When I am safarli without you. Elchin Safarli When I am without you... (collection). The plot of the book "When I return, be at home"

With gratitude to my mother, sisters Ramziya Dzhilgamly and Diana Zenyuk, as well as Masha Kushnir

In this book, the words "hope", "faith", "happiness" and derivatives from them are used 678 times.

– I heard you read the book, and what did you find in it?

– Do you believe in it?

“Listen to me, I once believed a book too. And I decided that I would find this world. (…) Believe me: in the end there is nothing but death…

That world exists! (…)

- Yes, there is nothing! These are all beautiful stories! Think of it like a game some old idiot played with the kids. And then one day he decided to write the same book, but for adults. It is unlikely that he himself understands the meaning of what he wrote. It's funny to read, but if you believe in it, life is gone...

Orhan Pamuk. "New life"

... You look at me, look at me from close, closer and closer, we play Cyclops, we look at each other, bringing our faces closer, and the eyes grow, grow and all come closer, screw into each other: the Cyclopes look eye to eye, our breath breaks, and our mouths meet, poking, biting each other with our lips, slightly resting our tongues on our teeth and tickling each other with heavy, intermittent breaths smelling of an ancient, familiar smell and silence. My hands seek your hair, plunge into its depths and caress it, and we kiss as if our mouths were full of flowers exhaling an indistinct, dull aroma, or live, quivering fish. And if it happens to bite, then the pain is sweet, and if it happens to suffocate in a kiss, suddenly swallowing at the same time and taking the air from each other, then this death-instant is beautiful. And we have one saliva for two, and one for two, this taste of a ripe fruit, and I feel how you tremble in me, like the moon trembling in the night waters ...

Julio Cortazar. "The Hopscotch Game"

... the course of events is not determined by me. Instead of controlling my characters, I let them live their own lives and freely express their opinions. I just listen and write.

Rai Bradbury

I wanted to write about everything, about everything that happens around.

About your flowers when you bring them.

About this towel, about the smell; about how it feels.

About all our feelings - yours, mine ...

About history: what we were.

About everything in the world, about everything together, dear!

Because everything in life is mixed ...

K / f "Clock"

We have the right to fly where we want, and be the way we are created.

Richard Bach

... She squeezed tangerine juice for me and left. Forever. Under a glass with citrus fresh, a napkin is damp at the edges. On it are painful words in uneven handwriting. "I have left. Don't look for me." She left on the first day of summer. I didn't run to look for her. Didn't start calling her mobile. Didn't smoke with nervous puffs. I took a glass of juice and brought it to my nose. Started sniffing. Had the tangerine scent taken over the violet scent of her skin? Isn't that preserved on the glass of a tall glass? I need you. I want to leave too. Behind you or towards you. Doesn't matter. What matters is you...

...Women leave magical nights goodbye to men. Women's footprints on men's hearts. On the night before parting, she kissed differently than usual. Her kisses froze on my body like snowflakes on an icy window. Somehow it got cold. Now I understand. Parting kisses lose their warmth. In them, the cooled tenderness of parting ... On the last night, she looked at me differently than usual. In the eyes of alienation. Alienation over love. She understood that it was time for her, but in every possible way she delayed the hour of departure. The struggle of the soul and mind. Reason won. Gone. Now I understand. There is no melancholy in the look before parting. It is a silent protest. Protest against yourself. Feelings lose reason. More often…

... I open the refrigerator. It contains nothing but green apples. Large, juicy green, with a waxy skin. She remembered. Once he told her that in childhood he was cured of sadness with green apples. He hid in the thickets of his grandfather's garden, ate juicy apples, looked at the sky, counted the flying planes. So sadness was forgotten. She gradually disappeared, as planes disappear in the sky ... All the next week I ate apples from the refrigerator. Each of them had memories. Ate the memories, forever leaving them in itself. No self-torture. I was sad, ate apples, remembered. Somewhere in the depths of my soul I childishly hoped that on the day when the apples in the refrigerator ran out, she would return. The apples are out. She didn't come back...

