Juan Gabriel Borges
Between two mountains
short novels
Red raspberry
The wide road passes through the center of the village and divides it into two parts. Behind the village, there are high mountains covered with wood, but below the village there are pine and fir-tree forests. In front, the village is pressed against the sandy shores of the sea. Possibly, this village is the nicest village of the world. It is situated in the frontier. Look, the frontier lines lie along the top of the mountains seen from here. In other side of these lines, there is situated one of the oldest and biggest countries of the East…
For years the frontier was closed. It was impossible for the villagers of this nice village to go to the country situated in the other side of the frontier. It wasn’t too easy as at present. Till the time when the former system was abolished, the inhabitants of this village grew harvest in the sowing areas, gathered the harvest and lived somehow thanks to the wages they got. But the villagers had another income too.
Each year starting from the middle of May till autumn, all the people of the village, including the children and adults, picked the fruits of raspberry bushes, which grew on the outskirts of the village, in the forest and in their gardens. They picked raspberries into the buckets, placed the buckets on the road, at their gates towards the city. The road was towards the north, leading to other different countries.
So, the inhabitants of the village lived in this way, brought up children.
During that period there were two big houses. One of them belonged to the chief of the collective-farm, the other house belonged to the director of the village school.
Years passed…. The borders were opened after the former system fell. It became easy to go to the country situated in other side of the frontier not only from this city, but also from the whole country. There was built a big custom -house in the village.
Then in the village there was much changing. The clothes of the villagers and some traditions also changed. Every day on the main road passing through the village, a lot of nice and colored trailers were rushing about. Those trailers were coming from the far countries and directing towards the north.
But only one thing wasn’t changed in the village. It was the tradition of to place the bucketful of raspberries at the gates of their yards, on the main road.
There was a singularity in this village. This singularity was that there grew only the bushes of red raspberry. The black raspberry grew only in the gardens of rare villagers. During that time there was much need to black raspberry. They could be sold expensive. Those who came from the city wanted to buy black raspberry. In this village, only in the garden of Unal’s parents, there grew more black raspberry bushes. Unal was born after the borders were opened.
The years passed…Unal grew up… After two days at the school where he studied there would be the ceremony of the last bell ringing. Unal would finish the secondary school.
He was sitting on the thick bough of the old mulberry tree in the yard and was eating the sweetest mulberry of the world, looking at the houses in the other side of the village. The reason which made Unal stare at the far houses, was his hope to see his lover Paknur. Every day he saw Paknur in the classroom, but he wasn’t tired of seeing Paknur.
Unal had opened his heart to his lover just when they were in the eighth form. Paknur neither said to him “ no” or “ yes”. She stood at the window, stared her green eyes at the apricot garden in the behind of the school, seen through the windows of the classroom, and said :“ I shall be an English teacher.”
Unal also took a step towards Paknur, stood near her. My God! How beautiful this girl was! His lover as if was much charming and fresher than the flowers on the mountains around the village. Now this place, the classroom, where he was admired at her beauty, was for him the most sacred and native place. Just here, in this classroom he had opened his heart to Paknur. That was why Unal answered without thinking: “ I shall also be a teacher.”
–Really? – Paknur asked him naively.
–Yes! My decision is resolute. We shall work as teachers in this school,– he said.
The booming sound of the turbo motor dispersed his thoughts. Even he would fell on the ground from the high bough of the tree. He looked round the road. In the middle of the wide road, golden “ Lamborghini “ was rushing about. Recently, he had seen a lot of nice cars rushing about in this road. But Unal had never seen such a nice car before. He remembered that it was the car of Abisalam. He looked forward, towards the four-storey villa seen highly among the houses of the village. “ Lamborghini” once more honked and then its sound couldn’t be heard. It appeared that Abisalam had reached to his home.
…There were times when at least all the children of this village lived only with wish- to go to the city, to enter any institute, to graduate from that institute, to own a profession, to work in their village.
At school only Abisalam didn’t read his lessons well. They say that the director of the school always scolded him. He advised him to read and to be a teacher or a doctor. The director told him that if he walked idly in the streets of the village he wouldn’t be able to enter any institute. But though the director of the village school made efforts, Abisalam yielded to no persuasion. He did whatever he wanted. Alongside with not reading his lessons, he behaved badly and hindered the reading of other pupils.
