Autumn's bright and frosty garden on shelves. Beneath the leafless apple trees, along the row of apple trees, piles of khasham are smoking, two torches straight like candles are flaming with reddened pear leaves, the only belated sunflower hangs its head. A bird on a bare apple tree has found its last apple and is pecking with delight. The dried leaves of the simindra rustle softly in the light wind.
The old man takes out and throws the sticks, which are useless now because they are facing empty branches. Slowly and tenderly, the old man takes out and throws the sticks under the stone fence, comes to take out new sticks. And then, as if a little distant and deaf, the old man hears the chirping of the bird that has found the last apple, looks up for a long time and, finally, seems to make an effort to remember something.
The old man takes out the matches, takes them to the pile under the wall.
A tree branch rubs against the old man's neck. He caresses the old man's neck and, with the touch of his fingers, he sees for a moment.
A seven-eight-year-old boy-child, with a bowl in his hand, on his knees, jumps out from under the tent towards the sun, where a seven-eight-year-old girl-child is standing and laughing.
One hand lightly pushes the neck of the boy coming out from under the tent, on the threshold, in the sun, splashes the white butter, the girl-child laughs and takes the bowl to her mouth, the boy rubs his neck and looks back, one of the Jahel women near the tent is smiling in the shadow inside.
Under the apple tree, the old man lowers his hand from his neck, the muffled sound of the memory stick fades, the old man mutters as if to a vision:
- Oh my!
The old man takes out the matches, throws them on the pile.
The old man shakes the pears, the leaf falls, and with the shaking he hears an ancient rustle.
The old man lights the fire of the pear trees, now all the leaf piles in the garden are smoking, the vines are swaying, the old man approaches the stem of the cypress tree, slows down and listens.
They rustle the dried leaves of simindra. the rustle intensifies, the old man sees with wide open eyes.
Now rustling the "wall" of the standing simindri field, Sona, alarmed and careful, almost rubbing against the "wall", comes and stops, comes quickly and carefully and stops.
The vision has not yet passed. an old man stands by a dry stem and looks with sadness and happiness. There is not enough air, the old man moves his lips - there is no sound. And leaving the withered stem of the cypress, the old man rises to the reaper, the vine of the reaper's door.
The piles of khasham are smoking, the only belated sunflower is swaying silently. the dry stem of the simindar is flapping in the light wind, the garden door is singing softly with the lullaby, the thin stream is silent under the khasham-
The old man sits on the edge of a dry stream, under a limestone rock through which the thin bed of the stream passes. And as soon as he sits down, the girl drinking the buttermilk throws the rest in the face of the boy giving the buttermilk, the boy wipes his eyes, and the girl, putting the bowl down, runs away.
The old man wipes his face with bliss.
The girl throws away the remaining buttermilk and runs away. The back-beating hair is very close, the boy's hand seems to reach, then they leave, the girl leaves, runs, runs, multiplies against the old man's memory, becomes many girls, one of them runs to the only tulip in the valley, tired one rises from the valley, one grimaces, the other stands with a paper poppy in her hand and shrugs in disarray shoulder, one of them turned around and walked away with a girl's smile, while the other kept moving back and forth with the same movement of his lips. and over all this, the old man's caressing whisper.
- Sona!
Sona is alone now, she runs, when she is about to be caught, she falls and screams.
The old man's whisper. "Sona!"
Sona stands up with a child's act, and her leg is very, very painful, walks away with a child's limp, then immediately runs and laughs. Laughing Sona sat on the edge of the stream with her feet in the water. Sona with mud on her nose strikes a devil pose and laughs. Sona with a cloth on her head, as if a veil on her face, pretends to be a bride and laughs. As if dancing a bride's dance and laughing. Baby Sona pretends to be a dead girl and looks through the cracks in her eyelids. And he doesn't laugh, as if he's seriously dead, as if he's definitely dead, that's it, he doesn't move and that's it. The lid opened by Dylan's hand brings it down again and that's it. Dylan doesn't feel the slap and that's it, his nose and chin are stuck out and he's dead. Big Sona lay dead and it's not a game. female voices murmur song and cry over him. Then baby Sona suddenly jumps up, hits Dylan and runs away.
Baby Sona demands. Sona definitely demands, Sona stirs, shrugs and turns. Confused Sona secretly smiles.
It is a stone fence, the thorny dry moss bushes go over the stone, on the other side of the fence you can barely see a short apple tree with five or six apples. This is what Sona demands. Under the tree, the woolly gambar entered the forest.
Desperate Dylan looks back from the fence, a riotous Sona standing holding the reins of the horses and demanding, definitely demanding, if Dylan doesn't, Sona will cry.
There are some apples on the tree, there is a tree under the tree, and there is no way. It's hot, it's hot, the only shade is an apple tree, and the apples are probably very tasty. A stone slips out from underfoot, the ghastly gambrel stands and barks, and a distraught Sona pulls her horse.
In the shadowless sun they pull the horses, down into the valley, where they pull the horses apart to drain the water in the pit, then stop the horses at the stone, Dylan helps Sona mount her horse, then mounts himself and they climb the narrow curves up the plateau to the yellow fields.
The lights were hot and gave off a warm glow. And that heat was caused both by the fact that the reapers were wearing black clothes and their collars were buttoned, and by the fact that the woman who was binding the sheaf behind the reaper had one eye closed, her wings folded and did not move for a long, very long time, and that the child who had gone to water was swaying somewhere in the distance, approaching very slowly and the size of a beetle. The reaper wanted to rush the child coming out of the water, perhaps annoyed, but smiled desperately and continued to mow.
Sona, secretly, gave a plum to her reaper father, her father wanted to give it back, Sona shook her shoulders in agitation, her father bit half of the plum, gave half to Sona, and she held it in her hand, and so Dylan did not see, did she eat the plum now?
The horses were loaded with hay, then the children pulled the horses.
The stony steep and steep trail was narrow. The horses went carefully because they were barefoot and the road was rough.
The horses searched for water in the valley, the place of the old stream, in vain, tormenting the children along with them. There was no water, the only thing for the horses to do was to pull their horses.
The cales were on the heads of the horses, white, white were the cales. The bears were spinning their will in the threshing floor, the old men were spinning in the threshing floor with the bears, a man deafened by the noise of the filter was smiling at Sona, in the short shadow of the scythe a nursing mother was sleeping, a woman with hot red knees was giving wheat to the wind, and the miller was sitting very close because there was no wind. In Dezi's shadow the baby at the breast cried, the sleeping mother woke up and changed the breast. And the bears were circling around in the piles of piles.
