A work collective without the director is like an orphan. It had been a few days now that our sage and indispensable Director hadn"t turned up at his office. I went to see him and find out why he was shirking work. Kalankhan Adalatov"s wife Tarzana Nikolayevna met me with tears in her eyes.
- You see, Al Kizim-aka , your brother (she meant Kalankhan Adalatov) must be examined by the doctors. He is off his feed and has lost weight - she complained.
. - Don"t worry - I said trying to console her - everything will be all right. After all, a man is not made of iron. Sometimes he can fall ill. It"s natural. Illness is only a guest. It comes and goes.
- God grant, God grant, Al Kizim-aka... Come into the sitting-room. Your brother is there, lying on the sofa - Tarzana Nikolayevna said.
I thanked her and entered the room where the sick Director Kalankhan Adalatov was lying. Seeing me he wanted to get up but I stopped him:
- No, no, you shouldn"t get up, stay in bed.
I greeted him, and asked him how he felt.
- Nice to see you here - Adalatov said - I"ve got something to tell you. But you should promise not to tell anybody the secret.
I gave him my word to keep the secret.
- Then listen -said Adalatov.
. - When you had quit work at the factory and went to work as a swine-herd we won the socialist emulation having exceeded the production plan. As an award to our work collective, the state allotted us a health resort voucher, and, in the interest of justice, I held a lottery. So I ordered the cook of the Factory that he should made pancakes and put a screw-nut inside one of the pancakes which would fall to the lot of the lucky owner of the voucher. I ate the pancake, you know, and nearly had my tooth broken by the screw-nut. I took it out carefully and suddenly a terrible thing happened: the screw-nut slipped and rolled down into my stomach, like a coin into a slot-machine of the 60ties. As a result, I was taken ill with ulcer and have been suffering from pain ever since, like a pregnant woman in childbirth. I am done for, Al Kizim.
- Don"t be a pessimist, Kalankhan Adalatovich, - I said - everything will be all right. Nowadays the surgeons perform such operations with their eyes closed. I myself have read about it in a newspaper. In the West some surgeons had even managed to solder a man"s cut off head to his body and brought him back to life. If you are afraid of surgeons then go to see tabibs, i.e. witch-doctors. They treat patients without performing an operation. There are also wizards and sorcerers that treat the sick with the help of genies. And you talk about some secrets...
- I havened opened the secret yet - Adalatov went on - listen, the point is that I am living in two different phases, in reality and in a dream. It all started when I was thirty years old. One day I saw in my dream beautiful valleys and big rivers flowing down the emerald mountain tops with the crystal clear waters glittering like glass in the sun among the fir-woods and green meadows with innumerable white wildflowers blooming all around. I walked across the meadows through century-old fir-woods, and stopped by the mountain tops where powerful streams were boiling up beneath the high granite rocks. I saw a suspension bridge over the mountain river. A solitary eagle was hovering up in the sky. I crossed the bridge and saw a rustling apricot grove. The ripe yellow pink-tinted fruits were glistening in the sun like the first-rate gold of Bukhara . An old man with a white beard and in white clothes and a white turban was sitting on a carpet there. We greeted each other, and then the man said:
- Have a taste of the ripe apricots. If you like them, take some home for your children.
I thanked him and, picking some ripe fruits from the tree, washed them in the ditch water and ate one or two. The apricots were as sweet as the honey of wild bees. I gathered some apricots into my skull-cap and, saying good bye to the old man, walked back through the fir-woods across the shallow rivers that glittered like silver in the sun amidst the meadows with blooming wild flowers. Suddenly a mounted detachment of the Red Army came out of the fir-wood. The soldiers were in red army helmets and armed with rifles.
The commander saw me and shouted:
There he is, one of those daring fellows of kurbashi Kurshembat! Kill him, comrades! They are enemies of the world proletariat and socialism! Forward, to the victory of Marxism and Leninism! Asia shall not be governed by bourgeois!
Encouraged by the "hurrah" war-cry and waving the swords and shooting from bayoneted rifles the Red Army cavalrymen directed their horses towards me. Pressing my turban to my chest so as not to lose my apricots I ran across the meadow. Shooting from their rifles the Komsomol members were approaching me. Bullets were flying right over my head. One bullet pierced through my pajama. I kept running anyway. Then I reached the wood and hid myself in the bushes.
The Red Army men stopped at the border line for the bushes were impassable for the horsemen. Leaving their horses they the pursued me running.
Gasping for breath I kept running. Suddenly the ground under my feet collapsed and I fell down the slope rolling like a torn off wheel. I only stopped when I stumbled against a girl washing the linen by the river side. She jumped up in fear and stepped back. When I got up and apologized to her she started beating me with the wet bed sheet.
