The White Ship Read Online Free PDF

visit them. He had old friends among I hem, but they invited him for their own reasons too. Orozkul was a useful man. Especially to those who were building 'louses for themselves, but had to spend summers up in the mountains. They could not leave the herds alone and go to look for building materials. Besides, the materials weren't easy to come by, especially timber. But if you pleased Orozkul, he'd let you have a couple of trees from the forest preserve. Otherwise you might be wandering in the mountains with your herd to the end of your days, and the house would never he finished.
    Dozing in the saddle, heavy and self-important, Orozkul rode with the toes of his fine cowhide boots resting carelessly in the stirrups. He nearly tumbled off the horse when the boy suddenly came running toward him, swinging his schoolbag.
    "Uncle Orozkul, look what I have! Look at my school-bag! I'll go to school!"
    "Oh, the devil take you," Orozkul swore, startled, and pulled at the reins. He glanced at the boy with sleepy, reddened, drunken eyes. "What's the matter, where'd you come from?"
    "I'm going home. I have a schoolbag. I went to show it to Seidakhmat," the boy said in a small voice.
    "All right, go on and play," Orozkul growled and, swaying uncertainly in the saddle, he went on. What did he care about that stupid schoolbag, about that brat abandoned by his parents, when he himself was so wronged by life, when God didn't see fit to grant him a son of his own, his own flesh and blood, while others were blessed with all the children they could want.
    Orozkul sniffled and gave a sob. Pity and anger choked him. Pity for himself, regret that his life would pass without leaving a trace, and mounting anger at his barren wife. It was all because of her, damn her, going about empty bellied all these years.
    "I'll show you!" Orozkul threatened her mentally, clenching his beefy fists, and moaned under his breath to keep himself from weeping out loud. He knew he would go home and beat her again. Every time he drank, this bull-like man went wild with grief and anger.
    The boy walked after him along the path and was astonished to see his uncle vanish suddenly. Orozkul had turned off toward the river, dismounted, threw down the reins, and went on foot straight through the tall grass. He walked, swaying and stooped, pressing his hands over his face, his head pulled into his shoulders. At the bank, he squatted down, dipped his hands into the water and splashed it on his face.
    "I guess he's got a headache from the heat," the boy decided when he saw what Orozkul was doing. He did not know that Orozkul was crying and could not stop. That he was crying because it was not his son who came running to meet him, and because he had not found within himself the tiling that was needed to say at least a human word or two to this boy with his schoolbag.
     

 
    2
    From the summit of Outlook Mountain you could see in all directions. Lying on his stomach, the boy adjusted the binoculars. These powerful field glasses had once been awarded to his grandfather for his long years of service at the forest post. The old man had no patience with them: "My own eyes are just as good." But they became the boy's favorite companion.
    This time he had come to the mountain with the binoculars and the schoolbag.
    At first, all objects jumped distortedly in the round lenses, then suddenly they became firm and sharp. This was the most interesting moment of all. Holding his breath so as not to disturb the focus, he admired the landscape opening before him as though he had created it himself. Then he would shift to another spot, and again everything became displaced, and the boy again turned the adjustment screw to capture the lost focus.
    He could see everything from here. All the way out were the highest, snowcapped summits, above Ivhich there was nothing but the sky. They loomed beyond the other mountains, rising above their peaks and the whole earth. Then ca me the mountain ranges