Vahid Mammadli
I am a mountain between two worlds

short novels

Red raspberry

The wide road passes through the center of the village and divides it into two parts. Behind the village, there are high mountains covered with wood, but below the village there are pine and fir-tree forests. In front, the village is pressed against the sandy shores of the sea. Possibly, this village is the nicest village of the world. It is situated in the frontier. Look, the frontier lines lie along the top of the mountains seen from here. In other side of these lines, there is situated one of the oldest and biggest countries of the East…

For years the frontier was closed. It was impossible for the villagers of this nice village to go to the country situated in the other side of the frontier. It wasn’t too easy as at present. Till the time when the former system was abolished, the inhabitants of this village grew harvest in the sowing areas, gathered the harvest and lived somehow thanks to the wages they got. But the villagers had another income too.

Each year starting from the middle of May till autumn, all the people of the village, including the children and adults, picked the fruits of raspberry bushes, which grew on the outskirts of the village, in the forest and in their gardens. They picked raspberries into the buckets, placed the buckets on the road, at their gates towards the city. The road was towards the north, leading to other different countries.

So, the inhabitants of the village lived in this way, brought up children.

During that period there were two big houses. One of them belonged to the chief of the collective-farm, the other house belonged to the director of the village school.

Years passed…. The borders were opened after the former system fell. It became easy to go to the country situated in other side of the frontier not only from this city, but also from the whole country. There was built a big custom -house in the village.

Then in the village there was much changing. The clothes of the villagers and some traditions also changed. Every day on the main road passing through the village, a lot of nice and colored trailers were rushing about. Those trailers were coming from the far countries and directing towards the north.

But only one thing wasn’t changed in the village. It was the tradition of to place the bucketful of raspberries at the gates of their yards, on the main road.

There was a singularity in this village. This singularity was that there grew only the bushes of red raspberry. The black raspberry grew only in the gardens of rare villagers. During that time there was much need to black raspberry. They could be sold expensive. Those who came from the city wanted to buy black raspberry. In this village, only in the garden of Unal’s parents, there grew more black raspberry bushes. Unal was born after the borders were opened.

The years passed…Unal grew up… After two days at the school where he studied there would be the ceremony of the last bell ringing. Unal would finish the secondary school.

He was sitting on the thick bough of the old mulberry tree in the yard and was eating the sweetest mulberry of the world, looking at the houses in the other side of the village. The reason which made Unal stare at the far houses, was his hope to see his lover Paknur. Every day he saw Paknur in the classroom, but he wasn’t tired of seeing Paknur.

Unal had opened his heart to his lover just when they were in the eighth form. Paknur neither said to him “ no” or “ yes”. She stood at the window, stared her green eyes at the apricot garden in the behind of the school, seen through the windows of the classroom, and said :“ I shall be an English teacher.”

Unal also took a step towards Paknur, stood near her. My God! How beautiful this girl was! His lover as if was much charming and fresher than the flowers on the mountains around the village. Now this place, the classroom, where he was admired at her beauty, was for him the most sacred and native place. Just here, in this classroom he had opened his heart to Paknur. That was why Unal answered without thinking: “ I shall also be a teacher.”

–Really? – Paknur asked him naively.

–Yes! My decision is resolute. We shall work as teachers in this school,– he said.

The booming sound of the turbo motor dispersed his thoughts. Even he would fell on the ground from the high bough of the tree. He looked round the road. In the middle of the wide road, golden “ Lamborghini “ was rushing about. Recently, he had seen a lot of nice cars rushing about in this road. But Unal had never seen such a nice car before. He remembered that it was the car of Abisalam. He looked forward, towards the four-storey villa seen highly among the houses of the village. “ Lamborghini” once more honked and then its sound couldn’t be heard. It appeared that Abisalam had reached to his home.

…There were times when at least all the children of this village lived only with wish- to go to the city, to enter any institute, to graduate from that institute, to own a profession, to work in their village.

At school only Abisalam didn’t read his lessons well. They say that the director of the school always scolded him. He advised him to read and to be a teacher or a doctor. The director told him that if he walked idly in the streets of the village he wouldn’t be able to enter any institute. But though the director of the village school made efforts, Abisalam yielded to no persuasion. He did whatever he wanted. Alongside with not reading his lessons, he behaved badly and hindered the reading of other pupils.

The director of the school had only one way-out- Abisalam was expelled from the school. Just at the same day, when he was expelled from the eighth form, Abisalam got on the train in the small station on the outskirts of the village, and left the village. Since that time nobody could see him. But afterwards it was known that he had gone to the far country in the north.

Seven years passed after his leaving the village. Some days ago Abisalam came to the village. He returned with his new golden “ Lamborghini”. This time he didn’t go to his father’s home but his private home. Because a year ago he had come to the village, giving much money he bought the yard in the neighborhood of the school director, the workers knocked down the old house in the yard. Well, he bought the yard in the neighborhood of the director who had expelled him from the school. He gave much money to the workers, they built the foundation just at the fence adjoining the house of the school director. Now the house of the director remained in the shadow of Abisalam’s big villa. They said that he asked the workers to dig the foundation too deeply, even the director’s house cracked.

Abisalam who was excelled from school just seven years ago, had everything he wished- four-storey villa, golden “ Lamborghini”, only the great God knows what he has in the country in the north. The people of the village said that most of the colored trailers coming from the different countries, and rushed about towards the north, including Afghanistan, passing through the middle of the village belonged to Abisalam. Abisalam didn’t know the language of the people living there, while going there seven days ago.

