Page 13 - Litterateur March 2021

Following the dream

house with a suitcase of medical instruments in his hands,

and sat down on the front seat. The carriage drove slowly

up the road. After settling the bill with the taxi driver, I went

to Uncle Nurmat's house. When I entered, his eldest

daughter Zarifa was just getting water from the well and

greeted me. I inquired about her affairs and health, then

entered the house. Uncle Nurmat was lying on his bed,

staring at the ceiling. His head was covered with a white

bandage.

- "Yesterday he had been very drunk and slipped in the

snow," said Zarifa. - He hurt the back of his head.

I sat down on a chair beside the bed, putting my things

away.

- "The director haven't called me from the theatre yet," said

Uncle Nurmat when he saw me.

There was a short silence. I looked around the room.

The stove was unburned, a leaning cupboard with two

dozen books in it, a sprung bed and an old chair. There

was an old telephone set on the window sill, an empty

bottle of wine beside it, a pile of sheets and used syringes

lying scattered about. The room was so cold.

- 'My neighbour," said Uncle Nurmat anxiously, seeing that

I had brought wood from the yard for the cooker.

- "Take a look at the telephone, is the wire broken? "

- "No, it's all right," I said, glancing at the phone. I poked

the matches and lit the cooker.