The director of the school had only one way-out- Abisalam was expelled from the school. Just at the same day, when he was expelled from the eighth form, Abisalam got on the train in the small station on the outskirts of the village, and left the village. Since that time nobody could see him. But afterwards it was known that he had gone to the far country in the north.
Seven years passed after his leaving the village. Some days ago Abisalam came to the village. He returned with his new golden “ Lamborghini”. This time he didn’t go to his father’s home but his private home. Because a year ago he had come to the village, giving much money he bought the yard in the neighborhood of the school director, the workers knocked down the old house in the yard. Well, he bought the yard in the neighborhood of the director who had expelled him from the school. He gave much money to the workers, they built the foundation just at the fence adjoining the house of the school director. Now the house of the director remained in the shadow of Abisalam’s big villa. They said that he asked the workers to dig the foundation too deeply, even the director’s house cracked.
Abisalam who was excelled from school just seven years ago, had everything he wished- four-storey villa, golden “ Lamborghini”, only the great God knows what he has in the country in the north. The people of the village said that most of the colored trailers coming from the different countries, and rushed about towards the north, including Afghanistan, passing through the middle of the village belonged to Abisalam. Abisalam didn’t know the language of the people living there, while going there seven days ago.
The people of the village also were aware of that the booming sound of the turbo motor of “ Lamborghini” of Abisalam returning from one of the restaurants at the seashore, at midnight woke the director of the school who was accustomed to go to bed early and get up early. Since the day Abisalam returned to the village, the director couldn’t sleep at nights. The school director was waiting impatiently the day on which Abisalam would return to the country in the north.
Then Unal was sitting on the thick bough of the mulberry tree and looking at the villa of Abisalam, thinking how nice villa it was. Abisalam’ s “ Lamborghini” was nice too. Unal thought that Abisalam had everything. “ But…no, – “ Unal said to himself: ” Abisalam hasn’t a lover like Paknur.”
The laughter of his sisters and brothers dispersed Unal’s thoughts, parting with his dreams he again returned to his yards. His parents, sisters and brothers were picking black raspberries from the bushes in the behind of the yard. There was smiling on their faces. It wasn’t a joke. This time they were picking black raspberries with great pleasure. After selling the bucketful of raspberries his parents would buy him a nice white shirt, black trousers and shining shoes, for him to put on the next day in the ceremony of the last bell ringing. Unal wondered what his lover Unal would tell seeing him in the new clothes.
His father took two buckets of black raspberries, went out of the gate, put the buckets at the gate in one side of the road. Unal’s mother said to him: “ Why not to take the buckets of raspberries to the bazaar situated at the end of the village, we can sell the blackberry much expensive there.”
Recently, some of their fellow-villagers took buckets of black raspberries to the end of the village, sold in the place which looked like a small bazaar. They didn’t put the buckets at their gates and waited for hours to sell.
But each time when Unal’s mother wanted to go there for to sell raspberries, father worried, he was against to go there and sell raspberry there. He used to say that they could sell at the gate too.
But this time Unal’s mother insisted on going to the small bazaar situated at the end of the village. Because he was afraid that might be they couldn’t sell the raspberries, and wouldn’t buy new clothes for Unal. Mother said: “ If we can’t sell raspberries we can’t buy new dresses. I can’t send my son to the ceremony of the last bell ringing dressed shabby clothes. Soon, Unal is going to enter the institute. Why don’t you want the raspberries to be sold? I wonder are all the people gathering there, mad? “
But Unal’s father again didn’t want to go there. – “ Yes, those who gather in the place like a small bazaar, are as if like mad. They don’t know what they are doing. They want to get money but forgot about everything. The day will come on which for they or their children will have to answer for it. All the money gained there is forbidden.”
Unal’s father’s words arouse mother’s interest. She continued in her insisting.
–Well, let’s go there, I want you to see everything with your eyes.” –his father was obliged to go, took the buckets and began to go in the direction of the end of the village. Unal’s mother was following her husband.
