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I

Following a short, light, like a child’s breath, daytime warming on the mountain slopes facing the sun, the weather soon subtly changed: it was windy from the glaciers, and the sharp early twilight was already creeping through the gorges everywhere, bringing with it the cold bluishness of the upcoming snowy night.

There was a lot of snow around. All along the Issyk-Kul ridge, the mountains were littered with a snowstorm that swept through these places a couple of days ago, like a fire that suddenly broke out at the whim of a willful element. It’s terrible what happened here: in the blizzard darkness the mountains disappeared, the sky disappeared, the entire previous visible world disappeared. Then everything calmed down and the weather cleared. Since then, with the pacification of the snow storm, the mountains, bound by great drifts, stood in a numb and frozen silence, removed from everything in the world.

And only the increasingly insistent and ever-growing roar of a large-capacity helicopter, making its way at that early evening hour along the Uzun-Chat canyon to the icy Ala-Mongyu pass, smoked in the windy heights with twisted clouds, grew and grew closer, getting stronger every minute, and finally triumphed - completely took over the space and floated with an overwhelming, thunderous roar over ridges, peaks, and high-altitude ice inaccessible to anything except sound and light. Multiplied by multiple echoes among the rocks and valleys, the roar overhead was approaching with such inevitable and menacing force that it seemed that just a little more and something terrible would happen, as then with an earthquake...

At some critical moment, this is what happened: from a steep rocky slope exposed by the winds, which happened to be along the flight path, a small scree started moving, trembling from a sonic boom, and immediately stopped, like enchanted blood. This push to the unstable ground, however, was enough for several weighty stones to fall from the steepness and roll down, scattering more and more, spinning, kicking up dust and rubble, and at the very foot they crashed like cannonballs through the bushes of redwood and barberry, They broke through the snowdrifts and reached the wolf's lair, built here gray under the overhang of a rock, in a crevice hidden behind the thickets near a small, half-frozen warm stream.

Akbar's she-wolf recoiled from the stones and falling snow that rolled down from above and, backing into the darkness of the crevice, cowered like a spring, raising her scruff and looking ahead with phosphorescent eyes wildly burning in the semi-darkness, ready at any moment to fight. But her fears were in vain. It’s scary in the open steppe, when there is nowhere to escape from a pursuing helicopter, when it, overtaking, relentlessly pursues on its heels, deafening with the whistling of its propellers and striking with machine-gun fire, when in the whole world there is no escape from a helicopter, when there is no such gap where one could bury a poor wolf's head - after all, the earth will not part to give shelter to the persecuted.

In the mountains it’s a different matter - here you can always gallop away, you’ll always find somewhere to hide, where to wait out the threat. A helicopter is not scary here; in the mountains, a helicopter itself is scary. And yet fear is unreasonable, especially if it is already familiar and experienced. As the helicopter approached, the she-wolf whined loudly, gathered herself into a ball, pulled her head in, and yet her nerves could not stand it, she broke loose, and Akbar howled furiously, seized by a powerless, blind fear, and convulsively crawled on her belly towards the exit, clanking her teeth angrily and desperately , ready to fight, without leaving the spot, as if she hoped to put to flight the iron monster rumbling over the gorge, with the appearance of which even stones began to fall from above, as if during an earthquake.

In response to Akbara’s panicked cries, her wolf, Tashchainar, poked her way into the hole, having been mostly not in the lair since the she-wolf became heavy, but in a quiet place among the thickets. Tashchainar - the Stone Crusher, so nicknamed by the surrounding shepherds for his crushing jaws, crawled up to her bed and purred soothingly, as if covering her with his body from harm. Pressing her side against him, pressing herself ever closer, the she-wolf continued to whine, pitifully calling either to the unjust sky, or to someone unknown, or to her unfortunate fate, and for a long time she trembled all over her body, could not control herself even after that. how the helicopter disappeared behind the mighty Ala-Mongyu glacier and it became completely inaudible behind the clouds.

And in this mountain silence that reigned at once, like a collapse of cosmic silence, the she-wolf suddenly clearly heard within herself, or rather inside her womb, living tremors. This is how it happened when Akbar, still in the early stages of her hunting life, somehow strangled a large hare with a throw: in the hare, in her stomach, then the same movements of some invisible creatures hidden from view were also felt, and this is a strange circumstance surprised and interested the young curious she-wolf, raising her ears in surprise, looking incredulously at her strangled victim. And it was so wonderful and incomprehensible that she even tried to start a game with those invisible bodies, just like a cat with a half-dead mouse. And now she herself discovered the same living burden in her insides - those who, under a favorable combination of circumstances, were to be born in a week and a half to two weeks were making themselves known. But for now, the unborn cubs were inseparable from the mother’s womb, they formed part of her being, and therefore they, in the emerging, vague, uterine subconscious, experienced the same shock, the same despair as she herself. This was their first contact in absentia with the outside world, with the hostile reality awaiting them. That is why they moved in the womb, thus responding to maternal suffering. They were also scared, and that fear was passed on to them by their mother’s blood.

Listening to what was happening against her will in her revived womb, Akbara became worried. The she-wolf's heart began to beat faster, it was filled with courage, the determination to certainly protect, to protect from danger those whom she carried within herself. Now she wouldn't hesitate to fight anyone. The great natural instinct of preserving offspring began to speak in her. And then Akbara felt a hot wave of tenderness wash over her - the need to caress, warm the future sucklings, give them her milk as if they were already at hand. It was a premonition of happiness. And she closed her eyes, moaned from the bliss, from the anticipation of milk in her large, swollen red nipples, protruding in two rows along her belly, and languidly, slowly, slowly stretched her whole body, as far as the lair allowed, and, having finally calmed down, again moved closer to her gray-maned Tashchinaru. He was powerful, his skin was warm, thick and elastic. And even he, the gloomy Tashchainar, caught what she, the wolf mother, was experiencing, and with some instinct he understood what was happening in her womb, and he, too, must have been touched by it. Putting his ear up, Tashchainar raised his angular, ponderous head, and in the gloomy gaze of the cold pupils of his deep-set dark eyes some shadow flashed, some vague pleasant premonition. And he purred restrainedly, snoring and coughing, thus expressing his good disposition and readiness to unquestioningly obey the blue-eyed wolf and protect her, and began to diligently, affectionately lick Akbara’s head, especially her shining blue eyes and nose, with a wide, warm, wet tongue. Akbara loved Tashchainar’s tongue even when he flirted and fawned over her, trembling with impatience, and his tongue, heated by the rapid flow of blood, became elastic, fast and energetic, like a snake, although at first she pretended that it was for her. at least indifferent, even when, in moments of calm and prosperity after a hearty meal, her wolf’s tongue was softly moist.

