Читать книгу Oh my love, my death. Selected short stories - - Страница 3

There were two of them. Both in military uniforms and blue caps. One, who was older, was writing something all the time, and the other was shouting, ordering, waving his arms. And old man Burkaniddin, the sixty-year-old mullah of this village, following their instructions, silently collected his simple belongings.

– Why are you so slow?! – the young security officer yelled. – Get ready quickly! Quickly!

And not satisfied with his movement, he kicked the old man a couple of times.

The mullah’s seventeen-year-old daughter stood by the door of the old house and watched what was happening with horror in her eyes. Since her early years, after the death of her mother, she had been her father’s faithful assistant, she had seen how he received and healed the sick, she had witnessed many of his miracles. People who were literally brought on stretchers magically stood up on their feet after his prayers and started to walk without anyone’s help.

For her, her father was a saint, a living embodiment of a prophet, and now she was sure that these two would leave him alone, at least stop mocking him, as soon as her father said a prayer. In her opinion, this did not cost much effort for a man who saved people even from snake and scorpion bites.

But her father was silent and obediently carried out all the orders of strangers. His pitiful, helpless appearance oppressed the girl and she wanted to cry. She could not understand her father’s unusual obedience, and she wanted to ask him to show her the magic power of miraculous prayers.

Meanwhile, the two of them, as if gone mad of permissiveness and lawfulness, became more and more impudent, rude and cruel.

They took the mullah out into the street and put him in the back cabin of a polutorka1. One sat next to him, the other, who was older, in the cabin, and the car slowly moved off.

The girl could not stand it and began to cry. She had a presentiment that her father was leaving forever and would not return.

– Father! – she screamed. – Don’t be silent, please. Do something.

At that time, a crowd of fellow villagers gathered near their house. They all loved and respected the old man. And now they silently saw him off, quietly wondering: «Why did he do this?»

And the daughter cried even louder, begging:

– Father, ask Allah, please. I know that he will not refuse you.

But the old man did not respond to her requests. He sat silently and looked into the distance.

At that moment, his mind was occupied with completely different thoughts. It was as if he was already living in another world. After all, unlike everyone else present here, the mullah knew that this was his last trip, that he was destined by fate to die in the dark dungeons of the OGPU. And he humbly walked towards death.

Through many mysterious signs and prophetic dreams, he not only had a premonition of trouble, but also clearly, as if on the palms of his hands, he saw his fate and was ready for his death, for the pre-death trials. He even stocked up on ten meters of white material for a shroud, which was now lying in his kurjun2. The upcoming torments did not frighten or disturb him at all. On the contrary, he considered them a necessary, inevitable condition for deliverance from sins and purification.

– Go to your sister, – he said to his daughter. – Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.

The old man was calm about his believing daughter. He was absolutely sure that God would always be with her, would always protect and take care of her.

But the little girl didn’t know all this, and she still cried and begged:

– Father, do something, please…