My father took an ax and was going to build a barn. My mother tied her apron and went to pick potatoes. When my uncle was studying, he used to go to the mountains to gather grass. In the yard, in the sun, I was sitting on a log and while eating bread, I was reading a book about brave deeds.
The day was Sunday. In school, I received bright "excellent" grades in Armenian, in Russian, mathematics, geography, in all subjects I received bright "excellent" grades. The book about exploits was a good book. My dad was a good dad. My mother loved me very much. My uncle was a handsome and strong man. The swallows on the eaves of our house were gone with the cranes of the sky. Autumn was rustling over the garden and the forest. If our pigs had not been lost, everything in the world would have been very beautiful at that moment. With an ax on their arm, an apron on their shoulder, and a spear on their shoulder, before going to work, they looked at me and were secretly happy that their son was growing up, he was resting his cheek on his hand and reading a book. Tying her apron, my mother thought whether to tell or not to tell, and decided not to tell, not to disturb her son, let him study and become a scientist. With an ax on his sleeve, my dad pondered whether or not to ask. He thought again whether to ask or not, and decided not to. let the son read, let him read while eating. I read and felt that they wanted to tell me something about the pigs, but I pretended that I felt nothing, but only read the book about exploits, because it is good, very good, when in books other people go, get wet, get cold, cower, lose, win, and it is bad, very bad, when I myself will go, get tired, find or not find the pigs.
The barn had to be built, the potatoes had to be collected from the snow, the hay had to be stacked, so father, mother, and uncle could not help but go to build the barn before winter, collect the potatoes, and stack the hay. And my father told me:
"If I ask you something?"
I knew what dad would ask, but I asked.
- What do you want?
And it was a great shame that he knew, but I ignored his request.
"Our pigs. There was a seer in the clearing," said my father.
"Who saw it?" I asked.
— The forester.
"When did he see it?" I asked.
- Yesterday evening.
I managed not to ask, "Why did he see it?" I asked.
- Where is the clear space?
- I think you know very well what Simple Space is.
- from that far?
He didn't answer, and I realized that he was a little annoyed with me. I asked.
- Do you want me to go find and bring our pigs?
"I don't want anything," he said.
"Our pigs. Has there been a seer in the clearing, then?" I said.
With a reply, he turned to leave.
"Okay," I said, "I'll go." But if they are not there, what should I do?
- I don't know.
He was really upset because he couldn't go looking for it himself, and I was asking stupid questions.
"Sorry," he said, "read your book, sorry."
"Okay," I said, "I will find the tracks, and I will find them with a track."
The autumn sun was gently warm. Beautiful in the soft autumn sun were the silent nests of the swallows, the apple trees in the garden that had a couple of apples, my mother's soft smile, the blonde dog that lay at my feet and dozed, and the red cock's cock, and the cherry tree that suddenly began to blossom. I looked at the garden, saw the cherry tree and the yellow-billed bird that had found a cherry on the tree so late in the fall and was pecking with surprise. I realized that in the soft autumn sun everything is soft and beautiful and I am the only ugly one, because I pretend that I didn't want to go looking for our pigs because of the book.
So I said:
- I will read the book near the pigs.
"I will be grateful," said my father. "Do you want the dog to guard the chickens? Take it with you." "Thank you," he said again, and I was a little embarrassed.
"Okay," I said, "I'll take the dog with me."
They dressed me in a warm and soft woolen sweater that my mother had made for me in the evenings, put on light shoes with rubber soles, so that I would not suddenly slip on the grass with leather shoes, and they looked at me with affection, because the sweater suited me very well, and I was their son.
"Should I go now?" I said.
- Your and uncle's path to Kumir spring is the same, go with uncle to Kumir spring, from there you will turn through the bush to Clear clearing.
The dog did not want to come. I called again, he slowly got out and lazily followed us. He knew the thief in the Dimats forest, the thief in the Dimats forest knew him. They were old acquaintances. In front of the forest, the thieving hornbill did not soar open and high like a falcon, he approached our chickens by moving from bush to bush and tree to tree, almost crawling. The dog stopped dead. I saw the gray-eared thief fly from bush to bush, but I thought that I was taking the dog on a task as important as the guarding of the chickens, and I whistled to the dog. He followed us unwillingly, then, when we left the village, and he forgot about the urur, he ran forward with a happy sigh and left. He missed the forest, pigs, running, fatigue.
At home was my desk, the warm and caressing light of the lamp, my little library, the soft song of the radio and, on my couch, a thick camel's wool shawl for afternoon naps. There were bears, elephants, tigers, leopards, devils, demons and monsters in the forest, except for our pigs and my honesty, everyone was in the forest and I was walking slowly, lagging behind my uncle. I had opened the book and was walking looking at the book, as if I could not tear myself away from the book and I was falling behind because of reading.
Near the blind spring, where the road split was, the dog was standing and waiting for us. The source was called Blind, because from its depths it took out fine-grained sand, the sand closed its well. The spring was again filled with fine-grained sand and silt, behind the closed spring, the spring might be suffocating underground.
My uncle was looking at the spring that was already turning into a swamp. He took out his food from his bag, shared the boiled chicken, wrapped it in lavash bread, wrapped the package in a newspaper and put it under my arm. And with his head he pointed to the man of the Plain clearing.
"I want to drink water," I said.
"You will drink from a spring in a clear clearing," he said, "it is under a big oak tree, go."