- Stop it! Stop - I said - what are you doing? It was unintentional! I am a stranger here. They are chasing me!
After these words she stopped looking at me in surprise.
Why are you standing like that? Hide me quick! Or else they will come and kill me and you, too!
Presently, we could now hear the voices of the Red Army soldiers, coming from above. The shouted:
- He is somewhere here! Maybe, he"s slid down!
Then the girl took me by the hand and led me, as if I was a little boy, into the thick bushes. We disappeared. The reds lost our tracks and went away. I thanked my savior. She was so beautiful that I fell in love with her at first sight. Her thick tender hair was waving in the wind, like precious black silk. The whites of her eyes were as clear as snow. Her teeth glistened like white pearls. Her lips reminded of the petals of roses. Her face, neck, arms and feet were like ivory. It all drove me mad. We got acquainted. She said:
- My name is Shakhzoda Gizhduvanaskaya. I was born in Gizhduvan, near Bukhara. Ironically, all our family had moved to the world of dreams. We now live in a dream.
- I am Kalankhan My surname is Adalatov. I live in reality. I am Director of Uvada Factory.
. - You are a good, kind and handsome man. Pardon me for beating you with the wet cloth. - she apologized.
- Never mind - I said - They once beat me on the head with a sack of flour. Thank God, there was nothing heavy in the sack
Shakhzoda Gizhduvanskaya smiled.
- You are a joker- she said -are you going to stay in a dream?
. - No- I answered. I have to go home before my wife gets up.
- It"s a pity - she said.
- But I will coma back, by all means, Shakhzoda!
- Take care! Be on your guard - she cautioned me. And saying good-bye to me she added:
- The reds are walking around there.
All of a sudden I found myself by my wife"s side. Lying in bed like a huge cow-elephant Tarzana started scolding me:
- What"s up? Are you drunk again? Your hair looks like black karakul, all dirty and bristling up. Oh, what"s the matter with your pyjamas? What sort of hole is this? You"ve burnt it with a cigarette, eh? Oh, my lord! What have you got in your turban? They are grapes, aren"t they?
. - Yes - I answered - I have brought them for you, taste them. You see, I"ve been in a dream. Just fancy, I walk across the meadow and suddenly I see a mounted unit of the Red Army. Shooting from rifles they chase me. One of them pierces my pyjamas with a bullet.
She didn"t believe me. But having tasted an apricot she said:
- Impossible! Is it true? I cannot believe it! What an apricot! I have never tasted anything like that! It"s like honey! Why did you bring so little? You should have taken more. Tomorrow I will give you a cardboard box so that you may bring more. We"ll make jam for the winter - Tarzana said with a woman"s greed.
- No, we needn"t. There are many reds there. It"s dangerous.
A day passed. When I came home from work my wife made me put on the uniform which I had brought from the army, and before I went to bed she gave me a carton. I fell asleep, and again I saw in my dream the paradise gardens. Again passing the shallow streams and walking through fir-woods I stopped at the food of the mountain tops where the powerful flow of water was boiling and whirlpools foaming beneath the high granite rocks.
Over the mountain river there was a suspension bridge tightened with wire cables. I crossed that creaking and swinging bridge. And again I saw an apricot grove rustling beyond the river and a solitary eagle hovering up in the sky. The old man with a white beard, in white clothes and with a white turban on sat on the carpet saying his prayer. Not wishing to disturb him I made my way back to the suspension bridge where the river was boiling with powerful flows beneath the high granite mountain tops. As I approached the meadow with wild flowers swaying in the wind I saw a mounted unit of Kurshermat"s National Liberation Army. The bearded militants in striped gowns were armed with machine-guns, Mousers and Turkish cavalry swords with a one-edged, slightly curved blade.
The warriors in striped clothes and with hairy chests spurred their fast horses dashing towards me. One of them shouted:
- Allahu Akbar! Allahu akbar! Kill the red commissar! The impious Bolshevik! Sheikh Ibrahim Abd As Salam himself has declared a gazat, i.e. a total war, against the unfaithful! We shall cut his throat and donate it to Sheikh .
I ran as fast as I could. Why not? It"s frightful, after all. The carton full of apricots in my arms, you know.
Suddenly, a stray bullet whistled, piercing the carton through. I kept running all the same. I thought it was good that I hadn"t taken my wife along. Seeing a woman without a paranja on they would have gone totally mad. Besides, my wife is Russian. They would have cut me to pieces with their bent swords.
