesterday, my grandfather swore at 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 will mow for you. " It penetrated, in the morning Seidakhmat was waving a scythe.
Hearing rapid steps behind him, Seidakhmat turned around and wiped himself with his shirt sleeve.
- What are you doing? Is my name, or what?
- No. I have a briefcase. Here. Grandfather bought it. I'll go to school.
- Is that why you came running? - Seidakhmat laughed. - Grandpa Momun is like that, - he turned his finger near his temple, - and you go there too! Well, what a portfolio? He clicked the lock, twirled the briefcase in his hands and returned it, shaking his head mockingly. - Wait, - he exclaimed, - what school will you go to? Where is your school?

In the story "The White Steamer" Aitmatov created a kind of "author's epic" stylized as a folk epic. It was a tale about the Horned Mother Deer, which his grandfather told the protagonist of the White Steamer, a boy. Against the background of the legend, majestic and beautiful in its kindness, the tragedy of the fate of the child, who himself cut off his life, being unable to come to terms with the lies and cruelty of the "adult" world, was especially piercingly felt.

He had two fairy tales. One of his own, about which no one knew. Another one that my grandfather told. Then there was not one left. This is what we are talking about.

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

First, a portfolio was bought. Black leatherette briefcase with shiny metal snap closure that slips under the bracket. With a patch pocket for small items. In a word, an extraordinary ordinary school bag. This is probably how it all started.

Grandfather bought it at a visiting shop. The caravan, driving around with the goods of the pastoralists in the mountains, sometimes dropped in to them at the forest cordon, in the San-Tash pad '.

From here, from the cordon, along the gorges and slopes, a reserved mountain forest ascended to the upper reaches. There are only three families in the cordon. But still, from time to time, the shop came to visit the foresters.

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

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

The wheel road made its way here from the coast of Issyk-Kul, all the time along the gorge, along the river bank, all the time over stones and bumps. It was not very easy to drive on such a road. When she reached Karaulnaya Gora, she climbed from the bottom of the gorge to the slope and from there descended for a long time along the steep and bare slope to the foresters' yards. The Guard Mountain is very close - in the summer, almost every day the boy ran there to look at the lake with binoculars. And there, on the road, everything is always visible at a glance - both on foot and on horseback, and, of course, a car.

That time - and it happened in a hot summer - the boy was swimming in his dam and from here he saw the car get dusty on the slope. The dam was on the edge of a river bank, on pebbles. It was built by my grandfather from stones. If it were not for this dam, who knows, maybe the boy would have been dead for a long time. And, as the grandmother said, the river would have washed his bones long ago and would have carried them straight to Issyk-Kul, and fish and all kinds of water creatures would look at them there. And no one would look for him and kill him - because there is nothing to get into the water and because it doesn't hurt who needs him. So far, this has not happened. And if it happened, who knows, the grandmother might really not have rushed to save. He would also be her family, 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. A stranger ... What if he doesn't want to be a stranger? And why exactly should he be considered a stranger? Maybe not he, but the grandmother herself is a stranger?

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

So, then he saw a caravan, it was coming down from the mountain, and behind it along the road the dust was swirling behind it. And so he was delighted, he knew for sure that a portfolio would be bought for him. He immediately jumped out of the water, quickly pulled on his trousers over his skinny thighs and, himself still wet, turning blue — the water in the river is cold — ran along the path to the courtyard to be the first to announce the arrival of the caravan.

The boy ran quickly, jumping over the bushes and running around the boulders, if he was not able to jump them, and did not linger anywhere for a second - neither near tall grasses, nor near stones, although he knew that they were not at all simple. They could be offended and even substitute a leg. “The shop car has arrived. I’ll come later, ”he threw to“ Lying Camel ”as he walked - this is what he called the red hunchbacked granite that sank into the ground up to his chest. Usually the boy did not pass by without patting his "Camel" on the hump. He clapped him in a businesslike way, like the grandfather of his bobtail gelding - so, casually, casually; You, they say, wait, and I will be absent here on business. He had a saddle boulder - half white, half black, piebald stone with a saddle, where one could sit astride a horse. There was also a stone "Wolf" - very similar to a wolf, brown, with gray hair, with a powerful nape and a heavy forehead. He crawled up to him and took aim. But the most beloved stone is "Tank", an indestructible block near the river on the washed-out bank. So wait, "Tank" will rush from the bank and go, and the river will gurgle, boil with white breakers. Tanks go to the cinema this way: from the shore into the water - and went ... The boy rarely saw films and therefore remembered what he saw. My grandfather sometimes took his grandson to the cinema at the state farm pedigree farm in the neighboring tract behind the mountain. That is why “Tank” appeared on the bank, always ready to rush across the river. There were also others - "harmful" or "good" stones, and even "cunning" and "stupid".