The people of the village also were aware of that the booming sound of the turbo motor of “ Lamborghini” of Abisalam returning from one of the restaurants at the seashore, at midnight woke the director of the school who was accustomed to go to bed early and get up early. Since the day Abisalam returned to the village, the director couldn’t sleep at nights. The school director was waiting impatiently the day on which Abisalam would return to the country in the north.

Then Unal was sitting on the thick bough of the mulberry tree and looking at the villa of Abisalam, thinking how nice villa it was. Abisalam’ s “ Lamborghini” was nice too. Unal thought that Abisalam had everything. “ But…no, – “ Unal said to himself: ” Abisalam hasn’t a lover like Paknur.”

The laughter of his sisters and brothers dispersed Unal’s thoughts, parting with his dreams he again returned to his yards. His parents, sisters and brothers were picking black raspberries from the bushes in the behind of the yard. There was smiling on their faces. It wasn’t a joke. This time they were picking black raspberries with great pleasure. After selling the bucketful of raspberries his parents would buy him a nice white shirt, black trousers and shining shoes, for him to put on the next day in the ceremony of the last bell ringing. Unal wondered what his lover Unal would tell seeing him in the new clothes.

His father took two buckets of black raspberries, went out of the gate, put the buckets at the gate in one side of the road. Unal’s mother said to him: “ Why not to take the buckets of raspberries to the bazaar situated at the end of the village, we can sell the blackberry much expensive there.”

Recently, some of their fellow-villagers took buckets of black raspberries to the end of the village, sold in the place which looked like a small bazaar. They didn’t put the buckets at their gates and waited for hours to sell.

But each time when Unal’s mother wanted to go there for to sell raspberries, father worried, he was against to go there and sell raspberry there. He used to say that they could sell at the gate too.

But this time Unal’s mother insisted on going to the small bazaar situated at the end of the village. Because he was afraid that might be they couldn’t sell the raspberries, and wouldn’t buy new clothes for Unal. Mother said: “ If we can’t sell raspberries we can’t buy new dresses. I can’t send my son to the ceremony of the last bell ringing dressed shabby clothes. Soon, Unal is going to enter the institute. Why don’t you want the raspberries to be sold? I wonder are all the people gathering there, mad? “

But Unal’s father again didn’t want to go there. – “ Yes, those who gather in the place like a small bazaar, are as if like mad. They don’t know what they are doing. They want to get money but forgot about everything. The day will come on which for they or their children will have to answer for it. All the money gained there is forbidden.”

Unal’s father’s words arouse mother’s interest. She continued in her insisting.

–Well, let’s go there, I want you to see everything with your eyes.” –his father was obliged to go, took the buckets and began to go in the direction of the end of the village. Unal’s mother was following her husband.

Their fellow-villagers were standing along the road placing the buckets at them. Mother saw that except their buckets, in the buckets of none of them were black raspberries. It appeared that all of them were selling red raspberries. The woman calmed for a while. She hoped that soon they would sell the buckets of black raspberries.

“Mercedes” coming from the city stopped just at them. The man wearing black glasses got off the car, looked at the buckets at Unal’s parents, then he approached to their neighbors whose buckets were full of red raspberries. “ How much is gram of it?” –saying thus he said: “ Put this bucket to my car.” Then he again got on his car.

Unal’s mother couldn’t realize anything, looked at the “ Mercedes” . She said to herself: ” I wonder do they sell raspberries in grams?”

The neighbor came up the window of the car, stretched out something folded to the man wearing black glasses. The man snatched the folded thing, hid under the seat of the car. He took out hundred dollar from his pocket, gave the neighbor. Then he drove the car, stopped at the buckets of Unal’s parents. Unal’s mother began to praise the blackberry: “ Take these ones, you can’t find like this anywhere.” Unal’s father waved his head hearing her words. “ Let him go. He isn’t in need of black raspberries.” The man wearing black glasses drove his car, withdrew.

The neighbor whose buckets of raspberries were still at him, as if struck dumb. He put the buckets on the earth, stood silently. But his eyes were smiling.

That day a lot of new and nice cars stood at the villagers stood near the road, and then they withdrew in a moment.

It was towards evening. The buckets full of black raspberries were

still at Unal’s parents. Firstly, mother looked seriously at his husband, then she said to her well-off fellow-villagers: “ I think all go mad. Nobody wants to buy black raspberries. I wonder why do all the cars stop at those who sell red raspberries? What does it mean?”

All of a sudden as if Unal’s mother struck dumb, she began to shout:

“ Dishonest! Ignoble! Shameless! Indecent! Just now I understand that all of you sell narcotics. Let the heavens punish you!”

The fellow-villagers looked at Unal’s father’s face and asked him: “ How long are you going to stay here? Take her home away!”

Unal’s father turned to his wife said quietly: “ But I had told you, we didn’t have to come here “. Then he said to his fellow-villagers: “ The day after tomorrow there will be my son’s ceremony of the last bell ringing. We must buy new dresses for him. Or I would never come here.”

– 

What can I do? You don’t want to sell red raspberries, – the neighbor who sold red raspberries smiled cunningly.

