They say a person ,the reminiscence of whom stays with the living ,cannot be dubbed dead.

That’s why Beimbet Mailin will never die for me, our Be-Aga, as he was called respectfully by young kazakh journalists and writers. He was just five, six, seven years older than each of us, but we believed him to be an aqsaqal.¹

He will never leave my live. I can meet him every minute I want. I just need to return into middle twentieth. I see “ Ebenshi Kazakh” editorial office,  his office- the office of  the executive editor.  I remember Mailin in white silk kosovorotka², belted with black silk band. The brushes of his blouse are shaking, when he walks indignantly along his office, swearing at one of us for carelessness and laches. And his gray eyes burn with fire. But the fire go down and I see him bending over the manuscript and twisting his shiny black hair round the finger by the force of habit.

I remember him knocking at my hotel door in the middle of the night (it was already 1936) during the first decade of Kazakh literature and art in Moscow. He started speaking about the business without sitting on the chair. The meeting at the room of regional committee first secretary L.L.Mirozyan has just finished. He insists:  we should make a film script after our play about Amalgendi Imanov, about the Kazakh riot against the czarist regime in 1916. All arrangements with “Lenfilm” have already been completed. It would be great to bring some of famous Russian writers in.

Next morning in Peredelkino, at the country house of our countryman Vsevolod Ivanov we got his consent. We agreed that Beimbet and I will perform the collection of materials, go to Almagendi native country, see people who know Almagendi and people, who were participating in those memorable events.

Soon after home-coming we started a long journey. Actually, it is the point I want to begin my story with. I intended to write it long ago.

As the majority of my stories this one starts with the road. That’s why, of course, one of the characters is a driver.

His name was Dajirbay.

Steppe road looked like three snakes creeping not far away from each other. As long as it was the territory of his district Dajirbay controlled himself, but having crossed the border he burst out, though the road wasn’t much better the one he left behind.

It was raining in the night and it was still cloudy. Our stupid Gazyk³ was creeping through the sticky saliniferous mud. Wheels kept driving down the wheeltrack and this was driving Dajirbay crazy. Frankly speaking, it is absolutely impossible to write down what he said exactly. His speech would permanently consist of dots: at the beginning, in the middle and also in the end.

-          Who’s … mind cross this … idea to lay the road over this … bumps!  This … eared horse first broke the trail and then this … camel followed him!

I suppose, he was still somehow restrained by the presence of Beimbet, the distinguished writer, whose name was wildly known in the steppe and held in absolute respect. So Dajirbay didn’t put in practice all his speech talents.

The steppe was behind, on the sides and spread forward. What a big sky one need to cover such an endless space! And how many thousands of blue-black clouds to shut it!

Clouds tossing lightning into the ground. Unabated thunder was rolling over the sky, as if omnipotent Allah was turning huge stones, having decided to create this world, that hasn’t worked out well for the first time, once again.

-          Hide your weapon,- said Beimbet carefully,- don’t you know that steel draws lightning?

I hid the gun under the bright bustards that were caught during the trip. I could answer that all our car was made of steel, but I preferred to keep silent. When Beimbet was afraid of something, he lost sense of humor.

-          Please, hide the gun in such a manner that it doesn’t abut against me.

I met his favor obediently. Among the quilt of gray clouds suddenly appeared a white one like an old man’s beard, and it started hailing.  Hailstones banged down deafening on the strained tarpaulin top. But we were driving under such a permanent ‘fire’ not for a long time. The white cloud was blown away and other clouds moved closer and sunny spears thrust them trough.

The road became even worse. Soaked salt-marsh pood lumps stuck to the wheels and then lumps fell off and clapped on the ground with the flump. Fighting with the car, swerving along the slippery road, Dajirbay couldn’t pronounce all his words completely, so we could hear only whistling sound produced through his set teeth.

Looking at his working skills, one could say that Dajirbay started working as a driver a while ago. He depressed the clutch pedal as if he was riding a horse.  But our Gasyk did not understand such a treatment and decided not to bend to the driver and the latter was swearing at the car without missing a single part of it.

-          Pest upon this … car!  Last year everyone was trying to worm out the best horse! But now they want a car!- He meant the principles of the district we left in the morning.- Now is Summer and still we are hardly wading through this … road. What will be in autumn? I wonder ,what they will travel with. They would…

I was trying to listen his speech, but Beimbet seemed to be absent. Over the years we know each other I knew him well enough to realize that Be –AGA was still with those people we met the night before, he was recollecting the stories of witnesses and participants of the riot and think of how he could use them in the future script. 

Dajirbay didn’t cope with the driving wheel and our car, growling and wheezing, stood across the road.

