At the time before the sundown five aul inhabitants gathered at Aleke’s cattle yard.
It was cold like in autumn. Keen wind was blowing the whole day long but by the evening it grew quiet and slight frost bit the face.
It was eveningish fussy and noisy in the aul: people were fussing, horses were nickering, cows were bellowing, sheep were bleating. Women milked the cows; men looked for their own sheep in the huge flock that had returned from the walk, young girls went for water rattling with buckets. Somebody damned someone. “I wish all your family would disappear!” – Somebody wished someone. “I wish you would break your neck!” – The other replied immediately; somebody else remembered someone’s offshoots with bad words up to the seventh degree; a child was whipping somewhere: “Grandma, give me some bre-e-ad!” And all these shouts, cries and whipping disappeared without a trace, dissolving into usual evening fuss of a steppe aul…
It seemed that five men at the cattle yard just stopped to admire a picture so lovely for their hearts; such a life might seem a paradise for them; they have not dreamt about something better; and if all this stayed unchangeable and unshakeable for ages they would be satisfied with everything in the world.
It was Alike himself standing pressing on his white staff with whole his breast and having slammed on a warm cap with three ear-flaps down to his brows. His apple-cheeked son Shumagul glossing from fat was standing near him having thrust his hands into pockets, chewing some tobacco and from time to time spitting smugly right and left.
- Well, what, you say, have they done with the volost’s judge? – Aleke asked. Shumagul spitted out the chew and added:
- As soon as the club of power had fallen out of Sarsenbai’s hands, Syzdyk, Omar’s son, ran into the town and met with the rulers. Kurdegei sits there who was a volost’s judge sometime. You remember, it was he who had got Akrama out of prison… And now he takes a good place. It turned out that Sysdyk knew him when he had been still a judge. Well, for old times’ sake he did everything for him…
- Does it truly mean that he will be taken away?
- They say, yes. And it seems that they are going to hand over his responsibilities to his candidate. But the secretary of volost executive committee has a rooted objection. He says, a bai’s son…
- And who is he, this secretary?
- Ibrai’s son from Beisen’s aul.
- Eh, I know, know… He is the very fool who lived at Sateke’s, was a teacher and tried to forbid uraza1. From the very beginning he has gained the character of a troublemaker and a hector. Since the time he had come he started stirring up the people. Oh, dear God, what a punishment we have! Unclean rabble started raising their heads! It means we have lived till the good times if Ibrai’s offshoot took into his head to lead people!..
And Aleke sighed. He might have remembered old good times. The affairs that he had control over when he was a biy-judge and Ahmet – a volost’s judge.
- Oi-hoi, there passed golden times!..
Keeping silent Nurgaly was listening to the conversation between the father and the son. He is a teacher in this aul. It is a dumpy dzhigit of a low stature. He wears an old worn out coat. He has a cap on his head. Long curly hair peeped out from under it.
1Islamic holiday.
The name of the secretary of the volost executive committee is Amanbai. He is Nurgali’s old fellow. Sometime ago they learnt together at the medres, they grew up and were brought up together. They were friends and even like-minded persons. Then when they started teaching they stayed pen friends for a long time. Since his childhood Amanbai was the most talented in the class. He always learned everything new earlier than others. Telling this to Nurgali he made a clear statement for everything. In Nurgali’s eyes Amanbai was always a leader, a live wire and a mentor.
But now Nurgali hates Amanbai. He thinks that Amanbai has betrayed their former friendship and treaded to pieces their chummy relations.
Last year Nurgali taught in Uskenbai’s aul – it is the jolliest aul all over the district. As they speak there were both girls – amusement for a labour of love and kumis – amusement for body. Nurgali did not live but enjoyed felicity in this aul.
