# Letters of Mizhappar (The short novel)

Вулкан Холдор

In this my literary work I try to describe the difficult life of may poor compatriots in the past.(Holder Volcano)

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers


Letters of Mizhappar

(The short novel)


(In loving memory of the great humorist of Uzbekistan Hadjibay Tadjibayev)


The first letter of Mizhappar


Let this letter that I write now, rushing like a storm, storming like a Typhoon, reach the hands of dear Mr. Sitmrat, whom lives in those countries where democracy flourishes like the Japanese Sakura in the spring. Let this letter be clear to him as the full moon in the deserted silence of the snow-covered field of the collective farm, where we plant cotton in the spring. Hello, Mr. Sitmrat, my name is Mizhappar. I'm a member of the collective farm. My fellow farmers work from early spring until late autumn, cooperating with the government to reach their goal, to exceed the annual plans for the collection of cotton, bravely defeating all the vagaries of harsh nature. Thank you very much, our wise President and the government, for making bread cheap. A man will not die if he does not eat meat. That is, anyone will do without meat. For us as long as bread is cheap along with water. Now, think for yourself, Mr. Sitmrat, if your clothing or boots tear, you can patch them up. But the stomach? What do you think, is it possible to sew up the stomach at least for a day and live without eating anything? It is not so. Here is recently, we were in search of bread with bags in armpits. And now, we thank again our wisest President and the government that there is bread, water and air.This is the most important thing. I am writing this historic letter and I think about those days when the first mandatory goods disappeared from the shop counters and I remember one funny story. The story is very funny and when I think about this case, I burst into laughter and can't stop. I can't stop even when I stare at my fingernails to stifle my laughter. Even now as I write this letter and cracked hand from my hands are shaking due to laughter. In short, in those grim days of my age, me and relative Qurumboy from the village "Lattakishlak" went to town in search of cotton oil. He was walking among the shops of the Bazaar when he saw a young man selling cotton oil. Qurumboy asked the price from this seller. The seller named the price. The price was reasonable and Qurumboy decided to buy, thinking "the Price is reasonable. I'll buy more. I will resell the excess to the neighbors in tridorogo ". While he thought, the seller asked him a delicate question, he said: - How many liters will you have, sir?

- Two... no, three pints please, ' said Qurumboy, pulling money out from his tarpaulin boots without soles. -Well, Mister - he said, and took one three-liter glass jar with a sealed lid. Then wiping it with a towel, gave it to Qurumboy. He paid and carefully placed the three-liter glass jar in the bag. When Qurumboy arrived home safe and sound, on a bus branded "Pazik" with a loaf of yellow bread, his mother was very happy. And, of course will be delighted. After all, they have not eaten hot food for 3 months in a row, and now this! The mother of Qurumboy even cried of joy. They then cleared the cabbage, corn, turnips, potatoes with surgical care put them into a kettle of vegetable oil, brought by Qurumboy. The well-oiled, clear oil lay in the bottom of the blackened kettle. Qurumboy began spreading the fire by adding dry dung. The fire burned quite a long time but, for some reason the oil was not warmed up. there was no smoke rising from it. Suddenly the heated oil began to boil. Seeing this, Qurumboy and his mother became surprised. It turns out that the seller was a liar, and he sold Qurumboy not cotton oil, but cold tea, which looked similar to oil.Then Qurumboy spent one week using the money on transportation, he went into town looking for the seller, a scoundrel on the market, but could not find him. Now, cotton oil, thanks to the government and our generous president, appeared on the shelves. Although, more expensive, but there it was. I don't understand people. Some complain all the time, because of the light turning, then about the shortage of gas for their furnace, then about drinking water. If it was my choice, I would have destroyed all those power lines, poles, in general electronics. It turns out this electric current is the most dangerous and harmful substance for human life. How many people died from the electric current in our village, when they picked an eletric breaker with a screwdriver in their hands, hoping to twist the meter, as to avoid paying for electricity. As the fire breaks out, with a green-red spark, the meter explodes in place with the host like a time bomb. Some of their houses were burned to the ground by a flash from power lines on their roofs into the attic, where dry hay that they were gathering for the cattle is ignited. It turns out, too, it's as flammable as gunpowder in a keg. It's better to live without electricity. In our village named after Chapaev every day, from evening to morning we should turn off the electricity. Naturally, I rejoice in this. My parents, my stepfather and stepmother are also happy. My stepfather to say, when the electricity is off I will not be watching TV and i'll fall asleep early. Yesterday I, was cleaning cows butts, suddenly, a chorus of villagers yelled and I slightly had a heart attack. They loudly shouted: Uraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!. I think, Mr. Sitmrat came on an armored personnel carrier with the oppisition starting the revolution. I went out Jogging on the street and see the villagers fleeing their homes, rustling their heavy coats and stomping with their tarpaulin boots without the soles.

- What are you saying, fellow villagers?! - I asked them.

- The lights on! - Thank you, our wise President and government! - they answered with a shout of joy. Through later hours, as they finished their food, they were waiting to watch television, the electricity had turned off.

Some citizens complain about the lack of gas. Well, what can you do, if these fools do not even know how dangerous this gas is. Last year in the winter the gas is nearly burned our house. In our village, people in order to take more gas, installed motors mounted into the furnace. And with the help of this mechanism, they extract the gas from the pipe, leaving small amounts of fuel to their neighbors. After consulting with my stepfather and stepmother, I also bought a motor of this kind and mounted it in the pipe of our furnace. As the motor began to work, immediately began to create blue flames in the furnace and it terribly buzzed like a ship sailing in the icy expanses of the Arctic ocean. The flame in the furnace fluttered like a flag on a flagpole and in a short time we became warm. My stepfather and stepmother rejoice, praising me. When it became stuffy, I had to take off my coat and hat with earflaps and sit in my undershirt. Our home became like a Finnish sauna and I had sweat all over me. Even breathing became difficult from the unbearable heat. Suddenly, the motor mounted into the pipe of the furnace, giving the sound of bats, flying in different directions, then the motor exploded. It turns out the pressure on the gas pipeline rose sharply. I saw the flames have risen to a meter and a half, if not more, and our shack has turned into a stone cave of a fiery hell. My stepmother in hysterics shouted in a shrill voice like a whistle of an ancient factory, calling for the help of people. I'm shocked. I stand still. I see my stepfather is also snarling like a wild man at a waterfall.

- Mizhappar! Look, my adopted son, the sheepskin is burning with the mattress by the furnace!Put it out, for God's sake! Oh, Lord! - he growled.

- I see, I see, stepfather! I will put the fire out! I growled in reply, and began feverishly to trample on the flame, which was raging terribly near our furnace. I trampled the fire with my flat-footed feet, like the fins of scuba divers, and finally, I managed to successfully contain the fire. But, during the struggle with the fire, my pants burned up to my knees and they turned into shorts. I've been afraid of gas ever since. Our poverty saved us from destruction. Because we except the clay floor, clay walls and ceilingmade out of almost nothing. If we had wooden floors and ceilings, luxurious furniture, it would definitely burn down. From there, and the popular saying complained that not beauty, but the poor will save the world. Here you are a great scientist in the field of profanity, think for yourself, if the people of the whole planet were poor, they would not be able to invent atomic and nuclear bombs, right, Mr. Sitmrat? Would a poor, hungry man think about inventions? they would only think about filling their stomach. They, too, would hope to find dry bread, and would work on the cotton plantations, from morning to evening, picking cotton, not ceasing even in the cold days of December in a place with their children. I firmly believe that wealth and luxury are the number one enemy of all mankind. After the fire that broke out in our house, it looked like a closet, I dismantled the pipes from the gas pipeline and we began to heat our shack with dung, that is, cow dung. Although dung in a furnace burns slowly and smells bad, at least it is safe for human life. Extracted dung is also not difficult. Sit on a donkey and go to the lawn where the juniper trees grow, where there is a lot of dung, which cows produced. Collect them, put them in your bag and the police will not even arrest you for it. Sometimes the mown rye field will also turn into a quarry fuel of energy resources for us, that is, for the poor. We need to live in harmony with nature, not destroy it.

With great respect, the member of collective farm, Mizhappar.


January 21, 2008. 19 hours 15 minutes.

Collective Farm "Chapaev".


The second letter of Mizhappar


The letter writing now, as well as the first letter let raging like a Typhoon or tsunami tropical shores of the ocean, will reach the hands of Mr. Sitmirat, who lives in the high mountains, over blue seas and the boundless forests in far Canada, thoughtfully Smoking his tobacco. Hello, dear Mr. Sitmirat. If you ask me, then I go dragging my foot cloth made from red slogan that stretches sticking out my torn of tarpaulin boots without soles, bothering the evil, stray dogs, laugh of children that ringing laughter ran after me, pointing to my tarpaulin boots without soles and shouting in unison, like a pack of monkeys. Now I will write about news. If you start with good news, the picture emerges something like this. My age and a relative who lives in the Village ''Lattaqishlaq'' Qurumboy thundered in the Slammer. Generally, he himself is to blame in this. It was like this. When we met him in the center of our village, Qurumboy told me that he has for me is very interesting news and he says the news only when I make a feast, slaughtering one sheep. -Well, there is no market. Our life is beautiful, our sky is clear and our bread is not expensive. You tomorrow evening along with Yoldashvoy and Mamadiar come to an abandoned pigsty, one sheep with me. I will arrange as they say, a magnificent Banquet in exactly, and there you will tell me that important news - I said. On the following day, according to my promise, I slaughtered a sheep with paws and a collar around its neck, without a muzzle. Poor so whined as if begging me so I let her live, sorry. - I'm sorry, buddy, I must lead you in victims. How else are my friends drinking vodka? Guess there's nothing to eat. We have to make you a healing soup called "Kuksi". So, good bye, my friend, I said, and I stabbed her with a sickle. What to do? I'm not Robespierre, to have a sharp guillotine. In short, I made a healing soup, where the meat was swimming sad poor dog. Seeing these delicate, Qurumboy refused to eat. He said - I will not eat dog meat. Yoldashvoy said that if vodka, then not only he is ready to eat dog meat, but donkey meat. After these words, I was just forced to bring a couple of bottles of vodka from the center of the village. After the first cups of vodka my friends played appetite, and they began to drink soup and eat dog meat, licking their fingers. Then I had to run again for vodka in the center of the village "Chapaev". We had a nice drink and we were cold. You see, the eyes of my friends slightly cross eyed and they are hard to hear words. They moved lazily, like a zombie. I got scared and began to ask Qurumboy about the news, which he promised to say. - Well, Qurumboy, out now the news you promised to tell. Tell me before it faded mirror of the mind - I said. Qurumboy picked off their used skullcap. Then come you didn't stay up from the inner pocket of his soldier's overcoat, filled her tobacco and began to smoke. - Well, Mizhappar - he said, smoking his pipe. - In short, your letter which you wrote on a roofing material, oppositionists published on the website - he told, having long and loudly rumbled. Look how ill-mannered he is. You are called on you, Mr.Sitmirat! The website said. Hearing his words, I began to climb the roof. - Uh, Qurumboy, why treat a respected Mr. Sitmirat what you are. Such a respected father, and you call it a Website! Not good - I said. Qurumboy in the place ashamed began to laugh. I was doing Kung Fu. I have a simple leather belt from pantaloons black in karate. Looking to the side lying sickle with a wooden handle, wrapped with blue duct tape, with the help of which I recently stabbed a poor dog. I grabbed the sickle, and rushed at Qurumboy. I only began to decapitate, appeared the local policeman, a friend of Shgabuddinov with a gun in the hands of mark "Mauser". - Hands up and face the wall! Shoulder width feet! Tell who! What's going on, huh?! Why fight, you bastards?! Answer me now! I'll shoot you on the spot without trial or investigation! - He shouted, nervously waving his "Mauser'.

-Qurumboy called respected man, Mr. Sitmirat's website -I said. Hearing my words, local policeman Shgabuddinov freaked out! He called Sitmirat of Sattarovich Site?! Oh you bastard, you redneck, how dare you call our beloved chief?! Do you even know who he is?! He, for twenty years headed the largest and most feared prison in the world! Such a commander called the site?! Well, consider yourself dead. I'll show you what's what! Come on, gather round, Scorpion green, let's go to the station, there we'll talk one on one! - Said local policeman Shgabuddinov. Then, with a kick in the ass, took Qurumboy to the station, after this incident of Qurumboy was tried and sentenced to long terms of imprisonment, rightly said our ancestors that words are stronger than nuclear bombs. Because of the word of Qurumboy put on nine years! To think only! Uzbek poet Cosimiy knowingly wrote.


The Nightingale sang, sitting on a branch,

Because of the song he got in the cage.


One day, Qurumboy managed to bribe one of the guards, and this bribe taker brought me a secret letter from Qurumboy. To be honest, at first I was afraid to open the envelope, thinking that Qurumboy in his letter scolded me, probably worth. No, on the contrary, he even thanked me for being in prison. The content of the letter was as follows:

- Hi, Mizhappar! Thank you so much, my best friend, for helping me go to jail, I'm given three times a day for free bread and clothing. In short, people live here better than at will. You, and even my family, let them as soon as possible after committing some heinous crimes, will sit in the dock and that would be to lengthy periods of imprisonment, hire additional prosecutors, together a lawyer. If they find a way, they'll be empty for life, because in the wild they can die from lack of food and without clean water,

with great gratitude, your friend Qurumboy.


As soon as I read the letter of my friend, the Barber Usta Garib, Cycling through the streets of our village, with a loud voice called the people to the funeral called Muslims "Janaza". It turned out that last night died the mentor and chief of the local policeman Shgabuddinov Sitmirat Sattarovich, that is, your swine. Poor, Sitmirat Sattarovich was still quite young. Last year, he just turned eighty nine years. I used to think that leaders do not die, that is, they live forever. I miscalculated, find themselves leaders, too, and die. When the call to Gansu, every Muslim is obliged to go and attend this event. Leaving this law, I'm wearing my tarpaulin boots, which gave me for the birthday a son-in-law, that is, my sister's husband, who works in the fire Department. Then put a cotton vest on clapped on the head of his old, worn skullcap put on jeans. When I came to the house late Sitmrat Sattarovich, there were heads of all kinds and grades mournfully bowed their too smart super gravy, crossing his hands like a rake with which they raked the bribe, and, in large amounts. The local policeman Shgabuddinov here, too, sadly bowed his head, polished his service weapon by brand "Mauser" in the sleeves of his worn shirt, as if he would kill himself due to despair. Over the grave of Sitmirat Sattarovich roared hired plurality that came from bazaar. They were crying, tearing their hair and dresses to shreds, pretending to be in sisters and daughters of Sitmirat Sattarovich:

- Oh, father, why you have left us?! As we are now without you going to live?!

- Oooooh, my brother! You yes he was very young! What very long arms you had and incredibly short, crooked legs! What a bloated belly! What was your long thin neck and small head and bulb shaped head made from narrow-minded! You were a scythe and no you have a chin! Oh, the nose?! Your nose was like a potato! I do not believe that such a beautiful person like you is dead! You're probably faking it! Will the angels die too?! A whole twenty years he directed the terrible prison! Now orphaned yours, oooo, and my handsome brother! How will the poor convicts live without you now?! - They roared. Then the team no beard mullahs in tuxedo black light, we lined up on jeans near the tomb of Sitmirat Sattarovich. - Comrades, will be sold with! Now we read janaza in honor of our dear head of Sitmirat Sattarovich. Attention! - Said the beardless mullah, adjusting his tie, like a butterfly. We adopted the Attention and beardless Mullah saying, "Eyes left!"I approached the portrait of the deceased, and then long praised wise sitmirat Sattarovich. He had long read the praises, already got bored around. In the cold February air, the snow began to fall lazily, like dandruff of unkempt human hair. Then I accidentally saw their tarpaulin boots, I almost laughed. It turns out that in my rush I put them on inverted, that is, the left to the right foot and the right on the left leg. Here it was not possible to disguise them. Suddenly I saw the face of a bearded Mullah and laughter intensified. Because of this the mullahs, who wore on his head a black skullcap with plastic wrap covering it. His teeth were like the teeth of a rabbit, that is, these large teeth sticking out even when Mullah tightly closed his mouth, his teeth was still showing. If that was not enough, the voice beardless Mullah was like the sound of a saxophone. I can't guarantee not to laugh in these situations. Laughter accumulated in me like water in a reservoir and I started to laugh silently, clenching my shoulders. I would have stopped my laughter if I do not see in front of a man dressed in his shaved Fantomas above the head skullcap wrapped in a plastic bag. I'm laughing and raze I can't will stop. Then one man, who was standing next to me, turned out to be a strong devil, and began to laugh. No sound either. We looked at each other and laughed at each other stronger, blushing until neck from tension. It turns out; laughter is also like a plague spreading fast. You see, other people have caught on to this epidemic and began to laugh in unison, laughing. Then we were joined by itself the beardless Mullah and he too began to laugh, shaking his stomach. I see the owners of the corpse are giggling, too. Here I laughed in a loud voice, others too. Thus the funeral of Sitmirat Sattarovich turned into a Comedy. These are the things we have, Mr. Sitmirat. Okay, I have to go to the cotton field. Say Hello to everyone,

sincerely, worker of the collective farm 'Chapaev' Mizhappar.


February 2, 2008. 13 hours and 22 minutes a day.

The collective Farm "Chapaev".


The third letter of Mizhappar


Assalamu alaikum, Mr. Sitmirat! The other day I bought two packs of Indian tea, two scones with a kebab and went to prison to visit my friend and relative of Qurumboy. We arrived in colonies, where convicts are brought up, and near the gate of the prison I saw Qurumboy. There he fought with the police, and the police chased him, but Qurumboy did not obey them. One of the policemen said:

- Hey, What the hell, we are tired of you, go home, you are free! You have in your hands a legal document of the Supreme court on Amnesty. If this Amnesty gets you released, you know what will happen?!


- No, you have no right to release me even with the help of Amnesty! I want to stay in this prison for the rest of my life! Why are you violating my right to serve?! I'll write a cessation appeal to the Supreme Court! If he also refuses to review my case, I will have to complain to a human rights organization such as Hyman rights watch. They will raise a political scandal in this case, and this rumor will reach the President himself. Then you will be gone! You'll lose your fat job! - said Qurumboy.


The police ran together to the prison and hastily closed the iron gate, leaving Qurumboy on the street. Then Qurumboy started pounding at the gate with his fists.


- Open the gate, you bastards! I want to go back to my own prison. - shouted Qurumboy, kicking the gates. The iron gate rattled with his blows as spring thunder in inclement weather before the noisy rain. The police were happy for the high fence and barbed wire of the city prison. They said:


- Knock, fool, knock! It still is not open!


- Okay, okay, okay! Let's make a deal, I'll come in and get my boots and come out! - Qurumboy, ceasing to Bang on the prison gates.


- Nah, we barely got rid of you! Better themselves will bring your smelly boots and pants with sticks but would not get infected by rabies! - said the policemen, and without forcing a long wait, threw the boots Qurumboy over the high fence of the prison. The policemen were shouting obscene words, Qurumboy wore his boots which have no soles. Then I went up to him and said Hello.


And Mizhappar? - he said, putting on his boots. At this time, from behind the fence came the voice of a policeman:


- Hey, bro, please, take this friend of yours away, for God's sake! He's boring! Such a ham, he probably, did not know the history of our prison!

Look at you, you want to be here! Go work on the cotton plantations, you parasite! -


- Qurumboy, let's go, friend. Do not drive Bird of happiness with a stick, which wants to nest on your head. Come on-, I said, calling him to reason. But Qurumboy didn't listen to me and he took a large stone near the fence of the flower garden, with full force threw it to the side of the prison. It is good that the soldier who stood on the tower, bent down and the stone flew towards the prison. There was a thump, and someone with a groan fell..

I started to calm Qurumboy, trying to persuade him to get away from that ill-fated place.


- Calm down, Qurumboy go home. They shot you using a stun gun with a telescopic sight -, I said.


Qurumboy, leaving, shouted to the police:


- Just you wait, bastards! I'll show you how to get an innocent man out of jail! I'll have each of you separate dirt! - said Qurumboy.


Calming Qurumboy, I took him to the bus stop. When we entered the yellow light bus, which looked like a loaf of Russian bread, the people gave us seats and we sat in the back seats. When the bus moved off, I asked Qurumboy:

- Hey,what's dirt?- Qurumboy chuckled back:


- Oh, you man, you have no idea what you got? Dirt is, the sins committed by the guard. Here, I've collected dirt on the rotten Cavel. One day I was sitting in the house with the poor, sipping kefir, let the Piglet in a circle, kicks, in short, and then rushed into the prison, the guard Qabil does frisk, and at the same time sniffing the air says:


- Do we smoke some pineapple?! Now get him out of here! Quick! What did I say!..


We were silent. well, this is, my mug that I usually drink kefir in.


-Qabil, you broke my mug, that would be expensive - I said.


