Before opening his bakery our master Zhavatokhun-aka had long worked as a design engineer and flew on dirigibles, balloons and hang-gliders. In spring on his initiative we made a huge air-balloon and prepared for the flight. Zhavatokhun-aka was the commander of the expedition, Sunnatillo and Ummatillo were appointed navigators and I was the flight engineer.
At last the take-off hour had come, and exchanging our good-byes with those who had come to see us off we got into the basket of the balloon. The master gave orders to unhook the balloon from the anchor. The balloon took off carrying the basket where we had settled ourselves. The basked was swaying from side to side. We looked like little kittens in a bag. At first we were a little afraid. Then we gradually recovered. We even started looking down. It was beautiful! The people standing on the ground looked like ants, and the houses appeared as small as little boxes. The roads were floating by like white snakes sunk in greenery. The green hills and fields now looked like a square, now like a parallelepiped, now like some other figures of divine Geometry. It was a lovely view! We flew all day long admiring the bird's eye view of the scenery. Although it was the summer time the air had become ice cold by evening, so we had to put on warm clothes. At night the earth was no longer visible, and the sky was covered with twinkling stars that glistened like the diamonds of Great Genghis Khan"s treasure which for centuries mankind has been vainly trying to find in the deserts of Mongolia. The moon had not yet risen. When it did rise I felt like sleeping for I was tired. I dreamed that Babat and I went to see our eldest son who served in the army. When we arrived at the garrison and asked the commander about the whereabouts of our son, private Sunnatov, the officer said:
- Your son is presently at the village of Duraley where an auction is held.
When we arrived there the auction was in full swing. It was an unusual auction. The inhabitants who needed man power were offered soldiers for sale. A bold officer, with an ash-gray mustache was conducting the auction. His assistant was a squint-eyed lieutenant without eye-lashes. The bold officer stood next to a swarthy undersized soldier. As we looked carefully we recognized our son, poor Arabboy!
- Look, Ladies and Gentlemen, what remarkable muscles he has! It"s a machine not a human! He can do anything; even dig, within an hour, a foundation ditch for toilets up to four- three meters deep. In other words, come people, it"s very simple! The starting price is 2 roubles! Two rubles, 1... Two rubles, 2! Aha, there you are! The price is rising very fast! Three rubles...To exploit the soldier for one day and night the price is, I believe, very reasonable, Ladies and Gentlemen! 3 rubles and a half!...
- I couldn"t bare it any longer and shouted:
. - I say, officer, I give 5 rubles!
When he heard it the officer had his face flashed like an electric light, and he announced proudly:
That"s all, Ladies and Gentlemen, the soldier is sold! It"s gone by auction for five rubles! Congratulations, mister winner!
He said it hammering the ploughshare hanging from the mulberry tree.
I paid the money and we took our son away. Arabboy ran towards us crying:
- Mom! Daddy!
He wept wiping his tears with his helmet. Babat, too was crying. We hugged our son and made our way to the dried up trees, near a lonely small shanty, to rent a flat for the night, so that we could be with our son, see him as much as we wanted and give him a treat.
We went up to the house standing amidst the dried up trees and called the owner. After a while the door made of decaying boards opened, and a short man of about sixty years of age came out. He was thin, stooping and with long arms like those of an orangutan. Looking like a turtle in the face, he had a pallid skin, large bulging eyes with no lashes, and his head, covered with fiery hair, was much too small.
As I greeted him I said:
- Sorry for troubling you. You see, our son is in the army now. We came to see him. He was given a day"s leave. Could you please provide us with a room for the night? We"ll pay the rent...
Without saying a word, the ash-gray haired man with a little head showed us the room for us to stay. As we walked to the room I noticed that this man with a pale face and pallid lips had bony sharp nailed fingers resembling bamboo.
Without paying attention to him any more we had supper and sat chatting until we got tired. At midnight our son fell asleep. Babat sat by his side stroking his hair.
I went out into the yard. The moon was now slowly rising from the East, like the shield of an antique warrior that had fallen like a hero in a fierce battle for the freedom of his Motherland. It shined illuminating quietly the lonely small shanty with the yard overgrown with wilted blackthorn. It was dumb all around. I saw the man with a little head and a big moth sitting under a dried up tree. The long shadows of the branches tinted the gloomy landscape with a depressing tone.
I walked up to the master and sat down next to him in silence. His face appeared still more livid by the moon light. He sat mutely, looking at the moon. I asked him with caution:
- Pardon me for asking, what is your name?
The man answered without tearing away from the moon:
- Mirzajallad Mirza-Executioner in Russian or just Mirza the Killer in English. On hearing such a name I got scared.
-Oh, sorry, for goodness sake! - he said.
- You reside alone here, don"t you? Aren"t you afraid of living all on your own in such a place?
- Well, I get on all right. I don"t complain. I do the farming. In spring I sow two hectares of land, and autumn is the harvest time. I gather 45 centner from a hectare.
- Do you grow cotton?
- No-oo-o, noting of the kind.
- Oh, I see. It"s wheat that you are growing, isn"t it?
