In the class, there was Samad, there was Madat, there was Amrkhan, but we called Artavazdi Turkish. I didn't know why we said Turk, but we said Turk. Now I know. His brothers were about to turn one year old and dying. His brothers, who were born before him, were one year old and about to die, and the old women advised his mother to give the children a foreign Turkish and Kurdish name. Death would not understand, pretending that he is an Armenian boy under a foreign name and he would turn back with his hands empty. Like that. His father and mother listened to the old women's advice, gave the child the foreign name of Turkish or Kurdish Artavazd and waited. The passer-by, leaning on their fence, asked his mother for a glass of water and wished a long life to the boy in her arms. The mother smiled sadly and said that they gave her a foreign name so that... and the passerby smiled brightly and said that it is not a foreign name, it is a real Armenian name. His mother was frozen with fear, his father smiled desperately and sat under the apple tree. Like that.
The name was an Armenian name, the child, however, was not dead, he was alive, the class called him Turk. Then the head of the school came in, made the class stand up, heavy, serious, firm, he stood silently in front of the class so much that our respect became something like fear, and like an army order, he announced that each of us has our own name, and the next time he will not hear a nickname in that school. Slowly, we turned our heads to Turk, and the Time Manager whispered: "Look! Look at yourselves." We were holding our breath and gasping to hear his whisper. Green eyes serious, he stood in front of the class until he saw military obedience in each and every one of us, and then he just left. And when he went out, we had already given the name Otar to Turk.
The foreigner's mother was the cleaner of the library. he swept, fetched water, wiped the dust and put the book between the books upside down because he was illiterate. She took the old poster from the library, on which the FOREIGN INVADER DESTROYED, bright red poster was emblazoned with chalk mortar, from the library, washed it and sewed a shirt for her son.
The heart of the foreigner's father was sick. it was growing and not dying, it was growing and not dying. He whined and didn't go to the front, he was next to his son in their house, he wasn't next to us, he was next to his son. He was the only man in the village... he was ashamed of being the only man in the village. He would take the ax from our mothers' hands to do the man's job of chopping wood himself, he would hit the log a couple of times and wince and catch his heart. He whined and did not die, whined and did not die. There was Nvalov, he was a father, he was the father of his foreign son, he was helping his son to solve math problems, while our fathers were at the front. The early morning frost had cracked my hands. I somehow managed to give grass to the cows, I somehow managed to hold the tiu stalk and clean the barn, but I could not hold a pen - under the pen, thorns woke up with a sharp puncture in my fingers. All of our hands were cracked, why do I say "my claws", "my fingers" because I remember my pain. My body remembers only its pain.
When the Stranger entered the classroom wearing a red shirt, we all thought it was a girl. Then we saw that it was Otar, he was wearing a red shirt, and we saw that all our boys are brown, our homemade woolen clothes are only brown. We used to go down the frozen river, go to the sawmills and bring oak bark with a shovel so that our mothers would brown the wool with the oak bark, and Otar was wearing a red shirt. We were silent for a minute and silently thought that Otar's father is suffering and not dying, Otar's mother stole the red poster from the library and sewed a red shirt. I swallowed my saliva and didn't say that his mother stole red...
"You are wearing girl's clothes," they said.
The stranger lowered the girl's long eyelashes and swallowed the saliva, I saw the slow movement of the pomegranate on her slender neck. I went and sat down in my seat, so as to be away from them and not to make any ingenuity about him. But I couldn't help but look at his red shirt.
"You are a flag," they said.
"You are a banner of heroism," they said. Then I heard Madat's very dry voice.
"You are the banner of your father's heroism."
Looking down, the Stranger stood and did not move away from them. The history teacher came, everyone went to their place, and the Stranger, in his red shirt, stood facing the class.
"Why don't you go to your place," said the history teacher.
"He is wearing a red shirt," they said.
"Yes," said the history teacher. Slowly, as if through clay, under our gaze, he came and sat in front of me, in his place.
"He is wearing a red shirt," they said to the science teacher.
"Yes," said the science teacher, "he is wearing a red shirt, so what?"
"It is the flag of my father's heroism," they said.
"No," said the science teacher, "it is the flag of your envy."
No matter how much her mother washed, the chalk mortar did not go over the red, it did not go well, there was no soap, only hot water... I started this story in vain. you don't know how it can happen that there is no soap, that they do the laundry with ash water, that they bathe you with ash water, you don't know what scabies is, why we had to bring oak bark from the sawmills to the village, what lice are, why they didn't let us keep our hair. you don't know what it is to have the hard wool clinging to your naked body all the time, and that we couldn't throw away that prickly, constantly itchy and prickly coarse fabric of wool (our mothers called it "the scab", "the scab"); you don't know what war is and it's good that you don't.
So, the stranger was sitting in front of me. His red back was now, whether I wanted it or not, in my gaze. No matter how much his mother washed, the glue and chalk mortar did not go through the wallpaper. Sharpening a little, I saw the full trace of the old letter, T. Immediately next to T was the letter 0. I saw it as a zero, but next to the zero was not a number, but an A. There was TAO... I started looking for another letter. There was a Z on the back sleeve. It was FREE. What? It wasn't funny at all, but I was smiling because it almost was. He had half a N on his thin shoulder. With his back, he must have felt my gaze, because he huddled and huddled. I was ashamed and told myself that I would not look at his back, his hunched back, his thin shoulders, his thin neck and the hollow of his neck, but he froze and put his eyes right next to the letter A, R. FOREIGN.
"Stranger" I said in my mind. "Foreigner" I said in a whisper, so that I could say it and not say it at the same time.
"He is wearing a red shirt," they said to the geography teacher.
"When the war is over, you will all wear it," said the teacher.
"Foreigner has STRANGER written on his back," I said to myself, not to say it out loud.
Madat and I had a fight during the class. It wasn't a fight, of course, but what if Madat was sitting on my chest and stuffing a dirty snowball into my mouth? With my mouth clamped, I would hide my head, and he would get mad and again and again he wanted to shove the dirty snowball into my mouth. If I was lying on my back and he was sitting firmly on my chest, it was not a victory for him, he would press and press his dirty snowball against my mouth and be furious that my mouth would not open, still not open.