- Oh, political socialism! You should be rewarded. Do you want to get the Nobel Prize?! International? - he asked.


- What's with the prize?.. I asked in surprise.


-Here's the award! Qabil said and hit me in the head with his club. The blow was so strong that I lost consciousness. When I came to, I saw that my head and smashed through the wall, which tied my head inmates, oozing blood.


- Qurumboy, please. Don't argue with those Cavels. In ancient books, too, write about some Cain or Cavel, who killed his own brother named Abel with a stone. As the legend says, the Cavels were evil from ancient times, and it is useless to argue with them - I said.


Yes?! Oh, bitch Cavel! He killed his own brother Abel with a stone. Thank you, Mizhappar, thank you, karifan (Friend)! These pearls are added to the dirt I've collected on warden Qabil ! Qurumboy was delighted.


With such talk we reached the "Lattaqishlaq" and went through a wooden gate to the house where he was born and where he lived. The mother of Qurumboy wept after embracing his son, who returned from the Slammer. After we ate plov, which is made by Mother of Qurumboy in honor of his son, I returned home.


The next day, doing morning karate training, I noticed that in our mailbox the postman threw the letter. Since my training ground was on the flat clay roof of an old closet, I ducked down, making a triple somersault, and I looked into the mailbox. There lay a letter written on the dog's skin, with the help of a modern ballpoint pen.


The letter looked like this:


"Hey, Mizhappar!


My mother decided to get me married to a beautiful lady named Karahan. A sister came with her husband, and they persuaded me.


-Qurumboy, son, your father died without seeing your wedding. I don't want to die before your wedding. I want to babysit grandchildren while alive, said the mother, shedding bitter tears. I agreed. Come, friend, along with members of his family (with his stepfather and his stepmother), with friends and Mamadiar Yuldashvoy. I had been invited to the wedding of a human rights activist from the United States, Mr. Mackentosh, whom I met when he came to the Commission in prison to study the observance of human rights in prisons. Mr. Mackentosh wants to make a documentary about my wedding. The wedding is scheduled for tomorrow. Come and don't be late.

With respect, Qurumboy."


Oh, expenses again. Going to a wedding with nothing is ugly. I thought.

I thought and thought then suddenly came up with a unique idea, and I screamed with joy in the voice:


- Eureka-aaaa! Hearing this, my sister's husband, that is, the son-in-law, who came to visit us, jumped up from the place of fright. He thought a fire broke out.


- What's wrong, stepson?! Why are you shouting like a Mockingbird in the night rainforest?! - asked my stepfather, putting one foot boots with cut shaft, and the other boots.


-Don't worry, my stepfather, Qurumboy married our family member and my friend from the village "Lattaqishlaq"! - I said.


- Oh, thank God, I thought our house was on fire again! - said my good stepmom. I decided to give Qurumboy a fur hat, which I made from canine skins orange for his wedding. The next day I wrapped the wedding gift in the newspaper and we went to the wedding on my bike with a biker wheel. My stepfather sits in front of the frame, and my stepmother sitting on the trunk with gifts in hand. Spinning the pedals, I go from time to time, ringing the bell, scaring off children on the road to avoid hitting someone. The road to our village is not paved, every step meets the puddles from yesterday's rain where the floating domestic ducks and geese, are munching, with the help of their beak related to wood, hoping to eat worms. They sounded unhappy when I bothered them. They reacted to us in their own way, nervously waving their wings. Finally, we came to the wedding. I congratulated my friend during the wedding at the entrance and gave him a gift. My stepfather and stepmother also congratulated Qurumboy, and we went into the courtyard, where the wedding took place. You see, Yuldashvoy with Mamadiar sitting at the table, with the guests and drank in honor of Qurumboy and his bride Barahona. I joined them. We sat, so we ate, listen to music and songs. Some dance. Here came Qurumboy and introduced me to a guest from America, Mr. Mackentosh.


- You know Mizhappar, Mr. Mackentosh, a human rights activist. It protects the rights of animals. Sometimes he protects humans, too, -said Qurumboy.

"I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Mackentosh" I said, shaking hands with the human rights activist. After that Qurumboy addressed the American:


- Sir, can I introduce You with my friend. His name is Mishappar. They are very nice people. Mizhappar is working in a collective farm, he is a cold kolkhoz. Do you know where i am? -said Qurumboy with Uzbek accent.

- Oh, Yes, sir! im Not a kolkhoz! Thank You for introducing. Nice To meet You! said Mr. Mackentosh-, shaking my hand mutually and with interest looked me in the eye with a smile, as a psychiatrist who works in a psychiatric hospital, which brought up the mentally ill.


Here the tipsy toastmaster, grabbed Mr. Mackentosh by the sleeve, as a vigilante enough of a violator of public order, and asked him to dance, too.

- Sorry, very Sorry, I dont know how To dance! - said Mr. Mackentosh, blushing from shame, with a guilty smile on his lips.


Then to his happiness Mamadiar and Yuldashvoy began to revive the ancient Uzbek tradition "tug a war", that is, to compete with the power, trying to take away the opponent's velvet tablecloth, after the bride and groom pass through this cloth on the track. Mamadiar pulled on the tablecloth and Yuldashvoy for himself. They were joined by other cool guys. A fierce battle for the tablecloth began. The crowd of guys moved in one direction and then the other. This sight was like a pack of hungry wolves that plagued the victim. The competing crowd of guys that with a crash amicably fell, then got up. Some fighters had blood in their hands and on their faces. But none of them wanted to let go of the tablecloth. Mr. Mackentosh scared, thinking that guys fight drunk. He took it all on video with great interest in the memory, then sitting, then lying. Here, the crowd suddenly hit the shed, in which were mounted the electric wires. From a powerful blow the beam broke, and the canopy with a roar fell to the ground, destroying everything that was attached to it. The broken wire, flashing a spark, as by welding, and short circuit something exploded. Then a fire broke out and the light went out.


- Oh, My gooood! Mamma, MIA! Something exploded! What was that?! - Mr. Mackentosh exclaimed.


When the joint efforts of the fire under control, the yard was plunged into darkness, as during the massacre of St. Bartholomew. People, started lighting matches, and began to go home.


There you have it, Mr. Sitmirat. Okay, then, I had to go to work. I have to carry pesticides for chemical treatment of cotton seeds. Sorry for the short letter. Hi everyone.


Sincerely, the farmer Mizhappar.


12: 00 Bartholomew night.


Collective farm of Vasily Chapaev.


The fourth letter of Mizhappar


The letter, which I write with shaking hands in a cold closet wrapped in an old blanket, let it fly like a Seagull over the ocean and fall into the hands of Mr.Sitmirat, who lives abroad, throwing his Uzbek tobacco "nasvai" under his tongue.

Assalamu alaikum, Mr.Sitmirat! If you ask me, I also live like all other farmers on the globe. Yesterday in the collective farm club held a reporting meeting. This meeting farmers are waiting with admiration, as other Nations are waiting for their favorite holidays. This holiday is called by the common people "Achot Milis". The fate of farmers depends on this meeting. Because it is at this gathering is announced, which of the farmers receives the accumulated money for the year, and who will come out with a huge debt. After summarizing my expenses and receipts for the year, I built sky-high plans that if I get money for the "report", then immediately go to the cattle market and buy a cow. Unfortunately, I was declared a debtor. Turns out the foreman and the timekeeper made a long list of things I didn't get. I see my signatures are there. Well, I think reptiles, they are not only team leaders Scam artists, but also talented artists! They drew my signatures. I didn't argue with them. Arguing with these parasites is useless. Anyway, I didn't want to go to jail. Well, we, the workers, in the late autumn collect cotton stalk as firewood for the winter, which is called "guzapoya". I sold the cotton stalk you have gathered and for the money I bought a neutered sheep. The next morning, when I entered the barn, I saw a terrible picture. The sheep is dead... Whether she was sick with a disease called "Salmonella", or died of severe hypothermia. After the frost-cracking at minus forty-five! Here you live overseas, Mr.Sitmirat. It is said that in Europe and the Western people cloth their dogs and cats warm clothes in winter. Here, enterprising people, huh? I would do the same, that is, would put on a sheep coat with a hat with a ear-flaps, she would have survived. Poor sheep. I wanted to bury her with all the honors as a heroine and started digging a grave for her in the middle of our yard. Since our yard's clay fences aren't very high, someone greeted me while looking over the fence

. Hello, Mizhappar! Then, the garden that you dig in the white of winter? Al Sewerage decided to build?

I see it's the butcher Mukhtar.

And, Mukhtar, is that You? Yes, my sheep is dead. I want to bury the poor thing as a man, with all the honors-I said, leaning on the handle of a shovel.

-Yes? - said Mukhtar the butcher, with interest looking on dead sheep which lay in wrapped the form of in white a shroud.

-No need to bury him, Mizhappar. Give it to me and I'll pay - said Mukhtar butcher.

- Why Do you want a dead sheep? - I asked in surprise.

- This is a secret trade - said the butcher Mukhtar.

- Well, take then, if it is related to Commerce-I said.

Mukhtar the butcher came into our yard, paid for a sheep and, having lifted a dead animal on a shoulder, went towards the center of the village where his box in which it traded was located. What a weirdo. I still can't figure out why the butcher wants a dead sheep. After selling it to the butcher Mukhtar, I went to the bird market that day and bought a pair of chickens with the money that the butcher Mukhtar gave me. The next morning I went to the chicken coop to sprinkle the grain to the chicken and change the frozen water. I see no chickens. The chicken coop door is slightly open. I was looking for chickens all day, stumbling in the snow, hailing the snow-covered fields. Do not have them. Do they fly South, I thought, looking at the cold sky. Then I came home again. After returning, I suddenly see under the clay fences lie chicken legs, tied with wire. Seeing there a note, I began to read feverishly:

-Mizhappar, next time you go to the rookery, buy fat chickens. Because we must often eat chicken soup, which is good for our body. The doctor said. And then, don't plug the electric current into the chicken coop. It's useless. First, we will work in rubber gloves, and secondly, there is still no electric current on the electric lines, there is no current - and there will not be. For this, of course, a huge thank you to our wise President and our state, which save electricity.

- Yes to chicken meat, which ate, stuck in your throat! - I cursed parasites who stole chickens.

Then I went outside to warm up a little, as it was colder inside our hut than outside. There I met my friends, Qurumboy, Yuldashvoy and Mamadiar. They were near the store heated folk remedy,that is, drank homemade wine, snacking. They poured me too, and I drank too.

- Uh, guys, do you think spring is coming this year at all? Tired of the cold - I said, biting an armful of snow.

-Come, Mizhappar will come, will come long-awaited spring. Only, this spring will be political, you know? That is, the political spring will come.

- Yes? - Mamadiyar was surprised.

- Yes-responded Qurumboy.

- Is that possible? What's this, a political spring? What does she look like? - asked by Yuldashvoy.

- Sometimes. Why not? In the political spring, democracy, freedom and all the others are blooming. Dictatorship and censorship is melting like the snow is cold, and dissipates like a fog. The most interesting thing is that this spring will fly a bird of the most extraordinary breed - said Qurumboy, lighting his pipe.

- What kind of bird is this extraordinary breed? What, an African parrot? I asked.

-No, Mizhappar is the bird of happiness, "Gamayun" is called. Big such bird with multi-colored feathers, huge wings and a very long tail. About it I told one man in prison - said Qurumboys.

- Yeah, well- wow!... - surprised by Yuldashvoy.

I swear - century will not see Qurumboys.

- I think she's scary and evil, bird "Gamayun -Lucky bird". You have to be very careful. She's like an evil Seagull can peck our respected leaders. It would be necessary to strengthen the defense until the spring - I said, cautiously peering into the horizon.

- No, Mizhappar, the man said that this bird is quite harmless.

And, if harmless, it is good, that is, it will be possible to catch and cook her soup or grill - can be done at worst Yuldashvoy.

- The fool, why make a soup from her. She carries the eggs, and we every morning we have scrambled eggs for Breakfast as the aristocratic opposition, which live in the ocean. We will collect the extra eggs and put them in the incubator, and there the Chicks will hatch. Then, we build the farm and providing the people of Gamayun meat, make export in canned form, raise, that is, the economy of our Country - clever Mamadiar.

Yes, my friends, Mamadiar rights. Therefore, we must help our feathered friend by building him a large, well-maintained three - room birdhouse with balconies, and this birdhouse will be installed on the roof of an abandoned pigsty by the river, painted in fire-red color, so that the bird of happiness "Gamayun" could clearly navigate, seeing even from afar this unique birdhouse of the century - said Qurumboy.

- Good idea - I said.

After this conversation we hastily drank the remains of a barmatian and went to build a birdhouse for the bird "Gamayun", which intends to fly together with the political spring.

When we came to the house of Qurumboy, we came out to meet the wife of Qurumboy Karyahan, so chubby, with a swollen belly and a huge ass. She greeted us, and sang a song of brides with a bow. Bowing low to each of us, she sang.

- Bravo, darling , Bravo! - said Qurumboy, clapping his hands, as if applauding and admiring the art of his wife. Inspired by the praise of Qurumboy, Karyahan wanted to continue her limericks, but then Qurumboys stopped her.

-Enough, cute enough, he said to his wife. Then he took an axe and a hacksaw with a mount and told us to dismantle, disassemble the floors of the hut in which his mother lived Risolat-Momo. The mother of Qurumboy gave us a fierce resistance when we began to twist and pull out the Board, pulling the creaking of rusty nails while destroying the gender.

- What are you doing, damned?! Stop, I won't be forced to call the neighbors for help! - said Risolat-Momo. Qurumboy with an axe in his hands began to explain the situation of his mother:

- Mummy, look, finally, political spring on the nose! Coming to us from the North the bird of happiness "Gamayun", you Know?! We have to build for it a comfortable three-room apartment with balconies! You scream as if we're building her a two-story cottage! If you think she's a common bird, like a Sparrow, then it's your big political mistake. Because "Gamayun" does not fit in a regular birdhouse! She's a bird of gigantic 15 meter tail, you know?! If you want our people to be as happy as other Nations, don't stop us from working! We will build a giant birdhouse, as it is our civic duty! - he said.

These Patriotic words of Qurumboy worked on mom and she started crying. (probably, from happiness). We began to work for the good of our people, turning the boards. Qurumboy, making mark chalk on the Board, sawed them with a hacksaw. We worked until lunch, as they say, tirelessly. Although it was winter, and the frost cracked, we all sweated. Finally, Qurumboy announced a smoke break, and we began to relax.

- Now, materials for the birdhouse are ready - said Qurumboy, tightly hammering sawdust in his favorite pipe and lit it. After the break we built a huge birdhouse, and, securing it over the hump Yuldashvoy, went to a disused pigsty near the river. By the evening, we completed the work by installing a birdhouse on the roof of the pigsty. Now we are waiting for, so to speak, the arrival of political spring and the arrival of the bird of happiness "Gamayun". Well, okay, Mr.Sitmirat say Hello to everyone. With best wishes, the carpenter, Mizhappar.


February 13, 2008.

The Collective Farm "Chapaev".


The fifth letter of Mizhappar


Hi, Mr.Sitmrat!


"Half my mustache and about 60 percent of my curly hair burned down yesterday. It's my own fault for that. I wanted to write you the following letter, but there was no light. In the dark is inconvenient to write. Let me think I'll light the kerosene lamp. I took a match and struck it. The kerosene lamp exploded. It turns out that my stepfather confused the fuel and mistakenly filled the lamp with gasoline. Barely put out the fire. Now, I write to you the letter and I'm afraid to look in the mirror. Because when I saw my face, my stepmother fainted. Poor.

So I had to put on a mask cut out of cardboard and go to work, or cotton plantation, where I work, rolling barrels of pesticides, with these toxic chemicals in the cotton seed processing shop. I go, damn, my saliva is flowing and flowing, can not stop. She stuck to our gate made of tin from the casks in which to store pesticides, and never ceased to flow, stretching out like a sturdy string to the field camp where I went to work without protective clothing and without a respirator. I was scared, and after work went to the folk healer Gpreddin Kokyotal. Checking my pulse, he told me:


- Do not worry, Mullah Mizhappar, the symptoms of Your illness, I have determined what the disease is. It turns out, we with you relatives - he said.

-Yes You that, Mr.Gpreddin Kokyotal crazy, or what? What kind of relative am I? Look, we're not like each other at all. Your nose is like this one, eggplant, and your ears are too small, like a Jerboa. My head is spherical, and You face won some, asacia! - I said.


- We are relatives through illness, Mullah Mizhappar said the folk healer Gpreddin Kokyotal, choking cough.


- A-and-and, so would and said. And then I got scared - I said. The folk healer Gpreddin Kokyotal: -Our common disease of which we are proud, originates from daily malnutrition. Alas, our food in the cauldron is cooked on the water, that is, we do not eat hot food for months. Just tea and bread. Thanks for that - said the peoples healer Gpreddin Kokyotal, constantly coughing. He had a long and terrible cough, was completely blue from lack of oxygen. I'm choking red, too. Because, I, too, tried not to breathe, not to get national powwow of Gpreddin Kokyotal. It turns out that people without air, like a fish out of water. Like a scuba diver with an empty oxygen tank at the bottom of the Pacific ocean. I left the house national powwow of Gpreddin Kokyotal and went out in the yard, eagerly began to swallow portions of oxygen, filling the air with my empty lungs.

I went outside, and there met Yuldashvoy with Mamadiar. From them I heard the latest news, which I want to share with you. Recently, well, just last week, beloved wife of Qurumboy sick. She complained of abdominal pain. Qurumboy ran to the village Council where a phone with a broken tube, one in the whole village, and they called in the ambulance. But the ambulance did not come because of the lack of gasoline. Then Qurumboy, he'd put his wife Qoryaxan on the bike and went to the hospital. While he was driving, he was sweating like a horse after the race. The thing is, there was an eight in the back wheel of the bike.

The wife of Qurumboy doctors have long turns were examined behind a screen, then put it to the chamber office therapy. Looking from the window, Qurumboy told his wife that he would bring her a kettle, a bowl, and a bowl with a wooden spoon. After that Qurumboy went back home and brought to his beloved wife the necessary things that he promised. Tying chain his bike to a post, Qurumboy approached the window and asked the nurse on duty that she called Qoryaxan. The nurse said that Qoryaxan, that is the wife of Qurumboy, was transferred to the hospital... Qurumboy, of course, was surprised, and asked supposedly for what? Maybe the doctors mistook his wife for some other pregnant woman.

"No," said the nurse on duty.


- Our doctors are the best in the world. They are never wrong - she said proudly.

Qurumboy immediately went to the side of the hospital, rattling things that were in the bag. As soon as he appeared near the window of the maternity Department, and immediately began to congratulate the nurse midwives:


-Are you, Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezal Tappitutuniy ?! We thought so! What a happy man you are! Congratulations from the heart, you have become a father! Your wife gave birth to twins! They're both girls! Can you, give us gifts, happy father! Now! Where are the flowers and the champagne and the chocolate?! - fun shouted they.

Hearing this, Qurumboy almost went crazy.

- What are you talking about?! What twins?! I recently married, how can give birth to my wife in such a short period of time? She's not! What a joke! Is it funny?! - Qurumboy got angry.

- We're not kidding, we're telling the real truth! If you don't believe me, we can call her to the window, and you'll see for yourself. Go over there, there's a microphone, and you can talk to your wife, " said one of the nurses.

- Call-said Qurumboy and reluctantly approached the microphone.

Ten minutes at the window appeared the wife of Qurumboy Qoryahan with a pale smile on his lips. Then through a megaphone began to speak:

- Hello, my lovely huzband Qurumboy!..

- Honey, is it true you gave birth?! - Qurumboy asked.

- Yes, honey, it's true. Now we have two children! Twins! What happiness, my God! she smiled.

- What kind of mess is that?! What are you saying ?! How dare you... After all, we got married recently. How could we have made it, anyway?! - Qurumboy.


How do I know?! Maybe it's an abnormal phenomenon. Maybe it's a girl's miracle. We must not reject God's gift, Qurumboy? -said Qoryahan.

- What?! God's gift? You leave the rest to God! That's impossible! I do not recognize these children, that is, they are not from me! What an abomination! Oh, what a shame! I trusted you! I loved you! What a fraud!.. I'd cut You with a gardening knife or a sickle, but I don't want to get my authority dirty! You don't deserve to be stabbed! From now on you are nothing to me! I will announce to you now "three talaq" according to Sharia law! Goodbye, Qoryagar... Forget about me forever, good bye... - said Qurumboy.

- Qoryahan began to dance moving her huge her ass, singing a song :


My husband told me to leave!

I'll tell him:

There will be a court, decision!

You will be awarded child support!"