The horses unloaded, the plows were thrown into the scythe's head, where the old man, buried up to his chest in spikes, arranged the plows and waited with closed eyes and open mouth for a new plow.
The ropes were collected, tied to the saddles, the horses were given to the children. Sona was near the brimstone, and the brimstone was giving the child something, perhaps half of a plum.
They went down the narrow, hot path one after the other, the horses looked for water again in the valley, then the horses came, and Sona slowed and stopped. The only desirable thing in the world was the same apple tree with five or six apples. The shaggy blonde gamp was purring beneath him again. The children stood under the fence for a long time and looked at the apples for a long time. And when the horses pulled away, they looked back and forth again, and the most desirable apples in the world were those apples.
They reached the stone over which the horses were riding. Dylan tied his horse's bridle to the other horse's saddle, helped Sona to mount, and then over the rock he rode the same horse, and the world was filled with Sona's hair and neck. Then the world was filled with Sona's muffled laughter.
They reached the fields, they went through the fields. There the men were mowing, the women were collecting the sheaves, the men, on the way back, were tying the sheaves. Sona's father looked at the children and smiled before turning the beam, the smile of the woman behind him, Sona's mother, remained half-smiled, a man with a torch binding sheaves looked at the children briefly, then long. Sona dismounted, Dylan untying his horse's reins from the other saddle. Sona's mother, a little angry, gave the girl a short order, then continued to harvest her field.
The young man who tied the sheaf was still looking at Sona, and Sona's dress was short, not covering her knees, which were now full, and Dylan looked at Sona, then at the young man, then at Sona again and seemed to understand that Sona was no longer a girl, she was a girl.
The horses were loaded, they pulled the horses through the hot fields, down the hot track to the hot barn. The bears were threshing ears, the threshing was blinding light, the bride with hot knees raised the thresher above her head and was threshing wheat and wheat. Tstsmayr gave the baby to Sona, she spread the clothes in the short shadow of the scythe, Sona hugged the baby tightly, then held the baby away from her breast, and was afraid and laughing. And the cloth was short, it did not cover the knees, which were now full.
At the canyon, on the way back, Dylan held her horse, helped her ride, then wanted to tie his horse's bridle to her horse's saddle, Sona wouldn't let go.
"It's a shame," he said.
In the fields the horses were loaded, Sona pulled her horse and Dylan's horse was standing and had no puller, Dylan's father looked on, Dylan was on his knees tying the sheaf. Dylan tied the sheaf, staked it and looked at his father. and Dylan was now a grown man. Dylan's mother followed and pulled the horse, and Dylan took his father's litter. The father looked skeptical, then smiled, then it turned out that he was not smiling, but seemed to be crying. Then the father came up, almost forcibly took the sledgehammer from Dylan's hand and mowed the place like a brave man and a man, but he mowed with effort. eventually forgot that he was being a daredevil in sight of Dylan and switched to a calm accent. Dylan stood with his hands on his hips, looking at his father thoughtfully, then finished his mowing and took the log from his hand. The father sharpened the knife and gave it to his son.
This went with momentum, the back wide and greedy.
And all the reapers and gatherers stood looking at Dylan.
And it wasn't clear whether Sona loved Dylan or not, because the light was blinding in the ripe heat, and she sat on the bench with her eyes narrowed, and when Dylan, who was sharpening the saw, looked at her, and she realized that Dylan felt that he was looking at her, then she turned her head away.
There was a stone in the field, and a stone fell into Dylan's mouth. Dylan beat the splinter, sharpened it with the knife and swung the beam in a full, sweeping motion, again there was a stone in the field and Dylan's beam was broken. And with the broken shaft of the gerandv in his hand, Dylan turned away laughing at his failure. And Dylan saw Sona looking at him and averted his eyes.
"Come, come," they beckoned to Dylan far from the hot field where many men were mowing, "let me give you a blanket."
Dylan went, they sharpened and gave him a hand and threw it in front of them and they mowed after him. They came breathing behind Dylan, their screams in Dylan's ears, Dylan straining and unable to outrun them, and it was suffocating heat and blinding light. There was not enough air, and he was pressed and pressed from behind.
It was hot and sultry in Kaler, the wheelbarrow repeated and repeated the same noise, and the horses, running, turned the wheels. In the center of Cali, the horses were driven by Dylan, with the long ropes in his hand, and the world was light and good, for, with the wheels, there was the bride with warm thighs scattering wheat and chaff, there, deaf to the noise of the filter, the gaunt spinner smiled kindly, in the short shadow of the manger the nursing mother was lying to the child, there in the other calam they were wiping the chaff from necks and laps. the women gathered the threshing floor, there in the next threshing floor Sona was stirring the ear with a wooden spoon.
The tired horses slowed at every turn, and Dylan whistled and cracked his whip each time. The horses would go fast for a while, then slow down again. And the bear, yoked to the camel, sat in one of the barns and did not come out. A man was dragging a full sack. he was helped to the spank and he went curled up under the sack. A hairy man by the pile of hardy had his tail against his jaw and looked sad. The bride, who was scattering wheat and wheat, bent down to fill the sieve, got up, raised the sieve above her head and sifted with a sparkle and rustle. A hip-high woman slept in Dezi's bed. The horse was being loaded with big jwals, the jwal turned over on the head of the loading man, the middle hard fell out, and the man cleaned and cleaned his neck, shoulders, deep back.
Sona was bathing in the river. There was little water, the slow waterfall would disappear every now and then, the water under the waterfall was not deep. Kneeling in the river, Sona was bathing, Sona was a fully grown girl. He liked the water, he liked the feel of his body. He would bury himself in the water, but with every movement of his, the water would ripple, and the mouth of the pond would be torn, the lumps would fly out. Sona bathed cautiously and fearfully because the puddles would now be washed away, the pond would flow out, exposing Sona naked from her mother, and as if there was a foreign eye there. Sona seemed to be being watched. Sona fell back and was covered in water up to her bum.
Dylan lowered his head to the ground to bury himself because the stone holding Sona out of sight was small.
Sona was bathing in water up to her chest. And he was waiting for the collapse of the pond, and he seemed to feel the presence of another eye. Sona saw Dylan.
Dylan saw that Sona had seen him and stood up. Standing for a moment, Dylan strode to the pond where the frightened Sona had hidden the body in the water. Dylan stood by her clothes but couldn't look at her. looked over him, brought him over and smiled stupidly. And Sona was not smiling and waiting and her waiting was slowly filled with protest. Suddenly, faster than himself, Dylan leaned over the water and broke the mouth of the stream. The water rushed out, and with a quick glance to the side, Dylan saw her nakedness and anger rising slowly in the water. Sona stood in the water and Dylan was embarrassed by her nakedness and eyes. Dylan turned around. Turning around, Dylan waited a bit, as if he wanted to look back, as if he looked, and then left.
