Red Donkey or Transformations: a book about a new life, which is never too late to start. Mirzakarim Norbekov, Alexander Dorofeev Red donkey or transformations
Alexander Dorofeev
Red Donkey or Transformations:
a book about a new life that is never too late to start
Dear reader!
In the East, there is a language of cryptography. Since ancient times, it has been used to write fairy tales and parables, each of which provides specific recommendations, exercises, instructions for self-knowledge and self-improvement.
Why is there a cryptography language?
On the one hand, so that each reader for himself could understand and adopt exactly what he is now ready for, and on the other hand, there is knowledge that, falling into the hands of people with primitive thinking, can become terrible weapon.
Each fairy tale has hidden secret knowledge hidden behind many veils. Opening one veil after another, a person learns the deep meaning hidden behind external form.
I have great trepidation and respect for those people who know how to write fairy tales, who know the great secret language - this is the language of children. To my greatest regret, in comparison with these writers, I feel like a Pithecanthropus.
Knowing my glaring underdevelopment, I had to turn to the storyteller, Alexander Dorofeev, a pure person who preserved a child's perception of the world, in order to prepare this book for you together with him.
If the Lord had rewarded me with the gift of knowing the magic language of children, I would never allow anyone to write this tale. I would have written it myself!
Alas, this award did not go to me, but still I am extremely glad that this book was born.
Sincerely yours, Mirzakarim Norbekov
First transformation
It is known that a donkey is recognized by its ears, and a fool by its speech. The red donkey Shukhlik was mostly silent. Only expressively, like deaf and dumb fingers, he moved his long ears, reminiscent of pointed slippers.
Although, if he had spoken, everyone would have understood how smart and educated this red donkey is. Perhaps the smartest donkey today. He read and counted, knew history, mathematics, astronomy, medicine. Probably could be a good teacher at school. But donkeys, like all true sages, are thoughtful and rarely speak. Only in extreme cases, when there is no longer the strength to remain silent, is it impossible to remain silent.
About three thousand years ago, the great-great-great-great-grandmother of the donkey Shukhlik was carrying its master, the soothsayer and the sorcerer Balaam, and suddenly she saw on the way a formidable Angel with a drawn sword. The donkey immediately turned intelligently into the field. However, Balaam, who was in a hurry for witchcraft, began to beat and urge the donkey, trying to get it back on the road. He didn't see the Angel, no obstacles at all.
The road narrowed. There are vineyards on one side, and an adobe wall on the other. And in the middle there is again a fiery Angel with a sparkling sword.
The donkey pressed against the wall, crushing Balaam's leg. And, of course, she got the first number - on the neck, on the sides, on the back and between the ears on the forehead. From resentment, as often happens, she was completely exhausted and lay down on the ground. And Balaam, inflamed, beat her with a stick.
And then the donkey could not stand it:
What have I done wrong to you? - said. - Why do I endure?
Yes, there would be an ax, I would hack to death! - exclaimed Balaam, without noticing the Angel. - For your stupid stubbornness!
Remember how long you traveled on me, ”the donkey sighed. - And have I let you down at least once?
But how to say, - thought Balaam, looking around.
And then at last I made out a dazzling Angel, like a lake under the morning sun. Balaam was horrified and fell to the ground, covering his face. And the angel of heaven bent over him, slapped him on the back of his head.
Your way, you fool, is false, ”he said in his ear,“ and I came to warn you. But you, like a thrice blind man, do not want to see what you do not believe in. If not for the donkey, I would have pierced you with the sword. So be grateful to her forever and ever!
But people's memory is short. Do not remember good deeds. And they pound the donkeys with sticks when they push back.
Although donkeys see and feel what a person does not notice.
Since those immemorial times, all descendants of Valaam's donkey are able to speak perfectly. They just don't show it. Learned by bitter experience.
The memory of three talkative donkeys is still fresh - only three hundred years have passed. They were then summoned as witnesses. And these simple-minded, honest animals, instead of keeping quiet, defended their mistresses in court, accused of flying on a broomstick.
Dear reader!
In the East, there is a language of cryptography. Since ancient times, it has been used to write fairy tales and parables, each of which provides specific recommendations, exercises, instructions for self-knowledge and self-improvement.
Why is there a cryptography language?
On the one hand, so that each reader can understand for himself and adopt exactly what he is now ready for, and on the other hand, there is knowledge that, falling into the hands of people with primitive thinking, can become a terrible weapon.
In every fairy tale there is hidden secret knowledge hidden behind many veils. Opening one veil after another, a person learns the deep meaning hidden behind the outer form.
I have great trepidation and respect for those people who know how to write fairy tales, who know the great secret language - this is the language of children. To my greatest regret, in comparison with these writers, I feel like a Pithecanthropus.
Knowing my glaring underdevelopment, I had to turn to the storyteller, Alexander Dorofeev, a pure person who preserved a child's perception of the world, in order to prepare this book for you together with him.
If the Lord had rewarded me with the gift of knowing the magic language of children, I would never allow anyone to write this tale. I would have written it myself!
Alas, this award did not go to me, but still I am extremely glad that this book was born.
Sincerely yours, Mirzakarim Norbekov
First transformation
It is known that a donkey is recognized by its ears, and a fool by its speech. The red donkey Shukhlik was mostly silent. Only expressively, like deaf and dumb fingers, he moved his long ears, reminiscent of pointed slippers.
Although, if he had spoken, everyone would have understood how smart and educated this red donkey is. Perhaps the smartest donkey today. He read and counted, knew history, mathematics, astronomy, medicine. Probably could be a good teacher at school. But donkeys, like all true sages, are thoughtful and rarely speak. Only in extreme cases, when there is no longer the strength to remain silent, is it impossible to remain silent.
About three thousand years ago, the great-great-great-great-grandmother of the donkey Shukhlik was carrying its master, the soothsayer and the sorcerer Balaam, and suddenly she saw on the way a formidable Angel with a drawn sword. The donkey immediately turned intelligently into the field. However, Balaam, who was in a hurry for witchcraft, began to beat and urge the donkey, trying to get it back on the road. He didn't see the Angel, no obstacles at all.
The road narrowed. There are vineyards on one side, and an adobe wall on the other. And in the middle there is again a fiery Angel with a sparkling sword.
The donkey pressed against the wall, crushing Balaam's leg. And, of course, she got the first number - on the neck, on the sides, on the back and between the ears on the forehead. From resentment, as often happens, she was completely exhausted and lay down on the ground. And Balaam, inflamed, beat her with a stick.
And then the donkey could not stand it:
What have I done wrong to you? - said. - Why do I endure?
Yes, there would be an ax, I would hack to death! - exclaimed Balaam, without noticing the Angel. - For your stupid stubbornness!
Remember how long you traveled on me, ”the donkey sighed. - And have I let you down at least once?
But how to say, - thought Balaam, looking around.
And then at last I made out a dazzling Angel, like a lake under the morning sun. Balaam was horrified and fell to the ground, covering his face. And the angel of heaven bent over him, slapped him on the back of his head.
Your way, you fool, is false, ”he said in his ear,“ and I came to warn you. But you, like a thrice blind man, do not want to see what you do not believe in. If not for the donkey, I would have pierced you with the sword. So be grateful to her forever and ever!
But people's memory is short. Do not remember good deeds. And they pound the donkeys with sticks when they push back.
Although donkeys see and feel what a person does not notice.
Since those immemorial times, all descendants of Valaam's donkey are able to speak perfectly. They just don't show it. Learned by bitter experience.
The memory of three talkative donkeys is still fresh - only three hundred years have passed. They were then summoned as witnesses. And these simple-minded, honest animals, instead of keeping quiet, defended their mistresses in court, accused of flying on a broomstick.
The donkeys under oath told the pure truth: they say, they did not notice anything bad - no demons and witchcraft. And everyone is capable of flying on a broomstick if they wish. The hostesses were acquitted. However, the judges, after consulting, sentenced the witnesses for excessive eloquence. If a simple donkey thinks like a learned lawyer, then, of course, it was not without evil spirits! And they hung all three poor fellows by their feet on crooked trees.
Don't show that you can talk! - instructed the mother of the red donkey. - Better to tap the Morse code messages with your hoof - dot, dot, dash, dot. Or fold letters and words with your ears.
Fortunately, Shukhlik did not have time to talk. If he did not study, standing under the windows of the nearest school, then he jumped and galloped wherever he had to. I played with friends - Taka the goat and Mushuka the cat. He molested his beloved aunt, the cow Sigir. Or to bactrian camel- Uncle Bactri. Sometimes he rolled the master's children, bucking up with an excess of feelings.
And the owner of Durda himself sat, like a clay idol, on a colorful rug among the black, like crows, Kumgan teapots, screwing up his eyes and snoring, dozing in the shade of a pyramidal poplar. Before him lay a slingshot and a pile of pebbles to scare birds off the apricot trees. He couldn’t choose the right stone.
The donkey used to want to talk to the owner. Find out what he drinks from a bowl, why he sweats, grunts and wipes his shiny bald head with a large, like a pillowcase, a handkerchief and, in general, how it is possible to sit in one place for so many hours in a row, legs and arms crossed. "Probably, the owner is punished and tormented," thought the donkey Shukhlik. . This is so unfair! "
And the donkey decided to stir up, to amuse the owner. He approached quietly from the side and shouted in the very ear: "Yo-go-ya-ya!"
Oh, what happened to the master of Durda! He jumped in place like a huge tree frog. He croaked, grunted, crowed. He knocked over all the teapots, broke the bowl. Finally he crawled under the rug and hid like an ordinary thick bump.
Shukhlik thought it was such a game - like hide and seek. He ran up and lightly kicked this hummock. And then the rug came to life! But it didn’t fly like a real flying carpet, but quickly glided along the ground to the door of the house. I hit the threshold with acceleration, and so it froze.
The hostess, returning from the bazaar, could not understand where the owner had disappeared. Always sat in one place, as if chained, and suddenly disappeared!
She stepped on the rug by the doorstep, taking off her shoes, and almost fell. The rug grunted, tore out from under his feet and rolled, curling up, on the melons, where it was quiet among melons and watermelons. For a long time then the hostess unfolded and reassured the owner.
Durdy did not understand who attacked him.
It seems to be some kind of shaitan, ”he whispered to the hostess. - Damn with hooves! - And he looked with suspicion at all the ungulates in the yard. Especially on the donkey - he did not take his eyes off him, followed every step, thinking how to take revenge.
It is not for nothing that the donkey mother gave her son such an affectionate name - Shukhlik, that is, playful, mischievous. In a word, a merry fellow. “His big head is filled with knowledge like a sack of oats,” she boasted.
There is as much strength in a strong body as in a hurricane wind. And light legs ask to dance. "
Aunt Sigir nodded, agreeing: "Moo-oo-moo-oo!" And uncle Bactri, regularly chewing on a camel thorn, muttered: "Funny Shukh-face. Only in vain does he scare the owner. The owner is not joking."
Norbekov Mirzakarim Sanakulovich
Red Donkey or Transformations:
a book about a new life,
it's never too late to start
Dear reader!
