Four years have passed. The once groomed colonel, with white skin, clean hair, a flowing speech, and his exquisite wife, in beautiful dresses, attending ballet and museums every week, was now completely different.
Mir Ali's face was covered with deep wrinkles, he turned black, his hair was long unwashed, his hands were in calluses. The once black hair became almost gray. Part of the teeth collapsed, holes gaped there.
"Oh, that's how it all turned out ... and there were such plans. Now you need to think about how to feed the family. Alas, they didn't teach me how to cheat and deceive. If I knew, now the family would not go hungry!"
He was sent to stop the sands, to find new varieties of vegetation, so that they stop the desert. Mir Ali's was aimed at re-education through labor. Actually it was a link. The fate of the losers is suffering. Their winners gave installation, oppress, crush, break.
"Hey, you little fellow ... collect these stones and broken bottles with your own hands. You don't have enough gloves! I suppose you had maids and maids in the capital? Now work yourself!" so the soldiers from the camp told him.
MirAli, was forced to collect stones and broken glass from bottles.
"Damn, what kind of people, when there is power, they run around amiably, smile, but as there is no power, they start to scoff at me. Psychology of slaves. During the life of a person they cultivate a personality cult, after a political death they are ready to tear to pieces" such thoughts flashed by the former colonel.
He collected garbage from the territory. His hands were cut against the glass. He stopped to stop the blood.
However, the soldiers, his fellow countrymen, only mocked him. Not letting the blood stop. It was gratifying for them to amuse their ego.
Ordinary soldiers can mock the former colonel, the elite, put him in his place. Now his clan was in disgrace, mocking him, you could even get a bonus, an increase in salary. And maybe even an early advancement in rank. And this opened up good opportunities for additional soldering.
One of the soldiers, fat, with hatred in his eyes, remarked "my mother was only an ensign! She had 5 children to feed everyone, my mother had to become an informer! She sold her colleagues. She wrote denunciations on them! For each denunciation, I received 1,200,000 black dollars. She was ashamed that she was selling good people. But she had to feed us. And you boasted, ate pheasants and grouse. But now your time has come to suffer. You bastard, the enemy of the people! "
Unable to restrain himself, he struck MirAli with his boot with all his might. And two more times. With difficulty, his comrade managed to drag him from the fallen MirAli.
The soldiers are gone. But MirAli remained to lie, crouching on the ground. This was also in the camp. About it was not customary to write.
Two days later, the soldier who hit MirAli disappeared. They say he was taken in the evening. A black jeep arrived without numbers. The soldier overdid it. He did not know that despite the disgrace of MirAli, he was under the control of the state security service.
The second soldier wrote a denunciation to his comrade. He was then sent to felling the forest for 10 long years. Even when the empire collapsed, he continued to cut down the forest. The system did not forgive those who went against her will.
Second Northern Empire - a cult of personality was developed in it. The elite and the people chose a leader, created a cult during their lifetime, worshiped him and did not follow the laws. As the leader of the country was dying, the elite stigmatized him, and the people hooted over the monuments and mocked the ashes of the defeated lion. During life, no one dared to say what he thinks. Fearing that they will be sent to cut down the forest or green the desert. To keep silent, keep your mouth shut, and please smile with pleasure during the life of a lion. Stomp, tear his skin after death. That was the psychology of the crowd.
Democracy? Law? He did not work. The totalitarian world, the spoken word, and the loss of work, blacklisting.
Surprisingly, Miri Ali, his compatriots with great enthusiasm accepted this order! They did not give his family food, they gave water with the smell of mud. He was forced to seek food for the family himself. They had a hard time.
Nevertheless, his knowledge helped him in a new place. He was able to develop a new variety of plants capable of producing water and scattered in the desert, he chose those places where there was gold.
The desert site, entrusted to the sergeant, flourished and turned into a cozy oasis. But when he began to live more or less well, he was again transferred to another forgotten area. Therefore, he began many times all over again.