Sona got out of the water, pulled the cloth around her neck, and now there was little to be afraid of or angry about. She looked at Dylan standing in the distance and her feminine smile slowly spread. And the fact that there was not a single shoe brought tenderness and love to Dylan.
One foot was bare as he advanced towards Dylan. Tur, asking for the shoe without asking, begging for the shoe, complaining, ugh, getting upset with Dylan, standing up when the pacing Dylan stopped, slowly coming up as Dylan pacing back and forth with the shoe in his hand. Wow, there was so much pride in her request and with the pride, so much love. He stopped, came, didn't come to Dylan, angry with tenderness and smiling with pure cunning, because the back-and-forth Dylan hit a rock and fell.
He was clearing the field with the women and saw and did not look at Dylan going hunting. She stood, straightened her aching back, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and stood looking at him. Crouching, he glanced at Dylan out of the corner of his eye, then looked completely furtively, and then it wasn't clear whether he was looking or not because he was taking out a puzzle.
The thin stream took a trickle from the dead river and carried the water along the steep slopes, among the stones and stones, it went down to the valley, one way it came out the other slope, so the water went against the rock that cut off the road and went down with the rock into the valley. On the other side of the rock, Dylan's garden was waiting for water, and Dylan was broad-backed and hardworking, what was the rock against Dylan's will? Dylan was piercing the stone, which was solid and unbroken. Dylan was picking shards from the quartz. Impersonal, constant, proportional, Dylan searched for a place in the limestone that gave way crumb by crumb, threw back the iron and planted deaf and uncommunicative. And Dylan, in the hot sun and stone, was hitting the same place. What was stone against Dylan and iron?
And at first, deceptive as one heard in a dream, and then certain and loud, muffled by the stone-throwing of the nig, the merry hail of the wedding drum came and rose, and the merry and sad call of the wedding bell rose from the far depths and unfolded. It's not Dylan's wedding. Dilanin is a nigga slobbering against a hot and dull quartz. Dylan wanted, really wanted to push that nigga into the rock with one blow and overturn the mass of rock at once, but the rock was still the same stubborn intransigence. The stone gave back to the nigga, and the stone had to be dealt with for months and crumbs.
Dylan is the same tenacious and his bottom is the same tireless proportion, but here he is, growing stronger, the world was drowned out by the wild drum and the pagan zurna. And for a moment ruling over the drumming and the call of the zurna, the resounding squeal of a drunken wedding party sneezed: "Ai-shi haa!" And the drum was beating loudly and the bell was beating briskly.
Dylan put down his nig and, discreetly and dignified, stepped into the canyon, down the rock into the canyon. The pebble escaped from under the grass, and Dylan lost himself, fell down the length of the cliff almost rolling, passed the rock near the stream, and along the rock, falling up and down, up and down, up and down, he climbed into the garden; den was spying on Sona's wedding from the garden.
Sona was silently crying under the veil, the groom stood serious and important like a villager, the groom was delighted with his wife's dance and took out an apple from his pocket and ritually gave it to his wife, and the eyes of the children perched on the fences began to turn with the apple. Sona was smiling and crying under cover. Sona didn't see Dylan, and she was crying with her eyes lowered, a wedding party called Dylan to dance, others pushed her to dance, Sona looked and didn't look at Dylan. The drum was pounding head-splittingly, Zurna was both happy and sad like a clown, the torch-bearer crooned his "Ai-shihaaan!"
Dylan broke away from the draggers to dance and turned around.
Dylan turned back - the stout ranger with his hat pulled down over his eyes was making his horse jump from one side of the stone fence to this side, this side that side, this side this way - all the time. The horse looked the size of a donkey under its thick jaw, because the rider was so huge. The horse was bucking with the jumps, and there was something muffled and animalistic about the stout man's wining and the mare's endurance, which seemed now, at this one jump, to break. The horse was refusing now, the big jaw braced and whipped, but the horse collapsed on the wall, and the big jaw jumped heavily from the horse and, without making the horse conscious, came, without seeing, pushed Dylan aside and broke the dance ring.
And Sona's tearful and laughing mother said to Dylan.
- Be happy, dance, why are you sad?
And the person turning the filter machine stood on a stone and stared with his mouth open and smiled again from the depths of his deaf world.
And the players had begun a new season, and the faceless big-jaw danced motionless within the circle, widening the circle with gyrations, and there was something disgusting in its kind of muffled wail and proportionate asss-se! He widened the circle and faced Sona and called and pulled her to dance and the musicians blew a new tune and Sona danced.
Sona danced and there was no one else in the world as charming as her, as lovely as her, as sad as her.
The bridegroom's narrow-lipped sister cut off his collar out of jealousy, the old women were crying, the same drunken wedding groom suddenly came to his senses and sneezed his "ah-shihaa!", his big jaw slammed into the rude drummer's forehead, a girl of Sona's age, lame, looked around the ring for a place to watch the dance, and there was no one in the world as lovely and sad as Sona. A girl Sona's age stood aside and stared at Dylan all the time, and she was beautiful and sad, but there was nothing in the world as desirable as Sona.
The fat forest ranger gave Sona an apple, and Dylan fled the wedding.
And he remembered the apple tree with five or six apples, the road, the heat, Sona wanting apples.
Dylan was accidentally hit during the harvest and couldn't find his place. The wedding drummed and clattered with a din and noise in Dylan's head, and Dylan closed his ears, and now the wedding was noisy and sad somewhere far away, and Dylan didn't mow to find the torn ground to keep from this world, the stone to beat his head against the stone. And Dylan howled at once, shuddered and looked - the mixed and tough wedding was quietly climbing the wooden stairs to the balcony. The wedding party entered the house, the balcony was now empty, there was still no music or music inside.
And Dylan slid down and sat on the ground and howled silently. And he kept his ear strained in anticipation and saw Sona coming and not coming and asking and not asking for the shoe.
Lying on his stomach, Dylan raised his head and looked from far away worlds - a beautiful and sad girl was sitting in the threshing floor, and the wedding was singing there, drunk and deaf, his bitterly sad song. And Dylan looked over and saw Sona circling and coming and looking at him and circling again silently, coming and looking in quiet expectation and turning and walking away with him.