Looking at Qoryahan, Qurumboys smiled angrily, then he spit through his teeth, walked away. But, Qoryah-han's mom, which is engaged in supplying a live product, that is, the girls in a far country, sued Qurumboy a lawsuit. She gave bribes to lawyers and doctors and got the conclusion it is judicial-medical examination which States that Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezal Tappitutuniy is the father of two girls, which Qoryahan gave birth to. The court rendered a verdict of double, leaving Qurumboy chance of selection. He had to choose whether to pay child support or serve time in prison with a lousy rape article. Qurumboy chose the first punishment, agreeing to pay child support.

These extra costs have worsened the already meager family budget of Qurumboy. For this reason, he was simply forced to engage in the shadow business.


One early morning when I was doing Kung Fu on the flat roof of our closet, he came and said:


- Mizhappar, I decided to go into business. The pension my mother receives is not even enough to pay child support . So yesterday I signed a large, contractual agreement on the stand of high-quality aluminum to my business partners - he said, lighting his pipe clogged with sawdust.


- Wow,where do you get high-quality aluminum? - I was surprised.


- I'll go climb the iron poles that stand in the fields like the Eiffel tower on the banks of the Seine in Paris, and cut the wires with these gardening scissors. There's no electric current in those wires anyway. If someone asks, I will tell that a pier, update a line of electric wires, and I work in power networks.

- And if they require an electrician's certificate? - I asked.


- Then, I will show the certificate with a red cover which was given to me in crazy hospital when I was treated - Qurumboy told.


- Oh, then you can. Just be careful not to climb too high. You might fall down... I don't want your little children to be orphans - I warned my friend.


- Thanks, Mizhhappar - said Qurumboy and went in side field. Having had a hearty Breakfast with bread, I put on a padded jacket and went to work. On the way I saw my friends Mamadiar with Yuldashvoy. They painted, doing whitewashing the walls of the building of the collective farm with lime using brushes with long wooden cuttings. Both wore caps made of newspaper "Pravda Vostoka".


- God help, guys! Well, well, congratulations. Finally, found a prestigious job - I said, greeting them.

- Yeah, it's not a regular job. The party Committee promised half a liter of vodka. They say that Mr. President himself comes to our collective farm. Look, out, the teachers and the students are cleaning the ditches and cleaning up the trash.


I see, really, the little guys are cleaning up the trash and raking the grass along the road with the help of big hoes. Near the building of the village Council, journalists are interviewed by farmers. I even heard one farmer was interviewed. The journalist asked him a question:


-Dear worker now in Your farm arrives, our esteemed President. Your feelings about this, please... don't grab on to the microphone... yeah, talk here.


The farmer began to speak:


- Thanks to our wise President and our state, the sky over our heads is becoming cleaner and cleaner every year... And most importantly - bread on the shelves there... We get paid prematurely, that is, in advance... Recently, our dear manager gave us pasta two pounds for every trooper cotton plantations. Gas in our village burns under such pressure that sometimes even we are afraid to include a gas stove. Electricity is also buzzing in the wires so that the transformers can not stand the ultra-high, terrible voltage, sometimes explode. Taking this opportunity, on behalf of the workers of our collective farm, who, responding to the calls of our government with their military work, work day and night, from early spring to severe winter, despite any vagaries of nature, I want to Express my gratitude to our wise President and ask that our guide will guide us until the end of his life!

Another request to give him Chernobil nuclear station worker the award he said, adjusting his bald cap with earflaps, which moth ate. At this point, Durmail Evogar, master of anonymous letters and gravedigger the Tulane Gorkov dressed in heavy coats, canvas boots, ran home.


- Why are you running, master of anonymous letters Mr.Durmail Evogar?! What happened?! - I asked the master of anonymity.

- In honor of the arrival of the President in our collective farm, we decided to give light today! Gas already in! Now at least one day we will live like modern people! Fifteen minutes will give electricity, Ur-rra-a! - crucial master of anonymous letters Durmayl Evogar and ran as a proud member of the Komsomol in the battle with the white guards and Basmachi gangs, sometimes on holidays was on TV when he was giving light only for a few hours.


Hearing this made my heart skip a beat.


It is necessary to immediately alert Qurumboy, I thought, and ran towards the field where my friend and kinsman Qurumboy from the village "Lattakishlak" cut aluminum wire. I ran, stomping on my boots. The run that is urine, not to be late and shout:

- Qurumboy-ooooy! Come down quickly from the post-ahhh! Hear-s-IISI, Qurumbo -o -o -o -o! Current into the wires!..


Qurumboy - zero work on the pole like a monkey, which is sitting on the top of the tree, gorging on succulent leaves in the rainforest. Not hear me. When I reached the abandoned pigsty, from afar I heard a friendly cry of the villagers. They shouted hooray. This meant that the light was given, that is, I did not have time to warn my friend about the danger. Just at this point in the post where Qurumboys cut a line of electric wire using gardening scissors, flashed a big flash, like ball lightning, and Qurumboy flew down. When I ran to the scene, Qurumboy was lying like a clown, holding scissors. From his overcoat and hat of red army soldiers was smoking. He lay on the field of the collective farm "Chapaev", looking at the boundless sky with the blackened face like the devil. I sat on my knees beside him, closed his eyes and cried loudly.


- Oh, my friend, forgive me, for God's sake! I couldn't warn you in time, you know, I couldn't! Did not have time! Poor! Then I did wrong to you when you were arrested the precinct of Shegabubutdinov. If I hadn't fought you back then, you wouldn't have suffered in prisons and camps! Qoryahan also lied to you. She's the reason you took that risky step and died. You're a victim of injustice! If I, without knowing, accidentally offended you - sorry, mate. I know that it is even very difficult to exist in our country. Now who's going to pay child support to your daughters?! Who will educate them?! Here in our country, the leaders are given the title of hero! It's not fair! Because they live in luxury, eating black and red caviar every day for Breakfast, and ordinary people like you, in search of a piece of bread risk their lives! The title of the hero should not be assigned to the leaders, but to ordinary people, who continue to exist and feed their children even when they do not have a penny in their pockets! You died with honor, and we must bury you as a national hero! May you rest in peace, Qurumboy! I'm going to go to the village and show you to the President! Let him look at you and imagine what is happening in the country and what is happening to ordinary citizens of the country from total unemployment! I cried.

Then, having carried a body of the native friend on a shoulder, went towards the village. I walked like a warrior who carries his dead brother. The body of Qurumboy was heavy. Therefore, before reaching the village, I was tired and decided to rest a little. I gently lowered the body of Qurumboy down and sitting on the ground, wiped the sweat off my face with a hat, which he made from the skin of a mad dog, the one that we ate. Poor Qurumboy was lying on the wet ground, still holding the scissors. I looked at him and cried. After resting a bit, I again raised Qurumboy shoulder and froze in surprise - Qurumboy hoarsely groaned and opened his eyes. I quickly lowered him to the ground and checked her pulse. Qurumboy was alive!

- Qurum! Qurumboy, you alive?! Oh, thank God Almighty! You returned my friend! Oh, good thing we didn't bury him alive! Qurumboy, can you hear me?! Say something! - I shouted. Then picked him up again and walked quickly towards the village. In the center of the village villagers surrounded me.

- Where is the President?! I want to show him my poor friend, who was a victim of universal poverty! Let Mr. President look at him! - I shouted.

The President didn't show! He drove past our village! As soon as he passed, so immediately turned off the light, turned off the gas, bastards! - said Durmail Evogar.

There it is, Mr.Sitmrat. Please forgive me for such a short letter.


Sincerely, the farmerMizhappar.


February 21, 2008.

The Collective Farm "Chapaev".


The Sixth letter of Mizhappar


Let this letter fly, fly with the speed of an electric current, which hit my friend Qurumboy and let it reach the hero of the paper war Mr. Sitmrat!

Hi, Mr. Sitmrat! Qurumboy opened his company and, finally, provided us with work. In this company, Qurumboy - Director of the company, Yoldashvoy works as a cashier, Mamadiar - chief accountant, and I - a bodyguard. The office of our company is located in the cemetery, where old, inverted coffins and tools for digging graves are stored. We sleep there. Qurumboy, as Director of, sleeping in a coffin, wrapped in the old a shroud. And we sleep on the ground, making a pillow of raw unburned bricks. Although not political spring has come, it is still cool at night. We lie one night, floating sadly lonely moon high in the sky, twinkling stars as salt on the wound, in the distance on the horizon, somewhere behind the river tired barking dogs, croaking frogs, in a word - romance. Suddenly, in one of the coffins played a strange music, and we jumped in fright with their earthen pastels, thinking that it is evil ghosts or ghouls. It turns out, called clients in a phone. Qurumboy quickly pushed the button of his grave phone, as the button from the atomic bomb, and there was a hoarse voice of the client.

- Hello, is this the Deep grave office?! - a customer asked.

- Yes, how can we help? - Qurumboy politely asked.

- Who am I talking to? - a customer asked.

-Is, Qurumboy Koramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy, Director of the company "Deep grave". Do you want to order anything? I mean the grave, the tombstones or the crosses and all the accessories?! - Qurumboy asked.

- The grave should be dug out three-room-the client told in a hoarse voice.

- Well, who is the grave, if not a secret? Tell me his name, I should write this down in my notebook, in order not to stray from the account!We have many customers! - Qurumboy, pulling from the inside of his pocket of his overcoat a pen and a Notepad.

Then write it down. Surname, name, patronymic of the deceased - Bairam Barabanovich! - the customer said.

- Is the Governor of the city Bairam Barabanovic?! - Qurumboy asked.

- Yes - the client answered.

- Oh, the poor man kicked too?! Uh, he was cursed, you say? People cursed him?! What for? Ah, bastard... He put thousands and thousands of innocent people in jail?.. Yes, that you, of course, this conversation remains between us, do not worry. No, no, what You, our phones are not being tapped by the competent authorities. No, we have a democracy in our country, here respect for human rights. So you're ordering a two-bedroom apartment, huh? What should the interior of the grave look like? So-so, should it be painted in beige... yeah, and on the living room wall, you have to paint a landscape with a tiger that's about to attack a deer that came to a watering hole, right? Oh, don't you have to draw crocodiles? Well, no problem, it will be done. On the ceiling patterns in the Gothic style? Good. Yes, dear customer, you can pay in cash. Because we hate non-cash payment, since the money must still be cashed out, sacrificing half the amount. How should we dig a two bedroom tomb?.. You know, it's not very expensive. Two bedroom tomb of our price is only $ 500 - said Qurumboy, scratching his tarpaulin boots.

-And for the materials separately?

- Of course, separately. Today I will send you a list of materials in the form of a text message on the grave phone. Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. Our work is harmful, that is very dangerous. For this we are allowed to drink alcohol in unlimited quantities during operation. I hope You understand me and do not forget to buy a box of vodka with a snack when you buy the necessary materials. In General, we agree? - Qurumboy, rounding out the conversation.

- Yes - the client answered.

The next day the client brought all the necessary materials together with a box of vodka. We first drank four bottles of alcohol and started to work. Having worked well before lunch in the light of a kerosene lamp, we did almost half of the work. After drinking four more bottles of alcohol, we again took up work. Suddenly Mamadiar ran out of the grave and began to cry:

-Help me!

We thought he was being attacked by ghosts. We look, a large lizard, two meters in length runs after Mamadiar, ruffling his orange tongue, trying to bite the victim, who runs ahead. Mamadiar ran among graves and gravestones to escape from the lizard with a red mouth and disgusting color of a skin. He ran crying. We wanted to help him, but we didn't know how. Here Mamadiar suddenly fell into an open grave and the monitor lizard that was chasing him began to spin over the pit. Mamadiar yelled even harder : - Mizhappar! Qurumboy! Yoldashvoy! Help me! I'm scared! I stepped on a soft and warm corpse, wrapped in white cloth! Get me out! I fight! - he screamed in fear.

Qurumboy threw in a monitor, the shovel held in hand, and he, frightened, hid in the Bush. We raised Mamadiar from the grave and calmed him, pouring him a hundred grams of turpentine, in a hurry confusing the bottle. Mamadiar drank turpentine and calmed down. Then we continued to work again. Aside from a couple of two-meter-long black snakes, one big turtle, a bunch of toads, half a bag of Scorpions and worms, when digging the grave, there were almost no difficulties. After we finished the finishing work, Qurumboy painted an oil paint on the wall of the living room landscape, swallowing in addition to the solvent with turpentine. By the evening the customer came and saw the landscape, and said:

- The landscape you can say turned out more or less. But, excuse me, it's not a tiger, most likely a donkey pattern or a devil knows what kind of beast.

- This is not a problem - said Qurumboy and drew a bold arrow that points to the animal he drew. Then on the tip of this arrow wrote: "Citizens, be careful, it is a tiger!" Then, as in the comics, I drew a ball around the mouth of this so-called tiger, and made a circle inside this inscription. "Rrrrrrrrrr!"

When he finished drawing, Qurumboy looked back to the customer and asked:

How about now?

- Now better - said the customer.

- I used to think tigers roared."wolves: "woooooooooo!"horses." hoooooooooo!", donkeys " dooooooohh!", dogs: "doooooooooooo!"and birds "beeeeeee!" It turns out, not so, the tigers growl ", Rrrrrrrrrrrrr! - I said.

In short, we passed the "object" and began to change. When I took off his plaid jacket and wooden pagename, then stiffened, seeing his body. It was all painted. It seems that when I painted the ceiling and painted Gothic patterns under the chandelier, the paint, quietly draining from the brush, flowed through the sleeves of my shirt down. In order to clean my body from oil paint, I began to wipe with a cloth moistened with solvent. As a result, the colors of green light are even worse smeared on my stomach, like a surreal picture of Picasso. My clothes smell like acetone, man!

The weather was cool, so I had to get dressed. At this moment there arrived a carriage with a body of the deceased Governor, and we handed over the object to the customer. Circle of relatives and disciples of Bayram Baraanovich. Sobbing, lights, pillows with awards, tears and all that. While buried Bayram Baraanovich under the funeral March, we are on the sidelines drank the rest of the vodka and walked over to the customer. He gave us five hundred dollars, which we earned by honest work. Our joy knew no bounds. We collected the tools, put them in a bag and went outside.

Forever wise, and indispensable leader of our party Qurumboy Koramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy said: - Dear party members! We just have to go to the black market to convert our bucks earned by slave labor to the cemetery! What to do if there is free convertibility of currency in our country, where there is a dictatorial regime?Where there is no free conversion, there is a rapid decline in the exchange rate of the national currency, causing serious damage to the country's ecanomics and this is alarming foreign investors. And without foreign investors it is difficult to develop the economy.After these words of our partbase, we went to the black market, where changing the currency in sum, our poor countrymen.

We went to the market, where carefully looking around, currency traders.

One of them came up to us and asked:

- You want to change dollars?

Yes, we said in unison.

-How much? - asked speculator in foreign currency.

-500 said Qurumboy and pulled out American money from the tops of his tarpaulin boots without the soles. The speculator in foreign currency took them, and here there were strange people in civil clothes. When they began to wring his hands of Qurumboy, we fled. Yoldashvoy with Mamadiar was caught immediately, and handcuffed him. You know, I do karate, so throwing a huge bag of tools for digging graves, ran that there is urine towards the tea house, but inadvertently hit my forehead on the post and fell. The cops who were chasing me caught me and handcuffed me.

In the detention center, one of the investigators began an explanatory conversation:

- Who gave you the right to trade foreign currency. In addition, these dollars were false. Now, gentlemen, we're going to have to freeze your Bank accounts, because you've grossly violated business laws and received cash from clients. This is contrary to the Constitution of our state. Here it is clearly written that all banking operations should be carried out only by transfer. You, getting money from customers in cash, seek to deceive the state, that is, brazenly evade taxes. All, your firm will close forever! he said, rounding off the conversation.

In order not to close our company, we had to say goodbye to five hundred dollars.

After that, our company was left open, but we began to have disagreements with clients, that is, none of the clients wanted to transfer money to our Bank accounts, fearing that they are under the hood of the tax office. As luck would have it, our competitors appeared in the labor market, who dug graves at a much lower price and did it not with their bare hands as we did, but with the help of an excavator. Swine. Now we're out of a job.


Greetings to all people of the planet,

gravedigger Mizhappar.


February 27, 2008.

City cemetery the name "Vasily Ivanovich Chapaev.


The seventh letter of Mizhappar


-Mr. Sitmirat, now is not the time to even say Hello. There is extraordinary news. Qurumboy went into opposition. He emigrated to a small island, which is located on the river "Karadarya", where the wind in the Delta of the river and blooming water lilies.He lives alone in a foreign country, having built a hut of reeds. The night before last, someone knocked on the window of the room where I sleep. You know that in our village there is no light for several months. On moonless nights our village plunges into darkness and reigns a dead silence. Hearing a strange knock, I was afraid. Lifting the kerosene lamp, I carefully went to the window and asked:

- Who's there?!

-It is I, Mr. Mizhappar , open the window, there is a thing - someone said in a whisper. I heared a voice , - it was Qurumboy. But when I opened the window, I was even more frightened when I saw a man with a red beard and a mustache of the same color. The man in the sailor's cap with the orange eyebrows was Qurumboy ... It turns out, escaped arrest, he carefully disguised, gluing a beard, mustache and eyebrows from the skin of the same dog, which I killed.

- Hello, Qurumboy, come on - I said to be nice and wanting to appear hospitable man.

- Thank you, Mr. Mizhappar , some other time. I'm wanted, I'm wanted everywhere. You go to an abandoned pigsty at midnight tonight. There You will meet a member of the revolutionary Committee Commissioner Yuldashvoy, and he will lead You to an underground meeting of the revolutionary Committee. This meeting will address organizational issues. Be sure to come and don't be late. The Chairman of the revolutionary Committee, Commissioner, Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy - said Qurumboy and walked away.

Within a few seconds as he disappeared from my sight, dissolving in the darkness like a Ghost, I closed the window, lowering the wick of the kerosene lamp and went to bed. But I could not sleep any more, and at midnight I put on my boots, carefully opened the window so as not to disturb my stepfather and stepmother, and leaping through the window, went towards the abandoned pigsty through the cemetery, where the eagle owl had gone. When I came to the pigsty, at the entrance, I was greeted with Yuldashvoy. It was worn a skull-cap with a red star. He came up to me, walking in a soldier's way, rustling his dermatin jacket with his collar up, and saluted me:

- I wish you health, comrade Mizhappar . The Chairman of the revolutionary Committee comrad Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy and Commissioner of Mamadiyarenco waiting for you at the headquarters, follow me - said Yuldashvoy.

We went to the headquarters of the office through the dark corridor, in which two sides darkly glittered cages, iron bird feeders, where once lay a pig. I saw it all when the light is lighted matches which burned in the hands of the Commissioner Yuldashvoy. Although there have not kept pigs, but strong, stinking smell, everything has been preserved. When we went to the headquarters of the ceiling, where a huge blackened doorway like a dark hole of the universe, I saw Qurumboy and Mamadiar. They sat at the table, which was missing one leg, and on which stood a lamp "Chaitanya", increasing the dark shadows of my friends on the walls of the office. On the table, like an old still life of the artist, there were empty cans, a half-drunk bottle of wine and a piece of bread with crumbs. All this was laid out on the old yellowed newspaper "the Lie of the East".

- Ahhh, come soldier Mizhappar ? Come and sit down, please, here - said Qurumboy , pointing to the inverted iron trough, from which once voracious pigs, greedily grunting and pushing each other, with a great appetite ate slops.

Thank you, Comrade comander -camindon - I said and sat down on an overturned trough. Mamadiyar wrote something on paper in the light of a kerosene lamp "Shaytan Chirac". Before starting the meeting, Qurumboy tore off pieces of the yellowed newspaper "a Lie of the East", and stuffing them densely the tube and lit. Then, as if wishing to buy Mamadiar, handed him the phone:

- Would you like to smoke, comrade Commissar? he asked the Mamadiar.

Well Yes, said Mamadiar and picked it up.

But he after the first puff, choking on the smoke, began to cough heavily, sticking his tongue like a sick sheep with leaky lungs. From tension his artery on neck swelled up to the maximum size, his eyes shed tears, and his face was very red. Qurumboy quickly poured in a tin of wine and handed it to the Mamadiar:

- Here, comrade, Mamadiarenco, drink healing balm - he said. Mamadiar, gave up Qurumboy, took a jar of wine and drank to the bottom. Yuldashvoy gave Mamadiar tomato for a snack, poured with fifty grams of wine for himself and drank. Qurumboy held out me up and asked:

- You want to smoke, comrade Mizhappar ?

- No, no, thank you Comrade Camindon, Smoking is bad for my body. About it warned me in writing by the Ministry of health - I replied, cautiously looking into a Smoking pipe.

Well, as you said Qurumboy s dokurivat the remaining tobacco from a piece of yellowed newspaper "a lie of the East", which still smoldered in the tube. Then he went up to the podium, also made of wooden feeders for pigs and began his fiery speech:

- Members of our party, "valiant beggars "! Enough! The knife has reached the bones! How much can you tolerate oppression and humiliation! We must fight evil, that is, democracy and religious obscurantism, without sparing our blood, in the name of the bright future of our long-suffering people! This book will help us in this fight!.. With these words Qurumboy showed us some book in a red cover, and I asked him:

-Sorry, Comrade commander is "Capital of the Karl Marx"?

