# The Kaleidoscope

Усманович Холдербай

Holder Volcano

Member of the Writers' Union of Uzbekistan


The Kaleidoscope

(short story)


Ignat ibn Nigmat froze with a razor in his hands and was very scared when he learned that he had turned into a mirror reflecting everything in the room, including the mirror itself, which could easily shatter if a stone or brick fragments hit it. He was particularly struck by the reaction of his mirror twin, who looked at him at the speed of light, responding to his smile with exactly the same smile, with a grimace. It's as if his twin lived inside the mirror, looking like him, like two drops of water, who constantly watches him. Thinking that his doppelganger was mocking him, copying his every move, Ignat ibn Nigmat wildly wanted to smash the mirror with his fist. But he immediately changed his mind, remembering that a broken mirror can bring disaster, illness, and even death. When a person finds out that he has turned into a mirror, he goes into shock, like an animal that sees itself in the mirror, freezes in horror and steps back, attacks, thinking that it's not its reflection, but a completely different predator that broke into its territory. Such people are understood only by those who have turned into a mirror. Mirror people can easily break not only from a stone or brick fragments, but when they collide head-on with a person or hit a concrete pillar in an impenetrable fog, instantly turning into a bag with fragments of shattered glass, which the janitor throws into a trash can so that pedestrians do not injure their feet by stepping on them. It would have been better if Ignat ibn Nigmat had not shaved that morning and had not looked in the mirror. Now, he began to ride carefully on public transports. He rides, avoiding conflicts, showing a sense of humor, smiling broadly at everyone so that some angry passenger does not push him with a bony elbow in the crowd. Ignat ibn Nigmat also managed to find out that he was not completely alone in this city. It turns out that many people among the townspeople have long turned into mirrors, and they also ride public transports, walking in the middle of the crowd, carefully so as not to crash. Some of them are walking down the street, cheerfully reflecting each other and not noticing that they are no longer people, but just a fragile mirror. Ignat ibn Nigmat spends his days and even nights when he can't sleep thinking hard about how to find a way to protect himself from accidental collisions with rude passengers on public transport. What if you wear inflatable clothes that protect you from accidental destruction when you collide with another person in the fog or in pitch darkness? Such uniforms can easily be blown off using a pump or compressor. In such inflatable clothes, the mirror man feels great in the water. He's not even afraid of the global flood. Especially when he is being chased by enemies, chasing him with angry dogs on leashes. He puffs up his clothes and jumps into the river, fleeing from the chase, floating unnoticed downstream, like a swollen corpse of a drowned man who floated to the surface of the water. This is when inflatable clothes are blown away by air. If you inflate these rubber overalls with helium, you can even fly through the vast expanses of the boundless skies, like in a hot air balloon. However, there is a flip side of the coin, that is, inflatable clothes can turn into an uncontrolled unidentified aircraft and a gust of strong wind can take you into the airspace of other states, where border guards can shoot you down with a BUK rocket launcher, like the Malaysian Boeing 777 airliner with 300 passengers on board.

It's better to blow off your inflatable clothes with air and go to work, cheerfully walking along the sidewalk with the crowd in step, carefully so that some idiot doesn't blow up your inflatable clothes with a cigarette. Ignat ibn Nigmat gasped in surprise one day when he learned that among these two-legged mirrors, there were curves where his overly long neck and small head, swollen stomach, short arms like a jerboa, and a nose resembling a gas mask breathing hose were distorted. After that, he decided to no longer look into the crooked mirrors that reflect normal people like a monster, which can only be seen in paintings by crazy artists.

From the day a person turns into a mirror, he immediately becomes an outcast from society, lonely as an orphan. Such a person can only talk to himself, and cry with his shadow, who is silently sobbing, shaking his whole body on the wall of the hut, and no matter how much he tries, he will never be able to become a human being. Even if he assures himself that he is not a mirror, he still cannot stop reflecting everything that exists around him. Uneducated, drug-ravaged youth, feeble-minded, lousy, smelly drunks lying under fences, peeing their pants and letting long saliva out of their mouths, as well as greedy, corrupt, vile officials stealing people's money from the state budget on a huge scale, pseudo-deputies, pathophilic senators, unfaithful friends, pimps, prostitutes, religious liars and the like.

Occasionally, he wants to smash himself by hitting a boulder or dumbbells, when a bloody, senseless war is reflected in him, where entire cities are destroyed to the ground, turning into ruins, thousands of young soldiers, civilians, helpless old men, pregnant women and innocent children are dying, remaining under the concrete rubble of blown-up multi-storey buildings in as a result of the UAV attack. There are also war veterans hobbling on one leg like a sparrow, and millions of people who have been turned into refugees, forced to leave their homeland and the country where they were born and lived happily, where their childhood and youth were spent.