Beimbet left his minds.

-          You got tired, dzhigit⁴,- he said.

Such display of sympathy caused a new outbreak of temper.

-          You said tired! Can I not be tired as dog that were… . The whole day before yesterday I was dealing with the land department! Yesterday district executive committee took the car! Today you need to be driven to the … neighbors. Today I am back and district executive committee needs to go to the regional committee. They have a … plenary session there. And there is only this carrion for the whole district. Its tires are worn down as a camel’s … . And everybody wants it. Also three assistants of our three principles are driving me crazy. You come as … . You can’t even drink a cup of tea at home; the wife will soon sleep with a neighbor, but you can already see such assistant approaching you as a person of great importance. And he makes such a face as if he is standing with his back to you and says: Dajirbay, let’s make it 6a.m. tomorrow. Blow!

One thing Beimbet couldn’t stand at all was rudeness.  When at our writers’ meetings some violent arguments were raised, he always wrote me a little note with one single word: “Leave?”  and having left the room I met him outside. He was walking back and forth and crinkles painfully.

-          If you will try keep from … swearing,- I said to Dajirbay,- and wait till that … tuffet, I will give you a bonus, pack of cigarettes “Safo”. Do you see this unpacked packet, you will get it all.

Dajirbay looked at me with surprise in his eyes.

-          Oh, after that tuffet I will be extremely gentle without any bonuses. The road there is much better, and my words will be more polite.

It take two odd hours to bear down fifteen awful muddy kilometers. And after the tuffet the road was really better, sand was solid after the rain and our Gasyk went with the speed, it could possibly work out.

The sun was already setting and Dajirbay went full bat. He looked like a dzhigit , who had taken a rested horse and was trying to make up for the lost time.

In front, in the mat-grass appeared a man. Waist-high at first. We drove closer and saw the car (the brother of ours), stuck with it nose up at the smooth hillside of the gulley, it couldn’t manage to drive out. The car hood was open, the man stood on the wheel and there were no doubts about what he was doing there. He was peeing, but peeing at the radiator, standing on the leeward side.

-Ohoh,- Dajirbay said,- The engine gave out at the hill. I know him. He is from district executive committee, where we are going to.

Having seen us, “district executive committee” zipped up in hurry. He came up. His face, being swarthy from the nature, became even darker from the shame. He reached out his hand for a handshake, but took it back hastily.

-          I have been driving around collective farm for the whole day.- he said- I heard you were coming, so I decided to check whether everything was prepared or not.

The chairman name was Bekish. Trying not to make him feel uncomfortable, we started subject about their district, about agricultural business, about the troubles that made us come here.  But he switched the topic:

-          We still have 40 kilometers to our district. The driver has failed us. We lacked water. That’s why we had to… .The driver first and then me. I’m so sorry Be-Aga! It’s a desert…

Dajirbay stood nearby, without saying anything. He was satisfied, that he would manage save several kilometers. That’s why, without haggling, he funneled bucket of gasoline, took the promised bonus, though he hadn’t meet the arrangement and turned back quickly.

So we took the Bekish car.

The darkness almost fell.

The center of the district was aul⁵, that was made up of 50-60 houses along the small steppe river. Light of the headlights slipped the walls of the mud dwellings, captured bushy wormwood that was growing on theirs roofs. Or suddenly, in the darkness, like dazzling sapphires were glowing the eyes of goats and ships that were driven in for a night.

The car stopped near two wooden neighbor houses- district executive committee and district committee. The sound of frogs’ choir reached our ears. The calm night air seemed to be waved with this sound.

-          Wait a minute,- Bekish said and banged the door.

 At the district executive committee three men got settled and Bekish exchanged few words with them and came back.

-          Everything is ready. -he said- Nights lodging is prepared. We need to have a rest now and will do a real work tomorrow. Let’s go to the hotel,- he turned to the driver.

-          The hotel? Where is the hotel?- the driver answered back, being a little bit puzzled.

-          Don’t you know? You seemed to be a newcomer. – Bekish said impatient.- Let’s go, there,  round the pine forest.

He pushed significantly the driver with his knee. And Beimbet, feeling that these two speaking in half-word, pushed me by inertia.

Our Gazyk moved along the street, enlightening here and there comely old men, who were doing their evening prayer.

The unbeaten track led along the river and then moved away, the aul dogs that couldn’t miss a chance to bark at the big iron wagon with yellow eyes, finally left us alone.  And the frog choir calmed down a little. When we were moving down the hill of the big tuffet, we could barely see the wall of sunflowers. They were nodding carelessly with their round hats.

-          Is it your pine forest?- asked Beimbet.

