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Fiction

Old Fazyl’s Advice

By Ilya Odegov
Translated from Russian by Rohan Kamicheril
Kazakh writer Ilya Odegov’s protagonist takes some advice too close to heart in this work of short fiction.

“One ought not to cause offense to people,” said Old Fazyl. “I try never to offend anyone. And one ought not to quarrel with people; it is dangerous to speak unkindly to them. Even if you are their master, you must not curse them, especially if they do not consider themselves guilty.”  

“Because God will punish you?” asked little Hania.

“God’s punishment comes through the hands of the insulted,” said Fazyl, sighing. “Well, now go on, run off home. Listen, your mother is calling for you.”

“Ha-ni-a!” her voice rang out in the street.

Hania ran out of the house, listened carefully to the cry, and then bolted in the other direction.

“Ha-ni-a!” The voice reached her from far away, becoming softer and softer.

She ran to the edge of the village, her hands clapped over her ears, passing by the boys playing at jacks—the same ones that constantly teased her and shouted ugly things after her—, scrambled to the top of the hill, where a view on the entire village opened before her, from the first house to the last, and then made her way down to the river, which smelled of fish and manure.

Achmet the herdsman was driving his small stocky horses upstream against the current.

“Hello!” Hania shouted to him. “Happy trails!”

Achmet smiled and nodded hello.

“Aren’t I smart!” thought Hania, waiting till the herd turned the bend in the river and then pulling down her dress and climbing into the water. The ice-cold water burned her skin, and she struggled to catch her breath. Walking in almost to her waist, Hania bent over to scoop water up in her palms to wash herself. She put her foot down carelessly on a slick stone and felt the current push below her knee. Hania tried to right herself but couldn’t, and fell into the water with a scream. She broke the surface and continued to shout as she made her way to shore on all fours, grasping at the stones on the river floor with her fingers and scraping her wrists.

“What are you doing here swimming by yourself?” she heard someone say from behind her.

Hania lifted her eyes and saw a tan, bearded man with a smirk on his face who didn’t look like a local. He watched her with interest. Regaining her senses, Hania grabbed her dress and started to pull it on over her head. The dress stuck to her wet skin as she rushed to get it on. With her head stuck inside and unable to see anything, she cried out helplessly. She felt a pair of strange, strong hands unentangle her with a downward pull. Straightening her dress and pushing the hair out of her face, she saw that the stranger was still watching her and grinning.

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

“None of your business,” said Hania, but then remembered the words of Fazyl and became unsure of herself.

“My name is Bahadur,” said the man, “Lal Bahadur. And I’m looking for Farida. Do you know her?”

Hania peered at the stranger, considering whether or not she could trust him, and eventually said:

“There are two Faridas in the village. My mother and Old Farida, the one who lives in the last house on the outskirts of the village. Women go to her when they want to get a baby.”

“I see,” Bahadur said, thoughtfully scratching his beard. “And how old is your mother?”

Hania frowned in concentration.

“Very,” she said finally.

“I see,” repeated Bahadur. “Will you take me to her?”

“No,” said Hania.

***

Hania remained quiet while they walked along the slope on the side of the village, turning the present from Bahadur about in her hands; a small ring with a shining stone in it. She liked how the glint of light from it jumped around the ground and up in the leaves, which Hania herself would never in her life have been able to reach. Bahadur was quiet, too, thinking to himself, and occasionally smiling at something in his thoughts. Hania took his hand, as though this made it easier for her to get by the large rocks that they came across on their path. His hand was warm and strong and Hania liked feeling the proximity of his strength and the sense that she was somehow complicit in it. She felt as though a confidence was filling her thin body from his hand, like Bahadur’s arms were a weapon that belonged to her. But as they approached the village, she pulled up her palm and hid the ring in her mouth. She was scared that the boys would taunt her, but they only watched the stranger in silent amazement and then picked up their game once more.

“Well, where is your house?” asked Bahadur.

“There’s Mama!” said Hania, and shouted, “Mama!”

A tired young woman collecting water in a pitcher from a pump some distance away looked up at them.

“Where have you been?! I’ve been looking for you all day!” she shouted, and then saw Bahadur standing next to Hania.

“Greetings, Farida,” he said.

“This is Lal Bahadur, Mama,” said Hania. “He’s been looking for you.”

“So you’ve come to see me?” asked her mother, raising an eyebrow. “Well, come in. And you, go for a walk,” she said over her shoulder to her daughter.

“But I’m hungry!” shouted Hania.

