Dana Zheteyeva

Страна : Казахстан

Добрый день всем! Занимаюсь переводами около 10 лет. Сначала на любительском уровне, а сейчас это мое основное и главное хобби. В этом году я бы хотела обратить Ваше внимание на наши внутренние проблемы, в частности на детские дома и дома ребенка. Когда-то я участвовала в процессах усыновления наших детей американскими родителями. Сейчас мы до сих пор поддерживаем связь с этими детьми, и меня радует то, что у этих детей есть семьи, возможность получения образования и просто жить нормальной жизнью.

Country : Kazakhstan

Hello everyone! I have been doing translations for about ten years now. I was doing it as an amateur back then, but now it is my main hobby. This year I would like to draw your attention at our internal problems, and in particular at out orphanages and Baby Houses. Some time ago I participated in the process of children adoptions by American families. Now, we are still in touch with those children and I am happy to know that they have families, opportunities to obtain education and just live normal lives.

Перевод рассказа Азиза Заирова “Первая мечта”

Excerpt from the story “The first dream”

It is probably difficult to say which dream was the first, but I will try to recall…
It was a long time ago, I was eight years old. I lived in an orphanage. There were nine girls and twenty-eight boys in one division. All we had was common and similar.
We even wore similar clothes; we had similar haircuts and we were marching everywhere in straight columns. We were even forced to think similar.

The girls had a doll, huge and ugly… I was not interested in it, of course. But girls were just crazy about it.

We, boys, had a big plastic tractor. It was produced at Alma-Ata toy factory “Kyzyl-Tu”. The tractor, as I realized later, was made quite roughly; but for me, as well as for other boys from my division, there was nothing better or prettier than it in the world. 

It was ‘as big as real’ that we could hop on it and ride around like a horse.
We had a study room for self-preparation where we were doing our homework. There, in that same room, there was a corner where we could play during our free time, after we did all our homework.
We all wanted to do our homework first, so that we had time to play with that tractor, which was always patiently waiting for us in the assigned for it place.
I could never deal with those stupid lessons the first. Every time, when I was finally free, someone was already playing with the tractor. And besides, there was always a queue.
Seldom could I manage to play with the tractor, as our free time was limited. All our time was assigned according to the established schedule, which we were prohibited to infringe.
There was always a crowd near the tractor, and when someone was playing, others were always hastening that boy, grabbing the steering wheel, the seat or the wheels.
The one riding the tractor was always pushed and jolted; and every time the tractor turned out on the floor or with its wheels up, on its back. The play with the tractor was always accompanied with tears and crying, as we often fought over it, scratched each other and bit. There were tantrums. 

Only the tractor kept silence; it did not pay attention at how we all loved it. Despite the sufferings that it was causing us, we still needed it very much. Somewhere in rich houses, it would probably be neglected. But here, we even hated each other because of it.
I wanted that plastic wonder to be only mine, and that nobody except me would dare to touch it. 
It became the first dream in my life. To have my own toy. I dreamt that one day I would walk into the study room and there would be no other boys there. 
It did not matter where they would disappear — whether because of some disease, or death or they would simply dissolve into the thin air. And the tractor would be waiting only for me, and only me. There would not be all those eyes staring at it and arms stretched from everywhere. 

And I would have a lot of free time. No one would pull me down, yell and hit me. I would not need to fight with anybody. I would play and there would be only laughter, happy and careless laughter. 

But it was only a dream, and as it seemed to me, it was a utopian dream. And for now, I woke up every morning, did everything I was supposed to do, had breakfast, went to school… After school I would return, clean up, have lunch and then go to that study room with the tractor, which I did not stop thinking about every single second. 

Every day, whatever things I was engaged with, my thoughts were always about the tractor. I started failing my classes, my temper became nasty and naughty, now and then I would start a hysterical fit.

I was disgusted with my classmates, as I thought, they were the ones, who would not give me the opportunity to fulfill my dream and become a rightful and sole owner of the toy tractor.
And for now, it belonged to everyone and at the same time, to no one. How could you calmly play if you knew that the toy would be taken from you any moment soon, hearing the screams that rush you, and seeing the hands trying to hurt you. 

And you knew that there was nowhere to hide and run away, hold the sacred toy close and tight.
I was so obsessed with my dream that eventually I fell ill. I was brought to the hospital. The doctors said that I had a cardiac defect, and the aggravation of the disease occurred due to a nervous breakdown.

As it turned out, the reason was some stress. The orphanage teacher came to visit me at the hospital together with some kids from my division. They brought me some sweets, and the main thing was the tractor, which I was dreaming about and which, probably, was the reason of my disease. The teacher said that children decided that while I was in the hospital, the tractor should stay with me. You cannot even imagine how happy I was, and now all I wanted was that my teacher and the kids left faster. I wanted to stay with my tractor all by myself.
The children and the teacher, apparently, having read my thoughts, bid farewell soon. But somehow the tractor did not make me happy. I sat on the bed, tears running down my face as I burst out crying. Now I wanted to go back to the orphanage, to my friends; there was no one closer to me than them. That’s what I understood. 

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