-          Yeah, have you heard about it? – Answered Bekish.- Yes, it is what we called forest. We planted them in spring and our neighbors laughed, they said we would have a great forest. So we have it now.

The hotel appeared to be a nice wooden house with the light in the windows. We were awaited.

In the broad corridor were doors of two rooms, and the first thing ,that caught tired travelers’ eyes, was a laid table.

On the blue crisp paper were scattered donuts, pile sugar, butter yellowed in the saucer and little mountains of sweets rose over. Sliced pieces of boiled mutton liver were covered with broadtail lard pieces. Lard glanced dimly in the light of two 7-lined lamps.

At the place of honor, at the head of the table were settled soft chairs with curved backs and legs, a little bit farther were casual chairs, further just stools and in the end there were just rough planks settled on the stools.

I didn’t found bottles on the table, looked under and calmed down, because I saw three boxes. I had a thought: “Isn’t it too much?”. But the rooms revealed all people who had gathered at this meeting: Assistant secretary of district committee, Women's Section of the central Committee of the communist party, райпрос, agitprop, district land department, district consumer’s association… They all came with wives and red, blue, black, dark blue, gold velvet flitted before eyes. Some of them were thin and graceful like gazelle; some were fat and looked like 40-bucket samovar.

Finally all hands were shaken and we took seats.

The first secretary had gone to the district for a plenum and now Bekish was the principle host.

After the casual greetings in honor of guests, he said:

-          Maybe after visiting the capital our place seems to be poor, but the complete year hasn’t even passed as we became a district. The house near this tuffet is just the beginning! The place here is much better than that, where aul is located. Later here will be a district center. So, we started with the building of this hotel, so that we could take in such distinguished guests as you. And I suggest drinking to you!

They drink to Beimbet and me. Then they drink to us separately. We suggested a toast for hospitable hosts. Be-Aga, sitting on the right hand of Bekish was trying to start a business conversation about people, who knew Amangeldi in the flesh and who did a march with him…

-          Dear Be-Aga! Tonight you are our guests. Let’s put off all business for tomorrow. Tomorrow we will do everything for you, will go wherever you need, and will bring whoever you want.

And again toasts. Ground glasses clanged deafly together, and if at least half of wishes, expressed that night, came true, Be- Aga would be Lev Tolstoy⁶ and I- Gorky⁷.

The meeting stretched on late. At parting I suggested a toast for the district to become the greatest in the region, in the Kazakhstan, in the whole country and for them to have a real pine forest!

After all everybody stood up. Outside, near the horse standing were wai5ting riding horses.

-          Tomorrow we will get horses for you.- said Bekish, already sitting  in the saddle.- When horse is eating, the gasoline will never run off, right? – He laughed crafty, driving at something that knew only we and nobody else.

Returning with Beimbet into the house I understood: the earth is really sloping and spinning.

There was a narrow bed with a plated net in my room. The bed was approaching and moving away, as a boat, dancing on the slight waves.

As I was unbuttoning my shirt with disobedient fingers, I realized: my only rescue is to catch the bed in time, and when it approached again, I hold the back and fell down on the matrass.

I don’t know for how long I have been sleeping. Loud, persistent knock at the window woke me up. It was still dark outside. The window frame was trembling from such continuous strokes. And from the other side somebody was batting the door.

-          Did you pop off there?  Don’t you hear? -  screamed the spiteful old man voice outside. – Open the door!

The voice behind the door sounded pleadingly:

-          My dear, I am sorry, but I need to disturb you. Please open the door..

I came up to the window:

-          Whom do you need? What do you need?

-          Where is the woman-dygdyr⁸? I brought a woman, she is in labor. Let the woman-dygdyr do outside and help her.

-          Aqsaqal, you must be mistaken. This is a hotel, you need maternity home.

-          Do not play jokes with me! Play jokes with your age mates. I have been standing for an hour near this window. If you are slipping with the woman-dygdyr, please, let her go. I beg you! The woman can do into labor every minute!

All dreams were blown away from my head, together with the hangover. Beimbet entered my room, woken up with the noise and voices.

-          When did you manage to bring a girl here?- he asked me suspiciously.

-          What girl?- I answered angrily.

The man behind the door stopped batting the door:

-          My dear, open the door.  I am a watchman. Let me in. I’ll explain everything.

I opened the door, lighted a match, found a lamp on the messy table and lighted a fuse. The watchman was standing next to me. His one leg was wooden. Floorboards were cracking complainingly.

-          I have to tell the truth. We don’t have a hotel. It is a maternity house. When we found out that you were coming, we thought: where will we accommodate such respectable guests? We don’t have a better place than this. Nobody have been here for 4 days, the house have been empty for 4 days. As bad luck would have it! This woman decided to go into labor.