In the East, there is a language of cryptography. Since ancient times, it has been used to write fairy tales and parables, each of which provides specific recommendations, exercises, instructions for self-knowledge and self-improvement.
Why is there a cryptography language?
On the one hand, so that each reader can understand for himself and adopt exactly what he is now ready for, and on the other hand, there is knowledge that, falling into the hands of people with primitive thinking, can become a terrible weapon.
In every fairy tale there is hidden secret knowledge hidden behind many veils. Opening one veil after another, a person learns the deep meaning hidden behind the outer form.
I have great trepidation and respect for those people who know how to write fairy tales, who know the great secret language - this is the language of children. To my greatest regret, in comparison with these writers, I feel like a Pithecanthropus.
Knowing my glaring underdevelopment, I had to turn to the storyteller, Alexander Dorofeev, a pure person who preserved a child's perception of the world, in order to prepare this book for you together with him.
If the Lord had rewarded me with the gift of knowing the magic language of children, I would never allow anyone to write this tale. I would have written it myself!
Alas, this award did not go to me, but still I am extremely glad that this book was born.
Sincerely yours, Mirzakarim Norbekov
First transformation
Shukhlik
It is known that a donkey is recognized by its ears, and a fool by its speech. The red donkey Shukhlik was mostly silent. Only expressively, like deaf and dumb fingers, he moved his long ears, reminiscent of pointed slippers.
Although, if he had spoken, everyone would have understood how smart and educated this red donkey is. Perhaps the smartest donkey today. He read and counted, knew history, mathematics, astronomy, medicine. Probably could be a good teacher at school. But donkeys, like all true sages, are thoughtful and rarely speak. Only in extreme cases, when there is no longer the strength to remain silent, is it impossible to remain silent.
About three thousand years ago, the great-great-great-great-grandmother of the donkey Shukhlik was carrying its master, the soothsayer and the sorcerer Balaam, and suddenly she saw on the way a formidable Angel with a drawn sword. The donkey immediately turned intelligently into the field. However, Balaam, who was in a hurry for witchcraft, began to beat and urge the donkey, trying to get it back on the road. He didn't see the Angel, no obstacles at all.
The road narrowed. There are vineyards on one side, and an adobe wall on the other. And in the middle there is again a fiery Angel with a sparkling sword.
The donkey pressed against the wall, crushing Balaam's leg. And, of course, she got the first number - on the neck, on the sides, on the back and between the ears on the forehead. From resentment, as often happens, she was completely exhausted and lay down on the ground. And Balaam, inflamed, beat her with a stick.
And then the donkey could not stand it:
- What did I do you wrong? - said. - Why do I endure?
- Yes, if I had an ax, I would hack to death! - exclaimed Balaam, without noticing the Angel. - For your stupid stubbornness!
Remember how long you traveled on me, ”the donkey sighed. - And have I let you down at least once?
- But how to say, - thought Balaam, looking around.
And then at last I made out a dazzling Angel, like a lake under the morning sun. Balaam was horrified and fell to the ground, covering his face. And the angel of heaven bent over him, slapped him on the back of his head.
Your way, you fool, is false, ”he said in his ear,“ and I came to warn you. But you, like a thrice blind man, do not want to see what you do not believe in. If not for the donkey, I would have pierced you with the sword. So be grateful to her forever and ever!
But people's memory is short. Do not remember good deeds. And they pound the donkeys with sticks when they push back.
Although donkeys see and feel what a person does not notice.
Since those immemorial times, all descendants of Valaam's donkey are able to speak perfectly. They just don't show it. Learned by bitter experience.
The memory of three talkative donkeys is still fresh - only three hundred years have passed. They were then summoned as witnesses. And these simple-minded, honest animals, instead of keeping quiet, defended their mistresses in court, accused of flying on a broomstick.
The donkeys under oath told the pure truth: they say, they did not notice anything bad - no demons and witchcraft. And everyone is capable of flying on a broomstick if they wish. The hostesses were acquitted. However, the judges, after consulting, sentenced the witnesses for excessive eloquence. If a simple donkey thinks like a learned lawyer, then, of course, it was not without evil spirits! And they hung all three poor fellows by their feet on crooked trees.
Don't show that you can talk! - instructed the mother of the red donkey. - Better to tap the Morse code messages with your hoof - dot, dot, dash, dot. Or fold letters and words with your ears.
Fortunately, Shukhlik did not have time to talk. If he did not study, standing under the windows of the nearest school, then he jumped and galloped wherever he had to. P1 played with friends - Taka the goat and Mushuka the cat. He molested his beloved aunt, the cow Sigir. Or to a two-humped camel - Uncle Bactri. Sometimes he rolled the master's children, bucking up with an excess of feelings.
And the owner of Durda himself sat, like a clay idol, on a colorful rug among the black, like crows, Kumgan teapots, screwing up his eyes and snoring, dozing in the shade of a pyramidal poplar. Before him lay a slingshot and a pile of pebbles to scare birds off the apricot trees. He couldn’t choose the right stone.
The donkey used to want to talk to the owner. Find out what he drinks from a bowl, why he sweats, grunts and wipes his shiny bald head with a large, like a pillowcase, a handkerchief and, in general, how it is possible to sit in one place for so many hours in a row, legs and arms crossed. "Probably, the owner is punished and tormented," thought the donkey Shukhlik. . This is so unfair! "
And the donkey decided to stir up, to amuse the owner. He approached quietly from the side and shouted in the very ear: "Yo-go-ya-ya!"
Oh, what happened to the master of Durda! He jumped in place like a huge tree frog. He croaked, grunted, crowed. He knocked over all the teapots, broke the bowl. Finally he crawled under the rug and hid like an ordinary thick bump.
Shukhlik thought it was such a game - like hide and seek. He ran up and lightly kicked this hummock. And then the rug came to life! But it didn’t fly like a real flying carpet, but quickly glided along the ground to the door of the house. I hit the threshold with acceleration, and so it froze.
The hostess, returning from the bazaar, could not understand where the owner had disappeared. Always sat in one place, as if chained, and suddenly disappeared!
She stepped on the rug by the doorstep, taking off her shoes, and almost fell. The rug grunted, tore out from under his feet and rolled, curling up, on the melons, where it was quiet among melons and watermelons. For a long time then the hostess unfolded and reassured the owner.
Durdy did not understand who attacked him.
- It seems, some kind of shaitan, - he whispered to the hostess. - Damn with hooves! - And he looked with suspicion at all the ungulates in the yard. Especially on the donkey - he did not take his eyes off him, followed every step, thinking how to take revenge.
It is not for nothing that the donkey mother gave her son such an affectionate name - Shukhlik, that is, playful, mischievous. In a word, a merry fellow. “His big head is filled with knowledge like a sack of oats,” she boasted.
There is as much strength in a strong body as in a hurricane wind. And light legs ask to dance. "
Aunt Sigir nodded, agreeing: "Moo-oo-moo-oo!" And uncle Bactri, regularly chewing on a camel thorn, muttered: "Funny Shukh-face. Only in vain does he scare the owner. The owner is not joking."
And Shukhlik rejoiced all day long that the sun was shining, the grass was green or that it was raining. That he, Shukhlik, wakes up at dawn and lives and lives until the evening, and then sleeps next to his mother until the next morning. And around there are other living creatures that walk, fly, crawl, chirp, hum, hum and sing. And as it is clear, every twig, blade of grass, bug or cobweb is clearly visible.
The night beauties - butterflies - parvons have already fluttered. So, it's time to close your eyes and see dreams, as cheerful as the past day, as mysterious as the day to come. He understood that the whole world was created for him, Shukhlik. Oh, and how he smiled - so that the ears converged at the back of his head and hugged like siblings, and then jumped, almost flying off his head, like two red pheasants. He loved everything and everyone so much that every time before going to bed he sang songs of thanks. "Ya-ya-ya! - shouted with all his might, as if blowing into a golden pipe. - Yo-yo-yo! Yoo-yu-yu!"
The owner of Durda shuddered on his rug, turned the bowl upside down and went into the house, from where, like an endless plaintive chant, his snoring, reminiscent of both aunt Sigir's humming, and the roar of Uncle Bactri, and the bleating of his friend Tak, would come. However, none of them could make out what this night master's song was about. Although there was resentment and even a threat in her.
Only the cat Mushuka, who knew how to penetrate dreams, purred in secret that the master of Durda was dreaming.
Believe me, friends, as soon as he snores, he immediately begins to catch the shaitan! And that would be fine, but that shaitan is very reminiscent of our donkey, our Shukhlik.
Black pit
When the red donkey was three years old, the donkey mother said:
“You know, dear, anything happens in life.
Promise me that you will never be discouraged, and you will remain the same cheerful and healthy - no matter what happens!
Shukhlik could not imagine what such incidents could change his character. What will make him not sing songs, not enjoy life?
I am ready for you into fire and water, my Shukhlik, ”my mother sighed. “But you've grown so much, so strong that we might be torn apart.
Shukhlik did not understand this word. What is separating ?! "To shine" sounded nice, but "once" - not very much.
- Well, we will be divided, separated, and we will go on different roads, - sobbed the donkey mother.
No, it seemed so wild and impossible, like, for example, the Sigir cow with two humps or the Bactri camel with horns!
The donkey Shukhlik just tried to imagine himself apart from the donkey mother, as if he immediately collapsed into a huge, but cramped black pit, where he could not see anything, it was stuffy and his legs gave way, and tears came from his eyes.
He frantically shook his head and tasselled tail. "Well, everything is fine - mom is nearby, and there is no black hole. It was so, it is and it should always be!" - Shukhlik decided. But you never know what a donkey, even a very smart one, will decide for himself. Each donkey has owners. The fate of any domestic donkey depends on them.
The owner of Durda did not forget the kick with his hoof and the trip to the melon in the rug. I really wanted to find out who arranged all this. From uncle Bactri, from aunt Sigir and from the cat Mushuki did not get anything.
Then he took up Taka's goat. He invited me to sit next to him on the rug. I combed his beard and treated him to halva.
You can keep quiet, - whispered the owner of Durda. - Just nod or blink, you are my good goat, as the shaitan approaches.
And so Taka, unwillingly, spoke up by the owner, and nodded and blinked when the donkey Shuhlik galloped by.
Aha! - exclaimed the owner of Durda. - I knew! I guessed it! - And in the heat of the moment he kicked the goat so that it flew into a corner behind the barn and bleated bitterly for a long time. Taka did not want to betray Shukhlik, but somehow it worked out by itself. In general, a lot in life seems to happen by itself, if you do not feel and do not think what is good and what is bad.
Of course, the owner of Durda was not some notorious villain or a highwayman. But too proud, touchy and vindictive, like many not very smart people.
On New Year's Eve, cold fluff fell from low gray clouds. The donkey Shukhlik saw snow for the first time - in these places it rarely falls - and galloped around the yard from end to end, drawing with his hooves the constellation of the Winged Donkey, which is better known as the Bird of Paradise.
Only a little bit remained, a couple more stars, when the owner of Durda approached him, in a new striped dressing gown, holding in his hands a rope harness and a beautiful, also striped, blanket.