In this pair of fierce ones, Akbar was the head, she was the mind, she had the right to initiate the hunt, and he was a faithful force, reliable, tireless, strictly fulfilling her will. This relationship has never been broken. Only once was there a strange, unexpected incident when her wolf disappeared before dawn and returned with the alien scent of another female - the disgusting spirit of a shameless heat, pitting and calling males dozens of miles away, which caused her uncontrollable anger and irritation, and she immediately rejected him, unexpectedly sank her fangs deep into her shoulder and, as punishment, forced her to hobble behind for many days in a row. She kept the fool at a distance and, no matter how much he howled, she never responded, did not stop, as if he, Tashchainar, was not her wolf, as if he did not exist for her, and even if he dared to approach her again in order to conquer and to please her, Akbara would have measured her strength with him seriously; it was no coincidence that she was the head and he was the legs in this new gray pair.

Now Akbara, after she had calmed down a little and warmed up under Tashchainar’s wide side, was grateful to her wolf for sharing her fear, for the fact that he had thereby restored her self-confidence, and therefore did not resist his zealous caresses, and in response she licked her lips twice, and, overcoming the confusion that still made itself felt with unexpected trembling, she concentrated within herself, and, listening to how incomprehensibly and restlessly the unborn puppies behaved, she came to terms with what was : and with the lair, and with the great winter in the mountains, and with the gradually approaching frosty night.

Thus ended that day of terrible shock for the she-wolf. Subject to the ineradicable instinct of maternal nature, she worried not so much for herself as for those who were soon expected in this lair and for whose sake she and the wolf sought out and built here, in a deep crevice under the overhang of a rock, hidden by all sorts of thickets, a heap of windbreaks and rockfalls, This is a wolf's nest, so that there is a place to give birth to offspring, so that there is a place to have a refuge on earth.

Moreover, Akbar and Tashchainar were newcomers to these parts. To the experienced eye, even in appearance they differed from their local counterparts. The first was the flaps of fur on the neck, tightly framing the shoulders like a fluffy silver-gray mantle from the dewlap to the withers; the aliens were light, characteristic of steppe wolves. And the height of akdzhals, that is, gray-manes, exceeded the usual wolves of the Issyk-Kul Highlands. And if anyone saw Akbara up close, he would be struck by her transparent blue eyes - a rare, and perhaps one-of-a-kind case. The she-wolf was nicknamed Akdala among the local shepherds, in other words, Belokholka, but soon, according to the laws of language transformation, she turned into Akbara, and then into Akbara the Great, and meanwhile no one knew that this was a sign of providence.

Just a year ago there were no traces of gray-manes here. Having appeared once, they, however, continued to keep themselves apart. At first, the aliens wandered, in order to avoid clashes with their owners, mostly through the neutral zones of the local wolf domains, interrupted as best they could, in search of prey they even ran into fields, into the lower reaches inhabited by people, but they never approached the local packs - the blue-eyed wolf had too independent a character Akbar, to join strangers and be in submission.

Time is the judge of everything. Over time, the gray-maned newcomers were able to stand up for themselves, in numerous fierce battles they seized lands on the Issyk-Kul Highlands, and now they, the newcomers, were the masters, and the local wolves did not dare to invade their borders. So, one might say, the life of the newly-minted gray-maned wolves in Issyk-Kul developed successfully, but all this was preceded by its own history, and if the animals could remember the past, then Akbara, who was distinguished by great understanding and subtlety of perception, would have to relive all that about which, perhaps, was what she sometimes remembered to the point of tears and heavy groans.

In that lost world, in the Moyunkum savanna far from here, a great hunting life took place in an endless pursuit across the endless Moyunkum expanses for endless herds of saiga. When the saigas antelopes, who have lived since time immemorial in the savannah steppes, overgrown with eternally dead saxaul, are the oldest, like time itself, of the artiodactyls, when these hump-nosed herd animals, tireless in running, with wide nostrils-tubes, passing air through the lungs with the same energy, like whales through the flow of the ocean, and therefore endowed with the ability to run without respite from sunrise to sunset - so when they began to move, pursued by the eternal and inseparable wolves, when one frightened herd carried away the neighboring one in panic, otherwise and another and a third, and when this general flight included the oncoming large and small herds, when the saigas rushed across the Moyunkums - across the hills, across the plains, across the sands, like a flood that had fallen on the earth - the earth ran back and hummed underfoot as it hums she was under a hailstorm in the summer, and the air was filled with a swirling spirit of movement, flinty dust and sparks flying from under the hooves, the smell of herd sweat, the smell of a mad competition for life and death, and the wolves, plastering as they ran, followed and nearby, trying to direct herds of saigas into their wolf ambushes, where seasoned carvers were waiting for them among saxaul, that is, animals that rushed from ambush onto the scruff of a rapidly running victim and, rolling head over heels with it, managed to bite the throat, draw blood and rush again in pursuit; but the saigas somehow often recognized where the wolf ambushes were waiting for them, and managed to rush past, and the raid from a new circle was resumed with even greater fury and speed, and all of them, driven and pursuing - one link of cruel existence - gave all their best in the run , as in the death agony, burning his blood in order to live and to survive, and unless only God himself could stop both of them, the persecuted and the persecutors, for it was about the life and death of creatures eager to live, for those wolves that do not withstood such a frantic pace, those that were not born to compete in the struggle for existence - in the running and fighting - those wolves fell off their feet and were left to die in the dust raised by the retreating pursuit like a storm, and if they remained alive, they walked away to other lands, where they hunted for robbery in harmless sheep flocks, which did not even try to flee, however, there was their own danger, the most terrible of all possible dangers - there, with the flocks, there were people, gods of the sheep and they are also sheep slaves, those who live themselves, but do not allow others to survive, especially those who do not depend on them, but are free to be free...

