To Have and to Lose - Chingiz Aitmatov - Full Text

My newspaper work often took me to the Tien Shan region. One day in spring, about eighteen months ago, when I was in Naryn, a regional centre. I received an urgent summons to my head office. I missed the bus by a matter of minutes, and the next one was not due for about five hours. The only thing to do was to try to get a lift, and so I walked to the highway on the outskirts of the little town.

     As I turned the corner I saw a lorry parked in front of a filling station. The driver had evidently filled up because he was screwing on the cap of his petrol tank. That was a lucky break. On the wind-screen were the letters SU-Soviet Union-which meant that the lorry was running on an international route. It was probably on its way from China to Rybachye, to the IT (International Transport) depot, from where it would be easy to get to Frunze.

     "Are you starting right now?" I asked the driver. "Could you give me a lift to Rybachye?"

     He turned and stared at me silently over his shoulder, then straightened up.

     "No, agai, I can't," he said calmly.

     "Sure you can't? I've been urgently summoned to Frunze, it's very important."

     The driver gave me another sullen look.

     "I understand, agai, and I'm sorry, but I can't take anyone."

     I was puzzled. There was room in the cab, so why couldn't he help me out?

     "I'm a journalist. My business is very urgent. I'll pay anything you ask."

     "Money's got nothing to do with it, agai," he cut me short, and gave the front tyre a vicious kick. "Another time I'd take you for nothing. But just now.... I can't. Don't hold it against me. More of our lorries will be along soon, any of them will take you, but I can't."

     He was obviously reserving the front seat for someone he had to pick up on the road.

     "What about riding behind?" I asked.

     "No. I'm very sorry, agai."

     He glanced at his watch with a worried frown.

     I was completely baffled. I shrugged my shoulders and looked questioningly at the station attendant, an elderly Russian woman who had been watching the scene in silence from her little window. She shook her head as much as to say: "Don't bother him, leave him alone." Very strange, I thought.

     The driver got into the cab, put a cigarette in his mouth and, without lighting it, started the engine. He was thirty or so, a tall man with a slight stoop. I was struck by his big, strong hands gripping the wheel, and his eyes with the wearily drooping lids. Before putting in the clutch, he rubbed his face with the palm of his hand, sighed and peered up the mountain road with something like apprehension.

     He drove off.

     "Don't Worry, there'll be other lorries along soon," the filling station attendant said as she came out.

     I said nothing.

    "He's got trouble, that poor chap. It's a long story... He used to live here once, at the trans-shipping base..."

     I had no chance to hear the story, for just then a Pobeda came along.

     We only caught up with the lorry near the Dolon pass. It was going far too fast, even for one of the Tien Shan demon drivers. Without slowing down at the bends, the lorry roared under the overhanging rocks, leaped up the rises, dived headlong into the valleys, and instantly reappeared ahead of us, the ends of its tarpaulin cover flapping against the sides.

     We overtook it, and I glanced round, wondering what furies were driving that man, where was he going at such breakneck Speed? A hailstorm started suddenly, the way it often does in mountain passes. In the slanting, lashing streams of rain and hailstones I saw the driver's pale, tense face. I saw his hands turning the wheel confidently and quickly. There was no one else in the lorry.

     Shortly afterwards I was sent to the south of Kirghizia, to Osh Region. As is usually the case in our job, I had to catch the train at a moment's notice. I raced to the station just in time to jump aboard, and when I found my compartment I did not immediately notice my travelling companion. He sat facing the window and did not turn round even when the train had picked up speed.

     Over the radio came a tune I knew, played on the komuz. It was a Kirghiz song which always made me think of a lonely horseman riding through the twilit steppe. He has a long journey before him, the steppe is vast, he can think at leisure and softly sing a song, sing of what is in his heart. A man has many things to think over when he is alone, when the only sound in the stillness about him is the rhythmic thud of his horse's hoofs. The strings of the komuz rang gently, like water rippling over smooth, clean stones. The komuz sang of the sun setting behind the hills, of the cool blueness sweeping stealthily over the ground, and of the wormwood and the yellow feather grass stirring and swaying, shedding their pollen on the sun-baked road. The steppe would listen to the rider, think and sing with him...

     Perhaps that rider had followed this very trail once upon a time... And like us, he saw the glow of the setting sun fading on the distant edge of the steppe, gradually turning a pale yellow, and he saw the snow on the mountain tops catching the parting rays of the sun, turning pink for a moment and quickly paling.

     We travelled past orchards, vineyards, and fields of dark green maize. A two-horse cart loaded with freshly-cut lucerne was trundling towards the level crossing. It drew up before the barrier. The driver, a sunburnt youngster in a ragged vest and rolled up trousers, stood up in the cart and, smiling, waved to the passing train.

     The tune blended beautifully with the rhythm of the moving train. Instead of the thudding of the horse's hoofs, I heard the knocking of the wheels. My companion sat leaning on the small table, shielding his face with his hand. I fancied that he, too, was soundlessly singing the song of the lonely rider. He was either brooding or daydreaming, I could not tell which, but there was something sad about him, a sorrow that would not be dispelled. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he did not notice my presence. I tried to get a better look at his face. Now where had I seen him before? Even his hands were familiar-strong, sunburnt hands, with long, bony fingers.