And then the manager and the military science teacher came.
We lined up, turned left and, under his steely gaze, waited. We waited like that for a minute, and the liveliness of the class was slowly wiped from our faces, the jokes of the class died in us. It was wiped out, they died like that, and our very serious and a little scared line of pale children remained underneath. His brother had died on the front, and in front of him, for his dead brother, we all felt guilty, even though it was not our fault, and we were also respectfully afraid of him, because when he looked at us, every time he looked, it seemed to us that we had killed his brother. From week to week and class to class, even in one day, from mathematics class to military science class, the severity hardened in his face, and we understood how good his brother had been to him, how deep his brother's love had been in him, and how great his sorrow.
I swallowed and thought that it would be good if she was my mother instead of my illiterate mother, then I wouldn't be afraid of her mathematics, and I wouldn't be afraid of her military science.
"What is it?" he whispered.
I just swallowed my saliva and thought that it would be good... "Nothing", I said lowly, as if not saying anything, I stood up and regretted what I thought.
The girls left the line. meaning he whispered or only looked, and the girls understood that they were being ordered out of line. In that dirty space between winter and spring, the whole red, orange, green of the village was theirs, they quietly gathered and looked at our brown line with a little irony and a little love. I can still remember the look in their eyes. The group means the group, that is, when the girls are grouped together and they all look at you together. You can say a bunch of stars, you can say a bunch of chamomile, a bunch of star flowers, you can say when their eyes are pure and they look at you with a little irony and a little love, a bunch of girls' eyes.
He furrowed his brows, and our line of boys thickened.
He slowly raised his face and looked from one end of the row over each and every one of us to the other end of his serious green eyes. The row realized that... The row froze for a second, before dumbing itself down, then I heard very dry, like a stone hitting a stone.
- Mek.
"Two," I threw my number to the left of me. With a half-glance, I noticed all the brown in our row, and at the far end of the row, an odd red shirt.
- Eight.
- His.
"Ten!"
- Eleven.
"Twelve!"
The end? No.
"Ten..." came the brave voice of Otar. Something like a smile appeared in the eyes of the girls, and the teacher again moved the stern gaze of her green eyes from one end of the row to the other. There was a deep silence, we held our breath, the girls' eyes sparkled in that silence. I could hear my heart beating and I could even hear what No. 1 was thinking about No. 13 in his mind. It seems to me that my heartbeat is the heartbeat of No. 1 and I am thinking what he thinks about No. 13.
"Hurrah!" was born, settled far away on Sur Hill and spread over the snows of the Great Valley until the call of the eighth graders in the village, "Ah-ah! Ah...
They were doing military exercises. Their rifles loomed real from our distance, the youthful din of their voices drowned in the group shout, and it seemed a veritable charge down the slopes of Sharp Hill through the Great Valley to Snowdrop Hill. Their black spots were not visible now, only the white slope of the hill was visible, and their cry could be heard. So, they were in the valley, they were attacking Dzntsagk Hill. Meanwhile, Snowdrop Hill was silent. My eyes teared up from the tension, but Snowdrop Hill was only pure white, nothing was moving there and it was silent. We were all looking at Dzntsatakhki hill, "Is the enemy wearing white clothes?" we thought and looked tensely, the enemy appeared behind them, it was on the slope of the same Sur hill, it was going down silently and quickly, it was already entering the valley behind them. The eighth-graders were still only shouting "hooray", they had filled their ears with their heroic cry and did not know that it was a sad and stupid "hooray".
Because of the naivety of the eighth graders, the teacher's face showed disgust. And, as if we were the naive ones attacking the empty hill, he ordered us in disgust.
- Get dressed. Then give a number one by one.
I heard the sound of hitting a stone with a stone.
- Mek.
"Two!" I threw my number to the left of me.
- Three.
He will now divide us into two groups, the odd-numbered - the first group, the even-numbered - the second. Can you see if the stranger is odd or even? May it be odd. The number "thirteen" was repeated in Otar's bold voice.
"Fourteen."
But they, both the defeated Eighths and the victorious Sevenths, whose voices rang out so loud in the snow-covered Great Valley at that moment, were all his disciples, and that No. 1 Madat was his fallen nephew, and the Foreigner's voice was frightened, and the cry died down in the valley, and we were like European knights in homespun tights, and the valley boys must have fallen tired and snowed. eat, lo, for all these, or only one thing of all these (or perhaps she had seen the letter T on the Stranger) the teacher gave a little, barely perceptible Smile, and I thought again that it would be good if my mother was her. It was so. for us, his one smile was more than our mothers bathing us, bathing us with warm water in that winter.
- Make two rows! One, two, shout!
We took two steps ahead of our number bearers and one step to the side with the soft steps of our shaggy feet. I saw that I like standing at the head of even a small row of seven people.
— First row, up the river to the hot spring, running! There is a blooming willow there, everyone brings a small branch from the blooming willow. Repeat.
My heart jumped. it was from the desire to run, and from the fact that there was a bunch of hawk eyes next to us, and from the fact that the yellow-green soft spring was already coming.
"I don't want it, take the stranger out of my group," Madat said dryly, like hitting a stone with a stone.
He raised his face slowly and whispered with more eyes than mouth.
- What foreigner?
We all half-turned and looked at the Stranger. he stood cautiously, but it seemed to me that he was again cowering under his Foreign name, his father's shame, his mother's naive theft. The apple, on his slender neck, rose slowly, remained and slowly descended. We were all looking at him, the teacher was looking at him and waiting for what her nephew would say.
"Arton," muttered Madat.
- What Arto? - The teacher expected him to pronounce that name fully and loudly, and it was the right place to say. "If his name wasn't Otar, it wouldn't have been written on it." It would have been the sharpest joke in the whole school all year, but the Stranger at that moment, when I was the leader of the group and the girls were watching, and it was already yellow-green spring, I liked the Stranger at that moment, I didn't say anything about his red shirt.
"The rush," muttered Madat. anyway, he did not agree with that new name of the Foreigner. "Artavazd," he said dryly, looking like he was hitting a stone with a stone.