Their fellow-villagers were standing along the road placing the buckets at them. Mother saw that except their buckets, in the buckets of none of them were black raspberries. It appeared that all of them were selling red raspberries. The woman calmed for a while. She hoped that soon they would sell the buckets of black raspberries.
“Mercedes” coming from the city stopped just at them. The man wearing black glasses got off the car, looked at the buckets at Unal’s parents, then he approached to their neighbors whose buckets were full of red raspberries. “ How much is gram of it?” –saying thus he said: “ Put this bucket to my car.” Then he again got on his car.
Unal’s mother couldn’t realize anything, looked at the “ Mercedes” . She said to herself: ” I wonder do they sell raspberries in grams?”
The neighbor came up the window of the car, stretched out something folded to the man wearing black glasses. The man snatched the folded thing, hid under the seat of the car. He took out hundred dollar from his pocket, gave the neighbor. Then he drove the car, stopped at the buckets of Unal’s parents. Unal’s mother began to praise the blackberry: “ Take these ones, you can’t find like this anywhere.” Unal’s father waved his head hearing her words. “ Let him go. He isn’t in need of black raspberries.” The man wearing black glasses drove his car, withdrew.
The neighbor whose buckets of raspberries were still at him, as if struck dumb. He put the buckets on the earth, stood silently. But his eyes were smiling.
That day a lot of new and nice cars stood at the villagers stood near the road, and then they withdrew in a moment.
It was towards evening. The buckets full of black raspberries were
still at Unal’s parents. Firstly, mother looked seriously at his husband, then she said to her well-off fellow-villagers: “ I think all go mad. Nobody wants to buy black raspberries. I wonder why do all the cars stop at those who sell red raspberries? What does it mean?”
All of a sudden as if Unal’s mother struck dumb, she began to shout:
“ Dishonest! Ignoble! Shameless! Indecent! Just now I understand that all of you sell narcotics. Let the heavens punish you!”
The fellow-villagers looked at Unal’s father’s face and asked him: “ How long are you going to stay here? Take her home away!”
Unal’s father turned to his wife said quietly: “ But I had told you, we didn’t have to come here “. Then he said to his fellow-villagers: “ The day after tomorrow there will be my son’s ceremony of the last bell ringing. We must buy new dresses for him. Or I would never come here.”
–
What can I do? You don’t want to sell red raspberries, – the neighbor who sold red raspberries smiled cunningly.
Unal’s mother didn’t know what to do because of anger. She couldn’t calm herself. ” See, who live in my nice village? Shameless! Rascals! Dishonest!”
Policeman’s car was seen from far….
The neighbor who sold red raspberries, was confused, turned back: “ Unal is a good boy. He must put on new dresses at the ceremony of the last bell ringing.” – saying thus he took out money from his pocket. He reached out the money to Unal’s father, said to the boy standing near him: “ Take these buckets my home, we may cook jam.”
–Don’t stand here. Go home, – he said to Unal’s parents.
Unal’s father took the empty buckets, began to go towards home. Mother was following him muttering to herself….
***
Today is the day of last bell ringing ceremony. Unal put on his snow-white shirt, black trousers, shining shoes bought by his parents a day before, and directed towards the school in the side of the wide road. The other pupils also went out from the yards of home built at the roads, took steps in the direction of the school.
When Unal entered the school yard, firstly, with his eyes he looked for her lover Paknur. There was smile on the faces of all the pupils gathered in the school-yard. Soon the ceremony of the last bell ringing would begin. Paknur was standing in the front rows on the stairs leading to the school. She was shining as the
best chandelier sold in the south bazaar.
Unal was standing in the behind rows and looking at his lover. He would have a talk with Paknur after the last bell ringing. He would open her his heart, would tell him how deeply he loved her. He would tell her that he would also choose the group of foreign languages at the test examinations. He would tell her that he didn’t want to be a teacher any more, he wanted to live in a foreign country together with her. He would tell her that he also wanted to have a villa and a car like “ Lamborghini” for to travel together with her.”
The official part of the ceremony of the last bell ringing began. The teachers and excellent pupils spoke. The director summed up the ceremony, and declared that the last bell would be rung soon. The bell ringing couldn’t be heard because of the booming sound of the turbo motor of the car coming towards the school. All who were in the school yard turned back and looked at the gates of the school. Unal also was watching the car. One side of the car of Abisalam could be seen there. One door of the car was opened and then was shut. Nobody could see who opened and shut the door. Unal watched the gates for a while. Then the stern voice of the school director made all the pupils to turn in the direction of the school.