The donkey thought that this was a special clothing for the snowy time, and willingly put his back. But the owner first girded his face with ropes, and put a metal sour pin in his mouth, which was not very pleasant. Then he threw in a blanket and buttoned the buttons on his chest. Shukhlik stood obediently and patiently, like a schoolboy trying on his first suit. But the donkey mother, tied to a tree, immediately suspected that something was wrong.
Shukhlik! she called. - Son! Look me in the eyes!
The donkey looked and made out such a tearful melancholy and such a cold, as a blizzard, confusion that his heart died and his legs became cottony, although they rested, sliding on the snow, while Durdy pulled
yard.
He heard his mother tapping her hooves: "Farewell, beloved Shukhlik! You are the best donkey in the world! Do not forget about this and remember me!"
Shukhlik did not know how they got to the crowded, noisy and fragrant bazaar. Everything around was gray, pale, as if covered with fog. It seemed that this was a terrible, wild dream, which not even he, Shukhlik, sees, but someone tells him in an ominous whisper. And from this story - trembling and chills in the whole body.
The owner of Durda pulled him along the endless rows of markets - raisins, onions, grapes, rice and cabbage. We passed the flat cake row. Apple. Pomegranate and nutty. Broom. Turkey and chicken. We got to the cell row, where on the counters were large, like pumpkins, cells covered with colored scarves.
Shukhlik noticed nothing. I just saw my mother's eyes and plunged into them, as if into a black, endless, like space, abyss.
The owner was talking to someone, bargaining, praising the donkey - how smart, strong, smart and funny he is! The devil from the snuff box! One word - shaitan!
I would never give it up, - he clicked his tongue. - Yes, I promised children a gift for New Year! Asked for a five-speed bike!
“Yes, I’m better than a bicycle!” Shukhlik wanted to shout, like his ancient grandmother Valaam's donkey once did.
I have more speeds! "But the iron pin in my mouth got in the way, and a donkey, desperate:" Oya-ya-ya! "
Someone's hands were feeling the stomach and sides, someone was looking at the teeth. They tapped their hooves, blew in their ears, and even twisted their tail.
And the donkey, drooping his head, stared at White snow that melted away as fast as this miserable day. “I’m probably very bad,” Shukhlik reproached himself. “I’m probably the worst ass! Otherwise, why would the owner sell me?”
Highly! Highly! - nodded Durdy. - Wherever you look, solid darmon power! Such a strong man! A real half-war hero! And what a skin! Red - red, like the morning sun! This is not a donkey, but pure zar - pure gold! I want for him, besides the bicycle and the nightingale, two more poods of raisins.
In the end, when it was already getting dark, and the snow underfoot completely disappeared, mixed with black mud, a buyer was found. Oblique and small, barely taller than Shukhlik.
In a fox hat with a tail on the side. He looks like a fat primitive monkey that will never, for anything in the world, turn into a man. Nothing good was expected from this buyer with a sparse beard and a crooked stick in his fist. As soon as Shukhlik looked at him, his stomach skipped a beat and felt cold, as if he had swallowed a piece of ice.
Here is your new owner - Mr. Maymun-Talovchi! - And Durdy deceitfully, like Judas, hugged the donkey. - Serve him faithfully, and we will miss you. - And loudly slapped on the back, so that Shukhlik shuddered all over.
These words with a slap seemed to completely cut off, cut off the old life. He saw the courtyard where he was born. Sad mother under the pyramidal poplar Good-natured aunt Sigir and strict uncle Kaktoi between whose humps the cat Mvshuka slept, purring. And the cheerful Shukhlik, jumping and galloping on the first snow- Was he really that donkey in the morning? Everything near and dear drifted away so quickly, dissolving in the twilight! Further and further! And already barely noticeable, as if looking from the bottom of a deep black pit.
And it's not that Shukhlik fell into this pit. No, the black pit itself, like a poisonous karakurt spider, crawled inside, into the very heart. And she had already put the former Shukhlik to sleep, turned him into a pitiful, trembling donkey without a name.
The new owner Maymun-Talovchi chased him with a stick, shouting.
- Hey, how are you? Wider step, lazy people! So I will call it - Tanb "al-lazyr. Yes, I will not be lazy! Work from morning to evening, Tanbal! And if you are stubborn, I will make a kebab from you."
The red donkey barely moved his legs and stumbled after a step, not distinguishing grooves, stones and bumps through the tears.
Heavy name
So the red-haired donkey, the former mischievous Shukhlik, had a new name - heavy and gloomy, like a rainy day - Tanbal! As if at first they slapped one ear - tan! And immediately in a different way - the ball!
And life immediately began hard and stormy, to match the new name.
When they left the bazaar, Maymun-Talovchi roughly pulled the bridle, braking the donkey. But I could have just said, "Wait a minute, brother." But can you expect human treatment from such a monkey?
The donkey raised its head and looked reproachfully. Yes, such views are in vain - they will not understand anything, if there is no soul, no conscience. However, maybe this is the same thing - soul and conscience? Or shameless souls meet?
So the red donkey pondered and did not immediately notice that right in the middle of the street behind the old man in a skullcap was wandering dejectedly, with a clubfoot bear in a rope muzzle. True, to the bazaar - to make people laugh.
The bear was gray for some reason. The wool on the sides is frayed. And he walked, shaking his head, so humbly, so humbly, like an old, old beaten donkey. It seemed that the bear had long forgotten who he really was, and waved his paw at everything. Is it all the same? What's the difference - maybe it's a donkey! Even the dogs barked at him listlessly, wondering if it was a bear.
“Oh, no!” The donkey was frightened. “If I forget about Shukhli-ke, if I forget who I am, I will certainly disappear! the bottom of the black pit. "
He was so thoughtful that Maymun-Talovchi hit him with a stick several times, forcing him to go.
For a long time they zigzagged along narrow, crooked and dark streets, squeezed by blank adobe walls, as if through a labyrinth, from which they would never get out. Thorny, like a porcupine, longing took possession of the donkey, although he resisted as best he could. However, he hunched over, drooped all over and hung his ears like withered lettuce leaves. He even swayed from wall to wall.
Longing turned out to be powerful and won, turning him into a sufferer and a wretched person. Anyone who did not know Shukhlik before would say now that this is the poorest, miserable and stupid donkey in the whole world.
And why did I buy you, such a fool? - grumbled Maymun-Talovchi. “You, Tanbal, are not just a quitter, you are also a malevolent dumbass! A stubborn lazy person or a lazy stubborn person is all one. Well, yes, my wife will knock the donkey's nonsense out of you - you will be silk, like her trousers.
Oh! This name - Tanbal - was bent to the ground! It was as if a block of stone had been piled on the back, and a wife in trousers had perched on top of it.
The owner opened a tiny but thick wood door in the wall and drove the donkey into the courtyard, filled with cages, in which, it seemed, sat and darted from side to side red hats with tails, exactly the same as on the head of Maimun- Talovchi, only as long as they are alive. A sharp unfamiliar animal smell spread across the yard, so that the donkey woke up for a while from his bitter thoughts.
His longing was very strong, but the one that flowed from these cells - much stronger! Hopeless and gloomy, like an incurable disease. She barked and squealed, this melancholy. She looked through the iron nets with black, frightened fox eyes.
Here is my farm! Profitable! - Maymun-Talovchi grinned. - By the way, you, donkey, are as red as these foxes! If you work badly, Tanbal, I will skin you off. If not for a hat, it will do for chuyaki.
An aunt came out of the house - long, long and thin, thin, like a whip. The hostess, judging by the silk trousers. And she spoke so piercingly, sharply, as if she was whipping and stinging with a whip.
Who is this worthless freak ?! Where did you, imbecile, pick him up? What dump? It can be seen that he is not an employee. In a month will die!
What are you, precious Chiyon? - answered the owner, involuntarily squatting and shivering, like hamadryas at the sight of a crocodile. - Very strong young donkey! Indispensable for our streets, where neither a tractor nor a dump truck will pass. Will carry stones for a new home. Yes, for you, my golden reed, in a month I will build a palace with the help of this donkey. And then let it freeze ...
Mistress Chiyong waved her hand, so the wind picked up - her trousers swelled like the hood of a spectacled cobra, and caged foxes froze in the corners.
Tie him tight. Take off your blanket! What kind of pampering - a donkey in a blanket ?! I'll sew a robe out of it.
The donkey found itself in a cramped nook between the fox cages. Stripped and poorly fed. With tangled legs. So scolded, intimidated and lonely that I wanted to die in spite of the new owners right now, and not in a month.
The foxes were busy and quietly whispering about something of their own. Under this whisper, he was forgotten by a heavy, alarming, like the whole past day, sleep. For the first time without a song of thanks. And he shuddered in his sleep, remembering the blows of the stick. And he cried, frightened by the terrible, like black scorpions, names - Maymun-Talovchi, Chiyon, Tanbal. Arched with poisonous tails, they advanced from all directions until dawn.
In the early morning, when the clouds in the east had barely turned pink, and it was so quiet and calm in the heavens that nothing bad was expected on earth, the owner left the house, and immediately it became worse all over the world.
Maymun-Talovchi stretched himself, cleared his throat hoarsely, like a rooster with a cold. He threw a bunch of hard woody grass to the donkey. He untangled his legs, loaded two huge baskets, and drove him out of the yard, poking at the scruff of the neck with a deliberately sharpened stick. It hurt more than a scorpion bite. Or rather a thousand bites from a thousand scorpions! Because the owner, urging him on, pricked continuously so that Tanbal would not hesitate, carrying heavy stones from a distant quarry faster and faster.
So he wandered until noon, laden with baskets, along narrow streets and along a muddy road, where his legs buckled like aspen twigs, parting in the clay.
Finally, the owner Maymun-Talovchi went to dinner at the house. And the donkey got three pitiful wilted bunches - it's even difficult to say whether the grass. And again it was dark behind the stones, which were getting heavier and heavier - over and over, hour after hour. Moreover, the owner himself climbed onto his back from time to time.
Probably, this is a special punishment for the worst donkeys in the world, thought Shukhlik, falling asleep at night in his cubbyhole next to the foxes, as if falling into the same deep and hopeless pit. Better to stay in this blackness forever - if only no one touches! "
However, immediately - it seemed as if a minute had not passed - his master woke him up.
Stop sleeping, brainless Tanbal! The sun is already rising!
- This donkey just needs to snore! - the sleepy mistress Chiyon appeared in such wide trousers, which could easily fit a dozen melons and watermelons. - What a husband, what a donkey - have a bite on the side!
Today both are without lunch - maybe you will be quicker!
After these words, the gloomy rhino owner Maimun-Talovchi chased the donkey even more painfully, viciously hitting the open wound on the nape with a sharp stick. And the stones were loaded so that the baskets could hardly stand, grunt with their last strength.
“Oh-oh!” The red donkey sighed to himself. “My eyes wouldn’t look at all this!” And the eyes really obeyed - they refused to look. Every day they saw it worse. So, some kind of gray fog, indistinct, vague shadows.
Perhaps only one thing supported the donkey - stubbornness. He became so stubborn and intractable that even Maymun-Talovchi sometimes got lost, not knowing what to do with him. No blows helped. The red donkey fell on its back, overturning the baskets, from which the stones were rolling out, thundering, and so jerked its hooves - do not come near!
