Book: Zulaikha opens his eyes

Death was everywhere here, but death is simple, understandable, in its own wise, and even fair: flew from the trees and rot in the ground leaves and pine needles, broke under the heavy bear paw and dried bushes, grass prey of deer and he the wolf pack. Death was intimately, inextricably intertwined with life and therefore not terrible.

There was even something attractive, something very special, giving the revenge a joy to drink with a man, from which there can be secrets and which, in turn, could be secrets.

A drunken man is worse than an animal.

Work, zulaikha, work. How's the mom? Work drives away sadness. Oh, mother, my grief does not listen to your sayings...

She didn't think about where to cast her fate and what will happen tomorrow. All that mattered was today, just this moment - a quiet snore on the chest, heaviness and warmth of FILIAL calf to the abdomen.

Death was everywhere. Zuleikha got it in childhood. And tenderly-soft, covered with delicate Sunny yellow fluff Chicks, and curly, smelling hay and warm milk, lambs, and the first spring moths, and rosy, full of heavy sugar juice apples - all carried in itself the germ of a future of dying.

Ignatov did not understand how to love a woman. You can love the great things the revolution and the party, their country. What about the woman? Yes how can the same word to Express their attitude to such different values - like putting on two scales no broad and Revolution? The nonsense any turns. Even Nastasia - Manka voiced, but all the same Baba. To spend the night with her, two, six months, to amuse his men - and all pretty. What is love. So, feeling the fire of emotions. Burning it will burn out - will blow away the ashes and continue to live. Therefore, Ignatov, not used in speech, the word love is not defiled.

Bad thoughts-as-nails kalachivka in the brain, chopping it into pieces.

Someone was given life with a pinch of her daughters; someone with a handful; someone- infinitely generous, bins and barns, as mother-in-law. But death was waiting for everyone, lurked in him or went very close, the cat fins to feet, the dust fell on the clothes, air got into his lungs. Death was omnipresent, more cunning, smarter and more powerful than the foolish life, which is always lost in the battle.

Even the language of Tatar is arranged so that it is possible to live all life and never to say, "I": at what time would you say about yourself, the verb into the form, change the end, making excessive use of this little conceited words. In Russian - not so, everyone here only tries to insert: "I" Yes "me", but again "I"...

- You often think about "what would happen if"?
- No.
- And rightly so. There is only what is. Only what is.

Life is a complicated road, olym. Complex and long. Sometimes you want to sit on the curb and stretch your legs - let it all rolls past, though in the underworld, - sit down, you stretch out, you can!

Feelings - they are even given to people burning. If no feelings left - that is for the coals to stay?

So, feeling the fire of emotions. Burning it will burn out - will blow away the ashes and continue to live.