# The Lumberjack (Short story)

Усманович Холдербай

Holdеr Volcano

Member of the Writers' Union of Independent Uzbekistan


The Lumberjack

(Short story)


I used to work as a migrant worker, a lumberjack in the distant Taiga, where they illegally cut down forests and exported the felled trees to China. They didn't pay me much there, but it was a pretty interesting job and I liked it. Have you ever been to the Taiga? No? Well, then you didn't live in this world at all. Oh, this taiga! How I loved it! You know, well, there's nothing like the smell of pine trees, which crumble to the ground with a plaintive creak and roar, scaring forest birds and animals when they're cut down with a chainsaw. Cones, similar to souvenirs, are falling from huge creaking pines and cedars, which decorate the New Year tree. After logging, the forest subsides, and the air is filled with such a smell of fresh corn and tar that I get drunk from this fragrance! One day, after working hard, all my friends and I are sitting by the campfire, drying our soaked footcloths and old worn soleless canvas boots . Meanwhile, somewhere out there, in the distance, a lone woodpecker began to peck at a dead pine tree, like "Trrrrrr! Trrrrrrrr!". We lumberjacks listened with special attention to the romantic knocking of the woodpecker. wood peckers here and there constantly hammering and hammering at a dead pine tree. The deep taiga echoes with the sound of its pounding, and the bonfire was burning with a bang, throwing orange sparks into the air and incredible smoke rose like a gray dragon. I sat and listened to this magical fractional sound created by the hard beak of a woodpecker and I can't get enough of it. Here I look, my footcloths are on fire, which were drying over my official soleless canvas boots .

"Damn! I shouted wildly in panic, jumping up abruptly, started to put out the fire with my feet, but it was not there. The flame quickly spread to my trousers. I began hitting the burning trousers with my hands, but alas, I still hadn't managed to contain the fire. The more I hit, the more terrible the fire raged. As a result, my trousers turned into shorts in a matter of seconds. It's good that my friend Turik, that Tapparov from Tyumen, poured water from a bucket into my boots and-oh my God! - there was gasoline in the bucket for refueling the chainsaw. Then my boots burst into flames! I'm screaming and running away, shouting at Turik . There was thick, tall grass in patches, burdocks, hogweeds, sweet clover, nettle ferns, daisies, cornflowers, forget-me-nots, thistles and all that, which waved in the wind like a green sea. Like a botanical garden, by God. The flames, of course, quickly spread to the grass, a terrible forest fire broke out and the endless, dense taiga began to burn with a bang. The burning forest began to hum terribly. Fortunately, just at that moment, as if by order, a thunderstorm broke out, lightning flashed, thunder rumbled, and heavy rain poured noisily. A miracle had happened mother nature localized the forest fire for free, saving us, along with birds and animals, and trees from obvious death. After heavy rain, I found severe burns on my legs. But no matter what, I continued to cut down centuries-old pines and birches left and right with a chainsaw.

By evening, we had to put on mosquito nets, because at that time hungry mosquitoes came out to hunt, buzzing and buzzing in swarms like a whirlwind in a field. They mercilessly began to bite us, biting into the open areas of our bodies with sharp proboscis. They bit even through thick sweatshirts, trying to feast on the free blood of poor migrant workers from Central Asia. There were swamps all around, providing a favorable atmosphere for mosquitoes and other families of vile blood-sucking insects. Lying there, especially drunk, was very dangerous. These small, harmless-looking insects can easily kill a drunk person by sucking all the blood out of him. But we, migrant workers, are not donors, and we need our blood ourselves. We'll sit by the campfire, wearing mosquito nets, and as soon as the stuffiness in the taiga subsides, it will get noticeably colder. That's when the cloud of winged vampires abruptly disappears.

There are other dangers in the taiga, such as wolves, bears, and rodents. You can somehow escape from wolves by climbing a tall tree. But it's useless to run from the bear, it climbs a tree no worse than an experienced electrician who climbs an electric pole with the help of iron claws to check the wiring and at the same time look into his mistress's yard to find out if her husband has gone on a business trip. In short, there is no escape from an angry club-footed bear. And we, migrant workers, can escape from anyone, from a bear or a hungry pack of wolves. When we saw a bear at night, near our camp, we started making noise together, hitting empty rattling cans and buckets with a ladle or a poker. This huge beast, despite its intimidating size, is afraid of noise. He gets to his feet at full height like a man, growls angrily and goes back into the dense forest, just like in a painting by the great artist Shishkin.