- No, comrades! This book is called"folk tales". We must learn this book by heart! Because these tales contain unique ways of dealing with the wicked, triceps takanami dragan - "Ajhdarcho" and other abominations. For example, on these pages... Now, I read this tale somewhere here... Ah, here! In short, one poor old man had three grown sons, and they were unemployed. From morning till late at night they slept and woke up just to eat. One day, the elder built them in one line and began to read them morality:

"My sons, you have become adults and strong! Now you have to fight for your own happiness. To do this, you must unite as never before. If you walk through life together, no enemy can defeat you. Here, I'll show you a unique example... With these words, the old man gave his sons one cotton stalk and told them to break them. Sons easily broke the stems. Then the father gave everyone a sheaf of cotton stalks. The sons broke easily, and the sheaves of cotton "guzapoya". Seeing this, my father was surprised. He gave his sons one wooden pole each and told them to try to break it. Sons without any labor broke and these poles, and began to wait for the next test. Then the old man got angry and shouted to them:

- You freeloaders! Bedpans are miserable! With such strength, lie at home and live off my pension?! And the cashier does not give us our pension in time, letting it into circulation and getting a score! I can't feed you anymore! Get a job, you parasites! Go to the market and roll the cart! Come on, get out of my house, don't sit here, get out! So the old man began to expel his sons, pushing them out. But the sons clung to the door jamb and begged that the elder did not expel them from the house.

- Father, don't kick us out, please! We're afraid to go outside! It's full of police officers! They will catch us and, without noticing, put forbidden literature or leaflets in our pockets, send us to prison. From there, we are shocked into camps where innocent people die of malnutrition and tuberculosis!

- Don't be afraid, jackals cowardly! I will tell your mother, and she will sew up your pockets with a fishing line, having filled them with sand, and any cop will not be able to put to you in your pockets religious leaflets or shells - the old man told.

- Hih-hih-hih-hih! - laughed senior son, and other sons, too, began laughing at me, showing her teeth, blackened from regular Smoking shag.

-Father! Pockets-sew mom, but there on the street even more dangerous and ruthless types, your countrymen who hunt for slaves, their own kind. They can trick us into taking us to neighbouring countries and, by taking our passports away, sell us to slave traders for eternal use! Then what?! You want us to become slaves and work in the woods with shackles around our necks and legs, rattling iron chains sadly?! - asked sons at the old man.

-Nothing, you are so strong that will easily cut steel chains with shackles and escapes- the old man said...

Here is the story of Qurumboy interrupted. The window without glass appeared clean shaved face, donkey mug Hubbigul, who worked in the part-time confidential informant, that is, a Snitch.

- Ah, gotcha, you bastards! Well, congratulations. So they created an underground party against the Constitution of our country, right?! I have everything recorded on my dictaphone, and today I will pass all the information where it should be... You now cover, hobos! - said Hubbugul, procesa his wooden leg, dressed in tights.

Qurumboy in a panic grabbed the bottle and shouted: "Comrades! The striped revolution is in danger!" Then this bottle with all the force he hit Hubbugul on the head. From a crushing blow, Hubbugul fell on the earthen floor Chancellery owned our party. Mamadiar, checking the pulse Hubbigul, made a sign that the informer dead.

- Camrade Camidon you killed the Snitch! I was glad.

Although he was a Snitch, still a pity - said Yuldashvoy, sadly removing from the head a skull-cap made of cat skins.

-Cheer up, comrade Yuldashin! Politics is art! But art always requires sacrifices. - said Qurumboy , holding a half-broken bottle. Then he commanded:

- Pick up this bastard's body, throw him in the river! We dutifully agreed with our camindon and raised the dead body of the deceased rat. At this time in the sky over the pigsty there was a moon, which sadly floated among the curly clouds, illuminating our way.

- Comrade Camidon , shouldn't we bury him in the ground than to throw in the water. After all, this corpse will sooner or later come out like a bloated donkey corpse and get stuck somewhere, what will happen then? - Meanwhile, he begins to deteriorate and stray dogs flock there, from time to time jealously growling at the crows, - which will circle in the sky. Do you think that farmers will not notice it and will not call the district Shgabuddinov? - Mamadiyar asked.

- Before we throw a body in the river, we have to tie that plow to his leg - and it's over. The plow is heavy, and no one will guess about our heinous crime - said Qurumboy .

- Good idea - we said in unison.

Then the four of us rose and brought to the shore a heavy plow from an abandoned tractor "T - 28 - x-4" and we tied it to the feet of the Hubbigul, and threw it into the deep river "Karadarya", where the whirlpool raged.

- That, finally, we got rid of the insidious Snitch-and the revolution is saved! - said Qurumboy , sighing with relief.

And the moon was still shining over the pigsty. When we returned to the headquarters of the office, we put out a kerosene lamp and went home.

- Yes, Mr. Sitmrat, to be a revolutionary is not easy. Sitting here in his cabin, I write this letter to You, listen in silence and think about how if they came for me, the precinct of Shgabuddinov, sneaking up quietly and pointed his pistol "the Mauser".

- Okay, goodbye, Mr.Sitmirat - the carcass of a kerosene lamp.

- Fuff! Oh, man, my mustache burned again.

With respect to all, revolutionary soldier Mizhappar.


Written during the dark night, in the Collective Farm "Chapaev".


The eigth letter of Mizhappar


-Dear Mr. Sitmirat, early this morning, when I came to the headquarters office, a strange thing happened. That is, Qurumboy, looking at my tarpaulin boots, said:

- I order, on behalf of the revolutionary Committee, to immediately take off your boots, fellow Mizhappar!

- Why, Comrade camindon? Did a Scorpion or a spider (black widow) get into my boots? - I was surprised.

- Put it down, comrade! Don't ask stupid questions! The commander's order is not negotiable! Revolution on the verge of disaster! - Qurumboy shouted.

I had to remove my boots. Qurumboy took them off with a screwdriver pulled out of the sole.

- Comrade camindon these boots are my only shoes! What is this vandalism?! - I asked in surprise.

- Comrade, Mizhhappar, remember once and for all-secret agents of the special services can install a listening device in the form of small microphone chips in the soles of our boots. For this reason, we, and our loved ones should immediately to tear off the heels from their boots - said Qurumboy, giving me my boots back. Now we have boots without heels. Yuldashvoy and Mamadiar too.

- I think they've installed their listening devices in my house, too. So, today we have to do operation "cleansing" in my house. Forward, comrades! - said Qurumboy.

We dutifully followed the comrade commander. What to do? We're soldiers. And the soldiers must obey their commanders, unquestioningly carrying out their orders.

We go, one day on the street and see the guys near the school, who were returning home. There's one boy, the nephew of Qurumboy named Tuqumboy, ran to say Hello to his nephew. He immediately stopped him:

- Stay where you are and don't move! - he said in a loud voice. Tuqumboy afraid, is poor, as soldier stepped on an anti-tank land mine in the hot spot of the planet, weight pale.

- Come on, take off your shoes and throw them to me! - said Qurumboy. His nephew, not understanding what was happening, removed his shoes and gave it to his uncle. Qurumboy took the shoes and with a screwdriver and removed the sole. Then put the shoes back. Seeing this, the crowd of students laughed, some of them with astonishment, with fear and watched the strange process. Qurumboy again ordered his nephew to give him his backpack. He gave his uncle, who ripped the bag to shreds with his rusty dagger.

-Uncle! Don't! What're you doing?! - exclaimed Tuqumboy.

- I should check set whether the intelligence agencies are in your backpack! - Qurumboy, continuing to tear the backpack of Tuqumboy. Tuqumboy cried. Seeing this, comarades and classmates fearing , the students fled. Then we went in the direction of Lattaqishlaq, where he lived as Qurumboy. Seeing us, the mother of Qurumboy was happy. Qurumboy greeted her.

- Are you alive my, son? Where did you go to? You've changed, grown a beard. Did you become a religious man? I guess you pray five times a day and you lose weight. Oh, was your father alive, he'd be happy to see your progress in the area of politics and religion - said the mother of Qurumboy, hugging his son.

- Thank you Mom, for your kind words concerning my humble political activities. But, I'll tell you a secret, that my beard is not insisted, that is, from the skin of the dog, which we ate. Yes, you don't lose the gift of speech, we ate it not in raw, fried, and sometimes boiled. About religion, you're right, I've become a religious man. My faith is disbelief. My idols Charles Darwin Karl Marx and Vladimir Lenin! - said Qurumboy.

Then he gave us an order that we would be armed with crowbars, axes, nail-makers and all sorts of other tools. We carried out his order and lined up in one line in anticipation of the further decree. Qurumboys picked up the hoe and ordered us to pull out the floors and ceilings of the rooms to check if there is somewhere an eavesdropping bug. We got to work, and Qurumboy, too. He began to hit with a hoe on the wall and from it the plaster began to crumble to the floor. Seeing this, the mother of Qurumboy asked in disbelief:

- What you doing?! What else has crossed your mind! Wait! Qurumboy, son, what's wrong?! Don't destroy it! Your late father would turn in his grave! Stop right now!- she begged.

But we continued to work. Then the mother of Qurumboy began to call people to help.

People, vigilantes! Help me! He is destroying my house! My son is out of his mind! she screamed.

After hearing the plea of the poor mother, she went in the house owened by Shishrilda who works in the mosque.

- What happened, why are you shouting for help? - he asked.

The mother of Qurumboy cried even louder:

- Oh Mullah Shishrilda, God himself must have sent help! My son and his accomplices are destroying the house! You're a Mullah, after all, maybe they'll listen to you. Talk to them, please - she said.

Mullah Shishrilda went into the room where Qurumboy worked and said:

- Hello, my son! Stop! Parents ' home for a man as a temple! Destroying the temple is considered a terrible sin! Come to your senses, my son! - said Shishrilda ibn Osrilda. Qurumboy suddenly attacked Mullah Shishrilda like a tiger that rushes at the deer and grabbed him by the throat with tenacious fingers. Mulla Shishrilda began to snore from suffocation. His mouth and eyes widened from the lack of air to an incredible size from fright.

- Who are you?! Tell me, who sent you?! Who do you work for?! Who's your handler, you say, you bastard?! Or I'll rip your mangy beard off alive! Qurumboy, jerking the Mullah's beard. Here the Mullah lost his mustache with a beard. Qurumboy from fright temporarily released the throat of the Mullah, and he sat on his knees and began to beg:

- Mr. Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy, don't kill me! For God's sake!I'll tell you. Yes, I really work closely with the internal Affairs bodies, informing them about the events in the Chapaev collective farm on a daily basis. I work as a set-up Mullah in a local mosque. What can I do about it? That's my credo, my business, you know?! I have a big family, that is, I have many wives. Their total number in my harem is fifteen beautiful and young women. If you let me live, I'll give you the most beautiful one! I swear! My wives are still very young, and they will be lost without me! The oldest wife was only sixteen. Let's make a deal! You let me go back home, and I in return will release your sins on all four sides! You will get, as they say, to Paradise without interrogations and examinations.

At this time, a buzzing siren, with a car came which came from the mental hospital, and out of it came a team of doctors with nets in their hands, with which veterinarians catch stray dogs in landfills and in city alleys. Apparently, one of the villagers managed to call a mental hospital. But Qurumboy immediately took Mullah Shishrilda hostage and began to dictate his terms. In case of failure to comply with his requirements, he threatened to kill the fake Mullah of the local mosque, sacrificing him to the birthday of his idol, Satan.

Then the doctors quietly loaded the gun with a silencer, and shot Qurumboy using a bullet with a tranquilizer. Qurumboy managed not to kill Mullah Shishrilda ibn Osrilda, and in a few minutes fell with a clatter on the floor. After that, he calmly picked it up, put on a stretcher and pushed the stretcher along with Qurumboy in the carriage. And we, pretending to be a victim, remained at large.

The next day, we, that is, Yuldashvoy, Mamadiyar and I, cooked a therapeutic soup from a dog for our sick man, who was taken to the hospital. Then poured the soup into a thermos and went to the city to visit the permanent and valiant leader of our party, Commissioner Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy.

When I saw the mental hospital, my jaw dropped in surprise. Around the huge trees, all shady and cool, clean benches, especially the track, which is buried in the greenery and thickets of colorful marvelous white roses. There is peace and quiet around like a resort. From the Windows of the medical corps of smile politely sick in the striped pajamas. We saw, our friend and Director of our party Qurumboy engaged in whitewashing of trees in lime, with the help of a broom. He was dressed, like other patients, in striped pajamas without buttons, on his feet he had boots with cut off tops. On his head he slapped a paper hat made from the newspaper " Yosh leninchi " Near him stood a doctor in a white coat. When we came up and said Hello, Qurumboy didn't recognize us. Just looking at the thermos of medicinal soup, asked a strange question.

- Tell me, friend, what is the weight of this your thermos? Hearing this, we cried. Fate, huh? Such a wise and intelligent man...

- Eh... I thought.

Then the doctor got mad at Qurumboy and hit him on the head with a wooden sledgehammer. The result is a paper hat of Qurumboy flew off, revealing his tonsured head like a badly mow field of rye. Seeing this, we cried in chorus. It turns out the most important thing in a person is health.


With great respect, guard of Qurumboy martial artist Mizhappar.


March 30, 2008, 12 hours and 30 minutes at night.


The ninth letter of Mizhappar


Hi, Mr. Sitmarat!


Today we again went to the city to visit the legendary commander who put his wise head on the chopping block of the executioner in the name of the future of our people, leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy. There we saw doctors who stood in the yard and they told us to wait as in this institution pass presidential elections, and there is a vote counting. Hearing this news, we were stunned.

- What presidential election?! Here is you and democracy! Why don't we know anything about this?! We would also participate in the presidential elections! We know you organized all these elections on purpose when our party leader fell ill. How many candidates participate in these so-called elections?! Why don't people know about it?! It's not fair! It is a total dictatorship! - I screamed in rage.

- Yes, here I completely agree with You, Dr. Mizhappar. I will tell you frankly that there is only one candidate in this election, and he promises to improve the life of our people by making bread free. Therefore, there is no doubt that this candidate to win races for a presidential chair - the chief physician of hospital with confidence told.

- I wanted to argue with the head doctor, but the noise that rose, suppressed my voice.

-Step aside! The President is in his cart! To lay all and not to raise their heads! Not that, we'll just be forced to open fire to kill! - shouted, the person who stood on the cart, having put on the face a mask and holding the wooden automatic machine in hands.

-Get down! - the chief physician told and himself the first lay down on the crude earth as though military helicopters and fighters flew "Shark" to strike blow to the territory of mental hospital carpet bombing. By order of the chief doctor, the other doctors and nurses followed him. We look, - from-for medical cases there was a crowd of mentally ill, and, pushing the cart with wheels from a tractor, went towards an arbor where visitors usually sit with the mentally ill relatives. Seeing this, we froze, as if in photographs. Because on the cart sat the leader of our party, the great and valiant hero of his era leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy wise. When the cart stopped, leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy got up and started talking:

- Dear relatives on disease! Thanks to everyone who voted for me! I knew it would be that way! Now you and I will kick out of our psychiatric hospital all these doctors and nurses with educators who want to treat us! They have no place in this sacred institution! We now have unlimited freedom and will be with you to privatize medical buildings, developing small and medium business. First, we'll knock down all these trees and plow these flower beds, turn them into fields, and plant a pumpkin there! We have enough forces and funds for this, comrades brothers on disease! Let these doctors who suffer from paranoia, schizophrenia and epilepsy roll their way! We have our own way, which leads to a bright future!

I see, one mentally ill person constantly writes down in a pencil in the notebook everything that to speak leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy. Another patient warmly applauded by the president of the mentally ill, Qurumboy.

-Hurrah-ah-ah! - the crowd of mentally ill people cried in one voice.

We, Mamadiar, Yuldashvoy and I, too, went to the wagon to congratulate our super-leader Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy wise with a Grand victory in the presidential election.

- Comrade commander! Please accept my congratulations on behalf of the members of our party on the Grand victory in the presidential election! We are happy for you, and we believe that You are quite worthy of it! We also know and firmly believe that democracy and freedom of thought will flourish in our country now more than ever! Our people will now have free access to information and world news, that is, there will be no restrictions and censorship in the media! Remember, the comrade commander, we are in the years of exile were waiting for a political spring and built a huge birdhouse for birds of happiness "Gamayun". You lived in a foreign country then and were the leader of the United opposition. Remember? That came the spring that We have been waiting for! - I said, wiping away tears of joy with a green beret of Legionnaire paratroopers.

But, leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy not know me, nor Yuldashvoy or Mamadiar. On the contrary, pointing to me with his tarpaulin boot without a sole, indignantly shouted:

- Who else?! Why is he yelling at me?! Is he a badass or something?! What is the political spring and what kind of a bird such as, Gamayun?! What freedom of thought, what democracy?! What kind of opposition he says, I do not understand at all! What is the opposition?! Yes, this opposition must be destroyed! They are not the opposition, they are terrorists! They should be caught like stray cats and put in a cage, that is, in prison! They have no right to exist in this world! They are the enemies of our long-suffering people! What do you see?! Catch them! Kill them!

Hearing this, the mentally ill attacked us like a tribe of hungry cannibals in the rain forests.

We, of course, in time made feet and ran to gate. The sick were still chasing after us, but they didn't catch up, because we were running at a breakneck speed. It is good that the gate was open, and we managed to escape. Fortunately the bus stop was the bus, and we managed to get in it. Although I was doing karate and have a simple, black pants belt with a crocodile pattern, I was still scared to death. Here I sit now in my cabin and write you a letter, still shaking my knees. Okay, Mr. Sitmrat round out your short letter and for the sake of security, the carcass of a kerosene lamp. Say Hello to everyone... Poof!.. Oh, man, the kerosene lamp fell off the table!.. A -a-a-a-a, uh, lit my jacket! Help me!.. Oh, thank God the flames went out... Okay, good night, Mr.Sitmrat.

With fear for tomorrow, - the guard of leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy - matial artist Mizhappar.


27 April, 2008,

12 hours, 24 minutes of the night.

The Collective Farm "Chapaev".


The tenth letter of Mizhappar


We, Yuldashvoy, Mamadiar and I, are sitting in the headquarters office at the table, which was missing one leg, and suddenly we hear the heartbreaking sounds of a siren. With surprise we quickly went out into the yard of an abandoned pigsty, and saw the car of a mental hospital. Thinking that they came for us, we in a panic ran away. But one of the doctors stopped us by screaming into a tin mouthpiece. -

Friends, don't be afraid! We're not here for you, wait, please! We brought your leader Qurumboy ! Honestly, he's boring us! We don't want to treat him anymore! We want to get rid of him once and for all! We have never met such a sick person, and God forbid that we do not meet him in the future! He politicized our patients, and now they are actively demanding their human rights! - he said, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the long sleeve of his white robe.

We both kind of felt sorry for the doctor. At this time two paramedics crews began to unload the stretcher, on which lay forever the irreplaceable leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy like a dead Pharaoh Ramses II, with a serious face. The doctors put down Qurumboy and the doctor who stopped us said:

- Take your leader and be careful. It's the devil in human form. We barely calmed him down with tranquilizers. We'll leave a stretcher for you... Goodbye and don't call us again. - Still not coming.

We nodded, mentally agreeing.

Sitting on the car, the doctors quickly left.

We raised Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy, brought him into the staff office and laid him, in the feeder for pigs. Here Qurumboy came in himself.

-Where am I? - He asked, looking at the ceiling with a huge opening.

- You are in a pigpen, that is, at home, comrade Commander! - I said with great joy.

Then we asked:

- Do you recognize us, comrade commander?

- Why not? Of course, I remember you all. You, for example, martial artist Mizhappar, this guy is comrade Yuldashvoy, and the Commissioner Mamadiar. Is everything okay with me? Why am I lying on a pig feeder? - Qurumboy cheered us up fully recovering.

- Don't worry, comrade Commander, You're all right. You are at your home, in a pigpen. You only slept a little - said Mamadiar.

- Well, thank nature and Charles Darwin! - said Qurumboy. Then he stood up and, filling his pipe in the hay, lighting it. Then he asked about party affairs, about the life of the poor people, about democracy and freedom of thought.

- It's all right - we said.

-It would be nice if we urgently convened an extraordinary Congress of our party - said Qurumboy, looking sadly into the distance through the hole that formed on the clay wall of our office.

- Members of our party are all here, and now we can start the Congress - said Yuldashvoy, as if reporting.

-No, comrade Yuldashvoy the secret service might have installed small cheap microphones here. For safety's sake, we're gonna have to run the Convention in secluded places. What if we take it to the mountains, which are formed from garbage? - Qurumboy asked.

- Well - we said in unison.