Without stopping growling, the man who was standing near the window went indoors.

-          What happened with the world? - he said. - We didn’t have anything more pure than the woman-dygdyr. She was an example for our daughters. And now she appeared to be..! He saw a messy table and lost his temper. - Oh, evil-livers, they drank the worst vodka! And you? - He turned to me. - I now you, you work at our political department.

One old man could hardly comfort the other one, explained who we were. The newcomer stopped arguing.

-          Yeaah. I don’t care who they are. May they help transport a woman?

The watchman couldn’t help us at all with his wooden leg; he could only give us a canvas litter.

-          Maybe you are really hiding the woman-dygdyr at your room?- asked Beimbet quietly.

-          No.

-          It’s a pitty. Why nobody guessed to call her? … Why do you stand here? Let’s go..

Beimbet and I couldn’t cope with the scared and shy woman. As soon as I touched her, she screamed sharply and Beimbet jumped aside, as if he was stung by a bee.

-          Don’t touch me, don’t touch me!- she groaned. – Don’t touch my armpits! Don’t touch my legs!

-          Stop!- I screamed.

Finally we managed to take her down from the travelling carriage and put her down carefully on the canvas.  In my room we moved down matrasses on the floor and covered them with the bed sheets. To remove the woman from litters to the matrass wasn’t already a big deal.

 Outside Beimbet turned to the old-men:

-          Who can bring a woman-dygdyr?

The watchman answered:

-          I could take an ox and bring her from the aul but I don’t know where she lives.

The newcomer old-man trimmed the oxbow on the ox neck; the animal had been already hitched.

-          And what about you, aqsaqal?

-          Our aul is the longest one. But here I don’t know anybody but you. I brought her straight from the field, and handed over to you. You drank here, ate here, lay around here, you will report to the district committee, if something happens… It’s her first baby, and I am a stranger.

He sat down on the hay at the travelling carriage and touched the ox. Beimbet twisted his hair over the forefinger.

-Yeaah, he is sure that the woman-dygdyr is here, that she is hiding. That is why he hurried to depart.  He will drive away and she will go to the woman in labor, and everything will be fine. That’s just a plot… Is there any mature woman nearby?- he turned to the watchman again.

- No. We have one. She always helps the dygdyr, but she dot 3 days off.

- Hm. So you should probably stay here till the morning…

- No,no!- the watchman got scared.- My business is to keep watch over the house. But I can’t look after women in labor! It doesn’t work this way.

Two writers and the lame watchman set themselves helplessly on the porch stairs smelling like a forest. A muffled groan reached the men’s ears:

-          Dygdyyr…dygdyyr…

Be- Aga sighed as if the woman’s pain was his own… How many times we wrote about the woman, about the mother, about the great mystery of human birth. And now we had to create a plot not on the paper, not at the writing desk. We had to act in the real not in the fabled life.

I looked at the Beimbet with the hope. He is older than me, so it was for him to decide. He sighed again and suddenly turned back:

-          I should have remembered earlier!!!

-          What should have Be-Aga remembered?

-          Three years ago you translated the story of Gorky “The human birth”. I commended it.

-           Yes, I did. So what?

-          So it should be you, nobody else.  You must remember how Gorky did. Go, go to her.

My last hopes crashed. I listened carefully, maybe she stopped groaning, and maybe she will wait till the morning.  But she groaned again.

She was still lying on the matrass, biting the angle of the cushion.

-          Soon?- I asked.

-          Raise… raise my head.

-          Be-Aga, give me a lamp!

-          Don’t.. Don’t give him a lamp.

Beimbet, having opened a door a little bit, looked inside carefully.

-          A lamp!

It became bright in the room. I took Beimbet to the corner of the room and whispered:

-          We need to prepare some hot water.

-          Is it how Gorky wrote?- he asked.

-          Where should have Gorky got hot water? - I gave back-talk. – In his book the action takes place in the mountains, near the road.

-          I will look what have left in the samovar.

The woman lashed in desperate. Like in Gorky story she was clapping on the floor with her palms, her legs were twitching and her eyes was bloodshot and became absolutely mad.

According to the first hand source, I turned the woman with her back to me and huddle her rubbing her numb fingers, massing her bally, breast and face. She contrived and bit my little finger. I gave her a slight slap to bring her to senses.

-          Oh, Allah!  Why do you punish me? Why did you let this scoundrel abuse me? It’s better to kill me right now!

I huddled her even harder with my hands and continued massing her hot, starting belly.

-          Are you soon?