The teacher fixed her steely gaze on him, just fixed her heavy gaze on him and said nothing, but it was very clear what she was saying to him in that way, she was saying that she was not his aunt here, she was the teacher of mathematics and military science.
Madat was confused, but he was looking at the teacher's face again, after all, she was his aunt, and besides, Madat was a brave boy.
"Take them out," Madat corrected himself. "But still, take them out of my group."
"Excuse me," teased the teacher, "but who told you that you are the leader of the group?"
Madat looked at the group, looked at him, the group looked at him, and that was it, he was the commander of the group. He looked at the teacher, he looked at the teacher persistently, and he didn't say "I told you so", but he also didn't say "I'm sorry". The teacher was looking at him, he was looking at the teacher, and no forceps would take the word sorry out of his mouth. And the teacher saw that it was true: she is the commander and Otari does not take her group.
The teacher slowly lowered her heavy eyelids, remained like that for a while with her eyes closed and her face raised, and when she slowly raised her heavy eyelids, she was an aunt full of tears, and it was very well behind her that she saw her dead brother in her son. We understood it well, because at that moment we ourselves saw a commander and a hero in that boy. He was a good commander. he wanted to have such a squad in which every warrior was a reliable runner. She was a good teacher. he wanted to unite in himself the love and military discipline of each and every one of us. But how does it happen that I am good, he is good, you are good, we are all good, and bad things still happen?
With his head slightly bent, his neck thin, his large eyes shining, the Stranger looked at the distant mountains and seemed not to breathe. "He can't run, he'll stay on the road, take him out of my group," I heard. The stranger blinked. He only blinked his eyes. "He can't run, let him stay with the girls," I heard. The stranger waited motionless. Thus, only the lamb allows itself to talk about being slaughtered, the water allows itself to praise its taste or dislike itself, the bright sunflower waits to be plucked or saved. The red color of the shirt made him beautiful. In the conversation between that commander and the teacher about him, our looks, that red glow, he was waiting silently, and it seemed to me that he was better than the teacher, that heroic commander, and the girls, and I was the meanest one, that here I allowed myself to take him in like a foal and talk about the inappropriateness of his running, and I myself invent appropriate letters behind his back. He swallowed the saliva, the apple of his thin neck rose, remained and slowly fell, my bosom also narrowed, and I saw that I was drowning instead of him. I'm suffocating because my father is fading and not dying, that my mother was given an old poster, and it's like stealing, that chance carved my Foreign name right on my back, that in this strong world, only my strength is lacking.
"Let Madat come to the second squad, I'll go to the first," I said.
The teacher refused to listen.
- Let Madat come two...
The teacher looked at me sharply. "You don't want it, I don't..." I thought, but at the same moment I understood that he was demanding from me a military science and an application worthy of him.
- Allow me to apply. - I took a step forward, stood cautiously and suggested: - Allow Madat to come to the second squad, me to go to the first.
He asked in a whisper.
- How?
I repeated.
"Order me to move to the first squad, Madati to the second," and I said to Madati: "Since you don't want to be in the same group with Artavazd, let's change our groups."
He looked at me coldly, kind of not seeing, and looked away. I was confused. I understood the reason for his coldness and I was even more confused, he: № 1 himself № 2 was taller than me, his 3, 5, 7, 9, 11, 13 - from my 4-6-8-10-12-14. his was, therefore, a group of tall people, and I had offered him to take my group of short people. To be honest, he was a good commander. "Hannibal", I thought, "Suvorov... Kutuzov... Hassan Khan... if I don't name you Hassan Khan", well, his name was on him, Madatov, Colonel General Madatov. "If your name did not become Major General Madatov..."
"There will be no change," said the teacher. "First row, run up the river to the hot spring and back!"
"No," he said dryly, stone to stone, "Take the stranger out of my squad."
"What a stranger," the teacher sneered.
"You know," he said.
"And who said that the squad is yours?" the teacher chirped.
"That's right," he said.
"And if I throw you in the woodshed and lock the door on you?" the teacher sneered.
He swayed for a moment, got out of line and went to the woodshed.
"Come back," chirped the teacher.
He did not look back. "Throw the woodshed and lock the door on me," his voice was heard. He was going, he was leaving, he was already going down the basement stairs, half of him was already in the dark. That's how he left, that's how his father, the teacher's brother, was going to die, and he wasn't going to come back, and he was never going to come back.
"Come back," asked the teacher. He stopped on the stairs, only his head was visible, but he did not turn back. It would go down or go up. It would sit. Only his head was visible. His aunt turned her gaze away so as not to see him go down, disappear.
"All because of you," I heard.
Everyone looked reproachfully at the Stranger, now that everyone was looking reproachfully at him, he did not dare to think, staring into the distance, that he was not guilty. he huddled up like a sinner, and was afraid to show his only poor sign of protest, the poking of a pomegranate. And Madat had turned around and was climbing the stairs of the basement - one step, two steps, stopped, three steps, slowly climbing to the generalship, general-madatovship. I didn't like him very much, and now, when everyone looked at the Stranger with reproach, and the Stranger himself considered himself guilty, just because I didn't like Madat, I could understand that the fault was not the Stranger, that if the rabbit cowers before the dog, it does not mean that the rabbit is guilty.
No regrets, nothing, he came freely and stood in his place, at the front of the row, calmly said:
- Please take it off.
- Why?
- He doesn't run well.
"This," said the teacher. .
- "Yes", then take it off. He cannot run with us, the squad will be left behind because of him. We cannot go as slowly as him.
It was so and only so. But I don't understand, I can't understand in any way how to stand up to a person and say that he is weak, his knees bend, he is not fit for running.
"You don't want to go as slowly as him, he can't run with you, it's understandable," said the teacher, "but what should I do?"
Madat did not answer, looked authoritatively at the group and fixed a disdainful look on Otari, he almost ordered him to leave the line. I didn't like that.
"Are you insisting on yours again?" said the teacher. I didn't like that either, the teacher seemed to be pleased that that Madat had his own opinion and stood firm on his opinion. The teacher turned to me. - And you?
