Страна : Россия
Я родился в городе Симферополь (Крым) в 1933-м году в семье крымскотатарского писателя и литературоведа. Родители с ранних лет привили мне интерес к книгам.
В старших классах средней школы решил посвятить себе физике. Закончил физический факультет Средне-Азиатского Государственного университета в 1958-м году. Занимался физикой космических лучей и физикой Солнца, профессор. Литературным творчеством увлекался со студенческих лет, публиковал рассказы и стихи в разных сборниках, в журналах. К написанию крупных прозаических произведений приступил в 90-х годах прошлого века. Издал три романа, сборник стихов и рассказов. Люблю классическую музыку. В студенческие годы занимался легкой атлетикой и альпинизмом, позже много лет занимался дайвингом.
В своем саду в Крыму развожу розы.
Country : Russia
Отрывок из романа ” Blue mustangs. The story of the deportation of the Crimean Tatars and further mysteries”
It was the sunny October of 1944. A forester living in a hut on Mount Ay-Petri, riding his old grey gelding, set out to do the rounds of his vast territory…
…The night was cool, and the old forester shivered and fastened the zip on his jacket. His faithful companion – the old horse – walked slowly. The trail, invisible in the dark, descended for a long time, and before reaching the waterfall it turned back and led off to the west.
When the wild pear trees came into view the horse suddenly became anxious. The forester guessed that it smelled the presence of other horses, but it did not snort or neigh, as happens in these cases. The horse made low sounds in its chest and suddenly froze. Then slowly, trying not to make any noise, it left the road without an order from its rider and pressed itself against the trees, as if wanting to hide.
“What is it, old friend, why are you scared?” the surprised forester asked in a loud voice.
In response, the horse trembled with its whole body, without making a sound however, and stopped motionless. The forester realised that they should stand still. The sensitive animal stood with its head turned back towards the point where the mountain road emerged from behind a nearby wooded slope. For some reason the forester, filled with vague alarm, threw a wary glance in that direction. A dim bluish light appeared over the hill, and suddenly, from around the bend of the road, they ran out… Oh, heavens! They were horses, but not ordinary horses; they were transparent, with red eyes, terrifying… The forester did not have time to pinch himself as the four ghostly horses swept past, leaving behind a crackling blue glow that quickly faded. His horse remained motionless. The man stroked his faithful friend’s neck and said gently:
“Well, Sivka, calm down…” But the horse would not move, still keeping its head turned towards the hill that hid the road.
“What, is there something else?” the rider murmured. And indeed, another pair of phantoms appeared from around the corner. This time, beside a transparent royal-blue mare, an even less solid foal galloped. Undoubtedly they were eager to catch up with the swiftly-moving four ahead, but the foal was weak and the mare held her pace so that her baby would not fall behind.
When these two had also disappeared behind the trees Sivka shook his head, as if driving out a delusion, and stirred, but did not go out onto the road. The man was scared and did not rush his horse. Finally the horse took a deep breath. Stepping carefully out from behind the trees, it stopped at the side of the road. The forester thought for a moment and turned Sivka in the direction from which the ghost horses had appeared. This choice seemed to please the horse too. There, both the forester and his four-footed friend knew that the plateau opened out towards the sea, which was already brightly lit up. There could hardly be any more of those ghostly creatures, hitherto unseen in the Crimean mountains, remaining there.
Sivka went at a fast trot until they reached the bright sunny road. The forester’s attention was suddenly caught by crows and other birds flying above the precipice. He dismounted and without releasing the reins, looked down into the abyss. There were two corpses of horses lying below – one big and one small.
“Those dead horses turned into ghostly creatures! They are the creatures of misfortune – the misfortune that fell upon the peninsula…” he thought, shuddering from a wave of cold that passed from head to toe.
What happened in the Crimea did not fit into ordinary human understanding. “The Tatars defiled the Crimea… Because of them, the water disappeared…” – who could invent
such nonsense! The forester knew all the springs in the area, and each spring here had a Tatar name, as every notable rock and every gorge had a Tatar name too.
The forester walked through Kokkoz. Here was the house of his longtime friend Mustafa. In the courtyard some unkempt peasant was swearing, the vegetable beds were empty and the garden barren. Here were the collective farm vineyards – the vines were poor and shrivelled. The big fig tree, the pride of a Tatar named Selim, was leafless and black – as if cursed by the prophet.
There was neither dogwood nor hazelnuts; pears did not ripen in the mountains that summer, and so it went on for three years…
The forester, who had been born at the end of the last century, was not a religious man in the full sense of the word, but he had been baptised and was familiar with the basics of Christian ethics. And he was intelligent and educated enough. From a legal position he considered what happened in the Crimea to be a crime and from the point of view of human morality – a terrible sin. Who would have thought that all the people could be completely expelled from their native land? All the people! Such evil does not go unpunished!
“O daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed; happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us.” These words, once learned by rote in lessons on God’s law, circled his mind all day after that terrible encounter on the mountain road. He regarded the appearance of otherworldly blue ghosts as a punishment.
The forester decided to go down to the city the next day, to go to church and meet the priest.
It was about midday when the forester entered the church. He had not attended the temple of God since his youth, and now he stood somewhat embarrassed in the church which was almost deserted at this hour. The forester decided to ask the candle dealer how to see the priest, but just at that moment a man in a long cassock came out of the doors to the right of the altar and looked at the people in the church, fixing his eyes on the visitor in a leather flight jacket.
“Father, allow me to talk to you,” the forester hastily approached the priest. “I am listening to you, my son,” answered the priest, who was a man of about the same age as the forester.
The forester briefly described the encounter on the mountain road and then fell silent as he waited for a response. For a few seconds the priest gave the speaker a sharp, hostile stare, then his eyes softened and in the end a degree of confusion became evident in him.
“You are not the first to come to me with such news. Back in the summer an old woman brought two boys to me. Then there was another child. I did not believe them; I hoped that these were empty tales, but now I have received the testimony of a mature man, I have to admit the existence of these ghosts. What do they look like, these phantoms?”
The forester described the blue monsters as best he could and told the priest about the dead mare with her foal. The priest listened and contritely nodded his head.
“What do you think is the reason for this phenomenon? Maybe this is the curse of the Tatars expelled from the Crimea?”
“Curses emanating from a human are ineffective,” the minister of religion said finally. “But a powerful negative ergregore1, born of a sudden horror that strikes hundreds of thousands of souls, is a great force. It can arouse unknown powers…”
Again there was mutual silence, suddenly interrupted by the forester:
1 Ergregore – an occult concept representing a ‘thoughtform’ or ‘collective group mind’
“Yes … And the Crimean land itself could not help but sense the disappearance of its people. This summer it has not given birth to gardens or trees. And the Muslim cemeteries must be tended. After all, there is no one to say a prayer over them.”
“The Church rejects mysticism,” the priest said after a while, “but I as a sinner admit that living roots, invisible to man, exist not only among trees. If you uproot trees on a mountain slope, then the slope crumbles…”
When the two men parted, the forester went down to the sea. He walked and thought about the words of the priest, he thought about the fact that nations sprout invisible roots into their native soil, and that cemeteries are not only for the burial of bodies deprived of their souls.
And now the authorities had ripped out the ancient ethnos by its roots. “What will happen now?” the forester wondered. Deeply shaken by the atrocities committed by the authorities, only now, after encountering the phantoms of Tatar horses, he was thinking about the transcendent consequences of this act, contrary to human and divine laws.