… Everything is born from small things. Our love was born from one accidental touch. Queue at the currency exchange office. Evening bustle at Istiklal Caddesi. Fine spring rain, like powder. Fake songs of street musicians. The ice cream seller invites customers. Sleepy pigeons on the roof of a newsstand. Pistachio aroma of baklava in fresh air. She hits me with her bag and I drop my purse. Kurushi rolled across the tiled floor. I say "sorry" in Turkish. She's "oh, sorry for God's sake" in Russian. At the same time, we bend down to collect coins. Touch. She has cold hands. The first thing I noticed about her. Then he looked into her eyes. Green-blue. With sincere anxiety, enveloping tenderness. I wanted to kiss her on the lips. Didn't hold back. Kissed.

She was surprised, and I fell in love. "Let's eat some ice cream..." He said the first thing that came to mind. She replied in Turkish. “Okie…” Then she slapped me in the face. “You are definitely a ginger chocolate ice cream lover…” She laughed, but I didn’t apologize…

... True love is woven from contradictions. Stitched with threads of different characters, tastes, aspirations. Our love settled between heaven and earth. She was the windy sky. The earth, stable and grounded, was me. Love between us ... I am a Muslim, she is Orthodox. I love blueberry pie, she loves cherry. I find myself in autumn, she comprehends harmony in summer. I believe in the transience of happiness, she believes in the possibility of its extension. We were and remain different. The difference strengthened feelings, decorated everyday life with variegated shades. Individuality in love must be preserved. Otherwise, over time, feelings will also die ... Then which of us unwound the knots of feelings? ..

... Appetizing balls of ice cream were melting in a mother-of-pearl glass vase. They lost their individuality, merged into a common pale brown mass. She licked the teaspoon, occasionally holding it between her cranberry lips. Mentally left this cafe overlooking the Bosphorus. Carried away to where her freedom is free. Pure women's freedom. “... I dream of turning into a seagull. Soar over the Golden Horn, peck at fish, let yourself be fed crispy simit. It is up to you to decide where and with whom to fly…” She spoke to herself, but out loud. Velvety voice, sparse eyelashes, dimpled smile. Smoldering cigarette in fingers. “Hey, seagull, your ice cream is melting…” She shudders, looks from the Golden Horn to me. Penetrates deep into my eyes. Goosebumps. I have. And there is a smile on her face.

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The books of this writer tell about human experiences, comprehensive and deep. Readers call him "the doctor of women's souls." Elchin Safarli is the most sincere writer of the East. In his books you can find yourself, your feelings and experiences that every person faces every day. This article tells about one of the last books of the author - "When I return, be at home": reader reviews, plot and main characters.

A little about the author

Elchin was born in Baku in March 1984. He began publishing at the age of twelve in youth newspapers, writing stories right at school in the classroom. Four years later, he began working in various media. He studied at the International University of Azerbaijan at the Faculty of Journalism. He managed to try his hand at television, collaborated with Azerbaijani and Turkish channels. For a long time Elchin lived in Istanbul, which could not but affect his work. In the first books that made him a famous author, the action took place in this city. Elchin is called "the second Orhan Pamuk". Pamuk himself says that "Safarli's books make him confident that Eastern literature has a future."

Debut novel

Safarli is the first writer of the East who writes in Russian. The debut book "Sweet Salt of the Bosporus" was published in 2008, and in 2010 it entered the top 100 most popular books in Moscow. The writer says that he created his book when he worked for a construction company. The only joyful experience at that time was meeting with the pages of his book. Colleagues left for lunch, and Elchin, having a snack with an apple, continued to write his Istanbul story. He writes in different places. For example, he can sketch an essay right on the ferry across the Bosphorus. But more often he writes at home, in silence. Muse is a changeable and impermanent substance. It is impossible to rely on it, therefore Elchin believes that there are only two ways that will lead to success - this is skill and work. The book "When I return, be at home", the characters of which win over the reader, I want to read without stopping.

Creativity of the writer

In the same year 2008, A new book, "There without back". A year later, Safarli presented his new work - "I'll be back." In 2010, three books were published at once: "A Thousand and Two Nights", "They Promised Me", "No Memories Without You". In 2012, Elchin delighted his fans with new works: “If you knew”, “Legends of the Bosphorus” and “When I am without you”. In 2013, the sensational book "Recipes for Happiness" was published. In this book, the writer not only told a wonderful love story, but also shared wonderful recipes with readers. oriental cuisine. In the book "When I return, be at home" the reader is also waiting for the smell of fragrant pastries and the atmosphere of the winter ocean. In the very first lines, the reader will find himself in a house that "smells like rooibos" and "biscuits with raspberry jam." And one of the heroes of the book works in a bakery where they bake bread "with dried vegetables, olives and figs."