But behind his back somebody sent a claim to the volost executive committee, he says, the teacher not so much teaches the children as chases skirts, drinks arrack and plays cards… The chairman of the volost executive committee called him, read him a strict lesson and decided to transfer him to another post. He had a parting with his favourite aul and with all its temptations ahead. What is waiting for him at a new place – only Allah knows it. And Nurgali lost courage, ran to his old friend Amanbai and started beseeching: “Help me… Don’t take me away from the place”. Instead of to condole and help Amanbai began rating for doing: “Duty before friendship, dear. For the things you have done you must be not only transferred but we must forbid you to come up to school at all!” Since that day Nurgali hated his former friend. And soon his grievance against Amanbai spread against all communists or against those who approved them. He thought that people joined the party either for the sake of money or for the sake of a warm place. But as for him he truly counted himself a national hero. And he was mocked with the fact that without such dzhigits like he Kazakh auls would lose long ago their original eternal style of life.
Alike raised his head and in defiance looked at the teacher chilly wrapping himself up in his coat in the frost like a sopping Russian fisher during a fishing season.
- Look, mullah, you might have learnt with Ibrai’s son. What kind of relations do you have?
- Well, we know each other… - Nurgali mumbled.
- I do not ask you know him or not. I would like to know could you have influence on him or not if it is required?
Implicit rebuke flickered in both Aleke’s words and his smile: “Are you, poor fellow, up to anything?”
Nurgali understood that there was not a reason to shirk; it was more of advantage to say the truth.
- No, we have quarreled. He treats me like dirt. They all, communists, are bosses. They look down upon us…
- You might have quarreled for no special reason, - Yerbosyn thrust himself into the conversation, - because communists are not against the teachers at all. Who has opened a school in this aul? Communist Shuman! He asks in every letter: “How is it going with the school? Is the teacher good?” If communists quarreled with teachers he would not write like this…
Up to now Yerbosyn was standing idly aside and stroked his beard. It seemed that he was busy only with his thoughts. And neither Aleke nor his son or Nurgali himself did not like the fact that he touched the teacher to the quick all of a sudden. All three men opened wide their eyes and looked at him.
- Everybody in the world knows Yereke, - Shumagul noticed floutingly.
- Eh, he is a child of the new power. Favourite child! Who else must know if not him?! – Aleke quipped too.
Mockery made cross Yerbosyn.
- Am I a favourite child or a darling there – that is not the point. I think there is not a great disaster in fact if I speak about what I know. To my mind communists are not such persons whom the teacher describes us.
Shuman is a communist but when he comes home – as they say – he does everything about the house. He does not avoid any labour. And this all in spite on the post he takes! He has no match for many people. He is a considerable boss, but he spreads himself before nobody…
- Can it be you have not just seen yet? But sometimes he finds cause for arrogance and he does not notice people. What can you say against this? – Shumagul attacked.
- For us he is not haughty. And if he does not notice anybody so these might be bais and their henchmen. Nobody thinks that he is haughty because of this…
- Ah, damn you! I wish your odious words would stick in your throat like a stone! At every trifle – they begin hallowing each one upon other: bais, poor men! Well, what will you manage with the help of this? We see how your Soviets have loaded a poor man with favours! Have they given him any cattle? They taxed each one who had at leas five-six heads of cattle, that is all welfare from your Soviets! Last year during an aul meeting Shuman jawed so much as if he was going to build a paradise for one day. And what has he done? Well, he has opened the school. That is all. And then he did not find a building until they settled in my house…
- In your house! – Yerbosyn said shortly. – You’d think you have given them your house free. You get money for this!
Aleke boiled over:
- What is he spieling, this puppy who has pigged out bullshit?! Would I die from hunger without your money?! Would I get out of the camping ground?! Ungrateful persons! You do not remember good deeds! I have given them my own house them to have a possibility to teach their offshoots and they…
Shumagul interrupted his father. There is no reason to waste the words for such persons like Yerbosyn. Is he worthy of such honour? What is he, this Yerbosyn?! He is just a farmhand! A toady whom earlier people did not allow even to approach to their thresholds! And now, look at him; he dares to object the bai?! And this is to his former overlord?! Good heavens, what a shame! What a scandal!..