People, people - man-gods! People also hunted saigas of the Moyunkum savannah. Previously, they appeared on horses, dressed in skins, armed with arrows, then they appeared with banging guns, whooping, galloping back and forth, and the saigas rushed in a crowd in one direction, in the other - go and find them in the saxaul tracts, but the time has come, and the man-gods they began to organize raids in cars, starving them to death, just like wolves, and felled saigas, shooting them on the move, and then the man-gods began to fly in helicopters and, having first seen the saiga herds in the steppe from the air, went to surround the animals in the indicated coordinates, while ground snipers rushed across the plains at speeds of up to a hundred kilometers or more so that the saigas did not have time to hide, and helicopters adjusted the target and movement from above. Cars, helicopters, rapid-fire rifles - and life in the Moyunkum savannah was turned upside down...

Akbar's blue-eyed wolf was still half-bright, and her future wolf-husband Tashchainar was a little older than her when the time came for them to get used to large driven raids. At first, they could not keep up with the pursuit, tormented the fallen antelopes, killed the half-killed ones, and over time they surpassed many experienced wolves, and especially aging ones, in strength and endurance. And if everything went as nature should, they would soon be the leaders of the packs. But everything turned out differently...

There is no change from year to year, and in the spring of that year the saiga herds had a particularly rich litter: many queens gave birth to twins, since last fall, during the rut, the dry grass had turned green twice anew after several heavy rains in warm weather. There was a lot of food - hence the birth rate. During lambing, the saigas went in early spring to the snowless large sands that are in the very depths of the Moyunkums - it is not easy for wolves to get there, and chasing saigas through the dunes is a hopeless task. There is no way to catch up with the antelopes on the sands. But the wolf packs more than got theirs in the fall and winter, when the seasonal nomadic movements of animals threw countless saigas into the semi-desert and steppe expanses. That’s when God himself ordered the wolves to get their share. And in the summer, especially in the great heat, the wolves preferred not to touch the saigas, fortunately there was enough other, more accessible prey: marmots scurried about in large numbers throughout the steppe, making up for lost time in winter hibernation; they had to do everything that other animals managed to do during the summer. animals per year of life. So the marmot tribe fussed around, despising danger. Why not fishery - since everything has its time, and in winter you can’t get marmots - they don’t exist. And various other animals and birds, especially partridges, were fed to the wolves in the summer months, but the main prey - the great hunt for saigas - took place in the autumn and lasted from autumn until the very end of winter. Again, everything has its time. And this had its own, naturally given expediency of life in the savannah. Only natural disasters and people could disrupt this original course of things in Moyunkum...

II

By dawn, the air over the savannah had cooled down somewhat, and only then did it feel better - living creatures began to breathe more freely, and the hour of the most gratifying time came between the emerging day, burdened with the coming heat, mercilessly baking the salt marsh steppe white-hot, and the fading stuffy, hot night. By that time, the moon had glowed over Moyunkum as an absolutely round yellow ball, illuminating the earth with a steady bluish light. And neither the end nor the beginning of this earth was visible. Everywhere dark, barely discernible distances merged with the starry sky. The silence was alive, because everything that inhabited the savannah, everything except snakes, was in a hurry to enjoy the coolness at that hour, in a hurry to live. Early birds squealed and moved in the tamarisk bushes, hedgehogs scurried busily, cicadas, which had sung incessantly all night, began to hum with renewed vigor; The awakened marmots were already leaning out of their holes and looking around, not yet starting to collect food - the crumbled saxaul seeds. The whole family flew from place to place with a large flat-headed gray owl and five flat-headed owls, grown up, feathered and already trying to fly, they flew as they had to, every now and then carefully calling to each other and not losing sight of each other. They were echoed by various creatures and various animals of the pre-dawn savannah...

And it was summer, the first summer together of the blue-eyed Akbara and Tashchainar, who had already proven themselves to be tireless beaters of saigas in raids and had already become one of the strongest couples among the Moyunkum wolves. Fortunately for them - one must assume that in the world of animals there can also be happy and unhappy ones - both of them, Akbar and Tashchainar, were endowed by nature with qualities that were especially vital for steppe predators in the semi-desert savannah: instant reaction, a sense of foresight on the hunt, a kind of “strategic” intelligence, and, of course, remarkable physical strength, speed and pressure in running. Everything indicated that this couple had a great hunting future ahead of them and their life would be full of the hardships of everyday food and the beauty of their animal destiny. In the meantime, nothing prevented them from reigning supreme in the Moyunkum steppes, since the invasion of man into these borders was still random and they had never yet come face to face with man. This will happen a little later. And another benefit, if not a privilege, they had from the creation of the world was that they, animals, like the entire animal world, could live from day to day, not knowing fear and worries about tomorrow. Purposeful nature in everything freed animals from this damned burden of existence. Although it was in this mercy that the tragedy that lay in wait for the inhabitants of Moyunkum was hidden. But none of them was allowed to suspect this. No one could imagine that the seemingly endless Moyunkum savanna, no matter how vast and how big it is, is just a small island on the Asian subcontinent, a place the size of a thumbnail, painted yellow-brown on the geographical map, to which year after year, steadily plowed virgin lands are pressing ever harder, countless domestic herds are pressing, wandering across the steppe following artesian wells in search of new feeding areas, canals and roads are being laid in the border zones due to the immediate proximity of one of the largest gas pipelines to the savannah; more and more persistently, for a long time, more and more technically armed people on wheels and motors, with radio communications, with supplies of water are invading the depths of any deserts and semi-deserts, including Moyunkum, but it is not scientists who are invading, making selfless discoveries, of which descendants should be proud, and ordinary people doing ordinary things, things that are accessible and feasible to almost anyone and everyone. And even more so, the inhabitants of the unique Moyunkum savannah were not given the opportunity to know that in the most ordinary things for humanity, the source of good and evil on earth lurks. And that everything here depends on the people themselves - what they will do with these most ordinary things for humanity: for good or bad, for creation or destruction. And completely unknown to the four-legged and other creatures of the Moyunkum savanna were the difficulties that plagued the people themselves, who were trying to understand themselves since people became thinking beings, although they never solved the eternal riddle: why evil almost always triumphs over good...