The 8-year-old ShirAli was able to put his knowledge into practice, at first it was difficult for him to get used to the new environment, but man is the most adaptable species among the class of mammals.
Shir Ali was an Asian, with black hair but already with a little gray. Since he got as a result of repression. Short stature. Athletic physique, with thinness. A keen look. Eagle nose. A sign that his ancestors were inhabitants of the mountains. Skin color - dark. He was a believer, this helped him to live in difficult conditions. Strength came from faith! His motto was "Shukr, Sabr, Tavvakal" - Gratitude, Patience, Request for help, but only to the Creator.
This gave him the strength to overcome the trials and difficulties on his short so far, life path.
Surprisingly, his grandfather and father were communists. Atheists. But his grandmother was a believer and she taught her grandson this! He was grateful to her for that!
As soon as Shir Ali was able to develop a technology of behavior in the new environmental conditions, he was able to reconcile with his position and benefit from it for himself and his family.
His little brother Samir-Ali, constantly hungry. Their ration was stolen and they couldn't eat anything. What parents could collect was clearly not enough for young growing organisms.
Their mother, Hontur, refused to eat, saying that she did not want to eat.
"I have to feed them, otherwise they are so weak, who knew that fate would be so?" she said to herself.
"Hey girl, don't be a fool, be patient, these are life's trials, if you pass them, endure, there will be a relief," suddenly at her head she heard her father's hard voice.
And she herself was starving. Hunger is the worst form of torture. People begin to stagger from a simple wind, there is no strength to go, any load exhausts a person and he can only sleep. Such a person can easily get sick. Wearing clothes becomes very difficult, it seems heavy. Ali's world shared his portion with his wife. But he himself had little strength. But he was a man, so he endured and did his job.
They have become worse off. The head of the camp every morning lined up the deportees and read them political information. He strove to report each time that charges were being brought against the Hontur clan and they would be executed soon. The camp staff, seeing that now this family has no protection, they mocked and mocked them. In every way humiliating them, forgetting that they themselves must follow the letter of the law.
Shir Ali in the early years of camp life, he could not get used to the ugliest and sometimes bad-smelling food. He was tired of unusual odors, he could not eat rough food.
However, now after four years, Shir Ali was not recognized.
He became more slender, fit, his abdomen was gone, his eyes glowed with fire. He had an incentive, better to live!
Once, being in the desert, he saw a whole cloud of locusts, for farmers it was a disaster, and for him great success!
Throwing off his shirt and jacket, Shir Ali began to catch a large locust! An hour later he was already at home, cheerful and contented.
Hontur saw what he brought and fainted, in horror. Although 4 years passed, she still could not get used to the realities of a new life, without museums and ballet.
When she woke up, she saw the pleased faces of her sons, gouging on both cheeks, the fried locusts. She was a lot. Hontur was sick. But the world arrived in time, Ali reassured her, saying that the Arabs eat locusts, as well as the Chinese. This is considered to be a delicacy among them! There is a lot of protein in this locust, and it needs to be reinforced.
Hontur looked in disgust at the large aluminum plate set in front of her, which was covered with a small pot of fried locusts.
But here Samir-Ali, said wiping his fat mouth, "and the locusts are even nothing, it tastes like chicken"!
Hontur was shocked on the one hand, but on the other was interested in a new taste.
During the mass locust migration, the Shir Ali family was joyful and did not need food.
This food is rich in protein and minerals. Some locust Arabs are called terrestrial shrimp.
But Shir Ali did not lose time, he sold part of the fried locusts to the guards, they were glad for a new taste, they were tired of eating every day - beef in stew and rations. Therefore, they were happy to exchange food for food. And now in the house of Hontur in the corner of their holey yurt, in which all the exiles lived, lay 20 beautiful cans with stewed meat, five packets of milk powder, two cans of butter.