Listening to this short quarrel the teacher Nurgali drew conclusion for himself: Aleke is respectable, honorable good man and Yerbosyn – a simpleton, an unworthy and thankless man…
With the sundown they retired to their homes. Bai’s daughter-in-law Kulbarsha stood in the mud room at the samovar from out which chimney there came a bright flame. In the growing dusk the young woman looked like a hawra in this gleam. Anyway she seemed the teacher exactly like this. Nurgali unwittingly feasted his eyes on her. He saw her every day but he did not think that she could be so beautiful. “Aha, I will keep that in my mind”, - he thought…
II
The market was going full blast when Shumagul and Nurgali came into the town. To say the truth it was not a town but just a big settlement. Russian men from the nearest villages and farms and Kazakhs from the auls gathered on its market. However there were more Kazakhs than Russian men here, besides they dealt better. Kazakhs cut the cattle and sold meat; these also were Kazakhs who sold tobacco-nasybai and the other trifles and clobber; the trade by Russian men and Tatars was goodlier. They had goods.
Some lather bottles were piled on two road carts. Perhaps, people came with kumis from a not far away aul. The women’s eyes ran. They chilly wrapped themselves into sheepskins. But who would like to drink kumis in such a cold weather? People were going and going by. A bug-eyed old woman stopped each one and kept saying:
- Eh, tamyr, kumis – shaksy! Kumis is good, kumis is sweet!..
The market was in full swing. Everybody wished to gain, snatch or get something. It is not a rare thing such markets in settlements. Especially in those places where co-operative shops worked badly.
Mostly people crowded in the drinking part of the market. If two people struck a bargain at all they ran in hurry to wet it.
- Give here baksheesh! – Russian people say.
- Give here baksheesh! – Kazakhs repeated after them.
Some people – Russian men and Kazakhs together – fixed themselves at an araba cart and swung friendly Russian schnaps. They minded neither cold nor sparkling snowflakes. They were hot, jolly, red, their cheeks burnt.
At the edge of the market there stood a road cart, at it – two bottles of schnaps. Here also lay some bread and an onion. A Kazakh of middle age with an accurate shorn pointed beard screwed his narrow at they were eyes and smiled?
- Aida, Ivan, let’s have a drink. We live just one time under the sun.
Red-bearded Ivan, after empting his glass at on gulp, choked, snorted, waggled his head and mumbled just in case:
- Yes, yes!.. You are right…
Ivan turned round and cried happily:
- Hey, Shumagulka… Come here!
He ran stumblingly in hurry to Shumagul. There people also drank: Shumagul, Nurgali and their old town blacksmith-tamyr. Shumagul poured Ivan the whole glass and the second one he gave Nurgali.
- Aida, drink!
They had a drink. And then they had a drink once more. After one bottle – another. Arrack is drunk well. Arrack runs well. They lost count. People rushed about back and forth. Passerby’s people looked at the soakers and smiled. It is impossible to understand: they either envy or condemn, or mock. The Kazakh with the pointed beard was already in drink and began keeping glassy eyed at Shumagul:
- You are a bai’s son… Myrza! You are not a short, you are myrza? If I were a myrza… Am I right, Ivan?.. If I were a myrza I would press all the tatterdemalions like this… I would become a volost’s judge… Am I right, Ivan?.. I would visit Ivan… Ivan! If I visit you will you give me a kolatch? You will give me a kolatch; I will give you arrack… Am I right? Ah?..
At first Shumagul was obeyingly listening to screwy raving of his drinking companion, but soon his patience snapped. Besides he was drunk too.
- I am not a myrza; don’t tell me how to live my life! – He pronounced hotly.
- No, it is I who will tell you how to live!
- You are not able!
- And not only you – I can tell your father how to live!
- Keep your head shut!
- And what will happen if not?!
Here the quarrel was over and the fists came to be widely used.
Nurgali put them with difficulty apart and dragged Shumagul aside to their road cart. Drunken Shumagul did not want anything to listen and boiled over even more. Nurgali was about to get drunk, his eyes grew dark, everything around was shaking and swimming, but when he was putting the fighters apart he sobered up a little and understood at once that to lie drunk in the overcrowded market – it is the last thing. God forbid, if somebody from the volost’s executive committee sees then it will turn out badly for him, at once he will be thrown out from the school.
