Аннотация: A Novel of Uzbek writer Holder Volcano "Driver of the Earth". It"s a very interesting novel. Easy to read. Such a novel should not be missed, ladies and gentlemen! Have fun reading, everyone!
Holder Volcano
Member of the Writers' Union of Independent Uzbekistan
Driver of the Earth
(A Novel)
(I would advise the reader not to rush into accusing me of mocking sick people, since the characters in this novel are intended to represent the world community, which has gone mad.Respectfully, the Author.)
Chapter 1
The Birdhouse
Ngduat Yambua was a young man of about twenty-five, of average height and lean build, with brown eyes, black hair, and thick dark eyebrows. The nose of this smiling fellow was slightly hooked, his lips were thin, and his front teeth were large like a rabbit's, remaining visible even when Ngduat Yambua closed his mouth tightly. The character of this born eccentric, who came into the world with a mild mental disorder, was not entirely normal. Yet he was not dangerous to society. On the contrary, he was kind. The villagers had long forgotten his real name. Many called him Didit, because he ran through the streets turning an invisible steering wheel, making the sounds of a moving automobile with his mouth and honking an imaginary horn, thus warning pedestrians so as not to run them over. His official name in his passport was Ngduat Yambua. Since his passport was not forged, that is what we shall call him. I have an intuition that you are wondering why the main character of this novel has such a name. Do I know? Go ask him yourself. Perhaps he has some unusual ancestry on his father's or mother's side. To verify all that one would need to study piles of documents, investigate his family history, determine where his ancestors were born, perform DNA tests, and so on. I do not have time for that. Personally, I am not interested in a person's nationality, race, or religion. All people living in this world are the children of Adam and Eve and, regardless of nationality, race, or religion, they should live in peace, harmony, and mutual understanding as members of one family in a democratic society.
Ngduat Yambua would shout, sounding his horn: "Diiid, diiiid!" In this way he warned pedestrians and attracted passengers.
"Dran! Drannnnanananan, dran! Where are you headed, sir? Hop in, I'll give you a ride!" he would say with a broad and kindly smile.
"Oh, thank you, Ngduat Yambua. I was just running late for work," people would reply so as not to offend him, pretending to climb aboard his invisible bus and then running after him for some distance.
Some would show him their transit passes, while others would give him a few coins as if paying the fare. In other words, he worked as a private carrier in his spare time and thus earned enough money to feed himself. Ngduat Yambua strictly observed traffic regulations, coming to smooth stops at intersections so that officers of the Traffic Police Department would not fine him for running a red light. He carefully followed all instructions, never exceeding the speed limit and never driving below the minimum permitted speed. Ngduat Yambua helped elderly people patch leaking roofs, dug their vegetable gardens with a shovel, and repaired wooden fences free of charge. He never took offense when children teased him or laughed at him. Ngduat Yambua lived in a low-ceilinged hut with his deaf-mute mother, Rizvan, a thin woman of about forty who communicated through gestures. They lived poorly but happily. Their hut was cool in summer and warm in winter. Ngduat Yambua's father had also been a driver, and he died in an automobile accident. Despite their hardships, Ngduat Yambua and his deaf-mute mother Rizvan lived peacefully, complaining about nothing. Like everyone else, Ngduat Yambua went to work every day in his invisible personal vehicle, never arriving a minute late. His conduct, professionalism, and discipline fully complied with workplace regulations, eliminating the risk of reprimands or disciplinary action. He was highly regarded, a qualified and punctual employee of his office, where he was both worker and manager. He had the most responsible job in the world. He was the Driver of the Earth.
From morning until evening he sat in his office, which resembled a large birdhouse perched high in an enormous tree growing above a deep ravine, its powerful roots sunk into the earth like the claws of a hawk. From the windows of his cabin one could see everything around: rice fields, a river delta, gullies, tugai forests where elms and junipers grew, and dense thickets of green reeds. There spiders wove strange patterns from their webs, while riverside willows gazed silently into the water. The buds of snow-white water lilies rose above the surface like lamps. White harmless butterflies fluttered from side to side as though intoxicated after drinking the morning dew from a chamomile petal. At such moments it might seem there were two of them. In reality there might be only one butterfly, while the other was its reflection, its shadow. In the river floodplain lay water meadows where tall grass grew and blue-eyed cornflowers bloomed. The experienced international-class pilot-cosmonaut Ngduat Yambua would sometimes sharpen his scythe and mow the grass covered with pearly dew while gulls cried together above the river. Somewhere at the edge of the fields a hoopoe called mournfully, reminding him of his distant carefree childhood, and it seemed to him that he was not on Earth but in Paradise, silently mowing grass where cut forget-me-nots lay forgiving everything and harboring no resentment. Their gentle smiles and blue gaze were impossible to forget.