Unal’s mother didn’t know what to do because of anger. She couldn’t calm herself. ” See, who live in my nice village? Shameless! Rascals! Dishonest!”

Policeman’s car was seen from far….

The neighbor who sold red raspberries, was confused, turned back: “ Unal is a good boy. He must put on new dresses at the ceremony of the last bell ringing.” – saying thus he took out money from his pocket. He reached out the money to Unal’s father, said to the boy standing near him: “ Take these buckets my home, we may cook jam.”

–Don’t stand here. Go home, – he said to Unal’s parents.

Unal’s father took the empty buckets, began to go towards home. Mother was following him muttering to herself….

***

Today is the day of last bell ringing ceremony. Unal put on his snow-white shirt, black trousers, shining shoes bought by his parents a day before, and directed towards the school in the side of the wide road. The other pupils also went out from the yards of home built at the roads, took steps in the direction of the school.

When Unal entered the school yard, firstly, with his eyes he looked for her lover Paknur. There was smile on the faces of all the pupils gathered in the school-yard. Soon the ceremony of the last bell ringing would begin. Paknur was standing in the front rows on the stairs leading to the school. She was shining as the

best chandelier sold in the south bazaar.

Unal was standing in the behind rows and looking at his lover. He would have a talk with Paknur after the last bell ringing. He would open her his heart, would tell him how deeply he loved her. He would tell her that he would also choose the group of foreign languages at the test examinations. He would tell her that he didn’t want to be a teacher any more, he wanted to live in a foreign country together with her. He would tell her that he also wanted to have a villa and a car like “ Lamborghini” for to travel together with her.”

The official part of the ceremony of the last bell ringing began. The teachers and excellent pupils spoke. The director summed up the ceremony, and declared that the last bell would be rung soon. The bell ringing couldn’t be heard because of the booming sound of the turbo motor of the car coming towards the school. All who were in the school yard turned back and looked at the gates of the school. Unal also was watching the car. One side of the car of Abisalam could be seen there. One door of the car was opened and then was shut. Nobody could see who opened and shut the door. Unal watched the gates for a while. Then the stern voice of the school director made all the pupils to turn in the direction of the school.

While turning back Unal couldn’t see his lover Paknur in the place where she stood. He looked around the school for some time, he looked for his lover Paknur. Anxiously he passed through the pupils and went towards the stairs leading to the school. Paknur wasn’t there. He approached to Paknur’s friend Shahrizad who was there.

–Didn’t you see Paknur?

– My God! Don’t you know? I thought that you knew…

– What? What did I have to know?

–Yesterday Abisalam’s parents arranged an engagement to Paknur. They wanted for the ceremony of the last bell ringing finish. Just a moment ago Abisalam took Paknur, went to the north. They say that their wedding will be there, in the north after some days.

Unal struck dumb. He was astonished. He couldn’t hear what she told then, he ran towards the exit door of the school. The wide road at the school gate was empty. There was seen nothing except the big trailers passing through the customs house. Unal was staring at the north, couldn’t realize why Paknur did thus. At that moment a big trailer passed at him whistling.

The sound of the whistling dispersed his thoughts, he looked at the trailer. On the trailer there was the picture of a dark red raspberry ….

Between two mountains

Captain Masud Ibrahimzade looked at the painted reproduction of Taj- Mahal palace which was hung on the wall of his working room. He was again dreaming about those far years…

The bank of the river Jamna. The pearl of India, a miracle, the length of which is seventy four meters, Taj- Mahal palace. Four small and one huge dome built of white marble seem much whiter against the background of the blue sky. Millions of people from different parts of the world visit India to witness this miracle with their own eyes.

The guide girl with smile on her face was narrating the story of Taj- Mahal to tourists gathered at the palace.

…This palace touches the hearts not only like an architectural memorial but also with a love story behind it resembling the tales of one thousand and one night.

Jahan Shah who lived in the XVII century married to the most beautiful nineteen year old girl Mumtaz Mahal.

Like each Eastern ruler who respected himself, Jahan Shah also had his own harem. But he fell in love with Mumtaz Mahal and he didn’t want to see any woman except her. The French philosopher and traveler Fransua Berne who lived in India for about twelve years wrote in his diary that Mumtaz Mahal was like the heart of Jahan Shah, the Shah trusted only her.

Mumtaz Mahal was always side by side with her husband during military marching and journeys to distant countries.

They lived together seventeen years, they lived a happy life. From that happy marriage they had eight sons and six daughters. The most beautiful girl of the world Mumtaz Mahal suddenly died near Burhanpur after giving a birth to the fourteenth child.

Jahan Shah was distraught with grief, the life lost its meaning for him. Shah was down in the dumps, his hair became gray. He declared two year mourning in the country.

Six months passed after Mumtaz’s death. The Shah decided to perpetuate her memory and with this purpose he brought his lovely wife’s grave from Burhanpur to Agra. In India, during the rulership of the Great Moghuls, Agra like Delhi was considered the capital of the empire.

Taj- Mahal palace was built within twenty two years. Two thousand people were involved in construction of the palace, marble used for building of the palace was brought from three kilometer’s distance, from Rajputan quarry. An architect from Shiraz, Isa Khan justified the hopes of grieving Jahan Shah – the white minarets of Taj- Mahal palace shone glittering like gold under the beams of the hot south sun. The interior of the palace was decorated with the graceful eastern ornaments, with the nabati designs. The irreplaceable attributes of the Moslem architecture – the ayahs of Holy Koran, were engraved on the walls of the palace

On the opposite bank of the river Jamna Jahan Shah decided to build another palace which would be the twin of the Taj- Mahal tomb, it was intended to be personally for the Shah. The new tomb that wouldn’t differ from Taj- Mahal tomb would have only one difference. It would be built from black marble.