Two young boys – being in drunk Nurgali did not descent them well – passed by and smiled.
- Ah, how beautiful the myrza is lying!
And really and truly Shumagul was lying picturesque: he sprawled, spread-eagled and leant his back to the road cart. One of the passersby was bug-eyed in surprise.
- Oh, this man is the teacher of the aul!
In hurry Nurgali turned his back. Otherwise – the talk will be endless.
- Myrza had had nuff – that is no big deal. But when a teacher gads like this glassy-eyed around the market – what a shame! – The other one noticed.
“Am I drunk so much? – Nurgali thought to himself. – Am I really shaking?” He unclenched his fingers with what he had tightened on the rails of the road cart and hardly kept his legs…
Shumagul recovered and raised his head:
- Mullah, bring some arrack!
The horse walked along the road in the direction of the aul. Each one had a bottle of schnaps in the pocket in his bosom. They started drinking just on the road cart. Shumagul began coming to life. At first he could hardly move his tongue but step by step his mumbling gained some sense:
- I am a myrza. Bai’s son. I have many heads of cattle. My father is old, he will die soon. And then all cattle will be mine. Two hundred horses. Twenty good pelters. Hey, mullah, do you know my black palfrey? That is great – the palfrey! Born by the light-brown mare. If I were a volost’s judge I would take a ride on the cart put in harness with three black horses. With a bell! Have you seen my cart?! It is my wife’s dowry. And what is for my wife, is she beautiful? Ah, mullah?! Oh, she loves me!.. She delights in me! Eh, mullah, say: when I become a volost’s judge will you be my clerk?
They did not have any glasses and already drank straight from the bottle. After each gulp it seemed that Shumagul gasped, choked and reddened… Suddenly the horse stopped.
A little round old man came up to the road cart:
- Dear Shumagul, I have some business to you…
Shumagul stared at him. He tried to jump off from the road cart, turn on the old man but Nurgali did not let him. Then Shumagul threw the bottle into the old man. The bottle took a flying leap over his head, hit the cart and broke into small pieces.
- Ah, that is what you are! – The old man said, sat on his cart, lashed the horses and went away…
Shumagul started laughing loudly. Exactly at this moment the teacher hated myrza. Either his foolish laugh angered him or the fact that he had thrown the bottle into the old man.
- Why are you footling? Have you got mad? Calm down! – He said.
Shumagul shaking his head stared at his fellow, chewed with his lips and spat into his face to the utmost. Phew! However, the teacher did not spit in reply. Nevertheless, perhaps he would like to have respect for myrza and it could be that he just was afraid of him. He did not even felt any anger or offence… Something seemed to him, his thoughts started being ruffled and all jumbled together, he felt as if he had sunk somewhere…
- What’s up? Jump off at last! – There heard a voice.
Nurgali came to life and opened his eyes. It was already evening. The horse had stopped at the cattle yard. Kulbarsha was standing nearby and she either smiled or was angry. Nurgali summoned up all his strength and smiled her in reply. Myrza tumbled down bereft of reason across the road cart.
- What a shame! – Kulbarsha boiled over.
In the otau – in the yourt of newly married – there was braying a samovar. Nurgali sat down at the laid table and was drinking tea for a long time. He did not know how long he had been drinking and what he had said. Sometimes he looked at bai’s daughter-in-law and she smiled him strangely, then he felt a dim shiver and began speaking with more spirit…
Kulbarsha shook him down on the place of honour. Nurgali took off his cloths and lay. She covered him with a blanket and was about to go away but he called her.
- Shengei, come up here!..
- What’s up? – She asked innocently having bent to him. He took her by the elbow and pulled to himself.
- Oibai… Shame on you… - She paused languidly. – And if somebody will see?
However, her voice sounded weakly and the teacher caught nothing. He seized bai’s daughter-in-law…
Then he awoke again. It was dark in the yourt like in a grave. He seemed that somebody was licking his cheeks and neck. “Where from has this dog appeared here?” – He thought and remembered about Kulbarsha in his arms. She huddled up to more strongly.
