The 6th letter of Mizhappar of the short novel "Leters of Mizhappar"
Let this letter fly, fly with the speed of an electric current, which hit my friend Qurumboy and let it reach the hero of the paper war Mr. Sitmrat!
Hi, Mr. Sitmrat! Qurumboy opened his company and, finally, provided us with work. In this company, Qurumboy - Director of the company, Yoldashvoy works as a cashier, Mamadiar - chief accountant, and I - a bodyguard. The office of our company is located in the cemetery, where old, inverted coffins and tools for digging graves are stored. We sleep there. Qurumboy, as Director of, sleeping in a coffin, wrapped in the old a shroud. And we sleep on the ground, making a pillow of raw unburned bricks. Although not political spring has come, it is still cool at night. We lie one night, floating sadly lonely moon high in the sky, twinkling stars as salt on the wound, in the distance on the horizon, somewhere behind the river tired barking dogs, croaking frogs, in a word - romance. Suddenly, in one of the coffins played a strange music, and we jumped in fright with their earthen pastels, thinking that it is evil ghosts or ghouls. It turns out, called clients in a phone. Qurumboy quickly pushed the button of his grave phone, as the button from the atomic bomb, and there was a hoarse voice of the client.
- Hello, is this the Deep grave office?! - a customer asked.
- Yes, how can we help? - Qurumboy politely asked.
- Who am I talking to? - a customer asked.
-Is, Qurumboy Koramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy, Director of the company "Deep grave". Do you want to order anything? I mean the grave, the tombstones or the crosses and all the accessories?! - Qurumboy asked.
- The grave should be dug out three-room-the client told in a hoarse voice.
- Well, who is the grave, if not a secret? Tell me his name, I should write this down in my notebook, in order not to stray from the account!We have many customers! - Qurumboy, pulling from the inside of his pocket of his overcoat a pen and a Notepad.
Then write it down. Surname, name, patronymic of the deceased - Bairam Barabanovich! - the customer said.
- Is the Governor of the city Bairam Barabanovic?! - Qurumboy asked.
- Yes - the client answered.
- Oh, the poor man kicked too?! Uh, he was cursed, you say? People cursed him?! What for? Ah, bastard... He put thousands and thousands of innocent people in jail?.. Yes, that you, of course, this conversation remains between us, do not worry. No, no, what You, our phones are not being tapped by the competent authorities. No, we have a democracy in our country, here respect for human rights. So you're ordering a two-bedroom apartment, huh? What should the interior of the grave look like? So-so, should it be painted in beige... yeah, and on the living room wall, you have to paint a landscape with a tiger that's about to attack a deer that came to a watering hole, right? Oh, don't you have to draw crocodiles? Well, no problem, it will be done. On the ceiling patterns in the Gothic style? Good. Yes, dear customer, you can pay in cash. Because we hate non-cash payment, since the money must still be cashed out, sacrificing half the amount. How should we dig a two bedroom tomb?.. You know, it's not very expensive. Two bedroom tomb of our price is only $ 500 - said Qurumboy, scratching his tarpaulin boots.
-And for the materials separately?
- Of course, separately. Today I will send you a list of materials in the form of a text message on the grave phone. Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. Our work is harmful, that is very dangerous. For this we are allowed to drink alcohol in unlimited quantities during operation. I hope You understand me and do not forget to buy a box of vodka with a snack when you buy the necessary materials. In General, we agree? - Qurumboy, rounding out the conversation.
- Yes - the client answered.
The next day the client brought all the necessary materials together with a box of vodka. We first drank four bottles of alcohol and started to work. Having worked well before lunch in the light of a kerosene lamp, we did almost half of the work. After drinking four more bottles of alcohol, we again took up work. Suddenly Mamadiar ran out of the grave and began to cry:
-Help me!
We thought he was being attacked by ghosts. We look, a large lizard, two meters in length runs after Mamadiar, ruffling his orange tongue, trying to bite the victim, who runs ahead. Mamadiar ran among graves and gravestones to escape from the lizard with a red mouth and disgusting color of a skin. He ran crying. We wanted to help him, but we didn't know how. Here Mamadiar suddenly fell into an open grave and the monitor lizard that was chasing him began to spin over the pit. Mamadiar yelled even harder : - Mizhappar! Qurumboy! Yoldashvoy! Help me! I'm scared! I stepped on a soft and warm corpse, wrapped in white cloth! Get me out! I fight! - he screamed in fear.