All these human affairs, logically, could not in any way concern the Moyunkum animals, for they lay outside their nature, outside their instincts and experience. And, in general, so far nothing has seriously disturbed the established way of life of this great Asian steppe, spread out on hot semi-desert plains and hillocks, overgrown only here with species of drought-resistant tamarisk, a kind of half-grass, half-tree, stone-strong, twisted, like a sea rope, sandy saxaul, hard grass and most of all reed grass, this beauty of semi-deserts, both in the light of the moon and in the light of the sun, shimmering like a golden ghostly forest, in which, as in shallow water, someone at least as tall as a dog - without raising his head, he will see everything around him and will be visible himself.

In these parts, the fate of the new wolf couple - Akbara and Tashchainar - was formed, and by that time - what is most important in the life of animals - they already had their first-born Tunguchs, three puppies from the brood, sired by Akbara that memorable spring in Moyunkum, in that memorable lair they chose in the pit under the washed-out butt of the old saxaul, near a half-dried tamarisk grove, where it was convenient to take wolf cubs for training. The wolf cubs were already holding their ears upright, each finding their own temperaments, although when playing with each other their ears again stuck out like a puppy, and they felt quite strong on their feet. And more and more often they followed their parents on small and large forays.

Recently, one of these outings with absence from the den for the whole day and night almost ended in unexpected disaster for the wolves.

That early morning, Akbara led her brood to the far outskirts of the Moyunkum savannah, where in the expanses of the steppe, especially along the deep valleys and gullies, stem herbs grew with a viscous, bewitching smell that was unlike anything else. If you wander for a long time among that tall grass, inhaling pollen, then first there comes a feeling of extraordinary ease in movements, a feeling of pleasant gliding above the ground, and then lethargy in the legs and drowsiness appear. Akbara remembered these places from childhood and visited here once a year during the flowering time of the datura grass. Hunting small steppe animals along the way, she loved to get a little drunk in the large grasses, roll around in the hot infusion of herbal spirit, feel the soaring while running and then fall asleep.

This time, she and Tashchainar were no longer alone: ​​they were followed by wolf cubs - three awkwardly long-legged puppies. The young animals had to learn as much as possible about the surrounding area during campaigns, and master the future wolf domains from an early age. The fragrant meadows, where the she-wolf led to get acquainted, were on the edge of those possessions, further stretched an alien world, people could meet there, from there, from that boundless side, they could sometimes hear the drawn-out howling of locomotive whistles, like the autumn winds, it was a world hostile to wolves. There, to this edge of the savannah, they walked, led by Akbara.

Tashchainar trotted behind Akbara, and the wolf cubs ran playfully from excess energy and all tried to jump forward, but the mother wolf did not allow them to be willful - she strictly made sure that no one dared to step on the path in front of her.

At first the places were sandy - in the thickets of saxaul and desert wormwood, the sun rose higher and higher, promising, as always, clear, hot weather. By evening, the wolf family arrived at the edge of the savannah. It arrived just in time - before dark. The grasses were tall this year—almost as high as the withers of adult wolves. Having warmed up during the day in the hot sun, the inconspicuous inflorescences on shaggy stems emitted a strong smell, especially in areas of continuous thickets this perfume was thick. Here, in a small ravine, the wolves stopped after a long journey. The restless wolf cubs did not so much rest as they ran around, sniffing and peering at everything that attracted their curiosity. Perhaps the wolf family would have stayed here all night, fortunately the animals were fed and watered - along the way they managed to grab several fat marmots and hares and destroy many different nests, and quenched their thirst in a spring at the bottom of a passing ravine - but one extraordinary incident forced them urgently leave this place and turn home, to a lair in the depths of the savannah. They left all night.

What happened was that already at sunset, when Akbara and Tashchainar, tipsy from the smell of datura grass, stretched out in the shade of the bushes, a human voice was suddenly heard nearby. Before the man was seen, the wolf cubs were playing at the top of the ravine. The little animals did not suspect and could not imagine that the creature that suddenly appeared here was a human. A certain subject, almost naked - wearing only swimming trunks and sneakers on his bare feet, with a once white, but already pretty dirty Panama hat on his head - was running through those very grasses. He ran strangely - he chose dense growths and persistently ran back and forth between the stems, as if this gave him pleasure. The wolf cubs hid at first, perplexed and afraid - they had never seen anything like this. And the man kept running and running through the grass like crazy. The wolf cubs became bolder, curiosity took over, they wanted to start a game with this strange, running like a clockwork, unprecedented, bare-skinned two-legged beast. And then the man himself noticed the wolf cubs. And what’s most surprising is that instead of being wary and wondering why the wolves were suddenly here, this eccentric went to the wolf cubs, tenderly holding out his hands.

- Look, what is this? – he said, breathing heavily and wiping sweat from his face. - No wolf cubs? Or did I imagine it because I was spinning? No, three of them, so pretty, and so big already! Oh my little animals! Where are you from and where to? What are you doing here? It took me a long time, but what are you doing here, in these steppes, among this damned grass? Well, come, come to me, don’t be afraid! Oh my stupid little animals!

The foolish wolf cubs actually succumbed to his caresses. Wagging their tails, playfully hugging the ground, they crawled towards the man, hoping to race him, but then Akbara jumped out of the ravine. The she-wolf instantly assessed the danger of the situation. Growling dully, she rushed towards the naked man, pinkly illuminated by the pre-sunset rays of the steppe sun. It didn’t cost her anything to slash his fangs across his throat or stomach. And the man, completely stunned by the sight of the furiously charging she-wolf, crouched down, clutching his head in fear. This is what saved him. Already while running, Akbara for some reason changed her intentions. She jumped over a man, naked and defenseless, who could be hit with one blow, jumped over, at the same time managing to see the features of his face and his eyes stopped in terrible fear, sensing the smell of his body, jumped over, turned around and jumped again a second time in a different direction , rushed to the wolf cubs, drove them away, painfully biting them by the cheeks and pushing them towards the ravine, and then ran into Tashchainar, who terribly raised his neck at the sight of a man, bit and turned him too, and all of them, rolling in a crowd into the ravine, disappeared in the blink of an eye ...