But the Shah’s wish remained only a wish; in 1658 his son dethroned him. By the order of the dishonorable son the Shah was thrown to dungeon, where he spent the rest of his life. From the small window of the dungeon Taj -Mahal could be seen…

After eight years, in 1666 Jahan Shah died. They buried him near Mumtaz Mahal with whom he had lived for seventeen years…

***

The telephone in his office rang. The chief of the Criminal Investigation Department was speaking from another end of the receiver:

–Hi, Buddha, where are you?’– said the imperious voice of the chief.

–I am not Buddha.

–But who are you?

–“I am a mountain between two worlds.”

–Maybe again you dream over India? Where on earth have you been?

He was upset with rough treatment of the chief, but suddenly he remembered that soon he was going to retire. There was no use of arguing in vain.

–My chief, I am in my office. You dialed the phone number of my office.

–Hurry! Come over here! Don’t argue with me!

The office of the chief was in the distance of five or six steps’ from his room.

The young investigator of the procurator’s office and another employee – Safarov, were in the office besides the chief himself. He moved forward and stood just next to Safarov. The tone of the voice of the chief became louder:

–Together with the mister investigator you will head to search the house of the woman named Khadija. Help the investigator. But keep an eye on Khadija so she doesn’t do any tricks. She is one of a kind swindler.

He had heard much about Khadija. She was one of the most famous crooks of the city. Each time while he thought about Khadija he was struck dumb. If he, the captain for years, wanted to borrow a hundred manat, everyone around would find excuses not to lend him any. Maybe that was why during his life he never borrowed money and because of not having money he never lent money to anybody. However, people trusted that swindler woman and lent her hundred thousands of monies. Someone lent her money to buy a house, the others for a better job, and others lent to start business. But only after some time they understood that Khadija deceived them.

Khadija’s hands were never handcuffed. At any case, she was a woman. Her one-storey house was in the far yard of the crossing of the streets of Ingilab and Khan Shushinski. The investigator of the procurator office was twenty two or twenty three years old young man. He put his leather suitcase on the table in the kitchen, and took some paper and a pen. The policeman responsible for this part of the city had called two neighbors to be witnesses.

After the investigator explained the witnesses their rights and duties he offered Khadija to surrender money and golden adornment which could be important for investigation. The search of the house commenced after Khadija said that none of the things the investigator named were there.

The young investigator was busy with drawing up a report, so the investigation was carried out by Ibrahimzade and Safarov. Safarov started investigation together with the witnesses in the sitting room. Masud went to the bed room.

After long searches in the bed room he looked behind the wardrobe. As if his sixth sense was telling him that there was something just behind that wardrobe. He pulled the wardrobe that was at a five or six fingers’ distance from a wall. He squeezed behind the wardrobe and again pushed it forward. Suddenly he noticed a wide four cornered hole on the wall. There was a white pillow. He took the pillow and saw there bank-notes.

The moment he had taken the pillow filled with dollars intending to inform the investigator about it, Khadija entered the room. Seeing the white pillow in Masud’s hands she turned white in face as the color of the pillow:

-When you entered the room I felt that only you would find money. There are five hundred thousand dollars inside of the pillow in your hand. Try to get the money out of the house. Don’t let the investigator to include the money in his report. It is all that I have. If you give even only a hundred thousand of that money to me I shall keep it in secret until my death. See, there is a window; it looks to the back of the house. If you throw the pillow full of money through this window it will fall and get stuck between the house and fence, nobody will know it. Then you may return in the evening and take it. Here you are, these are the keys of the house and gate. Till the end of your life you won’t see as much money as this. You will never be able to earn so much.

Masud looked sourly at Khadija:

–But all this money is the money of the people you had deceived. How can I use it?

–Be clever. The chances like this are rare. –Khadija smoothed her hair finically.

Masud called Safarov in order to put an end to this talk. As soon as Safarov entered the room he saw the money in Masud’s hand and looked at Khadija.

Khadija:– Your friend is stupid. This is the money that I had told you about while you were taking me to isolated cell. See, what he did. I wonder why haven’t you told him anything. – She looked at Safarov reproachingly.

– 

Well, would I need him? I told this to chief and he was supposed to let us both of us to carry out the investigation.

Then Safarov muttered something which only he could hear in sotto voice:

– 

How could we know ahead, we considered him a dork. We didn’t think that he would find the money so quickly.

Khadija stared furiously at Safarov. Safarov looked hesitantly at Masud. But he could feel what Safarov wanted to say and that was why he waved his head.

Safarov:

–The chief won’t let you get off the hook.

Masud was silent.

– 

Why wouldn’t you agree? Hurry, we don’t have much time. The investigator may enter the room at any moment. The witnesses are also in the next room. Hurry up and come to a conclusion.

Masud moved towards the door. Safarov approached the window and said angrily: – Khadija, he is crazy, there is no use.

Khadija tilted forward her large breasts to Masud and said: – Well, take all the money yourself, don’t give me anything. But I feel sorry for the money. Don’t submit the money.