The wind blows, the eagle soars, the waterfall leaps from the cliff, the voice flies, the calf rushes with the wind... something lighter than running? I wanted to say "Swap Artavazdi with my 7th", I was already saying it, but I saw that this is exactly what Madat wanted. And he did not hide that this is what he wanted. His look and attitude openly said that he would beat me, his team would beat my team, that he would force the weakest runner in the class to me, and just like that, like forcing dirty snow into his mouth, my mouth would force his victory.
"What about me?" I said.
- What if we bring you to the party?
"For example, why are you changing it," I muttered, "let it stay as it is."
He whispered.
"Dress!" This is not your house, and I am not your mother.
"Not even aunt," I thought, but she was expecting a more complete and definite answer from me.
"He's weak, he can't run," I said.
It was meanness, of course, but how could I be both vengeful and pure at the same time?
"A little while ago you agreed," said the teacher.
How would I explain to him why I agreed a while ago and why I don't agree now?
"I don't agree now," I said.
- Why?
"That's right," I said, and I didn't like it. Not being loved is a hard thing, I looked away.
Near the teacher's house and the fence, everyone turned around the bend of the road and came tiredly, as if the victorious seventh graders, as if the defeated eighth graders. They seemed to be old men, all of them were kind of bent. The wooden guns were dragging. Some were licking snow. They were busy talking. They could fall down and sleep at any second.
"Or if you want," I said, "let Artavazd join our group."
"And now you agree," said the teacher.
I hung my head.
- Why do you agree?
- Agreed, said Madat.
"You can't speak, keep quiet," whispered the teacher. "Why do you agree?"
— I agree, because something easier than running?
He was sad.
"Yes," he whispered thoughtfully, "easier than running..."
The river rushes, the wind rises, the hawk soars, the foam of the lily wanders, the linden seed flies with the wind, wings spread, it flies - everything goes, everything soars... something easier than running.
"Get out," he said sadly, "change your place with the last one."
There was still a little sound of our shuffling feet, and this one changed place so quietly that I thought he did not hear the teacher's order, I turned to tell him that, yes, it is so, I am inviting him in a friendly way, but his silent existence was now in my line.
— First row, up the river to the hot spring, run! There is a flowering willow there, each one brings a branch of the flowering willow. Second row...
Before he could think of our task, they crossed the ravine and came out of Odd Oak Creek. My calves recovered and began to tingle. Let's run the same way, we'll catch up with them in a second, we'll pass until the blooming willow.
— Second row, down the river to Sawlotsarans and back, run! Each brings a handful of bran.
I was still thinking about reaching the blooming willow above the river, I couldn't remember the sawmill on the way.
- Repeat the command.
But, before repeating, I had to understand the order. I looked at him like an idiot. "Tep?" I asked.
- Bran.
I didn't understand again. But I was not so guilty. the girls were standing there, whatever we brought, it seemed to me that we would give it to the girls. Their group was going to bring a blooming willow branch, and we were going to bring a tree?
"Bran?" I said.
"Second row, down the river," he said one by one, "to the Sawmills and back at a run." Each of you brings a handful.
This time it seemed to me that I would be slapped by an oak bark, my waist would be hit, that is, scratched, the scratch would be scratched again and murmured with sweat.
- I hear. Running down the river to Sawmills and running back. Allow me to carry out the order.
— Bringing a handful of sawdust each from the sawmills.
"Yes," I said.
- Repeat.
To be honest, it was like forcing bran into your mouth. I repeated with annoyance.
- We should each bring a handful of sawdust from the sawmills.
- Yes. Running.
We broke up. We flew, but they gave my name. The teacher called me back. They were ruining my run, I came back injured not just for dandruff. The teacher came up to me and examined me carefully, very carefully.
"Don't hurt yourselves and don't hurt each other," he said softly.
- I hear.
He smiled.
"Listen, this is not an order," he said lowly, "don't go fast, go slowly, come slowly."
- They left quickly.
"They left quickly," he said, "you go quietly."
- I hear.
A short way, through the snow, through the school garden, jumping over the fence, I reached my group.
"Guys..." I was going to tell them who General Madatov was and what I named Madatov, the Stranger, however, at that moment, when I reached them, fell. There was no ice under his feet, his feet got tangled and he fell. I wanted to complain, but he hung his head like a sinner.
"It's okay," I said, "does it hurt?"
"On the contrary," they said.
"There was no ice under your feet," I said.
"There wasn't," he said in a low, ant voice.
"Don't talk," I said, "just breathe through your nose."
"I breathe through my nose," he said in a low, ant-like voice, that is, how ants talk to each other.
"Easier than running," I said.
"I'll run," he whispered.
"I know you will run," I said, "just breathe through your nose." If you don't breathe through your nose, your throat will dry up and your mouth will become dry.
"My mouth is now... not bitter," he whispered.
We went straight to the riverside road and went fast. The wind began to whistle in my ears. The stranger's red shirt fluttered and disappeared, fluttered and disappeared over my shoulder in the corner of my eye. It entered the corner of my eye, came with me a little and did not dig behind my shoulder. I realized that he was struggling, he was trying to get ahead of me or run shoulder to shoulder with me. I saw his tense face and clenched open teeth. Yes, he wanted to fly out of his body himself, but it was nice for me to be even two steps, even half a step ahead of him.
"Boy, boy, boy," they called. "Boy, what are you doing?" called an old, worn-out voice. Sargi's grandfather, my grandfather's brother, brought the cow to water. The cow was weak, there was no strength in it to push us away. Holding the tail so that the cow wouldn't fall, or he himself wouldn't fall, the grandfather laughed at our running - what are you doing, you are walking like that, Germany will suddenly stumble into the valley? - The grandfather cut our way with a cane, as if he wouldn't let us suddenly stumble over Germany, and caught me. I was caught because if I pulled, the grandfather was weak and would fall. He tried and tried to bite my cheek, but there was no meat on my face and he didn't grab my grandfather's only tooth.
"Ktsan's grandfather has lost his wits, and he won't sew anymore," he said in his murky old man's voice.
