Disrupted Breath

Disrupted Breath
Татьяна Юрьевна Трубникова

Nabokov Prize Library
What are the things experienced by the human soul on the sharpest edge of death or life? Isn't this nothing but revealing of the personality's true essence? The story «Shahid» is an attempt to look «beyond»… Breathing is so rapid that it is impossible to breathe in… The heart breaks into pieces of horror. The fate of an ordinary boy viewed through the crushed crooked mirrors of war in the conflict of East and West.

The search, the slow clarification of the one's his true path, the lessons taught by life and love, are in the stories «Lollipops», «Christmas Jam», «Chestnuts», «At the Donskoy Monastery».

«The Weird Man» is the strangest of all stories in this book. The title of it appeared in my dream. Entire epochs of Soviet life are seen through the story of my heroes. The invention, artfully connected with another invention… You would never guess what happened for real truth in it, in this story. I wish you a risky and unpredictable journey to other people's stories – in my book «Disrupted Breath».

Tatiana Trubnikova

Disrupted Breath

© T. Trubnikova, 2020

© International Union of writers, 2020

Scenario writer, a member of the Union of Writers of Russia.

The short story collection «Signs of Change».

Working as co-author of the television series «Love Is Blind», filmed by the Production studio 2V based on the novels of E. Vilmont.

The novel «Dance and the Word», written by Tatiana Trubnikova about love of Isadora Duncan and Sergey Yesenin, was awarded with the literary prize named after M. Prishvin and received a lot of positive reviews from critics and readers. The novel was reissued by «RIPOL-classic» publishing house in the quantity of 2000 copies.

The winner of the contest «THE BEST POETS AND WRITERS OF RUSSIA» with the award of the medal named after S. A. Yesenin Laureate of Literary Award «GOLDEN AUTUMN».

Interviews with the writer were published by «Podmoskovie (Moscow Region)» PublishingHouse, by the magazine «Horizons of Culture», the almanac «Literaturnoye Podmoskovie (Literary Moscow Region)» and other periodicals.

Candies

Abi means «grandmother» in Tatar language. But that's for me she's a grandmother. Once she was just ainny – mother. For my mother. At that time my mother was only six. She had five brothers and sisters. And she was the youngest one, of course. But not for long enough to figure out what that really means. Well, it couldn't have meant anything in 1949. How did abi raise six babies? I have no idea. She was working day and night. The children also worked, since the age often.

But not that summer. That summer my mother was only six. Abi sent her to summer camp. It was located so far away from all the roads that there were no buses to get there. You could only come there by car.

Every Sunday, the camp was filled withjoyful expectations, fulfilled dreams and happy farewell. Everybody had their moms and dads coming over and bringing in something delicious. Only my mom was waiting, waiting, and waiting. She knew that she had a little brother and that abi was expecting another one. But can a child realize it, especially when she is so hungry?

Mom didn't hesitate to eat the leftovers the children were giving to her. She was very rarely given something else. The kids are smart: why share the sweets with somebody when there's nothing to gain in return?

Once, when the day was coming to an end and all the parents were going to leave, my mother suddenly saw abi. She was leaning on the fence, not being able to move. And then the triumphant smile appeared on her tired face.

She came on foot.

She crossed all the woods.

There was nothing in her hands.

My mom rushed to her and hugged her. Other children and their parents were staring at them.

And suddenly, abi took mom's palm… unfolded it… and sprinkled the smallest and cheapest candies out of her hand. They were like small yellow Suns. She brought the candies without any bag, right in her hand. They stuck together a little bit, being warmed by her palm all the way to the camp.

When she left, my mom shared the candies with everyone. With everyone who wanted to take them.

Shahid

I hear the conversation,
Continuously sounding all over the place
And the mountain's stony heart
Beats lovingly in the darkness

    M. Yu. Lermontov

He remembered the life since he was four. And actually not himself, but all the lightness of the sun of one day in his life as well as holiday feelings which was in the wind. And this feeling moved to the child, he suck it. The adults were flying around more than ever. Everybody had festive mood, even endlessly silent mother. As if everybody was waiting for something. The vague hope for some fairytale, something strange stirred in his young mind. Ramadan finished. The whole aul was celebrating this. Eid al-Adha!

He, a barefoot shirttail boy, run out straight on the street. His mother couldn't hold him. She only watched him going outside. And he didn't see it. He easily flew as appropriated to a proud young eagle.