He was disgusted with himself. But what else remains for the exhausted, downtrodden donkey? Talk like Balaam's donkey? But the owners will not understand the human words anyway, and the Angel with the sword is unlikely to appear to them.
In general, Shukhlik got another name - Kaisar, which means, of course, stubborn. Also, the name is not easy.
Fox Tulki, or Open Animals Day
How many stones were transported by Tanbal-Kaisar - and not to count! In any case, much more than those stars that were visible in the sky from his tiny enclosure. For a long time he had not noticed the constellation of the Winged Donkey.
And how many wild, terrible and disgustingly miserable days he lived, carrying stones ?! It seemed so much impossible to live. There seemed to be much more of them than the stars in the whole sky.
However, what kind of sky is there, what kind of stars are there ?!
The red donkey did not want to think about anything. And he couldn't. My head was as empty as my stomach. Guts, however, muttered about something sadly, talked. The liver ached and sobbed like a small child.
The lungs wheezed, complaining. And the spine creaked like a pyramidal poplar in a hurricane wind. In addition, an unhealed wound constantly sore on my neck, like a reproach.
One warm spring night, when smells fly, run, creep from all over the free world, telling how he, this world, is good, the red donkey woke up, hearing a quick whisper:
Hey buddy, isn't it time for us to fly away, run away or crawl away - away from here?
At first, he decided that it was one of his intestines negotiating with the other to escape from his own belly. Although the donkey was weak, he was indifferent, but nevertheless he was indignant. Another thing was missing - a conspiracy of guts! You could have consulted with him for a start! Still, not outsiders!
Hey buddy you're really bad, you won't last long here! the whisper came again. - Yes, and we will be left without skins from day to day!
The red-haired donkey did not yet understand where this quick lisping little voice came from. Does the spine whisper?
Well, you can't really be such a donkey! Look - it's me, your neighbor, Tulky the fox!
Indeed, like black grapes through a metal mesh, the fox's eyes sparkled from the cage on the left. This fox Tulky used to talk to the donkey about life from time to time - they say, how is it free, how is it breathing, what news? What could the poor donkey, dragging stones along the same road, from morning to evening, like a convict, could answer!
But at night, the fox, sighing every minute, talked a lot about his past free life. Like diving in the desert, catching mice and lizards, frogs and grasshoppers. “Oh, what air is there!” The foxes Tulki squealed. “I want to drink, lick and bite this air! So fragrant, not like here in a cage. And I was resting at that happy time, climbing into cozy holes of gophers or bobaks. And Once, at sunset, among the pink thickets of tamarisk, I met a little fox named Korea. Oh, how I dreamed of spending the rest of my life with her, raising foxes! Yes, here, like an old stupid quail, I got caught in the snare of the thrice-damned Maimun-Talovchi! Now do not demolish the skins! "
In this place the fox Tulki usually began to yelp doomedly - with a slight, barely perceptible howl. He was echoed from other cells by the rest of the foxes and foxes, complaining about the lost fate.
And quite from afar - probably from the very fragrant heavenly desert where the fox of Korea lived - the voices of free jackals came, which made it even more melancholy. And under this dull chorus, the donkey fell into its black hopeless pit - into a short sleep.
However, this time the fox Tulki was determined. No whining and howling.
Let's run! We have nothing to lose here except our skins! The spring breeze brought the scent of Korea's fox! Today or never!
The red donkey shook his head and listened. True, there are so many strange sounds around! How many unknown smells and mysterious shadows flickering in the night air! And he? Is it really going to carry heavy stones in baskets? Until he collapses from exhaustion, and the mistress Chiyon will sew chuvyaki from his skin, and the black hole will forever close over him ?! Quite a disgusting future! Terrible !!!
For the first time in many days, it was not that he woke up in him, but the former donkey Shuh-face opened one eye. However, this was already enough.
Do you have an escape plan? - he asked.
- And how! Tulky whispered. - Cloven-hoofed plan!
Shukhlik became thoughtful, going over in his head the knowledge that recent times clearly diminished - somewhere, apparently, spilled out like oats from a thin sack.
Wait, Tulka friend, ”he finally sighed. - If the plan is cloven-hoofed, then I'm really superfluous here. You need Uncle Bactri's camel. Well, as a last resort, some kind of pig or hippo. And with me, any plan will turn out to be odd-hoofed.
What's the difference! Paired or unpaired? the fox barked impatiently. - The main thing, ungulate! Listen carefully! First, I cut through the ropes on your feet. Then you quickly, but quietly, knock the latches on the cages with your hoof.
The donkey shook its head measuredly, pondering the plan. From the side it seemed that he fell asleep again.
Hey Hey hey! squealed Tulki, bouncing sideways and shaking the iron mesh. - I understand, buddy, that you are very smart, but now it's not up to that. It's dawn already! Substitute your hooves!
Shukhlik pressed his hind legs to the net, and the fox, having contrived, thrusting its sharp muzzle somehow into the cells, bit through the rope. While he was also gnawing on its front legs, the donkey managed to realize that there was still a big flaw in the hoofed plan of escape.
“So big that even huge!” He thought, aiming his hoof and knocking the latches off the fox cages. “A flaw the size of a door!
All over the yard, meanwhile, like a creeping flame, foxes darted. They escaped from their cages, and it was incomparable joy! But where next? It is impossible to jump over an adobe wall - the most lively have already tried, breaking their noses. And the strong door to the street is locked with a barn lock.
"You won't knock out a hoof with any hoof. Is it a rhinoceros?" Shukhlik thought quickly. "But where can I get a rhinoceros? Perhaps, only the owner of Maimun-Ta-lovchi reminds him a little. Now he will wake up and strip the skins of all the fugitives."
Tulka jumped out of the crowd like the leader of the uprising, with a broken nose.
We will fight! he exclaimed. - We will not surrender alive! - And he began to line up all the foxes, which turned out to be a very difficult task, almost impossible. The fox is an independent animal, not a combatant, like, for example, a wolf.
Donkey Shukhlik recalled the famous historical battles. The first thing is surprise. Catch the enemy by surprise! This is already half of the success, maybe three quarters.
He knew that the house of Maimun-Talovchi went out not only to this courtyard, but also to the next street. Once the owner chased a donkey loaded with brushwood along it, and the hostess Chiyon, leaning out of the window, scolded as always that they were slowly trudging along. Window! Here is an unexpected, sudden path to freedom!
Now Shukhlik quickly told his plan to the fox Tulka.
Yes, buddy, you are terribly smart - so smart that the frost on the skin! - barked the fox. - But there is nowhere to retreat!
Forward, with the first rays of the sun!
The door in the house was open, and only the chintz curtain in Indian cucumbers was blowing, either from the spring breeze, or from the puffing of the owners.
The house was stuffy and smelled so that I didn't want to linger for a second.
Seeing the window, already pink from the morning dawn, Shukhlik galloped across the room, followed by a crowd of foxes, knocking down and destroying everything in the way. Something rang, strummed, poured. Something fell almost silently, but hard.
Just in front of the window was the last obstacle, namely the bed on which lay the hostess Chiyon and the owner Maimun-Talovchi. They were already tearing their eyes, but, of course, they had not yet had time to wake up from their dreams.
And is it possible to wake up, suddenly seeing a pack of screeching foxes and a lonely screaming red donkey in front of you, all of which, together, together, like in a terrible nightmare, jump onto the bed, trample the bodies of the owners sluggish after sleep, kick out the window and rush along the pink morning street, headlong, sparkling heels, into the blessed spring desert.
Maimun-Talovchi only lamented, crawling under the bed:
Balo! Balo! Trouble! Misfortune!
However, steadfast as a poker, mistress Chiyon could have endured all this bestial attack, with a mess in the house, if not for her favorite silk wide trousers. Spreading out, they, too, treacherously ran away along the street, and from their trousers protruded from fox noses, then tails.
That's when Mistress Chiyong burst into tears. For the first time in my life. Sobbed for a long time. First from anger towards the whole world Then from self-pity. But the most bitter was the sobbing for those whom she tormented for many, many years, that is, about everything around her and about herself. Bursting into tears, she got up, washed, carefully pulled Maimun-Talovchi from under the bed and began cleaning the house. And along with this new life it's never too late to start.
Desert
The donkey had no idea that there could be so much flat land around, completely covered with poppies and tulips. And it seems that all the flowers are the same. Yes, it was not so! Each has something different, special.
Some smelled a little redder, others - softer and yellower, others - greener, fourth, fifth ... He looked and sniffed so that his own head seemed to him a red bee, waving its ears over the spring land. He even began to hum slowly.
And how he rode, jumped and had fun among the red fox brethren!
All the foxes vied with each other about his exploits, adding something that, of course, did not exist.
As if he, the brave Shukhlik, fought with the formidable Maimun-Talovchi on crooked sabers, and then kicked his hoof so deftly that now their former owner is a spitting rhinoceros!
"And how did he manage to put on - what laughter - the harem pants of the mistress Chiyon! And a copper basin on his head! Passers-by on the streets shied away from incomprehensible creature in silk trousers and in a copper basin with ears sparkling like the sun.
The foxes laughed, barked, squealed, remembering the escape, rolled on the ground among the flowers, and fanned themselves with their last strength with their fluffy tails, like fans. Together they resembled a noisy gypsy camp.
And the red donkey felt with his whole body how the name given by his mother, Shukhlik, was reviving and strengthening in him. Even the wound on the back of the neck didn't hurt that much. I wanted to get to know each other, play naughty and joke with everyone I met. Tell everyone about the escape and what a heroic donkey he is.
However, there were not enough oncoming ones. Well, I talked to the old turtle Toshbaka, but she didn't even stick her head out of the shell.
The skylark Zhur hung too high in the sky, you won't shout! And the forty aunt Zagizgon herself chattered incessantly, did not want to listen to anything. Ninanchi the dragonfly froze for a minute, bulging his eyes, and flew away - what does she care about some twisted fairy tales!
The foxes, meanwhile, little by little scattered in all directions - each on their own business. Smiling at Shukhlik, waving their tail goodbye, they dissolved among the poppies and tulips, as if they were not there.
The last to take leave was Tulki's fox.
Forgive me, buddy, but somewhere very close, I sense, my little fox of Korea. Come to the wedding! - And, lifting his nose, sniffing, he rushed to the setting sun. I didn't even have time to write down the address where the wedding would be.
The donkey Shukhlik was left all alone. Although I did not immediately understand this. For some time, the fun and enthusiasm were still awake, urged on, and he galloped on the smooth, fragrant ground, waving his tail with a brush, without knowing where.
Evening was approaching. The sun, as red as a thousand thousand tulips and poppies, lay down on the ground. But now only half of it can be seen, like an elegant, festive tent, in which there are many funny friends, music, dancing. Oh, how the donkey wanted to be in this tent!
He was in such a hurry that he nearly bumped into a tall black pillar. As lonely in the middle of the earth as the donkey himself. True, from the pillar, wires still ran somewhere, on which birds sat with their beaks to the setting sun.
It looks like they were afraid that this last day is leaving. Maine's starling could not stand it, fell off the wire - the sun flew to catch up. And from him only a small brick bump remained. Oh, don't catch up with the starling
Sun!