While turning back Unal couldn’t see his lover Paknur in the place where she stood. He looked around the school for some time, he looked for his lover Paknur. Anxiously he passed through the pupils and went towards the stairs leading to the school. Paknur wasn’t there. He approached to Paknur’s friend Shahrizad who was there.
–Didn’t you see Paknur?
– My God! Don’t you know? I thought that you knew…
– What? What did I have to know?
–Yesterday Abisalam’s parents arranged an engagement to Paknur. They wanted for the ceremony of the last bell ringing finish. Just a moment ago Abisalam took Paknur, went to the north. They say that their wedding will be there, in the north after some days.
Unal struck dumb. He was astonished. He couldn’t hear what she told then, he ran towards the exit door of the school. The wide road at the school gate was empty. There was seen nothing except the big trailers passing through the customs house. Unal was staring at the north, couldn’t realize why Paknur did thus. At that moment a big trailer passed at him whistling.
The sound of the whistling dispersed his thoughts, he looked at the trailer. On the trailer there was the picture of a dark red raspberry ….
Between two mountains
Captain Masud Ibrahimzade looked at the painted reproduction of Taj- Mahal palace which was hung on the wall of his working room. He was again dreaming about those far years…
The bank of the river Jamna. The pearl of India, a miracle, the length of which is seventy four meters, Taj- Mahal palace. Four small and one huge dome built of white marble seem much whiter against the background of the blue sky. Millions of people from different parts of the world visit India to witness this miracle with their own eyes.
The guide girl with smile on her face was narrating the story of Taj- Mahal to tourists gathered at the palace.
…This palace touches the hearts not only like an architectural memorial but also with a love story behind it resembling the tales of one thousand and one night.
Jahan Shah who lived in the XVII century married to the most beautiful nineteen year old girl Mumtaz Mahal.
Like each Eastern ruler who respected himself, Jahan Shah also had his own harem. But he fell in love with Mumtaz Mahal and he didn’t want to see any woman except her. The French philosopher and traveler Fransua Berne who lived in India for about twelve years wrote in his diary that Mumtaz Mahal was like the heart of Jahan Shah, the Shah trusted only her.
Mumtaz Mahal was always side by side with her husband during military marching and journeys to distant countries.
They lived together seventeen years, they lived a happy life. From that happy marriage they had eight sons and six daughters. The most beautiful girl of the world Mumtaz Mahal suddenly died near Burhanpur after giving a birth to the fourteenth child.
Jahan Shah was distraught with grief, the life lost its meaning for him. Shah was down in the dumps, his hair became gray. He declared two year mourning in the country.
Six months passed after Mumtaz’s death. The Shah decided to perpetuate her memory and with this purpose he brought his lovely wife’s grave from Burhanpur to Agra. In India, during the rulership of the Great Moghuls, Agra like Delhi was considered the capital of the empire.
Taj- Mahal palace was built within twenty two years. Two thousand people were involved in construction of the palace, marble used for building of the palace was brought from three kilometer’s distance, from Rajputan quarry. An architect from Shiraz, Isa Khan justified the hopes of grieving Jahan Shah – the white minarets of Taj- Mahal palace shone glittering like gold under the beams of the hot south sun. The interior of the palace was decorated with the graceful eastern ornaments, with the nabati designs. The irreplaceable attributes of the Moslem architecture – the ayahs of Holy Koran, were engraved on the walls of the palace
On the opposite bank of the river Jamna Jahan Shah decided to build another palace which would be the twin of the Taj- Mahal tomb, it was intended to be personally for the Shah. The new tomb that wouldn’t differ from Taj- Mahal tomb would have only one difference. It would be built from black marble.
But the Shah’s wish remained only a wish; in 1658 his son dethroned him. By the order of the dishonorable son the Shah was thrown to dungeon, where he spent the rest of his life. From the small window of the dungeon Taj -Mahal could be seen…
After eight years, in 1666 Jahan Shah died. They buried him near Mumtaz Mahal with whom he had lived for seventeen years…
***
The telephone in his office rang. The chief of the Criminal Investigation Department was speaking from another end of the receiver:
–Hi, Buddha, where are you?’– said the imperious voice of the chief.