- What have you done with me?.. You have blemished me… - She whispered hotly.
After this there came kisses and hot arms again…
III
- Well, teacher, how much do you put on?
A tucked-up black dzhigit slim like a match fastened his crafty playful eyes at Nurgali shuffling the cards.
- On five rubbles.
- But you owe me already five…
- Well, then ten rubbles.
- Give here the money!
- Hand out the cards, the money will not disappear.
- Eh, no. It won’t do. I don’t lend money… - The tucked-up dzhigit turned his back on him and addressed to his neighbour. – How much on?..
There were many people there. The best dzhigits of the aul gathered to play cards. Shumagul played too. The aul chairman also played.
To keep out of play because of empty pockets seemed the teacher to be insulting, infra his dignitatem. He hated this miser-banker like a mad dog. Nurgali touched aul chairman’s knee.
- Give me twenty rubbles or so.
- Come alone, dear, the answer’s a lemon. You have not given me back those thirty rubbles yet.
- I will get my salary then I’ll give you back.
- But your salary is just thirty rubbles. Where will you get the rest?!
The dzhigits keeping open their ears livened. Somebody cried just for fun the teenagers who were crowding at the threshold:
- Hey, guys, call a cabman. The teacher has run short of money.
The banker showed two cards in front of Nurgali. One of them was the ace of diamonds.
- The teacher is unlucky. If he had some money there would be “fire”… - Somebody of players smiled.
Nurgali was angry, he was about to come out but he could not stop playing. The banker showed down eight cards, the next one – “the tenth wave”. He pulled it carefully from out the pack, looked lightly at the card and lustily banged the felt for joy. It turned out that – “fire”!
- Eh, teacher, you are unlucky. You are not talented, - the players started making noise.
Nurgali hopped and ran into the yard.
Fresh air – after close damp clay-walled hut – picked him up in a trice. Nurgali unbuttoned the coat him to breathe more easily and stopped to think. There was no sense to come back. Nobody will lend him some money. Perhaps the most reasonable thing was to visit merrymaking, sit there sometime and spoon with girls, with fine fellows. Having thought about this first of all Nurgali remembered Dilda, Shuman’s sister. A white-faced, enough adult girl. Her laugh, step, manners, behaviour – this all distinguished her from her other herd mates. Since Nurgali has been living in this aul he saw her truly just for one time. Shuman’s parents are very friendly and good people. They consider all literate people as close fellows of their son and always invite them to their pace. Last Friday they invited Nurgali too. Earlier from afar he did not pay attention to the girl but that time he discerned her in close up.
The small narrow two-by-four hut was overcrowded. When Nurgali came in close air blew him in the face. The hanging lamp was gleaming unsteadily. A little spurt of fire of the wick flashed up, shivered and was about to go out.
Children were crowding at the threshold. Having noticed the teacher, they made way and let him come in. At the stove at once in the right corner there took seats girls and pullets side by side. Youngsters sat chock against them.
- The teacher has come, - somebody said.
Everybody stared at him. Nurgali was delayed a little and sat down opposite Dilda.
They had fun playing the game “Give your palm”. A girl and a dzhigit who had begun the dance walked along the rows waving from time to time with their writhen belts. Now it was Dilda’s turn.
- Give me your palm, - the dzhigit said having moved to the girl.
- Be pity, beat lightly… My skin can split… - Dilda smiled and showed slightly her hand from under the long sleeve.
- Who?
- The human opposite me. – Dilda pointed onto Nurgali.
The teacher smiling stretched obeyingly his palm. The girl lashed boys’ palms. She, flat-faced with thick lips, having turned the belt more artfully lashed whop without pity with feeling pleasure. Nurgali even hopped from pain.
- Apyrmai! In such a way you can beat to death, - he said.
The girl with thick lips grinned joyfully.
- Answer: who?
- The human opposite me! – Nurgali said the same in reply.
