Leninabad. Than me Tajikistan was remembered?Now this city absolutely in other country. And a name at it not that was earlier. And even not that Alexander of Macedon gave it, having put on the way to India on this very spot fortress. Once, when all of us lived in that country which is absent now any more, he bore a proud name of one of classics of the political doctrine famous in due time - Leninabad.
Lenin`s City on the river Cheese - Darya that in the north of Tajikistan. The first time I got there at the very beginning of December.
To the city we drove on usual onboard tentovanny “shishiga“ from railway station. Early - early in the morning. Only the sun rose. The sky, somewhere there, at the horizon, in blue of pink also did not manage to be recoloured. And snowball … Directly, as well as at us, in Russia. Only not in December, as here. And somewhere the end of October big wet flakes everything falls …
Falls slowly, as in slow-motion shot. But, despite quantity of all this white, it is damp - fluffy, it is felt at once - frivolously it. And did not manage to fall to the ground as thaws already. And what fell and laid down, so it is a maximum - till a lunch will hold on. Then to run away somewhere into hatches of the stormwater drainage system small, quick, numerous streamlets.
Here and here. Fell only to the ground, already … Zazhurchal streams on aryka that at the left - to the right of the road. But that part that else is on a silver platter, it does not frighten. Snow brings down everything … Brings down. Also it is necessary to lie small white rollers or islands along a roadside, on lawns, roofs of houses and bus-stops.
Almost, as well as at us. As houses … Only something is missing.
An ubiquitous patsanva that with noise and din, having jumped out on a break in a schoolyard, begins to rumple, skatyvat snowballs, hurrying to zapulit them quicker, in all power of the iron lungs the call calling on a lesson did not begin to wail yet … Zapulit quicker in somebody. Or in something. To horror of the school supply manager, if chosen as a target - God forbid! - it will be fragile or that it is even worse, glass.
No, there is no patsanva yet. Early. But the working people already rose. Was accepted for good reason.
Here, seemingly, cannery. Because in front of its still closed iron gate painted apparently in the light of headlights behind going “shishiga“, in juicy green color, a solid chain in ten - one and a half wheel Belarus tractors. To each of which the worldly-wise tractor cart is behind fastened. And even couple of such. Once, probably, blue. And now faded so that straight off and not to define - and what they are colors.
And in these tractor carts … Huge ripe it is juicy - red tomatoes, as on selection, all - exactly - in - exactly that size which so loves the granny when it begins to display them on a summer kitchen on 3-liter jars. Only here where as it is more of them. Mountains... Are piled by the most real mountains! And from above everyone it is bright - red top - a white snow cap...
Here that to me also remembered Tajikistan. The huge red tomato mountains which are carefully covered with white fluffy snow. Which - as the last news from the native land. And a sad reminder that here - not there. And “there“. Oh, - joint stock company it is far...