     And then I remembered: it was the lorry driver who had refused me the lift that day. I worried no more about it and got out a book to read. Why bring it up? He must have long forgotten all about it. After all, lorry drivers can't remember everybody they meet on the road.

     The day wore on and we did not speak. It was growing dark. The man took out a packet of cigarettes and sighed heavily before striking a match. He then raised his head, looked at me with surprise and blushed a quick red. He had recognised me.

     "It's you, agai," he said with a guilty smile.

     I offered him my hand.

     "Going far?" I asked.

     "Yes, very far," he exhaled slowly and after a pause added: "To the Pamirs."

     "Oh, the Pamirs? Then we're going the same way. I'm off to Osh. Going on leave or is it a transfer?"

     "Yes, sort off... Have a cigarette."

     We sat smoking in silence. There seemed nothing more to say. The man was brooding again. He sat swaying with the movement of the train, his head dropped on his chest. I found a great change in him since that encounter of ours. He was thinner, his face was drawn, there were three deep, straight lines across his forehead, and the shadow of a perpetual frown on his face.

     "I suppose you were offended that day, agai?" he suddenly asked with a rueful smile.

     "When? I don't seem to remember," I said, to spare him any embarrassment, but his look was so earnest that I had to admit that I did remember the incident. "Oh, that time... It's all right. I'd forgotten all about it. All sorts of things happen on the road. But why should you remember?"

     "Normally I wouldn't, but that particular day..."

     "What happened? Not an accident, I hope?"

     "No, I wouldn't call it an accident," he said slowly, and then he laughed, or rather forced a laugh. "I'd take you anywhere you wanted now, only you see I'm a passenger myself."

     "A horse steps in the same hoof mark a thousand times, so maybe we'll meet again some place."

     "If we do, I'll drag you into the cab," he said with a toss of his head.

     "It's a deal, eh?"

     "It's a promise, agai," he said, cheering up.

     "Tell me anyway, why wouldn't you take me that time?"

     "Why?" he repeated, and his face darkened. He fell silent, and drew on his cigarette furiously. I realised that I ought not to have asked that question, but did not know how to right the situation. Stubbing out his cigarette, he answered, with an obvious effort.

     "I couldn't," he said. "I was taking my son for a ride."

     "Your son?"

     "It was like this, you see... I don't know how to explain it to you." He lit another cigarette and, overcoming his emotion, looked me straight in the face, earnestly and resolutely.

     And he told me his story.

     We had plenty of time, the train takes almost two full days to get to Osh, and I neither hurried him nor bothered him with questions. It's good for a man to relive his story, to reflect on the words, pausing now and again. And it took all my self-control not to cut into his narrative. For I suddenly discovered that chance and my restless profession had given me some inside information about him personally and the people he was telling me about. I could have filled in the gaps in his story and explained a lot of things, but I decided to let him finish first. But then I gave up the idea altogether. And I am sure I did the right thing. Let the heroes tell their own story.

THE DRIVER'S STORY

     It was all very sudden. It happened soon after I was demobbed. I had served in the motorised units, and before that I had worked as a lorry driver after finishing ten-year school. I was brought up in an orphanage. My friend Alibek Djanturin was demobbed a year earlier and he had a job at the Rybachye motor depot. Well, I went and joined him. Alibek and I had always dreamed of seeing the Tien Shan or the Pamirs. The motor depot people received me well. They put me up in a hostel and gave me a practically brand-new ZIL with not a dent on it and you know, I loved that machine as if it were a human being. It was one of the best models. And it had powerful engine. True, I didn't always have a chance to take on a full load. Not on the Tien Shan motor road, it's one of the highest in the world, all gorges, ridges and passes. There's any amount of water up in the mountains, but still we always take some along. You may have noticed the wooden cross-piece we have on the front corner of the body, with an inner tube dangling from it; well, it's filled with water. That's because the engine gets terrifically overheated on the twists and turns. And you don't carry too much of a load either. Myself too, I used to rack my brains at first, trying to figure out how bigger loads could be carried. But it seemed that nothing could be done about it. Mountains will always be mountains.

     I liked my job. And I liked the country, too. Our depot was practically on the shore of Issyk-Kul. When foreign tourists came there and stood on the lake shore gaping for hours and hours, I used to think with pride: "That's our Issyk-Kul! Try and find something to beat it for beauty!"

     There was just one thing that was not to my liking when I first joined the depot. It was spring, a busy time for the collective farms which were building and expanding. They were making a good job of it, but they had too few lorries of their own, and so some of ours were assigned to help the farms out. The newcomers, particularly, were always being chased there and back. Me, too, of course. I'd just get settled doing long runs when, bang, they'd take me off and send me from one village to the next again. I knew it had to be done, but after all I'm a driver, and I felt as deeply for my ZIL, as if it were myself who had to wade knee-deep through the mud and take all the jolts. The roads there are a nightmare....

     Well, one day I was driving to a collective farm--I had to deliver some roofing slate for the new cowshed they were building. The village is at the foot of a mountain and the road to it goes across the steppe. It wasn't so bad, the road was already drying up and I'd got to within a stone's throw of the village, when suddenly I got stuck driving across a ditch. The road that spring was so churned up by our wheels that a camel could have got drowned there and never been found. I tried this and I tried that, but it was all no good. The mud held the wheels like a vice, I was stuck really good and hard. Besides, in exasperation, I had jerked the steering wheel so far that something went wrong, and so I had to crawl under the lorry to see what it was. There I was sweating away in my mud bath, cursing the road up hill and down dale, when suddenly I heard footsteps. From where I was all I could see was a pair of rubber boots. The boots came closer, stopped and stood there. That got my back up: I was no performing clown to stand and gape at.