Among the plants, too, there are “beloved”, “courageous”, “fearful”, “evil” and all sorts of others. A prickly thug, for example, is the main enemy. The boy hacked him dozens of times a day. But the end of this war was not in sight - the thug grew and multiplied. But field bindweed, although they are also weeds, are the smartest and funniest flowers. They are best greeted by the sun in the morning. Other herbs do not understand anything - that morning, that evening, they do not care. And the bindweed, just warm the rays, open their eyes, laugh. First one eye, then the second, and then one by one all the swirls of flowers bloom on the bindweed. White, light blue, lilac, different ... And if you sit next to them quite quietly, it seems that they, waking up, are inaudibly whispering about something. Ants - and they know it. In the morning they run through the bindweed, squint in the sun and listen to what the flowers are talking about among themselves. Maybe dreams are told?

During the day, usually at noon, the boy liked to climb into thickets of stalked shiraljins. Shiraljins are tall, there are no flowers on them, but fragrant, they grow in islands, gather in a heap, not allowing other herbs to come close. The Shiraljins are loyal friends. Especially if there is some kind of insult and you want to cry so that no one sees, it is best to hide in shiraljins. They smell like a pine forest at the edge. Hot and quiet in the shiraljins. And most importantly, they do not obscure the sky. You have to lie on your back and look at the sky. At first, through tears, almost nothing is discerned. And then the clouds will come and they will make whatever you think of above. The clouds know that you are not very good, that you want to leave somewhere, go fly away so that no one finds you and so that everyone sighs and gasps later - the boy disappears, they say, where will we find him now? .. And so that this does 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. The same clouds make all sorts of things. You just need to be able to find out what the clouds represent.

And in the shiraljins it is quiet, and they do not obscure the sky. This is how they are, shiraljins, smelling of hot pines ...

And he also knew different differences about herbs. He treated the silvery feather grass that grew in the floodplain meadow with condescension. They are weirdos - feather grass! Windy heads. Eid soft, silky panicles cannot live without wind. They just wait - wherever it blows, there they lean. And everyone bows as one, the whole meadow, as if on command. And if it rains or a thunderstorm starts, they don’t know the feather-grass where to stick to. They rush, fall, cuddle to the ground. If there were legs, they would probably run away wherever their eyes look ... But they are pretending to be. The thunderstorm will subside, and again frivolous feathers in the wind - wherever the wind goes, there they too ...

Alone, without friends, the boy lived in a circle of those simple things that surrounded him, and unless the shop could make him forget about everything and run headlong towards her. What can I say, the shop is not stones or herbs. What is not there, in the shop!

When the boy reached the house, the caravan was already approaching the yard, behind the houses. The houses on the cordon stood facing the river, the courtyard turned into a gentle slope straight to the bank, and on the other side of the river, immediately from the washed-out ravine, the forest rose steeply up the mountains, so that there was only one approach to the cordon - behind the houses. If the boy had not reached in time, no one would have known that the caravan was already here.

There were no men at that hour, everyone had left in the morning. The women were doing household chores. But then he screamed shrilly, running to the open doors:

Has arrived! The shop car has arrived! The women were alarmed. We rushed to look for the 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 shop himself. He was happy that he brought them the news, because he rushed with them into the backyard, because he was jostling with them at the open door of the van. But here the women immediately forgot about him. They had no time for him. The goods are different - the eyes ran up. There were only three women: grandmother, aunt Bekey - the sister of his mother, the wife of the most important man in the cordon, the patrolman Orozkul - and the wife of the auxiliary worker Seidakhmat - young Guldzhamal with her girl in her arms. Only three women. But they fussed so hard, sorted out and stirred up the goods so that the shop assistant had to demand that they keep to the queue and not chatter all at once.

