escape from suffering and live in peace. He was paying for his mistake that he committed in his youth. After much reflection, Safar came to the conclusion that today was the best day to make the final decision. He had to return to his homeland today. His wife Larisa was not at home. She was with Lyudmila, her friend. This came in handy.
He took a paper, a pen, and began writing a letter to his daughter Marina: “My dear Masha! I am leaving for my homeland. Forever. I feel that I don’t have much time left. It is better for me to die in my native land, among my loved ones. I wish you happiness. Try to save your family this time. Daughter, never change husbands like gloves. Nothing good will come of it. S. W. K. Your father!"
Then he went into the bedroom of Ilya, who was sleeping until late as usual, and called him:
“Wake up, son, it is late already.”
“What’s up dad, let me sleep a little,” Ilya murmured, rubbing his eyes.
“I have to tell you something. Get up, let's talk.”
“Early in the morning? Okay, let’s talk, I'm listening.”
“Ilya, my dear,” Safar began, getting one step closer to his son's bed. “You know how much I love you. I even wanted to give you my father's name, but your mother did not allow me to.”
The son felt melancholy in his father's voice, but even that did not move him.
“I know, dad. Now tell me what happened?” Ilya asked.
Safar kept silent for a while, trying to pull himself together. Finally, clearing his throat, he said:
“Son, I want to go back to my homeland, forever.” Ilya, who could not believe his ears, asked in perplexity:
“What did you just say?”
The father repeated what he had said earlier. Ilya could not resist asking: “At your age?”
Safar voiced his arguments as to why he suddenly made this decision, and at the end, he remarked:
“Son, I am old already. I feel my strength leaving me. I want to spend my last days in my homeland.” Ilya did not even think of arguing with his father. He agreed immediately.
“Look, dad. You know better. If you decided so, then so be it.” And then he asked:
“When are you thinking of leaving?”
Safar expected his son to be against his decision. He did not think that Ilya would agree so easily to part with him.
“Today… now…,” the father replied, upset.
“Does mom know?” the son asked.
“Not yet,” Safar answered and handed the paper to his son. “I want you to give this letter to Marina.”
Ilya got up and sat on the bed, taking the letter. “Okay dad, I will, don’t worry.”
He looked at the letter, then asked about the transport his father was going to use: if it was by plane or by train.
Safar answered:
“I don’t care. The main thing is to leave.”
Safar contemplated the upcoming conversation with his wife, as the son got out of bed and said: “Dad, I'll walk you to the door.”
He had not yet started his journey, but already he felt a sense of relief. As if a mountain had fallen off his shoulders. After all, he was going to end many years of melancholy and find himself in his native land. Making a decision is a step to success.
At the moment, he was even glad that his son agreed so quickly with his decision. The last thing he needed now was his son opposing what had already been decided on, standing in his way and saying: “I will not let you go anywhere.”
He smiled. The anxiety of the last days vanished as if by magic. He no longer worried about where and how he would live in his homeland. He didn't even think of looking for answers to the different questions. He could only think of one thing: he wanted to arrive to his homeland as soon as possible. He recalled an episode from a book that he had read in his youth, and which had haunted him for a long time. The book read something like this: after the shah listened to the song performed by a young singer taken as a prisoner, he realized that his mournful singing was caused by longing for his homeland, and said to him: you left your soul in those places.
He knew that this was something from the work of the writer Elcin, but from which one?… he could not remember. “This is it,” Safar thought to himself and smiled.
Now he himself was in the state of the hero of that episode.
He got off the train at the Baku station. Full ofjoy, he looked around and took a deep breath. Then he sat down on a bench nearby and thought. It was beginning to get dark. At this moment, a hand lay on his shoulder:
“Safar?!”
He turned around and tried to remember the person with a familiar face. Even if he didn't remember, at that moment he became one hundred percent convinced that he did the right thing to have returned to his homeland. A person would never get in trouble at home. There will always be someone you know, some relative, even a stranger who will reach out to you and help.
3
Jabrail-muallim and Bahlul-kishi are completely different people with completely opposing views. They are neighbors. Jabrail-muallim holds a high position, and Bahlul-kishi is a person who does not have a permanent job. And they are united by a single hobby: playing domino in their yard. Jabril-muallim sees this game as a filling for his leisure time, but for Bahlul-kishi it is a matter of life and death. He goes all out to make their team win and to cheer up Jabrail-muallim. Perhaps, he will get a favor as a result of this, and he will be able to get at least a simple job from his neighbor.
One day Jabrail-muallim suddenly suggested Bahlul-kishi going on vacation with their families. The latter was overcome with joy, thinking: this is a real chance to resolve the employment issue. But, as it turned out, it was not to happen.
A Clumsy Assistance
It was the last Friday of December. The residents of the five-story building were sitting in a self-built room arranged in the courtyard for various events and domino playing. People were waiting for their turn. It was very noisy. The losing pair left the game, giving way to another one. When someone made a wrong move, a clamor was heard. As a result of the squabble, the pieces of domino flew to the floor with such force that the noise from it could be heard in the nearest apartments. Everyone was equal here. No one was superior to any other. It could be a teacher, a scientist, even a simple worker – everyone was called “a neighbor.” They were united by the game of dominoes. In principle, they were not bad neighbors. They shared both their troubles and their joys, they helped each other.
It was hot in the room, even though it was December. A wooden stove was burning at one end, and a samovar was boiling at the other. Those who dropped out of the game, those who lost, were obliged to put hot tea in front of the players instead of the cooled ones.
When the turn came to Jabrail-muallim, who was the head of a company, the audience died down and the jokes stopped. After all, this person enjoyed high authority. Jabrail-muallim took his place and turned to his partner:
“Bahlul,