And only then did that naked and ridiculous guy come to his senses and start running... And he ran for a long time across the steppe, without looking back and without taking a breath...

That was the first unexpected meeting of Akbara and her family with a person... But who could know what this meeting foreshadowed...

The day was drawing to a close, emanating from the merciless heat from the setting sun, from the earth that had heated up during the day. The sun and the steppe are eternal quantities: the steppe is measured by the sun, how big it is, the space illuminated by the sun. And the sky above the steppe is measured by the height of a flying kite. At that pre-sunset hour, a whole flock of white-tailed kites was circling high above the Moyunkum savannah. They flew without a goal, selflessly and smoothly sailed, flying for the sake of flying in that always cool, hazy, cloudless height. They flew one after another in one direction in a circle, as if symbolizing the eternity and inviolability of this earth and this sky. The kites did not make any sounds, but silently watched what was happening at that moment below, under their wings. Thanks to their exceptional all-seeing vision, it was precisely thanks to their vision (hearing is in second place) that these aristocratic predators were celestial inhabitants of the savannah, descending to the sinful earth only for food and for the night.

It must have been that at that hour, from that exorbitant height, they had a clear view of a wolf, a she-wolf and three wolf cubs, located on a small hillock among scattered tamarisk bushes and golden chiya shoots. With their tongues hanging out in unison from the heat, the wolf family rested on that hillock, not at all imagining that they were the object of observation by heavenly birds. Tashchainar was reclining in his favorite position - with his paws crossed in front, his head raised, he stood out among everyone with his powerful scruff and thick, heavy build. Nearby, Akbar’s young she-wolf sat with her thick, short tail tucked under her, somewhat similar to a frozen sculpture. The she-wolf planted her straight, sinewy legs firmly in front of her. Her white breasts and sunken belly with protruding, but no longer swollen, nipples in two rows emphasized the leanness and strength of the she-wolf's thighs. And the wolf cubs, triplets, were spinning nearby. Their restlessness, pestering and playfulness did not irritate their parents at all. Both the wolf and the she-wolf looked at them with obvious connivance: let them frolic for themselves...

Aitmatov Chingiz Torekulovich is a famous Kyrgyz and Russian writer. His work was noted by many critics, and his works were recognized as truly brilliant. Many of them brought the author world fame. The novel “The Scaffold” by Chingiz Aitmatov (a summary of the book may be of interest to fans of this writer) was published in 1986.

The beginning of the work, or The Wolf Family

The story begins with a description of the reserve in which a wolf couple lives. Their names were Akbara and Tashchainar. In the summer, the she-wolf gave birth to little wolf cubs. Winter has come, the first snow has fallen, and the young family goes hunting. The wolves were unpleasantly surprised when they discovered a huge number of people in the reserve. As it turned out, the latter needed to fulfill the plan for delivering meat, and they decided to use the resources of the reserve.

How could the wolves know this? When they surrounded the saigas they were hunting, helicopters suddenly appeared. Saigas were also prey for people. A frightened herd was rushing, helicopters were circling, people racing in UAZ cars were shooting, a family of wolves was running... This is how Chingiz Aitmatov’s novel “The Scaffold” began.

The end of the hunt, or New characters

The chase is over. During it, small wolf cubs died, which were trampled by a maddened herd of saigas, and one was shot by a man. Only mother and father, Akbara and Tashchainar remained. Tired and wounded, they finally reached their lair, but people managed there as if at home. They put meat carcasses into cars, discussed hunting and had fun.

In the all-terrain vehicle in which the hunters arrived, there was a bound man, whose name was Avdiy Kalistratov. He was an employee of a Komsomol newspaper. Readers really liked his articles; they had a rather unique manner of presenting thoughts. The young man's mother died when he was still small.

The father continued to raise the boy. But after Avdiy entered the school, he also died. The novel "The Scaffold", a brief summary of which began with a description of a pack of wolves, makes us turn attention to the fate of this young newspaperman and some fragments of his life.

Newspaper employee, or where the drugs come from

After the death of his father, Avdiy was kicked out of the government apartment, and he actually remained on the street. Then he decides to go on his first business trip to Central Asia. The management (the newspaper publisher) instructed him to trace where the path of drugs began, which were rapidly spreading among young people.

During this task, Obadiah meets some young people involved in the delivery of marijuana. One of them was named Petya. He was about twenty years old, and the second, named Lenya, was generally sixteen. The guys were traveling on the same train with Avdiy. During the journey, the newspaperman learns many details of this type of business and gradually begins to comprehend the problems that lead to the emergence of this terrible vice - drug addiction.

The novel “The Scaffold” by Chingiz Aitmatov (the summary has already begun to touch on this topic) devotes itself to a number of problems that many writers try to keep silent about. During the further narration, the reader himself will understand what is being said.

Further introduction to the character

After four days of travel, the fellow travelers finally reached their destination. On the way, Avdiy learns that the operation is led by someone nicknamed Sam. Of course, the newspaperman did not see him, but he heard a lot about him. From which I concluded that the mysterious stranger was not only distrustful, but also very cruel.

Avdiy and his new acquaintances, Petya and Lenya, went to the village, where they were going to get hold of hemp. But before that, the newspaperman met a brown-eyed girl. She made the most pleasant impression on the young man. Will they meet again? Not yet known.

The novel will not dwell on such subtleties) describes in great detail the process of collecting the drug mentioned above. One has only to say that the young “merchants”, having collected bags full of grass, set off on the return journey.

