Book club: “When I return, be home” by Elchin Safarli. Elchin Safarli. “When I return, be home”: reviews, plot, quotes from Safarli when I return


Title: When I return, be home
Writer: Elchin Safarli
Year: 2017
Publisher: AST
Genres: Contemporary Russian literature

About the book “When I return, be at home” Elchin Safarli

It's hard to lose loved ones, and even harder when children leave. This is an irreparable loss, this is a huge emptiness in the soul until the end of days. It is difficult to convey in words what parents feel at such moments. Elchin Safarli was able to not only describe state of mind people who lost their daughter, but also did it beautifully. You simply cannot resist your emotions - they will overwhelm you and never let you go. This is one of those books that changes people's lives.

The book “Be Home When I Return” tells the story of a family whose daughter died. Each member experiences this tragedy in their own way. A man writes letters to his daughter. He doesn't think that she will never read them - he believes the opposite. He talks about the most different topics- about love, about life, about the sea, about happiness. He tells his daughter about everything that is happening around.

When you start reading a book Elchina Safarli, you can't stop anymore. There's some kind of special atmosphere- the taste of salty sea air, the pleasant breeze that you feel in your hair, and the sand that crushes under your steps. But the wind will disappear with the next gust, and the footprints on the sand will be destroyed by the wave. Everything in the world disappears somewhere, but I would like the dearest and most beloved to always be nearby.

It is difficult to philosophize over the books of Elchin Safarli - his skill in this matter simply cannot be surpassed. Even the name says a lot. Each line is full of pain, despair, but the desire to live on - for the sake of your child, to be able to write letters to her and talk about life.

The entire book “When I Return, Be Home” can be divided into quotes that will help you in difficult moments don’t despair, get up and move on, no matter what. They say it’s true that we begin to appreciate only when we lose it - and it doesn’t matter whether it’s a person or some kind of object.

The book is gray, like a cloudy day, sad, like the story of the unhappy love of Romeo and Juliet. But she is so reverent, sincere, real... She has strength - the strength of the ocean, the strength of the elements, the strength parental love to your children. Impossible to transfer in simple words what you experience when you start reading this work. You just have to take my word for it, take a book and... disappear for several days, talking about the eternal - about love, about life, about death...

If you like philosophical sad works, then Elchin Safarli has prepared something special for you. Many were looking forward to this particular work and were not disappointed. Read it too, and perhaps something special will appear in your life - exactly that footprint in the sand that will help you move on, despite difficulties and losses.

On our literary website books2you.ru you can download Elchin Safarli’s book “When I return, be at home” for free in suitable formats different devices formats - epub, fb2, txt, rtf. Do you like to read books and always keep up with new releases? We have a large selection of books of various genres: classics, modern fiction, psychological literature and children's publications. In addition, we offer interesting and educational articles for aspiring writers and all those who want to learn how to write beautifully. Each of our visitors will be able to find something useful and exciting for themselves.

Elchin Safarli

When I return, be home

My family

Sometimes it seems to me that the whole world, the whole life, everything in the world has settled in me and demands: be our voice. I feel - oh, I don’t know how to explain... I feel how huge it is, but when I start talking, it comes out as baby talk. What a difficult task: to convey a feeling, a sensation in such words, on paper or out loud, so that the one who reads or listens feels or feels the same as you.

We all once crawled out into the light of day from a salty font, for life began at sea.

And now we can't live without her. Only now we eat salt separately and drink separately fresh water. Our lymph has the same salt composition as sea ​​water. The sea lives in each of us, although we separated from it a long time ago.

And the most land-dwelling man carries the sea in his blood without knowing it.

This is probably why people are so drawn to look at the surf, at the endless series of waves and listen to their eternal roar.

Victor Konetsky

Don't invent hell for yourself


It's winter here all year round. The sharp northern wind - it often grumbles in a low voice, but sometimes it turns into a scream - does not release the whitish land and its inhabitants from captivity. Many of them have not left these lands since birth, proud of their devotion. There are also those who run away from here to the other side of the ocean from year to year. Mostly brown-haired women with bright nails.


In the last five days of November, when the ocean humbly retreats, bowing its head, they - with a suitcase in one hand, with children in the other - rush to the pier, wrapped in brown cloaks. The ladies - one of those who are devoted to their homeland - through the cracks of the closed shutters look at the fugitives, grinning - either out of envy, or out of wisdom. “We invented hell for ourselves. They devalued their land, believing that it was better where they had not yet reached.”


Your mom and I have a good time here. In the evenings she reads books about winds aloud. In a solemn voice, with a proud air of being involved in magic. At such moments, Maria resembles weather forecasters.

“...The speed reaches twenty to forty meters per second. It blows constantly, covering a wide strip of coastline. As the updrafts move, the wind is observed over an increasingly large part of the lower troposphere, rising up several kilometers.”


On the table in front of her is a stack of library books and a pot of linden tea brewed with dried orange peel. “Why do you love this restless wind?” - I ask. Returns the cup to the saucer and turns the page. “He reminds me of a young me.”


When it gets dark, I hardly go outside. Holing up in our house, which smells of rooibos, softened clay and cookies with raspberry jam, your favorite. We always have it, mom puts your portion in the cupboard: suddenly, like in childhood, you run from a hot day into the kitchen for basil lemonade and cookies.


I do not like dark time days and the dark water of the ocean - they oppress you with longing for you, Dost. At home, next to Maria, I feel better, I become closer to you.

I won’t upset you, I’ll tell you about something else.


In the mornings, until lunch, my mother works in the library. Books are the only entertainment here; everything else is almost inaccessible due to the wind, dampness and nature local residents. Eat dance club, but few people go there.


I work in a bakery near my house, kneading dough. Manually. Amir, my companion, and I bake bread - white, rye, with olives, dried vegetables and figs. Delicious, you would like it. We do not use yeast, only natural sourdough.


Yes, baking bread is a feat of hard work and patience. It's not as simple as it seems from the outside. I can’t imagine myself without this business, it’s as if I wasn’t a man of numbers.


I miss. Dad

We have been given so much and we don't appreciate it.


I want to introduce you to those who here, sometimes without knowing it, make us better. Does it really matter that we are nearly seventy! Life is constant work on yourself, which you cannot entrust to anyone, and sometimes you get tired of it. But do you know what the secret is? On the road everyone meets those who kind words, silent support, a set table helps to go through part of the journey easily, without losses.


