KENDO & CORNET-B-PRIMA
The way of the Japanese sword, or first trumpet of brass band.
Vladimir P. Parkin
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Collection of novels, short stories,
essays and miniatures "Secrets of the old minarets"
published book.
Author © Vladimir P.PARKIN. 2012.
Publisher © Vladimir P.PARKIN. 2012.
ISBN 978-5-906066-01-5
Original in Russian
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Author's translation from Russian into English Vladimir P. Parkin
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Almost documentary story.
Instead of an epigraph:
"Only the truth write, my son!" - from a letter from my mother.
"The truth can write, print, you can not!", - Alexander Kapelnikov.
*****
ASHGABAT. 1956.
The eleventh year after the war. The eighth year after the terrible earthquake of 1948, erased Ashgabat night of October 6 face of the earth.
The city is built. Most of the buildings are surrounded by barbed wire on the tower corners, on the towers gunners. According to the builders of the morning is transported by the objects on the left of the "lend-lease" "Studebakers" under protection.
*****
CHRISTMAS TREES.
Ashgabat, the end of 1956.
On the streets of banners and posters: "Happy New Year 1957".
Autumn rainy days finally give way to the cold, dry winter. Morning frosts allow children to roll on asphalt pavements long narrow path "rollers", in which students procession with cries of delight and laughter of the night ready to wipe the soles of their shoes.
Under the new year is almost always snow falls. Let it will lie for long, just a couple of weeks, but the kids will have time enough to stop playing snowballs, to roll with the hills on sleds and ill with angina - icicles delicious popsicle on a stick for one ruble ten kopecks!
New Year - the best holiday! For us children, the best of the holiday does not happen!
We have first-graders, the first in the life of a vacation. House each whole pack of colorful invitation cards: in the Palace of Pioneers, in the House of officers in the Ministry of Internal Affairs Club, in the Palace of culture of railway, workers in silk-clubs, textile and other factories, it is all in addition to the native school. Invitation card on tree money can not buy. Invitation card awarded to parents of children in the workplace. Relevance is determined by its place of celebration concert of the traditional Santa Claus before Christmas, masquerade theatrical presentation with evil wizards, foxes and wolves, bears and bunny good.
The main celebration was on His Majesty the gift.
Such gifts, as in my childhood, I have in my whole life is no longer seen. My children that happiness was gone.
Not every first-grader could carry a tree two gifts at once. As a rule, the gift was a huge paper bag.
In the package: greeting Christmas card, a mandatory set of a pair of apples, three or four tangerines, chocolate bars and chocolates "Babaevskie" and "Rot Front" Moscow factories least for a couple, but all of the most famous names, chocolates rank below (!) Ashgabat confectionery factory "Udarnik", cookies, waffles, round tin box «monpase», a dozen walnuts and hazelnuts tempered glass!
Passed trees, we eat candy.
Girls carefully smoothed and folded in boxes, paper wrappers of candy - candy wrappers. Such chocolates we will not see until the next New Year. The boys "wrappers" in Ashgabat called "pictures" that was the currency. In the "image", "Little Red Riding Hood" could barter boy - lamb knee bone – «alchik», which has already cost five cents (money Stalinist emissions in 1947), a colorful wrap chocolate bar could cost five «alchiks», candy wrappers "Petrel", "School" and other quoted much lower - at ten per boy.
Ashgabat residential and school yards of the game turned into a "gambling".
The main tool of every player "alchik". The "alchiks" could have been bet, but not this season: New Year "currency" required immediate treatment!
Games in the "alchiks" was set.
The simplest "perevertushki".
Standing, giving the "alchik" (boy) a rotary motion, throwing them to the ground. I have the "alchik" falls flat hump up - "beech". My opponent the "alchik" stands on the side of "horns" up - "trivet". My opponent won, I give him the agreed rate - "picture" chocolate candy "Kara Kum". Throw again. I fall "Alchi" – (the "alchik" on the side of the recesses upwards), the enemy - "beech". Kneeling, I click my the "alchik" beat the "alchik" on an opponent who is turned into a position flat with a recess up - "Geek". I won wrapper "Kara Kum" comes back to me.
However, half an hour later all of my images to go more successful players. It's a shame to tears. Close fight. One of the players accused of fraud. His game the "alchik" - "dodka" - on the one hand has been drilled out and filled with lead. Each roll of "dodka" got up on his side - "trivet" - whip win!
A couple of weeks fantikovaya currency will become worthless, the excitement fades, replaced the "alchik"will come other games.
We do not have time to look back - the winter is gone. On 23 February - Day of the Soviet Army and Navy - Ashgabat apricot blossoms. On 8 th March - always rain, changeable could be rainy and April. By the first of May the roses. Ashgabat boils pink. The foothills of the Kopet-Dag are painted in red and ruby color tulips.
After this paragraph can let a tear - in five years my favorite Ashgabat devastated hills. There tulips are no longer bloom.
*****
BAZAAR.
Two large central market - Russian Bazaar and Teke, simply "Tekinka" - are located close to each other on the same axis - Engels Street. Its small special stock markets in each region - in the "Tekstilka", next to the "Shelkomotalka", in the "Teplovozka", in the "Eighth March".