Chapter 2
A Bouquet of Snow-White Water Lilies
Sitting in his wooden office, which resembled a birdhouse, the Driver of the Earth would spend hours watching the sunset, when the weary sun slowly sank beyond the horizon and the clouds and sky turned to gold. At such enchanting moments, even the birds in flight seemed fiery, as though they were soaring on burning wings, while silence itself remained silent lest its words burst into flames. It was as if a quiet summer evening were gently descending upon the fields and meadows beneath a giant crimson parachute. In the twilight fields, the sunflowers grew melancholy as they watched the sun disappear beyond the horizon, while in the evening pastures the cows lowed long and mournfully, calling for their calves. During the brief interval between sunset and darkness, the sky became deep blue, and one by one bright stars began to appear, like sparks drifting from the trampled campfire of dusk. Then came the most mysterious spectacle. The moon slowly rose, softly illuminating the fields and meadows, resembling a white balloon whose string a little boy had accidentally let slip from his hand. Lights appeared on the river buoys, while beyond the river the lights of distant villages trembled like joyful tears about to break through the dam of night's eyelashes. The lunar twilight began to cluck rhythmically and monotonously through the chirping of crickets, like a mother hen.
Cryk! Cryk! Cryk! Cryk!...
Lost in such thoughts and reflections, Ngduat Yambua diligently carried out his work, steering the Earth as it floated weightlessly through the boundless cosmos, unsupported by anything at all. He did his utmost to ensure that the oceans and seas did not spill from the underside of the planet, that the people walking upside down with their feet above their heads did not lose their grip and tumble screaming into the cosmic abyss. He worked in his little wooden office, resembling a birdhouse, perched high upon an enormous tree growing above a deep ravine, its mighty roots sunk into the earth like the talons of an eagle.
Ngduat Yambua often replaced the windowpanes of his small wooden office, which local children frequently shattered with their slingshots. The children aimed at birds but struck the windows instead. The Driver of the Earth felt less sorry for the broken glass than for the innocent birds that spent their days flying back and forth, feeding insects to their chicks.
Once he told the children:
'Children, do not kill birds. If you kill them, their chicks will die of hunger while chirping and waiting for parents who will never return with food. Before you shoot at birds with your slingshots, imagine yourselves in the place of those helpless chicks, and imagine your own parents in the place of the birds.'
And so lived the hero of our novel.
His mother constantly begged him to be careful and not fall asleep at the wheel of the Earth and plunge into the deep ravine. After all, billions of passengers-the whole of humanity-had entrusted their fate to him. She had even sewn him a parachute from old clothing-jackets, jeans, and coats-so that he could eject in case of danger.
Working inside a cramped wooden office was no easy matter. Everything had to be prepared for emergencies. Ngduat Yambua organized a fire station on the premises and hung fire extinguishers, a crowbar, a fire hook, a shovel, and a bucket there so that any blaze could quickly be extinguished.
Just then, his thoughts were interrupted by a cry for help, and he nearly lost control of the Earth.
Below, near the river delta, a young woman was shouting desperately for assistance.
It turned out that her cow had become trapped in a bog.
Switching the Earth into autopilot mode, Ngduat Yambua hurried down from his post and raced toward the delta, making the sounds of a speeding automobile.
When he arrived, he recognized the girl.
It was Malokhat, the most beautiful girl in the village, the daughter of the veterinarian Saidkaramatullo.
Malokhat stood weeping, clutching the rope attached to the cow, which was stretched taut like a string. The exhausted animal struggled desperately to free itself from the mire but could not. It snorted and gasped for breath, its nostrils flared and its eyes wide with terror.