That's why Ignat ibn Nigmat sometimes wants to get dim, like the unwashed, dirty windows of an abandoned house. He tries his best not to reflect the society of uneducated, drunken fools, morons, drug addicts, and liars.

The mirror is by its nature a cruel, truthful and stubborn subject, like a healthy opposition, reflecting the illegal, unfair policies of vile dictators and authoritarian rulers who extend their powers illegally, through deception, through fake elections, falsifying the results of the vote. They are even ready to throw millions of young people into the meat grinder of war, as cannon fodder, just to stay in power as long as possible and live in luxury.

Thanks to a mirror that does not reflect their inner world, they live considering themselves the best, bravest, just, modest, wise, honest people and white, sinless angels without wings. The mirror deliberately does not depict and does not show them their inner world, their souls blackened by sins, where hidden anger, xenophobia, vile hatred, contempt and black envy not only for the civilized world, but also for their oppressed own people, who hate them inside, look at them with all their hearts and want political change, fair elections, a free press, a healthy opposition, a parliamentary form of government, and finally live in a normal democratic society like all the free peoples of the world.

Ignat ibn Nigmat wants to reflect the summer meadows and fields that melt in the July haze, memories of his distant youth and first love, about Layla, who let the sun shine into it with a small mirror in a cotton field and laughed merrily when they hit Ignat ibn Nigmat's eyes. That deafening chirping of restless sparrows in the poplar grove. Blue pigeons moaning in a monotonous and sad voice, somewhere in the ravines, as if complaining about the heat. Where July froze with wild delight in the deserted silence like a thoughtful dumbness, when a crazy and lonely whirlwind performed a dance on a sand dune.

How not to reflect a soaked willow tree staring into a bottomless puddle, as if into a mirror after a summer downpour. And the raindrops hanging on the branches and trembling like tears on the eyelashes, which the trees are about to drop if a wandering intoxicating wind touches them.

There is another kind of mirror in this world. It's a mirror of the soul, and you can't break it by hitting it with an antique cast-iron candelabrum. One offensive word is enough to break it.The mirror of the soul breaks quietly, does not ring like all glass objects.If it breaks, it will be impossible to restore it, to restore it to its former appearance. The fragments of the mirror of the human soul, broken by the words of evil and vile people, will remain inside a person for the rest of his life, like rubble in a bag, like gravel in a concrete mixer drum and will rotate like glass in a kaleidoscope tube.

I think it would also be useful for you to try hitting your head with a stone or better, a brick. If your head doesn't break, it means you're not made of glass. If you do, it's also for the best. That is, in this case, you will double the opportunity to reflect people even more vividly in all your fragments individually. So the check cannot be postponed for later. As they say, the most appropriate time is only here and now. You can't wait for some boy to come and smash you with a slingshot. No, not at all! You can't test your best friends and family by hitting them over the head with a baseball bat or a vodka bottle.

You learn better from Ignat ibn Nigmat. He was tired of reflecting the hustle and bustle of the city, the heart-rending squeak of brakes, the howling sirens of police cars and ambulances, the smoking chimneys of factories and factories. He decided to go to the countryside, where there is peace and quiet. he rode the train for a long time and, after packing his things, got off at the nearest station. Then he walked towards the village, across the field, breathing the clean country air, listening to the trills of a lark that sang over a rye field. He walked until he met a beautiful woman who was collecting dung. Ignat ibn Nigmat greeted her and they started talking to each other.

- My name is Ignat ibn Nigmat, and yours? he asked.

"I'm Asel," the woman replied.

- Oh, Asel! A beautiful name like yourself! Ignat ibn Nigmat was delighted.

Then he continued: - I came from the city so as not to crash in the crowd, as I recently turned into a mirror. I can't ride in public transports where angry passengers can elbow me and smash me like a fragile glass container. I'm very afraid of crashing. I want to spend the rest of my life here, reflecting the rustic landscapes, low-flying swallows and swifts over the water, a scarlet dragonfly, fluttering butterflies over deserted paths, cows, horses grazing peacefully in pastures and meadows, sometimes nodding their heads to each other, chasing away a swarm of annoying flies with their tails. You know, it's a pleasure to be a mirror! Such people will have spiritual eyes and they can see through everything, even a person's thoughts. Just like them, I feel in my soul that you are also a human mirror," he said. Hearing this, the woman was embarrassed.