Go through the market - a pleasure. In the spring, summer, autumn fruits and vegetables straight from the garden, from the branch. Suzma (curd) from afar teases her snow-white appearance and low odor of sour milk, but it interrupted the smells of pickled cucumbers, tomatoes and eggplant ("Demyanka"!).
In the summer and autumn even for the quarter to market the fragrance of melons "vaharman" drown out any "smell" even automobile exhaust. In winter reigns over the bazaar smell salty Caspian herring - known for the whole Russian world "Zalom"! For me, today is a good pickled herring with boiled potatoes more expensive than any other culinary delights!
The bazaar on Sundays in good weather I go with my father. Torgovat begin as early as seven in the morning.
Always I loved this wonderful time of the beginning of a new day. Coolness of the night had not yet conceded the midday heat. Tweeting sparrows, gently cooing doves and pigeons, the streets and sidewalks swept and watered already. No drunks, no cripples on gurneys, beggars, riffraff and even the police! And the soul is easily and cleanly.
At the bazaar gate are already waiting customers loaders and the driver -
«umbales» and «arbakeshes».
Arbakeshes with their carts and wagons, horse-drawn and hand. Walk past, poglazhu necessarily on the side or on the muzzle horse, she is warm and furry. While porters (umbal) were no match for today's an alcoholic, to wipe them from the outlets. Umbal had to be able to carry and load the bags and barrels of 50-100 kg of weight! It was a very strong people. Many of them were seasonally circus strong men, wrestlers and others.
*****
WE AT THE BAZAAR
My father knows a lot about the products. I realize we have not enough money to buy his father a little, but always the best. As a rule, he gives to me the biggest and most beautiful, sweet without error - Pomegranate!
Upon returning home mom products are transferred. I was waiting for my glass of cocoa with a large enameled pot, and a sandwich with butter. On Sunday dinner is sure to be a noodle with chicken or risotto.
But before dinner I have a lot to do on the street. I have called: "Vovêa! Parkin Vovêa! ". (*).
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(*) Vovkà – a diminutive of Vladimir. Street slang.
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SWORD and SABER. HOBBY
Ashgabat. 1960. September.
The years have not yet running, but moving, but does not change anything around. My name is again in the open window: "Vovêa! Parkin Vovêa! ".
Not to say that I was on the street is more interesting than the house. At home I have always been pure album, band sharpened on a sharpening machine simple and colored pencils, tin of honey watercolors and shelves with books that can be read and re-opening at random to any page! But we must go out into the street: it is time to the library to exchange stuck with me, "Henry Stanley" to "Dr Livingstone"! I take old, ten times the previous volume bindery and fly out into the yard.
I was waiting for my age - Vovêa Rempel and Vovêa Kharitonov. Generally, the longer the impression that in forty-nine, only boys were born, and called them exclusively Vovas.
Kharitonov holding a curve touched by rust steel sword. Rempel - a hefty pistol "samopal". We called it a formidable weapon in the feminine "ignition".
I was lead into the pantry belonging Kulkov. Storage tight, but comfortable. Father Jyrki - Semyon Nikitich - order model: work bench with vise, shelves with plumbing and carpentry tools, paint cans, cans of kerosene and other. Looking at once, it is necessary to look. And look there is something. Yuri Kul'kov and his friend from a neighboring yard Kolka Buzyuk work in metal.
We do not manage to work hammer and chisel force is needed. Those already in the eighth grade are learning, and we just went in the fifth. Senior Meanwhile cut the steel prussian hoop, straightened his gavel on the bench, not sparing its oak surface. We gasped: rectified hoop, as if by magic, turned into a curved blade, ready to become a formidable fighting weapon - a sword! And so it was: a drill, a chisel and file worked handle, riveted crossbar Garda, and has been a real sword whistling in the air and fall to the ground and cut down the branches of the young leaves of maple. We do not feel sorry for trees, everything here is growing, both in the jungle, it would be water. But sabelki turned out well. Yuri and Kolka solemnly handed sword Vovka Rempel.
Appeals to me: "But do you want?".
I just nod my head, happiness dizzy.
"Well, if you want, look for the hoop. You will find - you too make! ".
Wrap I found senior saber did, but it took itself Buzyuk - hurt well-received!
So I was left without a sword: Hoops in the city have become scarce. On the markets, where it was always full of old barrels and rusty hoops, suddenly no one was not. Evil umbals and traders drove the boys from the bazaar backyard. It turns out sabers provided themselves with the boys not only with our yard.
The cinemas were patriotic films: "Peter", "Bohdan Khmelnytsky", "Three hundred years ago", "Suvorov", "Admiral Ushakov", "Ships Storming the Bastions" ... queues for tickets at cinemas stretched into quarters. Not everyone managed to get to the session. Lucky, watching movies, was able to put his feet to the unfortunate in this respect Yard audience.
Guys! - Shouted storyteller, passing the audience the movie event of the "Peter the Great", "Forward to storm There's wine, woman !! For the Motherland!". Narrator shouting and waving his arms in the battle. He was chopping imaginary sword Swedes. Right and left!
In the yards were forgotten alchiks and all other games.