Dylan looked up, the harvest was dark, no one was harvesting, and the wedding was singing the same bitterly sad song, wishing the groom a great son and grandpa a grandchild and grandmother a grandchild, and wishing the bride and groom a hundred years of marriage and a good old life after that.
Then they sang the same song on the nearby road. only one window was lit in the wedding hall, the song was still being sung on the way, the window went out, and in the morning Dylan cried out because he couldn't cry anymore. And in the silence there was only her scream, and Dylan took a bite of grass. And he thudded on the stone floor and let out a deafening howl, and the same song of the wedding guests about the ghoch boy and a hundred years of jahel life persistently repeats and repeats itself in the memory.
Dylan's head was stroked, Dylan lifted his head, enlightened. Mother was stroking his head. Mother's sad and kind face was revealed to Dylan, then the world was empty! The wall was a wall, the vines were vines, the rows of simindra were growing tall in the garden, and the vines were thirsty and cracked. His mother spread bread in front of an idle Dylan, Dylan ate, and his mother looked on with a sad smile. The bread was tasteless, as was his mother's speech, which Dylan did not understand well.
- I made a place for a good girl for you, - the mother lied cheerfully, - I'll bow her head, a thousand times better than her. Eat, eat.
It was possible to eat. the egg was breaking, sticking, there was salt. one could add salt to the egg, but in the memory the same wedding song would start here and there. It was possible to correct on the spot, tear bread, nod yes to the mother, chew, but the same song came up in the memory. The piece remained in the opening, it was possible to sip water, but the same song of the wedding guests was floating in the memory. Dylan got out, got the buckets, got out of the mower, and as he went, he reluctantly looked back - Sona was sweeping their new doors. And Sona was unadorned and did nothing.
And Dylan grinned at himself and the world and went down to the river. Dylan fetched water from the river and climbed the slippery slope to the garden. Dylan watered the vines and went down to the river again. He took water from the river and went back to the garden on a slippery narrow path, and the wedding song began to unfold in his memory. Dylan watered the vines, turned to go down, and glanced back in passing.
Sona stood with her arms around the balcony post looking at Dylan. Sona saw Dylan looking and entered the house. And Dylan's essence, descending into the water, was filled with a wedding song.
The loud song of wedding sadness in the folds of Dylan's soul and memory was silenced this time by a hard, very hard, battle with the rock. The rock was hard and uncracked, the iron nig recoiled, and Dylan tore his stream hole, shard by shard.
On a hot afternoon, Sona came down the path to a spring, and Dylan saw her in the distance, and Sona saw Dylan in the distance, Sona stood looking at Dylan for a moment, Dylan didn't bite the stone for a moment, for a moment from under the rock and from the river bank they looked at each other. Then Sona took her water. Dylan gnawed on his hot quartz, furious and furious.
Dylan was mowing the field. He raised his head as he sharpened his knife, Sona was carrying water. Sona gave the water to her reaper husband. Sona laughed as her husband splashed water on her shoulders and Dylan continued mowing. Out of the corner of his eye, Dylan saw a kind sad girl carrying water near him, that she slowed down and wanted Dylan to ask her for water. And Dylan asked him for water and joked with him. The understanding girl smiled sadly, and Dylan joked with her again, splashing water on her shoulders and splashing water on her shoulders again, the girl giggled.
And Sona became cloudy and cold near her husband.
And Dylan mowed the net and on and on, the sad and kind girl was unnecessary and left confused.
Dylan was playing "tez" with the boys. one hand was palmed under the other arm, with the other hand he covered his eye so as not to see the hitter from the side, and he was waiting for a hit and was a little afraid, a little smiling. They hit it with a deafening thud. Dylan was about to turn sharply now and find the beater with his fingers planted among the buzzers. Dylan didn't turn back and he didn't put his hand down, they hit again, and again Dylan didn't turn back and he didn't look and guess the hitter, and they hit again. And Dylan closed his eyes and didn't want to see Sona passing by. And from the shock of a new blow, a drop of tears trembled on the closed eyelids.
And Sona, slowing down, looked back and saw that they were still hitting her Dylan, she bit her lip and closed her eyelids because of his pain.
The good sad girl was walking down the path to their house from the neighbor's house, and she was cute and nice, and Dylan's mother elbowed Dylan and admired the girl, and Dylan looked sad and weak.
Dylan put a ring on the finger of a kind and sad girl. The girl took the ring with a bow and lowered her eyes.
Dylan's mother looked at her daughter-in-law and her son with delight, and to her, they were a perfect match.
The mother of the good sad girl was crying silently, and the father kept repeating. "Hey! Let's let the child grow up."
For Dylan's mother, he was big, convenient, she had found him for her son, and with restrained exuberance she pushed her son out and out herself.
Dylan came out of the fence door and froze. Sona was standing in the corner of the garden, dying of jealousy. Sona was looking at Dylan, Dylan was looking at Sona, and there was no air in the world for both of them. Then Dylan walked, but that Dylan wasn't walking, he was being pushed by his mother.
Beneath the hot rock, Dylan was fighting a quartz and sensed that Sona was somewhere nearby. Dylan listened, there was a deep silence, Dylan put down the iron nig and walked down the cliff to the stream.
On the other side of the rock, Sona was going down to the water and heard Dylan's bottom on the quartz, the bottom fell silent, and Sona realized that Dylan was going down to the spring on the other side. They felt each other's steps and breath and heartbeat.
Sona stopped and so did Dylan. Dylan stood and waited and waited and waited and turned back.
Sona heard the muffled thud of his nigi on the quartz and went down into the water.
The spring was gurgling thin, thin. Sona couldn't help but stare at Dylan gnawing on a rock back and forth. And Dylan broke off for a moment and said with false enthusiasm.
- How are you, Sona?
Sad Sona shrugged her shoulders and didn't answer.
"I'm fine," Dylan laughed to himself.
- Be, - Sona said with a wink.
"The world is big," Dylan laughed to himself.
Sona was silent and then whispered. "I don't know."
Dylan was gnawing on a rock, Sona stood by the spring, then Sona carried her water, and Dylan tripped or lay down and took the nig in his mouth and screamed. The marble was hard and still, and Dylan was still on the marble.
At harvest, Dylan went out, drank a bowl of mash, turned the black grapes in a basket into a stone trough. A rifle hung on the wall. He brought the second basket from outside and turned it over in the trough. Dylan was satisfied with that grape, the world and himself. Satisfied with his sore feet, he hummed a loud tune as he washed, which was sung many times and left Dylan late that day. The juice of the grape stained his legs, his hand, and poured into the vessel, which was deep and muffled, and the spout was ringing and breaking softly in it.