Birds sit sadly on the wires, seeing off today's sun. It shone well. Will there be something tomorrow? So thought the donkey Shukhlik, huddling sideways to the post, feeling in it warmth and some kind of echoing woody life.
The sun disappeared suddenly, suddenly, and impenetrable darkness spread over the ground, as if a black pillar had opened wide, embracing everything around.
The spring desert, of course, is far from the black hole into which the donkey Shukhlik fell at night in the courtyard of Maimun-Talovchi. However, even here it was very lonely and joyless. The foxes are somewhere celebrating liberation.
Tulky found his beloved Korea. And Shukhlik, except for the post, did not find anyone. So they slept together until dawn. The pillar hummed regularly, and the donkey sometimes hiccupped or sobbed.
The sun rose as well as yesterday. Someone might have thought it even better. For example, a donkey, opening his eyes, cried out joyfully, which has not happened to him for a long time. A herd of gray-yellow nosed saiga antelopes grazed not far away. Shukhlik, iaakaya in greeting, rushed to them as to close relatives.
But the saigas did not raise their heads, continuing to pick the grass. One came out to meet him, with the longest, "udto small trunk, and a very wrinkled nose, reminiscent of a dried melon. It was a leader named Okuyruk."
What are the screams? - He sternly aimed sharp crooked horns. - Do we know each other?
The donkey was taken aback, not knowing what to answer.
Excuse me. I'm t-here alone, - muttered, stammering. - Ras-confused.
Okuyruk twisted his nose and wrinkled it even more - either intending to sneeze, or out of deep contempt.
W-we t-here, too, one-days, - mimicked. - Once lost, two were lost, three were lost, and then they were found.
We just lacked some sick donkey to join the company! Scam away from us, poor stutterer, until he gets his horns!
The donkey Shukhlik even squatted down from such speeches, and his ears squatted, and even a separate tail. He looked after the proud leader of the saigas, at all their nosed, grass-chewing tribe, and then walked, as they say, leg by leg, where one would lead the other.
Again, the wound on the withers ached, and the back crunched, as if baskets with stones had been piled up again. My head was spinning, and the sun now seemed dark and shaggy, like a wild carrion bird.
“Apparently, no one needs me. Even my mother is unlikely to recognize me as unnecessary,” thought the donkey. “And how will I return home if the former owner of Durda has already received a bicycle for me, a nightingale in a cage and probably ate all the raisins . Immediately take me back to Maimun-Ta-lovchi! No, I'd rather die here alone. And the wind will dry my white bones. "
A couple of times he was chased by jackals, and one, the most persistent named Chiyaburi, contrived to bite by the tail. But soon even jackals spat on a lonely skinny donkey, which is boring to hunt.
Spring is short in the desert. Tulips and poppies fade quickly. Remains dry grass, saxaul, bitter wormwood, camel thorn bushes and delicate tumbleweed balls. Everyone will say that the desert is from the word "empty".
And what is "empty"? Yes, it's just something - nothing! It's hard to imagine "nothing". Although you can contrive and imagine: - this is when it is neither good nor bad, but so-so. That is, exactly - nothing.
During his wanderings in the desert, the red donkey got used to his sores, with loneliness and felt, in general, nothing. Or, one might say - deserted.
His eyes could hardly see, as if covered with cobwebs. But what is special to look at in the desert when you are no longer looking for anything and expecting no one?
Some rare acquaintances at a meeting asked: "How are you? How are you feeling, buddy?"
He invariably nodded his head, answering: "Nothing! Thank you, nothing!" And wandered on, returning for the night to his black pillar. He leaned sideways against him and fell asleep, listening to an incomprehensible hum until dawn. And he was too lazy to wake up. I didn't want to wake up.
The red donkey waved his hoof at everything, like that market bear in a rope muzzle.
“Ay-yay, something I didn’t work out in this life,” he whispered to an indifferent pillar.
This very "nothing", this emptiness day after day absorbed the red donkey, like waves wash away the sandy shore. Little is left of that Shukhlik, who lived with his mother in his own yard, who freed the fox and broke free.
The desert is killing him! - chirped the lark Zhur, who saw the donkey almost every day.
- Unhappy! - chirped the magpie Zagizgon. - When I met him for the first time, he did not let me say a word! And now so silent! So silent as a dull red stone!
He looks even worse than in the yard of Maimun Talovci, - said the fox Tulki to his beloved Corsi. - Sick! Very, very sick! Betob - you can't say otherwise. That's what his name is now - Betob. And I don’t know what to do with it!
All this "mish-mish", that is, rumors and rumors finally reached the old turtle Toshbaki.
I know one remedy, - she mumbled, not protruding from the shell. “I’ll take poor Betoba to Bagishamal, the garden of the north wind. And then come what may! I hope the glorious daidi Divan-bibi is still alive.
TRANSFORMATION
second
Garden of the North Wind, or Bagishamal
It is very difficult to find the way to Bagishamal, because this garden wanders in the desert. Where give Divan-bibi, there is the Bagishamal garden! They roam the desert together. Daidi, in general, means "vagrant". And the garden always keeps up with him, toe-to-toe, along with all its trees, paths and springs, with peacocks, pheasants and parrots.
And the old lady turtle Toshbaka came from this garden of the northern breeze. But one day I fell behind, overslept or something. And for a hundred years now, I have not seen either Daidi or the garden. I was hoping for a chance meeting. Having said that she would take the red donkey to Bagishamal, the old woman thought: where to go? Which way? And as long as they reach with her agility, the donkey can - speaking roughly, but honestly - throw back its hooves. Quite, quite Betob is a sick donkey!
Reasoning so, Toshbaka sent her longtime neighbor, the magician Chameleon, on reconnaissance, so that he would find out where the garden is currently located and how the health of Daidi Divan-bibi is. However, the magician was gone. Anything happens in the desert. They could have devoured it, despite the tricks.
The next messenger was Uka the jerboa. An unusually careful and prudent brother of Uka. He volunteered himself. The old woman Toshbaka was waiting for him for three weeks, but - alas! - there was Uka's jerboa, and there is no Uki's jerboa.
"Such is the desert life. Now it is thick, now it is completely empty!" - sighed old, wise Toshbaka and turned to the wasp Ari.
First, it is safer to fly than to crawl or jump. Secondly, Ari has a whole swarm of hornets left in the hole here - either she will return, or they will find her.
Indeed, Ari buzzed back two days later on the third. And without even resting, she began to collect all her swarm on the road. From an excess of feelings, she buzzed so much that it was difficult to make out what it was about.
As soon as Toshbak got from her, the Bagishamal garden is now very close. The bibi sofa is healthier than before. And everyone sends greetings, including the magician Chameleon and the jerboa Uku, who settled in the garden. And Ari herself immediately flies there.
“Where is this poor Betob ?!” she fussed, starting to speak.
Indeed, half an hour had not passed before the red-haired Shukhlik appeared on the horizon. He galloped briskly, urged on by the wasp squad! Last time this was, perhaps, a long time ago, when he escaped from captivity with the foxes. And now, out of habit, he breathed heavily, intermittently and stumbled, not distinguishing the bumps under his feet.
In his bright eyes, only a cloudy desert, despite a sunny day, was reflected. He seemed to want to ask, "Why are you disturbing me?" But he only looked at the ground with a half-blind eye.
Hello poor Betob! - said old woman Toshbaka. - The road awaits you. Will you overcome?
“Nothing,” Shukhlik nodded obediently. - Somehow.
- And you don't even wonder which road? Ari whirred. - Do you want to know where and why?
“I’ll probably find out if someone wants to explain,” answered Shukhlik, drooping his head.
- Incredible! - exclaimed the wasp, barely holding back so as not to bite the donkey. - What indifference!
The old woman Toshbaka, meanwhile, gave Shukhlik a bundle of especially juicy grass on his way.
- It will support your strength! Bow down from me daidi Divan-bibi. Tell him all your names. And beg to be employed. Do you understand me, poor Betob?
However, a swarm of hornets buzzed so loudly and hurried to the road that it was unlikely that Shukhlik heard the turtle's whisper. Raising the old woman's head high above the shell, Toshbaka looked after her for a long time.
And the red donkey followed the wasps, as in a dream. When I was a little behind, their buzzing resembled the hum of a black lonely pillar, leaning on which Shukhlik spent so many nights in the desert. And now he regretted that he had not even had time to say goodbye to him.
"Nothing, nothing," he thought. "I will come to him when I feel that I am dying."
They walked - more precisely, the donkey trudged somehow, and the wasps swarmed in front, like a small thundercloud, - all day and another night. And in the morning, the garden of the northern breeze, Bagishamal, grew in front of them. He approached himself, as if from nowhere. As if suddenly appeared from around the corner. Although, the question is, what are the angles in the blank?
The garden was in bloom. All white and pink from apricot, pomegranate and cherry petals. And in some places - fluffy yellow from mimosa bushes.
In the morning the trees bloomed, and by the evening they were weighed down with fruits, even though you could harvest the harvest. And so every day.
Around the flowering trees rose, like powerful rounded columns, dense thujas, cedars, cypresses, pyramidal poplars, and in the middle - one huge plane tree. They seemed to support a special sky over the entire garden - clear and tender, deep and moist, like a clean well.
The garden was both shady and softly sunny. Parrots with peacocks and marmots with cicadas, a cuckoo with grasshoppers and cranes with tree frogs echoed. The northern breeze whispered something heavenly.
The babbling of a spring was heard, and the murmur of streams, and the silence of a small pond. In a word - an oasis.
In other words, a gratifying, dear to heart and eye, an exception to the rule is a miracle! That is, something that, according to some scientists, cannot be.
Of course, in the middle of the desert scorched over the summer, it's hard to believe in such a thing. And very many passed by, simply not noticing anything.
The wasps, without hesitation, all rushed into the garden in a swarm, leaving Shukhlik at the entrance. Actually, there was not even a trace of entrance - come in where your heart will show you. However, Shukhlik doubted and stood on weak legs, swayed by the wind, and pink, green, white and gold spots floated before his eyes.
In the end, the garden got tired of this empty confrontation, he stepped forward himself, and Shukhlik found himself under the crowns of trees, just by the pond, on the shore of which a small bald man in a dark red robe was sitting. Four striped raccoons had already washed some curtains and were now diligently twisting and wringing them.
The donkey came closer and shuddered, so this person reminded in appearance of Maimuna-Talovchi.
Ah, I greet you, child of watermelon and melon! he exclaimed, getting up.
And all four raccoons immediately rolled with laughter, throwing the curtains into the pond.
Why watermelon? - asked Shukhlik, so dumbfounded that he involuntarily spoke like Valaam's donkey, humanly. - In what sense are melons?
My golden frost! There is no point in the Bagishamal garden. And no sense! There is much more, though. However, where is the bow from the old lady Toshbaki?
"How does he know?" - the donkey was surprised.
Remember, my dear, I can hear and smell everything perfectly at any distance, because I am bald. Hair, you know, gets in the way - rustles and drowns out! - winked a wonderful man. - Well, if you have come, then bow down and beg to be employed as a worker! Otherwise, the road is like a tablecloth.