     "Keep going, don't bother me," I called out. Out of the comer of my eye I saw the hem of a skirt, a shabby old skirt spattered with manure. Some old crone wanting a lift to the village, I decided.

     "You'll have to walk, Granny," I said. "This is going to take me all day, it's no use waiting."

     "I'm not a granny," she said with a stammer or a giggle, I wasn't sure.

     "What are you then?" I asked angrily.

     "I'm a girl."

     "A girl?" I glanced at her boots, and then asked just for the hell of it, "A pretty girl?"

     The boots shuffled a bit and made a step to go. So I quickly crawled out from under the lorry. She really was pretty. A slim young girl with sternly drawn brows, a red kerchief on her head and a man's large jacket, probably her father's, round her shoulders. She looked at me without speaking. I must have been a sight, squatting there covered in mud and grease.

     "Not bad! You are pretty!" I grinned. "If only you had pretty shoes on," I teased as I got to my feet.

     She turned abruptly and without a glance hurried down the road.

     What was the matter with her? Had I hurt her feelings? I hoped not. I started after her but thought better of it; I collected my tools in a hurry and jumped into the cab. I began to rock the lorry, jerking the gears from bottom to reverse. My only thought was to catch up with her. The engine roared, the lorry shook and swayed, but it would not budge. And she was getting farther and farther away. As the wheels skidded, I yelled to no one particular: "Let go! Let go, I tell you! D'you hear me?"

     I pressed my foot down on the accelerator with all my might, the lorry groaned and began to crawl, and miraculously it got free. What a relief! Going at a good speed, I wiped the mud off my face with a handkerchief and smoothed down my hair. Coming level with the girl I slowed down and, sprawling across the seat, flung the door open with a flourish. The free and easy familiarity came as a surprise to myself.

     "Your car, madam," I said, and made an inviting gesture.

     The girl did not stop, but walked on taking no notice. That took all the dash out of me. I caught up with her again, and this time I said:

     "I'm sorry, honestly. I didn't mean it... Get in."

     But the girl ignored me.

     So then I drove ahead of her and parked the lorry across the road. I jumped down, ran around to the right-hand side, opened the door and stood there, my hand on the handle. She came up, a wary look in her eyes as if to say, what would the nuisance do next? I said nothing; I simply stood there and waited. She either took pity on me or perhaps didn't give it a thought, one way or the other, but anyway she shook her head and without a word got into the cab.

     We drove off.

     I couldn't think of anything to say. Talking to girls was nothing new to me, of course, but for some reason I was tongue-tied just then. I wondered why. So I kept my eyes glued to the road and only stole a glance at her now and then. Her black hair lay on her neck in soft ringlets. The jacket had slipped down, she was holding it up with her elbow, and she sat as far away from me as possible, afraid to brush against me. Her eyes had a stern look, but she was sweet-natured, I was sure, it was written all over her. She wanted to frown, but couldn't manage it. She glanced at me stealthily too. Our eyes met. She smiled. And that gave me enough pluck to say something.

     "Why did you stop beside the lorry when I was fixing it?"

     "I wanted to help you," she answered.

     "You did!" I laughed. "You really did help me, you know. If it hadn't been for you I'd have been there all day... Do you always go this way?"

     "Yes, I work on the farm."

     "Oh, good!" I said brightly, but checked myself at once. "Good road this." And at that very moment we got such a jolt that we banged shoulders. I grunted, and she laughed at my red face. And I too burst out laughing.

     "I didn't want to come to the farm, you know," I confessed, still laughing. "If I'd known I was going to find a helper like you on the road, I wouldn't have argued with the dispatcher. Ah, Ilyas, Ilyas!" I said with reproach. "Ilyas, that's me," I told her.

     "And I'm Asel."

     We were getting near the village and the road was smoother. The wind tore into the cab, pulling at Asel's kerchief and mussing her hair. We were silent and enjoyed it. I discovered that you could be happy and light-hearted because there was someone sitting beside you, almost touching elbows with you, someone you knew nothing of an hour before, but who was all you could think about now... I don't know what Asel felt, but there was a smile in her eyes. I wished we could drive on and on and never have to part. That's what I was dreaming of then. But we were already driving down the village street.

    "Stop, I'll get out here," Asel exclaimed anxiously.

     "Is this where you live?" I asked, putting on the brakes.

     "No, but I'd better get out here," she looked somehow flustered and worried.

     "What on earth for? I'll drive you right up to the door," I said and drove on before she could say no.

     "Please stop here," Asel begged. "Thanks."

     "You're welcome," I muttered, and added, not really joking: "Supposing I get stuck in the same place tomorrow will you come and help?"

     Before she could reply, the gate flew open and an elderly, very excited woman came running out.

     "Asel!" she shouted, but instantly clapped her hand over her mouth. "Where have you been? May the Almighty punish you! Go and change quickly, the match-makers are here."