It's time to saber battles.
Adults uncle did not interfere with his boys fencing with wooden swords and sabers. Sometimes, we are going "to the dispute" and that "my Shurka will carry your Andryukha’s head!". Women were a match for their husbands on these dangerous fun did not pay attention, kiddies messing fencing is not prohibited. Boyish excitement handed adult.
Vovêa Kharitonov’s father - for us, uncle Vanya - picked up the wooden sword and his son showed some fighting techniques. Uncle Vena, neighbor, too, took a sword in hand. A moment, and adult uncles began stabbing and slashing each other with wooden weapons.
My father Pavel Ivanovich passed through the yard to his entrance. Alik Ovezov’s father - Ovezdovlet, a mechanic with power, his stopped. He said: "Pavel Ivanovich! See how to fight, just like old times! ".
Pavel Ivanovich shrugged: "Who so chopped? Lumberjack! Hammers. The strength is there, but the need and ability".
And, already turning to me: "Let's go home! Or without eyes remain want? "!
Backyard hobby has become a city scale. Wooden weapons gave way to swords from coopers hoops. Street-scissors grinder knives unsuccessfully wandered from house to house, looking for a foot machine with a set of emery wheels stolen unknown.
One day in the course of the saber gone.
Gang of boys went to the saber fighting street to street, quarter on quarter, in the district area.
Hospitals took the wounded. Police disarm teenagers. Gates' «children's colony» slammed for the best fighters.
The state machine once and slammed hobby yard fencing. Even the wooden weapons acquired the status of a "cold-shock weapons shall break action", which was legalized.
*****
HIERARCHY.
Among boys the cult of physical strength has always been. In any boyish community spontaneously lined up the hierarchy: Andryuha afraid of Valerka, Valerka afraid of Rafik, Rafik - Stepa, Stepa – Varastat. Varastat not afraid of anyone, he uncle - umbala on Teke bazaar, and his father and older brother are sitting in prisons!
Boy's fight at recess and after school were the work of the ordinary. Hierarchy - a living organism, stagnation is not tolerated. I was with my physique right to swing his fists sense was not, though in the hierarchy, I was not on the last place, there were rooms and lower my! Nevertheless, my position in the boyishly environment once the situation was extraordinary.
Secondary school named after Makarenko street number 18. Mopra corner of Chekhov street. On the corner across from the school through the DENR three-story apartment house, in the house - shop "Gunesh" ( "Sun"). The street Mopra ply two shuttle buses. The seventh is to the east, the eighth - on the same route, but in reverse. Next stop after school - studio "Turkmenfilm" named Alta Karliev - the first and truly talented Turkmen actor and film director. In Chekhov's possible to go down on foot down: a block - the stadium "Builder" (later "Kolhozchi"), in another quarter - Liberty Avenue (formerly Stalin Avenue, the former Liberty Street, the former Kuropatkin Street), on the left at the corner deli number seven, right - Combine "Turkmenvino" ( "Ashgabat", "Yasman-Salyk", "Ter-Bash." - Livadia (up to 17 degrees, sweet and semi-sweet wines). Well, the latest information to the school to do.
Few school history. I was in fifth grade, when he became a witness to the terrible events. There was a seventh-grader at the school named Armais (natural, natural Armenian) on «Nose» stud. He remained two or three times for the second year in different classes, so that the age was already enlistment. The boy was physically strong, quick-tempered, aspired to a higher level in the hierarchy. Of course, there were other candidates not inferior to him in age, physical strength and authority.
There should be noted: in those years, at any level, national cards are not played out. There is an unwritten rule of thieves (the concept): "Color does not matter, the number of eyes (points) has a value." Translated into Russian: it does not matter Crusade you or Diamonds (Turkmen or Russian, etc.), but it is important you ace or six simple! If the six - be quiet if the jack - you have the right to vote, if the king - you have the right to demand!
On the fateful day the opposition is ready to separate from Armais competition. Big Change ended. Hastily eats pies and pasties, tightens belts black patent high school, refueled shirt color "Marengo" rubbed lacquer visors caps. At the school turn the tap. A few sips of cold, clean water from the "Golden Key". We run through the open door of the school, in the lobby and, holding his breath, go step by the director – «Old Gimnaziagirl» Bobkova Lydia Feodorovna - in its class.
Cranes were only a few high school students, when there was Armais. One of the senior poshuttil sarcastically: "At first the nose, nose, nose, nose ... And then Armais!". They let all the water. Armais slowly got drunk, then unscrewed from the tap valve and as brass knuckles, the offender struck on the temple gate. Guy fell threw himself. Armais took off his uniform cap, broke lacquered visor, threw his cap on the ground, and peremahnuv over the fence of the schoolyard, has disappeared.
Detail: The gate always been bolted, at the gate of the yard, at the main entrance and exit to the courtyard of the school has always stood for the two disciples on duty of the senior class.
I can not say whether the remains alive after hitting the offender, whether the judge Armais ...
Nobody at school had never discussed nor the incident (crime) or the subject at all. But action administer without further ado. As I already knew his eleven years, "the guilty tongue cut off with his head!".