On the face of Hontur for the first time in 4 years, a semblance of a smile appeared on hollow cheeks. Now their family will not starve for two months. And Mir Ali only looked away sadly. He was an adult and could not provide his family with food, and his little son was 8 years old! It was excruciating!
Shir Ali realized that his knowledge can bring food! And this is in conditions of hunger, which means a lot!
So Shir Ali understood how the East works. There may be orders, there may be circulars to crush their family. But if you give something necessary, tasty, then the guards can close their eyes to something and not enthusiastically crush their family. And just pretend that they torment them.
Your benefit means more than orders.
Shir Ali now sought to have goods in order to exchange them for food, for some indulgences, so that it was pleasant to live. Father all the time was lost in the desert. There was little hope for him. Hontur was still weak and watched his younger brother, who was also weak. He lacked vitamins, trace elements. They were not accustomed to the harsh and simple food that still needed to be found.
"Son, where are you going again, don't be mischievous," Hontur said in a weak voice, raising her head from the bed.
They slept on the floor in a yurt. The floor of which was covered with a reed mat and a small felt blanket. On the walls of the yurt was the simple belonging of the settlers. Two enameled buckets, a pair of basins, several iron mugs. A small chest without a lock, their things were lying there. And on the chest are some very worn cotton blankets. That's the whole belongings.
Sometimes, when an order came from the center of the empire, all of their things in the yurt were turned upside down and searched. Of course, they didn't find anything. But so the power of the empire mocked the clan, which did not conspire with the empire to betray their own. The head of the clan was given a choice - to betray his homeland, surrender the people, so that they would be ground into flour, and for this to get a good position in the empire.
Awards, career advancement. Money, power, respect. For refusal, death, persecution of the family. He chose the second. Although everyone in the clan was amazed at his choice ?! What for???? None of the people appreciated his sacrifice. They did not defend his. All silently, huddled in the corners and were silent, hoping to hide and not know anything about them. But the family, the clan suffered. But the Patriarch himself was killed, he was poisoned, and then the doctors finished him off. A faithful communist left, but such were no longer needed. The old guard, which defeated fascism, was not needed, the new guard. They wanted to abandon communism and come to capitalism. Which happened a little later.
But it was all politics and history, little Shir Ali did not understand this, he had a completely different task, not only to survive but also to start living well with his family.
It was impossible to rely on his father, he was used to following orders, but in the East, this is stupid, since the orders are rather dumb, you need to be able to find a common language. Mother was from an aristocratic family and did not understand how the bribery system works in practice. The younger brother, he was completely small, painful, he was not interested in supplying the household!
Shir Ali, once realized that the knowledge that he used to gain interest and maintaining small talk turned out to be very practical. They can be monetized! And money solved many issues in the exile zone. The guards also wanted to live well.
From Avicenna, an ancient scientist, physician, alchemist, he subtracted that from the plant "camel thorns", lat. Alhági is a genus of plants in the legume family that grows in deserts; the sugar can be made.
And in the mountains and deserts - the currency for exchanging goods since the days of the Silk Road, there were - sugar, honey, skins, flour, gold, healing herbs.
For gold, they could have just killed. It was difficult and dangerous to find honey. Flour? Where to get it in the desert? Healing herbs must still be able to find, for this, you need to go far from the camp, where there were few people.
There was sugar!
Shir Ali learned to collect dew, the juice secreted by the camel's thorn. He left early in the morning and returned during lunch, carrying with him a bag of 5-7 kg of collected Ross.
He collected it from the end of summer, at the beginning of autumn. This Ross possessed healing properties if syrup could be made.
The syrup is made from manna, and this should be done early in the morning so that the manna does not melt. Amber syrup has healing properties - (in A. Amasiyatsa of the 15th century AD) it cleanses and softens the throat and lungs, and also helps with coughing, dissolves yellow bile and easily quenches thirst. Use as syrup.
