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Message: <blockquote data-quote="sachii" data-source="post: 9130385" data-attributes="member: 126652">page 9read it, the easier my conscience will be. Do not be afraid of making itembarrassing for me. Do not hold anything back.”For days I could think of nothing else, so haunting was the impressionproduced by her letter. The best thing to do, I finally decided, was to relate thestory as if told by Altynai herself.It happened in 1924. Yes, that was the year... What is now our collective farm was in those days a small village of poor peasants. I was fourteen at the time, and I lived in the home of my late father's cousin. My mother, too, was dead.That autumn, after the wealthier sheep-farmers had moved up into themountains for the winter, a stranger wearing an army greatcoat came to ourvillage. I remember the greatcoat because it was a black one, oddly enough. Theappearance of a man in uniform in our remote little village, wedged in betweenthe mountains, caused quite a stir.At first people said that he'd been a commander in the army and so he'd be ahigh official in the village too, but later it turned out that he was no commanderat all, he was the son of Tashtanbek, that same Tashtanbek who had left thevillage to work on the railway that hungry winter years ago and was neverheard of again. And this stranger was his son Duishen, sent here, so he said, tostart a school and teach children to read and write.In those days, schools were unheard of in our parts, and people did notunderstand such newfangled notions very well. Some believed the rumors;others dismissed them for old women's gossip. Perhaps they would haveforgotten all about this school business, if a general meeting had not been calledsoon after Duishen's arrival. My uncle grumbled, reluctant to go.“Meeting, indeed! They're always bothering you with their nonsense whenyou're busy!” But finally he saddled his old Mg and rode to the meeting in style,as befitted a self-respectingd jig i t. The neighbors' kids and I followed him at arun.When, panting, we got to the hillock where our meetings were usually held, we saw the pale-faced young man in the black army greatcoat addressing the riders and those who came on foot. We couldn't catch his words, so we edged closer. A very old man in a badly worn fur coat suddenly interrupted him.</blockquote>

Verification: Dawasata paya keeyak thibeda?

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