After this incident, the school was quiet. Somewhere transferred overage repetition. Where - no one asked this question. No and no! Stop the fight. From boyish pockets evaporated alchiks, knives, brass knuckles, small-caliber pistols and homemade just-ignition «samopals». This wave swept over the city's schools. It was not repression. Just began to restore order. It was an absolute rule: assessment of the discipline should be just excellent. «Four» on the behavior promised to raise the issue of the exclusion of teachers' meeting. «Three» - could entail not only an exception.
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BRASS BAND
However, some schools have been allocated material means that the school could be used on extra-curricular activities. Eighteenth school bought a piano and musical wind instruments to a full orchestra! The staffing position appeared bandleader. He was released from the office of head teachers by the orchestra room. The labor classes high school students in the carpentry workshop produced wooden music stands for music.
Musicians brass band due to school sewed black suits and white shirts, black boots to buy. It was not a charity!
Musicians in the school cafeteria without paying dined as not every teacher. Instead duty chebureks pies and coffee chicory musicians offered steak with egg and schnitzel with roast potatoes or sauerkraut. On holidays after appearances in public, except for the traditional dinner, in addition to present the lemonade and cake for everyone!
My father, Pavel Ivanovich Parkin, learning that the school organized a brass band pulled out of the trunk pictures, since the beginning of the 20th century, before the October Revolution.
I first heard and saw that my grandfather was a military brass band musician. He was a non-commissioned officer who served in Turkmenistan and the Russian army in Manchuria during the Russian-Japanese War of 1905-1906
My father wanted to and I became a military musician, perhaps the conductor of a large brass band.
Father spoke about the bright prospects: I in the twelve or thirteen years old, I have a chance to get a trade, profession, honor and respect of society!
I came to the rehearsal brass band and asked to take me to the musicians. Bandleader Baratov Volodya asked me how old I am, in what class I am learning.
He tapped his finger on the table with a certain rhythm. He ordered me to repeat the rhythm. I answered the questions, repeated rhythm. After a moment's thought Baratov explain to me, in the orchestra took the boys from dysfunctional families, standing registered in the police, of course, with an ear for music and a desire to learn. All the tools are distributed. Free space is not. In eleven years too early to start to play a wind instrument. Come back in a year or two.
I looked around. Indeed, in the orchestra there was no fifth-grader. There were two sixth-grade student, the rest - even older. However, I did not give up. My father bought me a push to the old copper pipe gate (trumpet), he straightened it, soldered holes, fixed and greased valves. Mom sewed black cloth cover. The next rehearsal I came up with their own tool.
My persistence was evaluated. Trumpet ordered to take home. Bandleader explained to me that takes me beyond the state alto. Responsibilities will be a lot of rights and privileges - no. I will learn to extract sounds during the hour before the rehearsal. I'll get a room key. I'll be obliged to sweep the floor, dust, arrange the desks (lecterns), to collect, distribute and store notes.
If I have a week I can not play without an error range of C major, my apprenticeship is over. I was happy and that. So a year has passed. But by the end of the next school year I played the first game of the trumpet.
Now the whole orchestra ashore me as a national treasure. If the band will not play Parkin, the orchestra's repertoire will be reduced to two or three marches and carcass after honors and advanced production.
The school was made public: Parkin under legal protection, can not be beat, it is impossible to turn out his pockets. Those who break Parkin lips, will be punished by the entire orchestra! I accepted their new status granted.
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ASHGABAT. 1963.
By the eighth grade, I already held a leading position in the school brass band. In the case of my pipe music book with the inscription "Cornet-B-1." I, the soloist of the orchestra, playing the first Cornet musical structure "B" - si b;mol. Our orchestra is large enough - five cornets (trumpetes), two baritones, one trombone, three tenors, two altes, two clarinets, one saxophone, snare drum, bass drum, tuba, cymbals plus a "boy-student-librarian-worker scenes" .
Over the years, the composition has changed slightly. A total of 20 people. Director and conductor of the orchestra, as a rule, was a student of the Turkmen National Music School. He started working with the first part of the orchestra Vladimir (Mahmoud) Baratov - percussion (Kurd by nationality), then he was replaced by Berdyniyaz Redzhepov - clarinet (a talented musician, a Great Man, known in the future music teacher and soloist singer). As a student of eighth grade, I was the director of the orchestra. In itself, this position in the boy's environment special privileges to could not. But! What is the medium was in the orchestra!
Some of the musicians of the orchestra have visited the children's colony. For them, the characteristic criminal offenses were robbery, theft, stabbing, extracurricular habitat - the most criminogenic areas Ashgabat - Gadja, Kim, Tekstilka, Khitrovka, Shanghai. Their families lived in makeshift mud, their fathers to exercise their right to work under escort. Brass band not only clothed, shod and fed these guys, he gave them a new social status intelligent man in white shirt and polished shoes, not humiliate them in charity. They really knew and were able to a lot more than their peers.
Already in the Soviet-socialist, we made money. None of his orchestra at the factory "AshNefteMash" - invite school orchestra on the type holiday.
We dressed "to the nines", our tools are burning silver. Factory festival begins with Russian and Soviet marches, simple classical opus like "Neapolitan Dance" by Tchaikovsky and "Gyulyalek" Dangatar Ovezov, then officialdom - Anthem of the USSR, carcasses, performed thirty times (for the awardees of the foremost production), after the official part - dancing .