Without a second thought, the Driver of the Earth leapt into the swamp and began helping the cow escape. He pushed against it with his shoulders as though trying to free a vehicle stuck in mud. For a long time he struggled, grunting and straining, becoming covered in muck from head to toe while imitating the sound of an engine:
'Dran! Drannannannannan! Dran!'
At last the cow broke free.
Malokhat rushed to help him. Eventually he too escaped the bog, grasping a stick she extended toward him. Exhausted, he collapsed onto the grass, breathing heavily as he stared into the endless heavens where clouds drifted overhead.
'Thank you, Ngduat Yambua. Are you hurt? Truly, thank you. If it weren't for you, my cow would have drowned in the swamp, and my father would have killed me. You're a good man. You nearly drowned because of me,' Malokhat said gratefully as she knelt beside him.
'Oh, it's nothing, Malokhat. Don't cry. It's a good thing I rushed over in my invisible company limousine. It was traveling at one hundred and eighty kilometers per hour. Luckily there weren't any pedestrians on the road. Otherwise I might have run them over, and I'd have ended up in prison for years,' said Ngduat Yambua with a cheerful grin.
His face was covered in mud, leaving only the whites of his eyes and his large rabbit-like front teeth visible. Those teeth never disappeared, even when he closed his mouth tightly. At that moment he resembled a miner who had just emerged from deep underground.
Hearing his words, Malokhat smiled through her tears.
Then Ngduat Yambua rose to his feet and began singing a song, dancing merrily to its rhythm.
Watching him, Malokhat burst into laughter.
Afterward they headed toward the watering place. There they washed the mud from the cow, and Ngduat Yambua bathed in the river. Above them gulls wheeled and cried, opening their beaks as wide as possible. The cow calmed down and began grazing, swatting away swarms of flies with her tail and ears.
Ngduat Yambua and Malokhat sat on the riverbank, silently watching the flight of the noisy gulls. In the distance, ferries and cargo vessels sounded their horns like cows lowing mournfully across the evening pastures.
'Ngduat Yambua, why didn't you go to school?' Malokhat finally asked, breaking the awkward silence.
He continued staring into the distance without answering.
'I understand. You were probably afraid the other children would laugh at you and make fun of you. It's a shame you never studied. I would have gladly sat beside you at the same desk,' she said.
'I did go to school once-on my very first day. I still remember the smell of ink. I remember my teacher and my classmates. Back then everyone wrote with fountain pens dipped into porcelain inkwells. But I came from a long line of drivers. During class I started steering the Earth from my desk made of pine boards.
'Dran! Drannannanan! Dran!' I said as I pressed an invisible accelerator and gradually increased the speed of our planet.
My classmates burst into laughter. They didn't know I was the Driver of the Earth. Neither did our teacher. After that, for some reason, I wasn't allowed to return.'
Malokhat laughed again.
Ngduat Yambua explained that his invisible vehicle was universal-an amphibious machine. It could transform into a boat or even a submarine equipped with intercontinental hypersonic ballistic missiles.
Then he suddenly dove headfirst into the water and disappeared beneath the surface.
For several minutes he did not emerge.
Malokhat became terrified, convinced he had drowned. She ran up and down the shore, not knowing what to do. Then she began crying and calling for help.
There stood Ngduat Yambua, alive and unharmed, smiling broadly while hiding one hand behind his back.
'You devil! You frightened me!' she exclaimed.
Ngduat Yambua extended his hidden hand.
In it was a bouquet of snow-white water lilies he had gathered from the river delta.
Malokhat accepted the beautiful bouquet and thanked him with delight.
'You're welcome, Malokhat,' Ngduat Yambua replied with a smile.
Then he apologized.
'Now I have to go, Malokhat. The planet is flying through space on autopilot!'
With those words he ran back toward his office, perched upon the enormous tree towering above the ravine, its mighty roots gripping the earth like the talons of an eagle.
