The boy and his grandfather lived in a forest cordon. There were three women in the cordon: grandmother, aunt Bekey - grandfather's daughter and wife of the main man in the cordon, the patrolman Orozkul, and also the wife of an auxiliary worker Seidakhmat. Aunt Bekey is the most unhappy in the world, because she has no children, for this Orozkul beats her intoxicated. Grandfather Momun was nicknamed the agile Momun. He earned such a nickname for his unchanging friendliness, his willingness to always serve. He knew how to work. And his son-in-law, Orozkul, although he was listed as the chief, mostly traveled around the guests. Momun went after cattle, kept an apiary. All my life from morning to evening at work, and I have not learned to force myself to respect.

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

The boy loved to climb the neighboring mountain and look at Issyk-Kul through his grandfathers' binoculars. Towards evening, appeared on the lake white steamer... With pipes in a row, long, powerful, beautiful. The boy dreamed of becoming a fish, so that only his head would remain his own, on a thin neck, large, with protruding ears. He will sail and say to his father, the sailor: "Hello, dad, I am your son." He will tell, of course, how he lives with Momun. The best grandfather, but not at all cunning, and therefore everyone laughs at him. And Orozkul just shouts!

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

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

The children grew up and got married. The woman's childbirth began, she suffered. The man got scared, began to call the mother deer. And then an iridescent ringing was heard from afar. The horned mother deer brought a baby cradle on her horns - beshik. And on the bow of the beshik, a silver bell rang. And immediately a woman was born. They named their firstborn in honor of the deer mother - Bugubai. From him came the clan Bugu.

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

Autumn has come again in the mountains. Along with the summer, Orozkul was leaving the time of visiting the shepherds and herdsmen - the time had come to pay for the offerings. Together with Momun, they dragged two pine logs through the mountains, and that is why Orozkul was angry with the whole world. He would have to settle down in the city, they know how to respect a person. Cultured people ... And for the fact that they received a gift, then there is no need to carry the logs. But the state farm is visited by the police, the inspection - well, how will they ask where the forest is from and where. At this thought, anger towards everything and everyone boiled up in Orozkul. I wanted to beat my wife, but the house was far away. Then this grandfather saw the marals and almost came to tears, as if he had met his brothers.

And when it was very close to the cordon, they finally quarreled with the old man: he kept asking for his grandson, taking him out of school for a walk. It came to the point that he threw the stuck logs in the river and rode off after the boy. It didn't even help that Orozkul hit him on the head a couple of times - he broke free, spat blood and left.

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

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

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

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

Soon they all sat down at the table. The boy was sick all the time. He heard drunken people chomping, gnawing, sniffing, devouring the meat of the mother deer. And then Saydakhmat told how he forced his grandfather to shoot the deer: he intimidated that otherwise Orozkul would drive him out.

And the boy decided that he would become a fish and never return to the mountains. He went down to the river. And stepped right into the water ...

Chingiz Torekulovich Aitmatov

White steamer

White steamer
Chingiz Torekulovich Aitmatov

The action takes place in a remote forest cordon, high in the mountains, far from inhabited places. A seven-year-old boy, the granddaughter of old Momun, lives alone among adults, without friends, without a mother and father; he is "abandoned". Only his grandfather Momun loves and pity him - kind, but weak-willed, weak-willed. But a drunkard, a fighter and a despot of the entire village of Orozkul hates and despises a defenseless kid. He mocks both his grandfather and his wife ...

Chingiz Aitmatov

White steamboat

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

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

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

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

The only boy in all three courtyards, he was always the first to notice the shop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Has arrived! The shop car has arrived!

The women were alarmed. We rushed to look for the hidden money. And they jumped out, overtaking one another. Grandma - and she praised him:

- Here we have what big-eyed!

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

However, his words had little effect on women. At first they grabbed everything, then they began to choose, then return what they had taken away. They put off, tried on, argued, doubted, asked dozens of times about the same thing. One thing they didn’t like, the other was expensive, the third had the wrong color ... The boy stood aside. He got bored. The expectation of something extraordinary disappeared, the joy that he experienced when he saw a car shop on the mountain disappeared. The shop suddenly turned into an ordinary car, filled with a bunch of various rubbish.

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

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

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

“I know myself,” Aunt Bekey cut shortly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were silent.

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

The boy nodded back.

- Are you a grandson?

- Yes. The boy nodded again.

“Where’s your mother?”

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

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

- I do not know.

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

White steamer

The boy and his grandfather lived in a forest cordon. There were three women in the cordon: grandmother, aunt Bekey - grandfather's daughter and wife of the main man in the cordon, the patrolman Orozkul, and also the wife of an auxiliary worker Seidakhmat. Aunt Bekey is the most unhappy in the world, because she has no children, for this Orozkul beats her intoxicated. Grandfather Momun was nicknamed the agile Momun. He earned such a nickname for his unchanging friendliness, his willingness to always serve. He knew how to work. And his son-in-law, Orozkul, although he was listed as the chief, mostly traveled around the guests. Momun went after cattle, kept an apiary. All my life from morning to evening at work, and I have not learned to force myself to respect.