Last works

In 2015, the book "I want to go home" is published, the warm and romantic "Tell me about the sea" - in 2016. From Safarli's books you understand how sincerely he loves Istanbul and the sea. He beautifully describes both the city and the water. When you read his books, it seems that you see the friendly lights of the city or hear the waves splashing. The author describes them so skillfully that you feel a light breeze, you feel how the air is filled with the aroma of coffee, fruits and pastries. But Safarli's books attract readers not only with the smell of sweets. They contain a lot of love and kindness, wise advice and quotes. “When I return, be at home”, published in 2017, is also filled with the wisdom of a man who has lived a long life and has seen a lot in his lifetime. The author himself says that he likes the ideas behind the history of the last two books.

What are his books about?

It is not surprising that in the books of Safarli, the real truth is hidden behind each story. In an interview, he was asked what he likes to write about. He replied that about people, about simple things that surround and disturb everyone. Wants to talk about what inspires, not depresses. About the beauty of life. That waiting for "the perfect time is pointless." You have to enjoy life right now. Safarli says that he is devastated by injustice and when a person does not live his own life. When the main thing for him becomes - to be right in the eyes of neighbors, relatives, colleagues. And this absurdity - to depend on public opinion - is acquiring catastrophic proportions. It is not right.

“You need to let happiness into your life,” the writer says. “Happiness is gratitude for what you already have. Happiness is giving. But this does not mean that you have to deprive yourself of something. No. You just have to share. Share what you have - understanding, love, a delicious meal, happiness, skill. And Safrali shares. Readers write in the reviews: "When I return, be at home" - this is a story that Elchin touches his very heart, penetrating into the most remote corners of the soul and revealing kindness and love in a person. I also want to get up and run to the kitchen to bake sunny buns, because the book is full delicious recipes.

As writes

The writer says that in his books he is sincere and conveys the feelings and impressions that he experienced at a certain moment in his life. What I felt, I wrote. This is not difficult, because Elchin lives the life of an ordinary person - he goes to the market, walks along the embankment, communicates with people, rides the subway and even bakes pies.

“They say my stories inspire people. There can be no better praise for a writer,” he says. “We are given to live life with or without love. There are such states and moments that you don’t want to see anyone, let alone love. But one day you wake up and you realize that you've burned out. Everything is gone. This is life."

Here he writes about her in latest book Elchin Safarli.

"When I return, be at home"

Briefly about this book, we can say this:

“This is the story of a father and daughter. Together they bake bread, clear the deck of the ship from snow, read books, walk the dog, listen to Dylan and, despite the blizzards outside, learn to live.

What is actually told in the book, published about four months ago, but has already collected several thousand reader reviews and, according to Google polls, liked by 91% of users? Of course, Google is silent about exactly how many users left their review. But one thing is important, that more than ninety percent of the readers who shared their opinion came to one conclusion: the book is worth reading. Therefore, we dwell on it in more detail.

How the book was written

The story is told from the perspective of the protagonist - he writes letters to his only daughter. Authors often resort to this genre. "When I return, be at home" is written in the form of letters. For a better perception by readers of the heroes of the work, for a deeper psychological characteristics characters writers often use this technique. In this case, letters are the compositional basis of the entire work. They draw portraits of heroes, here the narrator writes about his own observations, feelings, conversations and disputes with friends, which allows the reader to perceive the hero from different angles. And perhaps the most important thing for which this method of writing was chosen is to allow the reader to understand the depth of feelings of the protagonist, fatherly love and the pain of loss - a person will not be hypocritical in front of himself, and his own statements are most often closer to the truth and more accurately.

In every line, his daughter is next to him - he shares recipes with her, talks about new acquaintances and friends, about a house on the ocean in the City of Eternal Winter. It would be too easy to say that in the letters he talks to her about life, shares his thoughts and experiences. In fact, his letters, contained in a small book "When I return, be at home", are deep and bottomless in their content. They talk about boundless parental love, about the bitterness of loss, about finding ways and strength to overcome grief. Unable to accept the death of his beloved daughter and come to terms with her absence, he writes letters to her.