Chapter 3
The Advice of Ngduat Yambua's Mother
From morning until night, a person runs across a gigantic ball of clay that has been weightlessly spinning since time immemorial, obeying the mysterious laws of gravity. A person runs to work and then home from work. He hurries to stock exchanges to trade shares and bonds; he rushes to stores, hospitals, and pharmacies. Without movement, he would meet his end. Running is his only chance to avoid danger or solve his problems. He runs so ceaselessly and so quickly that the giant sphere beneath his feet grows hot. Humanity races onward, burning itself against a fiery globe like a glowing coal. People run without looking back because a pale creature carrying a scythe in its bony hands is chasing them. Such is the blazing machine governed by the hero of our novel, Mr. Ngduat Yambua.
He returned home late after handing over his shift to his fellow drivers, who lived on different continents of our planet. At the doorstep he was greeted by his deaf-mute mother, and they began speaking through sign language. To make the essence of their conversation clear to you, I shall translate their words into our spoken tongue.
'My son, you've come home? My hardworking boy. You must be tired. Yours is a difficult and responsible job. Wash your hands quickly and sit down at the khontahta. I've prepared a delicious supper for you. Chuchvara made from herbs. The meal is modest, of course-there's no meat-but it's healthy. The electricity has gone out again. But that's all right, my son. We still have our kerosene lamp. We'll eat together by lamplight, just like wealthy officials dining by candlelight in the capital's elite restaurants,' said Rizvan in her language of gestures.
'Thank you, Mother. Yes, I'm exhausted. You know yourself that steering the Earth is no easy task. Today I even managed to help a girl named Malokhat-you probably know her. She's the daughter of the veterinarian Saidbarakatullo. I was sitting in my cabin, guiding the planet, when suddenly I heard someone crying for help. When I saw it was her, I hurried down from the tree like Tarzan and sped toward the river delta in my invisible company limousine at one hundred and eighty kilometers per hour. It turned out her cow had become stuck in a swamp. I jumped into the bog and helped pull it free.'
As he spoke, Ngduat Yambua washed himself at a hanging washbasin fashioned from a dried bottle gourd.
'Of course I know her. Malokhat is the most beautiful girl in our village. Veterinarian Saidkaramatullo and his wife Tolkunoy are good people too. Helping others is a godly deed, my son. You're a fine man, a true benefactor. You're always helping everyone you can. No wonder God chose you to be the Driver of the Earth,' Rizvan praised her son.
Then they sat down together to supper by the light of the kerosene lamp, around which a solitary moth merrily circled. Somewhere in a crack in the earthen wall of their hut, a cricket was singing.
'Thank you, Mother. It's delicious. You're a gourmet, an expert in all the finest dishes in the world. You can make delicacies even from grass. Look how these dumplings resemble my ears,' Ngduat Yambua praised his mother in sign language, skillfully shaping his words with his fingers.
'Eat, eat, my son. Enjoy your meal. After such exhausting work, you must eat well. Yours is an honorable profession. You faithfully fulfill your duty to humanity. I'm proud of you. It's a pity your father died in a car accident and never lived to see these days. May he rest in heaven. May the earth lie softly upon him. He's probably waiting for me now in paradise at the ornate heavenly gates. I'm already standing with one foot in the grave myself. I want to see the happy day when you marry. I want to care for grandsons and granddaughters. I've even thought of a name for your firstborn. We'll call him Papap. He too will become a great Driver of the Earth, carrying on your work,' Rizvan dreamed aloud as she wiped her tears with the edge of her worn apron.
'Mother, what's wrong? Don't cry. You'll see-everything will be fine. I'll marry the best and most beautiful girl, and you'll have grandchildren to spoil. Yes, Mother, we'll name my son Papap, and I'll do everything I can to teach him how to guide the planet properly through the endless cosmos. He'll drive his invisible limousine through the village streets at tremendous speed, while strictly obeying traffic regulations and stopping carefully at intersections whenever the light turns red. As he drives, he'll sound his horn with his voice, warning pedestrians:
'Pap! Pap! Papaaap!'
And when he sees a crowd of children, he'll perform the Andijan Polka with his voice:
'Pap-pap-papap! Papapap papap!
Pap-pap-papap! Papapap papap!'
Hearing such cheerful music, the children will dance as though at a disco.
As his inheritance, I'll leave him the fields and evening meadows where the cows are lowing. The moonlit groves and distant oak forests, the path through the rye, the woodland road, the blue starlit twilight, and the songs of frogs in the mute silence. The shadows of trees upon whitewashed walls and the singing of crickets beneath the bright moon. The mournful ferries humming on the river. The drumlike rhythm of a woodpecker tapping in a poplar grove. The lonely cry of a hoopoe at the edge of the fields.