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

The boy loved to climb the neighboring mountain and look at Issyk-Kul through his grandfathers' binoculars. Towards evening, a white steamer appeared on the lake. With pipes in a row, long, powerful, beautiful. The boy dreamed of becoming a fish, so that only his head would remain his own, on a thin neck, large, with protruding ears. He will sail and say to his father, the sailor: "Hello, dad, I am your son." He will tell, of course, how he lives with Momun. The best grandfather, but not at all cunning, and therefore everyone laughs at him. And Orozkul just shouts!

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

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

The children grew up and got married. The woman's childbirth began, she suffered. The man got scared, began to call the mother deer. And then an iridescent ringing was heard from afar. The horned mother deer brought a baby cradle on her horns - beshik. And on the bow of the beshik, a silver bell rang. And immediately a woman was born. They named their firstborn in honor of the deer mother - Bugubai. From him came the clan Bugu.

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

Autumn has come again in the mountains. Along with the summer, Orozkul was leaving the time of visiting the shepherds and herdsmen - the time had come to pay for the offerings. Together with Momun, they dragged two pine logs through the mountains, and that is why Orozkul was angry with the whole world. He would have to settle down in the city, they know how to respect a person. Cultured people ... And for the fact that they received a gift, then there is no need to carry the logs. But the state farm is visited by the police, the inspection - well, how will they ask where the forest is from and where. At this thought, anger towards everything and everyone boiled up in Orozkul. I wanted to beat my wife, but the house was far away. Then this grandfather saw the marals and almost came to tears, as if he had met his brothers.

And when it was very close to the cordon, they finally quarreled with the old man: he kept asking for his grandson, taking him out of school for a walk. It came to the point that he threw the stuck logs in the river and rode off after the boy. It didn't even help that Orozkul hit him on the head a couple of times - he broke free, spat blood and left.

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

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

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

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

Soon they all sat down at the table. The boy was sick all the time. He heard drunken people chomping, gnawing, sniffing, devouring the meat of the mother deer. And then Saydakhmat told how he forced his grandfather to shoot the deer: he intimidated that otherwise Orozkul would drive him out. And the boy decided that he would become a fish and never return to the mountains. He went down to the river. And stepped right into the water ...

Current page: 1 (total of the book has 8 pages) [available passage for reading: 2 pages]

Chingiz Aitmatov
White steamboat

1

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

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

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

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

The only boy in all three courtyards, he was always the first to notice the shop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Has arrived! The shop car has arrived!

The women were alarmed. We rushed to look for the hidden money. And they jumped out, overtaking one another. Grandma - and she praised him:

- Here we have what big-eyed!

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

However, his words had little effect on women. At first they grabbed everything, then they began to choose, then return what they had taken away. They put off, tried on, argued, doubted, asked dozens of times about the same thing. One thing they didn’t like, the other was expensive, the third had the wrong color ... The boy stood aside. He got bored. The expectation of something extraordinary disappeared, the joy that he experienced when he saw a car shop on the mountain disappeared. The shop suddenly turned into an ordinary car, filled with a bunch of various rubbish.

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

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

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

“I know myself,” Aunt Bekey cut shortly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were silent.

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

The boy nodded back.

- Are you a grandson?

- Yes. The boy nodded again.

“Where’s your mother?”

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

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

- I do not know.

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

The boy was silent.

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

The boy was shy.

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

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

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

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

Old man Momun, whom many-wise people called Agile Momun, was known by everyone in the district, and he knew everyone. Momun earned such a nickname for his invariable friendliness to everyone he knew in the slightest degree, his willingness to always do something for anyone, to serve anyone. And, however, no one appreciated his diligence, just as gold would not be appreciated if they suddenly began to distribute it for free. No one treated Momun with the respect that people of his age enjoy. They treated him easily. It happened that at the great commemoration of some noble elder from the Bugu tribe - and Momun was a Bugin native, he was very proud of this and never missed the commemoration of his fellow tribesmen - he was instructed to slaughter cattle, meet honored guests and help them get off the saddle, serve tea, and then chop wood, carry water. Isn't there a little trouble at large commemorations, where there are so many guests from different sides? Everything that Momun was entrusted with, he did quickly and easily, and most importantly, he did not shirk like the others. Young women from ail, who had to receive and feed this huge horde of guests, watching how Momun managed his work, said:

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

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

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

That was how he was, Smart Momun!

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

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

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

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

What a beard - and that did not work out. One laughingstock. On a bare chin, two or three reddish hairs - that's the whole beard.