Meeting a mysterious man

The way back was much more dangerous: bags full of grass had to be carried without getting caught by the police. But the travelers successfully reached Moscow, and there they had a long-awaited meeting with a stranger, whom everyone called Sam. In fact, his name is Grishan.

After talking a little with the newspaperman, he immediately realized that he had not gone for the goods for the sake of profit. And in order to single-handedly correct what thousands are struggling with. They had completely opposite views on life. Grishan wanted Avdiy to leave and not fool his suppliers with unnecessary conversations about God and the salvation of the soul. But the newspaperman became stubborn. What does Aitmatov talk about next? “The Scaffold,” the summary of which clearly adheres to the events described, continues to reveal the image of the newspaper employee.

Lost my nerves, or Avdija's stubbornness

In the evening, Grishan decided to provoke the newspaperman and allowed his guys, who supplied him with the drug, to smoke weed. Everyone took a puff with pleasure and took turns offering Avdija. He understood perfectly well that Grishan did this on purpose to annoy him, but in the end he could not restrain himself, snatched the rolled cigarette from the smoker’s hands and threw it away. And then he began to empty the dangerous contents from all the bags.

How did Chingiz Aitmatov describe the reaction of smokers? “The Scaffold” is a novel where the emotions of not only the main character, but also those whom he is trying to set on the right path are quite clearly conveyed. The young man faced all the cruelty that drug addicts were capable of. They beat him mercilessly, sparing no effort. And Grishan watched this scene without hiding his pleasure. Finally, the bloodied Avdija was thrown off the train. He woke up from streams of rainwater.

He had to spend the night under a bridge, and in the morning he saw that his documents had turned into a wet lump, there was practically no money, and his appearance resembled that of a garbage dump dweller. But it was necessary to get home somehow. Further, Aitmatov’s novel “The Scaffold” continues to describe the adventures of an unlucky newspaper employee.

The Road Home, or the Illness of a Young Newsboy

A passing car took the young man to the station, and there he was almost immediately seen at the police checkpoint. They wanted to arrest him, but they took him for a madman and released him, advising him to get out of here as quickly as possible. But the newspaperman becomes ill and ends up in the hospital, where he meets the brown-eyed girl again. Her name is Inga.

Aitmatov's novel "The Scaffold" will return to this heroine. In the meantime, let's return to our poor fellow. Obadiah was cured and returned home. Arriving at the newspaper editorial office, he brings the material obtained with such difficulty. But there they tell him that no one is interested in this anymore. Moreover, he noticed some strange attitude towards himself from his colleagues. Many turned away, and no one made eye contact.

"The block" (Chingiz Aitmatov). Summary of chapters where the life of a newspaperman ends

Inga, it turns out, had a little son whom she wanted to introduce Avdiy to. Autumn came, and the young man decided to go visit her. But I didn’t find it. Instead, he found a letter where she said that she was forced to hide from her ex-husband along with her child. At the station, the newspaperman meets Kandalov and goes with him to the reserve already familiar to the reader.

This is how events unfold in the novel “The Scaffold,” interestingly and mysteriously. Chingiz Aitmatov (a summary of his work finally united all the events) again moves on to describe the wolf pack. Her fate is no less tragic than the life of young Obadiah. The newspaperman wanted to stop the crazed hunters, but they tied him up and threw him into a car, and after the hunt they crucified him on a dry tree.

There the young wolves Tashchainar and Akbar found him. They wandered around in search of their little cubs. In the morning, the hunters decided to return for Obadiah, but he had already died. The wolves left the reserve forever and settled in the reeds. The babies were born again. But when they began to pave the road, the reeds were burned, and the children died. And again the wolves went to look for another place. This is how Chingiz Aitmatov’s novel “The Scaffold” describes the life of poor animals.

The fate of the little wolf cubs

One day Bazarbai was walking home and heard strange sounds in the pit, as if a child was crying. He came closer and found little wolf cubs there, put them in a bag and took them with him. But Tashchainar and Akbara went after him. On the way, Bazarbai had the house of a Boston collective farmer, in which he hid from the animals pursuing him.

After waiting a little, he moved on, and the wolves remained near Boston's house, where they continued to howl every night, trying to find their cubs. The novel "The Scaffold", a brief summary of which is coming to an end, very sadly describes the latest events associated with a pair of wolves.

Why are wolves to blame?

Boston felt sorry for the wolves and even went to Bazarbai to buy their little cubs from him. But he refused. Soon the animals began to attack residents, and Boston realized that he would have to shoot them. But only the wolf was killed. And the she-wolf hid. She waited for a long time and finally took revenge on the collective farmer by stealing his child.

Boston did not dare to shoot at Akbar for a long time, fearing to injure his son. And when he got there, it was already too late: the boy was dead. Then he went and shot Bazarbai, who sold the wolf cubs and received excellent money for them. And then the collective farmer Boston surrendered to the police. This is how Chingiz Aitmatov ends his novel. "The Scaffold", a brief summary of which cannot convey the full tragedy of the work, will not leave any reader indifferent. The issues that the author raises in his book and the parallels drawn between a pack of wolves and human society are still relevant today. Try to take the time to read the entire novel, it's worth it.

Chingiz Aitmatov.

Part one

Following a short, light, like a child’s breath, daytime warming on the mountain slopes facing the sun, the weather soon subtly changed - it was windy from the glaciers, and the sharp early twilight was already creeping through the gorges everywhere, bringing with it the cold bluishness of the upcoming snowy night.

There was a lot of snow around. All along the Issyk-Kul ridge, the mountains were littered with a snowstorm that swept through these places a couple of days ago, like a fire that suddenly broke out at the whim of a willful element. It’s terrible what happened here - in the blizzard darkness the mountains disappeared, the sky disappeared, the entire previous visible world disappeared. Then everything calmed down and the weather cleared. Since then, with the pacification of the snow storm, the mountains, bound by great drifts, stood in a numb and frozen silence, removed from everything in the world.

