The Railway by Hamid Ismailov Page A
Authors: Hamid Ismailov
Tags: Fiction - Historical, Fiction / Literary, FIC014000, FIC019000, FIC051000, FICTION / Cultural Heritage, Central Asia, Uzbekistan, Russia, Islam
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to one side, but repeated cries of âUshla! Ushla!â threw the boy into still more of a panic. Finally reaching the reeds by the bank, he sank into the slime and looked round for the last time. The colt was a little spot at the far end of the field, close to the dusty road, and there was no black horseman at all, nor could he see the other boys.
And now, standing by the canal, the boy couldnât make up his mind whether or not to jump across to the other bank and commune with something that was already lying softly on his tongue and quietening the burning pain in his insides. He didnât remember how long he stood there, but the chill slipping into him gradually changed his uncertainty to terror, and more cold darkness was creeping across the canal and a dog was barking in the distance and a frog began croaking somewhere near his feet â but then a night bird settled on one of the tables and, quietly pecking at the buns and the Easter cakes, calmed the boy and gave him new heart. He leapt across the canal and, playing safe by whispering âChrist has risen!,â began to make his way between the graves and crosses to the table where the bird had been sitting until heâd frightened it away with his leap. He called the bird back down from its wrought-iron perch, inviting it to a table where he could see bread and a glass and an onion â¦
----
60 The names of two of the cheapest Soviet red wines were âVermoothâ and âPortwein.â
16
Oyimcha was carrying grapes⦠grapes⦠grapes⦠Bunches of grapes⦠bunches of grapesâ¦
Why had life turned out this way and no other way? The bunches of grapes were dripping, and the sun was reflected in the drops of water and in the bunches themselves â which seemed like ripe drops of light⦠light⦠lightâ¦
Obid-Kori was now the only mullah left in the region. Some mullahs had crossed over the mountains to China; others were teaching in village schools or interpreting for District Party Committees, still others were fighting in defence of the Faith.
Life had turned out this way and no other way, and this, no doubt, was an expression of the wisdom of Allah who was, no doubt, testing and punishing his servants, and Obid-Kori accepted in his heart that this was the life he must live. He had not fled over the mountains with Oyimchaâs warlike brothers and uncles, although he had accompanied them, in accordance with his duty as a Muslim, from one Alay Kirghiz mountain settlement to another as far as the Kanchyn pass â from which a narrow one-horse track led to Badakhshan.
The horses had plodded gloomily on, gloomily on, and their cold-clouded eyes had kept looking back, past their scrawny flanks â as if the horses had wanted to leave their eyes behind, had wanted to leave their eyes behind in their own land...
Oyimcha had wept ceaselessly and amid her weeping had given birth to a child they called Mashrab⦠Mashrabâ¦
Life had turned out this way and no other way, and through the Providence of Allah Obid-Kori had become neither a village activist nor an adviser to a District Party Committee nor an editor of the Kirghiz-and-Uzbek newspaper Herdsman-and-Ploughman â although activists tried more than once to drag him, like a cow about to be slaughtered, onto one of their Soviet-and-Socialist platforms. Nor did Obid-Kori join the basmach, even though they once abducted him straight from his bed. He had been sleeping out in the courtyard, Allah be praised, and so when he came back home at dawn, on foot, from Chachma-Say, Oyimcha was still peacefully asleep, surrounded by children who seemed like a bunch of grapes⦠grapes⦠grapesâ¦
What had happened was this. Yormuhammad â one of the youngest and boldest of the basmach leaders, who had made a surprise attack on Chachma-Say with his Alay Kirghiz and seized control of these heights that command the entire Mookat valley
And now, standing by the canal, the boy couldnât make up his mind whether or not to jump across to the other bank and commune with something that was already lying softly on his tongue and quietening the burning pain in his insides. He didnât remember how long he stood there, but the chill slipping into him gradually changed his uncertainty to terror, and more cold darkness was creeping across the canal and a dog was barking in the distance and a frog began croaking somewhere near his feet â but then a night bird settled on one of the tables and, quietly pecking at the buns and the Easter cakes, calmed the boy and gave him new heart. He leapt across the canal and, playing safe by whispering âChrist has risen!,â began to make his way between the graves and crosses to the table where the bird had been sitting until heâd frightened it away with his leap. He called the bird back down from its wrought-iron perch, inviting it to a table where he could see bread and a glass and an onion â¦
----
60 The names of two of the cheapest Soviet red wines were âVermoothâ and âPortwein.â
16
Oyimcha was carrying grapes⦠grapes⦠grapes⦠Bunches of grapes⦠bunches of grapesâ¦
Why had life turned out this way and no other way? The bunches of grapes were dripping, and the sun was reflected in the drops of water and in the bunches themselves â which seemed like ripe drops of light⦠light⦠lightâ¦
Obid-Kori was now the only mullah left in the region. Some mullahs had crossed over the mountains to China; others were teaching in village schools or interpreting for District Party Committees, still others were fighting in defence of the Faith.
Life had turned out this way and no other way, and this, no doubt, was an expression of the wisdom of Allah who was, no doubt, testing and punishing his servants, and Obid-Kori accepted in his heart that this was the life he must live. He had not fled over the mountains with Oyimchaâs warlike brothers and uncles, although he had accompanied them, in accordance with his duty as a Muslim, from one Alay Kirghiz mountain settlement to another as far as the Kanchyn pass â from which a narrow one-horse track led to Badakhshan.
The horses had plodded gloomily on, gloomily on, and their cold-clouded eyes had kept looking back, past their scrawny flanks â as if the horses had wanted to leave their eyes behind, had wanted to leave their eyes behind in their own land...
Oyimcha had wept ceaselessly and amid her weeping had given birth to a child they called Mashrab⦠Mashrabâ¦
Life had turned out this way and no other way, and through the Providence of Allah Obid-Kori had become neither a village activist nor an adviser to a District Party Committee nor an editor of the Kirghiz-and-Uzbek newspaper Herdsman-and-Ploughman â although activists tried more than once to drag him, like a cow about to be slaughtered, onto one of their Soviet-and-Socialist platforms. Nor did Obid-Kori join the basmach, even though they once abducted him straight from his bed. He had been sleeping out in the courtyard, Allah be praised, and so when he came back home at dawn, on foot, from Chachma-Say, Oyimcha was still peacefully asleep, surrounded by children who seemed like a bunch of grapes⦠grapes⦠grapesâ¦
What had happened was this. Yormuhammad â one of the youngest and boldest of the basmach leaders, who had made a surprise attack on Chachma-Say with his Alay Kirghiz and seized control of these heights that command the entire Mookat valley
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