I slipped out of his bony arms and wiped my face as I left, but all that running I remembered that I was loved, that I was loved, that my grandfather had drawn love for me from his dry, weak body; my face remembered the softness of his beard, his muffled voice was constantly in my ear, I remembered him who called himself, as if on behalf of my children, grandpa, and called his odd tooth a fang, jen.
I reached my group near the lonely khachkar. He didn't want to lag behind me, he wanted to come shoulder to shoulder with me, always shoulder to shoulder, so he thrust his thin chest forward, as they do during a short run, curling in and thrusting out again, his face drawn and half-opened teeth clenched, but he stayed behind, his red shirt slipped slowly back over my shoulder from the corner of my eye.
Now I was in the center of the group. Clap-clap-clap-clap-clap-clap-clap clap-clap-clap-clap-clap-clap... My body was full of joy, my heart was jumping out of joy, I wanted to scream. Running was the requirement of my body, as the wings are the requirement of the kite. I could accelerate, accelerate, accelerate, break off the ground and... I left another one behind with a screech. The front runner looked back at my cricket. I became equal to him, we went shoulder to shoulder. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to leave you behind," I sped up, sped up, sped up, I thought I'd already left him behind, tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap - I sped up his back could be seen obliquely. The back then appeared face to face and slowly, inch by inch, but steadily began to move away. He was one of 4-6-8-10-12 in my group, he was an ordinary number, why would he leave me behind? I shrank, went into myself and threw myself out. I was running like the last steps of a sprint, I was twitching and twitching, twitching and twitching, it seemed like I was going to burst, but still, he was leaving and leaving. And for a moment it seemed to me that instead of him, I was leaving, and instead of me, Artavazd was straining, cracking and not reaching, straining and lagging behind, and under my chest his heart was narrowing like that, and his knees were bending under me.
I slowed down, "the leader of the group can also go from the end, so that no one is left behind on the road", I let one, the second,
to the third
the fourth
I let the red shirt level up and come shoulder to shoulder with me and asked.
- How are you?
He whispered.
"I'm fine."
"We will bring bran," I said.
He whispered.
- We will bring sawdust.
"Aren't you one of a kind?" I asked.
He didn't answer, then he whispered.
"I don't care if we go as equals."
"How long will we be here, half?" I said.
"Not long," he whispered.
"A little?" Don't you know the place of Sawmills?
"He used to send ours once," he whispered, "he didn't leave my hand."
"We're not even halfway there," I said.
He whispered.
— I tell myself... it's not long... we're getting there now.
"No, there is still a lot left, oak from the sawmill..." I understood and asked: "Do you feel bad?"
His throat was probably getting dry, he swallowed his saliva and whispered.
- That we go together...
"I named Madat after General Madat," I said.
It seemed to me that I wanted to, but every time I forget to say something very important, something exciting. He became equal to me, and I realized what I was forgetting.
"We will always be together," I said.
But that was impossible. I would slow down, he would slow down, I would speed up, he would lag behind, and I would slow down again. And ours were already crossing the bend of the Blown Oak. As much as I would slow down, he would slow down until the final stop. The waterfall, yes, flies from the stone, the eagle, yes, soars, the green field, yes, goes with the breeze, everything moves, everything rejoices, the snow splashes and plays in the sun... but Sargis's grandfather was barely standing, and his cow began to bleat.
"What is this?" he whispered, "I can't see well."
- Snow and sun.
"What a sun!" he whispered.
- Close your eyes.
He had thrown back his beautiful head and was coming with his face exposed to the sun.
"Are you kidding?" I said. "You're not a sunflower."
He became equal to me.
"It's sunny, but we're not running well," I said.
He whispered.
"There's not much left, isn't it?"
"Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah," I heard.
The women, our mothers, were sitting on the stones of the road in the sun, and all of them, blushing like a group of sunflowers, turned their faces towards us. "Why is this girl running around with this child?" they said.
And why were they running away? One of them had not taken off his gas mask. Their faces were so red from the rubber gas mask and from the heat of walking, otherwise they were even paler than us.
- Bran, - I threw.
"I'll give you my sawdust, turn back," they said.
We passed.
- I'm going to bury the head of that bran, aren't these children guilty...?
However, it was their fault. they were, with water, to wash our feet. they would rub our knees with hot water, then we wouldn't rub their swollen feet with hot water.
"Shut your mouth," I said, "breathe through your nose."
He closed it, but after a while, when I looked, he was breathing with his mouth wide open.
- Breathe through your nose.
"The air I breathe through my nose..." he whispered.
- What is the air?
"It's bitter." He came and touched me and stayed back again.
"You will wash those clothes again," I said.
— It has been washed, the letters do not pass.
"Madat's name is Turk... I named Madat after General Madat," I said.
"Their place is difficult now, they are climbing," he whispered. "They are standing now, they can't."
— The difficult thing for us will be on the way back.
"It's hard for them now," he whispered.
- They will bring a blooming willow branch.
"Their place is difficult now," he whispered, "Madat's heart is stirring now."
"Is your heart troubled?"
"Our place is straight, we are going down," he whispered. — They are going up now.
"They are coming back now," I said, "they are bringing blossoming willow branches, and we are going to take sawdust."
- We will take the sawdust.
"Why are we going to take it, do you know?"
"I don't know," he said, "the teacher said you will bring it."
— So that he can see that we have reached the sawmill. That's what bran is for. So that we can definitely run to Sawmills. That's what the blossoming branch is for.
"Their air is bitter now," he said, "Madat's heart is stirring now." He came and touched me with his head, as if he wanted to cling to me, but again he stayed back.
"In vain," I said, "you should have taken the women from the bran and turned back." Are you listening, turn back, take bran from the women and go, we will come and get there.
He went side to side, fell out of the way and came to touch me, the calf seemed to be giving birth.
- Turn back, take bran from the women, go. we will come and get there, don't you hear?
It was as if he was not coming himself, it was as if someone else was coming in him, who was not obeying him. That other person was pushing and pushing him out of the way, and he was forcefully pushing that other person back onto the road.
- Stop, turn back.
I stopped and turned around - he stood and swayed. She slowly raised her beautiful head. His eyes were cloudy.
- Turn back, take bran from the women...
