Аннотация: The story of Holder Volcano "Pharmacy". It"s a very interesting story. Easy to read. Read and enjoy.
Holder Volcano
Member of the Writers' Union of Uzbekistan
Pharmacy
(Story)
Yesterday, my stepfather fell ill. I climbed onto the roof of our little hut and shouted at the top of my lungs, calling for an ambulance. But what was I supposed to do if there was no phone nearby? I shouted for a long time, but the doctors never came.My stepfather lay there groaning, breathing heavily.My stepmother was crying, stroking my stepfather"s head. Then she went out into the yard and brought back an armful of snow.
"Nishanbai‑aka, here, eat, you need to eat," my stepmother said, her tears falling in torrents as she handed the snow to my stepfather.
"Thank you, my beloved common‑law wife, registered at the registry office, without the involvement of a Christian church and Sharia law. But for some reason I don"t feel like eating, I have no appetite. - Ikh, Ikh, Ikhm - uhho - uh - ! Uhhu, uhha!.."Just promise me, my dear, that you"ll bury me in a Christian cemetery if the doctors fail to save me... umm‑umm, uh‑huh!..Lord, save and protect Your sinful servant Nishanbai ibn Kishanbai... - said my stepfather, making the sign of the cross in small movements and blushing all the way to his neck, like an angry turkey gobbling due to a severe cough.
My stepmother kept crying, praying to Allah to help my stepfather. Then she turned to me:
"Son, you"re my adopted son, so take your real stepfather to the hospital. His illness is getting worse by the hour, and his temperature is rising. If the temperature doesn"t come down, his fever will melt the snow, and spring will come early. Spring is, of course, good, but not for us. First of all, our little house, built from snow and ice, will melt and collapse, and we"ll be left out in the street." Secondly, the planting of cotton will begin in this field, and hordes of journalists and psychics will surge here like clouds of locusts to find out the cause of this natural anomaly. Then high‑ranking officials will start demanding that your stepfather fall even more ill and, with his super‑high temperature, trigger spring across the entire country so that spring sowing on the cotton plantations can begin earlier, my stepmother said.
"Then I need to take my stepfather to the hospital as quickly as possible," I said, and after laying my stepfather on the sled, I walked across the field towards the district center, where the infectious diseases hospital is located.
While I was taking my stepfather to the hospital, we both got frostbitten. I went into the reception area, lifted my stepfather, and laid him on the couch. It was colder in the hospital than outside. The nurse, sneezing incessantly, was sitting in the reception area in a fur‑lined hat and a drape coat draped over a white lab coat. The cold and gloomy walls of the hospital echoed her sneezes. She sneezed so hard that a portrait of Hippocrates fell off the wall.
An hour later, a general practitioner came out in a white cotton robe, old felt boots, and a bald‑headed fur‑lined hat. He coughed incessantly and breathed very heavily. He breathed with a whistling sound, like an aristocrat"s teapot. From time to time, he would puff an inhaler- the kind that makes breathing easier for a patient suffering from a severe form of bronchial asthma. But apparently, that inhaler wasn"t helping the doctor, so he poured a lot of different tablets into his palm, shoved them into his mouth, and started chewing them like a freckle‑faced boy who"s munching lingonberries in the forest, filling his mouth to the brim.
My stepfather"s temperature kept rising inexorably, and he was delirious. The ailing doctor began examining my stepfather with trembling hands, admitting that, among other things, he also suffered from Parkinson"s disease. Moreover, he also had an allergy to cold. That is, according to him, in cold air he turns red like a fried crab, and his face swells, changing his appearance beyond recognition.
- My heart also reminds me of itself every day: it beats at an insane speed, it stings like a needle, it trembles, and I"m suffering from high blood pressure and diabetes, because I had hepatitis C for many years and now I have gastritis. I"m also a heavy smoker, and I only smoke Belomorkanal cigarettes - two packs a day. That"s why my face looks like ash, and it"s wrinkled like the midnight moon that shines over a deserted cemetery where bats fly silently and a mockingbird laughs. Now I"ve caught tuberculosis, at the very least, the doctor said, continuing to cough deeply and breathe with a wheezing sound.
Hearing this, I tried, as hard as I could, not to breathe so as not to infect myself with the dangerous, deadly viruses and bacteria of the doctor. Steam began to rise from my stepfather, like from manure in spring. He puffed and groaned heavily, licking his dry lips, like a man who has been seriously wounded with a wrench in a fight over the territorial integrity of his plot with his neighbor, a tractor driver who practices hand‑to‑hand combat underground in the basement of his mechanic"s house, nicknamed Sabrkasa Indamaishingomasin. The name of this underground trainer, when translated into other languages, sounds something like this. A leaky thicket of patience, be silent and say nothing.
The doctor wrote a note on a scrap of roofing felt with a nail, in Latin, and gave it to me.
"Here"s the prescription, and now get moving - run to the pharmacy. Without these medicines, we won"t be able to treat your stepfather, Mr. Nishanbai ibn Kishanbai!.. Uhhhhh, uhhhhh, uhhhhh!.. Khhhhh, ahhhhh, chaaak!" the doctor spat on the floor.
"Okay, doc." I said, and I flew out into the street.
Then, stumbling and falling, I ran along the slippery road towards the pharmacy. When I ran into the pharmacy, I saw an old man without a beard, without a hat, with gray hair cut in a "semi‑box" style and a tie around his neck, standing and looking at the pharmacy windows as if they were a terrarium.
"What do you want, gramps?" the emo pharmacist asked him, with her lips painted black.