–I am not Buddha.
–But who are you?
–“I am a mountain between two worlds.”
–Maybe again you dream over India? Where on earth have you been?
He was upset with rough treatment of the chief, but suddenly he remembered that soon he was going to retire. There was no use of arguing in vain.
–My chief, I am in my office. You dialed the phone number of my office.
–Hurry! Come over here! Don’t argue with me!
The office of the chief was in the distance of five or six steps’ from his room.
The young investigator of the procurator’s office and another employee – Safarov, were in the office besides the chief himself. He moved forward and stood just next to Safarov. The tone of the voice of the chief became louder:
–Together with the mister investigator you will head to search the house of the woman named Khadija. Help the investigator. But keep an eye on Khadija so she doesn’t do any tricks. She is one of a kind swindler.
He had heard much about Khadija. She was one of the most famous crooks of the city. Each time while he thought about Khadija he was struck dumb. If he, the captain for years, wanted to borrow a hundred manat, everyone around would find excuses not to lend him any. Maybe that was why during his life he never borrowed money and because of not having money he never lent money to anybody. However, people trusted that swindler woman and lent her hundred thousands of monies. Someone lent her money to buy a house, the others for a better job, and others lent to start business. But only after some time they understood that Khadija deceived them.
Khadija’s hands were never handcuffed. At any case, she was a woman. Her one-storey house was in the far yard of the crossing of the streets of Ingilab and Khan Shushinski. The investigator of the procurator office was twenty two or twenty three years old young man. He put his leather suitcase on the table in the kitchen, and took some paper and a pen. The policeman responsible for this part of the city had called two neighbors to be witnesses.
After the investigator explained the witnesses their rights and duties he offered Khadija to surrender money and golden adornment which could be important for investigation. The search of the house commenced after Khadija said that none of the things the investigator named were there.
The young investigator was busy with drawing up a report, so the investigation was carried out by Ibrahimzade and Safarov. Safarov started investigation together with the witnesses in the sitting room. Masud went to the bed room.
After long searches in the bed room he looked behind the wardrobe. As if his sixth sense was telling him that there was something just behind that wardrobe. He pulled the wardrobe that was at a five or six fingers’ distance from a wall. He squeezed behind the wardrobe and again pushed it forward. Suddenly he noticed a wide four cornered hole on the wall. There was a white pillow. He took the pillow and saw there bank-notes.
The moment he had taken the pillow filled with dollars intending to inform the investigator about it, Khadija entered the room. Seeing the white pillow in Masud’s hands she turned white in face as the color of the pillow:
-When you entered the room I felt that only you would find money. There are five hundred thousand dollars inside of the pillow in your hand. Try to get the money out of the house. Don’t let the investigator to include the money in his report. It is all that I have. If you give even only a hundred thousand of that money to me I shall keep it in secret until my death. See, there is a window; it looks to the back of the house. If you throw the pillow full of money through this window it will fall and get stuck between the house and fence, nobody will know it. Then you may return in the evening and take it. Here you are, these are the keys of the house and gate. Till the end of your life you won’t see as much money as this. You will never be able to earn so much.
Masud looked sourly at Khadija:
–But all this money is the money of the people you had deceived. How can I use it?
–Be clever. The chances like this are rare. –Khadija smoothed her hair finically.
Masud called Safarov in order to put an end to this talk. As soon as Safarov entered the room he saw the money in Masud’s hand and looked at Khadija.
Khadija:– Your friend is stupid. This is the money that I had told you about while you were taking me to isolated cell. See, what he did. I wonder why haven’t you told him anything. – She looked at Safarov reproachingly.
–
Well, would I need him? I told this to chief and he was supposed to let us both of us to carry out the investigation.
Then Safarov muttered something which only he could hear in sotto voice:
–
How could we know ahead, we considered him a dork. We didn’t think that he would find the money so quickly.
Khadija stared furiously at Safarov. Safarov looked hesitantly at Masud. But he could feel what Safarov wanted to say and that was why he waved his head.