His gaze was scattered, as if a sick calf was looking through him, which doesn't understand what they want from him and why they don't let him die peacefully.
"It's deaf," he whispered, "it's deaf, it's deaf, as if it's under water."
I waited for him to turn around, but he was just rocking and looking at me with a blurry look. I turned him back and pushed him towards the village. He didn't resist, it seemed to me that he agreed, he was coming back.
"Are we going to school now?" he whispered.
— You go, I run to Sawmills, I'll bring you some sawdust.
"You all run," he whispered.
My stomach was narrowed from anger and crying.
"I'm late," I said, "I'm late, I'm late because of you, the boys are at Sawmills now."
"You all run..." He frowned. She didn't have the strength to sob, she began to cry silently. - You all run, you run...
Crying started to choke me.
"Are you crying instead of me?" I burst out, "because of you I was so late."
"Well, let's go back together," he whispered, deaf as fish talk under the water, "you and I go back together."
"Why should I turn back? I can run."
"You all run..."
"I am your father and mother, why are you crying at me, go cry at your uncle's?" I was pushing him towards the village, and he was whispering.
"Let's go back together... two of us... you and me..."
- the road will not eat you, there is no wolf on the road, go.
"No," he said sharply.
- So what?
She slowly raised her beautiful head and stared at me with her big cloudy eyes.
"What are you saying?" I repeated, "you know there is no wolf, why don't you go back alone?"
The apple rose slowly on her thin neck, stayed and slowly came down. "They will say..." he lowered his gaze.
- What will they say?
"They will say," he whispered, "they will say. "Everyone has reached the place, only the Stranger has returned from the middle of the road." Everyone, everyone is running, not just me...
"You want..." But my throat got stuck. And in order not to cry, and because he was right, and because I was late, late, second after second late, and because there was nothing, nothing I could do, I pushed him.
He fell and I ran.
- Stay sitting like that, - I threw over my shoulder, - I will bring you a handful of bran.
However, he got out and came swinging. I told him to stop so that when he reached me, I would beat him, but he did not reach me. his legs tripped and he fell.” “Idiot,” I scoffed. And he was on all fours and, on all fours, he was slowly raising his beautiful calf head. He made such an impression on me.
I ran away. I was afraid to look back. I was afraid to see her swing and fall again. I was leaving and leaving. I told myself that we have come a long way, that's why my run is hard now, that's why I'm going alone, my run is hard because of loneliness, I was deceiving myself that my run is not hard at all, I'm almost running, the wind is almost making noise in my ears. I felt that something unpleasant had happened, and I thought that my running was taking me away from that unpleasant thing. I used to say to myself: quickly, quickly, quickly... the teacher gave you an assignment, and you are going to the sawdust... you have no other assignment, your task is the sawdust, quickly, quickly, quickly... something unpleasant, yes, it happened, but it already happened, far, far, far... and whoever can't, let him not run.
I slowed down. I had slowed down with the intention of turning back, but I regretted the way I had trodden so hard, and told myself that I had slowed down because of the rapids. After Zarriver, the road was going down, it was only necessary not to fall, and the road itself was going down, but my run became heavy, heavy...
... and now I stopped and tell you the story of my painful conscience. Twenty-five years have passed. The judge tells the criminal. What are you asking the court for these and these evil deeds, death or twenty-five years in prison, and the criminal thinks and says: "Death or twenty-five years... but aren't they the same thing?"
I didn't commit a crime, no, they didn't ask me such a question in court, I just wanted to say that twenty-five years is Time equal to death, everything dies, everything wears out, everything changes. The old strict teacher rolls her eyes, rolls again and tells you. "No, I didn't recognize it... I don't have my glasses with me... I lost my glasses, I'm sorry, I didn't recognize them", you look, look, and you don't understand why you said about these faded women's eyes, "a bunch of khaz eyes". Everything fades, everything changes... It does not change, it is not forgotten, only what happened to you during your childhood, what you did, does not fade in you. And if you happened to run with the group, it will forever stick in you, like the flapping of the wings of an alarmed bird in the night, the pounding of your feet—thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump... when looking back, don't think that you will cross these steeps, your running will be easier, and you will not look back and see him on all fours, looking up with wide eyes. You will not look back, but he will be against you, you will go fast, but your running will be heavy and without wings. Like a bird dipped in fuel oil, your conscience will fall, fall and not be able to soar.
They brought planks from the sawmills by cart. Sailapan was Badalents Dar's grandfather. I stepped aside to give way to the cart and was a little happy.
"Grandfather," I said, "the grandson of Grandfather Arsen Darbinyan couldn't come, he stayed on the road, convince him, take him back with you, again."
"Whose son are you?" he asked.
He was so old that he wouldn't even recognize my father.
"I am Grandfather Avetik's grandson," I said.
The oxen were loose, the board was fresh and heavy, the oxen were pulling the cart with difficulty. The wheel hit a stone.
"You dog," he said to me and pinched the ox, "you left your friend on the road, are you telling me to take him back?"
with the squealing, the ox became tense and passed the wheel through the stone. The cart passed.
The cart passed, the road was now open, but I could not leave my place. My heartbeat stopped, and now there was deep silence. The trunks were motionless, the snow sparkled peacefully, I was motionless in the snow. I felt the presence of something familiar, and it seemed to me that there was oak bark on my skin, and I was stewing in the snow and in myself under the blanket. There was a squealing sound, somewhere an ox was straining, a wheel was spinning around itself, feet were stamping, and I was standing among the stumps. I entered the road and realized that I had been standing in the smell of wood and sawdust for so long, and it seemed like I was about to flog the bark again.
I was already running, but at the first moment I did not understand where I was running. I was running, of course, towards the Sawmill, I told myself that I was running towards the Sawmill, but it seemed to me that I was running towards the village, and Artavazd was lying opposite me, looking up in a hazy way. However, I was not running to the village, I was running to Sawmills for sawdust.
Above the sawmills, at a bend in the road, the slender black figures of the boys appeared. I could have taken a short way, through the snow, crossing the frozen river, to get to Sawmills a little earlier than the boys, but I wanted to mix with them, get lost in them, be one of them. I reached them near the sawmills and went among them.