"So, this is the tramp - daidi Di-van-bibi, about whom the turtle was talking," thought Shukhlik longingly. really, like a brother of my own Maimuna-Talovchi! Wouldn't it be better to return to my post? "
Meanwhile, Divan-bibi for no reason fell to his knees.
Oh, wise, far-sighted lord! he cried, loudly slapping himself on the head. - Don't leave me inconsolable! Take with you to that heavenly place, to that wondrous black pillar, humming so sweetly day and night! Otherwise I will drown myself on the mountain at once, my brother, my beloved Maymun-Talovchi!
And he really crawled to the pond, and the raccoons could hardly hold him, clinging to the hem of the robe.
Oh no, let me in, let me in! - Divan-bibi lamented. - Misfortune on my gray head! This worthy gentleman, a bit like a donkey, did not even want to introduce himself. He did not give any of his names.
Trouble to me, trouble!
And, twisting out of the robe, in some sky-blue underpants, knee-deep, let me mournfully, like a piece of clay, I will
Alexander Dorofeev
Red Donkey or Transformations:
a book about a new life that is never too late to start
Dear reader!
In the East, there is a language of cryptography. Since ancient times, it has been used to write fairy tales and parables, each of which provides specific recommendations, exercises, instructions for self-knowledge and self-improvement.
Why is there a cryptography language?
On the one hand, so that each reader can understand for himself and adopt exactly what he is now ready for, and on the other hand, there is knowledge that, falling into the hands of people with primitive thinking, can become a terrible weapon.
In every fairy tale there is hidden secret knowledge hidden behind many veils. Opening one veil after another, a person learns the deep meaning hidden behind the outer form.
I have great trepidation and respect for those people who know how to write fairy tales, who know the great secret language - this is the language of children. To my greatest regret, in comparison with these writers, I feel like a Pithecanthropus.
Knowing my glaring underdevelopment, I had to turn to the storyteller, Alexander Dorofeev, a pure person who preserved a child's perception of the world, in order to prepare this book for you together with him.
If the Lord had rewarded me with the gift of knowing the magic language of children, I would never allow anyone to write this tale. I would have written it myself!
Alas, this award did not go to me, but still I am extremely glad that this book was born.
Sincerely yours, Mirzakarim Norbekov
First transformation
It is known that a donkey is recognized by its ears, and a fool by its speech. The red donkey Shukhlik was mostly silent. Only expressively, like deaf and dumb fingers, he moved his long ears, reminiscent of pointed slippers.
Although, if he had spoken, everyone would have understood how smart and educated this red donkey is. Perhaps the smartest donkey today. He read and counted, knew history, mathematics, astronomy, medicine. Probably could be a good teacher at school. But donkeys, like all true sages, are thoughtful and rarely speak. Only in extreme cases, when there is no longer the strength to remain silent, is it impossible to remain silent.
About three thousand years ago, the great-great-great-great-grandmother of the donkey Shukhlik was carrying its master, the soothsayer and the sorcerer Balaam, and suddenly she saw on the way a formidable Angel with a drawn sword. The donkey immediately turned intelligently into the field. However, Balaam, who was in a hurry for witchcraft, began to beat and urge the donkey, trying to get it back on the road. He didn't see the Angel, no obstacles at all.
The road narrowed. There are vineyards on one side, and an adobe wall on the other. And in the middle there is again a fiery Angel with a sparkling sword.
The donkey pressed against the wall, crushing Balaam's leg. And, of course, she got the first number - on the neck, on the sides, on the back and between the ears on the forehead. From resentment, as often happens, she was completely exhausted and lay down on the ground. And Balaam, inflamed, beat her with a stick.
And then the donkey could not stand it:
What have I done wrong to you? - said. - Why do I endure?
Yes, there would be an ax, I would hack to death! - exclaimed Balaam, without noticing the Angel. - For your stupid stubbornness!
Remember how long you traveled on me, ”the donkey sighed. - And have I let you down at least once?
But how to say, - thought Balaam, looking around.
And then at last I made out a dazzling Angel, like a lake under the morning sun. Balaam was horrified and fell to the ground, covering his face. And the angel of heaven bent over him, slapped him on the back of his head.
Your way, you fool, is false, ”he said in his ear,“ and I came to warn you. But you, like a thrice blind man, do not want to see what you do not believe in. If not for the donkey, I would have pierced you with the sword. So be grateful to her forever and ever!
But people's memory is short. Do not remember good deeds. And they pound the donkeys with sticks when they push back.
Although donkeys see and feel what a person does not notice.
Since those immemorial times, all descendants of Valaam's donkey are able to speak perfectly. They just don't show it. Learned by bitter experience.
The memory of three talkative donkeys is still fresh - only three hundred years have passed. They were then summoned as witnesses. And these simple-minded, honest animals, instead of keeping quiet, defended their mistresses in court, accused of flying on a broomstick.
The donkeys under oath told the pure truth: they say, they did not notice anything bad - no demons and witchcraft. And everyone is capable of flying on a broomstick if they wish. The hostesses were acquitted. However, the judges, after consulting, sentenced the witnesses for excessive eloquence. If a simple donkey thinks like a learned lawyer, then, of course, it was not without evil spirits! And they hung all three poor fellows by their feet on crooked trees.
Don't show that you can talk! - instructed the mother of the red donkey. - Better to tap the Morse code messages with your hoof - dot, dot, dash, dot. Or fold letters and words with your ears.
Fortunately, Shukhlik did not have time to talk. If he did not study, standing under the windows of the nearest school, then he jumped and galloped wherever he had to. I played with friends - Taka the goat and Mushuka the cat. He molested his beloved aunt, the cow Sigir. Or to a two-humped camel - Uncle Bactri. Sometimes he rolled the master's children, bucking up with an excess of feelings.
And the owner of Durda himself sat, like a clay idol, on a colorful rug among the black, like crows, Kumgan teapots, screwing up his eyes and snoring, dozing in the shade of a pyramidal poplar. Before him lay a slingshot and a pile of pebbles to scare birds off the apricot trees. He couldn’t choose the right stone.
The donkey used to want to talk to the owner. Find out what he drinks from a bowl, why he sweats, grunts and wipes his shiny bald head with a large, like a pillowcase, a handkerchief and, in general, how it is possible to sit in one place for so many hours in a row, legs and arms crossed. "Probably, the owner is punished and tormented," thought the donkey Shukhlik. . This is so unfair! "
And the donkey decided to stir up, to amuse the owner. He approached quietly from the side and shouted in the very ear: "Yo-go-ya-ya!"
Oh, what happened to the master of Durda! He jumped in place like a huge tree frog. He croaked, grunted, crowed. He knocked over all the teapots, broke the bowl. Finally he crawled under the rug and hid like an ordinary thick bump.
Shukhlik thought it was such a game - like hide and seek. He ran up and lightly kicked this hummock. And then the rug came to life! But it didn’t fly like a real flying carpet, but quickly glided along the ground to the door of the house. I hit the threshold with acceleration, and so it froze.
The hostess, returning from the bazaar, could not understand where the owner had disappeared. Always sat in one place, as if chained, and suddenly disappeared!
She stepped on the rug by the doorstep, taking off her shoes, and almost fell. The rug grunted, tore out from under his feet and rolled, curling up, on the melons, where it was quiet among melons and watermelons. For a long time then the hostess unfolded and reassured the owner.
Durdy did not understand who attacked him.
It seems to be some kind of shaitan, ”he whispered to the hostess. - Damn with hooves! - And he looked with suspicion at all the ungulates in the yard. Especially on the donkey - he did not take his eyes off him, followed every step, thinking how to take revenge.
It is not for nothing that the donkey mother gave her son such an affectionate name - Shukhlik, that is, playful, mischievous. In a word, a merry fellow. “His big head is filled with knowledge like a sack of oats,” she boasted.
There is as much strength in a strong body as in a hurricane wind. And light legs ask to dance. "
Aunt Sigir nodded, agreeing: "Moo-oo-moo-oo!" And uncle Bactri, regularly chewing on a camel thorn, muttered: "Funny Shukh-face. Only in vain does he scare the owner. The owner is not joking."
Alexander Dorofeev
Red Donkey or Transformations:
a book about a new life that is never too late to start
Dear reader!
In the East, there is a language of cryptography. Since ancient times, it has been used to write fairy tales and parables, each of which provides specific recommendations, exercises, instructions for self-knowledge and self-improvement.
Why is there a cryptography language?
On the one hand, so that each reader can understand for himself and adopt exactly what he is now ready for, and on the other hand, there is knowledge that, falling into the hands of people with primitive thinking, can become a terrible weapon.
In every fairy tale there is hidden secret knowledge hidden behind many veils. Opening one veil after another, a person learns the deep meaning hidden behind the outer form.
I have great trepidation and respect for those people who know how to write fairy tales, who know the great secret language - this is the language of children. To my greatest regret, in comparison with these writers, I feel like a Pithecanthropus.
Knowing my glaring underdevelopment, I had to turn to the storyteller, Alexander Dorofeev, a pure person who preserved a child's perception of the world, in order to prepare this book for you together with him.
If the Lord had rewarded me with the gift of knowing the magic language of children, I would never allow anyone to write this tale. I would have written it myself!
Alas, this award did not go to me, but still I am extremely glad that this book was born.
Sincerely yours, Mirzakarim Norbekov
First transformation
It is known that a donkey is recognized by its ears, and a fool by its speech. The red donkey Shukhlik was mostly silent. Only expressively, like deaf and dumb fingers, he moved his long ears, reminiscent of pointed slippers.
Although, if he had spoken, everyone would have understood how smart and educated this red donkey is. Perhaps the smartest donkey today. He read and counted, knew history, mathematics, astronomy, medicine. Probably could be a good teacher at school. But donkeys, like all true sages, are thoughtful and rarely speak. Only in extreme cases, when there is no longer the strength to remain silent, is it impossible to remain silent.
About three thousand years ago, the great-great-great-great-grandmother of the donkey Shukhlik was carrying its master, the soothsayer and the sorcerer Balaam, and suddenly she saw on the way a formidable Angel with a drawn sword. The donkey immediately turned intelligently into the field. However, Balaam, who was in a hurry for witchcraft, began to beat and urge the donkey, trying to get it back on the road. He didn't see the Angel, no obstacles at all.
The road narrowed. There are vineyards on one side, and an adobe wall on the other. And in the middle there is again a fiery Angel with a sparkling sword.
The donkey pressed against the wall, crushing Balaam's leg. And, of course, she got the first number - on the neck, on the sides, on the back and between the ears on the forehead. From resentment, as often happens, she was completely exhausted and lay down on the ground. And Balaam, inflamed, beat her with a stick.
And then the donkey could not stand it:
What have I done wrong to you? - said. - Why do I endure?
Yes, there would be an ax, I would hack to death! - exclaimed Balaam, without noticing the Angel. - For your stupid stubbornness!
Remember how long you traveled on me, ”the donkey sighed. - And have I let you down at least once?
But how to say, - thought Balaam, looking around.
And then at last I made out a dazzling Angel, like a lake under the morning sun. Balaam was horrified and fell to the ground, covering his face. And the angel of heaven bent over him, slapped him on the back of his head.
