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Volcano "The Moon Outside My Window" (Satirical Novel) (51) The Spoilt Time

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  Volcano
  
  
  
  "The Moon Outside My Window"
  
  (Satirical Novel)
  
  
  
  
  (51) The Spoilt Time
  
  
  
  
   The long-awaited sprig had come at last. Like the teeth of a young dolphin, buds appeared on tree branches. I sat by the window of my watch-box looking out into the darkness, with street lights shining out, and listening to the croaking of frogs and the chorus of crickets. Those sounds reminded me of my distant youth which I had once ruined. The silent lightening seemed to be illuminating my recollections of the past where my old friends had gone. I whispered their names. The spontaneous tears made my eyes grow dim.
   I was sitting a long time, and then I imperceptibly fell asleep. In my dream I saw Kalankhan Adalatov. He was wearing a black coverall. We hugged greeting each other and weeping. The he asked me about my relatives and things and, of course, about the Uvada Factory.
   - I don"t know- I said - it so happened that after you had passed away I, too, had to leave my hometown Matarak. I was in exile. God, whenever I had wandered about! I now live in a Retirement Home for elderly people which are located in Domrabat under Tashkent. I work as a watchman. And how are you? Where do you live? Where do you work? What do you do for a living?
  - I work at the ceramic factory over here - he answered:. It"s a floating factory. We mainly produce time.
  -Good Gracious, is it possible to produce time? - I asked in surprise.
   - Yes - he explained. We produce time and deliver it down to you that is to this world, where people are pressed for it. I work as a shop superintendent here. I earn about ten kingles a month. The kingle is a monetary unit here. We exchange them for "battals" which is hard currency. 10 kingles equal one battal and a half, which is the cost of living. A kuns of light costs half a kingle on the market. One can live three days on one kuns. Maybe, more. There are different kinds of light: weak, medium, strong and super powerful. Weak light is only used by the poor. The rich, who eat in cosmic restaurants, live on super powerful laser beams which are thought to be delicacies. His words made Kalankhan Adalatov"s mouth water.
   I was surprise to hear it
   - Oh my, can one really eat light? - I asked.
   - Why not? - he replied lifting the edge of his shirt. I stepped back in fear. Adalatov had no entrails under his shirt. Here and there he had silver wires and little plates with microchips.
   Pointing to the metal organ looking like a sea-shell he said:
   - Here is my stomach. The beam that I eat gets in here. Everything is digested and gets further into the liver where it"s carefully purified and proceeds to the heart through the silver veins. The heart distributes all the light to the hole body. We have light in our veins, not blood. Do you get me, you silly man?
   - Yes, yes - I said
   - To make a long story short, dear Al Kizim -Kalankhan Adalatov continued - what you need is time, but not light. People on earth are pressed for time for there is a shortage of it. The need of time has reached the level when earth dwellers cannot measure time and grant some of it to their parents. They save time because it"s valuable. The light that God had granted them the human beings exchange for time. The earthlings will sooner or later go bankrupt and live in darkness. I will show how light is generated if you want.
   - Yes, it"s interesting.- I said
   Kalankhan Adalatov took me along the corridor to the shop.
   - Pardon me, I asked him on our way - and what raw material do you use to obtain light?
   - It"s a commercial secret - answered Adalatov.
   When we entered the shop he introduced me to the the workers:
   - This is Al Kizim Sunnatov, a journalist from the Planet Earth. He is the reporter of the Uvada Newspaper.
   I smiled bowing to the workers low, in a Japanese manner. The workers bowed in return. Then Adalatov led me to the warehouse where light was kept. The stock keeper came out to meet us, and Adalatov introduced him to me. His name was Sharbash Wimbledon which sounded sporty to me. He said:
   - Welcome, dear baraka topkur. Our time is kept in these barrels. You may taste it.
   - How can I taste it when I have no photon stomach like you have? - I said.
   - You put some quantity of time in a plastic bag and show it to him - Adalatove told the stock keeper. Sharbash Wimbledon opened the barrel, took a pece of time, put it into a bag and gave to me. I looked into the bag and saw all kinds of worms biting one another.
   - No, thank you, such time is not to my liking - I said - sorry, Sharbash Wimbledon, the time you keep in this barrel has got badly tainted. It represents a danger to the people living on earth. Your time will kill suffocating whole nations.
   The stock keeper got offended and said:
   - Why don"t you like our time, I wonder? The earthlings always praise it. There are favorable reviews in newspapers, TV, radio and everywhere. Talk to our farmers and they will tell you how they like our time. We sell our time cheaper than other time producers of our galaxy. We can show you our raging generosity now. We can give 15,5 years of time gratis if you wish. We are not greedy.
   Though I resisted Sharbash Wimbledon gave me 15 years. At this shocking point I woke up.
  
  
  
  
  
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