At Mars in the morning good mood. Today is Sunday, Maria and I are at home, we all went for a morning walk together. We dressed warmly, grabbed a thermos of tea, and headed to an abandoned pier, where seagulls rest in calm weather. Mars does not scare away the birds, lies down nearby and looks at them dreamily. They sewed warm clothes for him so that his belly wouldn’t get cold.


I asked Maria why Mars, just like humans, loves to watch birds. “They are absolutely free, at least it seems so to us. And birds can be there for a long time, where it doesn’t matter what happened to you on earth.”

Sorry, Dostu, I started talking, I almost forgot to introduce you to Mars. Our dog is a cross between a dachshund and a mongrel; we adopted him from the shelter distrustful and intimidated. Warmed it up, loved it.


Him sad story. Mars spent several years in a dark closet, his non-human owner performed cruel experiments on him. The psychopath died, and neighbors found the barely alive dog and handed it over to volunteers.


Mars cannot remain alone, especially in the dark, and whines. There should be as much space around him as possible more people. I take it with me to work. There, and not only, they love Mars, even though he is a gloomy fellow.


Why did we call it Mars? Because of the fiery brown fur and a character as harsh as the nature of this planet. In addition, he feels good in the cold and enjoys wallowing in the snowdrifts. And the planet Mars is rich in water ice deposits. Do you get the connection?


When we returned from our walk, the snow became heavier and the wires were covered with white growths. Some passers-by rejoiced at the snowfall, others cursed.


I can see how important it is not to stop each other from creating magic, no matter how small. Everyone has their own - on a piece of paper, in the kitchen preparing red lentil soup, in a provincial hospital or on the stage of a silent hall.


There are also many who create magic to themselves, without words, for fear of letting it out.


You cannot question your neighbor’s talents; You shouldn’t draw the curtains, preventing someone from watching how nature works its magic, carefully covering the roofs with snow.


People are given so much for free, but we don’t appreciate it, we think about payment, we demand checks, we save for a rainy day, missing the beauty of the present.


I miss. Dad

Don't forget where your ship is sailing


our White House stands thirty-four steps from the ocean. It has been empty for many years, the paths to it are covered with a thick layer of ice; the chimney was clogged with sand, seagull feathers, and mouse droppings; the stove and walls yearned for warmth; Through the frosty window panes the ocean was not visible at all.


Local residents are afraid of the house, calling it “meches,” which translates as “infecting with pain.” “Those who settled in it fell into the prison of their own fears and went crazy.” Stupid arguments didn’t stop us from moving into the house we fell in love with as soon as we set foot on the threshold. Perhaps for some it became a prison, for us it became liberation.


Having moved in, the first thing we did was light the stove, make tea, and the next morning we repainted the walls that had warmed up during the night. Mom chose the color " Starlight Night", something between lavender and violet. We liked it, we didn’t even bother hanging pictures on the walls.

But the shelves in the living room are filled with children's books that we read with you, Dostu.


Do you remember your mother telling you: “If everything goes wrong, pick yourself up? good book, she will help."


From a distance, our house merges with the snow. In the morning, from the top of the hill, only the endless white, greenish water of the ocean and the brown marks of the rusty sides of Ozgur are visible. This is our friend, meet me, I put his photo in the envelope.


To an outsider, it is an aged fishing boat. For us, he is the one who reminded us how important it is to accept change with dignity. Once Ozgur shone on the mighty waves, scattering nets, now, tired and humble, he lives on land. He is glad that he is alive and can, at least from a distance, see the ocean.


In Ozgur's cabin I found a dilapidated logbook, covered with interesting thoughts in the local dialect. It is unknown who owns the recordings, but I decided that Ozgur was talking to us like this.


Yesterday I asked Ozgur if he believes in predestination. On the third page of the magazine I received the answer: “We are not given the will to manage time, but only we decide what and how to fill it.”

Last year, municipal staff wanted to send Ozgur to scrap metal. If not for Maria, the longboat would have died. She dragged him to our site.


Dostu, the past and future are not as important as the present. This world is like the ritual dance of the Sufi sema: one hand is turned with the palm towards the sky, receives the blessing, the other - towards the earth, shares what is received.

Cover photo: Alena Motovilova

https://www.instagram.com/alen_fancy/

http://darianorkina.com/

© Safarli E., 2017

© AST Publishing House LLC, 2017

Any use of the material in this book, in whole or in part, without the permission of the copyright holder is prohibited.

The publishing house thanks the literary agency “Amapola Book” for its assistance in acquiring the rights.

***

Elchin Safarli is a volunteer at the Strong Lara Foundation for Helping Homeless Animals. In the photo he is with Reina. This once stray dog, paralyzed by an unknown gunman, now lives at the foundation. We believe that very soon the day will come when our pet will find a home.

***

Now I feel more clearly the eternity of life. No one will die, and those who loved each other in one life will certainly meet again after. Body, name, nationality - everything will be different, but we will be attracted by a magnet: love binds us forever. In the meantime, I live my life - I love and sometimes I get tired of love. I remember moments, I carefully preserve this memory in myself, so that tomorrow or in the next life I can write about everything.

My family

Sometimes it seems to me that the whole world, the whole life, everything in the world has settled in me and demands: be our voice. I feel - oh, I don’t know how to explain... I feel how huge it is, but when I start talking, it sounds like baby talk. What a difficult task: to convey a feeling, a sensation in such words, on paper or out loud, so that the one who reads or listens feels or feels the same as you.

Jack London

Part I

We all once crawled out into the light of day from a salty font, for life began at sea.

And now we can't live without her. Only now we eat salt separately and drink fresh water separately. Our lymph has the same salt composition as sea water. The sea lives in each of us, although we separated from it a long time ago.

And the most land-dwelling man carries the sea in his blood without knowing it.

This is probably why people are so drawn to look at the surf, at the endless series of waves and listen to their eternal roar.

Victor Konetsky

1
Don't invent hell for yourself

It's winter here all year round. The sharp northern wind - it often grumbles in a low voice, but sometimes it turns into a scream - does not release the whitish land and its inhabitants from captivity.

Many of them have not left these lands since birth, proud of their devotion. There are also those who run away from here to the other side of the ocean from year to year. Mostly brown-haired women with bright nails.

In the last five days of November, when the ocean humbly retreats, bowing its head, they - with a suitcase in one hand, with children in the other - rush to the pier, wrapped in brown cloaks. The ladies—one of those who are devoted to their homeland—look at the fugitives through the cracks of the closed shutters, grinning—either out of envy, or out of wisdom. “We invented hell for ourselves. They devalued their land, believing that it was better where they had not yet reached.”