Several times Nurgali and Dilda sent the leaders to each other. The palms of both ones were already burning. Dilda was the first one who did not withstand. Having thrown artfully a glance at him she begged:
- Could you name some other one?..
And at once he named the other person. The game continued.
The youth talked among each other, whispered, laughed and shared secrets. And suddenly either a girl or a pullet noticed mincingly:
- What a nimble boy! He has just made a declaration of love and now I see, at once he wants too much…
And everybody calmed down.
Dilda and Nurgali sitting opposite each other kept silent for some time.
It was the girl who had begun speaking:
- It seems to me that you have come from the gamblers?
Nurgali shivered. The ace of diamonds seemed to him. “If the aul chairman had lent me twenty rubbles I would have taken the whole bank”, – he thought. And suddenly he was caught with such an annoyance that he damned to himself both the aul chairman and the banker, and all gamblers.
And Dilda, not having waited for the answer, asked again:
- Aren’t you a communist?
- And why do you ask about this?
- It has just crossed my mind… The communists must not play cards. My brother neither plays cards nor drinks arrack at all.
- Do you want me to become a pious sofy?
- What is that to sofy? To my mind nobody must play cards and drink arrack up to stupor… To lose everything up to the last rusty kopeck and what is good in this?
It meant that Dilda was speaking about him. As it was bad enough to have the fact that he was angry with the whole world Nurgali was ready to burst out, cheek this girl and go away having banged the door. But in his wisdom he did not move from his place. He sat obedient, sad as if he was enchanted. It seemed to him that the girl bewitched and enervated him just with her smile and these simple words. Does it mean that she calls him to penance? Does she wish to put him on his good behaviour?
He made a long face.
- Have not you seen my brother? – She asked.
- No, I have not. You have to become friends. My brother is a good man! When he comes in the aul all people gather at his place. He is asked for advice and he always advises something practical, tells and explains everything.
Dilda was talking long about his brother. It turned out that he had taught her reading and writing. And now she could even read in Russian a little. Anyway she was enough literate for magazines and newspapers that her brother took her each time when he came.
- Have not you read? It was written in the magazine “Equality of women” how one literate dzhigit had made one girl a declaration of love and then deceived her… It appears that men’s swear is not worth a damn, - she suddenly started laughing.
- You slander men. Not everybody is a deceiver.
- Of course. I do not say that all of them are. Anyway the most is. Up to now they look at women in an old manner. In practice men are more artful than women. Guile and vice – everything comes from them.
- Well, you speak so as if you suffered wrong because of men all your life!
- As for me so I have not particularly suffered wrong. But I have seen many humiliated women and I always feel their pain as if my own.
Nurgali did not start debating. He was afraid that he would not able. That’s why he agreed at once:
- Yes, yes… You are right, of course…
Somebody of youngsters who was the nearest to the threshold began singing:
Though my belt is bad but it is mine.
If you insist: “Sing!” I’ll sing for you.
How’d you live and what’d you do, beloved mine!
So many months long I haven’t seen your face!
When dawn broke people began breaking up too. Saying goodbye Dilda asked:
- Will you come to us tomorrow?
- Yes, I will, - Nurgali brightened up.
- Come. I have many interesting books, journals and newspapers. We can read together…
It was evening. It was dark in the clay-walled hut. Amanbai having spread out his legs was sitting on the place of honour. Nurgali was sitting next to him. Shuman was aside.
- I do not accuse you, - Shuman went on speaking. Different aul twerps and scoundrels have misled you. You have become an obedient weapon in there hands. They wish to perform their own deeds; all is fish that comes to their net. It is important for them to make a laughing-stock of an aul teacher and then tame him. That is why they track on to you.
- Ye-es… - Amanbai sighed drawlingly but he said nothing.
Shuman made several whiffs, blew out the smoke and started speaking again:
- On one side, aul teachers are caught by traps because of thoughtlessness and short views. Whom is our school created for? Where must all knowledge and efforts of a teacher be directed to? How must he work and what must he aim at? A teacher must know full surely all these things. If a person does not know what for and for whom he works a fat lot of good that will do him! It will be just aimless. Many things are required from a teacher. He or she is a guide of culture in the aul. If we want to create socialism, get our socialist economy up and running in the first place we must make literate all our society. And there is only one way for this – schools.