The oceans and seas will belong to him. The hillsides, the plains, the mountain peaks, the birch forests, the oak woods, and the pine forests. All the birds in the world that travel south in great caravans. The silver dandelions, the wandering wind, the misty sleeping fields.
May he protect the planet in summer and winter alike. May he watch over it.'
'God grant that you may be happy, my son, and that all your dreams come true. But under no circumstances must you agree if the foolish presidents of the world ask to take the wheel of the Earth. Don't let them drive the planet, Ngduat Yambua-oh, don't let them-even if they offer you billions of dollars in cash. The fate of humanity cannot be trusted to them. Otherwise they will destroy the planet through their reckless steering, fighting one another over resources and roasting humanity alive in the hell of thermonuclear war.
How fortunate that I am deaf and mute! How fortunate that we speak the language of silence through signs. Otherwise the secret agents of all the world's intelligence services would have thrown us into prison long ago. They constantly listen to your telephone calls, record them, and watch us day and night,' Rizvan said with relief.
'Yes, Mother, you're right. I will never allow those foolish presi-dents, those vile dictators and authoritarian rulers, to take the wheel of the Earth. You can be certain of that. They will never sit at the helm of the planet,' Ngduat Yambua promised.
'Thank you, my son,' said Rizvan, her eyes filling with tears once more.
Outside the low window of their hut, the moon shone as though entangled in the web of its own rays. Frogs chattered in chorus somewhere far away, and a lone dog barked sleepily from beyond the river. Mother and son talked for a long time. Then they fell silent, gazing thoughtfully at the solitary moth circling the burning kerosene lamp, just as the Earth circles the Sun.
Chapter 4
The Chase
'Beep! Beeeep!' cried the main literary hero of our novel, in order to warn absent-minded pedestrians who were silently walking along a sidewalk carpeted with fallen maple leaves in the autumn hush.
Just then he was stopped by a pot-bellied inspector from the Department of Traffic Police, who came running up, stomping in size-48 chrome boots without soles and carrying a striped baton in his hand. He addressed Ngduat Yambua, saluting and breathing heavily.
'Senior Sergeant Dugletov of the Department of Traffic Police! Citizen driver, I have been informed that you drove through a red traffic light. Why are you violating traffic regulations in broad daylight?! Who gave you the right to travel at high speed when the road sign prohibits speeds above 40 kilometers per hour? There is a school and a kindergarten nearby, swarming with children. Driving at such a reckless speed, you could run over schoolchildren right on the pedestrian crossing! For this serious violation of traffic regulations, I am forced to fine you,' said Senior Sergeant Dugletov of the Department of Traffic Police.
Then he added:
'Now breathe into this. You aren't drunk, are you?.. A person under the influence of narcotics or alcohol is not allowed behind the wheel, Mr. Driver. Such is the law. And the law is the same for everyone... And where is your vehicle? What make is it, and what are its license plates? I must inspect your transport and examine the trunk. Who knows-perhaps you are carrying a large shipment of narcotics in your trunk, such as heroin or cocaine.'
'Good Lord! What are you talking about, Mr. Senior Sergeant Dugletov of the Department of Traffic Police?' replied Ngduat Yambua. 'Do I look like a drug addict? I am a law-abiding citizen of my country who leads a healthy lifestyle. I do not drink, I do not smoke, and I play sports. As for the automobile-there it is, my personal Land Rover limousine. Can't you see it? I am driving an invisible car.'
'Are you making fun of me, citizen driver?' asked the officer. 'Do you happen to work as a clown in a circus? Please don't put on a circus performance. Or do you doubt that I will fine you?'
'Very well, Mr. Senior Sergeant Dugletov of the Department of Traffic Police. But first explain to me on what grounds I am supposed to pay a fine. Where is it written that one may not drive an invisible vehicle on the roads of our country? No such law exists. Therefore your complaints are not directed at the right person.'
'My advice to you, citizen driver: do not argue with an official. Enough pretending. Your driver's license, please. I shall fine you for illegally engaging in passenger transport,' threatened Senior Sergeant Dugletov.