Somehow I'm lying in a hanging position in a sleeping bag, like a bat in a dark cave. The moon is shining over the taiga, the stars are twinkling, suddenly I fell asleep, not even counting the stars to four thousand eight hundred and fifty-seven. In my dream, I was walking through some kind of bazaar, there was a huge crowd, jostling, noise and uproar. I see people running towards the flea market, surrounded by a tight ring of one type who advertised something in a loud voice. It was a broker named Abu Abdullatif ibn Lahnatullah. He spoke quickly, like an experienced broker at an auction.

- So you want to buy a boy, right? Well, then, here you are, gentlemen! We have a wide range of products, as they say, for every taste, that is, in these cages there are boys, and in these there are girls. You can buy them and force them to work on cotton plantations as a slave under a whistling long whip. They range in age from one to ten years old. Don't worry, they're not stolen. Each of these products has their own birth certificates, and just like that, their parents are also standing here. They are ready to bargain with you. Don't forget, dear customers, that you will find the cheapest children in the world only here. Almost for free! You won't find sellers like these parents, goods like these children, and an honest broker like me anywhere else! For example, I would suggest this boy Ibn Bushlat to you. He's very smart and obedient... With these words, broker Abu Abdullatif ibn Lannatullah solemnly opened the cage door to let the child out.

- Come on, come out, Ibn Bushlat, the buyers have come for you... - he said, helping the child out of the cramped cage with a stick. The child got out of the cage on all fours. Broker Abu Abdullatif ibn Lahnatullah continued:

- Come on, Ibn Bushlat, show us your art quickly. What can you do? Would you like to read us some poetry by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin?

"I can count to a hundwed," the child replied, bragging, and began counting smartly: "one, two, thwee."..

- Well, that's enough, that's enough, Ibn Bushlat, well done... You see, gentlemen, what kind of prodigy you are going to acquire. And you, dear parents, name the price quickly! How much are you asking for your child?!

The child's father and mother named the price.

- Well, it's almost free, come on, drive the money faster, gentlemen, customers, and take the boy! Otherwise, Ibn Bushlat's parents will change their minds," said broker Abu Abdullatif ibn Lahnatullah, frantically shaking hands with one of the buyers. The buyers wanted to bargain, but then poor Ibn Bushlat, hugging his mother's leg tightly, wept bitterly and began to beg with tears in his eyes.:

- Mom, Dad, don't give me up, please, I will obey you. I'll keep an eye on my bobik and I won't take anything out of the fwidge. I can beg fow money beside the bus stop. Then I'll give you the money I've collected, evewy last penny. I will miss you and my baby bwotha, and ouw dog Bobik. I love you Dad, Mom... I will neva ask you to buy me anything new," he said, looking at his parents as if they were telegraph poles with hope, his eyes full of tears.

Meanwhile, the bidding began.

- Comrade broker, you say the child is almost free, but Ibn Bushlat's parents say the price for which you can buy a hundred children along with a kindergarten. Besides, this child is squinting and burbling. Let Ibn Bushlat's parents make a discount on the child's squinting eyes," and lisp. - said one of the customers, looking at the boy with displeasure.

- Well, dear customers. He's just afraid of you. As for his lisp, it's a sign of genius. Many famous people had them. For example, Vladimir Lenin. It may seem like a disadvantage, but it doesn't make you dumb. In fact, children are priceless! The ancient sages said so! The children are...

- Yes, no need to give a lecture, Mr. Broker. We will buy Ibn Bushlat for half price. If not, we'll leave," said one of the customers, decisively.

- Well, now it's up to you, dear parents of Ibn Bushlat. Don't miss this historic opportunity. By the way, they named a good price," broker Abu Abdullatif ibn Lahnatullah addressed Ibn Bushlat's parents, shaking the child's father's hand.