He moved fowards making Khadija to back up and headed towards the kitchen where the investigator was writing a report. But from behind he could clearly hear Khadija and Safarov to say simultaneously:

– Stupid…

***

Masud was happy. Jokes apart, but he succeeded to return their honestly earned monies to a number of honest people.

When captain Ibrahimzade was in high spirits he used to tell some hemistiches of Pobindrant Togor in Russian language. However him being in high spirits was a rare case.

One – is always one, and nothing but the one

But it takes two to create the beginning of the one

That day, towards evening he didn’t know where to go after work. Since he divorced his wife and longed to see his daughter, life lost its meaning. The tables of the tea-house near theatre “Nizami” were outside. Two men were drinking tea sitting under the tree seemed to come from a different reality. It seemed that he was not living in the same city with those guys indolently drinking their teas under the shade and playing backgammon.

He couldn’t find an empty place. He entered a nearly located used books shop. For a long time he didn’t visit bookshops. He had forgotten which book he had read recently. The atmosphere of the bookshops attracted him when he studied in Moscow. What luck that he entered the bookshop, he felt good, he felt young and hale like he was in student years. In fact, he still was “a student”. He always had some small change in his pocket, and always daydreamed. People like him are often called “eternal students.”

The salesman was looking at him attentively, as if he was watching him. He wondered which books he will encounter. Then his glance fell on a poetry book. – Oh, my God! This is an Indian poet – Ashok Vajpeyi. A photo of a young man wearing glasses was pictured at the cover of a pocketbook. Under the photo it was written:

“Ashok Vajpeyi was born in 1941. He is the head of the Academy of “Lalit Kala”, that is to say the Head of Academy of Fine Arts. He was awarded the name of the commander of the French art and literature. Ashok Vajpeyi is one of the talented representatives of the trend of “new poetry”. His poems have been translated into some Asian and European languages”.

He began again to dream about India. Taj-Mahal palace …And his first love.

His heart gave a leap. He looked outside through the window and saw an empty place in the tea-house. He bought Ashok Vajpeyi’s book of poems and rushed out of the shop.

– 

Come again! – The salesman said.

He opened a book on the random page and read the first poem he came across:

My words

Touched you

Like a light wind,

Like sun beams,

Without being felt.

The buds of the words

Faded before blossoming

Fine smelling of the faded words

Disappeared all of a sudden

On the branches of tree named you.

What a happy man was Ashok Vajpeyi. What a beautiful poem was he able to write, able to express his feelings… He never wrote even one hemistich during all his life. In fact, he never thought about writing a poem. But now, while sitting under a tree behind theatre “Nizami” and drinking tea, dreaming about India he regretted that he wasn’t able to write. He felt sorry for himself.

–I feel sorry for you, Masud Ibrahimzade…

***

He woke up to someone’s angrily slam closing the door. He jumped out of his bed and looked at the pendulum clock on the wall; it was a quarter to eleven. In a hurry he stretched out his hand to his clothes thrown on the chair. Hastily he wore his trousers; his heart was beating fast because of anxiety and waking up suddenly. His blood pressure has definitely risen. If only he wasn’t late for work…

Suddenly he noticed the honorary order on the bookshelf. He chewed his lips for a moment with sorrow, and then relaxed. Only now, while seeing the honorary order he remembered that since yesterday he is retired. The honorary order which he had put behind the glass on the bookshelf had been signed by the head of the Criminal Investigation Department. On behalf of the Ministry he was thanked for his thirty year activity. He sat on the bed, and threw the shirt he was going to wear on the sofa. But it appeared that his retiring wasn’t to Jannah’s content. While leaving she slammed the door so that he understood how angry she was.

Deep in his heart he justified Jannah. Is there any woman who agrees with her husband’s retiring and sitting at home all day long? Especially in this age… Fifty one year isn’t old age. He should not offend Jannah. If Jannah leaves him…well, what to do. It is right, Jannah is too plump. As a woman she isn’t so attractive. But it is better than to live alone, all by himself. He is not smart – now it isn’t the Soviet’s time, the borders are open. He had to take a holiday and go to India. He should have found Kaushari whom he could never forget, and tell her that he was going mad because of her. He would tell her that though many years passed, he still loved her. Maybe Kaushari wouldn’t remember him. Kaushari saw a lot of tourists every day. And all of them were from different countries. Would she remember Masud? If Jannah didn’t live with him he would collect his pension money and would somehow go to India. But he shouldn’t brake up with Jannah.

He would be reproached. They would tell that Zibeyde couldn’t bear because he didn’t earn enough money; she and his daughter Sabina lived half starved, half satisfied. That was why one day she collected all she could take with her and said: “Most of the men in your age are with position. They have much money. Do you think all of them have relatives at high posts supporting them? No, of course, not. Simply, they are not as stupid as you. All day long you are in the streets, in the cities. You search for a swindler. You never celebrated New Year at your home. Each year you are on duty in the office. You can’t demand your rights. Isn’t there anybody except you? I feel shy to tell anybody that my husband is a captain. When I see young boys become generals, how can I tell that my good-for-nothing husband isn’t even a major, not a general? ”