Life is happiness

Hans - main character works, on his behalf and the narration is conducted. He cannot come to terms with the death of his only daughter and writes letters to her. The first begins with a description of the new city he and his wife moved to after they lost Dosta, the City of Eternal Winter. He reports that here all year round winter, in these November days, "the ocean recedes", "a sharp cold wind does not release from captivity." The hero of Elchin Safarli’s book “When I return, be at home” tells his daughter that he almost never goes out, sits in a house that smells of linden tea brewed with dried orange peel and raspberry jam cookies that their daughter loved so much. They put her portion in the closet in case Dostu, like in childhood, runs into the kitchen for lemonade and cookies.

Hans works in a bakery not far from home, he and his companion bake bread. He writes to his daughter that baking bread is "a feat of hard work and patience". But he does not imagine himself without this case. Hans shares in a letter the recipes they use to bake bread. He and his companion Amir have long wanted to bake and simits - favorite treat to coffee. Hans travels to Istanbul, where he lives for a few days and learns how to bake simita. But the value of his letters lies not in the wonderful recipes, but in the wisdom that he shares with his daughter. Telling her, “Life is a journey. Enjoy,” he forces himself to live. This is what the whole plot is based on. “When I return, be at home” is a story about happiness, it is in your beloved city where you live, in the eyes of your loved one, in your favorite business, and even in the cry of seagulls.

Life is love

Maria is Dostu's mother. Hans, the protagonist of the book When I Come Back, Be Home, remembers how he met her. Mary is five years older than him. She worked in a library and was married. But he knew at a glance that the girl with brown hair would certainly become his wife. For four years he came every day to the library, because the "deep certainty" that they would be together "swept away all doubts." Maria often cries over a photograph of her daughter, this loss was very difficult for her. She left home and lived alone for almost a year and a half to be alone with her grief, to get sick.

The pain did not go away, the attitude towards it changed. It's just that she now occupies a smaller space, making room for what Mary never left - the desire to love. Maria will love the son of family friends - Leon with all her heart. After the death of his parents, he and Hans will take the boy to their place. The chapter with the title "It's wonderful to love a living person" is even in the content. “When I return, be at home” is a story about love, about how important it is for a person to be loved, live brightly and enjoy those who are near.

Life is those who are near

From Hans' letters, the reader not only learns about his feelings or finds new recipes, but also gets to know his new friends: Amir, Umid, Jean, Daria, Leon.

Amir is Hans' companion and they work together at the bakery. Amir is twenty-six years younger than Hans, a surprisingly calm and balanced person. In his homeland, the war has been going on for the seventh year. From her, he took the family to the City of Eternal Winter. Amir wakes up at half past five in the morning, makes coffee - always with cardamom, prepares breakfast for his family and goes to the bakery. He plays the guitar in the afternoon, and in the evening, after returning home, he has dinner - the first must be red lentil soup. Read books to children and go to bed. Tomorrow everything repeats itself. Hans finds this predictability boring. But Amir is happy - he lives in harmony with himself, enjoys the love of what he built.

The work "When I return, be at home" introduces another interesting hero- Umid - a rebel boy. Born and raised in the City of Eternal Winter, he worked in the same bakery with Hans - he delivered pastries from house to house. He studied at a Catholic school and wanted to become a priest. The guy's parents are philologists, he reads a lot. He left the City of Eternal Winter. Now he lives in Istanbul and works in a bakery where they bake amazing simits. Married to the daughter of an Idaho farmer. They often argue with his wife, an impulsive and jealous American, because Umid grew up in a slightly different environment, where his parents speak in a whisper and listen to Tchaikovsky in the evenings. But they don't last long. Young people immediately reconcile. Umid is a sympathetic guy. When Hans is gone, he will take care of Maria and Leon and help them move to Istanbul.

“The reason for disappointment,” Hans writes in a letter, “is that the person is not in the present. He is busy waiting or remembering. People drive themselves into loneliness at the very moment when they stop sharing warmth.