"The stranger couldn't?" they said.
"He couldn't," I said. I did not dare to say. "You are a foreigner," I only answered, "he couldn't."
"Hitler kaput," they said to the captured Romanians.
"Hitler kaput," as one of them, I said to the captured Romanians, who were wrapping their friend's leg. They turned and smiled sadly at the thin boys who greeted them with the only foreign word they knew, "kaput," bowed, took a flake with their bony fists, and ran back with their bony little fists clenched. The guard of the prisoners mocked me when I took it with my right hand and also with my left hand.
- Fill your lap too, fill your lap too.
I threw away the sawdust in both my hands, turned to run back, but said to the guard:
"And you know what I'm taking it for?"
"I don't know," he said.
"Well, if you don't know, don't laugh."
"Your friend sat down to smoke on the road, he told you to bring me a handful of sawdust," he said.
"No," I screamed.
- I will tell Dasatvid, he will check.
- Say. - I bent down sharply, took first a handful for Artavazd with my left hand, then a handful of sawdust for myself with my right hand, and ran with my fists clenched. After a while, I thought that I would give Artavazd the right hand scab. As I say hello, I will show my right hand: here, I have brought it for you, take your sawdust.
"How many handfuls of sawdust did you take?" I asked the group.
"One, how many?"
"Didn't you take it for abroad?" I asked.
- How?
- Artavazd was left behind. Did you take bran for Artavazd?
- Why would I take it?
"The race was delayed," I said.
- I didn't take it.
- I took it, I will give it to you, you will give it to him.
"Why, you took it, you give it too?"
I couldn't explain to them why I couldn't greet Artavaz with my right hand, because I didn't understand why I didn't have the right to greet him like a brother.
"Where will they be now?" I asked, "will they be coming?"
- They will be near the blooming willow.
"They will bring a willow branch," I said.
- We also carry sawdust.
"I'll give you the bran of Artavazd, you'll give it to him," I said.
- You took it, you take it too.
"Are you going to die?" I said.
- why don't you give it?
- No, tell me, will you die?
"And you will die?"
"Let's go a little slower," I said, "they are barely reaching the willow now."
- They have gone now - they have come.
"Of course, Artavazd is not in their group," I said.
- Not in our group either.
"If Grandpa Dar took it..." I said. "Let's go a little slower."
"You can't, don't run," they said.
I realized a little later that they are not saying this about the weak and Artavazd in general, but they are saying it to me.
"Who can't do it? I can't?" After me, now... I tensed up, I was going to say "come" after leaving them behind, I tensed up and tensed up, but I didn't feel my tension, and neither did they stay behind, so that I understood that I was tensing up and leaving them behind, a kind of emptiness that you feel when you are asked, for example, about a slide rule, there was such idleness in me, and I didn't able to tense up.
- And who was that?
"You," they threw.
- Yes, me.
"Whatever is true is true," they said, "You were left behind with Artavaz."
- I came to the sawmills.
- Artavazhd didn't come, you did.
- I came, I arrived.
- The two of you stayed behind, then you came. Artavazd did not come.
"He didn't come, is it my fault that he didn't come?"
- Who says that you are guilty?
- I am not guilty.
"You are not guilty."
- On the contrary, I took bran for him.
"What are you going to do?"
- I will give him the bran.
- Why are you going to give it?
- I took it for him, so what should I do?
- What did you take for him?
"The bran," I said, "the bran, the bran." I took the bran for him. Let's go a little slower.
"Who stayed behind because of Grandpa Ktsan," I said, "and then he arrived."
They did not answer me.
- because of Grandfather Ktsan...
They did not listen to me. They were far away and getting further away. Together, silently, as if constantly in the same place and slowly, they moved and moved. it didn't seem like a run, it was a mockery of running, without winging and without riding you could strain a little, give your legs a little strength and catch up with them... I didn't believe that there was idleness in me and I didn't believe that their speed was not a mockery of running... So they went away and went away, and with them went life, excitement, the joy of running, a lot of eyes, a little ironic and a bunch of funny eyes, and I was left with the shame of being the last one, the weak one. I envied them, I hated their united shoulders, I hated their lifelessly stubborn course. My idle existence to their strong group was now bound only by envy.
"You leave me alone," I whispered. Their backs were indifferent to my envy, they went, constantly, without slowing down or speeding up, they left, and when I looked up again, they were gone, there was snow and the road, and I stopped.
- You went.
Rocking my head on my chest, I whispered.
"It's okay, the wolf won't eat me."
And I saw that I am not connected to them by anything, by anything, not by envy, nor by the desire to be the first or among them, that this is good - it is me and the road, it is snow and silence, and on the desolate road in the silent snows it is only me.
I did not understand how it happened that I was running again and not lying down. It was snow and snow and snow and it was like I was running in the same snow in the same place. I regained consciousness, but again I could not understand whether I was asleep or whether I was treading the same snow. It seemed to separate like twilight, as if running and sleep were interwoven in me. It was snow, snow and the same snow and in the snow it was the same snow and in the white of the snow there was not a non-white thing that was left behind, and I would tell myself if he was against me or if he was with me or if he stayed behind. Of course, there was a race. we lined up... we split into two groups... far away in the snow on the hill the upperclassmen shouted "hurray"... the blushing women sat and watched... then we stuck our hands into the hot sawdust... the run had been a long time ago, it had been, it was over and now the dream of running was happening. The stranger came, stood cross-legged in front of me, looked at me with a blurry look in his big eyes, and it seemed like it had happened once, now it was happening in a dream.
"Tell your mother to wash that shirt of yours," I said and realized that I was also standing against her.
He swallowed and breathed hopefully.
"I brought bran for you."
"Bran," he whispered.
"I brought bran, I took your bran, didn't I tell you that I will bring your bran?"
"You will bring my sawdust," he whispered. He took a handful of sawdust from my hand, he said "sawdust," but he didn't seem to understand what he was doing or what he was saying, he clenched his fists to his chest and strained toward the Sawmill. I hugged him, I liked his friend and weak body, and turned back and ran by his side, but for a minute I did not understand who turned whom - he turned me back to the sawmill, or I turned him back to the village.