 “You’ll wait,” said Farida as she and Bahadur entered the house.

“Ooh, I wish you’d all . . .” In her anger Hania nearly swallowed the ring. She quickly extracted it and put it on her finger. She went around the house and walked out onto the terrace, where there were crates filled with fruit ready for the market. With difficulty she toppled one of them, collected the scattered dates into a pile and dragged the crate over to the window. She turned it over, stood on it, and looked through the window into the room. Bahadur and Farida were sitting at the table. Hania saw Bahadur caress her mother with his strong hand and, smiling, quietly say something to her. Farida smiled, too, but tears were running down her cheeks. Lal Bahadur put a hand into his pocket and pulled out a ring just like Hania’s, only bigger and more beautiful—yellow, with a heavy, gleaming stone.  

Hania climbed down from the crate and tore the ring off her finger, meaning to throw it away. But she changed her mind, secreted it again in her mouth and then dragged the crate back to the pile of fruit. The air was still and thick. The sun had nearly set and there was a sweet smell of smoke in the air. The chickens that had gathered had started to feast on the scattered figs, quietly but indignantly clucking and pressing each other away from the crates. Curled up next to the fruit, warming itself in the last rays of the sun, Hania saw a thick, shining viper. A thought suddenly occurred to her. Moving as quietly as she could, she walked up to the snake. The snake turned its head and hissed lazily. Using all her strength, Hania raised the crate, dropped it over the viper and sat down on of it. She could feel the snake’s strong, lithe body writhing and beating against the sides of the crate beneath her. She waited for the initial rush of its fury to wear off, and then slowly dragged the crate to the front door of the house.

Achmet had long since gone by, bringing his herd in for the night, and there were already too many stars in the sky for Hania’s fingers, when, at last, the door opened. Farida gathered her tousled hair. Lal Bahadur smiled.

“There you are!” he said happily, seeing Hania. “Did you get tired of waiting for us?”

Hania smiled, but it was dark, and Bahadur couldn’t make out the expression on her face.

“I’m not tired at all,” she said, and got up off the crate. “Look, I even made you a present.”

“Really?” said Bahadur, surprised. “How interesting!”

He walked over to the crate and turned it over. The viper hurled itself at him, landed softly, and then struck out at Farida. Bahadur shouted and jumped to the side, covering Hania’s mother with his body and, with a blow of his boot, sent the snake, hissing angrily and spitting poison, into the bushes. Hania watched for where it fell and then ran out the gate.

She ran through the village. The boys were no longer at their game of jacks. There was a light burning in the window of almost every house, but there was no one to be seen. Only when she ran past Old Fazyl’s house did he come out into his doorway, stopping to watch as she went by. 


© Ilya Odegov. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2012 by Rohan Kamicheril. All rights reserved.

English Russian (Original)

“One ought not to cause offense to people,” said Old Fazyl. “I try never to offend anyone. And one ought not to quarrel with people; it is dangerous to speak unkindly to them. Even if you are their master, you must not curse them, especially if they do not consider themselves guilty.”  

“Because God will punish you?” asked little Hania.

“God’s punishment comes through the hands of the insulted,” said Fazyl, sighing. “Well, now go on, run off home. Listen, your mother is calling for you.”

“Ha-ni-a!” her voice rang out in the street.

Hania ran out of the house, listened carefully to the cry, and then bolted in the other direction.

“Ha-ni-a!” The voice reached her from far away, becoming softer and softer.

She ran to the edge of the village, her hands clapped over her ears, passing by the boys playing at jacks—the same ones that constantly teased her and shouted ugly things after her—, scrambled to the top of the hill, where a view on the entire village opened before her, from the first house to the last, and then made her way down to the river, which smelled of fish and manure.

Achmet the herdsman was driving his small stocky horses upstream against the current.

“Hello!” Hania shouted to him. “Happy trails!”

Achmet smiled and nodded hello.

“Aren’t I smart!” thought Hania, waiting till the herd turned the bend in the river and then pulling down her dress and climbing into the water. The ice-cold water burned her skin, and she struggled to catch her breath. Walking in almost to her waist, Hania bent over to scoop water up in her palms to wash herself. She put her foot down carelessly on a slick stone and felt the current push below her knee. Hania tried to right herself but couldn’t, and fell into the water with a scream. She broke the surface and continued to shout as she made her way to shore on all fours, grasping at the stones on the river floor with her fingers and scraping her wrists.

“What are you doing here swimming by yourself?” she heard someone say from behind her.