Your mom and I have a good time here. In the evenings she reads books about winds aloud. In a solemn voice, with a proud air of being involved in magic. At such moments, Maria resembles weather forecasters.

“...The speed reaches twenty to forty meters per second. It blows constantly, covering a wide strip of coastline. As the updrafts move, the wind is observed over an increasingly large part of the lower troposphere, rising up several kilometers.”


On the table in front of her is a stack of library books and a pot of linden tea brewed with dried orange peel. “Why do you love this restless wind?” - I ask. Returns the cup to the saucer and turns the page. “He reminds me of a young me.”


When it gets dark, I hardly go outside. Holing up in our house, which smells of rooibos, softened clay and cookies with raspberry jam, your favorite. We always have it, mom puts your portion in the cupboard: suddenly, like in childhood, you run from a hot day into the kitchen for basil lemonade and cookies.


I don’t like the dark time of day and the dark water of the ocean - they oppress me with longing for you, Dost. At home, next to Maria, I feel better, I become closer to you.

I won’t upset you, I’ll tell you about something else.


In the mornings, until lunch, my mother works in the library. Books here are the only entertainment; everything else is almost inaccessible due to the wind, dampness and the character of the local residents. There is a dance club, but few people go there.


I work in a bakery near my house, kneading dough. Manually. Amir, my companion, and I bake bread - white, rye, with olives, dried vegetables and figs. Delicious, you would like it. We do not use yeast, only natural sourdough.


Yes, baking bread is a feat of hard work and patience. It's not as simple as it seems from the outside. I can’t imagine myself without this business, it’s as if I wasn’t a man of numbers.


I miss. Dad

2
We have been given so much and we don't appreciate it.

I want to introduce you to those who here, sometimes without knowing it, make us better. Does it really matter that we are nearly seventy! Life is constant work on yourself, which you cannot entrust to anyone, and sometimes you get tired of it. But do you know what the secret is? On the road, everyone meets those who, with a kind word, silent support, and a set table, help to pass part of the journey easily, without loss.


Mars is in a good mood in the morning. Today is Sunday, Maria and I are at home, we all went for a morning walk together. We dressed warmly, grabbed a thermos of tea, and headed to an abandoned pier, where seagulls rest in calm weather. Mars does not scare away the birds, lies down nearby and looks at them dreamily. They sewed warm clothes for him so that his belly wouldn’t get cold.


I asked Maria why Mars, just like humans, loves to watch birds. “They are absolutely free, at least it seems so to us. And birds can be there for a long time, where it doesn’t matter what happened to you on earth.”

Sorry, Dostu, I started talking, I almost forgot to introduce you to Mars. Our dog is a cross between a dachshund and a mongrel; we adopted him from the shelter distrustful and intimidated. Warmed it up, loved it.


He has a sad story. Mars spent several years in a dark closet, his non-human owner performed cruel experiments on him. The psychopath died, and neighbors found the barely alive dog and handed it over to volunteers.


Mars cannot remain alone, especially in the dark, and whines. There should be as many people around him as possible. I take it with me to work. There, and not only, they love Mars, even though he is a gloomy fellow.


Why did we call it Mars? Because of the fiery brown fur and a character as harsh as the nature of this planet. In addition, he feels good in the cold and enjoys wallowing in the snowdrifts. And the planet Mars is rich in water ice deposits. Do you get the connection?


When we returned from our walk, the snow became heavier and the wires were covered with white growths. Some passers-by rejoiced at the snowfall, others cursed.


I can see how important it is not to stop each other from creating magic, no matter how small. Everyone has their own - on a piece of paper, in the kitchen preparing red lentil soup, in a provincial hospital or on the stage of a silent hall.


There are also many who create magic to themselves, without words, for fear of letting it out.


You cannot question your neighbor’s talents; You shouldn’t draw the curtains, preventing someone from watching how nature works its magic, carefully covering the roofs with snow.


People are given so much for free, but we don’t appreciate it, we think about payment, we demand checks, we save for a rainy day, missing the beauty of the present.


I miss. Dad

3
Don't forget where your ship is sailing

our white house stands thirty-four steps from the ocean. It has been empty for many years, the paths to it are covered with a thick layer of ice; the chimney was clogged with sand, seagull feathers, and mouse droppings; the stove and walls yearned for warmth; Through the frosty window panes the ocean was not visible at all.


Local residents are afraid of the house, calling it “meches,” which translates as “infecting with pain.” “Those who settled in it fell into the prison of their own fears and went crazy.” Stupid arguments didn’t stop us from moving into the house we fell in love with as soon as we set foot on the threshold. Perhaps for some it became a prison, for us it became liberation.


Having moved in, the first thing we did was light the stove, make tea, and the next morning we repainted the walls that had warmed up during the night. Mom chose the color “starry night,” something between lavender and violet. We liked it, we didn’t even bother hanging pictures on the walls.

But the shelves in the living room are filled with children's books that we read with you, Dostu.


Do you remember your mother told you: “If everything goes wrong, pick up a good book, it will help.”


From a distance, our house merges with the snow. In the morning, from the top of the hill, only the endless white, greenish water of the ocean and the brown marks of the rusty sides of Ozgur are visible. This is our friend, meet me, I put his photo in the envelope.


To an outsider, it is an aged fishing boat. For us, he is the one who reminded us how important it is to accept change with dignity. Once Ozgur shone on the mighty waves, scattering nets, now, tired and humble, he lives on land. He is glad that he is alive and can, at least from a distance, see the ocean.


In Ozgur's cabin I found an old logbook, covered with interesting thoughts in the local dialect. It is unknown who owns the recordings, but I decided that Ozgur was talking to us like this.


Yesterday I asked Ozgur if he believes in predestination. On the third page of the magazine I received the answer: “We are not given the will to manage time, but only we decide what and how to fill it.”

Last year, municipal staff wanted to send Ozgur to scrap metal. If not for Maria, the longboat would have died. She dragged him to our site.


Dostu, the past and future are not as important as the present. This world is like the ritual dance of the Sufi sema: one hand is turned with the palm towards the sky, receiving the blessing, the other - towards the earth, sharing what was received.


Remain silent when everyone is talking, speak when your words are about love, even through tears. Learn to forgive those around you - this is how you will find the way to forgiving yourself. Don't fuss, but don't forget where your ship is sailing. Maybe he lost his way?..


I miss. Dad

4
Life is just a journey. Enjoy

When we approached this city with our suitcases, a blizzard covered the only road to it. Fierce, blinding, thick white. I can not see anything. The pine trees standing on the side of the road in gusts of wind whipped the car, which was already swaying dangerously.