Many readers write in their reviews: “When I return, be at home” is a story about losses and gains that accompany a person all his life.

Life is caring for the happiness of others

Jean is a family friend, a psychologist. Maria and Hans met him at the shelter when they took away the dog - Mars, and Jean - the cat. When he was little, his parents died in a car accident, Jean was raised by his grandmother, from whom he learned how to cook wonderful onion soup. On the days when he cooks it, Jean invites friends and remembers his grandmother. He introduced them to his fiancee Daria, who has a son, Leon. His father immediately left the family after the birth of his son, having learned that Leon was autistic. One day, leaving Leon with Maria and Hans, Jean and Daria will go on a journey from which they will not return.

Hans and Maria will keep the boy and call him son. This moment will touch the hearts of many readers, which they will write about in their reviews. “When I return, be at home” is a book that teaches you to share your warmth with others. Hans writes touchingly about the boy Leon, about his illness. He tells his daughter that the boy loves to mess around with dough and helps them in the bakery. Dost admits that he is re-experiencing his father's feelings.

“Those who we need and whom we will soon love will surely knock on our door. Let's throw open the curtains towards the sun, bake apple raisin cookies, talk to each other and tell new stories - this will be salvation.

In the annotation to "When I return, be at home" it is written that no one dies, those who loved each other during their lifetime will definitely meet. And neither the name nor the nationality matter - love binds forever.

With gratitude to my mother, sisters Ramziya Dzhilgamly and Diana Zenyuk, as well as Masha Kushnir

In this book, the words "hope", "faith", "happiness" and derivatives from them are used 678 times.

– I heard you read the book, and what did you find in it?

- A new life.

– Do you believe in it?

“Listen to me, I once believed a book too. And I decided that I would find this world. (…) Believe me: in the end there is nothing but death…

That world exists! (…)

- Yes, there is nothing! These are all beautiful stories! Think of it like a game some old idiot played with the kids. And then one day he decided to write the same book, but for adults. It is unlikely that he himself understands the meaning of what he wrote. It's funny to read, but if you believe in it, life is gone...

Orhan Pamuk. "New life"

... You look at me, look at me from close, closer and closer, we play Cyclops, we look at each other, bringing our faces closer, and the eyes grow, grow and all come closer, screw into each other: the Cyclopes look eye to eye, our breath breaks, and our mouths meet, poking, biting each other with our lips, slightly resting our tongues on our teeth and tickling each other with heavy, intermittent breaths smelling of an ancient, familiar smell and silence. My hands seek your hair, plunge into its depths and caress it, and we kiss as if our mouths were full of flowers exhaling an indistinct, dull aroma, or live, quivering fish. And if it happens to bite, then the pain is sweet, and if it happens to suffocate in a kiss, suddenly swallowing at the same time and taking the air from each other, then this death-instant is beautiful. And we have one saliva for two, and one for two, this taste of a ripe fruit, and I feel how you tremble in me, like the moon trembling in the night waters ...

Julio Cortazar. "The Hopscotch Game"

... the course of events is not determined by me. Instead of controlling my characters, I let them live their own lives and freely express their opinions. I just listen and write.

Rai Bradbury

I wanted to write about everything, about everything that happens around.

About your flowers when you bring them.

About this towel, about the smell; about how it feels.

About all our feelings - yours, mine ...

About history: what we were.

About everything in the world, about everything together, dear!

Because everything in life is mixed ...

K / f "Clock"

Part I
About them

We have the right to fly where we want, and be the way we are created.

Richard Bach

1

... She squeezed tangerine juice for me and left.

Forever. Under a glass with citrus fresh, a napkin is damp at the edges. On it are painful words in uneven handwriting. "I have left. Don't look for me." She left on the first day of summer. I didn't run to look for her. Didn't start calling her mobile. Didn't smoke with nervous puffs. I took a glass of juice and brought it to my nose. Started sniffing. Had the tangerine scent taken over the violet scent of her skin? Isn't that preserved on the glass of a tall glass? I need you. I want to leave too. Behind you or towards you. Doesn't matter. What matters is you...

… Everything is born from small things. Our love was born from one accidental touch. Queue at the currency exchange office. Evening bustle at Istiklal Caddesi 1
Independence Street in the center of Istanbul.