Hania lifted her eyes and saw a tan, bearded man with a smirk on his face who didn’t look like a local. He watched her with interest. Regaining her senses, Hania grabbed her dress and started to pull it on over her head. The dress stuck to her wet skin as she rushed to get it on. With her head stuck inside and unable to see anything, she cried out helplessly. She felt a pair of strange, strong hands unentangle her with a downward pull. Straightening her dress and pushing the hair out of her face, she saw that the stranger was still watching her and grinning.

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

“None of your business,” said Hania, but then remembered the words of Fazyl and became unsure of herself.

“My name is Bahadur,” said the man, “Lal Bahadur. And I’m looking for Farida. Do you know her?”

Hania peered at the stranger, considering whether or not she could trust him, and eventually said:

“There are two Faridas in the village. My mother and Old Farida, the one who lives in the last house on the outskirts of the village. Women go to her when they want to get a baby.”

“I see,” Bahadur said, thoughtfully scratching his beard. “And how old is your mother?”

Hania frowned in concentration.

“Very,” she said finally.

“I see,” repeated Bahadur. “Will you take me to her?”

“No,” said Hania.

***

Hania remained quiet while they walked along the slope on the side of the village, turning the present from Bahadur about in her hands; a small ring with a shining stone in it. She liked how the glint of light from it jumped around the ground and up in the leaves, which Hania herself would never in her life have been able to reach. Bahadur was quiet, too, thinking to himself, and occasionally smiling at something in his thoughts. Hania took his hand, as though this made it easier for her to get by the large rocks that they came across on their path. His hand was warm and strong and Hania liked feeling the proximity of his strength and the sense that she was somehow complicit in it. She felt as though a confidence was filling her thin body from his hand, like Bahadur’s arms were a weapon that belonged to her. But as they approached the village, she pulled up her palm and hid the ring in her mouth. She was scared that the boys would taunt her, but they only watched the stranger in silent amazement and then picked up their game once more.

“Well, where is your house?” asked Bahadur.

“There’s Mama!” said Hania, and shouted, “Mama!”

A tired young woman collecting water in a pitcher from a pump some distance away looked up at them.

“Where have you been?! I’ve been looking for you all day!” she shouted, and then saw Bahadur standing next to Hania.

“Greetings, Farida,” he said.

“This is Lal Bahadur, Mama,” said Hania. “He’s been looking for you.”

“So you’ve come to see me?” asked her mother, raising an eyebrow. “Well, come in. And you, go for a walk,” she said over her shoulder to her daughter.

“But I’m hungry!” shouted Hania.

 “You’ll wait,” said Farida as she and Bahadur entered the house.

“Ooh, I wish you’d all . . .” In her anger Hania nearly swallowed the ring. She quickly extracted it and put it on her finger. She went around the house and walked out onto the terrace, where there were crates filled with fruit ready for the market. With difficulty she toppled one of them, collected the scattered dates into a pile and dragged the crate over to the window. She turned it over, stood on it, and looked through the window into the room. Bahadur and Farida were sitting at the table. Hania saw Bahadur caress her mother with his strong hand and, smiling, quietly say something to her. Farida smiled, too, but tears were running down her cheeks. Lal Bahadur put a hand into his pocket and pulled out a ring just like Hania’s, only bigger and more beautiful—yellow, with a heavy, gleaming stone.  

Hania climbed down from the crate and tore the ring off her finger, meaning to throw it away. But she changed her mind, secreted it again in her mouth and then dragged the crate back to the pile of fruit. The air was still and thick. The sun had nearly set and there was a sweet smell of smoke in the air. The chickens that had gathered had started to feast on the scattered figs, quietly but indignantly clucking and pressing each other away from the crates. Curled up next to the fruit, warming itself in the last rays of the sun, Hania saw a thick, shining viper. A thought suddenly occurred to her. Moving as quietly as she could, she walked up to the snake. The snake turned its head and hissed lazily. Using all her strength, Hania raised the crate, dropped it over the viper and sat down on of it. She could feel the snake’s strong, lithe body writhing and beating against the sides of the crate beneath her. She waited for the initial rush of its fury to wear off, and then slowly dragged the crate to the front door of the house.

Achmet had long since gone by, bringing his herd in for the night, and there were already too many stars in the sky for Hania’s fingers, when, at last, the door opened. Farida gathered her tousled hair. Lal Bahadur smiled.

“There you are!” he said happily, seeing Hania. “Did you get tired of waiting for us?”