Factory holidays always end with a big dinner. The union took care of his workers. For musicians, too, tables were set with refreshments - Turkmen pilaf, Russian «holodetz», lemonade.
Again, waltzes, polkas, tangos, pas-de-grasse, pas-de-span!
More than one hour of dancing did not play. We still were children from twelve to fifteen or sixteen years. Ended the evening - each in their own pocket earned ten rubles - the usual amount of single premium ordinary Soviet worker from Turner to factory floor Master!
Reference (Khrushchev's currency reform of 1961):
In 1965, the college student scholarship was twenty rubles a month,
bottle of vodka cost three rubles and sixty-two pennies,
loaf of white bread - twenty cents,
ten rubles would be good pants,
nine rubles cost air tickets to Ashgabat-Chardzhou!
Our school band gave a start in life is very talented people. They were not professional musicians. But the orchestra taught their hard work and great skill in any job.
It has been forty-five years. I am very sorry that I can not provide a complete list of names of the musicians.
I know, among them several civil aviation pilots and himself chief of the Ashgabat airline
Director Ashkhabad House of educators,
Director of the Republican sports boarding school (the school of the Olympic reserve of the republic!)
doctors and engineers,
professional military and law enforcement officials.
Here are some of them:
Yura Abramov - baritone (headman of the first set of the orchestra),
Misha Gasandzhan - trumpet,
Batyr Roses - trumpet (later saxophone),
Sanjar Azimov - trumpet, Mikhail Sarkisov - trumpet,
Boris Karryev - alto, Sergey Osipov - bass drum, tuba,
Andrew and Leka Andreeva - alto, trumpet, Batyr Khans - first tenor, Vladimir Polovinko - first tenor, Boris Larin - second tenor,
Mamed Mamedov - snare, brothers Adele and Yuzif Aliyevs - trumpet and alto, Chermen Dzestelov - trombone, Jabi Faradzhaev - snare,
Ghali Zaynullin – baritone, Dmitry Donskoy - tenor,
Misha Genin - baritone ...
Not all of them were in the eighteenth school, but in the same orchestra played exactly. Alas, while everything!
One can only note the names surnames absolutely an international orchestra. As a drop of water reflects the whole world, so our team was ethnically copy (and offspring!) Large Ashgabat society: Turkmens, Azeris, an Iranian, Kurd, Ossetians, Armenians, Ukrainians and Russian.
And, of course: Dad Turkmens - mother Russian, Dad Azerbaijani - mother Armenian!
As a fact, I can say: from the orchestra came out and criminal authorities, and "thieves in law". I remember their names. There is nothing strange about it. However, they should not remain in these pages.
*****
NEW CHALLENGES SOCIALBILITY
In 1962-63 years, our family began to build his own house, having received land on the outskirts of a town on the border with aul Kesha - First Ippodromny travel, home eight!
At the new place of residence I had to build relationships with the local boys under the laws of the dog pack: Jacklin afraid Sharik, Sharik afraid – Jack.. but Djulbars not afraid of anyone!
Usually dangerous company marginalized adolescents met me in the evening after school activities and rehearsals for the ritual, which has become an everyday: to turn out my pockets, hit me in the face, and most importantly - to humiliate the dignity of man, to believe that he is a more than a gang of hooligans .
For my kind of proud they gave me a nickname - Freemason.
Complaining parents was not accepted at this time.
I tried to avoid unwanted meetings and executions, but in our house gate was still alone. My enemies know where to meet me. My father noticed my lips smashed into the blood.
The interrogation was brief: who? for what? how the action? how many?
Laws Street (Great Steppe!) was honored not only the boys, adults, too, were once boys and lived in the same city on the streets by the same laws!
Adults in the street problems of their sons to intervene were not allowed. The sons were not allowed to ask for help from their fathers.
My father was able to solve my problem of sociability in full accordance with local customs. He began with theoretical training - a story about people and events of his own life.
*****
"ASHGES". KEN-DO.
Ashgabat City Power - ASHGES.
Father's stories were always brief. But to me they were clear. I lived in the same atmosphere. My childhood is closely associated with ASHGES, where my parents worked - my father and mother. All our neighbors, too, worked in ASHGES.
My father decided that I should grow up in front of him, and not on the street without supervision. During the primary school, I would come every day to his plant. At the entrance to ASHGES elderly woman guard greeted me welcome: - "young Parkin has come to help his father!".
My father in his office (in those years - the master machine shop). I've been doing school lessons for his desk. I liked the items on his desk: inkwells, cups, machined from steel on a lathe, for simple and color pencils. I've been doing school lessons, and later played himself in the engineer in the cab of the locomotive, standing at the gates of the Great Hall of diesel power units.
I was at the power plant all know, and all I knew. In his seven-eight years, I have about electricity more than some adults. I learned to work on this lathe. Sam machined steel chess pieces. I am grateful to these experts - turners, electricians and millers, who in his spare time engaged with me.
But most of all I loved the conversation and stories of workers in moments of relaxation at the end of a shift or during lunch breaks. So-called "cigarette breaks." What I did not heard much.
