This happened to me almost forty years ago. Then we lived in the state farm (like our state farms) "Erentsav" in Mongolia, about 15 kilometers from the border with the Soviet Union. We studied on the territory of the USSR, in the village of Solovievsk, at an eight-year school.
In 1974 there were many of us, the children of Soviet builders and specialists. Twice a day the PAZ bus crossed the border, taking us to and from school. I recall with pleasure these noisy and funny trips.
As time went on, the builders gradually left. There are ten chief specialists left in the state farm of families. Since the number of school-age children has sharply decreased, it was decided to purchase a new minibus "RAF Latvia". The driver was a young Mongol named Gambat. He had a younger brother of six. I remember well this boy - calm and laconic. My story is connected with him.
Our driver's travel schedule was quite simple: in the morning everyone is taken to school, and in the evening they are taken back. Since I studied in the first shift, after school, while waiting for the bus, I went either to my fellow classmates in the village where the school was located, or to a friend at the border outpost, where his father was the chief.
Often a bus would pick me up straight from there on the way back. In general, I was friends with many rural children. Some of them were older than me. They liked my curiosity and fantasy.
On the day this whole story happened, I stayed after school at school. I studied the map of the world that hung in the school hallway for a long time, preparing for future puzzle games on the knowledge of geography. In this area, I've always been the clear favorite. Time passed imperceptibly, the school was empty. Evening came, but no one came to pick us up. Already my older comrades, who studied in the second shift, began to say goodbye to me and leave.
- Why aren't they taking you? - Asked before leaving Gena, the strongest and most authoritative guy in the school.
As already mentioned, I was known at school as a dreamer. And then, as they say. Ostap suffered. Encouraged by the attention of my elders, I began to compose all sorts of fables.
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- Our driver Gambat's little brother died! - I suddenly declared.
Gradually, the high school students went home. The bus did not come for us that day, in the end the head teacher took us to her place. After spending the night at her house, we went to lessons in the morning as if nothing had happened. In the evening, uncle Vasya, the father of one of the students, picked us up by car. He told about the reason for the absence of our driver.
Our village was surrounded by a small fence made of pipes. This was done to prevent the cattle from entering the territory. Turnstiles in the form of an X-shaped frame from a corner served as a gate. The brother of our driver, Gambata, played, riding on the turnstile, like on a carousel.
At some point, the gate collapsed right on his head. The blow hit the temple area. The elder brother, distraught with grief, drove the RAF at high speed to the Soviet hospital in the town of Borzya. The miracle did not happen - he simply did not have time to take the boy.
Hearing all this, I went into hysterics. I was shaking all over as in a fever. I cursed myself for my tongue, it seemed to me that it was I who brought trouble to the boy. The next day it turned out that the tragedy had taken place in the morning, but I told about it in the evening, when brother Gambata was already dead.
Years passed. I've been an adult for a long time. But I sometimes wonder, what made me say on that fateful day about the death of the boy?
Bauyrzhan Zarkynbekovich ZHAKUPKALIEV, s. Uzynagash Almaty region, Kazakhstan