Thus, having decided to change the venue of the Congress, we went to the mountains, which were formed from garbage taken out of the city. Before the Congress, we set up camp and decided to eat. We started a fire, took the meat from the breed "Bulldog" and carefully put in a pot of water.

- Oh, shit, we forgot to take the most important thing with us! - Mamadiar said.

- Vodka? asked Yuldashvoy.

- No, we have vodka, thank nature and Charles Darwin! We forgot the salt! - regretfully said Mamadiar.

We guiltily looked at Qurumboy. He tore off an armful of last year's grass, tightly filled his pipe with it. Then, lighting it up, he said:

- Bodyguard Mizhappar, ordered on behalf of the revolutionary Committee, go for the salt!

- We have to go get salt, comrade Commander! I said. The order of the commander is not negotiable, so I came down from the garbage mountain down to the mine and brought back the the salt. I went down and walked on the road towards the mountain village. A car drove up here, and I raised my hand in the hope of stopping it. The car stopped near me and two men in black jackets and black glasses came out. One of them asked:

- Have you ever done any sports? - he said.

- Of course, that is, I was engaged in sports and now I am engaged. I'm a famous martial artist Mizhappar. Can I show you some submissions?

- Perhaps, no, not really - he said, and suddenly took out from inside his cloak a small collapsible sledgehammer and hit me on the head. I didn't even have time to defend myself. I woke up in some institution and I asked:

- Where am I?

-You in a safe place, don't worry, a bum - said a muscular man with a cigar in his teeth. Then he inhaled a cigar and said: :

- You're going to the Olympics. You will, as they say, defend the honor of our team, as one of our athletes broke his leg when doing a somersault, jumping from the balcony of a multi-story building.

- Is he a fool or something?! Why jump from a high-rise building without a parachute?! - I was surprised.

-How do you explain, well, in short, without warning, returned from a business trip which her husband of his mistress arrived. And our athlete had to jump from the balcony.

- Okay, but how can I go to the Olympics without proper training? I have to take salt to my friends who brewed medicinal soup from dog meat on a garbage mountain! We must hold the second Congress of our party - I said rejecting their words.

- The Congress will have to wait. This is bigger than that. Don't you have a sense of patriotism? Do not you catch the call of our poor long-suffering homeland?! Well, are you going or not? If not, then you and I will have a very short conversation. With these words the big man with a cigar in his teeth pulled out from under the table sawed off a hunting rifle with a telescopic sight and a silencer.

- Well, and, if the homeland calls, I perhaps, I will go to the Olympic games - I told him with caution looking at a double-barrel with an optical sight and with a silencer.

- That's another matter, my friend - said the big man with a cigar in his mouth.

So, we went to the Olympics, which took place on some island, which was located in the Bermuda triangle. A maize farmer sat on the airfield of the Olympic village. On both sides of the streets stood the islanders, holding flags and greeting me. I waved my hand to them, occasionally sending beautiful girls kisses.

On the first day of the Olympics I participated in running competitions. I stood at the start with rivals and looked at them with fright at the person standing near me with the gun in his hands. Suddenly he heard a shot, scared to my opponents I ran at thew speed of light. The man with the gun almost shot me. I know martial arts, so I ran away so quickly that I got ahead of all my rivals. As i was running I thought:

- We're being chased by a group of policemen at the head of the district Shigabuddinov armed mid-war pistols which is of English manufacture.

I ran until I was tired and fell to the wet ground. I see all the islanders congratulate me on my successful rescue. I thanked them. The next day they put me on a helicopter to send me back. I was given a gold medal for running, they rewarded me in the form of a fee like a sack of potatoes grown in Chernobyl radioactive exclusion zone where 1986 exploded of the fourth unit of the Nuclear power plant and a packet of salt, then took me to the mountains, which were formed from the debris, where I waited for my friends in the party of the abandoned pigsty. Qurumboy thanked me for bringing not only salt, but also a bag of potatoes, rich in proteins and hydrocarbons. I have it for today, Mr. Sitmrat


Until new letters!


Olympic Champion,

The body guard of Qurumboy martial artist Mizhappar.


28 August 2008,

6 hours 55 minutes in the evening.

Garbage mountain pass "Chapaev".


The eleventh letter of Mizhappar


Hello, Mr. Sitmirat!


Having carried out a historic event called "Congress", we returned to the pigsty, where the office of our party is located. leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy said:

- Thank nature and Charles Darwin, we have food supply now! This is a good thing. But at the same time, we must learn how to save food and learn the art of survival in harsh conditions. That is, we must learn to eat raw and without feeling disgust, such as ants, spiders, worms, mantises, crickets, dragonflies, flies, butterflies, bugs , centipedes , scorpions - up to poisonous snakes . This is very important, comrades. I have a little surprise for you. When I went up to the roof of the pigsty to check whether the bird of happiness settled "Gamayun", in a three-room birdhouse with a balcony, which we built with you, instead of "Gamayun", I found a turtle dove, which we have called "musucha", and caught her. Here she is. With these words leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy pulled a live dove out of the pocket of his overcoat. Then continued:

- I wanted to show you, comrades, you have to eat a bird to begin with, not only in the ser, but alive! Look... and learn... Having finished his speech, Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy ate a dove alive. Poor dove fluttered and flapped, fluttered from the pain, not of joy, of course. Unable to withstand such a severe test, he ran out into the street, covering his mouth, so he did not vomit. But he couldn't. How to puke if there is nothing in his stomach but air. After hour leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy got sick. He complained of severe pain in the abdomen.

- What is it, comrade Commander? - Mamadiyar asked.

- Hear, the Revolution started - said leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy, writhing in pain and making a face.

- Where the revolution began, Mr. Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy? - I was surprised.

- In my stomach, the guard Mizhappar! - said Qurumboy.

I'll have to call the team "Ambulance", the fellow told me.

But unfortunately, at the grave of the phone Qurumboy exhausted. To the village was far away. So Yuldashvoy climbed onto the roof of the pigsty and started calling the ambulance verbally. That's when I was firmly convinced that the most durable thing in the world, it's a man's throat. It's like a rubber band tightened, but not torn. Yuldashvoy shouted in a shrill voice for so long that finally appeared on the horizon the doctor with the nurse. As they approached, it became clear that they due to the shortage of petrol, bike. The doctor in a white coat was driving a bicycle, and a young nurse was sitting in front, on the frame. On the trunk of a large old-fashioned suitcase with the emblem of the"red cross". When they arrived, we found out that the front suitcase was made of plywood. The doctor in overcoat checked the stomach of Qurumboy using a wooden tool similar to a horn, and asked:

- What did you eat, sir?

The turtledove replied with leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy and groaned from the pain.

The doctor came up to us and said in a whisper:

- Everyone, im sorry to say. The patient had contracted Ebola. Medicine is powerless before this disease. This is an incurable, terrible plague, and it is very quickly transmitted from the patient to another person through the respiratory tract. A person who has caught this disease, intestines, and other entrails, in two hours can turn into a bloody slime. So gentlemen, you have two more hours to say goodbye to your leader.

Hearing these words, leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy in panic cried, lying on a rusty trough for pigs in a coffin without a lid.

We began to beg the doctor to have it checked again leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy.

- Please, doctor, check again. We have some good potatoes, if you like. Open your suitcase. Go ahead, open it. We want to give you some of these potatoes. Nice potatoes. Grown in the fields of Chernobyl, where the nuclear power plant exploded. Very tasty potatoes. Your children Will be glad if Your wife cooks for them from this potato puree or soup - I told.

- No, don't give me it, it's uncomfortable... - the doctor said.

- Doctor, it's not a bribe, don't worry. It's just for you as a present, do it now - said Mamadiar. Yuldashvoy put all the potatoes in the doctor's suitcase.

- Well, if it's a gift,I will. Thanks. Let me recheck your sick leader - the doctor said. Removing the overcoat of Qurumboy, he began to examine his abdomen. After a few minutes he smiled guiltily and said::

- I think I was wrong, gentlemen. Your commander can be cured. Now I'm going to give him a pill, let him take it three times a day. Damn where is it, the pill... I really lost it... no, that can't be right... Ah, there. With that, the doctor, with shaking hands, took out a yellow, dirty pill from his pants pocket and accidentally dropped it. We all started looking for a pill that the doctor had inadvertently dropped. We've been looking for. Finally, we managed to find it in the straw, and we handed it to the doctor. The doctor gave this pill to Qurumboy and told him to swallow it. Qurumboy swallowed the pill and we escorted, thanking the doctor and his young nurse. They went to the bike, tied the rope to the trunk of a huge suitcase made of plywood, filled with potatoes, which I brought back from the Olympics. It turns out that we shouldn't have sent the doctor back. Because, after Qurumboy swallowed the pill, his situation deteriorated dramatically. Now he had to go to the bathroom. In the office it can not be done, you know, we strictly observe hygiene. The bathroom, where he usually went to relieve himself, was far away. Despite this, we decided to take Qurumboy there and lifting it, went to the edge of the field where could be seen a lone toilet the foreman, which he built from the glands from the barrels of pesticides to previous generations, as if building a monument. The roof of that toilet was also made of iron from pesticide barrels and attached firmly on all sides by welding to prevent boards from rotting in the rain and snow. Qurumboy went to the toilet, and we closed the door. We, like sentries, stood near the toilet. From the toilet was heard unpleasant sounds with groans the leader of our party. After two hours, if not more, the door slammed, but opened. Then there was the sound of blunt blows on it. After a few seconds Qurumboy nervously shouted:

- Mizhappar! Yuldashvoy! Mamadiyar! Open the door, the lock must be jammed!.. We thought the Qurumboy was pulling the door in the wrong direction. It turns out our leader was actually trapped. We tried to open the door, but we couldn't. From toilet began to be heard badmouthing fellow leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy.

- Open up! Or I will kill everyone of you? I knew it! Well, bastards! When I'm free, I'll have you all court-martialed as enemies of the people! Oh, what a naive and trusting Chairman of the revolutionary Committee I am! How I did not immediately realize that this doctor with his young nurse, who came by Bicycle with a huge front-line suitcase made of plywood, were also secret employees of the NSC! They gave me a specially expired pill to make me suffer from diarrhea. Now, locked! Open, jackals! Who are talking about?! - Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy screaming, kicking the walls of the toilet with his tarpaulin boots without soles.

- Comrade commander, please! The lock on the bathroom door must be jammed! We unfortunately do not have the key to this lock! Sit down, we'll figure something out and develop a secret plan to save Your life! I said, calming our leader.

- Come on, quick, you idiots! Court jesters! - said Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy.

We Mamadiar ran towards the village, and Yuldashvoy left to hold a strategic building with Qurumboy. We ran across the cotton field without looking back. When we reached the center, there, near school, saw the crane which stood on a roadside. The driver of the crane was a good person, and he agreed to help us when we explained the situation. The driver told us to get in the cab. We got in, and the car went. Yuldashvoy waved his worn skull-cap, as it helps to navigate. We arrived, and, having tied by means of a cable, started lifting an ill-fated toilet. It was a strategic plan. We knew from the floors that were wooden and decided to release Qurumboy, breaking these boards when I raised the toilet.

The driver was not only a good man, but also a professional of his work. He successfully lifted the iron toilet. The toilet was swinging in the air like an old fridge being thrown into the scrap. Inside the toilet nervously shouted the leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy.

- Yes, what are you doing, bastards?! Why is the toilet swinging?! Do you send me in a container by helicopter?! - he was nervous.

There was trouble. Wood floors toilet suddenly turned and Qurumboy fell into the pit toilet, together with fragments of boards from the old, rotten floor. We barely pulled Qurumboy from the well. After this incident, Qurumboy promised never to eat meat raw. Given the ability of Qurumboy to learn from their mistakes, I think he is also not a bad person. After all, everyone has their own character, which not everybody likes, right, Mr. Sitmrat?!

Most importantly, leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy didn't die heroically in the toilet. Everything else is fixable.

With respect, guard leader of our party Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy, famous martial artist Mizhappar.


September 10, 2008.

2:07 PM.

Village "Chapaev".


The twelfth letter of Mizhappar


Once we freed Qurumboy, we went to the river to bathe. Qurumboy also bathed, washed his clothes, sitting on a huge stone, he cleaned his boots too. Then we went back to the office again, and at the mailbox of our party we found a letter of invitation written on a page from the General notebook. It looked like this:

"Yuldashvoy if you received this letter, respond immediately. Because we recently married you! Your uncles, Halimjan with Alimjan was looking for you everywhere and did not find you. Where are you going, son? Here we have sitting your bride, Johongul, with a huge chest and a huge mirror, and you don't. The parents of your fiancée have lately started to question whether you exist in this world or not. Come quickly, son, we will not give your photo to the native police, and she declared what you wanted.


Your mother Tulfuza.


After reading the letter, Yuldashvoy was sweating.

- Geeee -he said, wiping his neck with his old, worn-out skullcap. Then he continue:

- Turns out I was married. I have to go, friends, before they pass my sketch to Interpol. Let me go, comrade Commissioner? - Yuldashvoy gathered to return home.

-Yes, I think you can go, comrade Yuldashvoy. And we, too, need go with you - said Qurumboy, lighting up his pipe, stuffing it with straw.

- No, no, comrades, for the love of the light, in any case do not go with me. You're not invited. They only asked me to come - said Yuldashvoy and he started to leave. When he disappeared from our line of sight, we still followed him. We quietly, with bated breath, began to watch Yuldashvoy through an opening in a mud wall. .Yuldashvoy went into the house and said hello to his mother Tulfuza.

- Here, son? Well finally- cried his mother Tulfuza. Then he said :

- You sit down first and eat tight. On the table is, everything except the vodka, son. You're eating. And I'll bring you some new clothes that your fiancée's parents bought for you. Then redeem as follows in the ditch, get dressed into new clothes, go to "Chimildik", where your young beautiful lady Johongul has been waiting days for you.

-Well, mom - said Yuldashvoy. He sat down on the matress and hungrily began to eat the delicacies. After eating, he took the soap and headed towards the ditch, where the ducks were swimming with their ducklings. Yuldashvoy plunged into the water and began to enjoy it. He bathed and bathed for a long time. Coming out of the ditch, he wiped himself with a towel, put on clean clothes and walked towards the house, where he was waiting for his bride.

By this time we changed the place of observation and through a gentle and transparent curtain stretched on the window, we continued to secretly do surveillance of objects. When Yuldashvoy came into the room, a fat lady without a neck began to greet him.

-Oh, finally, you'ye heye Yuldashvoy! Aye you came, my deay! Oh, how I waited these days, my beloved! I knew you waited, too. Let me see youy yadiant face! Let petiolate Youy beautiful hands and cuyly haiy! Come and sit close to me! Take off youy taypaulin boots vitout the soles, be late, my deay. Feel like a cow in a inside house! - she said.

Yuldashvoy regarded Johongul with surprise and said:

- You have a problem, why can't say the letter "r" instead pronouncing "y", Johongul? Or are you saying that on purpose, that is, you're making fun of me? - Yuldashvoy with sorrow.

-No, You, my deay, I didn't mean to. My metal teeth, aye botheying me when i speak. the stupid dentist, lied to me. I paid a lot of money foy yemovable aytificial teeth with gold cyowns, and he, the bastayd, made my teeth fyom not gold, he installed them in tin mateyial and I can't close my mouth. If you want, I can take them off and put them in this glass jar of water, my favorite - said Johongul and removing her removable teeth, she put them in a jar. Then she began to beg: - Yuldashvoy, sit closey to me, I have weak eyeshight, even with the contact lens I can not cleayly see you, come closey my don Quixote! Let me look at youy eyes and beautful face! Why do You feay my hands, made of alabastey? Don't woyey, I can take it off them and put them on a table befoye I sleep. My hands are also yemovable and they twist like a light bulb. Oy do you have a pyoblem with my slanting eyes? Oh,don't be shy, foy God's sake, say it to my face. Maybe you don't need my haiy! In that case, I can take my wig off, foy the sepayation we have enduyed all these yeays and foy our bittey teays and joys, foy the sake of suffeying...

With these words, Johongul took off her wig and looked like a bald doll. Yuldashvoy got scared and stepped back. We were scared.

-Johongul your body is in no healthy places - said Yuldoshvoy, heading to the door.

Johongul, feeling women's intuition impending separation, began to cry:

- Wait, wheye aye you going, sellout?! Don't leave me in the desolate of was lucky! I hope you get eaten by hungy yats in a dayk basement! With these words she threw her removable Oldesloe hand thread at Yuldashvoy. Then he retreated. His Face turned pale with fear like lime. When he came out on the porch, Johongul threw her plastic leg. Yuldashvoy in horror ran out into the street. We also ran long behind Yuldashvoy, and, panting, stopped by our office. Yuldashvoy now lying in the trough for the pigs. He's sick. His mouth curled in fear. For this reason, I am forced to put the point in his letter, Mr. Sitmrat.

Be always healthy and cheerful.

Sincerely, guard of Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy martial artist Mizhappar.


September 15, 2008. 07 minutes 2 th. Night.

Abandoned pigsty by the river.


The thirteenth letter of Mizhappar


Hello, Mr. Sitmrat!


We have an abandoned pigsty we disassembled bricks, boards and logs, and decided to sell them. We found a new way to turn stones into money.

You understand that our construction materials are too expensive because forests were destroyed to plant cotton and the only places not covered in cotton fields are cemeteries, and our compatriots are building huts from clay bricks and not square bricks, round bricks we also dont have wood as support, so we are more vunerable to earthquakes. After we pasted ads, buyers flooded on carts, on tractors with trailers and took away all the building materials, paying the amount of money that we have appointed. Qurumboycounted the money and carefully wrapped them in a footwrap, put it in the shaft of his boot. Then said:

- My comrades, I offer to buy a transport for our party. All leaders drive official cars, and I, that is your leader, I go on foot. Not good.

- Comrade Commander you think the money to buy the car? The money will not even buy parts from a tractor - said Mamadiar.

-Yes, you are right, comrade, Mamamiadiar. But, we want to buy a vehicle that does not require any gasoline, no diesel, no kerosene. We will buy a donkey. Then we will make of boards a cool watermelon with wheels from that abandoned tractor - Qurumboyexplained.

It is a different matter - said the Mamadiar.

- You are simply sage Platon, comrade Commissioner! - admired Yuldashvoy.

- Before going to the market, it would be nice to eat and drink a little Russian vodka - I said.

- Good idea-said Qurumboyand, pulling the money out of the boot, gave me the necessary amount for vodka and a snack.

I brought four bottles of vodka with a snack, and we began to drink and eat. Qurumboydrank more than he was supposed to as a result of hopping. In the bus Qurumboy started to kick up a row:

- Hey, people! Do you recognize your future President?! I'm Qurumboy! The leader of the party that will lead me to power! Then I'll show you all! I will become your Sultan-Emperor! Because I have a lot of money now! I can buy all of you in a place with your pathetic sheds you built out of clay,made from oval guval bricks! When I become President, I will establish an iron order in the country! The first thing I catch those students who do not want to collect cotton, and hang them on the wooden beams of the field camp! We will demonstratively execute their teachers and teachers together with the principals and they also execute where we catch! - Qurumboyshouted.

The passengers laughed, and we tried to calm Qurumboy.

Finally we came to the market and went through the crowd, where people stood with their cattle for sale. Around the hustle and bustle, the Bazaar, swaying like the sea. Suddenly Qurumboysaw a cow and began to scold it:

- Hey, cow, what are you doing to me watching, similar to scrambled eggs! I'll punch you in the face... - said Qurumboy, trying to kick the cow in the face. We barely took him away from the cow, but he immediately entered into a conversation with the goat, which was held by the rope by his master. I know jiu jitsu and are the bodyguard of QurumboyI willgrab you by the horns and sweep your leg and i will choke you to death -so firmly kept Qurumboy. He resisted me, trying to get out of my arms.

- What are you, like Satan you have a pointy beard and your horns too, want to butt the future President of Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Morikultezak Tappitutuniy?! I'll knock you out with one hand i will spin around and punch you and you will be heavily knocked out!- said Qurumboyand kicked the goat's udder, but missed.

-Pull yourself together, Comrade Commander - I said. Qurumboy calmed down a bit. Then suddenly came to us one broker, the so - called "dallol" and asked:

- What do we want to buy, gentlemen? Use my service, I am ready to help you - he said.

-We want to buy a donkey - we said.

- No problem, gentlemen. Let's go over there where they sell donkeys and horses. We followed dallol, the Eastern broker. There we saw many donkeys, horses, and even pigs. Look-one person holds a Zebra. A real Zebra. The broker approached the dark-skinned man, who sold Zebra and began to speak as a broker at auction:

-Hello. What's up? How are you? How are your wife and children? The glory of God. So, here, my name is Shopirkardon, and I'm ready to help you. These blood brothers want to buy a Zebra. And how much do you ask for your Zebra, sir, if it's not a secret? And let's get acquainted. How do you call that?