     Asel looked confused, she dropped the jacket, picked it up, then obediently followed her mother. At the gate she turned round and looked at me, but the gate was quickly banged shut. And only then did I notice the steaming saddled horses at the tethering post. I looked over the mud wall. Some women were busy at the hearth in the yard. Smoke came pouring from the funnel of a large copper samovar. Two men were dressing a sheep under a shed. Yes, they were receiving the matchmakers according to all the rules here. There was nothing for me to do. I still had to go and unload.

     The day was almost over when I got back to the depot. I washed down my machine and put it in the garage. I pottered around there a long time, finding lots of things that needed doing. Why was I taking it all so much to heart? It beat me. All the way to the depot I kept reasoning with myself: "What's eating you anyway? What sort of a fool are you? After all, what is she to you? Your girl? Your sister? You met her by chance on the road and gave her a lift, so what? And yet you're as cut up as if you were lovers! Maybe she couldn't care less for you. You don't mean a thing to her. She has a lawful fiancé and you're no one. One can't remember all the drivers one meets on the road. You've no right to hope for anything. People are getting engaged, there's going to be a wedding, so where do you come in? Chuck it. Stick to your steering wheel and mind your own business."

     But the trouble was that no matter what I said to myself I couldn't stop thinking of Asel.

     There was nothing else I could do in the garage. I could have gone to the hostel, it was a lively, noisy place, we had a recreation room too, but no, I wanted to be alone. I lay on the mudguard, my hands behind my head. Nearby Djantai, another driver of ours, was tinkering with his lorry. He poked his head out of the pit and chuckled.

     "What are you daydreaming about, djigit?"

     "Money," I snapped back.

     I didn't like him. A proper money-grubber he was. A sly and envious character. He would not live with us in the hostel but rented a room from some woman. There was talk that he had promised to marry her, it would make him a house-owner if nothing else.

     I turned my back on him. Out in the yard our fellows had started a scuffle near the water tap. One of them was standing on the roof of his cab, spraying water from the hose over the waiting drivers. Everyone was roaring with laughter. It was a powerful jet, a direct hit would knock you off balance. They were trying to pull the fellow down, but he just danced about on the roof, levelling the hose like a tommy-gun at the men, and knocking off their caps. Suddenly the jet arched upwards, sparkling like a rainbow. What was he up to? I had a look and saw Kadicha, our dispatcher, standing there. That one wouldn't scream and run. Kadicha knew that all the men eyed her admiringly. Sure of herself and dignified, she was no easy game. There she stood now, cool and calm. You won't dare, you haven't the guts, her look seemed to say. Her mouth full of hairpins, she laughed softly as she unconcernedly fixed her hair. A fine, silvery spray fell on her. The fellows laughed and egged on the one with the hose.

     "Give her one in the rear!"

     "Knock her over!"

     "Look out, Kadicha!"

     The chap didn't dare and just fooled about with the jet. If I'd been him, I'd have doused her from head to foot and probably she wouldn't have minded, she'd have simply laughed it off. She treated me differently from the others, I always noticed, she was less standoffish, even a little naughty. She liked it when I flirted with her and stroked her hair. And what I liked about her was that although she was always quarrelling and arguing with me, she was quick to give in, even when she was in the right. Occasionally I took her to the pictures and walked her home afterwards, it was on my way to the hostel. I always went straight into her office, while other people were only allowed to talk to her through the little window.

     But just then I wasn't interested in her. Let them have their fun.

     Kadicha stuck the last of her hairpins in her hair.

     "Enough fooling, stop it," she ordered.

     "Yes, sir," the chap with the water hose raised his hand in mock salute. He was then dragged down amid roars of laughter.

     Kadicha came into the garage. She stopped beside Djantai's lorry and seemed to be looking for someone. She did not see me at first because of the wire screen dividing the garage into compartments. Djantai poked his head out of the pit again and called out familiarly: "Hello, beautiful!"

     "Oh, it's you, Djantai..."

     He leered at her legs, grinning. She shrugged in annoyance.

     "Stop ogling," she said, and kicked him lightly on the chin.

     Anyone else would have taken offence, but not Djantai. He beamed as though she had kissed him, and dived back into the pit.

     And then she saw me.

     "Relaxing, Ilyas?"

     "It's as soft as a feather bed."

     She pressed her face to the screen and looked at me intently.

     "Come into the office," she said very quietly.

     "All right."

     She went away. As I got up to go, Djantai's head popped out again.

     "There's a juicy piece for you!" he said with a meaningful wink.

     "Yeah, but not for you," I said pointedly.

     I thought he'd resent that and start a fight. Fighting is not my idea of fun, but I felt so down-hearted, even that would have been a relief.

     However, Djantai was not offended in the least.

     "Never mind," he muttered. "We'll wait and see."

     There was no one in the office. What the devil? Where was she? I turned to go and almost collided with Kadicha. She was leaning against the door, her head thrown back. There was a gleam in her half-closed eyes. Her hot breath scorched my face. It was too much for me. I strained towards her, but instantly drew back. It was strange, but I had a feeling that I was being unfaithful to Asel.

     "What did you want to see me about?" I asked, frowning.

     Kadicha looked at me in silence.

     "Well?" I persisted impatiently.

     "You're not too friendly, I notice," she said in a hurt tone. "Or perhaps someone else has caught your fancy?

     I was disconcerted. Why should she reproach me? How had she found out?

     The window latch banged. Djantai's head appeared. There was a smirk on his face.