Your way, you fool, is false, ”he said in his ear,“ and I came to warn you. But you, like a thrice blind man, do not want to see what you do not believe in. If not for the donkey, I would have pierced you with the sword. So be grateful to her forever and ever!
But people's memory is short. Do not remember good deeds. And they pound the donkeys with sticks when they push back.
Although donkeys see and feel what a person does not notice.
Since those immemorial times, all descendants of Valaam's donkey are able to speak perfectly. They just don't show it. Learned by bitter experience.
The memory of three talkative donkeys is still fresh - only three hundred years have passed. They were then summoned as witnesses. And these simple-minded, honest animals, instead of keeping quiet, defended their mistresses in court, accused of flying on a broomstick.
The donkeys under oath told the pure truth: they say, they did not notice anything bad - no demons and witchcraft. And everyone is capable of flying on a broomstick if they wish. The hostesses were acquitted. However, the judges, after consulting, sentenced the witnesses for excessive eloquence. If a simple donkey thinks like a learned lawyer, then, of course, it was not without evil spirits! And they hung all three poor fellows by their feet on crooked trees.
Don't show that you can talk! - instructed the mother of the red donkey. - Better to tap the Morse code messages with your hoof - dot, dot, dash, dot. Or fold letters and words with your ears.
Fortunately, Shukhlik did not have time to talk. If he did not study, standing under the windows of the nearest school, then he jumped and galloped wherever he had to. I played with friends - Taka the goat and Mushuka the cat. He molested his beloved aunt, the cow Sigir. Or to a two-humped camel - Uncle Bactri. Sometimes he rolled the master's children, bucking up with an excess of feelings.
And the owner of Durda himself sat, like a clay idol, on a colorful rug among the black, like crows, Kumgan teapots, screwing up his eyes and snoring, dozing in the shade of a pyramidal poplar. Before him lay a slingshot and a pile of pebbles to scare birds off the apricot trees. He couldn’t choose the right stone.
The donkey used to want to talk to the owner. Find out what he drinks from a bowl, why he sweats, grunts and wipes his shiny bald head with a large, like a pillowcase, a handkerchief and, in general, how it is possible to sit in one place for so many hours in a row, legs and arms crossed. "Probably, the owner is punished and tormented," thought the donkey Shukhlik. . This is so unfair! "
And the donkey decided to stir up, to amuse the owner. He approached quietly from the side and shouted in the very ear: "Yo-go-ya-ya!"
Oh, what happened to the master of Durda! He jumped in place like a huge tree frog. He croaked, grunted, crowed. He knocked over all the teapots, broke the bowl. Finally he crawled under the rug and hid like an ordinary thick bump.
Shukhlik thought it was such a game - like hide and seek. He ran up and lightly kicked this hummock. And then the rug came to life! But it didn’t fly like a real flying carpet, but quickly glided along the ground to the door of the house. I hit the threshold with acceleration, and so it froze.
The hostess, returning from the bazaar, could not understand where the owner had disappeared. Always sat in one place, as if chained, and suddenly disappeared!
She stepped on the rug by the doorstep, taking off her shoes, and almost fell. The rug grunted, tore out from under his feet and rolled, curling up, on the melons, where it was quiet among melons and watermelons. For a long time then the hostess unfolded and reassured the owner.
Durdy did not understand who attacked him.
It seems to be some kind of shaitan, ”he whispered to the hostess. - Damn with hooves! - And he looked with suspicion at all the ungulates in the yard. Especially on the donkey - he did not take his eyes off him, followed every step, thinking how to take revenge.
It is not for nothing that the donkey mother gave her son such an affectionate name - Shukhlik, that is, playful, mischievous. In a word, a merry fellow. “His big head is filled with knowledge like a sack of oats,” she boasted.
There is as much strength in a strong body as in a hurricane wind. And light legs ask to dance. "
Aunt Sigir nodded, agreeing: "Moo-oo-moo-oo!" And uncle Bactri, regularly chewing on a camel thorn, muttered: "Funny Shukh-face. Only in vain does he scare the owner. The owner is not joking."
And Shukhlik rejoiced all day long that the sun was shining, the grass was green or that it was raining. That he, Shukhlik, wakes up at dawn and lives and lives until the evening, and then sleeps next to his mother until the next morning. And around there are other living creatures that walk, fly, crawl, chirp, hum, hum and sing. And as it is clear, every twig, blade of grass, bug or cobweb is clearly visible.
The night beauties - butterflies - parvons have already fluttered. So, it's time to close your eyes and see dreams, as cheerful as the past day, as mysterious as the day to come. He understood that the whole world was created for him, Shukhlik. Oh, and how he smiled - so that the ears converged at the back of his head and hugged like siblings, and then jumped, almost flying off his head, like two red pheasants. He loved everything and everyone so much that every time before going to bed he sang songs of thanks. "Ya-ya-ya! - shouted with all his might, as if blowing into a golden pipe. - Yo-yo-yo! Yoo-yu-yu!"
The owner of Durda shuddered on his rug, turned the bowl upside down and went into the house, from where, like an endless plaintive chant, his snoring, reminiscent of both aunt Sigir's humming, and the roar of Uncle Bactri, and the bleating of his friend Tak, would come. However, none of them could make out what this night master's song was about. Although there was resentment and even a threat in her.
Only the cat Mushuka, who knew how to penetrate dreams, purred in secret that the master of Durda was dreaming.
Believe me, friends, as soon as he snores, he immediately begins to catch the shaitan! And that would be fine, but that shaitan is very reminiscent of our donkey, our Shukhlik.
Black pit
When the red donkey was three years old, the donkey mother said:
You know, dear, anything happens in life.
Promise me that you will never be discouraged, and you will remain the same cheerful and healthy - no matter what happens!
Shukhlik could not imagine what such incidents could change his character. What will make him not sing songs, not enjoy life?
I am ready for you into fire and water, my Shukhlik, ”my mother sighed. “But you've grown so much, so strong that we might be torn apart.
Shukhlik did not understand this word. What is separating ?! "Luch" sounded nice, but "one" - not very much.
Well, we will be divided, separated, and we will go on different roads, - sobbed the donkey mother.
No, it seemed so wild and impossible, like, for example, the Sigir cow with two humps or the Bactri camel with horns!
The donkey Shukhlik just tried to imagine himself apart from the donkey mother, as if he immediately collapsed into a huge, but cramped black pit, where he could not see anything, it was stuffy and his legs gave way, and tears came from his eyes.
He frantically shook his head and tasselled tail. "Well, everything is fine - mom is nearby, and there is no black hole. It was so, it is and it should always be!" - Shukhlik decided. But you never know what a donkey, even a very smart one, will decide for himself. Each donkey has owners. The fate of any domestic donkey depends on them.
The owner of Durda did not forget the kick with his hoof and the trip to the melon in the rug. I really wanted to find out who arranged all this. From uncle Bactri, from aunt Sigir and from the cat Mushuki did not get anything.
Then he took up Taka's goat. He invited me to sit next to him on the rug. I combed his beard and treated him to halva.
You can keep quiet, - whispered the owner of Durda. - Just nod or blink, you are my good goat, as the shaitan approaches.
And so Taka, unwillingly, spoke up by the owner, and nodded and blinked when the donkey Shuhlik galloped by.
Aha! - exclaimed the owner of Durda. - I knew! I guessed it! - And in the heat of the moment he kicked the goat so that it flew into a corner behind the barn and bleated bitterly for a long time. Taka did not want to betray Shukhlik, but somehow it worked out by itself. In general, a lot in life seems to happen by itself, if you do not feel and do not think what is good and what is bad.
Of course, the owner of Durda was not some notorious villain or a highwayman. But too proud, touchy and rancorous, like many not very smart people.
On New Year's Eve, cold fluff fell from low gray clouds. The donkey Shukhlik saw snow for the first time - in these places it rarely falls - and galloped around the yard from end to end, drawing with his hooves the constellation of the Winged Donkey, which is better known as the Bird of Paradise.
Only a little bit remained, a couple more stars, when the owner of Durda approached him, in a new striped dressing gown, holding in his hands a rope harness and a beautiful, also striped, blanket.
The donkey thought that this was a special clothing for the snowy time, and willingly put his back. But the owner first girded his face with ropes, and put a metal sour pin in his mouth, which was not very pleasant. Then he threw in a blanket and buttoned the buttons on his chest. Shukhlik stood obediently and patiently, like a schoolboy trying on his first suit. But the donkey mother, tied to a tree, immediately suspected that something was wrong.
Shukhlik! she called. - Son! Look me in the eyes!
The donkey looked and made out such a tearful melancholy and such a cold, as a blizzard, confusion that his heart was numb and his legs became cottony, although they rested, sliding on the snow, while Durdy was dragging the bridle from the yard.
He heard his mother tapping her hooves: "Farewell, beloved Shukhlik! You are the best donkey in the world! Do not forget about this and remember me!"
Shukhlik did not know how they got to the crowded, noisy and fragrant bazaar. Everything around was gray, pale, as if covered with fog. It seemed that this was a terrible, wild dream, which not even he, Shukhlik, sees, but someone tells him in an ominous whisper. And from this story - trembling and chills in the whole body.
The owner of Durda pulled him along the endless rows of markets - raisins, onions, grapes, rice and cabbage. We passed the flat cake row. Apple. Pomegranate and nutty. Broom. Turkey and chicken. We got to the cell row, where on the counters were large, like pumpkins, cells covered with colored scarves.
Shukhlik noticed nothing. I just saw my mother's eyes and plunged into them, as if into a black, endless, like space, abyss.
The owner was talking to someone, bargaining, praising the donkey - how smart, strong, smart and funny he is! The devil from the snuff box! One word - shaitan!
I would never give it up, - he clicked his tongue. - Yes, I promised the children a gift for the New Year! Asked for a five-speed bike!
“Yes, I’m better than a bicycle!” Shukhlik wanted to shout, like his ancient grandmother Valaam's donkey once did.
I have more speeds! "But the iron pin in my mouth got in the way, and a donkey, desperate:" Oya-ya-ya! "
Someone's hands were feeling the stomach and sides, someone was looking at the teeth. They tapped their hooves, blew in their ears, and even twisted their tail.
And the donkey, drooping his head, stared at the white snow, which was melting as quickly as that unfortunate day. “I’m probably very bad,” Shukhlik reproached himself. “I’m probably the worst ass! Otherwise, why would the owner sell me?”
Highly! Highly! - nodded Durdy. - Wherever you look, solid darmon power! Such a strong man! A real half-war hero! And what a skin! Red - red, like the morning sun! This is not a donkey, but pure zar - pure gold! I want for him, besides the bicycle and the nightingale, two more poods of raisins.
In the end, when it was already getting dark, and the snow underfoot completely disappeared, mixed with black mud, a buyer was found. Oblique and small, barely taller than Shukhlik.
In a fox hat with a tail on the side. He looks like a fat primitive monkey that will never, for anything in the world, turn into a man. Nothing good was expected from this buyer with a sparse beard and a crooked stick in his fist. As soon as Shukhlik looked at him, his stomach skipped a beat and felt cold, as if he had swallowed a piece of ice.