But many of our schools do not correspond to their assignment. Last year after having many and long troubles we managed to open a school in this aul. It turned out that during six winter months children had learned properly not a one day. They did not have a building. They took a bai’s hall for school. But in spring bai adapted it for the youth and he booted out the children. So what is the reason of such teaching?
And people in other auls already live newly – their consciousness has grown up. Now everybody knows who is a friend and who is an enemy. Nobody in the aul will refuse to do useful things. It is important just to know how to conduct. Is it so difficult to create a school by combined efforts? There are twenty yards in the aul. Fifteen of them are poor man and medium peasants. If these fifteen yards combine their efforts – it will be not difficult for them to build a school. It is important just to begin, ignite and captivate people. Who else is able to do it if not a teacher? A teacher must be a start for all good undertakings in the auls. His task is to awake class consciousness and aim people at good deeds. Otherwise he does not correspond to the requirements that are demanded from a soviet teacher.
Smoking a cigarette till the end Shuman skewed at Nurgali. It seemed that he was thinking: “Does he understand my words or I am speaking in vain?” Nurgali being sweaty from confusion and tension was listening to.
Amanbai gathered up his legs and took up Shuman’s words:
- You can go on speaking or not – but teachers themselves are guilty in many things. They became lazy. Many of them want even to know nothing, they do not even take out a subscription for a newspaper. Recently when an authorized representative came to take out a subscription for the newspaper the most of teachers did not find even two rubles for this. And it is when the authorities strive – they hold new courses each year, but nobody wants to visit them by family circumstances. People drink in the auls, gag about with visits. And there are even such people who miss the past. They are only annoyed by the Soviet power and all its measures. At this they are not able even to explain clearly what exactly they has not liked and why. One just nods to another. They say how this one has said and that one has abused the power. And if he or she has abused it means that there was a reason. So what sort of a teacher is it if he tags under girdle behind every Tom, Dick and Harry? Let’s look at Nurgali, for example. Perhaps you do not know him but I know him very well. We learnt together. We were friends. Erstwhile we dreamt: “Eh, when we become teachers some power will fall into our hands, we will have scope for our abilities – we will bring the truth to people”. Because then it was impossible but now under the Soviet power everything has come into being what we had been dreaming about when we had visited our normal school. Can you say that it is not the truth?
Amanbai looked strictly at Nurgali and having shivered he answered:
- Yes, it is the truth.
- So how can you explain your nowadays’ behaviour? You have taught the children nothing during six months. You are just riding back and forth on Shumagul’s and Daulbai’s horses and scribbling claims and supplications. You have become something like a sort of their personal assistant… And how did you show yourself last year? Of course, you have a hump with me. Do I snap you up unreasonably? Do I condemn your behaviour wrongly? Just say! Ah?
- Oh, you are too strict with him, - Shuman laughed.
- No, - Nurgali objected. – Let him speak. He is right. I am really guilty. Not only I myself was mistaken but also I have beaten the youth out of reason in the aul by my own example. Believe me: I have realized this all. And I have done it not today but already for two-three months long I feel this. There found such a kind angel who had said me about all my sins straight into my face. He took me under his wings and tried to stir me onto the right path. I understood many things and now besides after your speeches my eyes have opened completely… Well, if I say you something will you believe me?
Nurgali glancing with his eyes looked by turns now at Shuman then at Amanbai.
- Speak… and then we might believe you.
- It is your business but know: since today’s day you will not see any more former Nurgali. Now I am new, other Nurgali. I have taken on a new lease of life. I swear that from now on I will work hand in hand with you, shoulder to shoulder!
Amanbai hopped ardently and smacked on his fellow’s back.
- What a good boy, Nurgali! It is the other thing… I have not lost the hope for you!
Somebody opened quietly the door. Dilda came in.
