Selected Poetry / Избранное (англ.). Gabdullah Tukai
was bewildered by these words. «Why so? Why did you come for him?» he said. After these and other similar questions the traveler began the conversation thus:
«I am from the village of Kushlavych myself. This boy is our imam’s child. We lost touch with him several years ago and had no information about him, but we now found him. It turned out that he is living here with you. In Yaik he has an uncle – a man married to his father’s sister. When this uncle of his found out that his wife’s nephew was in the care of such simple folk he decided that the boy should live with him in Yaik. At his behest in Yaik, I went in search of this child and I’m now taking him away with me.»
The traveler’s words upset my father and mother to no end.
«Splendid! We fed him three or four years, when the price of a peck of flour was so and so much, and now, when he became fit for work, you want us to give him to you… No way, forget it! If he has family, where were they before?» They began to bicker and exchange words like this.
Once in a while my mother would interject a remark: «No way! We don’t have any children to spare!»
To which the stranger, uncle Badretdin, responded with: «So you’re saying ‘No way, you didn’t have the right’ to hold someone else’s child… I’m going to take the issue before the village constable. We’ve been looking for the child all this time, but it turns out you had him all along. I’ll drag you through the courts!»
It’s not hard to frighten village people with such words and my poor parents caved in.
A little later, my usually headstrong mother said: «All right, dear, we’ll have to let go of him. Looks like we can’t have him as our child… Allah forbid that you should get into trouble!» – As she said this, she broke into tears.
Soon afterwards, like the sea that can’t calm down after a storm, my father, too, conceded at the end of the fizzling out dispute.
Giving me my old knee-length coat and worn-out felt boots to wear, they brought me immediately out of the house, and put me on the cart.
Weeping bitterly, my mother and father saw me off all the way to the field gates.
Mother cried out: «Don’t forget us! Don’t forget! If you do, you’ll become a hot ember in hell!» These were the last words I heard from her as we drove out of the village.
Since the situation regarding my departure was decided practically within a half hour or so, I couldn’t say goodbye to any of my village friends and acquaintances. I couldn’t explain anything to them.
Evening fell and dusk was already descending as soon as we left the village.
Along the way, we stopped in Uchile village to visit my grandfather. They treated us to some tea at his place.
Nothing much changed in this family except for the fact that Sazhida apa got married.
After we had our tea, we drove past Verkhniye Aty, Nizhniye Aty and Sredniye Aty until at midnight we finally reached my native village – Kushlavych.
Along the road, I must have been bounced around pretty badly in the back of the cart, because in uncle Badri’s house, I instantly fell asleep like a log.
After waking up, I saw that I was in a black hut without any chimney. There was no furniture here at all, nothing but bowls, cups, spoons, a scoop, a clamp, a breast collar, and other things of that sort.
We drank some tea. Uncle Badri had a big blue-eyed wife with a friendly face, named Gaisha, a 14 or 15-year-old son, Kamaletdin, a daughter, Kashifa, aged 12 and a newly born baby girl, Nagima. After tea, we went into the house across the way from this one.
This house looked nothing like the black hut I spent the night in: the walls were built of fresh yellow pine, there was nice furniture and decor, even a desk – for a villager like me the interior was more than satisfactory.
When I saw uncle Badri’s barns full of meat, various grains, wheat and rye, I decided that he must be one of the richest people in the village.
Kamaletdin also showed me there large orchard, not particularly beautiful in the autumn but with a lot of bee hives.
After I walked into this white chimney house, I didn’t leave it the entire day and went to bed there.
In the evening, going through the books in the house, I stumbled upon Fruits of Conversation11 and began to read it. I liked the last few poems very much and tried my best to understand them. However, since in Kyrlai I read only Hafiza and the religious-mystical book Sabatel-Gadzhizin, I was perplexed by the presence of indecent words in this book, and I began wondering: how could there be such words in a book?
Sometimes, under the influence of this book Fruits of Conversation I loudly argued with Gaisha abystai in the black hut, where she washed her laundry. My aunt put men to shame, while I ridiculed women.
Wherever I went, I was always singled out among other boys as the son of a mullah. Even in places where lots of children got together I wasn’t allowed to play tag with the girls. I also tried to behave as appropriate to a mullah’s son and use my own erudition.
Here’s an example. Once when I was at uncle Badri’s place, a man by the name of Sitdik, well known in the village, came to see me. He was drunk. He came up to me and said the words of greeting but I didn’t answer him; he gave me his hand but I didn’t shake it.
They asked me why I acted that way. I immediately answered with a line from Badavam:
«Don’t send greetings to a drunk,
And never shake his hand.»
In addition to the fact that uncle Badri’s whole family was amazed, my religious zeal became known to everyone in the village.
Shortly after uncle Badri had me leave Kyrlai, he had to travel to Kazan on some business.
I didn’t spend the entire month of his absence doing nothing. Kamaletdin and I attended the school in our village which was like a madrassah. There was so much to learn that we even had to stay there overnight sometimes. The honorable teacher in this school had the habit of hammering knowledge in his students. In this short time I was often horrified as I watched how he beat the daylights out of some of his students, treating them like dogs.
I found the possibility that the whip of the esteemed teacher was going to hit my back someday very frightening. Besides, it wasn’t particularly pleasant to be herded to the morning prayer together with the rest of the students, so I thought to myself: «Let uncle Badri return soon, then I could go back to Yaik!»
Finally, uncle Badri came back. He brought me a new hat, new felt boots and a new quilted coat. I was very happy to put on my new clothes, but I pulled my old hat from the heap of old clothes and hid it in the attic, so that when I come back one day I would find it there. This was another one of my strange actions.
After that we spent only a few days in Kushlavych. Then we packed our belongings and drove in the direction of Yaik.
After a day and a night on the road, we arrived in Kazan (most likely, from the side of the Hay Market) and finally stopped at some place.
Suddenly we saw a man running towards us with widespread arms: he had an almost entirely white beard but his eyes looked young.
«You’re still alive then?» he exclaimed, coming up to me. «Your mother saw you in her dreams just yesterday. Come on, I’ll take you home. You’ll have some tea and spend the night with us», – with these words he took me away.
We came home. Mom met me. She missed me, poor thing, and was also crying.
They prepared tea for me. Father brought some meat dumplings from the inn, and we had a good meal. They asked me how I was doing during the time I was away. I told them everything I could recall.
Nothing seemed to have changed in the lives of these parents of mine in the time we lived apart, except that my father’s beard turned gray, and that they moved from the New Quarter to the Old Quarter.
I spent that night at their place. In the morning,
The Fruits of Conversation is a collection of works of literature and folklore, compiled by Kayum Nasyri in 1884.