How am I going hay in Kyrgyzstan (the ending part 3) The next day was spent in traveling from one field to another, throwing hay fork in the back of the truck, returning to the farm and so on. I have all this time trying to avoid a terrible questioning Nirtenbeka. I and the assistant constantly worked with pitchforks, Nortenbek stood in the back, stacking hay, and his brother gathered the hay into stacks with large horse-drawn rakes, his father was absent, he is somewhere in the flock, but his wife was at home, milking yaks and prepared food. I like his guest, give relief, but had only assistant to stay at least for a moment (sometimes it did not even required) as Nirtenbek and his brother shouted his name, for what is usually followed by some caustic comment. Miracle truck - So how did you get here? - I asked my father Nirtenbeka in one of those rare moments when we were all on the farm. - You went through Osh (the second largest city of Kyrgyzstan, approx. Perevi.)? - Yes, - I replied. - Scary is not it? Is there no wars now? - Oh, no. All is calm, - I replied. - We will not go there. Damn! - He said, shaking his head. - I was in Osh, during riots, I studied there at the time - told me his brother Nirtenbeka half an hour later when we returned to the field. - You know, we did not have to spend money at the time, we lived without money. When we wanted to eat, we're just breaking into the store and grabbed that horrible. It was cool. Mountain the next day I had to leave if I wanted to get to the Tajik border before end my Kyrgyz visa. I told the family that work with them in the morning and after lunch back to Sarah's Mogul. Father Nirtenbeka with the face covered - well, what a character is not a horror movie! Truck that day decided to not start at all, despite all efforts Nirtenbeka. What can we do, we had harnessed the donkey to the old wooden platform with wheels, which fit only 1 / 15 part of the cargo, which was in the back of the car. During one of his many trips to the farm his father Nirtenbeka sent a cart along a different path through the top of the hill. He was wearing black pants, shoes, cut from the bottom of boots, a kind of gray jacket, felt hat two feet high and a strange kind of stockings, which covered his entire face except for a couple of holes for the eyes. Somehow it reminded me of the movie "Scream" (horror film director Wes Craven was released in 1996, approx. Perevi.). - Want to wash? - He asked. - My herd is now a small lake over there. I followed him, enticed the idea of ??purity, after several days without washing. - Where should I enter into a lake? - I asked when we reached the shore. - Over there - he said, pointing to the part of the lake, which is opposite a large flat rock. Just this rock, and he lay down, leaning on his arm. He put one foot on a stone, the other bent at the knee. Farm He looked at me as I tried to water on the shore, and then unleashed on me an avalanche of questions, most of which were as perverted as the questions Nirtenbeka, but he formulated them much more rudely. His voice was frightening flying above the water surface to me, a little reflection from the surrounding hills. - You know, I really do not want to answer these questions, and I think I also bathe in another time - I said, rising and receding away. - Wait! I'm with you - he said, rising from the stone and skirting the lake shore to join me. - Listen, my son will come to Moscow, you introduce him to an Englishwoman? - Of course - I said, thinking only about how to quickly get out of here. On the day the truck fails to start the evening of that day the younger brother Nirtenbeka, who, like his wife Nirtenbeka, treated me most kindly, adequately and sincerely from all their family, forwarded me his horse through a wide turbulent river and showed me the way to Sary Mogul. I walked for two hours, and then the two boys to plow drawn by a horse, offered to throw me to the village. Fragile plow rattled and jumped on a rough road, tossing me, it seemed, now, this design falls apart into its constituent parts. I blamed myself for all the strange conversations that I had to fight for the last few days. The moral of the story is that I should exercise great caution and a greater sensitivity toward other cultures. During my next trip, and I plan to go to Afghanistan, I'd rather be a clear answer, "Yes, he is married" or "No, not married." Start material:
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