The swarthy man joined the broker in the conversation:

My name is Mumba Takatumba. I live in Northern Tanzania, in Maasai Mara . I am originally from Kenya, but by the will of fate moved to Tanzania. Although I live there, I work in the Serengetti valley, which is hunting. The Serengetti valley is such a beautiful place that a person who has been there once will not be able to go back. Falls in love with these places. My friends and I hunt elephants, leopards, lions, hyenas and sometimes giraffes there. We run in the forty-degree heat for the victims, and they also run in this heat. Raising the dust to the sky, we chase the animals, screaming and rattling pans with gnawed bones in the dusty fog, until the fall from the powerlessness of the animal that we pursue. This is very interesting on the one hand. And, on the other hand, this is a real poaching it is dangerous and hard work. One time we chased a lion for three hours without giving it a rest, and it fell. We approached, holding a spear and all other weapons, tired faces and our clothes in the dust, like statues of clay. Dust slowly dissipates around. Choking with joy, we sit, laugh, looking at each other, damn. And the lion at this time woke up, that is, outwitted us and, kicked, jumped to his feet. Then he jumped on one of our friends. The dust rose again, a cry for our friend's help, the crunch of bones and the roar of a lion! As we fled then, my God! That's the kind of work we do. Risk our lives. What do you want me to do, let me ask you. Unemployment is everywhere! To go to Russia is dangerous, they say, the skinheads are out there killing people with iron rods. It is not safe to go to Kazakhstan, they will sell us in one account in slavery! You go work in the cotton fields, they don't pay wages for years. Every year we feed silk worms and hand over tons of silk cocoons to the state, of which we make priceless silk. But the state does not want to give us our hard-earned money, delaying the issuance of wages for four, sometimes five years. Feeding silky worms is the hardest work and we work from early morning until late at night. These worms eat only the leaves of the mulberry tree growing on the edge of distant cotton fields. We have to go there and cut branches of mulberry trees with an axe. Then, tying them in bundles, it will be on their humps in the fields. Bring the branches, sort them and put them on special racks, which are located in rooms where the appropriate temperature is maintained. Worms quickly begin to eat these leaves, requiring a new portion. Yielding worms their huts, people are forced to live in the yard. Millions of worms eat a huge amount of mulberry leaves. Then they start to build their cocoons. To collect, clean, sort and send cocoons to state coffers is slave labor. To grow cotton is also hard work, but the money for their work workers get either a year or do not get. Some are in debt. A friend of mine told me:

- Put on your old boots, ragged coat without sleeves, get on to the head cap around and go said, let the saliva, moving sideways, in district social security, where you will pass the physical, and there you will get a sickness pencion.

I foolishly believed him and went to the district social security as he taught me. Seeing me, the doctors ran away in panic. Then people screamed, pointing at me:

- Zombies! Look, zombies! Beat him!.. with these words they began to throw stones at me. Barely escaped with my life. Since then, I have been engaged in poaching.

-Excuse me, Mr. Mumba Takatumba, you said You came from Africa and were born there and speak the Uzbek language. You have a skullcap on your head. How to understand? I asked in surprise.

- Interesting questions you ask. What to do if you live there among the Uzbeks? I had to learn their language, learn their culture, national customs and all that. What's wrong? said Mumba Takatumba.

- Wow, and that, in Africa, too, live Uzbeks? -Mamadiyar was surprised.

- What did you think? Sure they do. How else would they live! They are very rich. All have dozens of elephants, hundreds of other animals, they keep herds of antelopes, bison, Buffalo. They move around Serengetti on their giraffes. Sometimes participate at the races of giraffes, harnessed to a cart. They have free Internet access. How amicably they live there, how they respect each other! As a family! Help each other in difficult moments, protect both their brothers and sisters!They do not know what envy, treachery, meanness is.If a talented writer or poet appears among them, they will immediately support and help them both spiritually and financially.All rush to say or write about him and his work a couple of good words.Do not try to put him down. That is why I learned the language of this friendly and unique people! And as for this Zebra, I'm asking for a cheap one. These words Mumba Takatumba called the price.

After hearing the story of Mumba Takatumba, we were just stunned, surprised we have jaw drooped.

Sharply turning to Qurumboy, broker Shopirkardon said:

- That's a decent price. Moreover, the master poacher arrived here from Africa. There's an exotic animal. You can ride it, harness it in a cart or plow. And skin? It's expensive. Only rich people lay the skin of a zebra on the floor or on the sofa, decorate their walls of their luxurious homes. The price is reasonable, in my opinion. Think about it, for the money, which he asks Mr. poacher Mumba Takatumba, you can not buy even a sack of flour on the market. Agree, before he changes his mind -said broker, and shook the hand of Qurumboy firmly.

- Yes it was, it was not said by Qurumboy and pulled out the money. Counting them a few times, he gave the required amount to the broker and, he took his share, and handed the rest to Mumba Takatumba.

So, we bought the transport for our party.

The weather was overcast, drizzling rain. Qurumboy sat down on the zebra and that we, leading a zebra on a leash, left the Bazaar and headed towards the house. The street people looked at Qurumboy and the zebra with great curiosity. The children followed us in droves, keeping up with us. They laughed at us, shouted and teased us. We threw stones at them, but it did not help. The dogs roared nervously, attacking the Zebra from behind, but it kicked them with it's hooves. When we approached the center of the village, the rain increased. After a few moments, the rain turned into a downpour and started pouring like a bucket. We ran to get to our office-an abandoned pigsty. Here you see, - no zebra, that is, Qurumboy was riding a donkey. Then it turned out that the zebra merchant had deceived us. He sold us a donkey, dyed in water paint into a Zebra. Well, people, and, Mr. Sitmrat? Why live by deceiving each other? Without cheating it is impossible to live?

Surprised, the guard of Qurumboy martial artist Mizhappar.


September 26, 2008.

2 hours 21 minute of the day.

The Collective Farm "Chapaev".


The fourteenth letter of Mizhappar


Thank you and your friends, Saitmirat-aka, for the letter with millions of signatures that you wrote and sent to the head of our prison, while exerting strong pressure on the administration of the colony. The results on the face, that is, we were released. We got our old clothes back. We even got money for the road, We rode on the bus "Borsa Kelmes" to the capital. Although, the words "Borsa Kelmes" sound translated as" Who went there, will never return from there, " yet, we were able to return. But when we arrived in the capital, we were in danger again. There we were stopped almost at every step by policemen and they checked our documents. Although we have all the documents were in order, but we are tired of all these endless checks. We decided to go home by train and so we bought tickets to the compartment wagon, we got on the train. After the announcement of the dispatcher, a whistle sounded on the autumn platform,and the train creaked. After the conductor checked the tickets, we were given torn, semi-dry bed linen. The conductor, walking down the corridor, warned the passengers:

- Be alert gentlemen passengers! The locks in the door compartments are poorly closed, and we can not guarantee you full protection! At the stations our train could get armed bandits and rob you to the bone - he said.

We drove in silence. We were traveling with a well-dressed type forty-five, who introduced us and talked about:.

- My name is Tuhtasin, and my last name is Chemadanov. I'm a prominent businessman and owned a manufacturing and trading firm "The Edelweiss" abroad.

- Bourgeois? - said Qurumboy, filling his pipe with tea leaves and lighting it.

- Yes - said Chemadanov, then continued:

- I am engaged in delivery of live goods under the contract. I mostly sell donkeys. There is a great demand for donkeys abroad.

-What are You, really? - said Yuldashvoy surprised.

- Yes, I swear on my firm! - he said, removing her black English jacket and carefully hanging it on a hanger. Then, adjusting his red tie on the background of his white shirt, went on to say:

- The goods are at my fingertips, almost free. I go home, I buy for pennies of these donkeys, I lock them in commodity cars and I send to customers. That's all my work

- Why do your customers need donkeys when everyone drives expensive foreign cars? Or do they ride these donkeys to the mountains to smuggle marijuana or weapons to neighboring countries? - asked Mamadiar.

I don't care about that. I sell them, and let them do what they want with those donkeys. it's Their business. And I do not care - said Chemadanov.

- You don't sell zebras? asked Yuldashvoy.

- No, I don't sell zebras. Reluctant to go to Africa. I have my own Serengetti.

Why do you ask about zebras? - surprised Chemadanov.


- The fact is that we also have a good, young and obedient donkey. Could you help us sell it? - Qurumboy asked.

- Well, of course I will. Do you have the papers on your donkey? I mean, the passport. Did you get his passport or not?

We looked at Qurumboy. He took the pipe out of his mouth, looked at Chemadanov, and asked:

-What is the passport? Don't donkeys have passports too?

-Certainly. How could it be otherwise? No one can buy a donkey without a passport. Passport around the head! - explained Chemadanov.

- I wonder what they look like... donkey passports? - asked again Yuldashvoy looking down from the third shelf of the compartment.

- What? Have you seen the donkey's passport?! Well, well! The passports donkeys are the same as we have - said Chemadanov.

- And, also there is no ID, - said Qurumboy.

- Yes? That's bad. Then, I can't help you, gentlemen - said Chemadanov.

Chemadanov and Qurumboy continued the conversation, we were getting ready to sleep. I could not sleep for a long time, looking through the window of the wagon into the night steppes, where sadly flickered distant lights. I also looked at the moon, which was running behind the train. The rhythmic tapping of the iron wheels on the rails, and the wagon rocking with a mill creak, were like a cradle for a child. I didn't notice when I fell asleep. I woke up from the noise of the tramp of feet and dull blows. I see the intruders have arrived in our compartment. They hit and kick Chemadanov, and he begs them not to kill him.

- What, you got a rat?! Thought we'd never be able to find you, huh? That so-called slave owner you sold us to, we killed and took our passports! You're scum, how many of their compatriots were sold into slavery by deception for some pennies! Scoundrel, scum! Remember when you called us donkeys? And in fact, your companion, the slave owner of the shitty, he turned out to be the biggest donkey! Because we took away from him all the money, which he collected all these years at the expense of state workers, from whom he took away passports, so that they could not go out. Now he lies in a ditch with his trousers off. Now it's your turn to be a donkey like your friend. We are not the donkey, you are! Now we will cut your tongue off, or we will throw you off the train and murder you- said the uninvited masked guests.

- Okay, okay.. Now... - said Chemadanov lying on the floor.

He started to yak like a real donkey. Uninvited guests again began to kick him everywhere. Then they together raised Chemadanov and was thrown from the train through the window. I did a double somersault and jumped down when the masked murderers left. My friends at this time having slept, as if the bodies of the dead in the morgue. I woke them and told them, as uninvited guests threw businessman Tuhtasin Chemadanov from the train. After that, we couldn't sleep anymore.

When the train stopped at the station named Vasily Chapaev, we jumped off the train and disappeared in the dark. We fled to the village on a footpath which crossed the cemetery, and in the light of the moon I saw Qurumboy. He ran ahead of us, wearing Chemadanov's black suit over his coat, which hung on the hanger before he left. Quietly dozing, the cotton fields were under the bright moon.


October 20, 2008.

1 hour 33 minutes night.

Village, "Chapayevka".


The fifteenth letter of Mizhappar


In the center of the village I said goodbye to my friends until tomorrow, and we went home. I walked along my native, deserted street. Approaching the gate of our house made of cans from the barrels of pesticides, I've knocked until you answered my concerned stepdad. Dissatisfied and grumbling sleepily, he walked up to the gate, holding a lighted kerosene lamp. Looking at the gap, I saw the face of my stepfather, illuminated by the light of the lamp.

- Well, comrade Shigabutdinov, it's You again?! To be honest, You're boring us. How can you explain Mizhappar went to America along with his fellow party members to continue to fight abroad against the dictatorship.

- It's me, stepfather! It's me! Open the gate! - I said.

Recognizing my voice, my stepfather was confused.

- Mizhappar, is that you, foster son?! I can't believe my eyes and ears! Why are you so quick to come back from America? Or forgot to take something back for my things?! - he asked, opening the gate.

- No, a stepfather, we were seated at what we were the political opposition of character.We were imprisoned only for the fact that we wanted our country to have democracy, freedom of thought, free and fair elections with the participation of real opposition parties. Now I am back - I said smiling.

My step-father embracing and said Hello:

- Planted and returned? How? Did you escape or was you released on Amnesty? - he asked.

- Over Amnesty, stepfather-responded I. Then asked:

-Where is my stepmother?

-Oh, Mizhappar, your stepmother was sick, lying in the hospital, poor. After you left, her blood pressure went up to 280. After a heart attack, she was constantly crying. She cried, cried and went blind in the end. Now sings, poor, one sad song about a son who left his stepmother. When I listen to this song, my heart breaks. Turns out jealousy is bad for the heart.

- Blind?! Yeah, what are you, stepfather?! How come? I must visit her immediately! - I said, opening the closet where we used to keep our bike with the biker wheel. I took the bike and quickly went outside.

-Mizhappar, sleep , maybe you will visit her this morning?! - said stepfather.

- No, I have to go now! She went blind because of me!.. - I said, twisting the pedals of a Bicycle and taking the crаckdown.

So I went on my bike to visit my stepmom. Since the wheels of the bike had only tires, and there were no cameras, they rattled while I was driving. i had to go on the not paved road it was difficult, as at this time the moon disappeared behind the clouds. When I arrived in the district center, the hospital was dark. Only whitewashed robes duty nurses and orderlies. Leaving my bike with a biker wheel, I went to the reception window and asked the nurse on duty, which is distinguished only by the voice and by the robe, in which room is my stepmother.

What's your stepmom's name? the nurse on duty asked.

-Toskhon.

And Toskhon? Who sings all the time?

- Yes, Yes, accurately she - said I, delighted.

- She lies in the house, which pulled the door. This room is near the toilet. Go along this corridor and turn right. This is at the very end of the corridor - explained the nurse on duty.

-Okay -I said and walked down the dark corridor at random and, having hooked by a foot for a bucket cleaners, fell on the floor. When I got up, I told the nurse on duty:


- Uh, what a hospital! Is it really impossible to light at least a candle or a lamp kerosene?!

- What can we do to light, if there is no kerosene or candles?! Two months without electricity. Those candles which gave us for a month, were taken away by the wife of the chief physician and all to one used on birthday of the daughter. No kerosene for the smoker. Last week, when they lit a kerosene lamp, filled it with gasoline, it exploded like a bomb, my God, and a fire broke out. As a result, half of our hospital burned down. And you say corridor is dark. Imagine, there is no light even in the operating room. Our surgeons operate on patients by touch. Recently, one patient who had appendicitis was operated on. Then, instead of appendicitis sewed his mouth. When they removed the seam, they saw that this patient's lips healed like a wound. Then these healed lips again had to open, cutting them with a scalpel. After that, the patient became a singer. Began to sing merry songs, as if thanks to our great surgeons. Let him sing himself, but would not say political speech, demanding their rights - said our wise doctor. That patient was a good singer, God rest his soul!

In the name of the father and of the son and of the Holy spirit, Amen! said the nurse on duty in the dark. I again to not get into any trap began to move very carefully, like a sapper, which clears the road of mines in hot spots in the world. Finally, I managed to find the room where my stepmother was lying. I hear her singing a sad song:

Listening to my stepmom's song, I couldn't stand it. Tears involuntarily rolled from my eyes.

-Hey, stepmother, I'm your adopted son mixed martial artist Mizhappar! - I said loudly. The stepmother recognized my voice and began to cry.

Is that you, my adopted son? Did you really come back? the poor stepmother cried, feeling my face with her thin bamboo-like fingers.

- Yes, it's true, mother. I've returned. Please forgive me... - I cried.

Stepmother also dropped tears and rejoiced: - Here, son, I also became a singer in my old age. Once you heard my voice, being far away, outside our collective farm and came worried, then I sing quite loudly, and my voice is priceless.

- Yes, stepmom, you're a good singer. Every mom is a good singer. They raised us with a song, singing a lullaby when we were helpless babies and crying. They reassured us, putting us to bed, and they did not sleep. Sometimes we forget about you, reproach, take you to the kitchen, so that the mood is not spoiled our rich friends-businessmen who look at you as if not the mother gave birth to us, but we fell from the moon. But you, like angels, forgive us. We are committed to you only when we went bankrupt and our rich friends businessmen leave us when we leave a beautiful mistress, when buying a new wealthy lovers, when we're alone together with her shadow crying, hunched on the wall, where no one except us.

Hearing my words, my stepmother started her habit to howl like a wolf on a high cliff of snow-capped mountains, where in heaven wandering the cold, lonely moon.

- It will, mother, don't cry. And you'll hear your cry from afar, unable to come hungry wolves in search of edible, when there is nothing to eat themselves. You sit here and drink. I will quickly go home and bring you a piece of bread, if my stepfather did not empty our bakery - I said.

The stepmother agreed and blessed me. I took off again at random through the dark hallway, and again my feet got caught in a bucket cleaners. Then, rattling a bucket I fell to the floor. Then I rose to my feet again and went outside. From behind the clouds the moon Breathing the pure air of the Motherland, I wore Builder gloves , as my hands were freezing here and I look - not seen my bike in a Moto wheel. Well, I think, Holy smoke, look for fistula - nowhere. The attackers stole it. Had to walk. The road to Chapaevka far. I walked, walked through the deserted roads under the quiet moon, across the field, through the graveyard, frantically reciting prayers, and away went the owl, and the morning I came home.

Okay, then, good morning, Sitmrat aka! Until new letters!

With morning, physical greetings- mixed martial artist Mizhappar.


October 21, 2008.

8:33 minutes in the morning.

Village, "Chapayevka".


The sixteenth letter of Mizhappar


Last night my friends called me, pulling their necks through the clay fences of my yard, and I put on my boots without soles, went out into the yard to meet my friends. By the shoulder of Qurumboy's black jacket of the now deceased Director of the company "the Edelweiss" Mr. Chemodanov.


-Where are we going tonight? - I asked my friends.


Qurumboy whispered in my ear very interesting news, and I was wary.


-Really? - I asked in surprise.


According to him, in one of the internal pocket of the jacket of suitcases he found many passports and ten thousand American dollars.


- What are you going to do with this money? - I said, I was interested.

- I suppose that these funds are equally distributed on behalf of our party, poor, poor people strictly on the list - said Qurumboy.


- I want to spend the money for the renovation of our office located in the barn. We would wash all the walls of the office and draw a tiger on the wall, which is preparing to jump from a high cliff which a deer that came to that river to drink. Discreetly painted would sneak up to the deer and a huge crocodile, with an eagle top, who is also planning something terrible - said Yuldashvoy.


-I fully support the idea of leader Qurumboy. We must take care of the poor, orphans, pensioners and the disabled. Then, people will vote for us during the elections, said Mamadiar.


- Then I'll put it to a vote. Vote, companions deputies, members of our party and guests of plenary session - Qurumboy told.


Then he calculated:

- Consonants-three, against-one, abstaining-no. Adopted unanimously!


After that, we went to the village Council and made an appointment with the Chairman of the village Council. We sat long, yawning from boredom as hippos. Finally, we managed to get into the Chairman's office. He didn't want to talk to us at first. But when he learned about our intentions, he dramatically changed his attitude towards us and immediately began to consult on this matter with the Governor Chapaev Zulmat Alimanovic on the phone. Then he hugged us and said,:

- Congratulations, gentlemen billionaires.

Zulmat Alamanovich was very happy and told us go-ahead. He intends to invite us to this charity event the Governor of the Chapaev region and his friend Yebtoymas Tappatalaruvuch. If you do not mind, we will hold this event in the Collective farm club. There we will give an important donation to the poor.

- Well - we said in unison.


On the appointed day we were taken by special cars in the direction of the collective farm club. Near the club we were met by a crowd of people, heads and a very beautiful girl, holding bread and salt, in a national dress named "khanatlas" with a coat, woven of fiery red velvet. Sounded karnays and surnays Eastern drum "carbon". We were led on by the Commissioner, Deputy and millionaire, Qurumboy was hungry, and for this reason, with great appetite, ate bread and salt. Yuldashvoy even gathered the crumbs of bread that remained on the tablecloth, and ate it. We are culturally wiped our mouths with a towel and burped. After that, the students ran as crowd in our direction with bouquets and flowers. They gave us these bouquets. When we went inside, the hall was full, and from lack of places many stood, some sat on window sills. We were asked to stand on the stage where the members of the Presidium were sitting. The first word spoken to the Governor of the Chapaev region Yebtoymas Tappatalaruvuch. That for almost two hours praised the President for almost two hours and then spoke about power, then spoke about kindness and mercy. Out of boredom Mamadiar began to yawn. Qurumboy also stood on the stage and killed the Governor:

- Comrade Yebtoymas Tappatalaruvuch, save it.! We don't have time to listen to your boring report! We must whitewash the walls of the pigsty and paint a beautiful landscape on the wall, where a huge, a striped tiger jumps from a high rock on a deer that came to the river! Come on, round up your report immediately and call all the poor orphans, pensioners and the disabled! We have to give them dollars, that is, donations! he said.