Most of all I loved the stories about the war. Front-line soldiers told quite sparingly, but not chased me, answered my questions. There were stories and about a life, about life under guard. Scary stories. These stories were not for cinema. I was not afraid. I for them was his. But the father sternly warned: "Keep your mouth shut! It's a secret. It is not for everyone. " Father of the power plant was in great authority. How could I disobey him? And I had no idea!
So, to me it was easy to imagine the events of twenty years ago.
During the war ASHGES acquired the status of sensitive sites of strategic importance. Wrapped in barbed wire fences, guard rearmed and reinforced, taken under special control of underground utilities. Personnel department struggled to keep its own specialists, each newly arriving workers are full special audit.
Labor became the scene of a collision the rear of the invisible front. To honor Ashgabat security personnel did not know that during the war years were stopped several dozen attempts to blow up the power, disrupt the work of the rear, left without heat and light defense plants, airports, railways, countless hospitals, military training centers, the state border.
But the power gave out heat and light energy is always, without reference to objective reasons, despite all the difficulties.
In Ashgabat power - ASHGES - in the Great Patriotic War, my father Pavel Ivanovich Parkin and defended its military and labor watch. Hungry, full of moral and physical stress days and sleepless nights. During these years, no one he did not ask a higher education diploma. Pavel Ivanovich necessarily really acted and chief engineer, and mechanics, and the shift supervisor, and the duty driver and locksmith repairman!
All of this huge enterprise was not "dark" sites or sites for it. His eyes have seen all, his ears heard the slightest deviation from the normal audible noise machinery and engines, his hands were always ready to eliminate any malfunction. He did not belong to himself, he has become an essential "cog" power. But there have been instances where cards and it was impossible to buy bread. Consequence - hungry fainting.
The problems were many. The main difficulty was the lack of personnel. Older men, adolescents and women performed heavy maintenance work on its huge size diesel cars, their parts and mechanisms.
Extraordinary courageous and responsible decision of a personnel problem was made in accordance with the laws of war.
By the end of forty-five years to work in ASHGES arrived group of prisoners of war Japanese - specialists technician. This group worked and was stationed in the territory of the power plant. Of course, under the protection. Contact soviet personnel with the Japanese power plant have been minimal. Prisoners of war have always been provided with its own local scope of work.
*****
ONE DAY…
With "one day" always starts some new temporary page in human life, in human history, for it is the word signifies some kind of starting point for the upcoming event, it is a minor at the very first moment, when it occurs, but its consequences are already stretched to the distant future…
Ashgabat. November 1945.
"ASHGES" territory.
Early morning. Small cold rain. Pavel Ivanovich thirty-three years. He had not slept the night. He is hungry. He was not having dinner, and he had nothing for breakfast. Perhaps he will be able to dine. Perhaps ... Provided that he will change tonight. Provided that its mechanic-repairman service will be implemented on a nearby factory ... Provided that there will be a hungry fainting ...
To refresh and warm up after a sleepless night, Pavel Ivanovich narrow steel strip chopping weeds, overgrown fence.
Steel band takes off and goes down on the stems of weeds according to the rules of the classic "floss" - eight eights describes a blade on an endless circle. With the same force and the blade goes up and down. Conventional blade is always in the direction of impact. The hand turns the heavy steel strip as a feather. Weapon in hand, like a living bird: compress much - to kill a bird, do not squeeze - will take off the blade of his hands, like a bird! Beat the top left! Rotating brush - blow from the bottom up, and again hit the top right to left! Three strikes per second.
Suddenly behind:
- Russian gentleman wrong ken holds!
Sharp whole body is one hundred and eighty degrees. Pavel Ivanovich barely stay on his feet, saying, sleepless night. However, the steel strip is stopped inches from the throat uninvited witness. Before Parkin - an elderly Japanese. His arms, his hands closed, head bowed down.
- I apologize for the discourtesy. My name is Yamamoto. I work here. I am a naval officer, the captain of the second rank. Hereditary samurai. Soon I will go home to Nagasaki - husky bass, irrelevant to its growth and build, had the Japanese.
Parkin lowered down the steel strip and tossed it aside. Without answering Japanese, quick step went to the high half-open gates in Great Hall of diesel generator set. From the sound of steps behind him he understands Japanese fast running small steps behind him. At the entrance to the computer room office. Once lit table lamp, and a lamp - shaved head sentry officer. Cap with blue edging on the floor. Noise operating machines overlaps healthy sleepy snoring.
On this day, everything turned out well. Change was commissioned without any problems. The cashier gave salary. Nobody demanded from wages to buy bonds, no one has asked to borrow money until the next payday. The departmental store managed to get bread, salt and sugar for ration cards. "Left," the work was rewarded with a luxurious hot meal and a large package of thick brown paper with millet, tea and sugar.
Lord, surely life is getting better again ?!
Seven o'clock in the morning. Seventh in November 1945. The new change. The bright warm morning. Power is always running, and on holidays - with double load!
In all of the diesel generator set (machines) except for reserve. Festive music from loudspeakers. Festive sounds of a brass band at the entrance of the power plant. Festive party. Congratulations. Good wishes. Thank God, it seems, the war is still over!