Hania smiled, but it was dark, and Bahadur couldn’t make out the expression on her face.

“I’m not tired at all,” she said, and got up off the crate. “Look, I even made you a present.”

“Really?” said Bahadur, surprised. “How interesting!”

He walked over to the crate and turned it over. The viper hurled itself at him, landed softly, and then struck out at Farida. Bahadur shouted and jumped to the side, covering Hania’s mother with his body and, with a blow of his boot, sent the snake, hissing angrily and spitting poison, into the bushes. Hania watched for where it fell and then ran out the gate.

She ran through the village. The boys were no longer at their game of jacks. There was a light burning in the window of almost every house, but there was no one to be seen. Only when she ran past Old Fazyl’s house did he come out into his doorway, stopping to watch as she went by. 


© Ilya Odegov. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2012 by Rohan Kamicheril. All rights reserved.

Слова Старого Фазыла

– Не следует обижать людей, – сказал старый Фазыл. – Я никогда не обижаю людей. Не следует спорить с людьми. Опасно говорить им злые слова. Даже, если ты их хозяин – нельзя ругать их, особенно, если они сами не считают себя виноватыми.

– Потому что Бог накажет? – спросила маленькая Хания.

– Бог наказывает руками обиженных людей, – вздохнул Фазыл, – ну, а теперь беги, беги домой. Слышишь, мама зовет.

– Ха-ни-ийа!!! – донеслось с улицы.

Хания выбежала из дома, прислушалась к крику и побежала в другую сторону.

– Ха-ни-ийа! – доносился голос издалека, становясь всё тише и тише.

Она выбежала на окраину, закрыв ладонями уши пробежала мимо играющих в кости мальчишек – тех, что всё время дразнили её и выкрикивали вслед нехорошие слова – взобралась на вершину холма, с которого открывался вид на всю деревню от первого до последнего дома, и стала спускаться к реке. Река пахла рыбой и навозом. Пастух Ахмет гнал маленьких коренастых лошадей вверх по течению.

– Привет! – крикнула ему Хания. – Удачного пути!

Ахмет улыбнулся и приветливо кивнул ей.

«Я – молодец!», – подумала Хания и, дождавшись, пока табун исчезнет за поворотом, стянула с себя платье и полезла в воду. Вода льдом обожгла её кожу, дыхание перехватило. Зайдя в реку почти по пояс, Хания нагнулась, чтобы зачерпнуть воду ладонями и умыться, шагнула вперед, наступила неосторожно на скользкий камень и почувствовала, как течение толкает её под колени. Она попыталась выпрямиться, не удержалась и с визгом упала в поток. Вынырнув и продолжая визжать, она на четвереньках, цепляясь за каменистое дно пальцами и обдирая лодыжки, стала выбираться на берег.

– Ты чего здесь одна купаешься? – послышался голос над её головой.

Хания подняла глаза и увидела на берегу загорелого бородатого ухмыляющегося парня, не похожего на здешних. Он с интересом разглядывал её. Опомнившись, Хания схватила платье и стала натягивать его через голову. Платье прилипало к мокрой коже, а Хания торопилась. Голова застряла внутри, ничего не видя, от беспомощности она вновь истошно завопила и почувствовала, как сильные чужие руки одним рывком вниз высвободили её. Поправив платье и убрав с лица волосы, она увидела, что незнакомец всё так же ухмыляется, наблюдая за ней.

– Как тебя зовут? – спросил он.

– Не твоё дело, – сказала Хания, но вспомнила слова Фазыла и смутилась.

– Меня зовут Бахадур, – сказал парень, – Лал Бахадур. И я ищу Фариду. Знаешь такую?

Хания исподлобья взглянула на незнакомца, размышляя стоит ли доверять ему, и, наконец, сказала:

– В деревне две Фариды. Моя мать и старуха Фарида, та, что живет в последнем доме на окраине. К ней ходят женщины, когда хотят, чтобы у них появились дети.

– Ясно, – задумчиво почесал бороду Бахадур, – а сколько твоей матери лет?

Хания сосредоточенно нахмурилась.

– Много, – наконец, сказала она.

– Ясно, – повторил Бахадур, – проводишь меня к ней?

– Нет, – сказала Хания.