"Why are you coming with me?" he whispered. So he thought we were running to the Sawmills. "Don't come with me," he whispered.
I didn't say anything to him because I also thought we were running towards the Sawmills.
"Why are you coming with me?" he whispered, "don't come with me."
"Speak little," I said, "breathe through your nose."
- Don't come.
This time it seemed to me that he did not want to run with me, my bad. "I'll go and come," he whispered, "I'll go and come," and he thought I was so good that I was running back to the Sawmills just for him.
"You will come and go," I said.
"I will go and come back," he whispered.
"Shut up."
He fell. He got on all fours and fell again.
"You will come and go," I said, "that's how you come and go." I could not lift him, and I liked my suffering. I liked that I was lifting him off the ground, that he had my scales in his hand, that my body was touching his thin ribs.
"It's quiet," he whispered, "it's deaf, it's deaf."
"What a sawmill, what a sawdust," I said, "who will check whether we have reached the sawmill or not?"
"You left once, don't come," he whispered, "I will go and come back."
"My mouth is sore, go a little slower," I said.
"Don't come," he whispered, "I'll go and come back."
"The boys brought my sawdust," I said.
"The boys brought your bran," he whispered. "Your mouth is bitter," he whispered.
I blocked his way.
— My sawdust was brought by the boys. It doesn't matter, you won't go to Sawmill, I won't let you.
"No!"
I hugged him and we both fell. And lying like that was as pleasant as the joy of running at the beginning of the journey. We had a hard time because I wouldn't let him go and he couldn't lift me.
"You are deceiving me," he cried, "you have reached Sawmill."
- I took the bran from the boys.
"All of you, all of you have reached the Sawmill, only I haven't," he cried.
He cried, that is, he could no longer find the strength in himself to turn to Sawmills, that is, he agreed to the idea that this way, with the sawdust I gave him in his fist and his fist pressed to his chest, he would run to the village. And he was coming and going and writhing from crying.
"But you won't tell... you won't tell, right, that you brought my sawdust?"
Again.
"You won't say... you won't say, right, that I haven't reached the sawmill?"
"You have reached Sholotsaran." But he was coming and going and drowning again.
- What was there in Sawmills?
"There was bran, there was bran," I said, "there was bran."
Tears fell on his fists, but he did not want to cry, and his face was contorted.
— But you have reached the sawmill.
"You've reached it too," I said, and he was suffocating and gurgling.
"But you won't say that I haven't arrived, will you?"
"Your dandruff is in your fist, you have reached it," I said, but it didn't matter, there was no room for it in his body, crying, he asked.
"Where is the sawdust from?"
"From the sawmills," I said.
"But I haven't reached Sawmills, I've arrived," he choked, "I haven't reached Sawmills, but I have sawdust in my hand, where did it come from?"
The village appeared. I straightened up and said.
"You run better than me."
The village looked over the hills. The houses of the village looked on with their roofs drawn to their fronts. The village looked and saw that two of its sons, Grandfather Arsen's grandson and Grandfather Avetik's grandson, are coming back together in a friendly way, one of them, of course, will be a little stronger, the other a little weaker, but they will not fall behind, they will come shoulder to shoulder in friendship. The school looked at us from among the houses of the village with the sunset sparkle of the windows. Our return from the school door was probably watched by a group of girls in green-red-orange... a group of girls dressed in orange, with blooming willow branches in their hands, and saw how poor, how weak our heart-burstingly slow progress was.
"They are watching from the school door now," he whispered.
"You run better than me," I said, "speed up."
He tensed, his face contorted, but he held back. Through the tension, he tensed again, for a moment he was equal to me, his red back passed me diagonally, but even at that moment it was clear that he was equal to me only for a fleeting moment. And that poor smile that appears on people's faces at the moment of coming to terms with defeat flashed on his face. He whispered.
- You go.
"The lone khachkar," I said.
"What are you saying?" he whispered. "You go."
— The lonely khachkar.
What else was I going to say? You couldn't break away from him just like that, without saying anything to him, without feeling him, as if no one beside you is dragging his suffering, and take your triumphant existence to the schoolyard through the eyes of the girls.
From the bottom of the school, from the bend in the garden, I looked back—he was coming painfully slowly, where I had left him, there he was; He and Khachkar were in their valley in the snow and hardly moved.
I straightened up and went out to the school yard, and the school yard was empty. There was no sound, only the ringing in my ears. The schoolyard was deserted. There was no one in the classroom, the blackboard was black and wiped. There was no one in the classroom, the clock was swinging in silence, the blossoming branches of the willow rested quietly on the desk. The yard was deserted, there was some sawdust on the threshold of the teacher's office.
"No," I whispered, "no, no..."
I opened my fist, and my throat was constricting, the dandruff in my fist had become a ball, I swallowed my saliva, and. my pomegranate came out, suffocated me and slowly came down, and that seemed to have happened once and now it was a dream, I dropped the ball of bran. The ball collapsed and splattered, and there was a little bit of dandruff on the threshold again, if you hadn't brought it, you wouldn't have noticed.
I bent down, collected the sawdust that we all brought with both hands, and the whole sawdust became a handful of garbage, and I ran to the teacher's house. He was taking hay to the barn for the cows. With a blossoming willow branch in his hand, Madat stood between the cows and the barn, not allowing the cows to enter the barn until his aunt stuffed the mangers with grass. He furrowed his brow, looked at me from the side and spat between his teeth with a gurgling sound, that is, this is how he will put my defeat in my mouth. The grass under the arm, the teacher saw me, fixed the grass under the arm, now there was silence, and looked at me. Only me. I opened my fist and heard the sound of sawdust falling. Something like love or caress was felt in his gaze, and with a slight trembling of his lips, he asked in a whisper: "And where is Artavazd?" and I felt that he wanted to hear from me: "he has come, he is at school", but he did not come, he was not at school, he was in the bottom of the valley, alone, distracted and defeated, fighting against his running. "It's coming," I said, and his gaze became as if he saw in me the murderer of his brother.
"Yes." He turned around and took the hay for their cows inside.