     "If you'll be so kind, comrade dispatcher," he drawled nastily and handed Kadicha a paper.

     She took it, giving him an angry look.

     "And who's going to take your orders for you?" she snapped at me. "D'you expect a special invitation or what?"

     Pushing me aside, she quickly strode to her desk.

     "Here," she said, handing me my route form.

     I looked at it. The same collective farm. My heart sank: how could I go there, knowing that Asel... And anyway why should I be chased from farm to farm more often than anyone else?

     "Farms again?" I exploded. "Manure and bricks again? I'm not going." I threw the paper on her desk "I've had enough of wallowing in mud, let the others get a taste of those roads for a change."

     "No need to shout. You have your orders for a week. If I have to I'll make it longer," Kadicha was really angry.

     "I'm not going," I said very calmly.

     Suddenly, as was her way, Kadicha gave in.

     "All right. I'll talk to the chief," she said, picking up the form.

     "So I'm not going," I thought, "and I'll never see Asel again." I felt even worse. I'd regret it all my life, that much was clear to me. All right, I'd go, come what may.

     "Here, give it to me," I said, snatching the form out of Kadicha's hands.

     Djantai giggled.

     "Remember me to your grandmother," he said.

     I didn't say anything. God, how I wanted to sock him one! I banged out of the office and went to the hostel.

* * *

     The next day I kept looking out for her on the road. Would I see her, my pretty poplar in a red kerchief? My steppeland poplar? A pretty poplar indeed, you'll say, in her rubber boots and her father's jacket! All the same, I know what she's like.

     What was there about her to have stirred me so?

     Driving on, I kept watching out for her, but she was nowhere to be seen. When I got to the village I slowed down at her gate. Maybe she was at home? But how could I call her out, what would I say to her? No, fate seemed to be against my meeting her: I stepped on the juice and went on to unload. My one hope was to see her on the way back. But I didn't. And then I turned off the road and drove to her dairy farm. It was a good way off the main road, quite a distance from the village. I spoke to the first girl I saw there. No, Asel had not come to work that day. "She didn't want to meet me on the road, that's why she stayed away from work," I decided, and the thought hurt. I was feeling pretty low when I got back to the depot.

     The following morning I took the same road again. I was no longer hoping to see her. Honestly, what good was I to her, why bother a girl who's engaged? I couldn't quite believe, though, that it would all end there; after all, in our villages parents try to marry off their daughters against their will to this day. I've read about it hundreds of times in the papers. So what? It's no use crying over spilt milk, they'll marry her off, it won't be simple to undo it, her life will have been ruined... Those were the sort of thoughts crowding into my mind...

     It was the height of spring. The foot-hills were carpeted with flame-red tulips. I've loved tulips since I was a child. I felt like picking an armful and taking them to her. But where was I to find her...

     And suddenly there she was--Asel. I couldn't believe my eyes. She was sitting on a boulder at the side of the road, at the very spot where I got stuck that first time. She seemed to be waiting for someone. I drove up. She jumped to her feet, startled and confused, tugged at kerchief and crumpled it in her hand. This time she was wearing a pretty dress and fancy shoes. High heels too, and all that way to go. I jammed on the brakes, my heart in my throat.

     "Hello, Asel."

     "Hello," she replied in a low voice.

     I wanted to help her into the cab, but she turned away and started slowly down the road. So she wouldn't get in. Leaving the door open, I drove along beside her. That's how we went on for some time--she walking along the edge of the road, and me behind the wheel. We didn't speak. What was there to say?

     "Did you go to the dairy farm yesterday?" she asked.

     "Yes. Why?"

     "Nothing. You mustn't go there."

     "I wanted to see you."

     She gave no reply.

     Those blasted matchmakers were worrying me. I was dying to find out how things stood. But I didn't dare ask, I was scared. Scared of hearing her answer.

     Asel turned and looked at me.

     "Is it true?" I asked.

     She nodded. The wheel shook in my hands.

     "When is the wedding to be?"

     "Soon," she answered softly.

     Drive on, anywhere, but do it fast! But instead of the accelerator I stepped on the clutch. As the engine revved idly Asel sprang out of the way. I did not even beg her pardon. I was past that.

     "So we're not going to see each other again?" I asked

     "I don't know. It's best not to."

     "And I... I'll go on trying to see you anyway."

     We fell silent again. Perhaps we were thinking the same thoughts, though we kept apart, as if there was an invisible wall preventing me from leaving my wheel, going over to her, and her from getting into the cab beside me.

     "Asel, don't try to avoid me. I shan't bother you. I'll keep my distance and just look on. Promise?"

     "I don't know. Maybe..."

     "Get in, Asel."

     "No. You'd better go. Here's the village now."

     After that, we met on the road a few times, accidentally as it were. We "walked" in the same manner: she along the edge of the road, and I behind the wheel. It made me mad but I couldn't force her to sit beside me, could I?

     I never asked her about the man she was to marry. It was none of my business and, besides, I didn't want to know. From what she said I gathered that she hardly knew him. He was a sort of relative of her mother's and lived in the mountains, in a remote lumber camp. The families had a long-standing tradition of exchanging brides, and they had thus maintained their kinship for generations. Asel's parents would never allow her to marry an outsider. And marrying me was quite out of the question. What was I? A common lorry driver from nowhere, without kith or kin. I'd never dare to propose, even.