Outside, in the autumn sun, a bird had found a plum among the yellowing leaves and was pecking with delight. Dylan went out to carry the basket again, the cock still tickling. Dylan smiled at the delight, took the basket in, came out again, filled the basket from the pile, and when he looked up, Sona was looking at him from the path. Sona took her water to their house.
Dylan carried the basket inside, filled it into the trough, and as he began to thresh, he saw Sona standing with her arms around the porch post, staring at the threshing floor, and seemed to sense that Dylan could see her looking through the crack. Sona went inside.
Dylan crushed the grapes, seeming to forget about Sona, and began humming the bright song, but his light was fading because his mind was clouded by the memory of the wedding song.
Sona was hugging the balcony post again and staring at the reaper.
Dylan stopped pounding.
Sona got confused and went inside. Their house looked through the dark hollows of the windows, and then in the darkness of the window, Sona appeared, appeared, leaned against the windowsill.
Dylan backed him up, trampled him fast. And why does Dylan need someone else's wife? Dilanin is this stone trough, grapes that are difficult to crush, stick to the feet, stick the fingers together. His is his sweat and this heat. Dylan took off his shirt, crushed the grapes long, slow, continuously, and when he looked through the crack at the house opposite, Sona was not in the window, not at the doors. A horse loaded with hay crossed the road, and after a while the owner of the horse appeared, passing by looking at something.
In the small apiary, Sona's husband had taken the roof of the beehive and was returning the bee cover. He took out the frame of the anchor, turned it upside down in the sun, put it back. Sona was standing near him with the pooch in her hand. Sona was looking at the reaper, her husband said something, Sona came to her senses, as if out of her thoughts, and blew the bag. The heartbroken muttering of her husband was heard. "Like it's gone, gone."
At harvest, Dylan slammed the vent valve on and crushed the grapes into a stone trough. The shutter came back on itself and Dylan brought it back on with a thud. And sat pensively on the edge of the stone trough.
There was a gun hanging on the wall - Leave that mower and fly out into space and freedom. In the distance, the hillsides were turning blue, the edge of the forest was visible, the mowed fields were shining. A faint song of quails could be heard in the mowed fields: quack, quack, quack, quack. The eagle circled silently in the same circle, the same circle over and over in the white sky.
And Dylan was heartbroken and left the stone trough. Dylan came out of the mow.
Sona stood with her arms around the balcony post looking at Dylan. Dylan saw Sona, Sona saw Dylan, but Sona didn't go in, and Dylan remained standing. Sona went down the stairs one by one, disappeared for a moment, then appeared holding the tip of the saw. She and her husband were cutting wood from the yard fence.
Dylan adjusted the gun on his shoulder, left the park, entered the road, Sona was pulling a chainsaw with her husband.
Dylan readied the gun and walked away slowly, quietly. The road turned, passed a cemetery where children were playing in the barnyard and a horse galloped along, out onto a plateau, the mown fields glistening in the autumn sun.
Here is the stone on which they used to ride a horse and once they both rode on a horse. Here was a sycamore bush that had bloomed a single white flower and it was the only flower in the dryness of the created world, and Dylan and Sona's children came running to pluck it from afar and could not pluck it because the thorny sycamore would not let them near, and they circled around the sycamore for a long, long time and did not pluck it, because when Dylan pulled a piece of branch and it was going to pluck Sona's for the blossoming branch sprung out and became leafless.
Dylan now pulled and grabbed the branch with the barrel of the gun, the mark, where a single flower had blossomed and leafed out. And now it is bare and prickly.
In the autumn fields, the quails sang their song, quail, quail, quail, near Dylan, almost from under his feet, a family of quails jumped and bowed with a muffled flight over the mowed fields of autumn.
Dylan went in the direction of their flight, they should be somewhere close by now, Dylan went carefully, they arced again and landed far away. Dylan approached, took aim, the fat quail sat here and there in the ring of the mark, but again with a muffled jump it jumped up and went away.
"Hang-gah, gah-gah, gah-gah," someone sang very close, right in Dylan's ears, and Dylan couldn't find him, couldn't find him. At the last moment he fell silent, Dylan seemed to find him, but he jumped up again and disappeared with a muffled thump right at Dylan's feet. Dylan took aim, but the seemingly looming quail was lost sight of. Dylan rose from his kneeling position, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and then heard a gunshot. And with the shot, all the quails in the field fluttered and circled over the fields, came down and screamed.
Dylan thought and didn't understand what kind of shot it would be. He walked thoughtfully, entered the autumn forest, which was rustling and rustling. Breaking through the kneeling chasm, Dylan stepped out into the clearing and listened. And when he wanted to walk, he heard a gun shot. With the shot, chickens flew across the clearing. Dylan did not understand what kind of shot it would be and went into the forest.
The loose sandy soil ran away from underfoot on the sloping slope. Dylan struggled up those short climbs. When he took his head out of the clutches of those short tresses, he saw for a moment what appeared to be a mirthaver. The next moment they were gone as the ground gave way under Dylan's feet and he slid into a ravine. Barely holding back a shriek of delight, Dylan waited a moment and, struggling not to believe and tense and careful, deflated, fought against the bulk of the gusts. Again the blackbirds appeared, again they disappeared as Dylan slid back, and Dylan clung as if to himself and, whether or not the golden blackbird entered the ring of the target, fired. With the shot sending the earth flying beneath him, Dylan slid back into the ravine. And with his knees, his elbows, the butt of his rifle, his nose and mouth clinging to the loose slope of earth, Dylan climbed up the steep slope, where the golden myrhawk lay and raised its head. Without stopping, Dylan went on all fours to the mirhawk, approached the mirhawk, held out his hand to the mirhawk, the ground flew back again, touched the mirhawk with his fingers, and then the mirhawk jumped, flapped its wing and flew away. There was the flapping of wings, and then it was gone, there was no mirhav and it was gone. Dylan looked at the place where the chicken had fallen, out of the corner of his eye he saw a horse's hoof and it seemed like a lie and an illusion, then he looked in the direction the chicken had flown, then he looked at the place where the chicken had fallen, there was a horse's hoof. Dylan looked up slowly to see the ranger's horse, a booted foot in the stirrup and a whip slung at its leg. The fat forester didn't do or say anything. Then, sharply and dryly, he burned Dylan's silky back and again did nothing and said nothing. Then he whipped again very suddenly. The whip wrapped around Dylan's face. Then, driving the horse back and forth, he adjusted and kicked again, and the horse trampled Dylan's leg. Then, it was uncomfortable from the horse, he was not hitting well, he got off the horse and hit up and down. "My prey - My prey," nothing else was understood from what he said, for the rest was grunts and shouts. "My catch - My catch - My catch." Then he hit Dylan on the head with the handle of the whip, because Dylan was swaying but not falling, and that annoyed the ranger, and Dylan got down on his knees and on all fours and lay down.