High pitched voice of Zibeyde tingled in his ears. He grabbed his head. Each time when Zibeyde’s shouting tingled in his ears his mind shook up. In fact, it was thus since the first day of their marriage. Since the morning of the wedding he began to hear that odd voice. Zibeyde spoke over telephone loudly too. How happy Masud became when Sabina was born. He had promised himself to bring her up as the happiest girl of the world. Because she is a girl. She is a guest at home, as one day she will leave for her husband’s house. She should not hear the word “no”. She should be brought up as a lady. She should get good education. As if Sabina was his breath. He thought that his small daughter was the best gift of the Great God to him. He had a lot of optimistic wishes and plans connected with Sabina. After he divorced with Zibeyde, though he was reproached he could find time to rush to Sabina’s school and see his daughter. Day after day he could feel how his daughter becomes colder and colder towards him. During the first days when Zibeyde left home taking Sabina with her, Masud missed Sabina too much. Every day he woke up crying bitterly saying “Sabina”. At court he told that he passes his house to his daughter. The home in which he was living now was the home his parents lived once. Approximately for a year he went to school to see his daughter. But one day he saw Zibeyde coming out from the chief’s office. As soon as Zibeyde left, the chief called him and informed: – Masud, your wife complained that you were going to kidnap your daughter. She says that you instigate your daughter against her mother. She says that if you go to see your daughter once more she will complain and try to get you to jail. Be careful. Your wife is too aggressive.

After that event captain Masud Ibrahimzade went to school to see his daughter Sabina but he could feel how his daughter grew cold to him. The last time when he went to school he saw how Sabina ran towards classroom seeing him. He turned back and wanted to leave the school, he saw Zibeyde at the gate. Even now he can remember the insulting words of Zibeyde. Since that time neither he could forget Zibeyde’s words nor his daughter Sabina. Masud who wanted to console himself somehow, would never forgive himself for losing Sabina. Zibeyde could be able to make Sabina lose interest to him. Even if he married Kaushari and they had five or six daughters or four sons Sabina was dearest to him. The wound in Masud’s heart would never be recovered. Now there was neither Sabina nor Zibeyde near him. Only Jannah was near him….

***

Jannah Agafovna Gubanova worked as a ticket-seller in a booking-office. They met when Jannah’s son killed some guy. He was a member of operational group. Jannah was taken to the department as a murderer’s mother. He felt sorry for a stout woman waiting in the corridor for her investigation for hours. He called her to his office and offered her a seat. Jannah was crestfallen and revealed the story of her life to him. When Masud brought up the subject of India he felt how attentively this large woman was listening to him, what only increased his sympathy to her. He didn’t allow other policemen to hurt somehow her feelings. After one month Jannah called him at his work place:– Masud, help me. My darned daughter deceived me and made me sell my house. She told me, let’s sell it and move to Rostov, and so I did and went to Rostov. Over there coupled with her husband drunkard they took my money and ditched me on the street, telling me to scram back to the place where I came from. Masud, the booking-office is also closed. Who would lend money to anyone nowadays. God forbid, should I beg on the streets?

This is Jannah’s life. What can she do? Then he brought Jannah to his house and told her that she can stay here for awhile. “I am also alone. You can tidy up the room. Later we would figure something out”. Since that time Jannah lives with him. Everyday she leaves in the morning and returns back in the evening. “Masud, I am seeking for a job”. “Let me go have a look if the booking-office is open”. “Masud, do you maybe have 3 manats? As soon as I find a job I will pay everything back…”

Oh well, at least from time to time Jannah cooked a borsch or something else. Plus, no one listened to his story of India as attentively as Jannah did. In fact, Masud started to like her initially because of this. Everyone has heard his story of India. Some, as their chief used to do, were telling him that they were fed up with his stories of India and if he doesn’t want to work, why doesn’t he move to his beloved India. His colleague who sat with him in the same room would leave the room immediately as Masud started talking about India saying: “I will come back in a second”. Zibeyde in these cases used to increase the volume of TV or would quickly start dialing her sisters. Sabina would smile and say: – “Father, you have said this already. Arsham is there, Taj- Mahal is there, there are the monuments of Buddha” – and would quickly leave to her room. At times some of his joker friends would ask him: “Masud, how are your relatives in India?” and burst out laughing after this – “Ha, ha, ha…”

But when a young employee who graduated from the Police Academy was appointed to the Criminal Investigation Department, Masud was happy. That young employee was attached to him, he had to teach him the secrets of work. The trainees whom he taught are either a major or a colonel. When the young employee was assigned to him in between teachings of subtleties of work Masud also used to tell him about India. Masud talked about India in such a way that young man the relative of some authoritative man started to believe that India is better than the places like New York, London, Dubai and Venice which he has visited numerous times. But after some time the employees who sat in the next room stared to ask the young boy whether the talks of Masud bored him or not: “We respect your father a lot…Masud has lost his mind…Only once in his life he traveled India, since that time…Well, don’t pay much attention. We know that you won’t stay here for long anyway… You will be either transferred to the Passport Registration department or become deputy of the head of the department. It is temporary inconvenience.” Maybe the reason of why the employees who were assigned to Masud would quickly rise to a higher pillar was that on the example of captain Ibrahimzade they would learned how not to work, and would advance to a higher rank earlier.

