The summering of our aul was situated not far from the mire under the title Korshun-tomar. It had such a name because it really had the shape of a korshun – of a saddle-bag. A small open island divided this mire. In its middle there was a lake overgrown with unripe cotton boll. From here it got its second name – Kurakty. Our aul was situated in the eastern part. From under the hill there gushed in a spring. Day and night kids played, bathed and swashed at the spring and the bravest and most grown-up ones, it happened, got along the spring up to the lake where unripe cotton boll was standing like a blind wall. In these tousles just on the water gulls built their rafts-nests of small wood and dry reeds. We together with my brother – though he was elder for two years than me but he was not the least bit taller than me – often hung around in these canes. It was not deep there at all. We looked for some eggs in the very bush where more often than not we could find left nests and shells.

-          Perhaps nestlings have already pipped, - we said.

            But sometimes we were lucky and we found in a floating nest small oblong bright-bright eggs.

            Now the aul wandered for dshailyau late. For two-three days we had enough time to search the whole Korshun-tomar. However, we did not get many eggs.

            Pint-sized lake Kara-kuga linked in to the western coast of the mire. It was not deep too. Small islands-lumps stuck out like camels’ humpbacks among canes from under the swampland. Ducks-teals nestled on them. They laid eggs late, that’s why when we came for dshailyau we always found them new-laid.  

            Each year we found many of them. Ducks built their nests in unnoticeable places, somewhere on the edge of lumps, and the eggs they covered with grass or cane.

            It could seem that it was very close from the aul to Kara-kuga, however, it was actually about three miles or so, so that you got home only by the evening. Earlier we, children, in a crowd went there away for the whole day, but now we did not have any time for this.

            They decided to teach sense for all of us. And our teacher was a bai’s mullah; only devil could understand who he was – either a Hodge or a sart. He had a grey face and a pointed beard. His moustaches were accurately shaved, he always bent his brows and because of this it seemed that he had four eyes.

            Then I didn’t know yet, what it meant – a good mullah and what it meant – a bad mullah. But those children who had been already learning said: this mullah was very strict.

            I was the youngest one in the family. Reckling. That’s why perhaps my mother coddled me more than others. When we had moved from the wintering to the yourt she brought me to the mullah and said:

            - Moldeke¹, here he is, my youngest son. He is so shy and timed. Could you punish him not very much?..

            On Thursdays when we had some melted butter our mother cooked very thin scones and invited the mullah. I was always sent to call for him. And when he came, my mother thrust him a copper five-kopeck coin every time and said kindly:

-          Moldeke, bless your pupil…

            Of course, after this Allah spared me and the teacher did not hit me. Other pupils invited the mullah on Fridays.

            And only Tulibai never invited him. Tulibai’s father worked as a farmhand in the neighbour aul at bai Yermaganbet’s, and the wife and two children lived in our aul in a smoked torn yourt. All of us were akin to each other.

            ¹the form of respectful addressing from the word ‘mullah’

            Tulibai’s mother worked as a hand milker at Yermaganbet’s. Tulibai was a capricious naughty child, a limb and didn’t almost listen to his mother. Perhaps she wanted to punish him for disobedience, that’s why when she brought him first time to the mullah she said:

-          If he begins spoiling – you can hit him without any pity! Meat is yours, bones are mine¹.

            I sat near him. Talibai’s skills were not worse than ours. And we didn’t know why but the mullah didn’t like him from the very beginning. He abused him as strong as he could, for any reason: ‘Fool!’, ‘Dork!’ Then he started tweaking his ears. Tulibai was exactly the first one among almost twenty pupils who had felt mullah’s beating. By the evening we learned long and loudly by heart. The whole aul was full of buzzing.

            In the hour of evening namaz when milch heifers were left from their tethers the mullah checked tasks. Tulibai was the first one whom he asked. If he answered then everything finished safely. Otherwise the mullah lashed him with his whip. But Tulibai had one good feature: it was no matter how long he was hit but he never desponded and cried absolutely not long.

            On summering the auls were situated not far from each other. The aul of my eldest sister was close, just behind the pass. Once we went there together with my mother, made there an overnight stop and next day turned back. If we had come a little later I could not have gone to the lessons. But it was lunch time and my mother said:

-          Go, learn a little.

            I didn’t begin contradicting, all the same I rested one day from foreign literature and came a little to life. I took my bethumb prayer book under my arms and without hurry set off to the mullah’s. Suddenly somebody called me. I turned around: Tulibai!

            ¹People said so when they gave a mullah their child. The expression meant: “You can treat him or her as you like”.

-          Well, are you going to the mullah? – He ran up and got heavily his breath. – My mother is ill today and in addition the calf disappeared… I have hardly found it…

            The mullah had a habit to hit those who were late. As for me so I had nothing to fear: yesterday my mother begged me off. But Tulibai had a doubtful cause and we both understood clearly what was waiting for him.

