Aziz-bay’s Blankets
by Leonid Solovyov (1906-1962)
1
The teahouse was filled with smoke. The farmers were seated tightly around the sandalwood tree. The teapots were cooling, unopened. No time for tea here!
Urum-bay, a resident of the neighbouring village of Pet-Koran, sat in the middle and spoke in a half-whisper:
“Soon, probably tomorrow, people will arrive from the city, and they’ll write. Someone in the city told me that this is done to find out how many extra blankets everyone has. Then these blankets will be taken away and taken to the city...”
The farmers sighed heavily... Something bad is going to happen. The teahouse owner, the plump Aziz-bay, mentally calculated how many blankets he had. He had more than ten. They’ll surely take half of them. I should hide them...” “Are they coming tomorrow?” — he asked Urum-bay.
“Probably so,” answered Urum-bay.
The village didn’t sleep that night. Everyone hid their blankets, burying them in adobe, in the firewood. And Aziz-bay, the teahouse owner, thought sadly:
“They’re hiding. They can hide. They’ll believe them when they say they don’t have blankets. But who’ll believe a teahouse owner when he says he doesn’t have blankets? They’ll dig up the entire yard and, of course, find them. They need to hide them further. But where?!”
Late at night, when the village had fallen silent, when everyone was already asleep, shivering from the cold, covered not with blankets but only with robes, Aziz-bay harnessed his cart, piled all his blankets on it, and furtively carried them somewhere along the road into the steppe. He rode for a long time. Finally, he reached a lake. A huge pile of cut reeds towered on the shore. Aziz-bay looked around: it was quiet. And he began to scatter the reeds. Then he piled his blankets in the middle, covered everything with reeds, and rode away, praising himself for his cleverness...
2
And the next day, the registrars arrived. They entered the tent of Muhammad, who lived on the edge.
Muhammad greeted them unwelcomingly.
“Why do you need to know how old I am and who I am?” he asked.
“You fool! A census. It’s necessary,” the registrar replied.
“I won’t tell.”
“Why?”
“Because you came for blankets...”
“What blankets?”
“You know which ones. We know too. We won’t say anything.”
The same thing happened in the next tent.
Then the registrars called a meeting. Everyone came. One of the census takers, perched on a stump, began to speak:
“Where did you get that idea about blankets? We don’t need your blankets. We have our own. We need to know how many of you live in the village. And this is so there’s no shortage of kerosene and a surplus in the textile industry. You don’t have kerosene in your village. Why? Because they don’t know how many of you there are, or how much kerosene you’ll burn. They’re just bringing it at random. Is that right?”
“Togry” (“correct”), the farmers responded.
“And when they know how many people live in Uzbekistan, they’ll be able to calculate how much sugar, bread, and kerosene these people need... Togry?”
“Togry!”
“We don’t need blankets. We won’t even ask you about them...”
And the census in Kurganchi went smoothly and quickly.
3
As soon as the census takers left, the farmers began pulling out their blankets. And the farmers were ashamed that they had believed Urum-bay’s tale.
Aziz set off for the steppe. He was deeply annoyed that he had twice urged his horse on and worked in vain, burying the blankets in the reeds. And now he would have to dig them out again... The devil brought this Urum-bay with his lies... Aha! There was the familiar willow. Around the bend there should be reeds and a haystack where the blankets lay.
Aziz rounded the bend, passed the reeds, and nearly fell off the cart from surprise, fear, and anger. The haystack was gone. Aziz-bay stood there, his mouth agape. He felt his feet grow cold, and his back immediately began to sweat. He rubbed his eyes. The haystack was gone. For a second, the thought flashed through Aziz-bay’s mind that he’d taken the wrong route. But no. There were three poplars, there was the bush he’d tied his horse to when he’d hidden the blankets, and the haystack was gone!
Aziz-bay climbed down from the cart and walked toward the spot where he’d calculated the haystack was. His legs were shaking and buckling. He approached and clearly saw footprints and the tracks of the cart’s wheels in the damp earth. So someone had come for reeds during the day and taken Aziz-bay’s blankets along with them...
It felt as if someone had struck Aziz-bay on the back of the head with a club. Mechanically, his eyes wild, he climbed onto the cart and rode back to the village.
When he arrived, the teahouse was full of people. And when Aziz-bay told them about the loss of his blankets, the peasants didn’t believe him at first, but then they realized it was true. Some, smacking their lips sympathetically, turned away to hide the laughter that was stifling them, while the more amused ones hurried out and laughed around the corner until their stomachs hurt.
That evening, the teahouse was smoky again. Aziz-bay’s son was serving tea. Aziz-bay himself sat in the corner, his eyes just as wild.
And then suddenly Urum-bay entered the teahouse. He was dressed for traveling, with a whip slung over his belt.
“Did you have a census?” he asked cheerfully.
Aziz-bay stood up. He stood for a moment. Then he approached Urum-bay.
“We had one. And you?”
“We had one too.”
“Did you have a census of the blankets?”
“What blankets?” Urum-bay laughed. “They lied to me in town.”
“Oh, they lied,” Aziz-bay said ominously quietly. “They lied!” he said louder.
“They lied!” he squealed and suddenly grabbed Urum-bay by the beard. “They lied!” “Where are my blankets?!” “They lied to you! They lied! They lied!” Aziz-bay tugged at the stunned Urum-bay by the beard, and then, with all his might, he grabbed Urum-bay by the ear and knocked him to the floor. A scuffle ensued. When the peasants pulled the fighting men apart, and the peasants pushed Urum-bay out the door and told him to go home.
Aziz-bay’s blankets were found the very next day. Mamed-Ali had taken them from Kalyamysh. He was indescribably surprised to find ten blankets in a haystack. Hearing about Aziz-bay’s incident, he brought the blankets to Kurganchi and gave them to Aziz-bay. But now Aziz-bay is constantly being teased. And they won’t stop teasing him anytime soon: the village remembers such incidents for a long time.
Kiit. Kurganchi, Fergana Region.