Among the foreign countries Masud visited only India. He had been in Russia too but he didn’t consider it to be a foreign country. He graduated from the faculty of law of the best higher education institution, Moscow State University named after Lomonosov. The year he finished the secondary school his father was the third secretary of the party committee of the district. When Masud was entering the University named after Lomonosov, the first secretary called his father and said: Well done! I congratulate you! “Sputnik” international tourism agency has issued a voucher for travel. Last year my son went to Yugoslavia. He liked it a lot. This year send your son. The voucher is to India.

His father used to phone him every day, watching his every step. He didn’t want him to go to India as a tourist, but the first secretary wouldn’t offer India trip just to anyone – “No, I am obliged to send my son to India if the first secretary offers. I can’t object to him. I would let him go” – he said.

Yes, if it wasn’t for the first secretary he wouldn’t be able to travel to India….

***

…In Delhi they were placed in a “Holiday Inn” hotel which was assigned to a group. In the morning they were drove to “Taj -Mahal” with the buses. All around was greener than green and bluer than blue…

The guide was a girl – as if she was carved out of an ivory. She was like a Sirius* which was described and glorified in the classic Indian poetry. Her eyes resembled the eyes of the Goddess Varuna*. She could speak Russian very fluently with sweet Indian pronounciation. When she was opening her lips and speaking the student of the Law Department of Moscow State University named after Lomonosov , Masud Inbrahimzade thought she was singing a song. As if Masud was dreaming. A fear was emerging in his heart to wake up from this dream. He desired to live in this dream for all his life. But each dream has its ending. He didn’t have choice – it is called a love from the first sight. He didn’t know the reason why he similized this girl to a Goddess Varuna. The girl also did not stay indifferent to this tall guy….Maybe invisible spirits of Jahan Shah and Mumtaz Mahal, that were soaring above the Taj -Mahal palace blessed this love. Right there, in front of this love temple the girl told him her name:

–Kaushari.

–Masud.

India…The paradise on Earth….The country of contrasts. ..The stream of people of Delhi…Rosy city of Jaypur. The magnificent castle of Amber. Fascinating Agra. Romantic love city with five beautiful lakes one better than the other, “the Venice of India”– Udaypur. The old city of Jaysalmer, with narrow streets and charming palaces. The palace of Hava Mahal. The magnificent banks of Gang…Travelling to all these places accompanied by the girl with whom he fell in love at first sight made all these beauty become engraved in his mind forever.

As it is said in the Indian Vedas the life is itself like a dream. When they were separating the girl was moved to tears. Masud told her: – Wait for me, wait for me in any case – his voice broke.

Kaushari:

– 

I am “A mountain between two worlds.”*

I shall wait for you. Take, this is my mother’s gift for you.

– 

There is no need for it.

– 

It is

Surabkhi -

the girl smiled.

It seemed to Masud that only the girl who love comes from the heart can smile like this and he believed that she would wait for him.

***

* Sirius- a tree from the family of bamboo that blossoms white

* Varuna- the Goddess of water

* “A mountain between two worlds”-According to the belief of Indians the world is surrounded with mountains. These mountains are like the borders between the Earth and the unseen world of beyond. When the sun is inside the chains of mountain it lightens one side of the mountains, when it exits it lightens the other side of the mountains.

* Surabkhi- a mythical figure of a cow which is able to fulfill all the wishes

It would have been better if he didn’t study in Moscow at all. If he studied in his own city everything would be different. His diligent studies and afterwards diligent working brought disaster upon him… He was always appointed to the most difficult tasks and was never appreciated. Since that time there were those who envied him.

Unlike other students he didn’t have expensive fur coat or a fashionable cloak. He always wore shoes made at factory named after Volodarskiy, shirts made at Baku sewing factory or clothes made at Moscow “Proletarka” factory. But whatever he wore suited him well. Everybody thought he was wearing world’s most expensive clothes.

His heart started beating faster. Maybe his blood pressure went too high. He moved towards the telephone. He didn’t have any other way out except to call first aid. His blood pressure had to be measured, or he would again be stuck between life and death as previous time when he took medicine without measuring his blood pressure. Falling of his blood pressure would again drive him nuts. Maybe he should wait for some time, maybe blood pressure would fall. Or the neighbors would see the ambulance and would worry what has happened to him. As soon as he retired on a pension his health got worse. What does this supposed to mean? As soon as any of my colleagues retires he either gets a heart attack or passes away – he touched wood superstitiously – God forbids! Oh Lord, please help me…

He looked at the telephone. Whom else to phone? Who else did he have…He has a sister, but he isn’t in good relations with her. Numerous times she complained to him that despite the fact he works in such a place like Ministry of Interior he wouldn’t assist to find an employment for neither one of her sons. “If you really wanted you would do it” – she reckoned. When he felt that he is unable to explain he stopped calling her. Neither did she. Is there anybody else? He himself used to phone her only on holidays. Is there anyone out of his friends? One guy, Alibala, who worked in a little national cuisine restaurant near the Ministry, used to phone him sometimes asking about his health. He used to invite him over and he would visit him, eat some national meals with 50 gram of vodka. Alibala used to tell him about Samara city where he spent his youth years, and he used to talk about India. For the last time Alibala called him saying that representatives from Taxes Department came over and want to close the place. He asked if Masud could give a phone call to someone from Taxes. But in return, Masud told him that they don’t listen to anyone. Who am I for them? Since that day Alibala didn’t call anymore. Probably the restaurant got closed or maybe he isn’t in the city, he has left to Samara.