Fine spring rain, like powder. Fake songs of street musicians. The ice cream seller invites customers. Sleepy pigeons on the roof of a newsstand. Pistachio baklava flavor 2
Turkish sweet pastry.

In the fresh air. She hits me with her bag and I drop my purse. Kurushi 3
Turkish coin.

Rolled across the tiled floor. I say "sorry" in Turkish. She's "oh, sorry for God's sake" in Russian. At the same time, we bend down to collect coins. Touch. She has cold hands. The first thing I noticed about her. Then he looked into her eyes. Green-blue. With sincere anxiety, enveloping tenderness. I wanted to kiss her on the lips. Didn't hold back. Kissed.

She was surprised, and I fell in love. "Let's eat some ice cream..." He said the first thing that came to mind. She replied in Turkish. "Okie 4
"Can" (Turkish).

... "Then she slapped me in the face. “You are definitely a ginger chocolate ice cream lover…” She laughed, but I didn’t apologize…

2

It is up to you to decide where and with whom to fly…” She spoke to herself, but out loud. Velvety voice, sparse eyelashes, dimpled smile. Smoldering cigarette in fingers. “Hey, seagull, your ice cream is melting…” She shudders, looks from the Golden Horn to me. Penetrates deep into my eyes. Goosebumps. I have. And there is a smile on her face.

He presses his cigarette into the ashtray. "Can I ask you something?" The waiter brings hot tea with kunefe 6
A sweet cheese pie that is eaten exclusively hot.

Warm sugar-saffron aroma drives away vanilla ice cream shades. One of my bad habits is hot after cold. "Please..." She turns her gaze back to the Golden Horn. “Give me…” He keeps silent, lights up. "What to gift?" Signboards of jewelry stores, expensive boutiques flashed before my eyes. In the first 48 hours of falling in love, a man doubts a woman. On a subconscious level. Fear of being disappointed. “Give me hope…” I drop my cigarette in surprise. She laughed. She got up and leaned over the table. Kissed her on the nose. “Will you give? Come on, don't be greedy…” – “I'll give…” At that moment her mobile rang. He called all the time we were with her. We are often expected exactly where we don't want to return... Why didn't her mobile phone drown in the Bosporus? Handsets interfere with doing things. Just like in the song...

… Her name is Mirumir. She introduced herself that way. “Is there really such a Russian name?” He purses his lips in displeasure. “If I introduced myself as Natasha, would you feel better?” - “OK, then my name is Svetusvet ...” - “Are you kidding me?” She's sexually angry as hell. Throws a bitten roasted chestnut at me. It has traces of her lipstick on it. Op, manages to catch it in her mouth. "Okay, okay, have it your way, Mirumir. And who do you want peace for?" Thinking. inner world… Satisfied, Lightlight?” I laugh. "Satisfied…"

She stops at the entrance to the Galata Tower 7
One of the symbols of Istanbul, located in the European part of the city on a high hill in the Galata district.

Putting his palm to his forehead, Mirumir raises his head. Looks at the sixty-meter "Jesus Tower" 8
The Genoese who built the Galata Tower in 1348-1349 called it the "Jesus Tower".

I carefully sneak up behind her and kiss her on the neck. Slightly damp and tanned. The second kiss for the first day of acquaintance. Boldness or courage? She turns around. In the eyes of sadness. "I'm afraid to love you..." I press her to me. "Don't be afraid... After all, I already fell in love with you." Mirumir embarrassedly pulls away. "Better help me overcome the 143 steps of Galata ... I will not sit in the elevator." “I can take you in my arms. Only for this there is a fee: one kiss ... ”Angry. Again incredibly sexy. “Are you all in the East so charmingly haggling? No kisses. Forward and with a song ... "

... She wears clothes of color sea wave and rich yellow. This is how her anticipation of the sea and the sun is expressed. “When I want to hide from everyone, I mentally plunge into the Bosphorus. Warm sea, warmed by the summer sun... That's why I come here every year. I don't have to dive here. Here I can swim on the surface. In his own way, Mirumir complements the dazzling palette of summer Istanbul ...