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

And Momun was not like that. He was an eccentric and was treated like an eccentric.

One could greatly offend Momun: forget to invite him to the council of relatives on arranging someone's commemoration ... At this point he was deeply offended and seriously upset, but not because he was bypassed - he still did not decide anything at the councils, only attended - but because the fulfillment of an ancient duty was violated.

Momun had his own troubles and sorrows, from which he suffered, from which he cried at night. Outsiders knew almost nothing about this. And their people knew.

When Momun saw his grandson near the shop, he immediately realized that the boy was upset about something. But since the seller is a visiting person, the old man first turned to him. He quickly jumped off the saddle, extended both hands to the seller at once.

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

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

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

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

- Tell me! - the seller interrupted him. - I know you, stinking beys. Sit in the mountains, land, hay as much as you want. Forests all around - you can't go around in three days. Do you keep cattle? Do you keep an apiary? And to give a penny - press. Buy here a silk blanket sewing machine left alone ...

“Honestly, there is no such money,” Momun defended.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was an awkward pause.

“Don't be offended, dear,” Momun spoke up again. - In the fall, God willing, we will sell potatoes ...

- It's far from autumn.

- Well, if so, do not blame me. For God's sake, come in and have some tea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he felt a sudden squeeze in his throat, and acutely felt the thinness of his grandfather, the familiar smell of his clothes. He smelled of dry hay and the sweat of a hard-working man. Loyal, reliable, dear, perhaps the only person in the world who doted on the soul of a boy, was such a simple, eccentric old man, whom the clever people called the Smart Momun ... So what? Whatever it is, but it's good that you still have your own grandfather.

The boy himself did not suspect that his joy would be so great. Until now, he had not thought about school. Until now, he only saw children going to school - there, beyond the mountains, in the Issyk-Kul villages, where he and his grandfather went to the commemoration of the noble Bugin old people. And from that moment on, the boy did not part with his briefcase. Rejoicing and boasting, he immediately ran around all the inhabitants of the cordon. First I showed my grandmother - so, they say, my grandfather bought! - then to Aunt Bekey - she, too, was delighted with the briefcase and praised the boy himself.

Rarely is Aunt Bekey in a good mood. More often - gloomy and irritated - she does not notice her nephew. She has no time for him. She has her troubles. Grandma says: if she had children, she would be a completely different woman. And Orozkul, her husband, would also be a different person. Then Momun's grandfather would have been a different person, and not what he is. Although he had two daughters - aunt Bekey and even the boy's mother, the youngest daughter - it is still bad, bad, when there are no children of his own; it’s even worse when children don’t have children. That's what the grandmother says. Understand her ...

After aunt Bekey, the boy ran to show the purchase to young Guljamal and her daughter. And from here he set out on haymaking to Seidakhmat. Again he ran past the red stone "Camel", and again there was no time to pat him on the hump, past the "Saddle", past the "Wolf" and "Tank", and then everything along the coast, along the path, through the sea buckthorn bush, then along the long swath in the meadow he ran to Seidakhmat.

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

And with the beginning of mowing, Seidakhmat tightened it up. The day before yesterday, my grandfather swore at him. “Last winter,” he says, “I did not feel sorry for you, but for the cattle. That is why he shared the hay. If you are counting on my old man's hay again, then tell me right away, I will mow for you. " It penetrated, in the morning Seidakhmat was waving a scythe.

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

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

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

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

- How to what? To the farmhouse.

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

- My grandfather said he would take me on a horse.

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

The boy was silent, puzzled.

- Yes, I am so, for a laugh! - explained Seidakhmat.

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

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

- Don't bother!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- What are you, where are you from?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The only boy in all three courtyards, he was always the first to notice the shop.

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

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

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

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

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

The boy ran quickly, jumping over the bushes and running around the boulders, if he was not able to jump them, and did not linger anywhere for a second - neither near tall grasses, nor near stones, although he knew that they were not at all simple. They could be offended and even substitute their legs. “The shop car has arrived. I’ll come later, ”he threw to the“ Lying Camel ”as he walked. This is what he called the red hunchbacked granite that sank into the ground up to his chest. Usually the boy did not pass by without patting his "Camel" on the hump. He clapped him in a businesslike way, like the grandfather of his bobtail gelding - so, casually, walking; You, they say, wait, and I will be absent here on business. He had a saddle boulder - half white, half black, piebald stone with a saddle, where one could sit astride a horse. There was also a stone "Wolf" - very similar to a wolf, brown, with gray hair, with a powerful nape and a heavy forehead. He crawled up to him and took aim. But the most beloved stone is "Tank", an indestructible block near the river on a washed-out bank. So wait, "Tank" will rush from the bank and go, and the river will gurgle, boil with white breakers.