His blood pressure will fall by the time ambulance comes. Maybe not to call at all? His neighbors who never greeted him would ask about his health, “What happened to you, mister Masud?”… As if a policeman can never get ill.

Recently he feels better when outdoors. He decided to try to go out to see what happens.

Masud leaned his right hand on the wall and went forward in the corridor. He opened the door and went towards the stairs. He remembered that he didn’t lock the door with the key. What is there in his room except broken and old furniture … He returned back, locked the door with the key and went to stairs, went out of the bloc, but thought that it was not interesting to walk in the yard where there was no place because of the cars. It would be better to go behind the building. At least there are some trees left. Staggering he went behind of the building. He reached the grove and stood for a moment. He tried to breathe deeply; his heart was beating faster than before. Here he had to lean on to the building in order not to fall, but they wouldn’t understand him if he did so. It is better to go towards the trees. He took some steps forward, but seeing trash cans lined up in a row in the grove, he felt upset. He had to lean against something; he had to hold on to something. Somehow he approached a tree. Though there was a smell coming from the trash cans he leaned against a tree and breathed the smell of acacia trees mixed with the smell of trash.

How nice the wind wasn’t blowing. As if recently Baku wind has also changed, as if it felt hatred to everybody… While driving in the bus the wind brings the dust of newly built buildings and passengers in the bus are covered with dust. As if the wind was saying to people why they hide themselves in the buildings built in disorder. Do you deceive me or yourselves? The wind didn’t let the persons like Masud to feel comfortable even in the buses. As if it asked them whether they considered themselves so smart. Maybe the drivers who stopped hectically even in narrow streets or the passengers who reached out their hands to stop the buses act rightly? May be you live your lives same way you get into buses? My God! The wind was speaking to him so roughly…

He had a fit of coughing; he sat down on the ground. When he felt a bit better he stood up, but he was scared. By the other side of trash cans two persons dressed in shreds and tatters were rummaging sweepings of food, empty bottles and put them into their sacs. His started coughing again. The two persons heard the sounds of his coughing stopped rummaging and looked at him. The older one nudged his friend and took steps back from the trash can. His friend understood nothing, and stopped rummaging, went back. At any case they were homeless. The homeless vagrants who lived in the account of sweepings of food they gathered from the trash cans. Their faces looked bluish. They even had traces resembling the color of moldy bread.

Suddenly the older vagrant said without moving:

– How do you do, mister Masud? Do you need anything? We are leaving now, we shan’t return here anymore.

He was surprised seeing that the old vagrant knew him. – Do you know me?

The old vagrant had a puzzled look, he combed his dirty hair with his hand, said: – Well, when we came here yesterday, – he showed the second floor, a woman shouted at us: – “What are you doing there? We can hardly sit at home because of the stink”. You were passing near by. She pointed at you and said: – “See, mister Masud is coming. He is a policeman. I will tell him and he will take you away”. Mister Masud, we left this place yesterday. Today we decided to come here for the last time until we find some new litter-boxes. Now we are leaving.

He didn’t know what to say to them. He looked towards the porch and window of the second floor where as the old vagrant told him the woman lived.

He turned to that vagrant and said: – That woman is mistaken. I am not a policeman anymore. I have retired. The old vagrant made a circle around the litter-boxes and ran towards the back of the building with electric generator. He brought a chair from there; without doubt he got it from the litter-boxes. – “Sit down, mister Masud! Don’t stand on feet!” Then he looked at his younger pal. – Let’s go, the woman from the second floor will shout at us. We must leave this place. Mister Masud, we are at your service. We won’t come here anymore. My name is Huseyn, his name is Fateh, he is Tatar” – he said and was going to leave.

The captain breathed deeply. His heart wasn’t beating fast as it did awhile ago. He felt hale and stood up. He felt better.

–Where are you headed now? – He asked Huseyn.

–Mister Masud, today we have gathered only a few bottles. We can’t buy even a small bottle of vodka. We shall see what the day has prepared for us after this

– He said

–Okay, leave the bag in your hand, and follow me. – He leaned the chair on the acacia tree. – Let the chair remain in here, let’s go.

Huseyn was perplexed – Mister Masud, please don’t take us to police office. We are leaving now.

–Come on, I told you, I have retired on a pension. We are going to my place, follow me.

***

Unopened bottle of vodka was left in the fridge from New Year holidays. He took it out and put it on the table along with a couple of tangerines –Well, now the borsch will warm up. And you go and take a shower meanwhile. Put your clothes into this bag in order to throw them in the litter box when going out. Then he opened the wardrobe, took out the suit he wasn’t wearing for a long time and a shirt and passed it to Huseyn.

–Mister Masud, we can’t wear these. Before, all homeless vagrants lived in the empty blind alley behind the “Azerbaijan” hotel. But after it was demolished we moved to stay in the yard of new building at the port. If I go there dressed like this, my clothes will be stolen over night and then exchanged to a bottle of vodka.

–Well, we shall discuss where you will spend the night. The suit is yours. He reached out to Fateh and passed him a sweater and trousers saying: – And you can wear these

Firstly Huseyn, then Fateh took bath in the bathroom and then they dressed up in clothes which Masud gave them. Masud packed their old rubbish smelling clothes, opened the front door and threw them into the litter-box through the rubbish chute. Freely breathing he returned to the flat. When Jannah returns home in the evening she won’t understand what’s going on if she sees Fateh and Huseyn in their rags.

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