He doesn't live his own life. “I say ‘I love’ to someone I don’t love. Isn't that the biggest misfortune?" Does not talk about life outside of the present. A few words, then change the subject. "It's cold in Moscow. Always ... Listen, how much does a haircut cost in a decent salon? We don't discuss tomorrow. No plans, ideas, ideas. We fell in love with each other today.

Love rarely deals with the future tense. Often it remains in the past or persists in the present. If love continues in the future, then its bearers are infinitely lucky ... I listen to the wind. He, distilling the clouds, brings news from parallel time. For the wind, the distance between Istanbul and Moscow is a trifle. So why don't you tell about it, wind?..

3

…After getting to know my kitchen, she fell in love with me more. “Women recognize the character of a man silently. We do not ask questions, we do not climb into the soul. We look, we listen, we feel. We act without words ... ”Mirumir convinces that a man’s kitchen speaks of his character. “If the kitchen is clean, untouched, then the man needs home warmth, although he is ready to deny it in every possible way. Such a stubborn person needs to be pampered with delicious food, but at the same time not to tire with attention ... If the kitchen is a mess, ashtrays with cigarette butts are everywhere, it means that the man has a complex character. You need to adapt to this, and very carefully ... Your kitchen is “alive”. It has life. So, with you it is interesting, but not at all easy. You defend your personal space."

I say that I do not believe in such generalizations. She pauses, gets out of bed. Puts on a bra. She has small breasts with tender peach nipples. Insanely beautiful. Graceful sexy. Proud posture, fragile shoulders, sensually protruding vertebrae. Scar on right elbow. Short cut nails...

I get out of bed, pick her up in my arms, put her back in bed. Kicking, pounding on the back, indignant. I dig into her dry, violet-leaf lips. Exciting naturalness. Almost does not use decorative cosmetics, perfumes. As she is. Without template beauty, simulated femininity. She doesn't read Kundera - she likes Hyoga, Sagan, Capote. Often repeats the phrase from "Breakfast at Tiffany's": “This cat and I are very similar. We are both poor, nameless disheveled…”

She kisses my chin, rubs her face against my stubble. “Say that you don’t love me… Drive me away… Say that you need sex from me and nothing more… Don’t drag me into love…” I go deeper into her, whispering in her ear. “I love… You hear, I love… You won't leave…” She closes her eyes. Tears are flowing. Love with a tied heart. Have you had it? When there is no way back or forward. There is only a place where you stand and cannot move...

Sits on the windowsill. In panties. Wrapping hands around knees. Wavy blonde hair. Banana nail polish plays in the sun. I bring coffee. Stepping on "Bonjour tristesse" 9
"Hello, sadness!" (fr.).

Paperback, takes a cup. "Is she close to you in spirit?" I leaf through the book. Pale gray paper, poor adhesion. The book smells like it. "A little ... The more I read Sagan, the better I begin to understand what a difficult character she had ... She put her pleasure first ... always ... Forgivable selfishness ... but that's not important ... "

Sips coffee. “Great… Ellerine sa?l?k 10
Health to your hands (Turkish).

... And what kind of coffee? - "Fig". - "Which?!" I put the book aside and take a cigarette out of the pack. The lighter is naughty - the flame is intermittent. “Yes, yes, dear, fig. It was prepared during the Ottoman Empire. And my grandmother taught me. Grandmother Lale ... "

Mirumir opens the window, draws in the sea air. “Hey, Bosfooor, hello!..” Waving to the great strait, attracting the attention of people passing below. Nude girl in the window of the sixth floor in broad daylight. I laugh, surprised at myself. With all the acquisitions of modernity, I have a lot of conservatism. But next to her, for some reason, I change, like the direction of the wind. Strong influence or big love?

“Back to coffee… Tell me how to make it? I will enjoy it in Moscow ... In short, it doesn’t matter where. “In the grinder, along with the grains, add small pieces of dried figs, a pinch of cinnamon. Cook in your favorite way. The taste, as you can see, has not changed much. But what a flavor… Just don’t forget to pour the finished coffee into cups through a sieve, without thick.”