-          Get away! Leave me alone!

Beimbet asked behind the door:

-          How everything is going?

  The woman screamed extremely loud, she forgot about me, probably the pain became absolutely insufferable. She sniffled drawlingly and choked with scream again.

I kept waiting and appearance of the baby’s head was such a big miraculous surprise. He twisted with his head, as if he was surprised why his appearance was accompanied with such a loud noise.

-          Be-Aga! Be-Aga! Bring some hot water!

-          Is everything over? There is no water; it is barely a glass of water in the samovar.

-          And what about kumiss⁹?

-          There is a lot! A whole backet!

If Gorky could bath a child in the sultry sea water, kumiss can’t be worse. I cut the sheet, and Beimbet, feeling significant from proud, banded baby’s navel cord. The baby sighed, as Beimbet recently did, and screamed.

The mother started:

-          Oh! Give him to me, give me my baby! Son? Daughter?

-          It is son. Your husband parents will be satisfied. But you won’t get it at once. I need to bath him first. And you need to bath too. – My voice sounded firmly.- I won’t let you feed him until you do this.

Her peaked face glittered from sweat.

-          I didn’t know that you are also a dygdyr.- she said shyly.- That is why I was resisting. If I knew…

-          Yes, I am a dygdyr- I said and kept hugging this small red body stiff-armed.

I swore at myself with the most severe words I knew. Even Dajirbay could envy me. Why did not this idea come to my mind earlier? If I had called myself a dygdyr, the woman would have behaved better.

-          Do you remember how you bit me?

-          I am sorry, I didn’t know you. Why didn’t you say that you are a dygdyr? You must have come not long ago?

-          Yesterday. I came to monitor the work of the maternity home.

Meanwhile Beimbet filled the wooden bowl with the kumiss and I put the baby carefully there. That’s how he took a bath. Covered with a sheet, he went into his first trip on the Beimbet’s hands.

And I stayed with the mother.

-          Take a bath.

-          In kumiss?

-          Why not in kumiss? Why kumiss is worse than water, if there is no water?

She ripped her dress to shreds, so she had nothing to change.

-          I was in the brig, in the field- she made excuses.- That’s why I didn’t take anything with me.

-          Keep silent. You shouldn’t speak a lot.- I got into the role of doctor completely.- We will find something

I gave her stripped trousers and a jacket.

-Oh! How can I wear man’s clothes?

- Stop wrangling! It is not a man’s clothes. It is clothes for everybody. It calls a pajama.

It is strange, but the new word persuaded the woman. She tightened trousers and I offered her a jacket.

Beimbet brought the baby that gave us so much un predictable troubles and the baby, as if he was waiting for this, calmed down and smacked his lips.

The woman gave the breast to the baby. Her head was lying on the cushion.

-          How should I name him? - She asked in a happy husky voice- Mayby Dygdyrbay?

You can meet so many different names among the Kazakh. If the father came from the bazar when the child was born, the child’s name will be Bazarbay. If the child was born and he started to die, his parents, to deceive destiny, name him Itemgen,- that who is suckling a dog, means worthless for destiny to take him, If the doctor delivered a child, he was named Dygdyrbay.

-          It’s better to name him Be-Aga- I suggested.

-          It’s a good name- she agreed.

A day started breaking behind the windows. A new Be-Aga finally got sated and settled. Everything was as it should be. The woman calmed down too, she seemed to be sleeping. Only now I noticed that she is extraordinary beautiful.

-          Now you see – said Beimbet tutorially- How useful could be fundamental examination of literature?

-          Yes, I do. - I agreed. - But I would give anything to never ever apply me obstetric abilities. I have had enough.

-          But you can write a story about this.

Thirty odd years have passed.

Beimbet has gone long ago. But it is extremely pleasant for me to think, that somewhere in the Turgay heath  there is a dzhigit, whose name is Be-Aga. Now he is almost in the same age as I was when this story happened.

1.      Aqsaqal-  a patriarch, the most respectable man among Turkic nations.

2.      Kosovorotka- blouse with collar fastening at side.

3.      Gazyk- all-terrain vehicle, produced by the Gorky motor vehicle works.

4.      Dzhigit-horseman, hothead.

5.      Aul-mountain village.

6.      Tolstoy- Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy was a Russian writer of XIX century, who primarily wrote novels and short stories.

7.      Gorky- Maxim (Maksim) Gorky was a Russian and Soviet writer, a founder of the Socialist Realism literary method and a political activist.

8.      Dygdyr- deformed from doctor.

9.      Kumiss- is a fermented dairy product traditionally made from mare's milk. The drink remains important to the peoples of the Central Asian steppe.