'A driver's license? One moment... It should be somewhere here. Ah, I found it. Here you are,' said Ngduat Yambua.
'Where? I can't see your license, citizen driver. Have you lost your mind? Do you need a doctor?' the officer asked in astonishment.
'And what exactly should the driver's license of an invisible-car driver look like? It is perfectly logical. Wake up, Mr. Senior Sergeant Dugletov! We are living in the twenty-first century! The production of electric vehicles is growing at a furious pace around the world. The Chinese company BYD is already overtaking the company Tesla, owned by the American billionaire Elon Musk.
'My company, which manufactures invisible automobiles, will soon force even those Chinese manufacturers and Elon Musk himself into bankruptcy. Believe me. Because the invisible vehicles we produce in gigantic invisible factories can be purchased by anyone, even the poorest beggars, since they are free. That is the first thing.
'Secondly, these vehicles require neither fuel nor electricity. They do not need gas stations either. Soon the world will stop buying oil, and oil magnates everywhere will suffer collapse. Obsolete tankers will cease crossing the seas and oceans and overturning, spilling fuel oil and causing environmental catastrophes that destroy flora and fauna.
'To produce our invisible and completely safe automobiles, no materials or spare parts are needed. There is no need to build factories that release toxic smoke into the atmosphere. The cars manufactured by my company, Ngduatyambua International, emit no exhaust gases and do not pollute the air, causing respiratory illnesses among city dwellers.
'Car thieves cannot steal our invisible automobiles. Consequently, automobile-related crime will decline sharply, making the work of your colleagues in the Department of Traffic Police much easier. With the invisible vehicles produced by my company, there will be no traffic accidents and nobody will be harmed.
'The greenhouse effect and global warming will also be prevented-those phenomena that cause abnormal heat, droughts, dust storms, melting glaciers, rising sea levels, and the appearance of tsunamis and typhoons.
'Now imagine how much money will be saved by this grand project of global importance.
'But that is not all. In the near future, my company, Ngduatyambua International, plans new interplanetary projects involving the production of invisible aircraft, gigantic military bombers intended to strike designated targets with multi-ton bombs in order to strengthen the defensive capabilities of our planet, strictly observing the saying: 'If you want peace, prepare for war.'
'We also intend to produce invisible drones capable of carrying out bombing strikes against the enemy, destroying personnel, equipment, infrastructure, and fortified positions.
'But even that is not the limit. We also have projects to create invisible smartphones and state-of-the-art computers that will help people escape unlawful surveillance-that is, the secret observation of vile individuals who do not fear the wrath of God.
'Most importantly, these invisible gadgets will help reduce marital quarrels caused by jealousy and prevent divorces and the breakup of families throughout the world, ensuring that children do not become orphans and end up among dirty street waifs living in dark, damp basements where hungry rats run about.
'Do you understand now who I am, Mr. Senior Sergeant Dugletov of the Department of Traffic Police? If so, then please do not interfere with me and waste my precious time. I am not only the driver of my invisible Land Rover limousine, but also an experienced international-class pilot-cosmonaut-the Driver of the Earth.
'God Himself chose me from among humanity and appointed me driver of the Planet. In other words, the fate of humanity and of the Earth depends on me.
'Or perhaps the fate of humanity means nothing to you? Perhaps you do not wish to see a new invisible automotive industry develop and raise the economy of our country to a higher level?
'If you are not an enemy of our state and our people, then for heaven's sake, do not hinder me. I cannot be late for work. As they say-contact! Takeoff! Mr. Senior Sergeant Dugletov!' explained Ngduat Yambua.
Then he ran down the sidewalk strewn with fallen maple leaves, making verbal horn noises to warn pedestrians.
'Wait! Stop, citizen driver of invisible transportation! I'm talking to you!' shouted Senior Sergeant Dugletov of the Department of Traffic Police.
He too began running after the Driver of the Earth, stomping in his size-48 chrome boots without soles and clutching his striped baton.
But unfortunately, he failed to catch Ngduat Yambua. He finally stopped, limping badly and crying out in wild pain.
It turned out that Senior Sergeant Dugletov of the Department of Traffic Police had stepped on a rusty 125-millimeter nail, which pierced straight through his foot.