And day and night passed without alarm, without an accident. Japanese seventh day of November did not work, it was declared a national holiday. Pavel Ivanovich morning rounds completed machine holl in a hot shower. Before any change peered into the room that housed the Japanese. His threshold met, as if waiting for Yamamoto. Pavel Ivanovich wordlessly handed him a small (on the glass) package with millet and a piece of lump sugar. Yamamoto accepted the gift with both hands, just without words bowed from the waist and stood in the bow, while Parkin disappeared behind the gates of the holl diesel generator set.
Work to repair a diesel generator set (machine) produced by the Japanese, it took High Commission at the level of the Republic. Among the members of the commission and was Pavel Ivanovich Parkin.
The machine worked like clockwork. All members of the Commission were aware that they will sign the act of acceptance into operation of the machine may be responsible for the emergency situation in the future. Not every member of the committee understand what it represents machine, and even on what principle it works.
However, everyone knew that the repair of the machine produced the Japanese, and the Japanese - a samurai enemies.
Best test - this visibility. The tests took place several hours. Pavel Ivanovich listened to the work pieces and tools, as an experienced doctor listens to the patient: Each ventricle separately and all together! Acceptance ended with the signing certificate with a rating of "satisfactory". Yamamoto stood aside three hours to test the machine, pressing his hands to his chest and his head bowed down.
Pavel Ivanovich went to Yamamoto.
- All right, Yamamoto, thank you. You are a great master. Belgian car, old, but after your repair is ticking like a Swiss watch!
- Thank you, Mr. Russian. I have the last time to say that you are a great warrior, but incorrectly started talking. I would like once again to see you early in the morning at the hour when sleep even guard dogs.
Thus began the strange friendship of Russian and Japanese, whose vital interests were crossed twice in the love of mechanics and passion for fencing.
- Russian warrior - noble warrior - said Yamamoto. - Russian Fencing rack, rack is one enemy against another. We do not. Samurai must be ready to take the fight one against many enemies, perhaps against the crowd. Therefore, the rack must be a ...
Yamamoto jumping straddle slightly wider than shoulder width, squat, keeping the steel strip with both hands in front of him. Without changing the position of the legs, torso, he instantly turned to the right, threatening the invisible enemy, the one hundred and eighty degrees to the left, causing fatal blow ken invisible from the bottom up!
Pavel Ivanovich had no temptation to find out the advantage of a fencing system in fighting a duel, there was no desire to devote the subtleties of Japanese Russian saber battle. He was silent, listening Yamamoto, carefully copied his movements, memorizing, took away for themselves interesting techniques.
In general, the Japanese system of fencing he was not liking. A month later, Pavel Ivanovich knew for sure: in the case of the Japanese clash will not sustain the cascade "Russian mill." For a Japanese fencing - a clear cost overruns physical strength, for Europeans - the norm.
However, fencing classes (Yamamoto persistently referred to them as "kendo" - "way of the sword") clearly went for the benefit of the Japanese. Yamamoto seemed to come to himself, pulled himself up, flushed, his eyes reappeared steel youthful luster.
In the spring with Yamamoto had to say goodbye. The Japanese finished second emergency repair of the unit, the issue of their deportation was resolved at the government level. In general, they were returning to their homes.
Yamamoto did not know that Pavel Ivanovich's father - Ivan Parkin - participant of defense of Port Arthur in the Russian-Japanese war of 1904-1905, who served in the Japanese prisoner of two long years, and returned to his native Transcaspian region alive and healthy. Yamamoto did not know what kind to him was bound to the precepts of Pavel Ivanovich mother - Ksenya, who taught her son to forgive his enemies.
*****
WAND CHERRY WOOD
My father cut me a cherry-wood stick long arm and two fingers thick as an adult. The wand was heavier than the same pine. Wood is full of cherry gum hardens with time, and after seven years in hardness it is difficult to distinguish from the Ivory.
Began training.
Short suggestion:
- In the Amu Darya and Sumbar rushes - reeds - is found most terrifying predator on earth - wild cat Ìanul. Even tigers are afraid of him. The strength of the Ìanul cat is not in the size of its claws and teeth, not muscle mass. His power - in the extraordinary speed and in absolute fearlessness. You must to be a wild cat Ìanul, and your foes flee as to frighten away the sparrows!
This is the first. Second, remember the covenant of Suvorov: "eye, speed, rush!". These are the three absolute values and equally addressed to generals and ordinary soldiers.
This covenant must remember and perform every warrior!
*****
STORY YAMAMOTO
"In the old days lived in Kyoto a young man from a good family.
His father was a noble samurai, served as Prince's bodyguard and chief of his personal guard.
One day, the prince visited the courtyard a visiting master "kendo", who held in Osaka own school.
Prince wanted entertainment.
Preposition - competition.
Prince arranged a duel with swords. Head of the personal guard against the master "kendo". Military weapons used in the fight.
On the third lunge the captain was killed.
His family lost their livelihoods. The widow did not survive the winter. The young man is sheltered neighbors and not allowed to die of hunger.
His only possessions were a legacy from the parent - generic ken.