However, his words had little effect on women. At first they grabbed everything, then they began to choose, then return what they had taken away. They put off, tried on, argued, doubted, asked dozens of times about the same thing. One thing they didn’t like, 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 car shop on the mountain disappeared. The shop suddenly turned into an ordinary car, filled with a bunch of various rubbish.

The seller frowned: it was not evident that these women were going to buy anything. Why did he go here, so far, over the mountains?

And so it learned. The women began to retreat, their ardor was tempered, they seemed to be even tired. For some reason, they began to make excuses - either to each other, or to the seller. The grandma was the first to complain that there was no money. And if you don't have money in your hands, you won't take the goods. Aunt Bekey did not dare to make a major purchase without her husband. Aunt Bekey is the most unhappy among all women in the world, because she has no children, for this Orozkul beats her intoxicated, that's why grandfather suffers, because Aunt Bekey is his grandfather's daughter. Aunt Bekey took a few small things and two bottles of vodka. And in vain and in vain - the very same will be worse. The grandmother could not resist:

Why are you calling trouble on your own head? she hissed so that the seller would not hear her.

I know myself, ”Aunt Bekey cut shortly.

What a fool, - the grandmother whispered even more quietly, but gloatingly. If it weren't for the salesperson, she'd be scolding Aunt Bekey right now. Wow, they swear! ..

Young Guljamal helped out. 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 knocked about near the shop, bought goods "for a penny", as the seller said, and went home. Well, is this trade! Spitting after the departed women, the seller began to collect the loose goods in order to get behind the wheel and drive away. Then he noticed the boy.

What are you, big-eared? - he asked. The boy had protruding ears, a slender neck, and a large, round head. - Do you want to buy? So hurry up, or I'll close it. Do you have money?

The seller asked so, just because there was nothing to do, but the boy replied respectfully:

No, uncle, no money, - and shook his head.

And I think there is, ”the seller said with mock disbelief. “You’re all rich here, just pretend to be poor. And you have that in your pocket, isn't it money.

No, uncle, - as before, the boy answered sincerely and seriously and turned out his tattered pocket. (The second pocket was sewn up tightly.)

So your money was waking up. Look where you ran. You will find it.

They were silent.

Whose will you be? - the seller began to ask again. - Old man Momun, or what?

The boy nodded back.

Are you a grandson?

Yes. The boy nodded again.

Where's your mother?

The boy said nothing. He didn't want to talk about it.

She's not giving any news of herself at all, your mother. You don't know yourself, or what?

Do not know.

And the father? Don't you know too?

The boy was silent.

Why are you, friend, know nothing? - the seller jokingly reproached him. - Well, okay, if so. Here you go. ”He took out a handful of sweets. - And be healthy.

The boy was shy.

Take it, take it. Don't delay. It's time for me to go. The boy put the sweets in his pocket and was about to run after the car in order to escort the shop to the road. He called Baltek, a terribly lazy, shaggy dog. Orozkul kept threatening to shoot him - why, they say, keep such a dog. Yes, the grandfather begged to wait a little: it was necessary, they say, to get a shepherd dog, and take Baltek somewhere and leave. Baltek did not care about anything - the well-fed slept, the hungry always suck up to someone, to his own and strangers indiscriminately, just to throw something. That was how he was, the dog Baltek. But sometimes, out of boredom, he ran after cars. True, not far. It will only accelerate, then suddenly it will turn around and start scurrying home. Unreliable dog. Still, running with a dog is a hundred times better than running without a dog. Whatever it is, it's still a dog ...

Slowly, so that the seller would not see, the boy threw one candy to Baltek. “Look,” he warned the dog. "We'll run for a long time." Baltek squealed, wagged his tail - he waited more. But the boy did not dare to throw in another candy. After all, you can offend a person, he did not give a whole handful for a dog.

And just then the grandfather appeared. The old man went to the apiary, but from the apiary it is not visible what is going on behind the houses. And so it turned out that the grandfather arrived in time, the shop has not left yet. Happening. Otherwise, the grandson would not have a portfolio. The boy was lucky that day.