The day before the move, we looked at the weather report: no hints of a storm. It started as unexpectedly as it stopped. But in those moments it seemed that there would be no end to it.


Maria suggested returning. “This is a sign that now is not the time to go. Turn around!” Usually decisive and calm, my mother suddenly panicked.


I almost gave up, but I remembered what would be behind the obstacle: a beloved white house, an ocean with immense waves, the aroma warm bread on a linden board, “Tulip Field” by Van Gogh in a frame on the fireplace, the face of Mars waiting for us in the shelter, and many more beautiful things - and pressed the gas pedal. Forward.

If we had gone back to the past then, we would have missed a lot. There wouldn't be these letters. It is fear (and not evil, as is often believed) that prevents love from opening up. Just as a magical gift can become a curse, fear brings destruction if it is not learned to control.


Dost, how interesting it is to receive life lessons when the age is far from young. The great ignorance of man lies in his confidence that he has felt and experienced everything. This (and not wrinkles and gray hair) is the real old age and death.


We have a friend, psychologist Jean, we met at a shelter. We took Mars, and he took a tailless red cat. Recently Jean asked people whether they were satisfied with their lives. Most responded positively. Then Jean asked the following question: “Do you want to live as you are for another two hundred years?” The respondents' faces were contorted.


People get tired of themselves, even joyful ones. Do you know why? They always expect something in return - from circumstances, faith, actions, loved ones. “It's just a path. Enjoy,” Jean smiles and invites us to his onion soup. We agreed on next Sunday. Are you with us?


I miss. Dad

5
We all really need each other

The onion soup was a great success. It was interesting to watch the preparation, especially the moment when Jean put the garlic-rubbed croutons into pots of soup, sprinkled them with Gruyere and into the oven. After a couple of minutes we were enjoying the soupe? l "oignon. We washed it down with white wine.


We've been wanting to try onion soup for a long time, but somehow never got around to it. It was hard to believe that it was tasty: the memories of school broth with coarsely chopped boiled onions did not induce appetite.


“In my opinion, the French themselves have forgotten how to properly prepare a classic soup? l "oignon, and they constantly come up with new recipes, one tastier than the other. In fact, the main thing in it is the caramelization of onions, which you get if you take sweet varieties. Adding sugar is extreme! And, of course, it is important with whom you share the meal. The French "Don't eat onion soup alone. 'It's too warm and cozy for that,' my Isabelle said."

That was the name of Jean's grandmother. He was a boy when his parents died in a car accident, and he was raised by Isabelle. It was wise woman. On her birthday, Jean cooks onion soup, gathers friends, and remembers her childhood with a smile.


Jean is from Barbizon, a city in northern France where artists came from all over the world to paint landscapes, including Monet.


“Isabelle taught me to love people and help those who are different. Maybe because such people in our village at that time stood out among a thousand inhabitants, and it was too hard for them. Isabelle explained to me that “normal” is a fiction, beneficial to those in power, as they supposedly demonstrate our insignificance and inadequacy to the fictitious ideal. People who consider themselves flawed are easier to manage... Isabelle accompanied me to school with the words: “I hope today you will meet your unique self.”


...It was a magical evening, Dostu. The space around us was filled with wonderful stories, mouth-watering aromas, and new shades of taste. We sat at a set table, the radio sang “Life is beautiful” in the voice of Tony Bennett; the overfed Mars and the quiet, red-haired Mathis were snoring at their feet. We were filled with a bright peace - life goes on.

Jean remembered Isabelle, Maria and I remembered our grandparents. Mentally we thanked them and asked for forgiveness. Because, as they grew older, they needed their care less and less. But they still loved and waited.


Dostu, in this strange world we all really need each other.


I miss. Dad

6
Our only task is to love life

You probably have déjà vu. Jean explains these outbreaks by reincarnation: the immortal soul in a new incarnation remembers what it felt in the previous body. “So the Universe suggests that there is no need to be afraid of earthly death, life is eternal.” It's hard to believe.


Behind recent years Twenty déjà vu has never happened to me. But yesterday I felt how exactly a moment of my youth was repeated. In the evening, a storm broke out, and Amir and I finished things earlier than usual: he put out the dough for the morning bread, I stewed the apples with cinnamon for the puff pastries. A new product from our bakery that is loved by our customers. Puff pastry It cooks quickly, so we usually only make the filling the night before.


By seven the bakery was locked.


Deep in thought, I walked home along the raging ocean. Suddenly a prickly blizzard hit my face. Defending myself, I closed my eyes and was suddenly transported into memories of fifty years ago.

I'm eighteen. War. Our battalion defends the border on a mountain with a ridge seventy kilometers long. Minus twenty. After the night offensive there were few of us left. Despite being wounded in the right shoulder, I cannot leave my post. The food is over, the water is running out, the order is to wait until morning. Reinforcements are on the way. At any moment the enemy can mow down the remnants of the battalion.


Cold and exhausted, at times almost losing consciousness from pain, I stood at my post. The storm raged without abating, lashing me from all sides.


Dostu, then I first knew despair. Slowly, inexorably, it takes hold of you from within, and you cannot resist it. At such moments you can’t even concentrate on prayer. You're waiting. Salvation or end.


Do you know what held me back then? A story from childhood. Hiding under the table at one of the adult gatherings, I heard it from Grandma Anna. Working as a nurse, she survived the siege of Leningrad.


My grandmother recalled how once, during a long shelling, a cook in a bomb shelter was cooking soup on a burner. From what they were able to collect: some gave a potato, some an onion, some a handful of cereals from pre-war reserves. When it was almost ready, she took off the lid, tasted it, added some salt, returned the lid to its place: “Another five minutes and it’s ready!” Exhausted people lined up for soup.


But they couldn’t eat that soup. It turned out that laundry soap got into it: the cook did not notice how it stuck to the lid when she put it on the table. The food was spoiled. The cook burst into tears. No one stuttered, reproached, or looked reproachfully. In the most difficult circumstances, people did not lose their humanity.


Then, while on duty, I remembered again and again this story, told in Anna’s voice. He survived. Morning came and help arrived. I was taken to the hospital.


Dost, a person is not given the opportunity to fully understand life, no matter how hard he tries. It seems to us that we understand what, how and why it works. But every new day its serpentines and junctions prove the opposite - we are always at our desks. And the only task is to love life.


I miss. Dad

7
I'll wait for you as long as you need

When I met your mother, she was married. She's twenty-seven, I'm thirty-two. He immediately confessed his feelings to her. “I’ll wait for you as long as necessary.” He continued to come to the library where she worked, borrowed books, but that was all. I waited for Maria for four years, although she did not promise that she would come.


