18 Stories on the Train. Алем Гулу оглу Кенгерли (Акперов)
dad. You know better. If you decided so, then so be it.” And then he asked:
“When are you thinking of leaving?”
Safar expected his son to be against his decision. He did not think that Ilya would agree so easily to part with him.
“Today… now…,” the father replied, upset.
“Does mom know?” the son asked.
“Not yet,” Safar answered and handed the paper to his son. “I want you to give this letter to Marina.”
Ilya got up and sat on the bed, taking the letter. “Okay dad, I will, don’t worry.”
He looked at the letter, then asked about the transport his father was going to use: if it was by plane or by train.
Safar answered:
“I don’t care. The main thing is to leave.”
Safar contemplated the upcoming conversation with his wife, as the son got out of bed and said: “Dad, I'll walk you to the door.”
He had not yet started his journey, but already he felt a sense of relief. As if a mountain had fallen off his shoulders. After all, he was going to end many years of melancholy and find himself in his native land. Making a decision is a step to success.
At the moment, he was even glad that his son agreed so quickly with his decision. The last thing he needed now was his son opposing what had already been decided on, standing in his way and saying: “I will not let you go anywhere.”
He smiled. The anxiety of the last days vanished as if by magic. He no longer worried about where and how he would live in his homeland. He didn't even think of looking for answers to the different questions. He could only think of one thing: he wanted to arrive to his homeland as soon as possible. He recalled an episode from a book that he had read in his youth, and which had haunted him for a long time. The book read something like this: after the shah listened to the song performed by a young singer taken as a prisoner, he realized that his mournful singing was caused by longing for his homeland, and said to him: you left your soul in those places.
He knew that this was something from the work of the writer Elcin, but from which one?… he could not remember. “This is it,” Safar thought to himself and smiled.
Now he himself was in the state of the hero of that episode.
He got off the train at the Baku station. Full ofjoy, he looked around and took a deep breath. Then he sat down on a bench nearby and thought. It was beginning to get dark. At this moment, a hand lay on his shoulder:
“Safar?!”
He turned around and tried to remember the person with a familiar face. Even if he didn't remember, at that moment he became one hundred percent convinced that he did the right thing to have returned to his homeland. A person would never get in trouble at home. There will always be someone you know, some relative, even a stranger who will reach out to you and help.
3
Jabrail-muallim and Bahlul-kishi are completely different people with completely opposing views. They are neighbors. Jabrail-muallim holds a high position, and Bahlul-kishi is a person who does not have a permanent job. And they are united by a single hobby: playing domino in their yard. Jabril-muallim sees this game as a filling for his leisure time, but for Bahlul-kishi it is a matter of life and death. He goes all out to make their team win and to cheer up Jabrail-muallim. Perhaps, he will get a favor as a result of this, and he will be able to get at least a simple job from his neighbor.
One day Jabrail-muallim suddenly suggested Bahlul-kishi going on vacation with their families. The latter was overcome with joy, thinking: this is a real chance to resolve the employment issue. But, as it turned out, it was not to happen.
A Clumsy Assistance
It was the last Friday of December. The residents of the five-story building were sitting in a self-built room arranged in the courtyard for various events and domino playing. People were waiting for their turn. It was very noisy. The losing pair left the game, giving way to another one. When someone made a wrong move, a clamor was heard. As a result of the squabble, the pieces of domino flew to the floor with such force that the noise from it could be heard in the nearest apartments. Everyone was equal here. No one was superior to any other. It could be a teacher, a scientist, even a simple worker – everyone was called “a neighbor.” They were united by the game of dominoes. In principle, they were not bad neighbors. They shared both their troubles and their joys, they helped each other.
It was hot in the room, even though it was December. A wooden stove was burning at one end, and a samovar was boiling at the other. Those who dropped out of the game, those who lost, were obliged to put hot tea in front of the players instead of the cooled ones.
When the turn came to Jabrail-muallim, who was the head of a company, the audience died down and the jokes stopped. After all, this person enjoyed high authority. Jabrail-muallim took his place and turned to his partner:
“Bahlul, my neighbor, please be careful, we must take revenge for the latest defeat.”
“Yessir,” said Bahlul-kishi, who was recently hired as a watchman in the yard market. The Jabrail-Bahlul pair was considered the strongest in the quarter. Both were graduates of the University of Economics and were good at calculating moves, as well as guessing the result of the game. The first round passed at quite a pace. They won and took revenge for their previous defeat, but were unlucky in the next round. They hardly sat down when they had to get up again.
The passions were burning. No one cared about tea anymore. Upset, Jabrail left the room. “Damn it, what an awful thing to happen,” Bahlul thought to himself and went out, following his neighbor. He had to solve his problem somehow. Having caught up with his neighbor, he began to apologize:
“Excuse me, for god's sake, I tried my best. We were unlucky somehow…”
“Take it easy, you lose once, you win later,” the neighbor tried to calm him down. These words made Bahlul-kishi cheer up, so he decided to move on:
“Jabrail-muallim, you promised to give me a suitable job if the opportunity arises.”
“I remember, neighbor,” Jabrail-muallim replied. “There’s no vacancy yet. Have some patience. I am a responsible person. If I promised something, I’ll do it.”
“I know, brother. Heaven bless you,” said Bahlul-kishi, expressing his gratitude. It was cold outside. Bahlul-kishi decided not to hold back his neighbor, said goodbye and thought to leave. Seeing this, Jabrail-muallim, apparently remembering about something, turned to his neighbor:
“Neighbor, what are you doing tomorrow?”
“Why are you asking, dear? I can ask my son to watch over the market for me. I'm at your service.”
“There’s no service. I haven’t travelled for a long time, I want to go on vacation to Kechresh, Quba, with my wife tomorrow. If you want, you can join us. Take your wife too. It will be more fun having a company.”
Bahlul-kishi was very happy with the proposal of his neighbor. To be honest, he did not expect it and considered it an honor to set out on the road with such a respected person, so he was quick to agree:
“With great pleasure. But I want to ask you for something. Just don't be offended, please.”
“I am listening.”
“I’ll pay my expenses.”
“Come on, what kind of expense are you talking about?” said Jabrail- muallim. Bahlul-kishi answered quickly:
“No. Please, don’t say so. I have to spend money as well, otherwise I will feel myself uncomfortable.”
At 9 am, both neighbors stood at their respective entrance doors with their bags and spouses. Despite the insistence of Jabrail-muallim, Bahlul-kishi did not agree to get into his new Jeep. “I cannot be so impudent,” he thought to himself and turned to Jabrail-muallim:
“Don’t