Old man Momun, whom many-wise people called the Smart Momun, was known by everyone in the neighborhood, and he knew everyone. Momun earned such a nickname for his unchanging friendliness to everyone he knew at least in the slightest degree, his willingness 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 suddenly they began to distribute it for free. No one treated Momun with the respect that people of his age enjoy. They treated him easily. It happened that at the great commemoration of some noble elder from the Bugu tribe - and Momun was a Bugu native, 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. Isn't there a little trouble at large commemorations, 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 the others. Young women of ail who had to receive and feed this huge horde of guests, looking at how Momun managed his work, said:

What would we do if it weren't for the Smart Momun!

And it turned out that the old man, who had arrived with his grandson from afar, turned out to be in the role of an henchman-samovar driver. Anyone else in Momun's place would have burst from insult. And Momun, at least what!

And no one was surprised that old Smart Momun was serving the guests

That's why he is all his life Smart Momun. It’s his own fault that he’s Eager Momun. And if any of the outsiders expressed surprise why, they say, you, an old man, were running errands for women, unless there were young guys in this village, Momun replied: “The deceased was my brother. (He considered all the Buginites as brothers. But no less were they “brothers” and other guests.) Who should work at his commemoration if not me? That's why we, Buginites, are related to our very progenitor - the Horned Mother Deer. And she, the wonderful mother deer, bequeathed to us friendship both in life and in memory ... "

That was how he was. Agile Momun!

Both the old and the small were on "you" with him, it was possible to play a trick on him - the old man is harmless; he could not be reckoned with - an unrequited old man. It is not in vain, they say, that people do not forgive someone who does not know how to force them to respect themselves. But he could not.

He knew a lot in life. He was a carpenter, he played a saddle, and he was a rickety man; when he was still younger, he put such ricks on the collective farm, which was a pity to disassemble them in winter: the rain flowed down from the rick like from a duck, and the snow fell on a gable roof. In the war, the labor army in Magnitogorsk erected factory walls, called them a Stakhanovite. I came back, cut down houses at the cordon, I was engaged in the forest. Although he was listed as an auxiliary worker, he looked after the forest, and Orozkul, his son-in-law, for the most part visited the guests. Unless when the authorities appear, then Orozkul himself will show the forest and arrange the hunt, here he was already the master. Momun went after cattle, and he kept an apiary. Momun lived all his life from morning till night at work, in troubles, but he did not learn to make himself respect him.

And Momun's appearance was not at all aksakal. No gravity, no importance, no severity. He was a good-natured person, and at first glance this ungrateful human property could be discerned in him. At all times they teach such: “Don't be kind, be evil! Here's to you, here's to you! Be evil, "and he, unfortunately, remains incorrigibly good. His face was smiling and wrinkled-wrinkled, and his eyes were always asking: “What do you want? Do you want me to do something for you? So I am now, just tell me what your need is. "

The nose is soft, duck, as if completely without cartilage. Yes, and a small, nimble, old man, like a teenager.

What a beard - and that failed. One laughingstock. On a bare chin, two or three reddish hairs - that's the whole beard.

Whether it's the case - you suddenly see a dignified old man driving along the road, and his beard is like a sheaf, in a spacious fur coat with a wide merlushka lapel, in an expensive hat, and even with a good horse, and a silvered saddle - what is not a sage, what is not a prophet, such and such and bow no shame, such an honor is everywhere! And Momun was born just a Quick Momun. Perhaps his only advantage was that he was not afraid to drop himself in someone's eyes. (He sat down wrong, said wrong, answered wrong, smiled wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong ...) In this sense, Momun, without suspecting it, was an extremely happy person. Many people die not so much from disease as from the irrepressible, eternal passion that eats them up - to pretend to be more than they are. (Who doesn't want to be reputed to be smart, dignified, handsome and, moreover, formidable, fair and decisive? ..) But Momun was not like that. He was an eccentric and was treated like an eccentric.

One could greatly offend Momun: forget to invite him to the council of relatives on arranging someone's commemoration ... Then he was deeply offended and seriously upset, 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 troubles and sorrows, from which he suffered, from which he cried at night. Outsiders knew almost nothing about this. And their people knew.

When Momun saw his grandson near the 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-aleikum, great merchant! he said half-jokingly, half-seriously. - Has your caravan arrived in prosperity, is your trade going well? - all beaming, Momun shook the seller's hand. - How much water has flowed under the bridge! Welcome!