Later I found out: she thought I would cool down and switch to another. But I was adamant. This is not love at first sight, but the minute when you see a person and understand: this is the one. At our first meeting, I decided that this girl with brown hair would be my wife. And so it happened.


I was waiting for her myself, but I didn’t expect anything from her. Not that she will give birth to children for me and fill my house with comfort; nor that will continue to follow the road that brought us together. The deep confidence that we would be together under any circumstances swept away all doubts.


Meeting with Maria is the absence of hesitation even when it seemed that there was no hope.

I knew that our lives would intersect, I never stopped believing in it, although there were plenty of reasons to doubt it.


Everyone deserves to meet their person, but not everyone gets it. Some do not allow their will to strengthen and lose faith, others, disappointed, notice only the unsuccessful experience of the past, and some do not wait at all, being content with what they have.


Your birth strengthened our connection with Mary. This was another gift from Fate. We were so passionate about each other and work (love is a wonderful combination of friendship and passion) that the thought of a child did not occur to us. And suddenly life sent us a miracle. You. Our souls and bodies united, merged into one, and the path became common. We tried our best to love and protect you, but there were some mistakes.


I remember how Maria, rocking you to sleep, worried: “Everything in her is changing so quickly that I dream of stopping time like never before.” Nothing gave us greater happiness than seeing you, a sleepy little one, open your eyes, look at us and smile at the fact that we are your dad and mom.


Dostu, barriers to happiness are an illusion of the subconscious, fears are empty worries, and dreams are our present. She is reality.


I miss. Dad

8
Madness is half wisdom, wisdom is half madness

Until recently, Umid, a good-natured rebel boy, worked in our bakery. He delivered baked goods to homes. His clients loved him, especially the older generation. He was helpful, although he rarely smiled. Umid reminded me of twenty years old - a volcano of internal protest that was about to burst out.


Umid was brought up in a Catholic school and dreamed of becoming a priest. When he was growing up, he dropped out of school and left home. “Many believers pretend to be someone they are not.”


The day before yesterday Umid announced that he was resigning. Moving.


“I don’t want to live in this damn city. I'm tired of calling its ugliness uniqueness, and the hypocrisy of society - a property of mentality. You visitors cannot see how rotten everything is here. And eternal winter is not a feature geographical location, but a curse. Look at our government, all they do is talk about love for their homeland. If they started talking about patriotism, it means they were stealing. But it’s our own fault: when they elected themselves, we were sitting in front of the TV with popcorn.”


Amir tried to persuade Umid to think carefully, but I remained silent. I remember being a teenager very well - nothing could stop me. Impulsive decisions helped get things moving.


Dostu, did you know that my grandfather Barish was a teacher at the theological seminary? He and I talked about God more than once. I felt above me higher power, but religious dogmas disgusted me.


One day, excited by Barysh’s calm reaction to another school injustice, I blurted out: “Grandfather, it’s nonsense that everything is always on time! Our will determines too much. There is no miracle or predestination. Everything is just will.”

Elchin Safarli

When I return, be home

Cover photo: Alena Motovilova

https://www.instagram.com/alen_fancy/

http://darianorkina.com/

© Safarli E., 2017

© AST Publishing House LLC, 2017

Any use of the material in this book, in whole or in part, without the permission of the copyright holder is prohibited.

The publishing house thanks the literary agency “Amapola Book” for its assistance in acquiring the rights.

http://amapolabook.com/

***

Elchin Safarli is a volunteer at the Strong Lara Foundation for Helping Homeless Animals. In the photo he is with Reina. This once stray dog, paralyzed by an unknown gunman, now lives at the foundation. We believe that very soon the day will come when our pet will find a home.

***

Now I feel more clearly the eternity of life. No one will die, and those who loved each other in one life will certainly meet again after. Body, name, nationality - everything will be different, but we will be attracted by a magnet: love binds us forever. In the meantime, I live my life - I love and sometimes I get tired of love. I remember moments, I carefully preserve this memory in myself, so that tomorrow or in the next life I can write about everything.

My family

Sometimes it seems to me that the whole world, the whole life, everything in the world has settled in me and demands: be our voice. I feel - oh, I don’t know how to explain... I feel how huge it is, but when I start talking, it sounds like baby talk. What a difficult task: to convey a feeling, a sensation in such words, on paper or out loud, so that the one who reads or listens feels or feels the same as you.

Jack London


We all once crawled out into the light of day from a salty font, for life began at sea.

And now we can't live without her. Only now we eat salt separately and drink fresh water separately. Our lymph has the same salt composition as sea water. The sea lives in each of us, although we separated from it a long time ago.

And the most land-dwelling man carries the sea in his blood without knowing it.

This is probably why people are so drawn to look at the surf, at the endless series of waves and listen to their eternal roar.

Victor Konetsky

Don't invent hell for yourself


It's winter here all year round. The sharp northern wind - it often grumbles in a low voice, but sometimes it turns into a scream - does not release the whitish land and its inhabitants from captivity. Many of them have not left these lands since birth, proud of their devotion. There are also those who run away from here to the other side of the ocean from year to year. Mostly brown-haired women with bright nails.


In the last five days of November, when the ocean humbly retreats, bowing its head, they - with a suitcase in one hand, with children in the other - rush to the pier, wrapped in brown cloaks. The ladies—one of those who are devoted to their homeland—look at the fugitives through the cracks of the closed shutters, grinning—either out of envy, or out of wisdom. “We invented hell for ourselves. They devalued their land, believing that it was better where they had not yet reached.”


Your mom and I have a good time here. In the evenings she reads books about winds aloud. In a solemn voice, with a proud air of being involved in magic. At such moments, Maria resembles weather forecasters.

“...The speed reaches twenty to forty meters per second. It blows constantly, covering a wide strip of coastline. As the updrafts move, the wind is observed over an increasingly large part of the lower troposphere, rising up several kilometers.”


On the table in front of her is a stack of library books and a pot of linden tea brewed with dried orange peel. “Why do you love this restless wind?” - I ask. Returns the cup to the saucer and turns the page. “He reminds me of a young me.”


When it gets dark, I hardly go outside. Holing up in our house, which smells of rooibos, softened clay and cookies with raspberry jam, your favorite. We always have it, mom puts your portion in the cupboard: suddenly, like in childhood, you run from a hot day into the kitchen for basil lemonade and cookies.


I don’t like the dark time of day and the dark water of the ocean - they oppress me with longing for you, Dost. At home, next to Maria, I feel better, I become closer to you.

