Many years ago we lived in the suburbs of Tashkent. Not far from our house there was a deep, but not very wide irrigation ditch. In the exhausting heat, naked, tanned children splashed in him. And some, like me, sat near small pools with homemade fishing rods and caught minnows.
By the fall, the ditch was shallow and dry, and then at the bottom of it appeared any debris - torn tires, bicycle frames, buckets with holes … And where there was still water, sometimes small fish were found.
I was six years old at that time, and I had already read books myself. And once I read that many rivers flow into the sea. I decided that our irrigation ditch, which I for the time being considered a river, also reaches the sea. And I thought that I would have to go with the flow to reach the sea. One fall I finally made up my mind. He took a couple of pies with potatoes from the table, and in the pantry - his invariable fishing rod, a tin box with pre-dug up worms and imperceptibly slipped behind the gate.
- Wow, and there are probably huge fish in the sea! Not like our minnows, I thought.
Of course, I could go on a trip along the coast, but I was afraid that my family would see me and return me home. Therefore, I went down, holding on to the bushes, to the bottom of an almost dry irrigation ditch, and boldly set off. I remember how I avoided slippery stones, pits with remaining water, thorny rose hips sliding down from above.
When the pies were eaten, and my legs began to braid with fatigue, I decided to rest. He sat down on a dry limestone boulder and immediately dozed off. And when I opened my eyes, I saw that the sun was drifting over the horizon.
I jumped up. While it was still light, it was necessary to get to the sea, which, as I thought, was already somewhere nearby. I walked a little more, and then a dilapidated, crumbling bridge appeared in front of me.
And under him stood an old dwarf man. He was, like all the old men, in a skullcap, a dressing gown with a yellow melon strip, tightly belted with a white kerchief, and leather boots. A pichak, a knife in a sheath, sewn with beads and decorated with colored stones, protruded from the bootleg.
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Perhaps, under other circumstances, I would even be frightened by this strange dwarf, it is not clear what he is doing under the bridge. But here, for some reason, on the contrary, he was delighted and greeted, as is customary in such cases, in Uzbek:
- Salam aleikum, bobo!
That is: "Hello, grandfather."
- Wa aleikum asalam! he replied.
Then I grew bolder and asked in Russian:
- Is it still far from the sea, grandfather?
The dwarf looked me over and shook his head sadly.
- Why do you need the sea, boy? There is no sea. Go home boy! Mom, dad will cry.
While I was comprehending his words, the dwarf disappeared somewhere, as if vanished into thin air. For a long time, as if hypnotized, I stood still, wondering if I had seen him.
On reflection, I nevertheless heeded the advice of a strange stranger. With difficulty he climbed to the high loamy shore. Harvested fields stretched all around. In the distance an old wagon could be seen, next to it - a cart with a donkey, some people were kindling a fire. For some reason, I suddenly felt scared, and, forgetting about the sea, large fish, dwarf, ran towards the house.
By this time, mother and father had already knocked off their feet in search of the disappeared child. They even wanted to report it to the police. At home, naturally, the first number hit me. But when he saw a fishing rod in my hands, my father changed his anger to mercy.
- What, did not bite at all? -he asked.
“No,” I sighed, averting my eyes.
The next day, our neighbor Aunt Zebo's son Latip, my age and friend, disappeared. He left to graze a lamb on the bank of the ditch and did not return.
The lamb was soon found, but Latip was not. The parents and the police searched for the boy for several days, but they never found him. Why didn't you change your mind! Aunt Zebo even turned gray. Only a month later, the police still managed to find Latip. And then in another city - Kokand. Latipa, it turns out, was stolen by people, as they call the gypsies in those places.
The next summer, the boys and I went on an inflatable balloon trip along the irrigation ditch. They also took Latipa with them. We sailed for a long time. Houses, gardens, orchards were left behind. Cotton and corn fields stretched out. A familiar wagon appeared in the distance. True, neither the cart with the donkey, nor the people around the fire were already gone. Soon a destroyed bridge appeared. I recognized him immediately.
“Latip,” I exclaimed. - I saw this bridge last year!
- Me too, - Latip dropped in a fallen voice. - Over there at that wagon, people treated me to sweets. They said, let the lamb graze for now, and you will be our guest. They gave me some tea and I fell asleep. And then, you know what happened …
I didn’t tell Latip about how I met the dwarf here. All the same, my friend would not have believed. And then I was suddenly struck by the thought that last year I could well be in Latipa's place. Was it some kind spirit in the guise of a dwarf that told me to go home? Or was it some mythical inhabitant of these places?
Then, as a teenager, I often came to the bridge on a brand new bicycle, all hoping to make sure whether the dwarf really exists. But I never met him. But I caught a big fish after a few years. True, not at sea, but in the Syrdarya.
Nikolay KRASILNIKOV