And only the increasingly insistent and ever-growing roar of a large-capacity helicopter, making its way at that early evening hour along the Uzun-Chat canyon to the icy Ala-Mongyu pass, smoked in the windy heights with twisted clouds, grew and grew closer, getting stronger every minute, and finally triumphed - completely took over the space and floated with an overwhelming, thunderous roar over ridges, peaks, and high-altitude ice inaccessible to anything except sound and light. Multiplied by multiple echoes among the rocks and valleys, the roar overhead was approaching with such inevitable and menacing force that it seemed that just a little more and something terrible would happen, as then with an earthquake...

At some critical moment, this is what happened - from a steep rocky slope exposed by the winds, which happened to be along the flight path, a small scree started moving, trembling from a sonic boom, and immediately stopped, like enchanted blood. This push to the unstable ground, however, was enough for several weighty stones to fall from the steepness and roll down, scattering more and more, spinning, kicking up dust and rubble, and at the very foot they crashed like cannonballs through the bushes of redwood and barberry, They broke through the snowdrifts and reached the wolf's lair, built here gray under the overhang of a rock, in a crevice hidden behind the thickets near a small, half-frozen warm stream.

Akbar's she-wolf recoiled from the stones and falling snow that rolled down from above and, backing into the darkness of the crevice, cowered like a spring, raising her neck and looking ahead with phosphorescent eyes wildly burning in the semi-darkness, ready at any moment for a fight. But her fears were in vain. It’s scary in the open steppe, when there is nowhere to escape from a pursuing helicopter, when it, overtaking, relentlessly pursues on its heels, deafening with the whistling of its propellers and striking with machine-gun fire, when in the whole world there is no escape from a helicopter, when there is no such gap where one could bury a poor wolf's head - after all, the earth will not part to give shelter to the persecuted.

In the mountains it’s a different matter - here you can always gallop away, there’s always somewhere to hide, where to wait out the threat. A helicopter is not scary here; in the mountains, a helicopter itself is scary. And yet fear is unreasonable, especially if it is already familiar and experienced. As the helicopter approached, the she-wolf whined loudly, gathered herself into a ball, pulled her head in, and yet her nerves could not stand it, she broke down - and Akbar howled furiously, seized by a powerless, blind fear, and convulsively crawled on her belly towards the exit, clanking her teeth angrily and desperately , ready to fight, without leaving the spot, as if she hoped to put to flight the iron monster rumbling over the gorge, with the appearance of which even stones began to fall from above, as if during an earthquake.

In response to Akbara’s panicked cries, her wolf, Tashchainar, poked her way into the hole, having been mostly not in the lair since the she-wolf became heavy, but in a quiet place among the thickets. Tashchainar - the Stone Crusher, so nicknamed by the surrounding shepherds for his crushing jaws, crawled up to her bed and purred soothingly, as if covering her with his body from harm. Pressing her side against him, pressing herself ever closer, the she-wolf continued to whine, pitifully calling either to the unjust sky, or to someone unknown, or to her unfortunate fate, and for a long time she trembled all over her body, could not control herself even after that. how the helicopter disappeared behind the mighty Ala-Mongyu glacier and it became completely inaudible behind the clouds.

And in this mountain silence that reigned at once, like a collapse of cosmic silence, the she-wolf suddenly clearly heard within herself, or rather inside her womb, living tremors. This is how it happened when Akbar, still in the early stages of her hunting life, somehow strangled a large hare with a throw: in the hare, in her stomach, then the same movements of some invisible creatures hidden from view were also felt, and this is a strange circumstance surprised and interested the young curious she-wolf, raising her ears in surprise, looking incredulously at her strangled victim. And it was so wonderful and incomprehensible that she even tried to start a game with those invisible bodies, just like a cat with a half-dead mouse. And now she herself discovered the same living burden in her insides - those who, under a favorable combination of circumstances, were to be born in a week and a half to two weeks were making themselves known. But for now, the cubs that had been born were inseparable from the mother’s womb, they formed part of her being, and therefore they, in the emerging, vague, uterine subconscious, experienced the same shock, the same despair as she herself. This was their first contact in absentia with the outside world, with the hostile reality awaiting them. That is why they moved in the womb, thus responding to maternal suffering. They were also scared, and that fear was passed on to them by their mother’s blood.

Listening to what was happening against her will in her revived womb, Akbara became worried. The she-wolf's heart began to beat faster - it was filled with courage, the determination to certainly protect, to protect from danger those whom she carried within herself. Now she wouldn't hesitate to fight anyone. The great natural instinct of preserving offspring began to speak in her. And then Akbara felt a hot wave of tenderness wash over her - the need to caress, warm the future sucklings, give them her milk as if they were already at hand. It was a premonition of happiness. And she closed her eyes, moaned from the bliss, from the anticipation of milk in her large, swollen red nipples, protruding in two rows along her belly, and languidly, slowly, slowly stretched her whole body, as far as the lair allowed, and, having finally calmed down, again moved closer to her gray-maned Tashchinaru. He was powerful, his skin was warm, thick and elastic. And even he, the gloomy Tashchainar, caught what she, the wolf mother, was experiencing, and with some instinct he understood what was happening in her womb, and he, too, must have been touched by it. Putting his ear up, Tashchainar raised his angular, ponderous head, and in the gloomy gaze of the cold pupils of his deep-set dark eyes some shadow flashed, some vague pleasant premonition. And he purred restrainedly, snoring and coughing, thus expressing his good disposition and readiness to unquestioningly obey the blue-eyed wolf and protect her, and began to diligently, affectionately lick Akbara’s head, especially her shining blue eyes and nose, with a wide, warm, wet tongue. Akbara loved Tashchainar’s tongue even when he flirted and fawned over her, trembling with impatience, and his tongue, heated by the rapid flow of blood, became elastic, fast and energetic, like a snake, although at first she pretended that it was for her. at least indifferent, even when, in moments of calm and prosperity after a hearty meal, her wolf’s tongue was softly moist.