The seller, condescendingly laughing at his speech and unprepossessing appearance - all the same common tarpaulin boots, canvas pants sewn by an old woman, a shabby jacket, a felt hat brown from the rain and the sun - answered Momun:

The caravan is intact. Only now it turns out - the merchant comes to you, and you from the merchant go through the forests and along the valleys. And you punish your wives to keep a penny, like a soul before death. Here even though they are overwhelmed with goods, no one will fork out.

Don't ask me, dear, Momun apologized embarrassedly. - If you knew that you would come, they would not leave. And that there is no money, then there is no trial and there is no trial. Let's sell potatoes in the fall ...

Tell me! - the seller interrupted him. - I know you, stinking beys. 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 an apiary? And give a penny - press. Buy here a silk blanket, there is only one sewing machine.

Honestly, there is no such money, - Momun justified.

So I will believe. You are being curmudgeonly, old man, you are saving up money. And where to?

By God, no, I swear by the Horned Mother Deer!

Well, take the corduroy, you will 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. - I shouldn't have come. And where is Orozkul?

In the morning I still moved to Aksai. Shepherds have business.

He is visiting, therefore, - the seller clarified understandingly.

There was an awkward pause.

Don't be offended, dear, ”Momun spoke up again. - In the fall, 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.

Not for that I came, - the seller refused. He began to close the door of the van and then he said, glancing at his grandson, who was standing next to the old man already at the ready, holding the dog by his ear to run after the car:

Well, buy at least a briefcase. Is it time for the boy to go to school? How old is he?

Momun immediately seized on this idea: he would buy at least something from the annoying car shopkeeper, and his grandson really needs a portfolio, this fall he will go to school.

But it’s true, ”Momun fussed,“ I didn’t think. Well, seven, the eighth already. Come here, - he called his grandson.

Grandfather rummaged in his pockets, took out a hidden five.

For a long time she, probably, was with him, it was already caked.

Here you go, big-eared. - The seller sly winked at the boy and handed him a briefcase. - Now study. And if you do not master the letter, you will stay with your grandfather forever in the mountains.

Will master! He's smart, ”Momun said, counting his change.

Then he glanced at his grandson, awkwardly holding a brand new briefcase, hugged him to him.

That's good. You’ll go to school in the fall, ”he said quietly. Grandfather's firm, weighty palm softly covered the boy's head.

And he felt a sudden squeeze in his throat, and acutely felt the thinness of his grandfather, the usual 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 doted on the soul of a boy, was such a simple, eccentric old man, whom the wise men called the Smart Momun ... So what? Whatever it is, but 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 commemoration of the noble Bugin old people. And from that moment on, the boy did not part with his briefcase. Rejoicing and boasting, he immediately ran around all the inhabitants of the cordon. First he showed his grandmother - so, they say, my grandfather bought! - then to Aunt Bekey - she, too, was delighted with the portfolio 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 has no time for him. She has her troubles.

Grandma says: if she had children, she would be a completely different woman. And Orozkul, her husband, would also be a different person. Then Momun's grandfather would have been a different person, not what he is. Although he had two daughters - aunt Bekey and even the boy's mother, the youngest daughter - it is still bad, bad, when there are no children of his own; it is even worse when the children have no children. That's what the grandmother says. Understand her ...

After aunt Bekey, the boy ran to show the purchase to young Guljamal and her daughter. And from here he set out on haymaking to Seidakhmat. Again I ran past the red stone "Camel" and again there was no time to pat it on the hump, past the "Saddle", past the "Wolf" and "Tank", and then everything 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 here alone today. The grandfather had long since mowed down his plot, along with the plot of Orozkul. And they had already brought the hay - grandmother and aunt Bekey were raking it up. Momun applied, and he helped grandfather, dragged the hay to the cart. We piled two stacks near the barn. Grandfather made them so carefully that no rains will fall. Smooth as combed ricks. Every year so. Orozkul does not mow hay, everything falls on his father-in-law - after all, the chief is. "If I want," he says, "I'll kick you out of work in no time." This is it for grandfather and Seidakhmat. And then on a drunken case. He cannot drive away his grandfather. Who will work then? Try without your grandfather! There is a lot of work in the forest, especially in autumn. The grandfather says: “The forest is not a flock of sheep, it will not scatter. But I'll look after him no less. Because a fire happens or a flood hits the mountains - the tree will not rebound, will not leave its place, it will die where it stands. But the forester is for that, so that the tree does not disappear. " And Orozkul will not drive Seidakhmat away, because Seidakhmat is meek. He does not interfere in anything, does not argue. But although he is a quiet and healthy guy, and lazy, he loves to sleep. Therefore, I nailed to the forestry. The grandfather says: "Such guys drive cars on the state farm, they plow on tractors." And Seidakhmat overgrown his potatoes with quinoa in his garden. Guldzhamal, with the child in her arms, had to manage the garden herself.