Current page: 1 (book has 2 pages in total) [available reading passage: 1 pages]

Elchin Safarli
When I return, be home

Cover photo: Alena Motovilova

https://www.instagram.com/alen_fancy/

http://darianorkina.com/

© Safarli E., 2017

© AST Publishing House LLC, 2017

Any use of the material in this book, in whole or in part, without the permission of the copyright holder is prohibited.

The publishing house thanks the literary agency “Amapola Book” for its assistance in acquiring the rights.

http://amapolabook.com/

***

Elchin Safarli is a volunteer at the Strong Lara Foundation for Helping Homeless Animals. In the photo he is with Reina. This once stray dog, paralyzed by an unknown gunman, now lives at the foundation. We believe that very soon the day will come when our pet will find a home.

***

Now I feel more clearly the eternity of life. No one will die, and those who loved each other in one life will certainly meet again after. Body, name, nationality - everything will be different, but we will be attracted by a magnet: love binds us forever. In the meantime, I live my life - I love and sometimes I get tired of love. I remember moments, I carefully preserve this memory in myself, so that tomorrow or in the next life I can write about everything.

My family

Sometimes it seems to me that the whole world, the whole life, everything in the world has settled in me and demands: be our voice. I feel - oh, I don’t know how to explain... I feel how huge it is, but when I start talking, it sounds like baby talk. What a difficult task: to convey a feeling, a sensation in such words, on paper or out loud, so that the one who reads or listens feels or feels the same as you.

Jack London

Part I

We all once crawled out into the light of day from a salty font, for life began at sea.

And now we can't live without her. Only now we eat salt separately and drink fresh water separately. Our lymph has the same salt composition as sea water. The sea lives in each of us, although we separated from it a long time ago.

And the most land-dwelling man carries the sea in his blood without knowing it.

This is probably why people are so drawn to look at the surf, at the endless series of waves and listen to their eternal roar.

Victor Konetsky

1
Don't invent hell for yourself

It's winter here all year round. The sharp northern wind - it often grumbles in a low voice, but sometimes it turns into a scream - does not release the whitish land and its inhabitants from captivity. Many of them have not left these lands since birth, proud of their devotion. There are also those who run away from here to the other side of the ocean from year to year. Mostly brown-haired women with bright nails.


In the last five days of November, when the ocean humbly retreats, bowing its head, they - with a suitcase in one hand, with children in the other - rush to the pier, wrapped in brown cloaks. The ladies—one of those who are devoted to their homeland—look at the fugitives through the cracks of the closed shutters, grinning—either out of envy, or out of wisdom. “We invented hell for ourselves. They devalued their land, believing that it was better where they had not yet reached.”


Your mom and I have a good time here. In the evenings she reads books about winds aloud. In a solemn voice, with a proud air of being involved in magic. At such moments, Maria resembles weather forecasters.

“...The speed reaches twenty to forty meters per second. It blows constantly, covering a wide strip of coastline. As the updrafts move, the wind is observed over an increasingly large part of the lower troposphere, rising up several kilometers.”


On the table in front of her is a stack of library books and a pot of linden tea brewed with dried orange peel. “Why do you love this restless wind?” - I ask. Returns the cup to the saucer and turns the page. “He reminds me of a young me.”


When it gets dark, I hardly go outside. Holing up in our house, which smells of rooibos, softened clay and cookies with raspberry jam, your favorite. We always have it, mom puts your portion in the cupboard: suddenly, like in childhood, you run from a hot day into the kitchen for basil lemonade and cookies.


I don’t like the dark time of day and the dark water of the ocean - they oppress me with longing for you, Dost. At home, next to Maria, I feel better, I become closer to you.

I won’t upset you, I’ll tell you about something else.


In the mornings, until lunch, my mother works in the library. Books here are the only entertainment; everything else is almost inaccessible due to the wind, dampness and the character of the local residents. There is a dance club, but few people go there.


I work in a bakery near my house, kneading dough. Manually. Amir, my companion, and I bake bread - white, rye, with olives, dried vegetables and figs. Delicious, you would like it. We do not use yeast, only natural sourdough.


Yes, baking bread is a feat of hard work and patience. It's not as simple as it seems from the outside. I can’t imagine myself without this business, it’s as if I wasn’t a man of numbers.


I miss. Dad

2
We have been given so much and we don't appreciate it.

I want to introduce you to those who here, sometimes without knowing it, make us better. Does it really matter that we are nearly seventy! Life is constant work on yourself, which you cannot entrust to anyone, and sometimes you get tired of it. But do you know what the secret is? On the road, everyone meets those who, with a kind word, silent support, and a set table, help to pass part of the journey easily, without loss.


Mars is in a good mood in the morning. Today is Sunday, Maria and I are at home, we all went for a morning walk together. We dressed warmly, grabbed a thermos of tea, and headed to an abandoned pier, where seagulls rest in calm weather. Mars does not scare away the birds, lies down nearby and looks at them dreamily. They sewed warm clothes for him so that his belly wouldn’t get cold.


I asked Maria why Mars, just like humans, loves to watch birds. “They are absolutely free, at least it seems so to us. And birds can be there for a long time, where it doesn’t matter what happened to you on earth.”

Sorry, Dostu, I started talking, I almost forgot to introduce you to Mars. Our dog is a cross between a dachshund and a mongrel; we adopted him from the shelter distrustful and intimidated. Warmed it up, loved it.


He has a sad story. Mars spent several years in a dark closet, his non-human owner performed cruel experiments on him. The psychopath died, and neighbors found the barely alive dog and handed it over to volunteers.


Mars cannot remain alone, especially in the dark, and whines. There should be as many people around him as possible. I take it with me to work. There, and not only, they love Mars, even though he is a gloomy fellow.


Why did we call it Mars? Because of the fiery brown fur and a character as harsh as the nature of this planet. In addition, he feels good in the cold and enjoys wallowing in the snowdrifts. And the planet Mars is rich in water ice deposits. Do you get the connection?


When we returned from our walk, the snow became heavier and the wires were covered with white growths. Some passers-by rejoiced at the snowfall, others cursed.


I can see how important it is not to stop each other from creating magic, no matter how small. Everyone has their own - on a piece of paper, in the kitchen preparing red lentil soup, in a provincial hospital or on the stage of a silent hall.


There are also many who create magic to themselves, without words, for fear of letting it out.


You cannot question your neighbor’s talents; You shouldn’t draw the curtains, preventing someone from watching how nature works its magic, carefully covering the roofs with snow.