According to the cook, a well-known historian in Small AN, amber sugar (cue Yantak) should be prepared as follows: "Manna should be cleaned of garbage, then put in a saucepan, pour a little water, set on fire." In another bowl, boil the carrots, cut the quince in small strips, pour with dissolved amber sugar, continue to cook until cooked.
Gathering yantaki juice or dew was a way for Shira Ali to heal, eat dessert, and make some money. Being poor, he knew the feeling of hunger. This painful feeling, which he knew only once, he remembers him for life. When the forces leave a person, when there is no loss of energy, move your legs, or raise your hands. A person who has survived hunger always begins to make reserves for the future; he accumulates food and money.
Shir Ali became a miser. He was saving money and products for exchange. He received money by exchanging goods with drivers who brought food to the camp. They liked a cunning boy who knew how to tell interesting stories, he knew where to buy the most delicious koumiss in the desert - mare's milk, where to sell surplus products. This was very valuable information. It's also a peculiar currency, but only for "ours".
Shir Ali, being an exiled, being an "enemy of the people" in fact an "enemy of the victorious faction", he was able to become "his" in the camp. The main chief in the camp was not the commandant, not even the chief of the regime. A warehouse manager. He became the main friend of Shir Ali. And Shir Ali was his friend.
Together they received a good amount of profit from their transactions. Shir Ali found gold and silver coins in the desert, exchanged them with the warehouse manager. Tom needed a currency. Empire money was not convertible.
The manager already sensed that there was a wind of change. And that the money of the second empire will soon cease to mean anything. Turn into nobody, unwanted candy wrappers. And it was dangerous to exchange money with currency traders. The employees of the state security department could go to it. And this is the article and the shooting.
And life was so beautiful!
And Shir Ali, the gold coins he found were not needed, he needed food and money from the empire, with which he could buy relative freedom and the best comfortable conditions for his family.
He was even able to order from the drivers the drugs his mother and brother needed, his father glasses, black Cuban beans, she replaced animal protein, she had a lot of vegetable protein, which was well absorbed by the human body. His knowledge from books came in handy.
Then this bean became a hit among the wives of the camp leaders.
Shir Ali told them to cook recipes. And they put pressure on their husbands, improved the living of his family.
Now they were not poisoned or beaten in the camp, and the instructions from the center of the empire did not come for the last two years. There was no time for some rogue family. A new story was created in the empire. There was a change in the social order. Communist ideas were abandoned, the territory of the empire, water borders sold at a reasonable price to the capitalist empires. They shared the property of the second empire. It needed speed, who first managed to grab a fat piece of cake, he ate it.
And the bosses also sensed new changes and did not want to stay in the cold. They felt something.
Empire did not last long. Here you need to fill your pockets yourself, so as not to be left with anything. On beggarly old age. Therefore, the authorities turned a blind eye to the active trade unfolding in the exile camp. They had their percentage from this.
Black bean was still a valuable protein for building bones and the human body.
Slowly, nomad merchants reached the camp.
There was a bargain. Shir Ali traded healing roots, sugar, some old jewelry that he found in the desert, and the nomads appreciated them very much. Therefore, they gave him cheese, horse sausage, she had great energy but could increase the pressure in humans. Dried meat, mare's milk. It was very useful for his mother and brother, as well as his father.
His sugar was healing, helped with coughing, healed pneumonia, and quenched thirst in summer. Shir Ali made sugar, and then syrup, which possessed these amazing healing properties. This sugar was a currency for him in the desert, nomads called him a little doctor. Often they came to him for advice.
Now the family lived in a spacious white yurt, with a warm floor covered with thick carpets made of good felt. On the walls of the yurt were three carved, beautiful chests with locks. On top of them lay new cotton blankets, covered on top with velvet and silk. Beautiful and comfortable, wooden dishes, steel boilers.