Safarov:
–The chief won’t let you get off the hook.
Masud was silent.
–
Why wouldn’t you agree? Hurry, we don’t have much time. The investigator may enter the room at any moment. The witnesses are also in the next room. Hurry up and come to a conclusion.
Masud moved towards the door. Safarov approached the window and said angrily: – Khadija, he is crazy, there is no use.
Khadija tilted forward her large breasts to Masud and said: – Well, take all the money yourself, don’t give me anything. But I feel sorry for the money. Don’t submit the money.
He moved fowards making Khadija to back up and headed towards the kitchen where the investigator was writing a report. But from behind he could clearly hear Khadija and Safarov to say simultaneously:
– Stupid…
***
Masud was happy. Jokes apart, but he succeeded to return their honestly earned monies to a number of honest people.
When captain Ibrahimzade was in high spirits he used to tell some hemistiches of Pobindrant Togor in Russian language. However him being in high spirits was a rare case.
One – is always one, and nothing but the one
But it takes two to create the beginning of the one
That day, towards evening he didn’t know where to go after work. Since he divorced his wife and longed to see his daughter, life lost its meaning. The tables of the tea-house near theatre “Nizami” were outside. Two men were drinking tea sitting under the tree seemed to come from a different reality. It seemed that he was not living in the same city with those guys indolently drinking their teas under the shade and playing backgammon.
He couldn’t find an empty place. He entered a nearly located used books shop. For a long time he didn’t visit bookshops. He had forgotten which book he had read recently. The atmosphere of the bookshops attracted him when he studied in Moscow. What luck that he entered the bookshop, he felt good, he felt young and hale like he was in student years. In fact, he still was “a student”. He always had some small change in his pocket, and always daydreamed. People like him are often called “eternal students.”
The salesman was looking at him attentively, as if he was watching him. He wondered which books he will encounter. Then his glance fell on a poetry book. – Oh, my God! This is an Indian poet – Ashok Vajpeyi. A photo of a young man wearing glasses was pictured at the cover of a pocketbook. Under the photo it was written:
“Ashok Vajpeyi was born in 1941. He is the head of the Academy of “Lalit Kala”, that is to say the Head of Academy of Fine Arts. He was awarded the name of the commander of the French art and literature. Ashok Vajpeyi is one of the talented representatives of the trend of “new poetry”. His poems have been translated into some Asian and European languages”.
He began again to dream about India. Taj-Mahal palace …And his first love.
His heart gave a leap. He looked outside through the window and saw an empty place in the tea-house. He bought Ashok Vajpeyi’s book of poems and rushed out of the shop.
–
Come again! – The salesman said.
He opened a book on the random page and read the first poem he came across:
My words
Touched you
Like a light wind,
Like sun beams,
Without being felt.
The buds of the words
Faded before blossoming
Fine smelling of the faded words
Disappeared all of a sudden
On the branches of tree named you.
What a happy man was Ashok Vajpeyi. What a beautiful poem was he able to write, able to express his feelings… He never wrote even one hemistich during all his life. In fact, he never thought about writing a poem. But now, while sitting under a tree behind theatre “Nizami” and drinking tea, dreaming about India he regretted that he wasn’t able to write. He felt sorry for himself.
–I feel sorry for you, Masud Ibrahimzade…
***
He woke up to someone’s angrily slam closing the door. He jumped out of his bed and looked at the pendulum clock on the wall; it was a quarter to eleven. In a hurry he stretched out his hand to his clothes thrown on the chair. Hastily he wore his trousers; his heart was beating fast because of anxiety and waking up suddenly. His blood pressure has definitely risen. If only he wasn’t late for work…
Suddenly he noticed the honorary order on the bookshelf. He chewed his lips for a moment with sorrow, and then relaxed. Only now, while seeing the honorary order he remembered that since yesterday he is retired. The honorary order which he had put behind the glass on the bookshelf had been signed by the head of the Criminal Investigation Department. On behalf of the Ministry he was thanked for his thirty year activity. He sat on the bed, and threw the shirt he was going to wear on the sofa. But it appeared that his retiring wasn’t to Jannah’s content. While leaving she slammed the door so that he understood how angry she was.