In the spring, he went to the mountains. When nature comes to life, the Japanese will not starve.
The young man tormented by the other hunger - the thirst for revenge.
The technique battle "kendo" has not a lot of tricks, both in the European fencing schools. More importantly firmly know the basics of combat, then victory could bring improvisation, talent, personal physical and spiritual qualities.
Day after day, the young man practiced techniques, which trained by his father, which he had seen on samurai training, and those which he had just heard.
By the end of the summer he realized that without his partner classes are meaningless. Fight with the "shadow" - a fight with yourself. You can not rise above its own growth. In a fair fight he did not win the wizard "kendo." Stab in the back? This idea did not come to the boy's head. He, like his father, he was a hereditary samurai!
The answer to the question itself does not come.
The answer must be sought. On practice. Who is not looking for, he no finds.
If a young person does not have a chance to survive the sword blade Kendo master, he must strike first! Strike before the master sword go out of its scabbard!
Testing of all "kendo" techniques has been discontinued.
A whole year was spent on the training of reception.
Only when the young man felt his strength and gained full confidence in victory, he left his mountain shelter.
Last bathed under the waterfall jet, dressed only in their careful preservation of the kimono.
Ken - a tightly to tighten their belts, and - on the road. In Osaka.
A Challenge with a dozen witnesses.
Failure is impossible.
Hundreds of curious. Battle Stance. Ken sheathed in his belt.
Opponents of one-versus-other. Duel views. Rabies in the eyes of the master. Cool as a mountain stream, the will and the confidence in victory in the eyes of the young avenger.
Slowly, very slowly circling the samurai against each other.
This is not a ritual, it is not a dance. This - is a merciless battle.
This study is the enemy. It is a psychological attack.
In the eyes of the master - rendering countless options battlefield.
In the eyes of the young man - the face of death.
Master worried. His arm jerked and fell on the shark skin of handle Ken.
Like a flash lightning sword of young man.
A moment the boy grabbed out the sword from his scabbard.
The sword without stopping, describing a semi-circle, hit the right shoulder of the master, without encountering obstacles, passed through the bones of the clavicle, ribs and spine, he reached the heart.
The second movement the sword was pulled out of the body of a dead master "kendo", who still standing on their feet. And sword returned to scabbards.
The young man bowed to the crowd before, as the dead body collapsed to the ground. "
*****
COLLISION
- Do you understand? - I asked the father.
I nodded my head. I do not just understand, I saw that scene, I feel it. I remember it as if he was involved in this fight.
Week went to the training. I have worked. My whole body ached and asked for mercy. Father seemed to have lost my interest in physical education. But I no longer wanted to humiliation - either moral or physical.
On the day when my unjust went on the hunt for Freemason, they met no musician Vovka Parkin, who no one to call for help, but the son of the chief of the palace guard - the samurai - the son of a samurai.
This was not the game. On this day, childhood ended.
To me were four.
Bandit fashionable cap in eight wedges. Trousers flared. Jacket on plowing, collars of shirts lie on the collars of jackets. The cigarette between his teeth. Hands clenched into fists, but twitching with excitement. Head drawn into the narrow shoulders.
As in Ashgabat and laid full Internationale: Russian, Persian, Turkmen and Armenians!
The elder in his right hand open folding knife. His long fingers played with a knife, deftly turning the blade, the hilt in my direction. Eyes narrowed, impudent grin on his face.
I know, the knives are at all, but it does not scare me anymore. No fear.
- And here is our violinist! - This appeal to me.
I put the case to the trumpet on the asphalt. Unbuttoning his jacket. My cherry stick with one end left hidden in his pants pocket, its second end on my left shoulder under the suit.
The margin bypasses me around. In one behind, right, left. Before me, "the chief in all its glory." I look forward to when it crosses the invisible line beyond which he plucked ...
Step, another step, another ...
One movement rod taken out from under my jacket, step right foot forward and left - an instant, with a turn of the torso, blow with all his might stick just above the right ear of the enemy. Lightning turn back, lunge punch prick in the solar plexus of the second. Touch;! Again twist stick is returned to its original position in the pocket and a suit.
The leader on the ground with his eyes closed, his legs twitching, his hands scraping the asphalt.
Moans. Moans - so alive!
Knife guy did not have time to use. Corner of my eye I see: behind the second tries to rise, but again falls to his knees, holding his stomach, grunts and whimpers of pain. Right and left are silent.
- Who else?
- No, no, we did!
I raised a case with the pipe, leaving slowly, with dignity, without looking back.
Thank Yamamoto! More me in my life had not been beaten.
*****
I will come back to saber and kån . But at the time I was only interested in the trumpet - the party of "Cornet-B-Prima!"On this day, the orchestra of the eighteenth School took second place on the competition results urban school brass bands. The first - the orchestra of the Palace of Pioneers, which day of the concert fabulously filled with new musicians, apparently already came out of the pioneer age: students of Turkmen State School of Music and «KultProsvetTehnikum».
We did not protest. We have enough of its share of fame!
*****
Photo: Ashgabat. Soviet Turkmenistan. 1956. The school number 18. 1-A class. Class teacher Maria Makarovna Reshetina.
*****