Hontur even became younger, her father's eyes shone again with stars, in a yurt they began to laugh more often. And Samir-Ali was recovering. The house was now home to money, meat, milk, butter, cheese. When the family is fed, well-fed and there are supplies, then life even in the desert does not seem so terrible.
Shir-Ali gave part of his income to his mother, and part of it was put into circulation.
"Shir Ali? Could you share a sugar recipe with us? " Once an old nomad asked him directly.
"Of course, dear, but first, tell me what kind of person are you? What is your kind of seal? Where were your nomadic territories? Can you name your ancestors up to the 7th tribe? What is your battle cry? What kind of dear are you from? " without hiding, too, without tricks, answered little Shir Ali.
"Wow, do you know our customs?" surprised the nomad.
"Yes, I know, my grandmother is also from nomads!" proudly answered Shir Ali.
"And I thought, since you have a Persian name, then you, urban, settled"! surprised the nomad.
"Well, and from what will you be? And then I will answer you already, you know, the youngest speak first to respect the elders. So it was from century to century?! said the old nomad.
"I am from the warrior clan, the Eight clans is Naiman, our clan roamed along 7 rivers, between two large rivers, near the Svet River, in the north and south, in the west they reached the desert of the Red Fire Dragon and in the east, they lived-in Gaochan and Turfan "!
"By our kind - the middle eight, the combat click - good, rich! The seal of the genus is the inverted head of a wild bull. And 7 generations are Nurlan-bek from Gaochan - Mergen-khan from Kedera - Naim-khan from Kesh-Mergali-bek from Lake Tengri, Temir-bek from Big Mountain, Altai is called now, Bol-khan from Seven Rivers, Yauchi from the Great Steppe ... "
"Wait, wait, did you say Yauchi from the Great Steppe? What was his military nickname? " said the old man excitedly.
"Batyr Shad," Shir Ali answered calmly.
"Wow, so are you really from our older family ?! And we are from the youngest, our battle cry is Black Rich! And our ancestors roamed more in the Great Steppe and Gaochan! Relatives !!! Well, and how are you, where are you, the grandmother is alive? asked excitedly, with a suddenly hoarse voice, with tears in his eyes, the old nomad.
"Yes, the grandmother is alive, she is from Keder herself, and now lives in Si-mi-se-kan in the capital of Small-Ahn."
"How good, we will need to go to her"! said the old man touchingly.
"Well, grandson, and from which clan is she now?" asked the old man.
"Ah, she is now behind her husband, behind Feruz the Sage, from the Svet clan, her relatives live in the Light mountains, although she herself is from Keder," said Shir Ali.
"What? What? Our relatives and from the famous clan "Light"? Wow, I'll tell you in the steppe, no one will believe that our hires managed to break into the Small-An elite! " the old man began to smile broadly and next to him the nomads also smiled.
"This cunning boy, this young doctor, was their kin!" "Well now, let us live!" flashed through the old man's head.
On the occasion of the meeting of relatives, Shir Ali shared the secret of making wonderful sugar. And the nomads went to greet his parents and brought gifts, several sheep, warm blankets from felt, of course, fresh mare and camel milk.
Now, in the exile camp, no one even thought to cause at least some harm to the Shir Ali family. Now he was not just an exile, but a relative of the largest family of nomads. It was not worth joking with them.
The recipe was simple, but also time-consuming.
He cleaned the collected dew with his own hands from sticks, debris, cobwebs, and dust particles. Putting peeled dew in the cauldron, he poured some water. And how to look for water in the desert, the nomads told him. They also talked about the sacred spring, which was 10 km from their camp in the underground city. Nomads brought ShirAli this water in bellows. He had an amazing property not to spoil 10 days. What was amazing for the desert.
Having poured a small amount of water into the boiler, small ShirAli lit it and cooked it. Then he spread the cooked mass on a smooth stone and left to dry.
Two days later, he collected sugar crystals.
Life in the desert was getting better!