     Asel was not talkative those days. She was busy with her thoughts. But I had given up all hope. Her fate was decided, our meeting like this would not alter anything. However, we made believe it was not so, the way children do, and went on seeing one another because we couldn't help ourselves. We both felt that otherwise life would not be worth living.

     And so it went on for five days. I was getting ready to leave the garage one morning, when I was urgently called to the office.

     "I've good news for you!" Kadicha said, smiling. "You've been transferred to the Sinkiang run."

     The news was staggering. Those last few days the thought of working elsewhere never crossed my mind. The run to China took many days, so how would I manage to see Asel? And could I simply vanish without letting her know?

     "Aren't you glad?" Kadicha asked.

     "What about the farm? There's plenty of work there," I stammered.

     Kadicha shrugged in surprise.

     "But you said you were sick of it?"

     "So what if I did," I said rudely.

     I took a chair and sat there, unable to make up my mind.

     Djantai came rushing in. It appeared that he was to take on my collective-farm run. I sat up and listened, expecting him to refuse, for there was no money to be made on the country roads. To my surprise he agreed and, what is more, said:

     "Send me to the world's end, Kadicha, if you like. The lambs are due for slaughter in the village just now, shall I bring you one?"

     Only then did he notice me.

     "Oh, sorry, I believe I'm in the way," he said.

     "Get out of here," I hissed, without raising my head.

     "Well, why don't you get a move on, Ilyas?" Kadicha said, and touched my shoulder.

     "I've got to go to the farm. Please send me there, Kadicha."

     "Are you in your right mind? How can I, I've no orders for you," she said and looked at me anxiously: "What's the attraction there?"

     Without a word I left the office and went to the garage. Djantai flew past, giving me a knowing wink and almost grazing me with his mudguard.

     I took as long as I could getting started, but there was nothing for it, I had to drive to the loading yard. The queue there was not long.

     The other drivers called me to come and have a smoke, but I stayed in my cab. I'd close my eyes and picture Asel waiting and waiting on the road. And tomorrow and the next day too... What would she think of me?

     My turn was coming. The lorry ahead of me was being loaded. I had a minute to go. "Forgive me, Asel. Forgive me, my pretty poplar," I thought, and suddenly an idea struck me: "I've time enough to go and tell her and then come back here. What does it matter if I start out a few hours later? I'll explain it to the chief afterwards, maybe he'll understand, if he doesn't he'll give me hell... But I can't help it, I've got to go."

     I started the engine to back out of the line, but I was sandwiched between two lorries and could not budge. In the meantime, the driver in front of me had taken on his load and it was my turn.

     "Hey, Ilyas, get under the crane," the operator called out to me.

     The crane poised above me, now it was too late. There was no going anywhere with a load of export goods. Why hadn't I thought of it before? The clerk was handing me my papers. I looked out of the rear window: the container was being lowered into my lorry. It was coming down and down.

     "Look out," I yelled, and shot forward, slipping from under the descending jib. (My engine was running.) Behind me I heard shouts, whistles and curses.

     I flew past warehouses, wood-stacks and piles of coal, my hands one with the wheel. The road danced and jumped, the lorry lurched and I was jolted from side to side. But that was nothing unusual.

     Soon I caught up with Djantai. He poked his head out to see who it was and his eyes popped when he saw me. He could see I was in a hurry and should have let me pass, but not Djantai. I swerved off the road to try and overtake him, but he put on speed and wouldn't let me get back on the road. We raced on neck and neck: he--along the road, and I--alongside it. Crouched over our wheels, we glared at one another like a couple of wild beasts and swore.

     "Where're you going? What for?" he called out to me.

     I shook my fist at him. As I wasn't carrying a load, I managed to overtake him at last and left him far behind.

     There was no Asel. I was as out of breath by the time I reached the village as if I had run all the way. There was not a soul either in their yard or out in the street. A saddled horse was tied to the tethering post. What could I do? I decided to wait; she would see my lorry and come out. I raised the bonnet and pretended I was fixing the engine, but I kept my eyes on the gate. Nor did I have to wait long: her mother came out with a man, a black-bearded stout old man wearing two padded robes: a velveteen robe over a plush one. He had a whip, a good one, in his hand. His face was flushed; he must have just had some hot tea. The two of them walked to the horse. Asel's mother held the stirrup respectfully and helped the old man clamber into the saddle.

     "We are pleased with the match you have arranged," she said. "Let not our part of the bargain worry you either. We'll grudge our daughter nothing. We're not quite destitute, God be thanked."

     "Whatever you can afford, baibiche, will be good enough for us," he said, settling himself comfortably in the saddle. "May God grant them happiness. As for the dowry, they are our own flesh and blood, aren't they? And it's not the first time we're getting related... Goodbye then, baibiche, so Friday it is to be."

     "Yes, Friday, to be sure. A holy day. Good luck. Give my regards to your wife."

     "What are they planning for Friday?" I wondered. "What day is it today? Wednesday... Are they going to take her away on Friday then? Damn these ancient customs, how much longer will they be wrecking young people's lives!"

     The old man rode off at a trot towards the mountains. Asel's mother watched him out of sight, then she turned and glared at me.

     "So it's you again? This is no caravanserai. No parking here. Be off, d'you hear? Get out of here!"

     So she had her suspicions already.