When Dylan raised his head, his big jaw swayed from the horse's hooves as he entered the dark depths of the forest. The neighing of his horse was muffled, silenced, and now the world was silent. And in the silence, Dylan felt his eyeballs blacken and swell with a hum. Dylan patted her under the eye and sat down. Dylan was sitting under a rock, he wanted to sit on the rock, but he slipped and fell. And again he wanted to sit on the stone and again he could not. Dylan wanted to lean against the rock and didn't because his back hurt from the contact. Dylan rocked and smiled at the fool. He wanted to stand, he stood and remained motionless.
The old man sits by the rock and rubs under his eye. It is difficult for an old man to remember the hard days of the past, the old man does not raise his head. Eyes closed, he shakes his head, he wants to deny the memory of the past days, he wants not to remember, he wants it not to have happened, but it happened like that and the pain under his eye still hurts. He caresses the old man under the eye and then slowly, as if from a world far away, as if a kind of deaf, he smiles, the smile opens slowly.
As Dylan raised his head, swaying on the horse with the horse's hooves, the big jaw was passing from the white light of the forest to the darkness; and the horse's haunches were thick, and the back of his stout jaw was broad. The neighing of his horse was muffled, then silent, and all the world was silent now. And in the silence, Dylan felt a humming blackness and swelling under his eye. Dylan patted her under the eye and sat down. Dylan was sitting on a rock, he wanted to sit on the rock, but he slipped. And tried again and slipped again. Dylan wanted to lean on the stone, he did, but his back hurt from rubbing against the stone, and Dylan, sitting helplessly, rocked and smiled evilly. He stood with effort and will not to fall again, and swayed, but remained on his feet. A ranger's gunshot echoed in the forest, and with the shot, Dylan began to walk.
Went down a narrow stony path to the stream and the light was blinding and the walking difficult. At the stream, Dylan took off his shirt and wanted to immerse himself in the water, but the water was not enough, barely anointing Dylan's face and chest, his back patterned with a blue stripe.
Dylan fell asleep by the stream and when he woke up it was night. Dylan's head was hurting, it was hard to get out of the valley. Crickets were singing, the moon was big and round, and a hen was chirping in the distant forest.
Under the rock, Dylan swatted the nig a couple of times, then threw the nig and cursed or protested.
Dylan went into the garden, went into the mow, drank a bowl of mush, then threw the bowl away. And he jumped out of the harvester and couldn't find anything to do in the garden. He stopped involuntarily when he caught sight of their lighted window. And eye to the window, Dylan lingered. Crickets were singing, the moon was big and round, a hen was chirping in the distance. Then their light went out, the world was dark, a nightingale chirped in the distance, a horse was galloping away from the fence, Dylan stood lost in the garden.
Day came, Dylan was lying in a cornfield, the field was broken around him, and when Dylan woke up, he didn't understand at first why the corn was broken. Dylan rubbed his face and felt pain under his eye. He smiled at his failure and went to work. Grapes began to be crushed in the harvest.
Sona stood with her arms around the balcony post, Dylan grinned evilly at her and at himself and crushed the grapes, headstrong, unenthusiastic, single-stringed.
Sona let go of the balcony post and pushed herself towards the stairs. Sona went down the stairs one by one, determined, driven. Sometimes he hesitated, but it wasn't a pause to stop, he didn't stop, he went down slowly. He ducked down the bend of the stairs, appeared at their fence, cut across the road, turned back the door to Dylan's garden.
Dylan stomped fast, fast. Hers is this sticky heavy juice, rock trough, sweat and back humming. Everything else in the world, Dylan rejects by rejecting. Dylan stomped fast, fast, fast.
They rustled the stalks of the simindar, Sona came through the field carefully and quickly and slowly, kind of coming and not coming. He left the field and came to the threshing floor, and he was familiar with the ribs lined up at the door of the threshing floor, the vine, the threshing floor, the bucket, the light of the sun, the reddening heat. And the threshing-door and the threshold. And Sona came in full of love and tears and longing and fear and desire for Dylan. Dylan sat on the edge of the stone trough and stared with repulsion.
- What did you come for? - said Dylan, looking unblinkingly, and then closing his eyes. You have a home, you have a place, you have a person, you have brothers and sisters, go cry to them, what am I to you? - said Dylan and closing himself against everything in the world, he closed his eyelids. The howl was beginning to rise from the depths of his soul, wide-eyed Dylan stepped out of the vines, walked over to Sona, and, wide-eyed, pounced on her. The soul's howl had no place in his soul. Dylan was trying to control the howl, but it wouldn't happen, it wouldn't happen, the howl would stay inside the folds for a moment and bubble up again and fill Dylan.
Sona was crying silently and cuddling her battered Dylan. And silently weeping over Dylan's wounds and stilling back, Sona murmured. "The girl is a good girl, please, Dylan," and waited for Dylan to reject the idea and wanted to get out and go, and the weak Dylan did not hold him, but Dylan was not asleep.
And when Sona looked back through the door, Dylan's red eyes were up. Dylan watched Sona leave, walking and not walking through the row of siminders, walking and not walking, slowing and hurrying.
And standing firmly on his two feet, Dylan got up from the threshing floor, went and took the nig and smashed himself, the nig and the stone, tired, broke, crumpled, became a weak phallus, but again he couldn't bear the immobility, when he sat down to rest, and continued to smash himself, the nig and the stone, tired, single-stringed, weak-weak and endless, until the end of the years. And sat down to rest old
Sona was walking away through the rice fields, swinging, stopping, going fast, and swinging again. Sona was walking away through the rice field, swaying, stopping as if to turn back, then walking in a sort of slanting way to the garden gate. Sona was walking away, sometimes fast and sometimes slow, swaying, stopping, as if she wanted to turn back and not turning, she went without turning, but slowed down again and seemed to look back.
An old man sits in the autumn sun, by an ancient stream, a memory fades before his gaze, and a single dry sycamore stem rustles metallically. In the garden, piles of leaves smoke, the garden is bare, the only sunflower bows its head in the autumn sun. Dressing up and sifting herd on the autumn earth, the beautiful passenger plane went to the page. Passed over Dylan, far away now, no sound of engines and he was descending silently and mysteriously. A pocket radio nearby picked up and lost a wave of music. Away from the fence, a group of boys was walking along the street. they had soft sports shoes on their shoulders, one of them was holding the ball over his head as he went, the radio receiver in his pocket picked up and released a wave of the same music again; one of the boys kicked the ball from the other's head and, separated from the group, went on his own way until the owner of the ball reached him, after a short fight he grabbed it with his foot, threw it up and held it to his head. They went through, their receiver found the music they wanted.