In this pair of fierce ones, Akbar was the head, she was the mind, she had the right to initiate the hunt, and he was a faithful force, reliable, tireless, strictly fulfilling her will. This relationship has never been broken. Only once was there a strange, unexpected incident when her wolf disappeared before dawn and returned with the alien scent of another female - the disgusting spirit of a shameless heat, pitting and calling males dozens of miles away, which caused her uncontrollable anger and irritation, and she immediately rejected him, unexpectedly sank her fangs deep into her shoulder and, as punishment, forced her to hobble behind for many days in a row. She kept the fool at a distance and, no matter how much he howled, she never responded, did not stop, as if he, Tashchainar, was not her wolf, as if he did not exist for her, and even if he dared to approach her again in order to conquer and to please her, Akbara would have measured her strength with him seriously; it was no coincidence that she was the head and he was the legs in this new gray pair.

Now Akbara, after she had calmed down a little and warmed up under Tashchainar’s wide side, was grateful to her wolf for sharing her fear, for the fact that he had thereby restored her self-confidence, and therefore did not resist his zealous caresses, and in response she licked her lips twice, and, overcoming the confusion that still made itself felt with unexpected trembling, she concentrated within herself, and, listening to how incomprehensibly and restlessly the unborn puppies behaved, she came to terms with what was : and with the lair, and with the great winter in the mountains, and with the gradually approaching frosty night.

May 25, 2011 overquoting
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"The block"- a novel by the Kyrgyz Soviet writer Chingiz Aitmatov, first published in 1986 in the magazine New World. The novel tells about the destinies of two people - Avdiy Kallistratov and Boston Urkunchiev, whose destinies are connected with the image of the she-wolf Akbara, the connecting thread of the book.

Heroes

First and second parts:

• Avdiy Kallistratov- the main character of the first two chapters of the novel. He is looking for a “revision of God,” the figure of a “contemporary God with new divine ideas.”
• Petrukha- one of Avdiy’s two “accomplices” who participated in the collection of drugs.
• Lenka- the second and youngest of the drug transporters.
• Grishan- the leader of the gang, the prototype of the “Antichrist” by Ch. Aitmatov.
• Ober-Kandalov- leader of the saiga hunt, leader of the people who will crucify Obadiah.
• Inga Fedorovna- Avdija's only love.

• Boston Urkunchiev- a leader in production, regarded by many neighbors as a fist.
• Bazarbai Noigutov- the antipode of Boston, a drunkard and a parasite, but considered “a man of principle, incorruptible.”
• Kochkorbaev- party organizer

Plot and structure of the novel

The novel is divided into three parts, the first two of which describe the life of Avdiy Kallistratov, who lost his mother early and was raised by his father, a deacon. Having entered the seminary and faced with the misunderstanding of many priests about the development of the idea of ​​​​God and the church, he asks himself a question to which he never finds an answer.

Evaluating this act, Ch. Aitmatov writes that thoughts themselves are a form of development, the only way to the existence of such ideas.

First and second parts

After leaving the seminary, Avdiy gets a job at a publishing house and travels to the Moyunkum desert to write an article to describe the drug trade developed there. Already on the way, he meets his “fellow travelers” - Petrukha and Lenka. After talking with them for a long time, Avdiy Kallistratov comes to the conclusion that it is not these people who are to blame for breaking the rules, but the system:

And the more he delved into these sad stories, the more he became convinced that all this resembled a kind of undercurrent with the deceptive calm of the surface of the sea of ​​\u200b\u200blife and that, in addition to the private and personal reasons that give rise to a tendency to vice, there are social reasons that allow the possibility of the emergence of this kind diseases of youth. At first glance, these reasons were difficult to grasp - they resembled communicating blood vessels that spread the disease throughout the body. No matter how much you delve into these reasons on a personal level, it will make little, if not no, sense.

Arriving at the hemp harvesting field, Avdiy meets the she-wolf Akbara, whose image is the connecting thread of the entire novel. Despite the possibility of killing a person, Akbar does not do so. After meeting with Grishan, in the train carriage, Avdiy calls on everyone to repent and throw away the bags of drugs, but he is beaten and thrown out of the train. Having accidentally met former “comrades” arrested for drug trafficking, he tries to help them, but they do not recognize him as one of their own. Then Avdiy returns to Moscow and only at the invitation of Inga Fedorovna returns again to the Moyunkum Hermitage, where he accepts Ober-Kandalov’s offer to “hunt.”

Avdiah's last hours are painful - unable to tolerate the killing of many animals “for the plan,” he tries to prevent the slaughter, and his drunken employers crucify him on saxaul. Obadiah’s last words addressed to Akbara will be: “You have come...”.

Part three

The third part describes the life of Boston, living during the difficult period of the transition of socialist property to private property. The story begins with how a local drunkard steals Akbara's wolf cubs and, despite all persuasion, sells them for booze. This story tells about the injustice that reigned in these places at that time. Boston has a difficult relationship with the local party organizer. Boston's fate ends tragically - he accidentally kills his own son.

Unfortunately, many people have to pay dearly for the fight against social vices and the pursuit of justice. And sometimes an understanding comes that the laws of the animal world are much more just, but man interferes there too, violating the natural order of things. When you read Chingiz Torekulovich Aitmatov’s novel “The Scaffold,” you understand how deeply and widely he covers these topics. You can talk about it for a very long time and constantly find something new. It makes you think, it makes your chest feel heavy, but still somewhere there is a drop of hope that helps you move forward.

The book begins and ends with a story about the difficult fate of a family of wolves. The wolf and she-wolf became parents, and when winter came, the wolf couple went hunting with the grown-up wolf cubs. They wanted to teach them how to hunt and survive. But it turned out that the saigas were hunted not only by wolves, but also by people who killed everyone indiscriminately. That day the lives of the little wolf cubs were cut short. And in one of the hunters’ cars lay a bound man named Avdiy.

Avdiy's life was not easy; he was left early without a mother, and then without a father. He worked at a newspaper and had nowhere to live. Then Avdiy decided to go on a business trip to learn more about the drug trade and, if possible, guide lost souls on the true path. But no one needed his truth and talk about saving the soul...

When you read the book, the author's regret is noticeable. The image of Obadiah is similar to the image of Jesus, and he chose the same path without betraying his ideas. The parallel description of the lives of animals and people suggests that the human world is more cruel. Animals kill only to feed themselves, unlike people who kill for fun and profit.

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