     "I've had a breakdown," I muttered, and plunged right under the bonnet. I wasn't going away without seeing her, oh no!

     The woman grumbled a little longer and went indoors.

     I sat down on the running-board and lit a cigarette. A little girl came running up from somewhere. She skipped around the lorry. Was she Asel's sister perhaps? She looked a bit like her.

     "Asel's gone," she said, and skipped off.

     "Where?" I caught hold of her. "Where?"

     "How do I know? Let go of me," she broke free of my grip and stuck her tongue out at me.

     I slammed down the bonnet and got into the cab. Where now, where to look for her? Anyway it was time to be getting back. I crawled along the road and out into the steppe. At a ditch crossing I stopped because I had no idea where to go next, I got out and flopped down on the ground. What a day! No trace of Asel and my first long run bungled. With such thoughts, I was deaf and blind to the world. I don't know how long I lay there, but when at last I raised my head I saw a pair of legs in fancy shoes on the other side of the lorry. Asel! I knew her at once. My heart hammered, I was so happy. I got to my knees but was too weak to stand up. And it was the very spot where we first met.

     "Keep going, Granny," I said to the shoes.

     "But I'm not a granny," Asel joined in the game.

     "What are you then?"

     "I'm a girl."

     "A pretty girl?"

     "Come and see."

     We both laughed. I leapt to my feet and rushed to her. And she ran to me. We stood facing one another.

     "The prettiest girl in the world," I said. "How did you know I was here?"

     She really was like a slender young poplar standing there in the wind in her short-sleeved dress.

     "I was coming from the library and I saw your wheel tracks in the road."

     "Honestly?" It meant more to me than if she had said she loved me. So she had been thinking about me, she cared enough to look for my wheel tracks.

     "And so I ran here, thinking you'd be waiting for me..."

     I took her hand.

     "Get in, Asel, let's go for a ride."

     She agreed gladly. She was different. And so was I. All our troubles and worries were over. Nothing existed for us but our happiness, the sky and the road. I opened the door, helped her in and got behind the wheel.

     We went where the road led us, not knowing where or why. But that didn't worry us. Sitting there together, our eyes meeting and our hands touching, was happiness enough. Asel put my army cap straight for me--I had been wearing it for two years or more.

     "It's nicer like this," she said, and clung to my shoulder tenderly.

     The lorry flew across the steppe like a bird. The whole world had sprung to life, everything hurried to meet us--the mountains, the fields and the trees... The wind whipped at our faces, we flew on and on, the sun shone in the sky, we laughed, the air was fragrant with wormwood and tulips, and we breathed this air of freedom...

     A kite rose from the ruins of an ancient burial mound and flew low over the road, as if challenging us to a race.

     Two horsemen shied away in fright. And then they spurred their horses after us with wild cries of "Stop, stop!" They whipped their horses until they seemed to flatten out on the road. I didn't know the riders. Maybe Asel did, though. Soon we left them behind in a cloud of dust.

     Ahead of us a cart turned off the road to make way for us. The young couple in it stood up, and with their arms about each other's shoulders gave us a friendly wave.

     "Thanks," I leaned out and called to them.

     The steppe was behind us, we were on the asphalt motor road.

     Lake Issyk-Kul could not be far. Turning off the road, I drove across country, through tall grass towards the lake shore. We came to a halt on a rise, right above the water.

     Blue-and-white waves ran up the yellow shore, as though holding hands. The sun was setting, and at the far end of the lake the water was tinged with pink. A purple range of snow-capped mountains loomed in the distance. Dark grey clouds were gathering above them.

     "Look, Asel, swans!"

     Swans only come to Issyk-Kul in autumn and winter. In spring they are rare visitors. People say they are southern swans flying north. They're said to bring luck...

     A flock of white swans was circling over the lake. They soared upwards and dropped down with outspread wings. They landed on the water, splashed about noisily, starting wide, foaming circles, and then took off again. At last they formed a long chain, and, flapping their wings in unison, flew towards the sandy slope of the shore for the night.

     We sat in the cab and watched the swans in silence. And then I said, as if everything had been already settled between us:

     "See those roofs on the shore, that's our depot. And this is our house," I indicated the cab with a wave of my hand and laughed. There was nowhere I could take her.

     She looked into my eyes, and clung to me with tears and laughter.

     "My darling, my very own! I don't need a house. If only my father and mother would understand one day, afterwards... They will never get over it, I know... But can I help it?.."

     Darkness was falling quickly. Clouds spread over the sky and hung low over the water. The lake grew still and black. Someone seemed to be lurking in the mountains with an electric welder: a blinding light would flare up for a moment and go out. A storm was gathering. No wonder the swans had made a break in their journey and sought shelter here. They knew better than to get caught in a storm while flying over the mountains.

     Thunder crashed. Rain poured down in wild, noisy torrents. The water in the lake began to churn and mutter, rolling and beating against the shores. It was the first spring thunderstorm. And it was our first night together. The water streamed down the wind-screen and the doors. Streaks of white lightning stabbed the black, yawning lake. We sat pressed tightly together, talking in whispers. Asel trembled, either frightened or cold, so I wrapped my jacket around her, holding her closer still, and it made me feel big and strong. I never knew there was so much tenderness in me, I never knew it was so wonderful to protect someone. I whispered in her ear: "I'll never let anyone hurt you, my pretty little poplar in a red kerchief."

