Stone candies – 24 hours

Ilgar Rasul

There is one, to imagine, there is another, to see. Okay, that’s another thing. That is, two halves of a cliff. It’s almost the same thing when you look at it from that side. But it’s very different when you look at it, because you jumped the abyss to see it. Abysses are also diverse: formed from soil, formed from rocks, formed from years…

The offices of my mother’s library (in Soviet times we also had in Aghdam) were sometimes named after their directors – “so-and-so’s car depot”, “so-and-so’s kindergarten”, “so-and-so’s house” and s.) had a driver – Be patient. He was a good man. He was from our Muradbeyli, and after the war he drove a Zil in Baku. Once I had to take something from somewhere, Be patient came and carried it in his “Zil” that, at least not to cost the car. After a short moment, we both fell silent and looked at the road. In the first years of the displacement, we had an incomprehensible weakness. We could not agree on what to talk to our compatriot, whom we saw for the first time after the occupation. Thus, Shusha and Karabakh are the streets of Baku, Aghdam, which was left in the hands of Armenians and Going from one avenue to another, everyone was thinking about what to talk about. In the end, I couldn’t stand it and asked Sabir about his condition. He said, “By God, I don’t know what the situation is.” We said that the refugee will be a year or two, we will return to our country, to our homes. Five years of exile? Where am I, where to drive “Zil” in Baku? It’s something else, something else. ”

That’s what I thought then that, Sabir’s condition is worse than ours. Not only did he have to change his city to another, but he also had to change his book machine to a stone machine. Anyway, that’s what happened to me. But it was a difficult year for both of us. At that time, five years were very difficult for us. Then, as we were sad, we saw again, fifteen years have passed. Fifteen was thirty. Finally, we crossed a thirty-year-old abyss, set foot on it, and saw it. But not as we left, but as different as jumping off a cliff…

Of our city and I say the ruins of our house. My reminder of Sabir was based on what I thought when I saw the ruins of our house: it would be ruined for a year, two years, exactly five years. Then you either build and lift, or you dismantle, straighten, and build something better at a short distance. What does the ruins of thirty years mean?

Thirty-year-old white in the basement of his house, longing for sunlightac where to see He does not believe anyone. He either laughs or is offended, thinking he has been ridiculed.

On top of the pile of stones that filled the basement yapI saw a white bucket. At the time of the world, our house had buckets of white and blue enamel. Those buckets were behind the wall hanging on the wall – in the wall cupboard. “Moscow” candy filled to the brim: “Dream”, “Wax”, “Snejok” and s. Once or twice a year, these buckets came from Moscow, full of those candies. It was one of the buckets I saw among the stones of the ruins. White. It was like a house, a yard, a city, crushed and destroyed. But he was. As soon as I saw it, I remembered the glorious time of the bucket. Although there was candy in a crystal bowl on the table at home, I would occasionally open the cupboard, lift the lid of the bucket, and pick up the candy. It would be my pointless, weightless theft…

This time it was made of thick wool drawn in front of the bucket and it was not beautifully patterned. And It took us thirty years, three thousand martyrs, to lift that invisible tomb and see the bucket behind it. What was visible from behind the occupation camp was not a bucket full of candy, but a cellar full of stones. The bucket had just fallen between the stones. I did not dare to approach and touch. I said, they would put mines and grenades under it, they will regret our unbalanced joy.

Yes, it would be a joy to see the ruins of his house. But no matter how much joy, it was deadly joy. It’s so deadly that, I looked at that ruin, I looked and Suddenly a voice came through me: how good that, my mother died. Otherwise, he would die badly when he saw this ruin. There is a house, to remember the days you spent in it, and there is also to remember how you enlarged and beautified that house. My mother had both. He later enlarged our house and made our days interesting and memorable…

My older brother, who was no longer in the world, could not bear to see that situation. He was very sensitive. I am also sensitive, of course. But I’m not sensitive enough to write what I see later, that is,…

I went to Agdam with my sister. I returned with my sister. I sent the current picture of the house to my younger brother, who lives outside Azerbaijan. It was also a picture of a bucket. A bucket of white enamel left between the “Moscow” candies scattered by Moscow to Karabakh-Agdam