- Why are you sitting here in such a close room? It is so good out! Relax a little.
Nurgali was excited and felt as if he had thrown a load off his mind. And now after seeing Dilda went mad of joy at all.
- And do you know the angel who has saved me? – He asked carefully.
- We know! – Shuman smiled.
- And who is this, who? – Curious Amanbai shuddered.
- It is she! – Nurgali pointed to Dilda. – Here she is, my guardian angel. She was the first one who had said me about my mistakes. Then she made me read newspapers, magazines and books. At first I did it for her sake and only then for my own sake. It was she who had advised me to write to Shuman, speak to and have a talk with him. I stand indebted to her!
V
A new recently built school. A large room with four windows. There stand desks nearby. On the wall – opposite the entrance – there hang a Lenin’s portrait framed with flowers.
There gathered many people: old men, old women, girls, youngsters, children – all the aul was present. Nurgali stood up, set his fists against the table, looked everybody around and began speaking:
- It is the fourth of October today. Our great holiday is the seventh anniversary of the Soviet Kazakhstan. In advance we have one more celebration – decennary of Great October.
By this day we strove to build a school in our aul. Thanks to the youth’s enthusiasm and constant help of all aul inhabitants we have kept our promise – to finish the building by a glorious Kazakh toi. Authorities constantly helped us, too. They provided everything what we needed, allotted us building materials, sent desks and different school pack and textbooks. On behalf of the school soviet I thank everybody who took part in the building of the school and who contributed us!
Children ranked for a triumphant lineup, exclaimed “Hurray!” and clapped their hands.
There came a buzz of voices around the rows. Some people were touched by the teacher’s oratory, the other admired the fact that the teacher having given up on his six month summer vocation had come to the wintering to control the building.
- He turned out a real dzhigit! He has finished everything!
Yerbosyn stood up:
- I would like to say the following. Last year our bai – by the way he is present here – goofed on me, he says, show me what the Soviets gave you. Now I wish to show him. Aleke, look around, now you see what the Soviet power has given us?!
Aleke shivered, pressed his staff with his breast and mumbled:
- What do you want from me, would you like to wolf me down alive?
Respectable aksakal Kystaubai stood sedately up:
- Eh, laity! It was the time when we viewed at our youth in a dim light. We abused it, bemoaned it. We even said that the world broke down and it was no use to wait already for something good. Last year when the teacher came in our aul I was about to get absolutely the hump. One day I had to visit Aleksey. On my way I met the very teacher and Shumagul – a bai’s son. Then I did not have any tea or sugar. That is why I addressed to Shumagul – I say, lend me some. But with all his might he threw an empty bottle of arrack into me and beat the living delights out of me. Then I took umbrage about the teacher very much. I did not think that he would be able to become a human. Fortunately I have mistaken. And times have come absolutely not bad, and it is it, our time, that has cured our teacher. And when the teacher was cured, our youth followed him. They stopped playing cards. They forgot about arrack. They set to work. Today we are opening a new school. Of course, it is built by our youth, but who leads the youth? The teacher! And now I thank him with whole my heart. I wish you would be accompanied by luck, my son! I wish all your good wishes would come true! Such a blessing I give to our teacher.
The youth burst into applause. It seemed the roof could fly up because of such a squall. Then there was a concert: pupils sang and recited verses.
The women who had gathered for the celebration were sitting separately, somewhere aside. Dilda was among them. She explained something, told about something. One curious young girl asked whispering:
- Yerkeshan-au, people say that you are going to marry the teacher. Is it the truth?
- And what? – Dilda laughed archly.
- No matter, for no special reason… It is impossible to find a better dzhigit.
Kulbarsha overheard their conversation. She paled and threw at Dilda such a look as if she wanted to burn her.
Next day began the lessons. There was much to do. Jolly and excited Nurgali placed and guided to their seats the children who overcrowded the class room. Dilda came in having knocked at the door. She smiled:
- My congratulations!
- Thank you! – Nurgali answered. – I congratulate you with joy too! Come in, help me. We will work together.
1927
