Page 13 - Litterateur March 2021
P. 13

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.
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