With a happy snap, the dog jumped towards the dog. For a moment I was happy and ran. Khasham rustled hard and dry enough to be deafening. It was that rustle when I was running, that was the only rustle in my ears. Khasham reached my knees. When I stopped in the aon, there was a luo silence, in that silence and light, the falling leaves swayed with a barely audible rustle. The black coot clucked from under my feet, and there was deep silence again. It seemed to me that I was listening to the peaceful breathing of the forest.
I looked back. My uncle was kneeling by the spring and doing something. Going a little deeper into the forest, I looked back again. It seemed to me that the uncle had already gone, but he hadn't, he was still bent over the spring and it was difficult to see him, because both the road and his clothes were earth-colored. I sat down behind a tree and, in order to deceive myself that I was doing something, I opened the book of exploits. However, I was not reading the book, I was bending over the book, waiting for my uncle to leave on the way back. He was now sitting by the spring, smoking and, as it seemed to me, looking at me in the forest. "For example, why are you sitting idle like that," I thought, "finding a pig is your job, reading a book is mine. I am reading my book, and you are sitting idle." And to deceive myself even more, I covered my ears with my fingers and looked only at the book. As if I'm reading, as if I'm only reading.
There was a faint rustling of the wind. I looked up from my book and opened my ears, the rustling was very loud and very close. But I didn't get scared because at the same moment I saw our dog. He grabbed me, jumped, jumped again, lamented and called to the Clear Clearing. So that he wouldn't grab and rustle again, I gave him half of my bread, and he sat next to me after dinner and waited for what else I would give him.
I ate the white stringy meat of the chicken and gave him the bone. I ate the skin of the neck, gave him the bone. It was a bit difficult to eat because I didn't go looking for the pigs, but I ate. I ate the chicken leg with an unprecedented taste, I gave the bone to the dog.
There was no one at the source now. I rode down to the road. "Let's go," I said to the dog. He was looking at me and didn't move, he couldn't believe that we were already going back.
"It's your business," I said, "if you want to stay, stay."
I went down to the road near the spring. There was no mud and silt in the pool of the spring now, its well was not blind now. The spring now flowed freely and freely, just dancing from the overflow. His stone blue pool was full and clear. I saw my full and stupid face in his clean mirror, I was a little ashamed of myself, but I was very thirsty, I bent down to drink water. I didn't realize that I didn't deserve that spring when I was already drinking water... That spring, that chicken meat, that dog, that rustling in the forest, that father, that mother, that all of them are very good and I am very bad, I didn't think about that, I was drinking that ginger water sip by sip. I did not think at all that this source is not mine, it does not belong to me. I drank my fill and was satisfied.
I heard grass from the forest, it seemed to be the sound of a pig, I was a little embarrassed again, but continued to go to the det's house, to my couch, my desk, my warm corner.
When I got close enough to the village, I saw that the dog was slowly coming after me.
"If you didn't want to come, don't come," I said to the dog, "who forced you, no one forced you?"
I did not know whether Urur had stolen a chicken or not. "The question about the chickens is for mom, let mom check whether the chicken flew or not," I thought. "I know my geography lesson, I know my history lesson, my math problem..."
Dad was sitting on the edge of the couch and was smiling and moaning. So his back was hurting again. But I could not understand why he was smiling.
"What is that radio singing?" he asked.
— Komitas.
— Did he write or sing?
— He wrote it himself, he is a composer.
He was smiling and then said.
- Good luck learning history so well.
- Who said that?
— The teachers came and helped me. Do you know your classes tomorrow?
- I know.
"Thank you," he said.
"It's dark now," I said.
- Gel destroyed Mushegh's pigs in the forest last night, I'm afraid it will harm ours too.
He wanted to get off the throne every second and he didn't. He didn't want to wait, but eventually he did.
"It doesn't hurt that I'm lying down," he said.
"I looked at the plain," I said.
"So, I won't go to Parz Square either," he said, "it's a pity, I hoped they would be there."
"I don't know," I said.
— Was there a big oak at the edge of the clearing?
"There was a big oak, under the oak there was a spring," I said.
Grinning with pain, he got out at once and looked for the hat. He was so tired that he did not realize that he had the hat in his hand.
"It's a pity that they weren't in a clear clearing," he said, "so they left, they reached a deep clearing."
"Your back hurts," I said.
He mocked his pain.
- When you strain your eyes in the darkness, the pain is forgotten.
"I'm coming with you," I said.
He stroked me.
- You have been busy today, eat bread, rest a little and sleep.
When he was buried in the mud, I said out loud.
"I'm coming too."
"No," he said sharply, "read your book."
Something passed in the mt, with a bark and a soft movement. it was the dog, he went to search with my father, to find in the far unknown, to bring our pigs, whose meat I had to eat all winter, for the price of which I had to wear a warm coat, have skis, ski boots, a soft necklace, a hat with ears...
Mom was setting the dinner table. The radio was playing softly. A lampshade cast a caressing milky light on the desk. Well-baked white bread was melting on the white tablecloth. Next to the bread, red fried potatoes. The hearth wood was burning with short flames. The teapot rattled softly. And the silver cup of tea was very beautiful, and the brown walnut jam that glistened in the milky light, and the night was thick and warm, and sad was the intermittent song of the lonely cricket, which was heard sometimes from the table, sometimes from the hearth, sometimes from my couch. All of them were sad and beautiful and they were made for me, but I didn't deserve to eat them, feel them, look at them, hear them.
"I don't eat bread," I said, got into bed and turned to face the wall. And the softness of the wool and feathers was a pity, and the whiteness of the bed. My mother was approaching, I closed my eyes. He covered my back and murmured.
- Your child suffered a lot today.