Stories about merchants or cunning merchant
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10 Small town or a story from the pas
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Stories about merchants or cunning merchant
Author :canisvulpes
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10 Small town or a story from the pas

Events took place in the late 19th century and early of the 20th century.

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A small town, but with an ancient history, there are many of them in the east. They have seen warriors and merchants, nomads and farmers, great scholars and poets. In their depths are still kept many secrets of thousands of years, undiscovered by researchers. Many nations passed through them, cities saw the ups and downs of empires, the birth of new states and their disappearance, light and power, a time of crises and hypocrisy, evil and good.

In one of these small towns, there was a small but very cozy street, immersed in the green foliage of mighty oaks and plane trees, a few hundred years old. On both sides of the street were one and two-storey houses. Some of them were simple cob bricks whitewashed with lime. Others of burned red brick, some of them even had seals of famous imperial factories of the past centuries, and people all lived from different parts of a large country.

There were also professors, workers, mechanics, teachers, nurses, porters and philologists. Everyone lived peacefully and quietly, helping each other in the repair or construction of the khashar method, i.e. the whole world. Then the thought of unity did not soar; everyone was one. But all good things tend to end ...

Although residents of the street did not know about this, they didn't even know that in the future the street would practically become empty, everyone would go away, who would go for the better share, and in their houses, after different people, there would be completely different people who would not even know who neighbors. The old wall, dear to the heart, which in childhood was also an excellent remedy for abrasions and cuts, will be torn down, and in their place high, concrete fences will rise.

Earlier, with the whole world, neighbors from all over the street themselves kneaded clay, cut reeds, putting them into special wooden forms, dried them in the sun, and made bricks for duvali. Then they were coated with clay mixed with straw. But all this is already in the distant past. About this only remind yellowed photographs in forgotten all albums.

...

Once sitting on a bench near the gate, Yodgor uncle watched the sparrows splashing in a puddle. There was a smile on his face, and his eyes sparkled. It's good to sit in the sun, enjoy the warmth, nature ... This idyll was broken by a disgruntled cry of a young neighbor. He was annoyed that he would have to turn in an object he disliked that he considered to be nonsense, a waste of time and energy, just nonsense.

Yodgor-uncle asked the young applicant, Dara, why he was so indignant about what had happened, he told his story.

To which Yodgor-uncle remarked: because of this, are you spoiling your mood and yourself? You see, from your cry and the sparrow, who happily frolicked in a puddle, the frightened flew away. You broke them fun! It's not worth worrying about because of this, it still does not help.


Here I remember the story of his grandfather. He was still a young and naive merchant, together with his uncle they arrived in the capital of the Kingdom, there was a hectic time. In the Kingdom, the interests of the three world powers came together, well, and as usual, the residents got the nuts. There was a big hauling of ropes, as togashka told me. Inside the Kingdom there were various forces, groups that emphasized their future, hoping for the strength of those powers.

Well, who won, took everything. Here, you know, the players left very often, then one side took up, then the other. In general, staff turnover was high. Some disappeared in the darkness, others fled, wherever they looked. As a result, there was no one to work.

My uncle told me that his grandfather had caught the nukers at the bazaar, because he wanted to see the city, the goods, and moved away from the caravan. I really thought that everything was a pipe, remember what their name was. They will make a slave and sell it somewhere.

But my grandfather was brought to the vazir in the "sofa", they put on a new brocade robe and made them an official. He refused, refused, referred to a small experience. But he was not listened to. Wazir dryly threw - no staff, everyone ran away, as they say - if there is no meat, then turnip will fit. So everything, go and work. My advisor will tell you what to do.

Now the grandfather is sitting in a small room, they brought him a bunch of papers, he works with them. They feed, they do not water so that they can have exquisite food, but you cannot reach your feet. As a so-called honor, three young men were assigned to the grandfather for protection. Although it was clear, this is so that the grandfather did not run away.

Then the rumors on the "sofa" are spread that another official disappeared, came out with a report and did not return ...

So imperceptibly flew several months. Little by little, the grandfather poked up in the "couch", heard and saw how things were going, how the officials solved the "problems", how all foreigners appear, and influential and not-so-many people from urban groups turn around. Then he was suddenly appointed vazir, instead of the former.

Time passed, the news coming from the outskirts of the Kingdome did not please: now and there, riots and riots arose. It was clear that this was a consequence of the big game, another togashka told about it, he was the head of the emirate's secret police. Here it is unclean. As popular wisdom says - that honey is not worth these stings ...

Well, here somehow there was a big holiday in the palace, the grandfather already proved himself to be good, the wazir was like the third month. Therefore, the security somewhat weakened. He managed to save up money on a dark night, saddling an Arabian horse, he left his post and the Kingdom.

In two weeks I was already in my native emirate. My uncle remained alive, but the caravan had to be abandoned. Then he pestered his grandfather for a long time by the fact that he was the first in their family who became a Vazir!

...

From what Uncle told me, I learned a lesson for myself that formally everything always looks better than in fact. What is behind each at first glance, a decision designed to make life easier, is a particular customer who pursues his personal interests, as a rule, this is revenge or the ability to deprive someone of power, influence and behind them is another emissary, and he has his own views. It's not enough to understand the mind ... But most importantly, I understood, even if I've got into a showdown, where the price of a question is life or death, don't forget what wonderful world you live in, don't cease to admire the beauty of the sky, the rustling of leaves, the little worms ...

Dara scratched his head thoughtfully ... nothing has changed, he thought.

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hashar - something like a free work by a group of people for a common cause

vazir - minister

sofa - cabinet minister

nuker - in the story means the guard

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