- No, I am growing hashish and poppy. There is a little mill with a laboratory in the cellar. I make opium, heroin and marihuana for that matter. Besides, I do some small craftwork. I have orders. The customers bring photos along with the money. As a matter of fact, I kill people for money. I"ve got a fixed schedule. I kill all indiscriminately, and I don"t care, as long as they pay me. I have several bank accounts. So I can do the killing even by cashless settlement. I have killed one man by agreement based on bartering. To avoid miscalculation, I save the cut off ears of my victims. I kill a man, you know, and cut his ear. Then I dry it up carefully stringing them like a garland. The dried-up ears crackle like mushrooms being fried in a pan.
Last year I lost one ear. I could hardly find it. It"s good that it has not been eaten up by the rats living in the attic and in the cellar. If you want to see that garland, I will show it to you with pleasure. Wait, please...He was about to get up.
- No, you needn"t...I believe you...
- Well, as you wish. You know funny stories, too, occur in these places. I remember well, I once I was going to work in the pouring rain with wind howling. Such nasty weather, you know, is the best time for burglars. First, it"s because the streets are empty, with people staying in. Secondly, nobody can hear your footsteps, except for dogs. Walking on long stilts with big steps I stepped over a high fence, like Jonathan Swift"s Gulliver, to get into the villa where my victim resided. A pack of fierce dogs were running around, but I didn"t care a fig for my legs where up there, too high for them to get hold of.
I calmly walked up to the two-storied house where my victim was asleep. I left the stilts on the balcony and entered the bed-room. The poor man did not see me walk up to the soft bed he was sleeping in. I threw the thin but firm rope -zap!- around his neck , and twisting it with a little wooden stick, began to strangle him. The poor man"s eyes bulged like the lamp if a flashlight, his tongue suck out like that of a bird of prey gasping for a drink, his neck became as thin as a thumb, but he was still alive, coughing and gasping. It was really funny... I couldn"t stop laughing. His hands were shaking. To make a long story short, he was dancing. There"s such a choreographic performance called "Dance of Death".
Meanwhile I kept tightening the rope round is neck. I twisted the rope tighter and tighter, but he was alive. He turned out to be extremely enduring. To be frank, I was tired. "A smoke break" - I said.
Then we sat chatting, drinking tea, eating pilaf in mutton fat and watching a horror film on TV. I looked at the watch and saw it was 3 a.m.
- The time is up - I said - thank you for the bread and salt. I think I"ll go.
- Thank you for coming to see me - the victim said - I hope to see you again. .
We said out good-byes, and I went out into the balcony, fastened the stilts to my feet and walked home striding like Jonathan Swift"s Gulliver. When I returned home I returned the money to the customers...
At this point Mirzakiller interrupted himself and began to scraping himself with his dirty bony nails and fingers looking like bamboo. Looking at the moon he scratched himself like crazy.
- That"s the start!- he said.
Suddenly his bulging eyes became drawn into the sockets with the pupils flashing like silver coins. In a few minutes he was all skin and bones. He turned into a mummy. In fear and trembling I jumped from my seat and ran to the house where my wife and son were sleeping. The mummy ran after me, letting bloody saliva out of his mouth. He was now turning into an octopus. His arms and legs became tentacles. Digging these tentacles in the ground he smoothly crawled after me at a high speed. I ran calling my near and dear:
- Ba- -baa-at! Ara-aa-bo-oo-oy! Run! It" a monster! A monster is after me! Run away!
- I ran into the room like lightening and bolted the door. Arabboy was sleeping like a log. Babbat was crying in fear. To prevent the octopus from breaking in I started building a barricade at the door. Trying to open the door the octopus stuck his tentacles into every little hole. I looked around and saw an axe on the floor. I took it and started cutting off the monster"s tentacles. It pulled them back with a whistle, all bleeding. The it went mad and started shaking the door along with the post. Then it crushed the door with tremendous power making a breach in it. With its good tentacle it got hold on my throat and started strangling me. I gasped and screamed.
At this point I woke up. I looked and saw Zhavatokhun-aka reassuring me. I was lying in the basket with the navigators laughing. It was dark and windy. Zhavatokhun-aka said:
- What"s the matter, Mullah Al Kizim, have you had a bad dream? You nearly fell off the basket.
- Ye-ee-es, - I said- I had a terrible dream. Whenever I see a terrible dream something bad is sure to happen.
- Don"t say that - the Master said. You should always hope for the best.
- All right - I said.
Then he turned to Sunnatilla pointing to the radio:
- Please turn down the volume a little, Sunnat.
Zhavatokhun-aka, following the holy ritual "Tayannun", started reciting the "Khuftan" prayer, right in the basket.
It is customary to read out "Azan" before reciting a prayer. At this point Sunnnattilla called me. When I came up to him he pointed to the radio. I gave it my ear. I heard frontier guards" voices:
- Comrade Commander, there is an object in the radar. The altitude is 300 meters! There are people on board. They probably have radio equipment. I hear voices coming in. They are reciting a prayer from the Qur"an ! I presume, they are either drug dealers from Afghanistan or spies. Maybe, they are terrorists! I am waiting for your order...