And with the beginning of mowing, Seidakhmat delayed. The day before yesterday, my grandfather swore at 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 will mow for you. " It penetrated, in the morning Seidakhmat was waving a scythe.

Hearing rapid steps behind him, Seidakhmat turned around and wiped himself with his shirt sleeve.

What are you doing? Is my name, or what?

No. I have a briefcase. Here. Grandfather bought it. I'll go to school.

Is that why you came running? - Seidakhmat laughed. - Grandpa Momun is like that, - he turned his finger near his temple, - and you go there too! Well, what a portfolio? He clicked the lock, twirled the briefcase in his hands and returned it, shaking his head mockingly. - Wait, - he exclaimed, - what school will you go to? Where is your school?

How to which one? To the farmhouse.

Is it going to Jelesai? - Seidakhmat wondered. - So there, over the mountain, five kilometers, no less.

My grandfather said he would take me on a horse.

Every day back and forth? The old man is strange ... It's time for him to go to school himself. He will sit with you on the desk, the lessons are over - and back! - Seidakhmat rolled with laughter. He became very funny when he imagined Momun's grandfather sitting with his grandson at the school desk.

The boy was silent, puzzled.

Yes, I am so, for a laugh! - explained Seidakhmat. He slightly tapped the boy on the nose, pulled the visor of his grandfather's cap over his eyes. Momun did not wear the uniform cap of the forestry department, he was ashamed of it. ("What am I, some boss? I will not exchange my Kyrgyz hat for any other.") And in summer Momun had an antediluvian felt hat, the "former" ak-cap - a white cap trimmed with black shabby satin along the brim, and in winter - also antediluvian - sheepskin tebetey. He let his grandson wear the green uniform cap of the forest worker.

The boy did not like that Seidakhmat accepted the news so derisively. He glumly raised the visor to his forehead and, when Seidakhmat once again wanted to click it on the nose, jerked his head back and snapped:

Don't bother!

Oh you, what an angry one! - Seidakhmat grinned. - Don't be offended. You have what you need a briefcase! And patted him on the shoulder. - Now go ahead. I still have to mow and mow ...

After spitting on his palms, Seidakhmat again took hold of the scythe.

And the boy ran home again along the same path and again ran past the same stones. There was no time to play with stones yet. The portfolio is a serious thing.

The boy loved to talk to himself. But this time he said not to himself - to the portfolio: “You don’t believe him, my grandfather is not like that at all. He is not at all cunning, and therefore they laugh at him. Because he's not cunning at all. He will take you and me to school. Don't you know where the school is yet? Not that far. I'll show you. We will look at it through binoculars from Karaulnaya Gora. And I will also show you my white steamer. Only first we will run into the barn. I have my binoculars hidden there. I should have looked after the calf, but every time I run away to look at the white steamer. Our calf is already big - as you drag it, you can't hold it - but has taken the habit of sucking milk from a cow. And the cow is his mother, and she does not mind milk. Understand? Mothers never regret anything. It is Guljamal who says so, she has her own girl ... Soon the cow will be milked, and then we will chase the calf to graze. And then we will climb Karaulnaya Mountain and see a white steamer from the mountain. That's how I talk with binoculars. Now there will be three of us - me, you and the binoculars ... "

So he returned home. He really enjoyed talking with the portfolio. He was going to continue this conversation, wanted to tell about himself, which the portfolio did not yet know. But he was prevented. A horse tramp was heard from the side. A rider on a gray horse rode out from behind the trees. It was Orozkul. He was also returning home. The gray horse Alabash, on which he did not allow anyone but himself to ride, was under an exit saddle with copper stirrups, with a chest strap, with tinkling silver pendants.