The old man sat in the garden, near the crack in the rock, from which water trickled in a thin stream.
The grass was brought from the mountains, Sona's husband was on the cart, Sona was giving grass from under it. It was difficult for him. the summer piles had hardened, Sona was difficult to pull, also the cart was full, it was difficult to lift the hay. The husband would fix what was given from below on the cart, mash it and wait for the stalk under his jaw.
There were piles of hay all over the plateau, carts were being loaded in several places.
Dylan stretched and tied under his cart, tossed the rope over the piled grass, hung, pulled and tied on the other side and looked to see Sona struggling between the pile and the cart, her husband standing on the semi-loaded cart.
Gloomy Dylan twisted and tightened the rope that ran the length of the cart with his awl, put the end of the awl under another tie and looked again: Sona couldn't pull hay from the pile, her husband was waiting at the head of the semi-laden cart.
Dylan drove the oxen, the cart broke away with difficulty, then rolled easily, because the place was almost steep, and then it was steep, and the oxen were led at a tense, step by step. Dylan came out to the head of the barn with the cart, Sona struggling with the haystack. Dylan kept his cart near them, put a stone in front of the wheel and went to get water from Sona, but she wouldn't give it.
- Let, Dylan, let.
Dylan stood back for a moment, then nearly snatched the cane and shoved it into the pile. Her husband was watching from the cart and said kindly, jokingly, lovingly.
- It won't die, Dylan, let it.
"He died, he died," said Dylan, he shook the pile and dislodged it, studied it, lifted it and gave it up. Turning to pick up the rest, Sona was pulling a thorn out of her finger that wouldn't come out. Sona tried to pull it out with her teeth, then her fingers, and that's when she looked at Dylan. And in her eyes there was no love, no tenderness for Dylan, and no femininity in general.
Dylan was stuck in the grass, looking at Sona, Sona was gnawing away the thorn on his finger, Sona's husband said.
- Huh, is it difficult?
"He died, he died," said Dylan, and he collapsed.
Sona scooped up the remains of the pile, tossed them up and pulled the cart with oxen to another pile.
"Isn't that enough?" said Dylan.
"They won't die," answered Sona's husband from the cart.
Dylan stood in thought and responded loudly. "They died, they died", then he immediately went, wanted to take the horse from Sona's hand, but she said very rudely.
- Seld is tied, go. - And what he did was rude, he was also rude.
Grimacing, Dylan removed the stone from under the wheel, climbed into the cart and drove the oxen. And life was so unclear that Dylan was grimacing on the cart.
The distant mountains were covered with snow in the sun. the plateau was shadowy and cold, the piles had dwindled on the plateau, far away on the road laden carts swayed. Dylan looked back.
Sona was giving hay to the head of the cart. The husband straightened the grass, waited for the horse under his jaw, Sona was struggling to get out of the thick sitting pile.
The sun's blade stuck to the plateau through a crack in the blue clouds.
"Was she pregnant?" Dylan realized suddenly. "It looked like she was pregnant," Dylan said. Below, in the white bottoms of the deep valley, was the village, above the village, the church bells, which sometimes seemed to ring from afar, and sometimes very close.
Dylan tied the wheels, stuck the ling in the grass between the tires to keep the wheels from spinning on the slope, and went down the slope with the wheels tied.
It was the bells ringing in the morning, then one of the lings broke, but the cart did not overturn, then the other ling came out, the cart was rolling down the slope fast, the oxen could not hold the cart. Dylan was pushing the cart back with all his might and shouting, begging and threatening the oxen. "Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy And the mass of grass above Dylan's head was high, high. "Yishsh," Dylan was helplessly chirping and begging.
Out of the deep silence the world awoke with a soft rustle, far away a woodpecker was drumming his bellows, nearby a cricket sang and fell silent, then it sang again, a dull and heavy rattle came, silent, then continued, Dylan opened his eyes, the head of an ox was ruminating against his eyes, far away a woodpecker was drumming, the cricket continued to sing, deep cattle grunts and grunts came from the distance. Dylan looked over to find Sona silently crying overhead.
Dylan closed his eyes, listened to her cry with his eyes closed, then opened his eyes to find Sona crying on top of him.
Dylan got on it, the cart was tilted, one ox had been released from the cart and was sitting next to Dylan, the other one had not let go and was drowning in the yoke, under the cart. Sona's husband was struggling to release that ox. Sona was crying and smiling through her tears.
Dylan reached out and grabbed the loose ox by the ear, led him to the cart. Then Dylan, Sona's husband, Sona dying lifted the head of the cart, yoked the ox. They tied the wheels with slings and slowly descended the slope to the village where the bells were still ringing.
- Sona's husband called from the front of his cart.
They were silent, then Dylan said.
- I was going to die, but it's a pity, I didn't die.
Sona was coming down from Dylan's side, they were going down in silence, then Sona said.
- I don't know, Dylan, I don't know.
"Your wife is a crybaby," said Dylan after a while, "no need for anything."
- I say too, - the husband called from the front of his cart, - I want to go out.
"You'll do well, what do you need?" Dylan answered after a while. "He's a bully."
They were getting down side by side from behind the other cart, the other cart stopped, they almost bumped into her grass, Sona was crying silently, she moaned at the other cart and her husband fixed something, then answered:
- Yes, my life is worn out, I'm going out to get a woman.
After a while Dylan said. "When?" and closed his eyes.
"I will bring the grass and finish it," said the husband.
They went down in silence for a long time, Sona was crying, Dylan fell back on the yoke with spread wings and answered very late.
- You will do it right, what do you need?
And Sona's husband kept quiet there because he didn't understand what was going on.
"What?" Sona's husband called. - What will I do right?
And Dylan responded again with delay.
- I don't know! I don't know, I don't know.
As close as they are to each other, they didn't even see each other that close.
Dylan was chewing on his rock, Sona was carrying her water, then Dylan looked up to be carrying water to an old woman.
At the door of the forge, Dylan was fitting a wheel with a blacksmith when Sona walked by from a distance.
A little drunk, Dylan was playing pranks with the boys, talking to a woman in the distance, pretending to be Sona. Dylan tensed, but he still didn't understand if it was Sona or not, and the lion was snatched from under his feet and thrown backwards.