Here is your new owner - Mr. Maymun-Talovchi! - And Durdy deceitfully, like Judas, hugged the donkey. - Serve him faithfully, and we will miss you. - And loudly slapped on the back, so that Shukhlik shuddered all over.
These words with a slap seemed to completely cut off, cut off the old life. He saw the courtyard where he was born. Sad mother under the pyramidal poplar Good-natured aunt Sigir and strict uncle Kaktoi between whose humps the cat Mvshuka slept, purring. And the cheerful Shukhlik, jumping and galloping on the first snow- Was he really that donkey in the morning? Everything near and dear drifted away so quickly, dissolving in the twilight! Further and further! And already barely noticeable, as if looking from the bottom of a deep black pit.
And it's not that Shukhlik fell into this pit. No, the black pit itself, like a poisonous karakurt spider, crawled inside, into the very heart. And she had already put the former Shukhlik to sleep, turned him into a pitiful, trembling donkey without a name.
The new owner Maymun-Talovchi chased him with a stick, shouting.
Hey, how are you there? Wider step, lazy people! So I will call it - Tanb "al-lazyr. Yes, I will not be lazy! Work from morning to evening, Tanbal! And if you are stubborn, I will make a kebab from you."
The red donkey barely moved his legs and stumbled after a step, not distinguishing grooves, stones and bumps through the tears.
Heavy name
So the red-haired donkey, the former mischievous Shukhlik, had a new name - heavy and gloomy, like a rainy day - Tanbal! As if at first they slapped one ear - tan! And immediately in a different way - the ball!
And life immediately began hard and stormy, to match the new name.
When they left the bazaar, Maymun-Talovchi roughly pulled the bridle, braking the donkey. But I could have just said, "Wait a minute, brother." But can you expect human treatment from such a monkey?
The donkey raised its head and looked reproachfully. Yes, such views are in vain - they will not understand anything, if there is no soul, no conscience. However, maybe this is the same thing - soul and conscience? Or shameless souls meet?
So the red donkey pondered and did not immediately notice that right in the middle of the street behind the old man in a skullcap was wandering dejectedly, with a clubfoot bear in a rope muzzle. True, to the bazaar - to make people laugh.
The bear was gray for some reason. The wool on the sides is frayed. And he walked, shaking his head, so humbly, so humbly, like an old, old beaten donkey. It seemed that the bear had long forgotten who he really was, and waved his paw at everything. Is it all the same? What's the difference - maybe it's a donkey! Even the dogs barked at him listlessly, wondering if it was a bear.
“Oh, no!” The donkey was frightened. “If I forget about Shukhli-ke, if I forget who I am, I will certainly disappear! the bottom of the black pit. "
He was so thoughtful that Maymun-Talovchi hit him with a stick several times, forcing him to go.
For a long time they zigzagged along narrow, crooked and dark streets, squeezed by blank adobe walls, as if through a labyrinth, from which they would never get out. Thorny, like a porcupine, longing took possession of the donkey, although he resisted as best he could. However, he hunched over, drooped all over and hung his ears like withered lettuce leaves. He even swayed from wall to wall.
Longing turned out to be powerful and won, turning him into a sufferer and a wretched person. Anyone who did not know Shukhlik before would say now that this is the poorest, miserable and stupid donkey in the whole world.
And why did I buy you, such a fool? - grumbled Maymun-Talovchi. “You, Tanbal, are not just a quitter, you are also a malevolent dumbass! A stubborn lazy person or a lazy stubborn person is all one. Well, yes, my wife will knock the donkey's nonsense out of you - you will be silk, like her trousers.
Oh! This name - Tanbal - was bent to the ground! It was as if a block of stone had been piled on the back, and a wife in trousers had perched on top of it.
The owner opened a tiny but thick wood door in the wall and drove the donkey into the courtyard, filled with cages, in which, it seemed, sat and darted from side to side red hats with tails, exactly the same as on the head of Maimun- Talovchi, only as long as they are alive. A sharp unfamiliar animal smell spread across the yard, so that the donkey woke up for a while from his bitter thoughts.
His longing was very strong, but the one that flowed from these cells - much stronger! Hopeless and gloomy, like an incurable disease. She barked and squealed, this melancholy. She looked through the iron nets with black, frightened fox eyes.
Here is my farm! Profitable! - Maymun-Talovchi grinned. - By the way, you, donkey, are as red as these foxes! If you work badly, Tanbal, I will skin you off. If not for a hat, it will do for chuyaki.
An aunt came out of the house - long, long and thin, thin, like a whip. The hostess, judging by the silk trousers. And she spoke so piercingly, sharply, as if she was whipping and stinging with a whip.
Who is this worthless freak ?! Where did you, imbecile, pick him up? What dump? It can be seen that he is not an employee. In a month will die!
What are you, precious Chiyon? - answered the owner, involuntarily squatting and shivering, like hamadryas at the sight of a crocodile. - Very strong young donkey! Indispensable for our streets, where neither a tractor nor a dump truck will pass. Will carry stones for a new home. Yes, for you, my golden reed, in a month I will build a palace with the help of this donkey. And then let it freeze ...
Mistress Chiyong waved her hand, so the wind picked up - her trousers swelled like the hood of a spectacled cobra, and caged foxes froze in the corners.
Tie him tight. Take off your blanket! What kind of pampering - a donkey in a blanket ?! I'll sew a robe out of it.
The donkey found itself in a cramped nook between the fox cages. Stripped and poorly fed. With tangled legs. So scolded, intimidated and lonely that I wanted to die in spite of the new owners right now, and not in a month.
The foxes were busy and quietly whispering about something of their own. Under this whisper, he was forgotten by a heavy, alarming, like the whole past day, sleep. For the first time without a song of thanks. And he shuddered in his sleep, remembering the blows of the stick. And he cried, frightened by the terrible, like black scorpions, names - Maymun-Talovchi, Chiyon, Tanbal. Arched with poisonous tails, they advanced from all directions until dawn.
In the early morning, when the clouds in the east had barely turned pink, and it was so quiet and calm in the heavens that nothing bad was expected on earth, the owner left the house, and immediately it became worse all over the world.
Maymun-Talovchi stretched himself, cleared his throat hoarsely, like a rooster with a cold. He threw a bunch of hard woody grass to the donkey. He untangled his legs, loaded two huge baskets, and drove him out of the yard, poking at the scruff of the neck with a deliberately sharpened stick. It hurt more than a scorpion bite. Or rather a thousand bites from a thousand scorpions! Because the owner, urging him on, pricked continuously so that Tanbal would not hesitate, carrying heavy stones from a distant quarry faster and faster.
So he wandered until noon, laden with baskets, along narrow streets and along a muddy road, where his legs buckled like aspen twigs, parting in the clay.
Finally, the owner Maymun-Talovchi went to dinner at the house. And the donkey got three pitiful wilted bunches - it's even difficult to say whether the grass. And again it was dark behind the stones, which were getting heavier and heavier - over and over, hour after hour. Moreover, the owner himself climbed onto his back from time to time.
Probably, this is a special punishment for the worst donkeys in the world, thought Shukhlik, falling asleep at night in his cubbyhole next to the foxes, as if falling into the same deep and hopeless pit. Better to stay in this blackness forever - if only no one touches! "
However, immediately - it seemed as if a minute had not passed - his master woke him up.
Stop sleeping, brainless Tanbal! The sun is already rising!
This donkey could only snore! - the sleepy mistress Chiyon appeared in such wide trousers, which could easily fit a dozen melons and watermelons. - What a husband, what a donkey - have a bite on the side!
Today both are without lunch - maybe you will be quicker!
After these words, the gloomy rhino owner Maimun-Talovchi chased the donkey even more painfully, viciously hitting the open wound on the nape with a sharp stick. And the stones were loaded so that the baskets could hardly stand, grunt with their last strength.
“Oh-oh!” The red donkey sighed to himself. “My eyes wouldn’t look at all this!” And the eyes really obeyed - they refused to look. Every day they saw it worse. So, some kind of gray fog, indistinct, vague shadows.
Perhaps only one thing supported the donkey - stubbornness. He became so stubborn and intractable that even Maymun-Talovchi sometimes got lost, not knowing what to do with him. No blows helped. The red donkey fell on its back, overturning the baskets, from which the stones were rolling out, thundering, and so jerked its hooves - do not come near!
He was disgusted with himself. But what else remains for the exhausted, downtrodden donkey? Talk like Balaam's donkey? But the owners will not understand the human words anyway, and the Angel with the sword is unlikely to appear to them.
In general, Shukhlik got another name - Kaisar, which means, of course, stubborn. Also, the name is not easy.
Fox Tulki, or Open Animals Day
How many stones were transported by Tanbal-Kaisar - and not to count! In any case, much more than those stars that were visible in the sky from his tiny enclosure. For a long time he had not noticed the constellation of the Winged Donkey.
And how many wild, terrible and disgustingly miserable days he lived, carrying stones ?! It seemed so much impossible to live. There seemed to be much more of them than the stars in the whole sky.
However, what kind of sky is there, what kind of stars are there ?!
The red donkey did not want to think about anything. And he couldn't. My head was as empty as my stomach. Guts, however, muttered about something sadly, talked. The liver ached and sobbed like a small child.
The lungs wheezed, complaining. And the spine creaked like a pyramidal poplar in a hurricane wind. In addition, an unhealed wound constantly sore on my neck, like a reproach.
One warm spring night, when smells fly, run, creep from all over the free world, telling how he, this world, is good, the red donkey woke up, hearing a quick whisper:
Hey buddy, isn't it time for us to fly away, run away or crawl away - away from here?
At first, he decided that it was one of his intestines negotiating with the other to escape from his own belly. Although the donkey was weak, he was indifferent, but nevertheless he was indignant. Another thing was missing - a conspiracy of guts! You could have consulted with him for a start! Still, not outsiders!
Hey buddy you're really bad, you won't last long here! the whisper came again. - Yes, and we will be left without skins from day to day!
The red-haired donkey did not yet understand where this quick lisping little voice came from. Does the spine whisper?
Well, you can't really be such a donkey! Look - it's me, your neighbor, Tulky the fox!
Indeed, like black grapes through a metal mesh, the fox's eyes sparkled from the cage on the left. This fox Tulky used to talk to the donkey about life from time to time - they say, how is it free, how is it breathing, what news? What could the poor donkey, dragging stones along the same road, from morning to evening, like a convict, could answer!
But at night, the fox, sighing every minute, talked a lot about his past free life. Like diving in the desert, catching mice and lizards, frogs and grasshoppers. “Oh, what air is there!” The foxes Tulki squealed. “I want to drink, lick and bite this air! So fragrant, not like here in a cage. And I was resting at that happy time, climbing into cozy holes of gophers or bobaks. And Once, at sunset, among the pink thickets of tamarisk, I met a little fox named Korea. Oh, how I dreamed of spending the rest of my life with her, raising foxes! Yes, here, like an old stupid quail, I got caught in the snare of the thrice-damned Maimun-Talovchi! Now do not demolish the skins! "
In this place the fox Tulki usually began to yelp doomedly - with a slight, barely perceptible howl. He was echoed from other cells by the rest of the foxes and foxes, complaining about the lost fate.