Orozkul's hat was pulled back to the back of his head, revealing a red, low forehead. Doze in the heat took him apart. He slept on the move. The corduroy tunic, not very skilfully tailored after the pattern worn by the district authorities, was unbuttoned from top to bottom. The white shirt on his stomach was knocked out from under the belt. He was full and drunk. Quite recently I was visiting, drinking kumis, eating meat to the bone.

When they came to the mountains for summer grazing, the surrounding shepherds and herders often invited Orozkul to their place. He had old friends and acquaintances. But they called in with the calculation. Orozkul is the right person. Especially for those who are building a house while they are sitting in the mountains; You won't leave the herd, you won't leave, but where will you find building materials? And above all the forest? And if you please Orozkul, you see two or three logs from the reserved forest to choose from and take away. But no, so you will wander with the herd in the mountains, and your house will be built forever ...

Dozing in the saddle, the heavy and important Orozkul rode, carelessly resting the toes of his chrome boots on the stirrups.

He almost flew off his horse in surprise when the boy ran towards him, waving his briefcase:

Uncle Orozkul, I have a briefcase! I'll go to school. Here I have a briefcase.

Oh, to you! - Orozkul swore, frightened pulling on the reins.

He looked at the boy with red, sleepy, swollen, drunken eyes:

Where are you from?

I am going home. I have a briefcase, I showed it to Seidakhmat, ”the boy said in a low voice.

Okay, play, - muttered Orozkul and, uncertainly swaying in the saddle, drove on.

What did he care about this stupid portfolio, before this boy, his wife's nephew, abandoned by his parents, if he himself was so offended by fate, if God did not give him his own son, his own blood, while giving others children generously, without counting?. ...

Orozkul sniffled and sobbed. Pity and anger choked him. It was a pity to him that life would pass without a trace, and anger flared up in him towards his barren wife. It is she, damned, who has been walking empty for many years now ...

"Oh, I'll tell you!" - mentally threatened Orozkul, clenching his fleshy fists, and groaned stifled so as not to cry out loud. He already knew that he would come and beat her. This happened whenever Orozkul got drunk; this bull-like man was stupefying with grief and anger.

The boy followed the path. He was surprised when suddenly ahead of him, Orozkul disappeared. And he, turning to the river, dismounted from his horse, threw down the reins and walked straight through the tall grass. He walked, swaying and bending. He walked, clutching his face with his hands, his head in his shoulders. At the coast, Orozkul squatted down. He grabbed handfuls of water from the river and splashed in his face.

“Probably his head ached from the heat,” the boy decided when he saw what Orozkul was doing. He did not know that Orozkul was crying and could not stop sobbing. He cried because it was not his son who ran out to meet him, and because he did not find something in himself that was necessary to say at least a few human words to this boy with a briefcase.

In this article we will describe the story "The White Steamer". A summary of this work will be presented in it. The story was written in 1970 by Chingiz Aitmatov.

The "White Steamer" begins (summary) as follows. A boy and his grandfather lived in the forest cordon. There were three women here: a grandmother, the wife of the buster Orozkul, the main man in the cordon, and my grandfather's daughter, Aunt Bekey. There was also Seidakhmat's wife, Aunt Bekey, a woman who is the most unhappy since she has no children. Orozkul drunk beats her for this. These are the main characters of the story, which was written by Chingiz Aitmatov.

"White Steamer". Grandfather Momun

The agile Momun was nicknamed grandfather Momun. He received such a nickname for his constant friendliness, as well as his willingness to serve. He knew how to work. And Orozkul, his son-in-law, although he was considered the boss, mostly traveled to the guests. Momun kept an apiary, went after livestock. Chingiz Aitmatov notes that he was all at work from morning to evening, all his life, but he never learned to make himself respect.

Boy's dream

The boy did not remember either mother or father. He did not see them even once, but he knew that his father served in Issyk-Kul as a sailor, and his mother left for some distant city after the divorce.

The boy loved to climb the neighboring mountain and look at Issyk-Kul through his grandfathers binoculars. On the lake in the late afternoon a white steamer was shown.

Handsome, powerful, long, with pipes in a row. Aitmatov's story "The White Steamer" is named in the ship. The boy wanted to turn into a fish, with only one of his own on a thin neck, with protruding ears. He dreamed that he would swim to his father and tell him that he was his son. The boy wanted to tell how he lived with Momun. This grandfather is the best, but not at all cunning, which is why everyone laughs at him. And Orozkul often shouts.

