The watermelon peel, rolling on the scarf, was covered by flies. The sister was very small, she was not three years old yet, climbed to me on my knees and kissed my cheek with glued lips. There is no father or mother at home, only a bunch of babies, and I am now the only adult for them all. Anger to hopelessness and resentment swallowed my heart. I was crying. They remained silent for a moment, looking at me with amazement, surrounded me, hugged me, who was behind the hand, who is behind the neck, who are behind the shoulders, and, as if feeling something bad, they also cried. I could not take everyone into my hands.

Suddenly, my father appeared on the threshold. He was pale. Afraid of hearing the bad news, he slowly approached me and in a weak voice asked:

– What happened son?

– My mother was in the hospital, – I said, swallowing.

– Yes, I know, – he said after breathing, then, smiling as if nothing had happened, he turned to the younger ones:

– Well kids, get up. Who will say hello to me?

The kids came out of my arms and ran to my father. The black thoughts that took over me immediately withdrew. Later I realized that my father was seriously concerned about something, although he tried not to do so. I thought it was because of my mom. After drinking sweet tea with bread, the children stood up from behind the table and took up their games. We remained both. Quietly drinking tea, the father asked:

– What is the disease, what do doctors say?

After hearing my story, my father said:

– Don’t go to work tomorrow, take care of kids. I go to mother myself.

"How can I not go to work?" – He read in my eyes.

– … this virgin land, – silently said father, breathing deeply.

– When the mother recovers, we will return to our hometown. It’s been 10 years since I came here. Nothing achieved. On the contrary, we’ve all broken up here. And life is already over. I want to die in my homeland. I don’t believe we will anything here. I would put you on your feet and nothing else we need with your mother. We will not get into people here. The cradle is our land. We will start building life again.

We didn’t really get anything at all. And not only us, but also our Fergan relatives who came with us. In the middle of the bare steppe with spots of salt are white concrete houses. In the summer they heat, in the winter they do not hold the heat. Around us a thick stone. In the exhausting heat you will not find a fifth shadow to hide. The sun will not have time to bow to sunset, as the bushes of the clouds raise sharp mosquitoes, which do not spare anyone – whether it is the wrinkles of the old man's forehead or the bloodless face of a child – they relentlessly swallow their sharp grief. There will be no living space in the morning. It is impossible to look at the faces of children: everyone is in wounds, mothers pour their bites with ash.

From my father’s words, I stumbled. It feels like we are leaving tomorrow, went out. The little girl grabbed in the ground, laughing loudly. The joyful feeling in my soul seemed to have been passed on to them in some way.

* * *

The father came back late, in a depressed mood. I couldn’t overdo myself and asked what was going on. He drew to himself a balysh1, lying on him with a dirty cloth, sweating his forehead. He drank a cold tea until the last bite and only then turned to me:

– My son, it seems to have to go to Tashkent faster. She has given up very recently. The doctor advised to hurry. On the way, I went to the post office and took my pension. I leave money, buy something to eat and take care of the children. As long as I put my mom in the hospital, you’ll have to deal with it yourself. God knows when I’m running. Having said this, he gave me a dozen out of a bundled cloth pack.