as if I was born again, I remember the house, my father, the desire to live.
I went to the village and my heart was shaken. And now, I never go through the streets again.
I have time. Be healthy, – he said, raising his hands for prayer. I wish him health. He asked to visit me more often. He has gone. It was like bringing joy with you. The four walls of the room, among which I was left alone, pressed on me. In front of my eyes passed the faces of people with similar fate, whom I met over the years. Sabir was one of those people I was looking for to meet, whose sad confessions I listened to with pain in my heart.
I remember Ravshan from Bekabad, I remember how he told, holding his head with both hands:
– It has already been twenty months I went from one hospital to another. Unfamiliar people think I’m perfectly healthy. But day by day I get worse and worse. Recently I met an experienced doctor. "The shell that protects your brain from external influences is dried out. Therefore, a little noise gets on your nerves" – he said.
I asked him what I should do, and he replied, "Try to forget those days".
But how can we forget? As I start to become a little anxious, in my dream, people start to suffocate me in bushes. In horror, I jump out of bed and can't recover for weeks.
Where is the declared publicity, democracy? There is still a strong mechanism, the parts of which are connected with one blood, soul and money. It will take a long time to divide this bureaucratic mechanism into pieces, to throw it into a burning oven. My brothers, Abdurashid, Sabir, Ravshan and other men who were born with me, were the victims of this machine.
Unfortunately, we all often have to deal with people who do not step without benefit. Sitting in luxurious chairs, they gather from their subordinates. They filled their stomachs at the expense of sacrifices, and still shouted at every step:
– We are rebuilding! We are rebuilding!
In fact, these “reconstructors” actively “rebuilt” everything for themselves. The military from Termez, who demanded a thousand rubles, is probably also in some part engaged in rebuilding.
To prevent new misfortunes, new wars, new evils, we must separate ourselves from such Chameleons. As the saying goes, "what comes in with breast milk, comes out with the soul". Those who luxuriated in featherbed in those years, and now drink our blood. Let us be careful. Let us save our younger brothers who have not had time to walk, but who have already sat down.
* * *
It shines. The soul is filled with a feeling of satisfaction. In my ears there is an echo of my mother's echoed voice, a father's plea at the tomb asking for blessings for the children, the whisper of my brother: "I am with you with my soul, the spirit will support you."
My brother Vahid, I have fulfilled my duty to you and your comrades. Sorry not as fast as you would like, but it’s time.
Dear contemporary! I put the last point. And you turn the page and hear the voices of people with wounded hearts, worthy of the deepest respect and sincere sympathy.
WOUNDS OF THE EARTH
"SPARKS IN THE NIGHT"
Muhammad Sadikov, born in 1969. From Andijan region, Uzbekistan. Wounded during a battle in the village of Chelkar.
– I arrived in Afghanistan in the autumn of 1987. After two months of preparation, we were thrown into the defense of the village of Chelkar. The food supply was poor. We have to sit hungry for days.
On the very first day, they put me on post. I was very afraid then. There were few soldiers, and I was not relieved for fifteen days. As night falls, it seems that an enemy is waiting around every corner. Then I start shooting with a machine gun at this terrible darkness. My head is buzzing, and my ears are popping. Then I stopped hearing. I walked like a mad sheep. My friend, on the same call with me, asked the commander:
– Muhammad needs to be replaced. He's deaf; I'll take over the post in his place.
After that, I was removed from my post. After a month, I recovered a little. The service went on as usual. Different things have happened; we've seen enough of everything.
Once I stood on duty. There are four days left until the end of the service. I'm thinking about meeting in Termez with my own. I imagine how schoolgirls run out to meet us with flowers, and my heart almost bursts out of my chest. I began to count minutes, than hours. Well, what are four days? And then they seemed so long.
I had a girlfriend I loved. During these years, I wrote to her in letters while I was serving in Poland. Only my brother Nizamiddin, who studied at the institute, knew where I am actually. And even then, he found out at the military commissariat. In every letter, he asked me to take care of myself.
Three days before that night, for some reason, my eyelid began to twitch. For no reason at all, my heart suddenly squeezed, and I could not find a place for myself. It's the darkest night I've ever seen, even with my eyes closed.
That night, for some reason, I remembered everyone in turn. I talked to my mother in my mind and stroked the heads of my younger brothers and sisters. They all came out to meet me in Termez. I was looking for my favorite girl. She is not among the greeters. Then I heard her voice behind me: "Muhammad aka!" Everything happens as if in reality. Before I could turn around, I saw a burst of fiery sparks in the night. Pain burned my leg. It seemed that the voice of my beloved froze in the air. Then everything went quiet. I fell. I felt the wound with my hands; I felt a warm, viscous liquid. "Why, why shoot at me? After all, I want to go home! What am I going to do now?" I shouted without ceasing. Then someone took my hand and dragged me.
As it turned out, three bullets hit me in the thigh. An operation was performed at the hospital. Then they were brought to Tashkent by plane. The thought that the leg would be cut off was spinning in my brain. Only Nizamiddin from relatives found out about my injury. I wouldn't have told him either, but he saw it himself when they bandaged the wound.
– Don't say anything to my parents, – I asked him. When the parents first came to the hospital, they said that in those days they sensed trouble in their hearts. Yes, probably. Parents, wherever their children are, always feel the grief that has fallen on their heads.
– You asked me what I would do if I met that enemy now. Nothing. But if I had run into him at that time, I would have torn him apart. After all, life was at stake. If he hadn't shot at me, I would have put a bullet in him. This is the absurdity of war: that one person is ready to kill another, not knowing who he is or who is to blame for him. Actually, I don't understand these cases. Why did we go there? Why I came back wounded. And it is always more difficult for the locals. There are corpses of children, women, and old people everywhere. Whose bullet killed them, no one can know…
"MY FAMILY BEGGED ME…"
Timur Saidov, born in 1969. From Karshi, Uzbekistan.
He was blown up by a mine in the village of Piramakon.
– There was a tank in front of me. My friends Victor and Mamur climbed it. It was the road we traveled every day. When the tank was two hundred meters away from us, suddenly there was an explosion. I saw my friends being thrown up, and they fell to the ground. The tank was engulfed by fire. This happened there often, and every day we lost one of our comrades. But I haven't seen it up close until now. They were thrown a dozen meters above the tank. For a few moments, they hung in the air and