- What are you talking about? What kind of glass am I? If I were made of glass, I would have shattered long ago. Because my husband beats me every day, dragging me by my hair like a sleigh in the yard in winter, demanding money for drinks. He is a poet by profession, he writes poetry. He drinks vodka without drying out for weeks and months. Sometimes he chases after me with a long kitchen knife in his hands, threatening to kill me. Recently, he attacked me with a pitchfork and almost hacked me to pieces. He drinks even the little things that I collect by selling dung in the bazaar," the woman explained.

- What are you saying, Asel?! Does that really happen? It's the 21st century! And your husband treats you las if you live in a feudal society. He's also a poet, he writes poetry! What a nightmare! And where are your neighbors, elders, and the district policeman looking at? Such husbands should be imprisoned, and for many years, or sent to a mental hospital! A beautiful woman like you should be carried in your arms! Why don't you go to court to file for divorce? We have a democracy in our country and you have every chance to be happy," Ignat ibn Nigmat said.

- Everyone is afraid of him, the police and even the elders. I want to leave him, but I can't. I have three children. Where should I go with such a contingent? Asel said, crying softly and wiping her tears with the sleeve of her dress.

Then suddenly a man jumped out of the bushes of the steppe juniper, he was pretty drunk, about thirty-five years old, with a scythe. When Asel saw him, she turned pale with fear and began to tremble, asking for his forgiveness. He started yelling.

"Oh, you scum! You unfaithful cheater! What a snake! Who is this bastard huh?! Is he your lover?! Now it's clear! It turns out that every day you come here not to collect dung, but to meet your lover, right?! Oh, shame, what a shame, my God! I'll kill you!..I'll cut you into straps!

- What are you saying, dear?! What kind of lover?! I do not know this man! This is the first time I've seen him! By God! Asel began to justify herself.

Ignat ibn Nigmat intervened in the conversation.

"Wait a minute, Mr. Poet! It's not her fault! How can I explain it to you?.. Anyway, I came from the city and just asked her how far it was to the village, you know... I came here to reflect the rural landscapes, the silence of fields and meadows, the sad voice of a hoopoe singing in ravines, horses in a misty meadow, morning dew on a spider's web, the voices of roosters in the predawn gloom," he said.

"Are you crazy or something?" What kind of landscape?! What kind of silence of fields and meadows are you talking about?! Noooo! It's obvious through and through that you're faking it, you bastard! I challenge you to a duel! Do you know what it is? Have you read Pushkin?! The one who shot with Dantes and died in a duel! Do you know why he died?! Because the sneaky assistants betrayed him by secretly replacing the live ammunition of the revolver with blanks! And you and I will shoot, not with a revolver, but with simple stones, like our distant ancestors who lived in caves in the Stone Age. At no extra cost, I'll save a bullet and gunpowder. It will be a fair duel, where there will be no seconds," the poet explained and began to look for two identical stones. Having found it, one of them gave it to Ignat ibn Nigmat.

Hearing the terrible words of the poet, Ignat ibn Nigmat's heart sank into his heels.

- Dear poet, calm down! Pull yourself together! Don't take the sin on your soul! I can't shoot stones with you, for a simple reason! The thing is, I'm a human mirror! I can shatter if a stone or brick hits me, you know?! According to statistics, almost half of our city's population has already turned into a mirror. But this is not the limit either. If you multiply this by the population of the country, then the scale of the disaster can double. The scariest thing is that humanity has also turned into brittle glass! It is enough to launch one thermonuclear bomb, and the life of mankind on the planet crumbles like glass pieces of a kaleidoscope," he said.

- Yes? It's very interesting! Atheists say that man is descended from a monkey, while others claim that man is made of clay. And you're talking about glass, even though you don't look like a glass man! Well, lets find out. You need to check if you're really made of glass or cloth and blood, like all mortals. Come on, get started! It's your turn! - said the poet.

Ignat ibn Nigmat did not expect such a turn of events and thought for a moment, with a heavy stone in his hand. His intuition told him that this was his last chance to stay undefeated. The most important thing is not to miss.With such thoughts, Ignat ibn Nigmat, aiming for a long time, threw a stone in the direction of the poet with a swing and hit the bull's-eye. He fell down like a tree being cut down. He was lying unconscious and blood was oozing through his hair. Then Ignat ibn Nigmat woke up, jumping up in a cold sweat.


12-03-2025.

4:43 p.m.

Canada, Ontario.