And then Sona died. Around him, his mother, mother-in-law, wives and those who rejoiced at his wedding were singing and weeping. The husband sat under the wall, like he had been hit on the head. The stout forester was solemnly sad as he remained motionless and suddenly turned and fell on top of Dylan. Dylan supported her, took water to the other room, where there were already narrators of their affairs, Big Jaw joined them, and Dylan brought water for Sona's husband, who took the water from Dylan's hand and looked at Dylan without understanding. Dylan gave her water, took her out to the balcony, they leaned on the railing, and then, as it happened, Dylan hugged the pillar that Sona was hugging, and from here he looked at the garden, the reaper, the edge of the reaper and there he saw himself, Dylan coming in full swing, and heard the sad wedding song. And saw Sona asking for shoes and heard the happy-sad wedding song and saw Sona hugging the pillar and heard the wedding happy-sad song and saw Sona talking to a woman and realized it was Sona and was talking and looking at Dylan playing the lych and heard the wedding happy-sad song.
And with his mouth open, Dylan begged for air and there was no air, and the forester whispered to Dylan: "Did they dig the hole or didn't they?" and Dylan went down the stairs one by one, went to get the shovel and pickaxe, and then Sona's husband rolled down the stairs and grabbed the shovel and howled. "Don't take it!" and Dylan gently hugged and stroked him, the ranger led him upstairs.
And Dylan was alone in the yard in the sun, then he left the yard, there were children sitting on the fence, looking at the morgue and they were dear to Dylan, he went on a hot road in the sun.
And lying down, he measured the place with his height and dug, and the ground was hard and did not give way to the spade and the pickaxe. The ground was kicking back and Dylan was hitting. Dylan dug the hole, threw the soil out, buried himself in the hole. could not be seen in the pit now, he threw out the last spade of earth, the pick, and the spade, and he did not come out of the pit.
The draft was coming.
Dylan stood in a pit, wanted to get out of the pit and couldn't. And he smiled faintly and looked at the distant procession that was bringing his light great Sona to the cemetery, and again he smiled faintly and wanted to get out of the pit and could not. It neither sat down nor fell to the bottom of the pit.
The crowd came, it turned yellow, the blacks took the great light Sona, then it started raining. in an instant the blacks buried Sona, leveled the ground, and departed, taking with them the backward looking husband, the mother.
Dylan was sitting among the gravestones in the rain, smiling faintly.
He was smiling like that and at his wedding, when the furious drum was hailing right in his ears, the drunken bridegroom chirped his only grace: "Ai-shi-ha!", the good sad girl silently cried, the stout forester jumped a horse over the fence, and his mother squealed with happiness. Everything, everything was the same. The children accompanied the wedding by running, perched on the fences, looking at the apples that were spinning on the heads of the wedding people, a girl a little like Sona was bursting with desire to look at the wedding and could not climb the fence, and that silly girl still radiated great joy and one wanted to smile, squeal, but it didn't happen, Dylan couldn't. Everything was the same, but that young man is stunned and sad, maybe he loves the bride. Dylan understands her, is saddened by her sadness. The bride is a good girl, her dance is beautiful. Dylan loves the bride, Dylan loves the fat woodsman who makes the bride dance, but that silly cry catches Dylan's throat, and Dylan smiles sadly, kind.
Pulled aside, Sona's black mother watched the wedding and cried, and again there was no air for Dylan.
And the drunk wedding guest suddenly remembered his only grace and sneered. "Ai-shi-ha!" and with his call, the dance floor heated up, and the dancers heated up as well.
And, at home, they drank, ate, sang the same song about a hundred years of Jahel life and old life after that. And it was hot for Dylan, stifling hot.
Dylan went out, down into the yard, lost in the yard, out of the yard, leaning against the fence looking up at the sad boy. Upstairs, they sang the same song at all weddings.
Dylan wandered up to the young man, the young man looked from the bottom of the worlds away and did not see Dylan, then the two of them, leaning on the fence, looked up to where the wedding was and sang about a hundred years of torch life. Then she and Dylan turned their backs on the wedding hall and walked down the dark road. Dylan reached into the jar and took out some wine and gave it to the young man. Bowl in hand, Dylan leaned back into the decanter, took out some wine and drank it himself. And in the distance, like a muffled murmur, they sang about a hundred years of constant torching and old life after that.
In the wedding hall, they sang about the life of a torch for a hundred years. The voices were snoring, the children perched on the windowsills were sleeping. The music was muffled, like a sleepy one, and then the drunken bridegroom suddenly remembered his only grace: ay-shi-ha! They came to their senses and half-laughed at him, then one saw, then all saw that the groom was not there.
The bridegroom had run away, they laughed, and the bride was in anxious distress.
The groom has run away, they laughed.
The groom was in the graveyard, near the Sona stone, holding the Sona stone in his arms, his head against the Sona stone. The stone was white and fresh. The groom was as still as a stone, both his face and eyes were motionless. Stared from the depths of the underworld. The same wedding song was being sung in the distance. Then the song was heard a little closer, but faintly. perhaps the wedding party went out into the street. Then it was very clear. "The bridegroom got scared and ran away!"
That's how Dylan lived his whole life looking from the underworld. he pierced a stone, mowed grass, crushed grapes, ate the bread his wife had put him, without understanding he looked at the new wedding of Sona's husband, who suddenly left the intersection on the street, came and passed silently as if in a dream. They were dancing, the big-jawed horse was jumping, the groom smiled at Dylan, the drummer was drumming, and all of them in silence. The dance of the woman with her arms outstretched remained in Dylan's memory for a long time.
As if bewitched, Dylan wanted to follow the wedding, the woman gently held him, Dylan stood, then the two of them walked, each looking in a different direction, as if they were confused.
That's how it sits now under the rock by the creek hole. It is autumn, there is a light wind, the garden is shedding leaves, the piles of khasham are smoking, the dried leaves of the simindar are moving. And all that is silent, like distant snow-covered sunny mountains, silent as a nipple. The old man gets out, takes a leisurely walk through the garden, puts the gate on the fence, goes down the street, and life goes by him silently, the cyclists silently, the beautiful passenger plane passes and goes to the side, silently, in the valley, the city is spread out in the sun, silently, the full canal flows silently. Under a light structure, they eat ice cream in silence. They talk, they walk, they cross paths, they laugh, they talk quietly. Huge trucks move concrete structures in silence. He crossed the street and passed the kindergarten in silence. The world seems to be moving behind glass.
The old man, low, hears the rustling of his old cymbal and, low, the old wedding song of a hundred years of jahel life. The old man goes slowly with his low song.