- Well, okay, let them take the child, we agree. Come on, Ibn Bushlat, go to them and don't fuss. You won't have to look after your little brother because tomorrow we will sell him too, then the dog, and you don't have to take anything out of an empty refrigerator, because even if you find the key to the padlock in the barn and open the refrigerator, you won't find anything edible in it, there's nothing there and most likely won't be in the coming years. After we drink from the money your little brother and your Bobik got us, rest assured, we'll get to the fridge. We will also sell it at a flea market. Ibn Bushlat, don't get us wrong. We need money for drinks, you know? Without alcohol, we are like an astronaut without air in outer space, like a fish without water. Only alcohol can expand our veins in our bodies, and we will calm down for a while. And as for the money you intend to collect by begging at the bus stops, I'll tell you a secret, as a former economist, that this is not a real income. Trust me, Ibn Bushlat. Moreover, the little things that you will collect for weeks will not be enough not only for a bottle of vodka, but even for a snack. In addition, there are police officers who protect local beggars for a certain amount of money, and there are hungry tax officials who will take away all the money from you for not paying taxes. So, go with God, as they say, and don't cry like a woman who was beaten by her alcoholic husband," said Ibn Bushlat's father.

The customers, counting the crumpled and dirty bills over and over again, handed them to Ibn Bushlat's parents. Poor Ibn Bushlat did not want to leave his parents and, clutching the hem of his mother's skirt, he kept begging not to be sold. Ibn Bushlat's father and mother greedily counted the money they received for him. Ibn Bushlat's father even checked the bills, exposing them to the sunlight and saying:

- Don't be surprised, dear customers. It's a time when you can't trust anyone. Counterfeiters are walking around with huge suitcases in their hands, stuffed with counterfeit banknotes of various denominations... Well, look at this... you put a torn and disgusting bill in the pack, which you taped together. Replace them with whole ones. And there are obscene words written on this bill in ballpoint pens. And on the other side? Well... It's also not legible... What bad word... That's disgusting... Let's see what it says here... The handwriting here is small and illegible for a long time, but I think you can read it... Ah, that's it... - Hello, my dear lover Lifan Siigeech! Today, my damned husband is finally leaving for a business trip to Europe. I'll meet you at the same place. I kiss you in writing. Knock, knock! With great respect, your faithful lover Ludaida Ladimna. Date and signature. Change that too. The rest of the bills seem to be normal," said Ibn Bushlat's father. The child's buyers changed the bills and took away the live goods along with a cage resembling a suitcase from Stalin's time without a handle. Ibn Bushlat struggled and cried, trying to escape from the hands of customers, but he failed. Strong and reliable hands grabbed him tightly and, pushing him back into the cage, they were about to leave. Ibn Bushlat kept crying, shaking the iron bars of the cage like a little macaque in a zoo. Meanwhile, when Ibn Bushlat's parents counted the money they had received from the buyers, they began to leave. Broker Abu Abdullatif ibn Lahnatullah stopped the buyers and said:

- Gentlemen, where are we going in a hurry? And my share? Give me the share I earned through honest work. You can't do that. After all, I have to hand over the proceeds to the accounting department of our bazaar, and the accountant, in turn, has to report to the top management about how many smart and talented children have been sold today and for what amount. That is, we have an appropriate annual plan that we must fulfill, no matter what. Otherwise, the bazaar will kick us out of work, and then what? How can I feed my beloved children? By the way, I don't want to sell my children here, even if I have to!

The buyers apologized, handed over his brokerage share, and left the bazaar. Broker Abu Abdullatif ibn Lanatullah approached the sellers of his child.

- Well, the parents of the sold Ibn Bushlat, when do you intend to pay for my brokerage services? - He said.

Poor Ibn Bushlat's parents also gave him his share and left with a satisfied smile on their faces in the direction of the wine and vodka store.

Then I woke up in a hanging sleeping bag. But my friends, the migrant workers from sunny Central Asia were still sound asleep. The distant stars twinkled above my hanging sleeping bag, and a single moon shone silently over the endless Taiga.


07/09/2014. 8:27 p.m.

The city of Brampton. Canada.