     The storm was over as suddenly as it began. But the lake could not at once still its excited waters, and a thin rain was falling.

     There was a small radio in the cab, my only valuable possession at the time. I turned it on. I remember it as if it were only yesterday, they were broadcasting the ballet Cholpon from the theatre in Frunze. Music came pouring into the cab from beyond the mountains, music as tender and compelling as the love that moved the heroes of the ballet. A storm of applause broke out, people called out the names of the dancers and perhaps they threw flowers at their feet, but I am sure that none of the audience enjoyed the ballet more than we did, in the cab of my lorry parked on the shore of the angry Issyk-Kul. The ballet was about us, about our love. The fate of Cholpon, the girl who went to seek her happiness, moved us deeply. My own Cholpon, my morning star, was there beside me. At midnight she fell asleep in my arms, but I couldn't calm down for a long time. Softly, I caressed her face and listened to the groans and rumblings in the depths of Issyk-Kul.

     Next morning we drove to the depot. I was given a good telling-off, but then was forgiven in view of the extenuating circumstances. And my giving the crane the slip remained a standing joke at the depot for a long time.

     I was to make my first trip to China, and I decided to take Asel along. My plan was to leave her at my friend Alibek Djanturin's place on the way. He lived with his family at the trans-shipping base near Naryn. It was not very far from the border and I always dropped in to see them when I was passing by. Alibek's wife was a nice woman, I liked her.

     We were off. The first thing we did was buy Asel some clothes at a shop we passed. All she had was the dress she wore. Among other things, we bought her a large, bright, flowered shawl. And a good thing we did. On the way we met an elderly driver, our aksakal Urmat-ake. He signalled me to stop while yet a long way away. I got out of the cab and went up to greet him.

     "Salaam aleikum, Urmat-ake," I said.

     "Aleikum salaam, Ilyas. May the leash of the falcon that has alighted on your arm prove strong," he said according to custom. "May God grant you happiness and offspring."

     "Thank you. But how did you know about us, Urmat-ake?"

     "Ah, my son. Good news does not lie unwanted on the ground. It has been travelling the length of the route by word of mouth."

     I was quite amazed.

     We stood talking in the road, but Urmat-ake did not so much as glance towards the lorry and Asel sitting in the cab. Fortunately she was quick to do the right thing: she put the shawl on her head and covered her face with it. Urmat-ake smiled benignly.

     "Everything is proper now," he said. "Thank you, daughter, for respecting tradition. From now on you will be our daughter-in-law, the daughter-in-law of all the aksakals in the motor depot. Here, Ilyas, this is for seeing your bride," he handed me some money. I could not offend him by refusing.

     We went our different ways. Asel kept the shawl on.

     She covered her face whenever we met anyone, the way it is done in every decent Kirghiz home. And afterwards we laughed about it. I thought she looked even lovelier wearing that shawl.

     "My sweet bride, raise your eyes and kiss me," I begged.

     "I can't, the aksakals might see us," she said laughing and giving me a peck on the cheek.

     All the lorries we met stopped, and the drivers wished us happiness. Many not only had flowers, but gifts for us. They also had another idea which, I suppose, belonged to our Russian chaps. When they have a village wedding they usually decorate the car with flowers. Ours, too, was taking on a festive look. with red, blue and green ribbons, silk scarves and bunches of flowers. The lorry was such a colourful sight, it could be seen miles away. We were happy, and I was proud of my friends. A friend in need is a friend indeed, the saying goes, but a friend in joy means as much.

     It was on the road, too, that we met Alibek Djanturin, my dearest and closest friend. He's about two years older than I, a stocky man, with a large head. He has plenty of common sense and is an excellent driver. He enjoys everyone's respect at the depot and has been elected to the trade union committee. I wondered what he would say.

     Alibek looked at the lorry in eloquent silence. Then he went up to Asel, shook her hand and wished her happiness.

     "Here, let me have your route form," he demanded. Puzzled, I handed it to him. In a large hand he wrote across it: "Wedding trip No. 167". That was the serial number on it.

     "What are you doing?" I gasped. "It's an official document, you know."

     "The trip will go down in history," he said, chuckling. "Our clerks are human, aren't they? And now, let me shake your hand." He gave me a bear hug and a kiss. We both laughed. Afterwards, when we were ready to part and climb into our cabs, Alibek suddenly asked:

     "Where are you going to live?"

     I shrugged: we hadn't anywhere.

     "This is our home," I pointed to the lorry.

     "What, the cab? And you'll raise your children there? Look here, take my flat. I'll talk to the management and we'll move into our own house."

     Alibek was building a house in Rybachye, not far from the depot. I had helped him with it in my spare time.

     "But it's not fit to live in yet, is it?"

     "Never mind, there's only a bit that still needs doing. You won't get a better offer, you know our housing problem."

     "Thanks, Alibek. We couldn't wish for anything better."

     "We'll put you up in the meantime. Wait for me there on your way back. We'll talk it over with our wives and decide," he winked towards Asel.

     "Yes, it's wives now."

     "Enjoy your wedding trip," Alibek called out after us.

     Dammit, it really was our wedding trip! A most wonderful wedding trip too.

     We were glad that everything was turning out well, and my happiness would have been complete except for one encounter we had on the road.

Translated by Olga Shartse