The bearded horsemen were still chasing me. But when I reached the woods and ran through the bushes they, too, like the Russians the other day, stopped the horses at the border line and went on pursuing me. I now knew the way well and used the slope like a children"s ski-jump in kindergarten.
I slid down in sitting position holding tight the carton filled with apricots. The girl wasn"t there, so I hid myself in the thick bushes like I had done the previous time. Now safe, I went out from the bushes and made my way to the place where Shakhzoda and I had parted. I looked around in search of the girl but there was nobody there. Suddenly two men in militia uniform and one in plain clothes came up to me, and one of them said:
- I"m security officer Sergeant Gadoyev. Your documents, please.
Taken aback, I didn"t know what to do. Then I said:
I have no documents about me, Comrade Sergeant. I am here in the world of dreams as a guest from reality.
- How come? - the sergeant asked in surprise. A person without a document is like an animal. Do you understand? At least we think so.
- Then - I said - does it mean that your ancestors who lived a long time ago and didn"t have documents were animals? Had the animals been...
The sergeant interrupted me:
- Are you a philosopher?
Then he turned to the man in civilian clothes. The latter threw the cigarette down and stamped it with his foot thinking about the answer. Then he said:
- Where are you from?
- From the real world.
- Well now, what have you got in your pockets? Don"t try to hide anything for it"s useless. You will be searched at the militia station anyway and find what they want even between your legs. They will even tear off your boot soles, if need be. So if you"ve got money, give it now! Or else you will have to go to the militia station.
- Officer - I said- I"ve got neither foreign currency nor valuables. Or rather I"ve left them at home.
- And what have you got in the carton? - the officer asked.
- Apricots.
- Will you put it here? We"ll check it.
I put the carton down and opened it. The officer and the two sergeants bent over the box and examined it carefully. The other militiaman, also a sergeant, stood up straight and said:
- Look what I have found, commander!
The officer in civilian clothes turned to him and looked at his hands. The sergeant had a plastic bag in his hands, and all of them said in chorus:
- It"s heroin! Wow!
I stood dumbfounded.
- How come? - I said.
- That"s how! You may taste it. You dare pretend! What"s your name? Sergeant, run for the witnesses, quick! - the officer in plain clothes said.
- Yes, Comrade! - said the sergeant and ran towards the village.
. While the sergeant was away the officer wrote down my name in his pad. Then he
opened his file and started filling in some forms. A few moments later the sergeant had brought along a few men. One of them was wearing a tracksuit. The senior officer told them:
- So, people, be witnesses of the fact that a man calling himself a tourist was carrying a dangerous load with him, and namely, smuggled drugs i.e. narcotics, heroin, to be exact!
- Sign it here - said the senior officer pointing to the signature place in the pad with the form he himself had filled in.
The man in the tracksuit suit said:
- That"s fine, but may I see your documents first?
The sergeants and the senior officer exchanged glances. Then the man in the tracksuit showed them his identification card, and when they saw it they suddenly turned pale. The man in the tracksuit was a lieutenant-colonel of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of Dreamland. He was on leave with his mother there.
The heroin which Gadoyev "had found" turned out to be lime.
While the case was being discussed a crowd of people gathered around. I saw Shakhzoda among them.
When I was freed I took my carton and made my way to Shakhzoda. She invited me to see her at her place and be her guest. I agreed and stayed with her overnight. In the morning she saw me off.
Suddenly I found myself lying next to my wife. She was laying spread on the bed like a crocodile in the tropical swamps of the Amazon River.
When she saw the torn carton with the apricots she was very happy. Tough she reproached me for having spoilt the carton.
So I began to live in a dream. Years went by. In my dream I married Shakhzoda. We had children. By that time we had had grandchildren as well. But you shouldn"t tell anybody about it. Tarzana doesn"t know that I have a wife there. In our dream we are better off than in reality. It"s a pity; you haven"t been to the world of dreams. The life I am living here, in reality, is not life but a parody. I"ve been parodying, you see?
When he finished his story he fell silent. I looked at him contemplating.
Al Kizim-aka - aka (lit. senior brother) - polite form of addressing one"s senior, showing respect
Bukhara - a city of southern Central Asia, west of Samarkand. It is one of the oldest cultural and trade centers of Asia
kurbashi - (lit. group leader) leader of a resistance force unit in Central Asia
sheikh (also sheik) - Islam. a. A religious official. b. A leader of an Arab family or village.
Paranja - a traditional central Asian robe of women and girls, that covered the head and body; the part that covered the face was heavy in weight and made from horsehair. It was especially prevalent among Uzbeks.