The tale told by Momun

Grandfather told his grandson a fairy tale in the evenings. Describing it continues the work "White Steamer".

In ancient times, the Kyrgyz tribe lived on the banks of the Enesai River. Enemies attacked him and killed everyone, only a girl and a boy remained. However, then the children also fell into the hands of enemies. The pockmarked Lame Old Woman gave them to the Khan and ordered to finish off these Kirghiz. But when she had already brought the children to the bank of the river Enesai Ragged Lame Old Woman, the maral womb came out of the forest and asked to give her the children. The old woman warned that these are human children who will kill her deer when they grow up. After all, people do not even feel sorry for each other, let alone animals. However, the deer mother nevertheless begged the old woman, and brought the children to Issyk-Kul.

They got married when they grew up. The woman began childbirth, she suffered. The man got scared and began to call the mother deer. Then an iridescent ringing was heard from afar. The horned mother brought a baby cradle on her horns - beshik. The silver bell on its bow rang. Immediately a woman was born. The firstborn was named Bugubai, in honor of the deer. Rod Bugu went from him.

Then one rich man died, and his children decided to install the deer horns on the tomb. Since then, marals have not had mercy in the forests, and they were gone. The mountains were empty. When the mother deer left, she said that she would never return. This is how the description of the fairy tale of Aitmatov ends. The "White Steamer" continues with a story about further events at the forest cordon.

Orozkul works with Momun

Autumn has come again in the mountains. For Orozkul, along with the summer, the time for visits to the herders and shepherds departed - the time had come to pay for the offerings. Together with Momun, they dragged two pine logs through the mountains, and therefore Orozkul was angry with the whole world. He wanted to settle down in a city where people are respected, cultured people live. There you do not have to carry the logs afterwards for receiving a gift. And the state farm is visited by the inspection, the police - they suddenly ask where the forest comes from. Anger boiled up in Orozkul at this thought. He wanted to beat his wife, but the house was far away. In addition, the grandfather noticed the marals and almost came to tears, as if he had met his brothers.

Quarrel between Orozkul and Momun

The "White Steamer", the summary of which we are describing, continues with a quarrel between Orozkul and Momun. Finally, Orozkul quarreled with the old man when it was very close to the cordon. He kept asking for time off in order to pick up his grandson from school. It got to the point that he threw the stuck logs in the river and went after the boy. Orozkul hit him several times on the head, but it did not help - the old man broke free and left.

When the boy and his grandfather returned, they learned that Orozkul and beat her. He said he was firing his grandfather. Bekey cursed her father, howled, and the grandmother was itching that it was necessary for Orozkul to submit, to ask for forgiveness from him, otherwise there would be nowhere to go in his old age.

The boy wanted to tell his grandfather that he met red deer in the forest - they returned. But the old man was not up to it. The boy again left for an imaginary world, began to beg the deer-mother to bring the cradle on the horns to Orozkulu and Bekey.

People came for the forest

Meanwhile, people came to the cordon behind the forest. While they were pulling out the log, Grandpa Momun followed Orozkul like a loyal dog. The arrivals also noticed these, apparently, were from the reserve, not frightened.

Momun kills mother deer

In the evening, the boy saw a cauldron boiling on a fire in the courtyard, from where the meat spirit emanated. The grandfather was standing by the fire. He was drunk. The boy had never seen him like this. One of the newcomers, as well as a drunken Orozkul, were sharing a pile of fresh meat, squatting by the barn. The boy saw a deer head under the wall of the barn. He tried to run, but his legs did not obey him - he just stood and looked at the head of the one who had been the mother deer yesterday.

The boy goes to the river

They all soon sat down at the table. The boy was nauseating all the time. He heard drunken people sniffing, gnawing, chomping, devouring the mother deer. Saydakhmat later told how he made her grandfather shoot her: he intimidated that he would be kicked out by Orozkul if he did not.

The boy decided to become a fish and never return to the mountains. He went to the river and stepped into the water.

This is how the story "The White Steamer" ends, the summary of which we have described. In 2013, this work was included in the list of "100 books for schoolchildren", recommended for independent reading by the Ministry of Education and Science.