-Do you... ahhh... have those condoms?" - the old man said unexpectedly and to the surprise of the seriously ill, who were standing in a long queue for medicines. Hearing the words of a beardless old man without a headdress with gray hair cut in a half-box style and with a tie around his neck, the pharmacist even blushed. Then she said:
- Yes, and what do you like... that is... with or without a mustache?.. We have imported condoms of different colors for every taste, that is, a wide range. Here you go - pink, white, red, black, light blue, gray, yellow, blue, striped... and there are also purple ones... I wonder, why do you need condoms, old man?.. Oh, you old man-aa-ay!.. - said the pharmacist, smiling slyly.
"Give me the largest size condom," said the beardless old man with gray hair cut in a "half‑box" style, wearing a tie around his neck and no hat.
At these words, the pharmacist widened her eyes, sharply drawing air into her lungs and covering her lips, which were painted with black lipstick, with her hand. The seriously ill patients who were standing in line for the necessary medicines did the same.
"Here you go. This is the largest size," the pharmacist said, regaining her composure, and handed the condom to the beardless old man without a hat, with gray hair cut in a "half‑box" style and a red tie around his neck. The old man took the condom and turned to the pharmacist again with a question:
- So, is this condom strong? I mean, won"t it accidentally tear during use?
- Yes, it"s strong, it"s strong, old man, said the pharmacist, looking reproachfully at the annoying, strange, beardless old man with gray hair cut in a "half‑box" style and a tie around his neck, wearing no hat.
- Are you sure? "What?" the old man with gray hair cut in a "half-box" style, a tie around his neck, and no hat on his head asked again.
"I"m telling you, this condom is strong! It"s imported! The company guarantees it, man! How many times do I have to repeat it?!" the pharmacist said.
"Why are you yelling at me? You"re the pharmacist, and I"m the customer." Why are you violating the consumer rights law, which is written in black and white, in bold letters, in the Constitution of our vast country, where democracy is blooming like an apricot tree in spring outside the window?! Before buying anything, we have the right to ask or not? Why are you infringing on my human rights, madam?! - the beardless old man with gray hair cut in a "half‑box" style, wearing a tie around his neck and no hat, became angry.
Frightened by the beardless old man"s political remarks, the pharmacist smiled, showing off her gold‑capped teeth, and began to apologize. Then the old man said: "Well, all right. But I have one more delicate question. Do you have a fitting room? I want to test this rubber product for durability." Everyone in the pharmacy was stunned by what they"d heard. The pharmacist was too. But in order to avoid an international political scandal, she didn"t argue with the beardless old man with gray hair cut in a "half‑box" style, a tie around his neck, and no hat.
"Yes, please, we have a screen here," the pharmacist said, pointing to the curtain. The beardless old man with gray hair cut in a "half‑box" style, a tie around his neck, and no hat thanked the pharmacist and went over to the screen, disappearing behind it for a long time. Fifteen minutes later, the pharmacist couldn"t take it anymore and peeked behind the screen. She looked, and her lower jaw dropped in surprise. It turned out that the beardless old man was trying on a condom, putting it on his gray head, which was cut in a "half‑box" style, and he was gasping for breath. Then the pharmacist quickly took the condom off the beardless old man"s head, just as one would take off a gas mask, and began to provide him with first aid. Finally, the beardless old man came to his senses, and the pharmacist breathed a sigh of relief.
"Oh, my God! Oh, you old man, why did you measure the condom by putting it on the wrong place, on your head? Have you lost your mind?" she said.
"That"s a delicate question, though, madam, the pharmacist. You"re saying I should have put that condom not on my head, but, excuse the expression, on my genital organ. And what"s the difference between me and my genital organ, if I"ve never wished anyone any good throughout my entire life?" I betrayed my friends for a pittance. I was an envious person. While working as an authoritarian leader-that is, a dictator-I embezzled the people"s wealth, accepted bribes on a massive scale, bought myself luxurious mansions in the Swiss Alps for hundreds of millions of dollars, privatized real estate for free, didn"t pay taxes to the state, abused my position, and oppressed my own people, leaving them hungry in winter, without gas or electricity. Meanwhile, I myself lay in the warm rooms of the mansions, illuminated by giant chandeliers, on soft, fluffy beds that looked like spring clouds. He ate black and red caviar for breakfast, had pilaf with lamb and fried quails for lunch, and enjoyed tender, delicious shashlik and tandoor kebab made from "Barra" lamb for dinner-all while ordinary people in our country were starving in cold apartments that looked like refrigerators and in shacks with their little children, dreaming of a piece of bread.
Look how many innocent people I have destroyed, sending them to prisons and concentration camps where people are killed for their dissent, for their love of freedom, under torture, roasted alive with electric shocks, and thrown into cauldrons of boiling water! How many wonderful poets and writers I have killed, behind the walls of prisons, putting plastic bags over their heads with my own hands, suffocating them! I destroyed the manuscripts of their works, which they had written in prisons and in strict‑regime colonies about the homeland, about the freedom of the people, about human happiness, about the smiles of the woman they loved, about separation, about melancholy, about dawns, about meadows, about their fathers and mothers, and about their children, whom they hadn"t seen for many years! Now I am firmly convinced that there is no difference between me and a sexual organ" - said the beardless old man with gray hair cut in a "half-box" style, wearing a tie around his neck and no hat, and he began to cry bitterly, shaking all over.
We also involuntarily began to cry in unison, feeling sorry for the poor, former bloodthirsty, vile dictator. The pharmacist was sobbing, wiping her tears into the hem of her robe.
About two hours later, it was my turn, and after buying the necessary medications, I ran back to the hospital.