-Well, Mr. billionaire Qurumboy! - said Optimus Capitalrich dutifully interrupting his report. Then he called the poor to the stage.


-Come on, the poor who need the charity of our valued billionaires come and don't be shy! One at a time! Now Mr.billionaire Qurumboy and his rich friends will give us dollars! - said Yebtoymas Tappatalaruvuch.


Then, substituting Qurumboy with his hat backwards, he began to cry:

-Mr. Qurumboy! I want to admit that the poorest man in the country is me! Give alms to the poor Governor of the Chapaev region! My salary is small and my family is big. Even those bribes that I regularly take on a large scale from the heads of districts and from the chairmen of collective farms, are sorely lacking! I checked yesterday, the total profit from the turnover for the year in my companies is only one hundred million dollars! Other than that, I'm laughing my ass off in a service limo! Give me at least one hundred dollars, Mr.Qurumboy! Cried Yebtoymas Tappatalaruvuch, wiping tears with the sleeve of his English coat.

Qurumboys threw a hundred dollars in the hat of the Governor Optimas Capitalrich.


- Thank You, Mr. Qurumboy! -said Optimus Tataranowicz, wearing a hat with a hundred dollar bill.


He walked to Qurumboy head of the tax inspection with an outstretched hand:


- Post, Mr. Qurumboy, I'm begging you, who stripped three skins by large taxation income from people who want to do business, opening a firm or a farm! Mr. Qurumboy! I'm an orphan! My parents died in a nursing home, they disowned me! In return, I will except your party from state tax! Feed the hungry and the poor head of the tax police Japanskog area! I only ate 250 grams of black caviar and 250 grams of red caviar for Breakfast today!


-Here, take it! said Qurumboy the head of the tax Inspectorate Chapaev district, throwing it into the steward of the United State's outstretched hand.


There appeared on the scene paunchy Prosecutor and he also started to say:

-Oh, Mr. Qurumboy, show mercy and serve! I really need the money! I get constantly astronomical sums in the form of bribes from relatives of convicts, but I can not fill the black hole, which is called the need! So I just have to put more people in jail with false accusations and get even more bribes! Here, I want to buy for the birthday of my son, one helicopter, and I do not have the money! How can I buy a plane if I don't have enough money for even a helicopter?! What if the other son wants me to give him a plate for his birthday?! (flying, of course).What am I going to do?! And I cannot even to think about buying a time machine! There can not do without your help! Would you please hand it to the poor Prosecutor?..


Qurumboy gave the district attorney a hundred dollar bill and said:

- Buy a plane, a biplane, or a glider!


The Prosecutor thanked Qurumboy for his generosity.


Look, leaders of all stripes lined up for alms. Then Qurumboy got up from his place, took out a bunch of hundred-dollar bills and scattered them in the air. Notes fell like autumn leaves, over the heads of the people in the audience, it started a stampede. All heads and chiefs rushed to the money, pushing, crushing each other and shouting:

- Oh, dolla-a-a-a-r! Dolla-a-a-a-r! - they snarled greedily, trying to grab a green bill in the air. Then the fight started. The crowd began to rotate in the hall, like a giant whirlpool. We rushed outside through the emergency exit. Congratulating ourselves on our successful rescue.


Sincerely, Mizhappar.


October 24, 2008.

8 : 28 the evening.

Abandoned pigsty.


The seventeenth letter of Mizhappar


-Mr. Sitmirat, now is not the time to even say Hello. There is extraordinary news. Qurumboy went into opposition. He emigrated to a small island, which is located on the river "Karadarya", where the wind in the Delta of the river and blooming water lilies.He lives alone in a foreign country, having built a hut of reeds. The night before last, someone knocked on the window of the room where I sleep. You know that in our village there is no light for several months. On moonless nights our village plunges into darkness and reigns a dead silence. Hearing a strange knock, I was afraid. Lifting the kerosene lamp, I carefully went to the window and asked:

- Who's there?!

-It is I, Mr. Mizhappar , open the window, there is a thing - someone said in a whisper. I heared a voice , - it was Qurumboy. But when I opened the window, I was even more frightened when I saw a man with a red beard and a mustache of the same color. The man in the sailor's cap with the orange eyebrows was Qurumboy ... It turns out, escaped arrest, he carefully disguised, gluing a beard, mustache and eyebrows from the skin of the same dog, which I killed.

- Hello, Qurumboy, come on - I said to be nice and wanting to appear hospitable man.

- Thank you, Mr. Mizhappar , some other time. I'm wanted, I'm wanted everywhere. You go to an abandoned pigsty at midnight tonight. There You will meet a member of the revolutionary Committee Commissioner Yuldashvoy, and he will lead You to an underground meeting of the revolutionary Committee. This meeting will address organizational issues. Be sure to come and don't be late. The Chairman of the revolutionary Committee, Commissioner, Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy - said Qurumboy and walked away.

Within a few seconds as he disappeared from my sight, dissolving in the darkness like a Ghost, I closed the window, lowering the wick of the kerosene lamp and went to bed. But I could not sleep any more, and at midnight I put on my boots, carefully opened the window so as not to disturb my stepfather and stepmother, and leaping through the window, went towards the abandoned pigsty through the cemetery, where the eagle owl had gone. When I came to the pigsty, at the entrance, I was greeted with Yuldashvoy. It was worn a skull-cap with a red star. He came up to me, walking in a soldier's way, rustling his dermatin jacket with his collar up, and saluted me:

- I wish you health, comrade Mizhappar . The Chairman of the revolutionary Committee comrad Qurumboy Qoramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy and Commissioner of Mamadiyarenco waiting for you at the headquarters, follow me - said Yuldashvoy.

We went to the headquarters of the office through the dark corridor, in which two sides darkly glittered cages, iron bird feeders, where once lay a pig. I saw it all when the light is lighted matches which burned in the hands of the Commissioner Yuldashvoy. Although there have not kept pigs, but strong, stinking smell, everything has been preserved. When we went to the headquarters of the ceiling, where a huge blackened doorway like a dark hole of the universe, I saw Qurumboy and Mamadiar. They sat at the table, which was missing one leg, and on which stood a lamp "Chaitanya", increasing the dark shadows of my friends on the walls of the office. On the table, like an old still life of the artist, there were empty cans, a half-drunk bottle of wine and a piece of bread with crumbs. All this was laid out on the old yellowed newspaper "the Lie of the East".

- Ahhh, come soldier Mizhappar ? Come and sit down, please, here - said Qurumboy , pointing to the inverted iron trough, from which once voracious pigs, greedily grunting and pushing each other, with a great appetite ate slops.

Thank you, Comrade comander -camindon - I said and sat down on an overturned trough. Mamadiyar wrote something on paper in the light of a kerosene lamp "Shaytan Chirac". Before starting the meeting, Qurumboy tore off pieces of the yellowed newspaper "a Lie of the East", and stuffing them densely the tube and lit. Then, as if wishing to buy Mamadiar, handed him the phone:

- Would you like to smoke, comrade Commissar? he asked the Mamadiar.

Well Yes, said Mamadiar and picked it up.

But he after the first puff, choking on the smoke, began to cough heavily, sticking his tongue like a sick sheep with leaky lungs. From tension his artery on neck swelled up to the maximum size, his eyes shed tears, and his face was very red. Qurumboy quickly poured in a tin of wine and handed it to the Mamadiar:

- Here, comrade, Mamadiarenco, drink healing balm - he said. Mamadiar, gave up Qurumboy, took a jar of wine and drank to the bottom. Yuldashvoy gave Mamadiar tomato for a snack, poured with fifty grams of wine for himself and drank. Qurumboy held out me up and asked:

- You want to smoke, comrade Mizhappar ?

- No, no, thank you Comrade Camindon, Smoking is bad for my body. About it warned me in writing by the Ministry of health - I replied, cautiously looking into a Smoking pipe.

Well, as you said Qurumboy s dokurivat the remaining tobacco from a piece of yellowed newspaper "a lie of the East", which still smoldered in the tube. Then he went up to the podium, also made of wooden feeders for pigs and began his fiery speech:

- Members of our party, "valiant beggars "! Enough! The knife has reached the bones! How much can you tolerate oppression and humiliation! We must fight evil, that is, democracy and religious obscurantism, without sparing our blood, in the name of the bright future of our long-suffering people! This book will help us in this fight!.. With these words Qurumboy showed us some book in a red cover, and I asked him:

-Sorry, Comrade commander is "Capital of the Karl Marx"?

- No, comrades! This book is called"folk tales". We must learn this book by heart! Because these tales contain unique ways of dealing with the wicked, triceps takanami dragan - "Ajhdarcho" and other abominations. For example, on these pages... Now, I read this tale somewhere here... Ah, here! In short, one poor old man had three grown sons, and they were unemployed. From morning till late at night they slept and woke up just to eat. One day, the elder built them in one line and began to read them morality:

"My sons, you have become adults and strong! Now you have to fight for your own happiness. To do this, you must unite as never before. If you walk through life together, no enemy can defeat you. Here, I'll show you a unique example... With these words, the old man gave his sons one cotton stalk and told them to break them. Sons easily broke the stems. Then the father gave everyone a sheaf of cotton stalks. The sons broke easily, and the sheaves of cotton "guzapoya". Seeing this, my father was surprised. He gave his sons one wooden pole each and told them to try to break it. Sons without any labor broke and these poles, and began to wait for the next test. Then the old man got angry and shouted to them:

- You freeloaders! Bedpans are miserable! With such strength, lie at home and live off my pension?! And the cashier does not give us our pension in time, letting it into circulation and getting a score! I can't feed you anymore! Get a job, you parasites! Go to the market and roll the cart! Come on, get out of my house, don't sit here, get out! So the old man began to expel his sons, pushing them out. But the sons clung to the door jamb and begged that the elder did not expel them from the house.

- Father, don't kick us out, please! We're afraid to go outside! It's full of police officers! They will catch us and, without noticing, put forbidden literature or leaflets in our pockets, send us to prison. From there, we are shocked into camps where innocent people die of malnutrition and tuberculosis!

- Don't be afraid, jackals cowardly! I will tell your mother, and she will sew up your pockets with a fishing line, having filled them with sand, and any cop will not be able to put to you in your pockets religious leaflets or shells - the old man told.

- Hih-hih-hih-hih! - laughed senior son, and other sons, too, began laughing at me, showing her teeth, blackened from regular Smoking shag.

-Father! Pockets-sew mom, but there on the street even more dangerous and ruthless types, your countrymen who hunt for slaves, their own kind. They can trick us into taking us to neighbouring countries and, by taking our passports away, sell us to slave traders for eternal use! Then what?! You want us to become slaves and work in the woods with shackles around our necks and legs, rattling iron chains sadly?! - asked sons at the old man.

-Nothing, you are so strong that will easily cut steel chains with shackles and escapes- the old man said...

Here is the story of Qurumboy interrupted. The window without glass appeared clean shaved face, donkey mug Hubbigul, who worked in the part-time confidential informant, that is, a Snitch.

- Ah, gotcha, you bastards! Well, congratulations. So they created an underground party against the Constitution of our country, right?! I have everything recorded on my dictaphone, and today I will pass all the information where it should be... You now cover, hobos! - said Hubbugul, procesa his wooden leg, dressed in tights.

Qurumboy in a panic grabbed the bottle and shouted: "Comrades! The striped revolution is in danger!" Then this bottle with all the force he hit Hubbugul on the head. From a crushing blow, Hubbugul fell on the earthen floor Chancellery owned our party. Mamadiar, checking the pulse Hubbigul, made a sign that the informer dead.

- Camrade Camidon you killed the Snitch! I was glad.

Although he was a Snitch, still a pity - said Yuldashvoy, sadly removing from the head a skull-cap made of cat skins.

-Cheer up, comrade Yuldashin! Politics is art! But art always requires sacrifices. - said Qurumboy , holding a half-broken bottle. Then he commanded:

- Pick up this bastard's body, throw him in the river! We dutifully agreed with our camindon and raised the dead body of the deceased rat. At this time in the sky over the pigsty there was a moon, which sadly floated among the curly clouds, illuminating our way.

- Comrade Camidon , shouldn't we bury him in the ground than to throw in the water. After all, this corpse will sooner or later come out like a bloated donkey corpse and get stuck somewhere, what will happen then? - Meanwhile, he begins to deteriorate and stray dogs flock there, from time to time jealously growling at the crows, - which will circle in the sky. Do you think that farmers will not notice it and will not call the district Shgabuddinov? - Mamadiyar asked.

- Before we throw a body in the river, we have to tie that plow to his leg - and it's over. The plow is heavy, and no one will guess about our heinous crime - said Qurumboy .

- Good idea - we said in unison.

Then the four of us rose and brought to the shore a heavy plow from an abandoned tractor "T - 28 - x-4" and we tied it to the feet of the Hubbigul, and threw it into the deep river "Karadarya", where the whirlpool raged.

- That, finally, we got rid of the insidious Snitch-and the revolution is saved! - said Qurumboy , sighing with relief.

And the moon was still shining over the pigsty. When we returned to the headquarters of the office, we put out a kerosene lamp and went home.

- Yes, Mr. Sitmrat, to be a revolutionary is not easy. Sitting here in his cabin, I write this letter to You, listen in silence and think about how if they came for me, the precinct of Shgabuddinov, sneaking up quietly and pointed his pistol "the Mauser".

- Okay, goodbye, Mr.Sitmirat - the carcass of a kerosene lamp.

- Fuff! Oh, man, my mustache burned again.


With respect to all, revolutionary soldier Mizhappar.

Written during the dark night, in the Collective Farm "Chapaev".


The eighteenth letter of Mizhappar


Let this letter, which I write on the skin of a Sheepdog, fly West in the autumn wind, where Mr. Sitmirat lives, where he often sits drinking sometimes whiskey or tequila with ice at the window of a night restaurant, behind which the last trams go and in their bright salons you can see the sad faces of late, thoughtful passengers.

Assalamu alaykum, Mr. Sitmirat.

Yesterday Qurumboy called an extraordinary congress of our party, I climbed onto the roof of the pigsty. I ran to where the Convention was supposed to be. When I arrived, Qurumboy rejoiced and uttered this speech:

- Well, farmer Mizhappar is here too. now we have a quorum, and we can start congress, according to the point of the Charter of our party about holding congresses! So, comrades, if we really want to come to power, we must strengthen political propaganda among the population more than ever! With that, I declare the Congress closed! Members of our party, members and guests of the Congress of our party immediately Qurumboy harnessed to a cart! "no," he growled. Then he added, " do you Hear the trumpet calling?"

- Yes, Yes, Comrade Kamindon! - we answered in chorus, listening in silence.

-Then let's go! - Qurumboy.

We put the clamp on Qurumboy's neck , and Qurumboy sat on the cart. We sat down, too. We drove on the street, admiring the scenery and sometimes greeting passers-by. The soul sings. I love the road by nature. All around, the trees drop their yellow and red leaves. Behind the bare branches of the trees, you can see the shacks and huts of farmers, with crooked chimneys. Qurumboy hums a melody, he had a good mood. Mamadiyar sings an old song.


The cart was creaking along, and suddenly it got stuck. Yoldashvoy tensed, trying to pull it out of the mud, but he couldn't. Then Qurumboy went to help him, that is, began to beat him over the head with a long whip. From strokes ripped Qurumboy's hat, made of dog skin. The pea jacket was also torn. Qurumboy mercilessly beat him constantly shouting:

-Chug, you asshole!- Get up, don't pretend, you smart-ass slacker! Damned parasite!

Qurumboy struggled trying to pull the cart, but it didn't work. The poor man was pulling the cart, with the bridle wrapped around him like a fly caught in a spider's web, hurting his shoulders, straining his neck with swollen arteries. Then, from exhaustion and impotence, he lay down in the mud. His face and clothes were covered with mud. We had to get off the cart to help Qurumboy. Mamadiyar and I began to push the cart from behind, leaning on it with our shoulders. Finally we pulled it out of the mud, and Yoldashvoy ran, dragging the cart along a paved road. We caught up with him and got back on the cart. We drove, we were happy, we wave to children and old people who stood on the side of the road looking at us in surprise. We were driving at high speed until our vehicle hit a man. This man turned out to be a drunk man named Khurram, who was lying on the road tipsy. When we ran over him, our cart went up and down again. It's a good thing the local drunk Khurram didn't die. He got up from his seat and threw mud at us, cursing us with all his might. Yoldashvoy added speed, but since we did not have a speedometer, we didn't know what speed he was driving at the moment. There were no drunks on the horizon but us. We ride on a super-fast creaking cart, plowing the air. The speed was too high, and suddenly there was an emergency. Our high-speed cart suddenly and unsightly tilted to one side, and one of its wheels fell off. Now the cart stopped, listening to Qurumboy, and our uncontrolled carriage went off the road. Dragging Qurumboy, it rolled towards a small poultry farm of a local farmer. We rode it and screamed in a panic, uttering only one sound:

-Aaaaah,Aaaaaah! - we shouted.

When we tore down the net, the hens, geese, ducks, and turkeys were also frightened, flying noisily like frightened birds in the night. I don't remember how our cart came down. When I came to, I was lying like a boxer in the ring who had been knocked out. My friends, too. Qurumboy lying in a pool among the ducks and geese. Mamadiyar was found in a chicken coop where a thin, tall farmer was standing.

-That's it, I guess. Now the farmer, in desperation, will take his double-barrelled shotgun and load it up and shoot us like partridges without a trial, I thought.

No, he did not take up the gun, on the contrary, began to help us, at the same time photographing us from all sides for memory. We thought at first that when the poor farmer has calculated the material and moral damage, he went to the roof. Because instead of crying, he was happy as a child and even expressed gratitude to us .

- What are you happy about, bourgeois?! asked by Qurumboy, stuffing in his pipe and lighting chicken manure.

-How Can I not to be happy, Mr. proletarian, after destroying part of my farm you helped me.

- What, are you crazy? We did a lot of damage to you, like the Hurricanne Katherine on the Atlantic coast, you fool! Or do you want to put us on trial? Mind you, my bodyguard Mizhappar is abroad there are friends of human rights defenders. They'll raise an international political scandal if you file a lawsuit. They are even ready to make a revolution for us! - Qurumboy sternly warned the farmer .

- Yes, Mr. proletarian! Why would I sue you when there's another way to get rich? Now, thanks to you, I can write off thousands of chickens, geese, ducks and turkeys that were taken away by the tax authorities, the Bank employees who gave us a loan, the district police Shgabuddinov, and other small officials! the farmer said.

Then he invited us to a free Banquet to clean up a natural disaster on his farm. While we were drinking tea and eating delicious eggs, the farmer's wife made some chicken barbeque. The farmer ran to the store, and we started drinking vodka. After the tenth bottle Yoldashvoy was finding it difficult to pronounce consonants. He just smiled and pronounced the vowel sounds -I, a, e, u,o. The farmer's wife was a talented woman. She gave an Amateur performance and sang a song about chickens, dancing.


After the twelfth bottle, the farmer also got drunk and suddenly looked towards God, lazily licked his lips looking at the ceiling with slanted eyes:

-God, why do you only torment me?"! Is there no one else in the world but me?! Why don't you torment the tax people who skin poor farmers?! Why don't you punish unjust prosecutors, parasite lawyers, and policemen who, scare the people, put innocent, law-abiding citizens behind bars and take the last kopecks from people?! Don't you see pupils and students who, instead of studying, pick cotton on cold plantations, when governors beat teachers and make them kiss the shoes of prosecutors and police officers for not being able to meet the norm for picking cotton?! Why do you not destroy the unjust leaders who illegally develop the people's good, sucking the blood of the people from their arteries and veins, like leeches! Now these slaves of yours, instead of asking for forgiveness, are threatened by human rights defenders who live a luxurious life abroad, when people here are starving to eat straw! Is that fair, Lord? Although I don't see your image, I still love you, Lord! Please tell me, God, what have I done to you?! Tell me! Why are you silent?! After all, I participated in the liquidation of the Chernobyl Nuclear Power plant accident. I was hauling radioactive waste out of the sarcophagus in a wheelbarrow, for God's sake! The farmer could not finish his plea, as an earthquake started at that moment. The farmer's hut began to rock and shake. The farmer's wife was the first to evacuate, screaming in fear. Then the farmer shot out into the yard. I don't even remember how or when I ran out of the hut. I see my friends from the party standing next to me, pale as the moon, trembling with fear like the skeletons of a hanged man in the wind, who has been gnawed by crows. Yoldashvoy too sober, as a good person. Then the ground hummed under our feet, and we felt as if we were on a Volcano about to explode. Then there was another jolt, and the roof of the farmer's hut went off. It collapsed with a roar, kicking up dust, like a bomb test on the Atoll Moruroa. Hear Qurumboy calling me:

-Comrade Mizhappar , the revolution is in danger! I command you to help me move. You know, Saitmirat-aka, I was doing Kung Fu, and the commander's order is law to me. I thought Qurumboy was wounded. No, it turns out he shits his pants out of fear. I'm sorry, but I just have to write about this for the story. Qurumboy so much shit in pants that could not even move independently. Had to pull the dagger out of Qurumboy from the tops of his boots without soles and stick in the pants, which are full of (excuse me again) bullshit. Qurumboy's pants exploded and everything around was yellow. So much for political propaganda among the population! Thank God everyone was alive.