When the frontier guard finished his report the radio began to hiss. Then the Commander contacted. He ordered:
- Shoot it down immediately!
Sunnatilla and I stared at each other. Ummatilla was preparing tea. Zhavatakhun-aka had finished the prayer. No sooner had he got up than we heard a few whistles, and our balloon began to dip. We were seized with panic. Joining our hands we shouted: "Ah-aa-aa-a-a!"
Zhavatakhun-aka was praying to God. The wind became stronger turning to a blizzard. We now felt that were not just falling down but flowing God knows where.
We had been flowing a long time. All I could remember was the fact that my head bumped against something. When I came round I found myself lying in a stack of dried cotton branches. Since these branches, known as "guzapaya", happen to be an indispensable fuel like gas, with Uzbek people, it can be well called "gaspaya". Lying in the stack I looked around and saw Zhavatakhun by my side. Next to him were Sunnatilla and Umatilla. They had also regained consciousness and looking at me they began to laugh. Seeing their funny faces I, too, burst out laughing.
It so happened that the night wind storm had painted putting make-up on us. Our hair dishevelled, our faces covered with mud, we looked like clowns, Zhavatakhun, in particular. His beard looked like a broom; the moustache stuck out like that of Miguel de Cervantes"s legendary hidalgo Don Quixote.
Suddenly we heard voices resounding from below. I looked own and saw a crowd of people. A man cried:
- They must be little green men! Look, there"s a flying saucer in the tree!..
I looked and saw our legendary balloon hang swinging in the wind. The huge apricot-tree was blossoming like sakura . I looked around and saw that the places reminded me of something. Then I recognized our toilet which I once had built from unhewn boards, which had no roof and from which I could see the endless sky, when using it.
I turned to the people that stood beneath watching us. Suddenly I saw my wife standing at the front. Involuntarily, I grimaced, tears in my eyes, my lip trembling. I shouted:
- Babat, dear! I am back! It"s me, Al Kizim Kashak!
On hearing me Babat fainted. The women standing by lifted her and took her home. I was still crying. Then I saw Matash, a friend of mine, in the crowd, and I shouted to him:
- Matash, my dear friend! It"s me Al Kizim Kashak! Wait, I am coming down!
As I rose from my seat, Matash ran away leaving the crowd behind. I went down. People ran away in fear. I ran after them shouting:
- What"s the matter, really?! It"s me, Al Kizim Kashak, your village fellow! Don"t be afraid!..
Suddenly the crowd stopped looking at me intently. It so happened that I had wiped the dirt off my face and they recognized me.
Matash came up to me cautiously and hugging me said:
- Well, you are back, by gosh! It"s been so many years, eh? My dear friend!
We hugged weeping like children, without being ashamed. The crowd, too, wept. Then I saw my children coming up to me. I hugged them, kissed them on the cheeks and, stroking their heads, asked them to pardon me:
-Sorry, children, for having been away so long. Pardon the runaway...
I couldn"t speak. I felt as if I had a lump stuck in my throat.
- Look, your sons have grown. They are big gallant gentlemen now, - Matash said.
The navigators and the commander had also descended. The washed their faces in the river behind the tree, and when they came up I introduced them to the people. Then we walked towards my house where my dear Babat lay in bed. I went down on my knees by her side. She had grown so old, poor Babat. Stroking her gray hair, I asked her to forgive me. She smiled through her tears. When we went out into the yard, I wanted to go to see my stepparents who lived next to our house. But, presently, Matash said clapping me on the shoulder:
- Screw up your courage, Al Kazim, your parents are gone to heaven. May them rest in peace. They had been waiting for you and had blessed your soul before they passed away. Your stepmother died first, and a month later, your stepfather followed her. They were buried side by side, as they had willed. We could not let you know because nobody knew your whereabouts.
As I heard this, I sat down and cried. Hearing the news about my return Zainutdin Ibn Gainutdin, the Imam of the Mosque, came to see me in the evening. When leaving he said:
- So you are back at home. You"ve done the right thing, Mulla Al Kizim. I think you"ve learnt your lesson in distant lands. Have a rest a week or two and come to majid, the daily fivefold public prayer. It"s time to think about the eternal life in Paradise.
Seeing him to the door I thanked him.
The following day my friends said their goodbyes and left for Kashkirkishlak.
Centner - A unit of weight in Russia equal to 100 kilograms (220.46 pounds).
Qur"an (Arabic: القرآن al-qur"ān, literally "the recitation"; also sometimes transliterated as Quran, Qur"ān, Koran, Alcoran or Al-Qur"ān) is the central religious text of Islam. Muslims believe the Qur"an to be the book of divine guidance and direction for mankind, and consider the original Arabic text to be the final revelation of God.
Sakura - the Japanese name for cherry trees, and their blossoms. In English, the word "sakura" is equivalent to the Japanese flowering cherry, and their blossoms are commonly called cherry blossoms.