Qurumboy threw in a monitor, the shovel held in hand, and he, frightened, hid in the Bush. We raised Mamadiar from the grave and calmed him, pouring him a hundred grams of turpentine, in a hurry confusing the bottle. Mamadiar drank turpentine and calmed down. Then we continued to work again. Aside from a couple of two-meter-long black snakes, one big turtle, a bunch of toads, half a bag of Scorpions and worms, when digging the grave, there were almost no difficulties. After we finished the finishing work, Qurumboy painted an oil paint on the wall of the living room landscape, swallowing in addition to the solvent with turpentine. By the evening the customer came and saw the landscape, and said:
- The landscape you can say turned out more or less. But, excuse me, it's not a tiger, most likely a donkey pattern or a devil knows what kind of beast.
- This is not a problem - said Qurumboy and drew a bold arrow that points to the animal he drew. Then on the tip of this arrow wrote: "Citizens, be careful, it is a tiger!" Then, as in the comics, I drew a ball around the mouth of this so-called tiger, and made a circle inside this inscription. "Rrrrrrrrrr!"
When he finished drawing, Qurumboy looked back to the customer and asked:
How about now?
- Now better - said the customer.
- I used to think tigers roared."wolves: "woooooooooo!"horses." hoooooooooo!", donkeys " dooooooohh!", dogs: "doooooooooooo!"and birds "beeeeeee!" It turns out, not so, the tigers growl ", Rrrrrrrrrrrrr! - I said.
In short, we passed the "object" and began to change. When I took off his plaid jacket and wooden pagename, then stiffened, seeing his body. It was all painted. It seems that when I painted the ceiling and painted Gothic patterns under the chandelier, the paint, quietly draining from the brush, flowed through the sleeves of my shirt down. In order to clean my body from oil paint, I began to wipe with a cloth moistened with solvent. As a result, the colors of green light are even worse smeared on my stomach, like a surreal picture of Picasso. My clothes smell like acetone, man!
The weather was cool, so I had to get dressed. At this moment there arrived a carriage with a body of the deceased Governor, and we handed over the object to the customer. Circle of relatives and disciples of Bayram Baraanovich. Sobbing, lights, pillows with awards, tears and all that. While buried Bayram Baraanovich under the funeral March, we are on the sidelines drank the rest of the vodka and walked over to the customer. He gave us five hundred dollars, which we earned by honest work. Our joy knew no bounds. We collected the tools, put them in a bag and went outside.
Forever wise, and indispensable leader of our party Qurumboy Koramoygutalin Moriqultezak Tappitutuniy said: - Dear party members! We just have to go to the black market to convert our bucks earned by slave labor to the cemetery! What to do if there is free convertibility of currency in our country, where there is a dictatorial regime?Where there is no free conversion, there is a rapid decline in the exchange rate of the national currency, causing serious damage to the country's ecanomics and this is alarming foreign investors. And without foreign investors it is difficult to develop the economy.After these words of our partbase, we went to the black market, where changing the currency in sum, our poor countrymen.
We went to the market, where carefully looking around, currency traders.
One of them came up to us and asked:
- You want to change dollars?
Yes, we said in unison.
-How much? - asked speculator in foreign currency.
-500 said Qurumboy and pulled out American money from the tops of his tarpaulin boots without the soles. The speculator in foreign currency took them, and here there were strange people in civil clothes. When they began to wring his hands of Qurumboy, we fled. Yoldashvoy with Mamadiar was caught immediately, and handcuffed him. You know, I do karate, so throwing a huge bag of tools for digging graves, ran that there is urine towards the tea house, but inadvertently hit my forehead on the post and fell. The cops who were chasing me caught me and handcuffed me.
In the detention center, one of the investigators began an explanatory conversation:
- Who gave you the right to trade foreign currency. In addition, these dollars were false. Now, gentlemen, we're going to have to freeze your Bank accounts, because you've grossly violated business laws and received cash from clients. This is contrary to the Constitution of our state. Here it is clearly written that all banking operations should be carried out only by transfer. You, getting money from customers in cash, seek to deceive the state, that is, brazenly evade taxes. All, your firm will close forever! he said, rounding off the conversation.
In order not to close our company, we had to say goodbye to five hundred dollars.
After that, our company was left open, but we began to have disagreements with clients, that is, none of the clients wanted to transfer money to our Bank accounts, fearing that they are under the hood of the tax office. As luck would have it, our competitors appeared in the labor market, who dug graves at a much lower price and did it not with their bare hands as we did, but with the help of an excavator. Swine. Now we're out of a job.