To the following letters, Mr.Saitmirat!

The soldier and the farmer Mizhappar .


October 31, 2008.

12 hours and 35 minutes a day.

Poultry farm of a name of Vasily Ivanovicha Chapaeva.


Nineteenth letter of Mizhappar


It was morning and snowing. Sitting on the official cart of Commissioner Qurumboy , we drove along a snow-covered road and the wheels of the cart creaked like an old mill. On the bank of the river we saw a crowd of protesters. They chanted:

-Fellow villagers! How long can you stand it?! Our huts have turned into refrigerators, children are freezing! No light, no gas! Coal is more expensive than gold! There is no wood! We used to have the reeds, remember? Mulberry plantations, century-old willows and poplars rustled in the wind, sounded like an organ in a Catholic Church! Look what's happening around you now! Because of the lack of fuel for the winter, people destroyed the gardens, apricot groves, cut everything down and burned it! Today our land is empty. Our fields are like the Mongolian steppes! The population every year decreases the number of livestock and fuel, that is, dung that cows produce. Many people put a bag in the their livestock so that the cow shit would not fall into the hands of speculators, that is, they would get it themselves. Our poor children study in cold schools, in dark classrooms, similar to the barracks of Stalin's camps on the Gulag archipelago! They sit at their desks, without removing their hats, earflaps and heavy coats, warming their reddened hands with their breath, as in the forties in the besieged Leningrad! The headmaster took home all the coal that was given for heating the school! Will anyone be able to answer my question about how we should live?! -Tulan grave digger said.

- Comrades, let me say a few words on this topic! "what is it?- said a tall, thin man with too short arms and a donkey's face. He was given his word, and went on:

-Thank you, Mr. speaker, for giving me the floor, thank you fellow deputies. I honored the pimp Mirmildiq Gunnaevich, was born in one thousand...

But his words were immediately interrupted.

-Hey, keep it short, villager!" Don't give us your year of birth! -what's that?- said one of the angry crowd.

-Well, all I ask is that you listen to me carefully, and that you go home in a good way!- If you want to hold a meeting then please we don't mind. Go to the collective farm club and rally there. In the club, it is easier for the authorities to control you .And I want to share with you a very important news, that our wise scientists have invented a new way to escape from the cold! This is the cheapest and most convenient way in the world, which does not require electricity, gas, coal, firewood, or dung!... shouted the pimp Mirmildiq Gunnaevich.

-uh-uuh, solar panels, or something?! - asked Durmeil Igvogar.

- No-said the pimp Mirmildiq Gunnaevich, shivering from the bitter cold and feverishly exhaling on his hands to somehow warm them.

-Vodka or something?-! someone else in the crowd asked.

-No. To do this, you must first strip naked and go into the ice hole. Then, I assure you, you will not be afraid of the cold, on the contrary, the cold will shiver when the cold sees you. Your children will go to school barefoot, calmly walking in the snow, like yoga on fire, in only t-shirts and underpants. Teachers, too. And the school does not need to be heated, let them sit at the open window and learn as much as they want. The most interesting thing is that you will go to work in just shorts, without a hat and, of course, without shoes. Save, as they say, the family budget, without spending money on clothes, coal, firewood and medicines. You can't even imagine the pace at which our country's economy will grow after this! Because the state will sell our saved fuel such as gas, electricity, coal and firewood , which you saved, to neighboring countries, and we will get very rich! Come on, get undressed now for the sake of the prosperity of our country's wonderful economy and jump into the ice holes, now! Children, too, undress and jump in the hole! They, too, are hardened! said pimp Mirmildiq Gunnaevich.

Hearing these cold words, children and some parents began to run away. Here Durmeil Igvogar raised his hand, asking for. He, too, was given the floor, and began to speak:

- Dear fellow villagers! Don't believe what this pimp says! He's deceiving us! Last year I tried this method, risking my life for the health of our long-suffering people, and almost died. In order to become a "walrus", a person must first have no fat in their body. And I, you know, skinny as a satan, climbed into the hole, like a fool, started to lose consciousness from cooling, felt that my brain was slowly starting to freeze inside my skull, my bones also turned to ice, I can't move, damn it. It was hard to think, too. And how can you think if your thoughts were frozen in the air? I crawled out of the hole slowly, like a crocodile. After that, I don't know how I got home at all. Caught a cold in short. Cough, high fever, sore throat, bronchial asthma and pneumonia. I cough incessantly, day and night long. Therefore, my neighbors wrote a statement to the police chief, complaining that I was disturbing their sleep, loudly and continuously coughing from evening to morning, from morning to evening, asking them to send him somewhere abroad. But the police and doctors were afraid to catch a terrible disease and did not come to arrest me and take me away. One of my neighbors even made threats over the phone:

-If you don't stop coughing, I'll just have to kill you with a homemade hunting rifle with a silencer and a scope right out of the attic!- -no,- he said.

It turns out that a person is unable to stop his cough even when he is threatened with execution by pointing the muzzle of a Kalashnikov or a grenade launcher at his forehead.

- I say, have pity on a sick man, dear compatriots!

- No, you're not sick! You're faking it! - they said.

Not only they, but even my relatives also put on masks, respirators and gas masks. My wife also put on a gas mask and began to feed me from afar, handing me food on a long-handled shovel. The cough sounded like a quail singing in a clover field in the wee hours of the morning. We had a bird catcher in the mahalla. One day, when he heard me cough, he took his net for catching birds and came running, wanting to hunt game, thinking that somewhere there was a singing quail. He even wondered if a quail could sing in such a cold winter.

-Why didn't it go South?- Had someone let it out of it's cage when the owner died of a cold? -what is it?" he asked the people.

When he learned the truth, he asked for forgiveness and left. Ah, I kept coughing. I went to the pharmacy to buy medicine in the hope of recovering.

I see the Apothecary was also an interesting woman. After greeting me through the glass partition, she said:

-I immediately learned that You did not come for condoms, but for medicines. Because You cough very aristocratically, inflating your neck arteries and blushing with tension. Our neighbor also coughed a modern cough, God rest his soul.

She gave me an aspirin for my cold. I thanked the Apothecary and, after paying for the medicine, went home. When I got home, I put one tablet under my tongue and carefully drank a glass of water in one gulp. I wish I didn't drink water. Because my mouth started to have such a chemical reaction, just horror, that it became difficult to breathe. I was foaming at the mouth like a mad camel. My eyes widened in fear to an incredible size. I want to scream, but I can't. A nightmare! Clutching my throat, I began to run from corner to corner in a panic and feverishly think: "the secret Service must have poisoned me." Then it turned out that I, a fool, drank a tablet of aspirin with water, without reading the recommendation for use. It turns out that before you use that pill, you must first dissolve it properly in water, then carefully stir it, then you can drink it. In short, I barely survived. That is, becoming a walrus is not easy, fellow villagers! If we really want to keep warm, we'd better wait for spring, and it will come. Because, spring is not an official, not a leader and not a Deputy. It does not disappoint us- said Durmeil Igvogar.

Then I look at Qurumboy, pulling the reins on himself, turned Qurumboy along with the cart towards the frozen river, and in the cold air whistled a long whip. From blow of the whip Yoldashvoy ran, dragging a cart on which we were sitting. Qurumboy stopped his official carriage, and drove up close to the crowd. Then he stood up and ordered:

-Keep this pimp as he is... Mirmildiq Gunnaevich! Strip him naked and throw him into the hole! Let him show us an example of how best to keep warm in the hole!

Hearing the words of Qurumboy, pimp Mirmildiq Gunnaevich addressed the crowd:

- Comrade collective farmers, do not listen to this mentally ill loony! I am a well-deserved pimp of the country, who for many years provided our top officials with experienced, inveterate prostitutes infected with trypher syphilis and AIDS! stop it!- he shouted.

But the devastated crowd rushed at him. Then pimp Mirmildiq Gunnaevich stepped back and ran. It wasn't there. He slipped and fell on the ice, like a clown who puts on skates and enters the ice arena of a circus.

While people were catching pimp Mirmildiq Gunnaevich and stripped him naked, Tulan - the gravedigger and his assistants opened in the river hole, and people threw the bare pimp Mirmildiq Gunnaevich. He started swimming in the hole, and we went on to engage in politics.

Here is our case, Mr. Sitmirat.

Sincerely, the farmer Mizhappar .


January 15, 2009

12 hours and 14 minutes night.

A cold and snow-covered pigsty behind the cotton fields of the Chapaev collective farm.


The twentieth letter of Mizhappar


Wearing cotton trousers and a sweatshirt, and a green beret on my head, I kicked the air with my feet, with my taurpaulin boots without soles, perfecting my combat experience in the field of Kung Fu. When I was about to break ten burnt bricks with the edge of my hand, I heard the trampling of feet and the noise of people in the street. I thought that now the opposition has definitely arrived and made a revolution led by Sitmirat. Looking over the low clay fence of our yard to the street, I saw a lot of people running, overtaking each other.

- What happened?! Has the revolution started?! - I shouted.

- No, Mizhappar ! What revolution?! On the contrary, Karimov came to our collective farm! Usta Garib, the Barber, replied.

- Really!.. - I was surprised.

- Yes, Mizhappar, Karimov himself came and they say that he asked people how they are, whether they get their salary and pension on time, whether you are not getting expensive basic necessities such as flour, sugar, cottonseed oil, meat, rice, potatoes, and so on! He even asked about how students learn in schools, whether they are warm in classrooms. And what is most interesting, he came to our collective farm without protection! Grave digger Tulan confirmed the words of the Barber Usta Garib .

- It can't be! - I said.

- Why, can't it be , why?! You bastards, hiding in a pigsty, are engaged day and night in anti-propaganda, spreading false information among the population, stirring up public opinion! Here, Karimov has arrived! You said he was a dictator, and he turned out to be a Democrat! I talked to the common people, without any guards around. Even his bodyguards were not around when he met the farmers. Now the people will never believe your words! Here I am also running to see our irreplaceable democratic President at a close range and take a picture with him! I would break your heads with a cornerstone, it's a pity that now there is no time for this, renegades, evil oppositionists, enemies of our long-suffering people! said Durmeil Igvogar, continuing to run.

- Gee, I said to myself, looking in surprise at the fleeing crowd. Then I ran to please my stepfather and stepmother.

- Come on, get ready, stepfather, run to the collective farm club! The real democracy that we have been waiting for for a long, long time has begun! Step-mother, you should also dress warmly! Come quickly, Karimov, - I told them.

- Oh, Jesus, really?! - said my stepfather, crossing himself.

- Oh, Allah! Finally! I've always wanted to see Karimov up close! My dream came true - my stepmother cried with joy.

My stepfather excitedly began to get ready. He was looking for his boots, bent down under the cot, but he could only find one. And only one with the top cut off. He put it on his left foot, and on his right he put on the rubber slipper of the guest workers. He then said:

- Go Ahead, Mizhappar !

We quickly went out into the street and, merging with the crowd, also ran towards the collective farm club to see Karimov with our own eyes close up. In the center of the village, we caught up with many people, and I saw my friends among them. They, too, fled like the ancient Greek athletes to compete in the marathon to Olympus.

- I wish you luck, comrade! - said Qurumboy!

Qurumboy threw me a glance, continuing to drive the wagon hitched to it.

- At ease, soldier Mizhappar , freely!

Now do you believe my predictions ? Remember, I told all of you that the time will come when our country will also flourish with democracy? Here, please, my predictions have come true! Now a new generation that will come, call me not Qurumboy and Tulan! "what is it?" said our chief, taking an armful of hay from the inside pocket of his great coat, filling his pipe with it, and lighting it as he went. While we were talking, we ran to the club, where a sea of people were crowding. The cart, that is, the official transport of Qurumboy stopped. With great difficulty, making our way through the crowd, we entered the club, where there were no seats, let alone to sit, even standing was impossible.

Qurumboy started to quietly cry.

- You, comrade Qurumboy, why are you crying?! Mamadiar asked.

-Oh, comrade Mamadiar, how can I not cry? Look, there are no soldiers around, no guards! This dermokraty not even in America! Well, Karimov, well done! If it goes this way, I'm even ready to retire from politics! I even have an interesting idea. What if we write appeals to Karimov on behalf of our party?! Qurumboy.

- Not a bad idea, I said, and pulled a paper and pen out of the pocket of my cotton pants. And gave them to Qurumboy. He laid the paper on the back Qurumboy and began to write in the ancient dialect. Therefore, it is attached to my letter without translation, because I am afraid that it will lose its ridiculousness when translated.

The letter looked like this:

"Ordadin Chapayip korgoniga kirip, raiyyat ila bir kessak otim masopada mundog mutayakkinlik azimatiga mutavajjux Sulton Shoxboz Kokaltosh Kalandar Shayx Karimdod duglat Iskandari soniyga peshkash kilinmishkim, ushbu kogoz kop parchasiga putip, davlatxoxlik ila izxori kullik kilgoybiz. Ersa bir koz yugirtigaysiz bu maktupnikim, odam koyip, ichkariga kiyurgoybiz. Magar mone'lik bolgoydir bul tadbirgakim, Mizxappar xoja Darvesh Taxta Abdulpaxta Prezidentni makta va Yoldashvoy Abu Duglat Chapovul, Mamadiyor shigovul va xam Laycha Kana Abu Shaffof videovanna Sala besoqol ibn Kanapanin vanna Shoxer Shumqadampanat gul - yasol birla tolgama kilgoybiz. Maktub itmomiga yetti.

Tarix sanai ikki mingu tokkiz.

Tongizxona.


Kurumboy Morikultezak Tappitutuniy."


Having signed the address, Qurumboy wanted to pass it through the people who were standing in front, but Durmeil Igvogar suddenly rushed to him, took the address from him, and moved forward like an atomic icebreaker in the Arctic ocean.

- Let me go! I have a very important historical document in my hands, and I want to present it to our wise leader Karimov! Then I'll take a picture with him as a souvenir! stop it! - he shouted.

Then the grave digger Tulan seized him by his throat with prehensile fingers, like an eagle, and began to choke him:

- Where are you going, you anonymous scoundrel?! And, come on, give me the historical document! I will hand it to our President and take a picture with him! Then I will use this photo to frighten officials, bankers, prosecutors, and policemen, telling them that Karimov is my close friend. If you refuse to give me an interest-free cash loan of a colossal size or do not give me a million acres of land for farming, then you are finished! I will call Karimov on my cell phone and tell him about your crimes, you will immediately part with your throne! Then I'll take all the cemeteries and advertise on TV and radio that from now on anyone who wants to be buried will have to pay a fabulous amount of money in American dollars in advance! Of course, I will not forget to build special crematoriums for the poor, where the bodies of poor farmers will be burned! In addition, I will build entire shopping centers where I will sell tombstones made of granite, malachite, graphite, and so on. I will sell to wealthy people, coffins made out of mahogany with a refrigerator and alarm system. The average-oak, coffins made from wooden boards, from iron, from rubber and plastic, and to the poor, of course, I will sell coffins not of wooden boards! From the Windows of our stores, people will look at the corpses-mannequins dressed in shrouds of various sizes, colors and prices! In other departments, you can buy wooden, metal, stone and plastic crosses of various sizes! The grave digger Tulan yelled at the audience. But near the stage he was detained by Durmeil Igvogar who grabbed his legs when he was up on stage:

- Where is it?! Wait, the grave digger! Give me the document!

Durmeil Igvogar grabbed ahold of the grave digger Tulan's boots, not giving him up to the stage. But the grave digger managed to extricate himself from the grip of Durmeil Igvogar , and his boots along with his pants remained in the hands of Durmeil Igvogar, who jumped barefoot on stage in white pants. People in the audience laughed together, thinking that Amateur artists were showing funny performances. The principalof the collective farm club appeared on the scene and began to calm the grave digger Tulan:

- Uncle, aren't you ashamed of yourself?! Such a respected man, and you went on stage barefoot, in long Johns. Fighting like quails! What do you have in your hands?!

- This is an important document, I must hand it over personally to comrade Karimov! The grave digger Tulan replied, hiding the message behind his back like a small child.

- Give me the document, and I will pass it to Karimov - said the principalof the collective farm club.

- No! No way, don't you hear me?! I myself, and only I, must hand this document to comrade Karimov! If you try to take the letter from me by force, please note that I am the great anonymizer of the century, and I will complain to foreign human rights defenders and journalists! Don't infringe on my rights! The grave digger shouted.

- Well, uncle, it turns out you don't understand simple human language! Do you not feel ashamed? What will our esteemed guest comrade Karimov say if he sees You like this?! Come, clear the stage immediately before I call the police officer Shgabuddinov! - the principalof the collective farm club was angry.

At this moment, my stepfather deftly jumped on the stage - on one leg, a felt boot with a cut off top and on the other - a rubber slipper of guest workers. The people in the audience laughed even harder. Although my stepfather never practiced judo, he always wanted to participate in international Sambo competitions. In short, my stepfather sprang at the grave-digger Tulan like a lion that rushes at an antelope at a watering-place in the Serengetti valley of far-off Africa. He threw Tulan to the floor and began to strangle him. But the gravedigger was not an antelope either; on the contrary, like a huge bison, he did not want to give up by resisting. As he continued to strangle his victim my stepfather screamed:

Mizhappar ! My adopted son, why are you just standing there?! Help me, take this important, secret document from Tulan!

I quickly took a green beret from the pocket of my wadded trousers and put it on my head. I wanted to do a double somersault to get on the stage, but then the principalof the club announced some important information, and I decided not to move.

- Okay, okay, uncle! I will call comrade Karimov on the stage and you will give this letter to him yourself! Just stop trying to fight like boys! - said the club Director.

When my stepfather and Tulan heard the Director's words, They stopped fighting.

- Here's another thing - the grave digger said, tucking in his white pants and a wide shirt, which is called "Yactag", similar to the kimono of the Japanese.

- Their compatriots! Now I want to invite our great and dear guest comrade Karimov to the stage! A round of applause! - announced the club Director.

The ceiling nearly collapsed from the heavy applause.

Finally, Karimov appeared on the stage, waving his hands, greeting us,and people began to applaud even more. Because on the stage was not President Karimov, but the great Uzbek humorist Ergash Karimov. Despite the resistance of the Director, Durmeil Igvogar still went on stage and hugged Ergash Karimov. Either he confused the comedian Karimov with President Karimov, or he simply did not know about such a bright comedian. He hugged Ergash Karimov and began to cry.

- Oh, comrade Karimov, how you have lost weight! It turns out that the lying journalists on TV have been deceiving us all this time by showing you fat and cheerful. In fact, You have lost a lot of weight, working day and night, sometimes living on only water and bread, risking your health in cold offices where there is no heat, for the sake of improving the economy and preventing corruption in our country! Oh, how gray your hair has become, caring and thinking of us! - said Durmeil Igvogar.

Then the gravedigger hugged Ergash Karimov and also began to cry. Then I handed him our message, like an Ambassador presenting his country's credentials to the President of another country where he works.

- Allow me, Mr. Karimov, to hand you this historical document on behalf of our long-suffering people and personally on my behalf! And please, comrade Karimov, let us take a picture with you!

- Okay, I don't mind. Let's take a picture - said Ergash Karimov, smiling cheerfully.

After that, my stepfather, the grave digger Tulan and Durmeil Igvogar were photographed with the great humorist - Ergash Karimov. He unfolded the paper and began to read our message:

"Ordadin Chapayip korgoniga kirip, raiyyat ila bir kessak otim masopada mundog mutayakkinlik azimatiga mutavajjux Sulton Shoxboz Kokaltosh Kalandar Shayx Karimdod duglat Iskandari soniyga peshkash kilinmishkim, ushbu kogoz kop parchasiga putip, davlatxoxlik ila izxori kullik kilgoybiz. Ersa bir koz yugirtigaysiz bu maktupnikim, odam koyip, ichkariga kiyurgoybiz. Magar mone'lik bolgoydir bul tadbirgakim, Mizxappar xoja Darvesh Taxta Abdulpaxta Prezidentni makta va Yoldashvoy Abu Duglat Chapovul, Mamadiyor shigovul va xam Laycha Kana Abu Shaffof videovanna Sala besoqol ibn Kanapanin vanna Shoxer Shumqadampanat gul - yasol birla tolgama kilgoybiz. Maktub itmomiga yetti.

Tarix sanai ikki mingu tokkiz.

Tongizxona.


Kurumboy Morikultezak Tappitutuniy."


When our friends at the collective farm club heard our letter that Ergash Karimov read, they laughed heartly. They laughed for a long time.


Sincerely, the farmer Mizhappar .


January 20, 2009

13 hours and 7 minutes.

The Collective Farm "Chapaev".