People are given so much for free, but we don’t appreciate it, we think about payment, we demand checks, we save for a rainy day, missing the beauty of the present.


I miss. Dad

3
Don't forget where your ship is sailing

our white house stands thirty-four steps from the ocean. It has been empty for many years, the paths to it are covered with a thick layer of ice; the chimney was clogged with sand, seagull feathers, and mouse droppings; the stove and walls yearned for warmth; Through the frosty window panes the ocean was not visible at all.


Local residents are afraid of the house, calling it “meches,” which translates as “infecting with pain.” “Those who settled in it fell into the prison of their own fears and went crazy.” Stupid arguments didn’t stop us from moving into the house we fell in love with as soon as we set foot on the threshold. Perhaps for some it became a prison, for us it became liberation.


Having moved in, the first thing we did was light the stove, make tea, and the next morning we repainted the walls that had warmed up during the night. Mom chose the color “starry night,” something between lavender and violet. We liked it, we didn’t even bother hanging pictures on the walls.

But the shelves in the living room are filled with children's books that we read with you, Dostu.


Do you remember your mother told you: “If everything goes wrong, pick up a good book, it will help.”


From a distance, our house merges with the snow. In the morning, from the top of the hill, only the endless white, greenish water of the ocean and the brown marks of the rusty sides of Ozgur are visible. This is our friend, meet me, I put his photo in the envelope.


To an outsider, it is an aged fishing boat. For us, he is the one who reminded us how important it is to accept change with dignity. Once Ozgur shone on the mighty waves, scattering nets, now, tired and humble, he lives on land. He is glad that he is alive and can, at least from a distance, see the ocean.


In Ozgur's cabin I found an old logbook, covered with interesting thoughts in the local dialect. It is unknown who owns the recordings, but I decided that Ozgur was talking to us like this.


Yesterday I asked Ozgur if he believes in predestination. On the third page of the magazine I received the answer: “We are not given the will to manage time, but only we decide what and how to fill it.”

Last year, municipal staff wanted to send Ozgur to scrap metal. If not for Maria, the longboat would have died. She dragged him to our site.


Dostu, the past and future are not as important as the present. This world is like the ritual dance of the Sufi sema: one hand is turned with the palm towards the sky, receiving the blessing, the other - towards the earth, sharing what was received.


Remain silent when everyone is talking, speak when your words are about love, even through tears. Learn to forgive those around you - this is how you will find the way to forgiving yourself. Don't fuss, but don't forget where your ship is sailing. Maybe he lost his way?..


I miss. Dad

4
Life is just a journey. Enjoy

When we approached this city with our suitcases, a blizzard covered the only road to it. Fierce, blinding, thick white. I can not see anything. The pine trees standing on the side of the road in gusts of wind whipped the car, which was already swaying dangerously.


The day before the move, we looked at the weather report: no hints of a storm. It started as unexpectedly as it stopped. But in those moments it seemed that there would be no end to it.


Maria suggested returning. “This is a sign that now is not the time to go. Turn around!” Usually decisive and calm, my mother suddenly panicked.


I almost gave up, but I remembered what would be behind the obstacle: a beloved white house, an ocean with immense waves, the aroma of warm bread on a linden board, Van Gogh’s “Tulip Field” framed on the fireplace, the face of Mars waiting for us in the shelter, and there are still many beautiful things,” and pressed the gas pedal. Forward.

If we had gone back to the past then, we would have missed a lot. There wouldn't be these letters. It is fear (and not evil, as is often believed) that prevents love from opening up. Just as a magical gift can become a curse, fear brings destruction if it is not learned to control.


Dost, how interesting it is to learn life lessons when you are far from young. The great ignorance of man lies in his confidence that he has felt and experienced everything. This (and not wrinkles and gray hair) is the real old age and death.


We have a friend, psychologist Jean, we met at a shelter. We took Mars, and he took a tailless red cat. Recently Jean asked people whether they were satisfied with their lives. Most responded positively. Then Jean asked the following question: “Do you want to live as you are for another two hundred years?” The respondents' faces were contorted.


People get tired of themselves, even joyful ones. Do you know why? They always expect something in return - from circumstances, faith, actions, loved ones. “It's just a path. Enjoy,” Jean smiles and invites us to his place for onion soup. We agreed on next Sunday. Are you with us?


I miss. Dad

5
We all really need each other

The onion soup was a great success. It was interesting to watch the preparation, especially the moment when Jean put the garlic-rubbed croutons into pots of soup, sprinkled them with Gruyere and into the oven. A couple of minutes later we enjoyed the soupe à l "oignon. We washed it down with white wine.


We've been wanting to try onion soup for a long time, but somehow never got around to it. It was hard to believe that it was tasty: the memories of school broth with coarsely chopped boiled onions did not induce appetite.


“In my opinion, the French themselves have forgotten how to properly prepare the classic soupe à l"oignon, and are constantly coming up with new recipes, one tastier than the other. In fact, the main thing in it is the caramelization of onions, which will happen if you take sweet varieties. Add sugar - extreme! And, of course, it matters who you share the meal with. The French don’t eat onion soup alone. “It’s too warm and cozy for that,” my Isabelle said.”

That was the name of Jean's grandmother. He was a boy when his parents died in a car accident, and he was raised by Isabelle. She was a wise woman. On her birthday, Jean cooks onion soup, gathers friends, and remembers her childhood with a smile.


Jean is from Barbizon, a city in northern France where artists came from all over the world to paint landscapes, including Monet.


“Isabelle taught me to love people and help those who are different. Maybe because such people in our village at that time stood out among a thousand inhabitants, and it was too hard for them. Isabelle explained to me that “normal” is a fiction, beneficial to those in power, as they supposedly demonstrate our insignificance and inadequacy to the fictitious ideal. People who consider themselves flawed are easier to manage... Isabelle accompanied me to school with the words: “I hope today you will meet your unique self.”


...It was a magical evening, Dostu. The space around us was filled with wonderful stories, mouth-watering aromas, and new shades of taste. We sat at a set table, the radio sang “Life is beautiful” in the voice of Tony Bennett; the overfed Mars and the quiet, red-haired Mathis were snoring at their feet. We were filled with a bright peace - life goes on.

Jean remembered Isabelle, Maria and I remembered our grandparents. Mentally we thanked them and asked for forgiveness. Because, as they grew older, they needed their care less and less. But they still loved and waited.


Dost, in this strange world we all really need each other.


