The White Ship by Chingiz Aitmatov Read Free Book Online

her son with grandpa after the marriage broke up, and went to the city. She went, and disappeared—in a distant city beyond the mountains, the lake, and more mountains.
    Old Momun had once gone to that city to sell potatoes. He was away a whole week and, on returning, he told Aunt Bekey and grandma over a cup of tea that he had seen his daughter, the boy's mother. She was working in some big factory as a weaver, and she had a new family—two girls whom she sent to nursery school and saw only once a week. She lived in a big house, but in a tiny room, so tiny you could not turn around. And in the yard nobody knew anybody else, as in a marketplace. And everybody out there lived like that: they would come into their room and lock the door at once. Sitting locked up as in a prison all the time. Her husband, she said, was a bus driver, ferrying people through the streets from four in the morning till late at night. A difficult job. His daughter, he said, kept crying and begging his forgiveness. They were on a waiting list for a new apartment, but nobody knew when they would get it. When they did, she'd take the boy to live with them, if her husband permitted. And she asked the old man to wait awhile. Grandpa Momun told her not to worry. The main thing was to live in peace and harmony with her husband, and the rest would take care of itself. As for the boy, she shouldn't cry. "As long as I'm alive, I won't let anybody take him. And if I die, God-will find a way for him—a living man will always find what's destined for him." Aunt Bekey and grandma listened to the old man, sighing, and even shedding a tear or two.
    It was also then, over their tea, that they mentioned his father. Grandpa had heard that his former son-in-law was still working as a sailor on some ship and that he, too, had a new family, with two or maybe three children. They lived near the harbor. People said he had quit drinking. And his new wife came with the children to the pier each time to meet him. "That means," the boy thought, "they come to meet this ship . .
    And meantime the ship sailed on, departing slowly. White and long, it slid over the smooth blue of the lake, puffing smoke from its smokestacks and never suspecting that the boy, who had turned into a boy-fish, was swimming toward it.
    He dreamed of becoming a fish, so that everything about him would be fishlike—body, tail, fins, and scales—everything except his head, which would remain his own: large, round, with lop ears and a scratched nose. And his eyes would be the same as now. Naturally, not quite the same, for they would have to look like fish eyes.
    The boy's lashes were long, like the calf's, and they kept blinking of their own will. Guldzhamal said she hoped her daughter would have such lashes, she'd grow up to be a beauty! But why does one have to be a beauty? Or handsome? Who needs it! For his part, he had no use for beautiful eyes; he needed eyes that could see under the water.
    The transformation was to take place in grandpa's pond. One, two, and he was a fish. Then he would leap at once from the pond into the river, straight into the seething current, and swim downstream. And go on and on, leaping out from time to time to look around. It would not be interesting to swim underwater all the time. He would speed along the rushing torrent past the red clay precipice, across the rapids, through the foaming waves, past woods and mountains. He would say good-bye to his favorite boulders: "Good-bye, resting camel," "good-bye, wolf," "good-bye, saddle," "good-bye, tank." And when he swam past the forest station, he would jump out of the water and wave his fins to grandpa: "Good-bye, eta, I'll be back soon." And grandpa would be petrified with wonder at such a sight and wouldn't know what to do. And grandma, and Aunt Bekey, and Guldzhamal with her daughter would all stand gaping with open mouths. Who has ever seen a creature with a human head and the body of a fish! And he'd be waving his fin