It's needed one good habitual movement of the father's knife and flinging mutton belched out from his gorge a boiling blood stream. The boy stopped. This was the first thing he remembered in his life. The blood was warm; a hot blood wrapped a road dust. The boiling stream boiled out running as a long movable blood wire. The adults were cheering around.

The boy understood that this was a holiday.

He was proudly called Aslanbek. Till this moment he didn't win this name. He was called so in advance. Sure nobody knows what would be the boy's future. But here exists one trivial man habit – to die early in life. It was an adat like bridal kidnapping or circumcision. It's passed down for generations. So he must also do it. To die as a man. Calling Allah. Aslanbek had nice big black eyes like many other native children. He had small direct front. But his hair! It was far from being perfect. It was too light. Nobody in his family had such a hair. Though the father watched his chocked dispirited wife with suspicion. For sure he knew that she hadn't anybody beside him, but such a light hair of his son haunted his mind.

The time still didn't award Aslanbek's appearance with any tricks which could highlight his character. He was still a child. A clean slate without wrinkle symbols, sealed by his habits.

He had three sisters and two brothers. Their father put great hopes on guys. Nothing can be said about the girls. They were ghosts in the life theatre. Like their silent mother Patimat. Aslanbek, being a little boy, understood it very well. The elder brother was called Ahmet. He was already ten. He seemed to be a little daddy for Aslanbek. He wanted even call the brother «dada» as a father. He wasn't so creepy and stern but if Aslanbek should be punished the brother served father's turn. The little brother, still babe in arms, laid in the bassinet and almost didn't cry.

– The true man grows up! – father said proudly.

Father was called Shamil. It was the name which became especially popular among their nation. Tough, strong, he knew and could do everything that should know and do a real man. To dress a mutton with prays, to shut a flipped coin with only one shoot on the go, to dance lezghinka, to keep in leash the whole family, to make whatever was needed with his own hands… He prayed only two prayers to Allah: the long one – on solemn occasions, and the short one – casual. When he murmured a prayer being kneeling east-facing on a special carpet his lineaments didn't relax keeping his usual hard and closed look. A short beard stared obstinately. He wasn't old at all. But along the dry chaps the years have already laid two long rows. But maybe it was the trace of his hands which smoothed the face and beard after the prayer?

Aslanbek often went out from home. Nobody held him. He could go anywhere he wanted. Already when he was four aul didn't seemed to be a strange world. He was attracted to go farther, where the sun stood up behind the mountain.

Aul was far away in the mountains. There was nothing around besides mountains. Moreover, they surrounded it so close that the eye couldn't relax from it till the endless horizon. There were world's walls around.

Every day Aslanbek set down on a smooth hillside and was watching for hours the mountains changing in color under the sun light. He was simply seating and watching this. Primarily he thought about nothing. It was a fly of thoughtlessness, the minutes which could occur only in childhood and which are remembers forever, when you see not a stereotype, not a pattern, which is already printed and rolled-out by your mind, but you watch and see everything as it is. And then going ballistic of war and blood he often remembered this as the happiest time.

In mediation passed three long years.

The only entertainment besides looking over the landscapes was the following: Aslanbek put something on a big stone, for example some piece of wood and threw therein other stones trying to reach it. Step by step he achieved considerable success in this occupation. Mainly because there was no other occupation. Every time he went farther from the big stone and reached it more often than not.

Once he unexpected found his way into the «Dog Marriage». For unknown reason the couple choose his favorite place for the service. The dogs were angry and aggressive. One most impudent stag turned on him. He gashed with the tooth the boy's hand. The blood run. Once smelled it out the couple become brutal. The six-years old boy understood that he was a goner. And suddenly he heard crying:

– Stones! Stones!!!

He didn't see but heard. And understood immediately. He was simply choked. But somebody clued in. Aslanbek bended and started to flip the stones into the dogs. Very accurately. He plucked the eye of the dog which snapped him out. The dog began to bawl strangely and run away. But the others didn't want to give out. His fund of stones was fast wasted away. And suddenly stones flew from somewhere outside. Till this moment he simply didn't see anything around him but the dogs. It was his contemporary, a neighbor's son, lancing the stones. This place was not far from aul, but adults came here rarely. There was no need. Together with Salman – so was called a boy that saved him – they prevailed the couple. The dogs growling and snapping went away to search some other place.

The tears dropped profusely on the face of six-years old Aslanbek while he was running at home. The blood from his hand dropped into the dust on the road. He was running and crying:

– Nana! Nana…