I miss. Dad

6
Our only task is to love life

You probably have déjà vu. Jean explains these outbreaks by reincarnation: the immortal soul in a new incarnation remembers what it felt in the previous body. “So the Universe suggests that there is no need to be afraid of earthly death, life is eternal.” It's hard to believe.


Over the past twenty years, déjà vu has not happened to me. But yesterday I felt how exactly a moment of my youth was repeated. In the evening, a storm broke out, and Amir and I finished things earlier than usual: he put out the dough for the morning bread, I stewed the apples with cinnamon for the puff pastries. A new product from our bakery that is loved by our customers. Puff pastry cooks quickly, so we usually make only the filling in the evening.


By seven the bakery was locked.


Deep in thought, I walked home along the raging ocean. Suddenly a prickly blizzard hit my face. Defending myself, I closed my eyes and was suddenly transported into memories of fifty years ago.

I'm eighteen. War. Our battalion defends the border on a mountain with a ridge seventy kilometers long. Minus twenty. After the night offensive there were few of us left. Despite being wounded in the right shoulder, I cannot leave my post. The food is over, the water is running out, the order is to wait until morning. Reinforcements are on the way. At any moment the enemy can mow down the remnants of the battalion.


Cold and exhausted, at times almost losing consciousness from pain, I stood at my post. The storm raged without abating, lashing me from all sides.


Dostu, then I first knew despair. Slowly, inexorably, it takes hold of you from within, and you cannot resist it. At such moments you can’t even concentrate on prayer. You're waiting. Salvation or end.


Do you know what held me back then? A story from childhood. Hiding under the table at one of the adult gatherings, I heard it from Grandma Anna. Working as a nurse, she survived the siege of Leningrad.


My grandmother recalled how once, during a long shelling, a cook in a bomb shelter was cooking soup on a burner. From what they were able to collect: some gave a potato, some an onion, some a handful of cereals from pre-war reserves. When it was almost ready, she took off the lid, tasted it, added some salt, returned the lid to its place: “Another five minutes and it’s ready!” Exhausted people lined up for soup.


But they couldn’t eat that soup. It turned out that laundry soap got into it: the cook did not notice how it stuck to the lid when she put it on the table. The food was spoiled. The cook burst into tears. No one stuttered, reproached, or looked reproachfully. In the most difficult circumstances, people did not lose their humanity.


Then, while on duty, I remembered again and again this story, told in Anna’s voice. He survived. Morning came and help arrived. I was taken to the hospital.


Dost, a person is not given the opportunity to fully understand life, no matter how hard he tries. It seems to us that we understand what, how and why it works. But every new day its serpentines and junctions prove the opposite - we are always at our desks. And the only task is to love life.


I miss. Dad

7
I'll wait for you as long as you need

When I met your mother, she was married. She's twenty-seven, I'm thirty-two. He immediately confessed his feelings to her. “I’ll wait for you as long as necessary.” He continued to come to the library where she worked, borrowed books, but that was all. I waited for Maria for four years, although she did not promise that she would come.


Later I found out: she thought I would cool down and switch to another. But I was adamant. This is not love at first sight, but the minute when you see a person and understand: this is the one. At our first meeting, I decided that this girl with brown hair would be my wife. And so it happened.


I was waiting for her myself, but I didn’t expect anything from her. Not that she will give birth to children for me and fill my house with comfort; nor that will continue to follow the road that brought us together. The deep confidence that we would be together under any circumstances swept away all doubts.


Meeting with Maria is the absence of hesitation even when it seemed that there was no hope.

I knew that our lives would intersect, I never stopped believing in it, although there were plenty of reasons to doubt it.


Everyone deserves to meet their person, but not everyone gets it. Some do not allow their will to strengthen and lose faith, others, disappointed, notice only the unsuccessful experience of the past, and some do not wait at all, being content with what they have.


Your birth strengthened our connection with Mary. This was another gift from Fate. We were so passionate about each other and work (love is a wonderful combination of friendship and passion) that the thought of a child did not occur to us. And suddenly life sent us a miracle. You. Our souls and bodies united, merged into one, and the path became common. We tried our best to love and protect you, but there were some mistakes.


I remember how Maria, rocking you to sleep, worried: “Everything in her is changing so quickly that I dream of stopping time like never before.” Nothing gave us greater happiness than seeing you, a sleepy little one, open your eyes, look at us and smile at the fact that we are your dad and mom.


Dostu, barriers to happiness are an illusion of the subconscious, fears are empty worries, and dreams are our present. She is reality.


I miss. Dad

8
Madness is half wisdom, wisdom is half madness

Until recently, Umid, a good-natured rebel boy, worked in our bakery. He delivered baked goods to homes. His clients loved him, especially the older generation. He was helpful, although he rarely smiled. Umid reminded me of twenty years old - a volcano of internal protest that was about to burst out.


Umid was brought up in a Catholic school and dreamed of becoming a priest. When he was growing up, he dropped out of school and left home. “Many believers pretend to be someone they are not.”


The day before yesterday Umid announced that he was resigning. Moving.


“I don’t want to live in this damn city. I'm tired of calling its ugliness uniqueness, and the hypocrisy of society - a property of mentality. You visitors cannot see how rotten everything is here. And eternal winter is not a feature of the geographical location, but a curse. Look at our government, all they do is talk about love for their homeland. If they started talking about patriotism, it means they were stealing. But it’s our own fault: when they elected themselves, we were sitting in front of the TV with popcorn.”


Amir tried to persuade Umid to think carefully, but I remained silent. I remember being a teenager very well - nothing could stop me. Impulsive decisions helped get things moving.


Dostu, did you know that my grandfather Barish was a teacher at the theological seminary? He and I talked about God more than once. I felt a higher power above me, but religious dogmas caused me rejection.


One day, excited by Barysh’s calm reaction to another school injustice, I blurted out: “Grandfather, it’s nonsense that everything is always on time! Our will determines too much. There is no miracle or predestination. Everything is just will.”


The young man patted me on the shoulder. “Your words confirm that everyone has their own way of going through life. About forty years ago I would have agreed with you recklessly, but now I understand that the Almighty is invariably nearby and that everything is precisely in His will. And we are only children - some are persistent, creative, purposeful, some, on the contrary, are pure contemplators. However, we are as we appear from above.”

At the time, my grandfather’s words seemed like fiction to me, but over the years I turned to them more and more often. Not from the desire to find peace in the highest, but from the realization that in this world everything is in balance: half of madness consists of wisdom, wisdom - of madness.


Umid could not be persuaded. He needed to leave to understand: sometimes it is impossible not to love people, even if they seem bad.


I miss. Dad

Attention! This is an introductory fragment of the book.

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