            I looked into his eyes:

            - The mullah will hit you!

            He didn’t answer. We were going keeping silent. There heard a buzz full of different voices, becoming now louder then lower. It was dreary even to hear it. But what could we do?

            We came in. I was frontwards, Tulibai – after me. We greeted respectfully. The mullah was sitting on his heels having laid the book on his knees and was scribbling something with a goose-quill. He looked at us out of the corners of his eyes and got claws into Tulibai. When the mullah was angry the points of his shorn moustaches shaven out in the middle stuck out and moved. Now there happened the same. He laid the book aside on the trunk and asked:

-          Why are you late?!

            Keeping silent Tulibai dropped on his knees, bent having taken an obedient pose and opened his prayer book. And the longer he kept silent the more the mullah boiled over:

-          Why are you keeping silent, dork? Well, lie here!

            With the help of the whip with cloven end the mullah pointed onto the place at the trunk.

            Tulibai didn’t move. The mullah lashed him in frenzy with the whip. I was sitting nearby. One end of the whip got into my shoulder and I jumped up and cried. Then Tulibai began crying at the top of his voice too: “Moldeke-e!”

            The rest of pupils who had gone quiet at first were looking with curiosity at us, but as soon as the whip whistled over our heads they nuzzled into the books and started mumbling.

            Sob choked Tulibai. This time he could stop it in no way.

-          Read! – The mullah roared him, tweaked hurtfully his ear and lashed his cheeks, but Tulibai continued to cry till the very evening.

            By the evening the mullah began checking the lessons and made recite by heart. Of course, I didn’t learn anything. “Fool!” – The mullah cried and flicked with his whip. And then I began crying very much! I thought that my soul would leave my body… However, the mullah didn’t hit me. He let everybody go home but he kept me and Tulibai.

            We both were sitting and crying… Only before the sundown the mullah let us go home. We ran with joy as if we had avoided a terrible disaster. Tulibai still sobbed from time to time. At the aul he wiped his eyes with the sleeve:

-          Will you come tomorrow?

-          And you? – I asked.

-          Not at any price! I’d better to receive baptism but I will not go to the mullah!

            After saying this he started sobbing again. Out of pity tears started welling out from my eyes too.

***

            Since that time Tulibai didn’t come up close to the mullah. For one-two weeks or so he hung around the aul, and then his father came to take him and said: “Well, if you don’t want to learn you will go to herd sheep!” If to believe the gossip the father gave Tulibai to work as a herdboy.

            Careless summer passed quickly. It came haying time. Everybody who had a possibility left a hut and went to the steppe. We didn’t have such a possibility. Each year during haying time we moved to the river. At that time we were about to prepare. But here there got out the question about my further education. Some people advised: “Leave him at bai’s. Let him learn till the end”. But my mother – I felt this – did not like it. That’s why I started getting back up and crying too. At last they decided to take me too.

            We asked bai to give us a pair of bulls for moving. After the midday we demounted the yourt. Additionally forty-five families went with us. By the evening the camping set off. I saddled a three-year-old chestnut which the son-in-law had presented me when it had been a colt yet and together with old man Tanirbergen drove a flock of cows. It was hot. There rose whirls of dust. Soon we got to the flatland Alakulya. To the east of the road like a small island there grew black bullrush. There grassed a flock of sheep in all directions. I bored to ride with a dull step after the lazily walking cows; I hit my chestnut with the heels and rushed there. The sheep at the edge of the flock shied frighteningly and here from the side of the lake there appeared a herdboy. He waved with his hands and from time to time shouted at the sheep: “Shai-shai!”

-          Tulibai!.. – I cried.

            We were so glad to see each other! He was dismounted and barefooted; his lips swelled and chapped. On his shoulders there hung some rags – the rests of chapan made of shreds.

            Tulibai started asking about the aul and the boys. He examined and praised my chestnut. In his eyes I saw both grief and envy. “Ye-es… of course, you are a lucky boy!” – I read in them.

            But suddenly I remembered: he had had the same look then when we, both punished by the mullah, had returned home before the sundown. Even then he hadn’t pronounced these words. But all the same I had guessed them.

            I was standing long at the island of black bullrush. My camping already went away for a good distance. And we finally talked about nothing clearly. However, it seemed that we could not decide to say goodbye to each other.

            - Why don’t you herd sheep ahorse? – I asked.

            Suddenly it seemed to me at this moment that it could be very jolly if we rode with him racing each other.

            He sighed:

-          They haven’t given me a horse…

            And I understood: not having given him a horse the bai offended Tulibai not less than the mullah. However, then he could say: “I will receive baptism but I won’t go to the mullah!” And to say now: “I will die from hunger but I won’t herd the bai’s sheep”, - he couldn’t, of course. He didn’t have enough heart to do this…

            I followed the camping. Soon I climbed on the top of the pass and looked back. After the flock, slowly going to the lake Tulibai was jogging dismally and looking sadly after me.