Пока они шли по склону в сторону деревни, Хания всё время молчала и вертела в руках подарок Бахадура – маленькое колечко с блестящим камушком. Ей нравилось, что блики от него скакали по земле и по листьям, до которых сама Хания в жизни бы не дотянулась. Бахадур тоже молчал, думая о чём–то, и иногда улыбался этим своим мыслям. Хания взяла его за руку, словно так ей удобней было перебираться через крупные камни, встречающиеся по дороге. Его рука была теплой и сильной, и Хание нравилось ощущать близость этой силы и словно какую–то причастность к ней. Она чувствовала, как из этой руки её худое тело наливается уверенностью, словно рука Бахадура была принадлежавшим ей, Хание, оружием. Но когда они подошли к самой деревне, она выдернула ладонь и спрятала колечко в рот. Она боялась, что мальчишки окликнут её, но они, молча и с удивлением проводив взглядами незнакомца, снова принялись за игру.

– Ну, где ваш дом? – спросил Бахадур.

– Вон мама! – сказала Хания и крикнула. – Мама!

Молодая усталая женщина, набиравшая воду в кувшин из колонки поодаль, подняла глаза.

– Где же ты была!? Я тебя весь день ищу! – закричала она и увидела Бахадура, стоящего рядом с Ханиёй.

– Здравствуй, Фарида, – сказал он.

– Это Лал Бахадур, мама, – сказала Хания, – он тебя искал.

– Ко мне, значит, пришел? – спросила мать, вскинув бровь, – Ну, проходи. А ты погуляй пока, – бросила она дочери.

– Я есть хочу! – закричала Хания.

– Подождешь, – сказала Фарида, и они с Бахадуром зашли в дом.

– Ууу, чтоб вам всем! – от ярости Хания чуть не проглотила колечко. Быстро достав его и надев на палец, она обошла вокруг дома и вышла на террасу, где стояли ящики с приготовленными на продажу фруктами. С трудом опрокинув один из них, она собрала рассыпавшиеся финики в кучу и поволокла ящик к окну. Перевернув ящик, она встала на него и заглянула в комнату. Бахадур и Фарида сидели за столом. Хания увидела, что своей сильной рукой Лал Бахадур гладит руку её матери и, улыбаясь, что–то тихо говорит ей. Фарида тоже улыбалась, но по лицу её текли слезы. Лал Бахадур полез одной рукой в карман и достал колечко – такое же, как у Хании, только больше и красивее – жёлтое, с крупным сверкающим камнем.

Хания слезла с ящика, сорвала с пальца колечко, намереваясь выкинуть его вон, но передумала, спрятала обратно в рот и принялась толкать ящик назад к куче фруктов. Было душно, солнце почти село, и в воздухе пахло сладким дымом. Куры, которые собрались было полакомиться разбросанными финиками, тихо, но возмущенно кудахтали, прижавшись друг к другу в стороне от ящиков. Хания увидела, что рядом с фруктами, свернувшись в последних лучах солнца, греется толстая блестящая гадюка. Мгновенная мысль возникла в голове Хании. Стараясь шагать как можно тише, она подошла к змее. Та повернула голову и лениво зашипела. Тогда Хания изо всех сил подняла ящик, накрыла им гадюку и села сверху. Она чувствовала, как изгибается и бьется о стенки ящика под ней сильное и упругое тело змеи. Выждав, пока первый порыв ярости утихнет, Хания стала медленно волоком тащить ящик к входной двери дома.

Уже давно прошел мимо Ахмет, ведя свой табун на ночлег, уже пальцев Хании не хватало, чтобы сосчитать сколько звезд появилось на небе, когда дверь, наконец, открылась. Фарида собирала растрепанные волосы. Лал Бахадур улыбался.

– А, вот ты где! – радостно сказал он, увидев Ханию. – Устала ждать нас?

Хания улыбнулась, но было темно, и Бахадур не мог разглядеть выражение её лица.

– Совсем не устала, – сказала она и встала с ящика. – Смотри, я тоже приготовила тебе подарок.

– Да? – удивился Бахадур. – Как интересно!

Он подошел к ящику и перевернул его. Гадюка вскинулась, зашипела и, спружинив, подпрыгнула в воздух в сторону Фариды. Бахадур закричал, кинулся вбок, закрывая телом мать Хании, и сильным ударом сапога отбросил яростно шипящую и плюющуюся ядом гадюку в кусты. Хания проследила за тем, куда упала змея, и выбежала за ворота.

Она побежала через деревню. Мальчишки уже не играли в кости. Почти во всех домах горел свет в окнах, но людей не было видно, и только, когда Хания пробегала мимо дома старого Фазыла, тот вышел на порог и остановился, провожая её взглядом.

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