Drinks coffee. Thinking. Turns his gaze to Wall Clock. "Get some duct tape. I want to tape the arrows so they don't move. Or take out the batteries. Do anything, stop time…” – “Why, Mirumir?” Silent. "Explain why." Lowers her eyes. "Come on..." She suddenly swings and smashes her coffee cup on the wall clock. Cries. “Stop time… Stop…” I hug her. “Good, good… Don’t cry…” Before parting, time speeds up, and with the onset of separation, it slows down. There are many mistakes in the program "Love is ...". But it is not possible to reinstall it. Unfortunately…

4

... The roads of night Istanbul are all in fragments of broken hearts. They crunch underfoot, crumble, digging into the shoes of passers-by. Passers-by are those who are lucky today. A little more than others. However, each of these passers-by is aware that tomorrow night his heart may also break. Law of the metropolis: not everyone can be lucky. There are more than 20 million frames with human destinies on the film "Istanbul Gold 400". Increased sensitivity, color balance - the best in the East ...

The clock is 03:12. Beyoglu. Bohemian area of Istanbul. The older generation of Turks calls it a "hotbed of immorality", the youth - "heavenly hell". The bohemian flower of Istanbul first grew and blossomed here. Since then, it blooms every day after midnight ...

Empty bus stop. There is no one around except us and two drunken transvestites who fell asleep at one of the lightboxes. We sit at a distance from each other. We smoke in unison. I am Kent 1, she is Kent 4. Gathered her hair into two buns. She put on large glasses - yellow lenses in a green frame. “What are you laughing at? Reflection of the state of mind…” In silence, we look at the road a few meters away from us. There are few cars. Only occasionally taxis with luminous checkers rush by. Traffic lights change colors, stopwatches on them uselessly inform the ghosts of the night city about the green light.

The Bosphorus is quiet, my cigarette smokes under my nose, music is blaring from a block away. I listen to the words of the song. “Istanbul seni kaybetmi?… Eski bir banda kaydetmi?…” 11
“Istanbul lost you… Recorded on an old tape…” (Turkish).

Right in the heart. "I'm afraid to lose you... You... Mirumir... Do you hear?" Somewhere a police siren wailed. Female cry. "And I'm already lost ..." She blows on a traffic light, and he, obeying her, changes color. “Look, I'm a fairy… Fairy with a bad head… Lightlight, please lose me…” Her cell phone rang. Doesn't answer. "It's late, baby. I already found you.” He throws a cigarette butt, presses it down with the toe of his sandals. He chuckles. "So what's the problem? You will lose again ... "

I look at the sky. There, someone spilled liquid dark chocolate with pieces of almonds. Almonds are stars. Suddenly one of them flies from the sky. Falls right into the heart of the Bosphorus. The mind instantly formulates desire. The Turks say that if a star with a desire falls and dissolves in the Bosphorus, then "your desire and the desire of your half" will come true. There is no time: the star is approaching the mirror surface of the strait. I make one wish for two. "Love beyond separation." Off, got it...

While watching the star, I did not notice how Mirumir moved towards me. “A star fell into the Bosphorus… He made a wish for us…” She smiled. For the first time in a night. “I noticed her at the same time as you…” – “Yes? And what wish did you make? He takes off his glasses. Listens to the Bosphorus. “It’s not even a desire… I just said, ‘Don’t let me go…’ I said to the star, but I thought of you.” She put on her glasses again. She turned to the traffic light: the breath of the heart changes the signals. I squeeze her hand in mine and remain silent. Beyoglu continued to rattle and debauch. It's already 04:16 on the clock. It is time…

* * *

... I multiply cigarette butts in flashes of dawn. She fell asleep with her head resting on my legs. Falling asleep, she seems to decrease in size. The body shrinks, facial features become smaller. I want to wrap myself in her. Save from hurricanes of memories, rains of despair. But I can't move. Mirumir restricts my movements. It's a pity to wake her up... Even within the walls of the kingdom of Morpheus, she proudly refuses help, locking herself in the locks of loneliness. “Each one must carry his own cross. Why trouble your neighbor? He has his own cross…” Mirumir is afraid to wait. Maybe this is correct? When you wait for a long time and in the end you don’t get what you expected, you stop believing, and, accordingly, hope. Maybe it's better not to look at the horizons with the hope of seeing scarlet sails? .. We have plenty to choose from. Always. I choose her. I choose love. I make a choice for two. Indeed, in desperation, there is often no strength left to make a choice. In desperation, I want someone to make a choice for you at least once ... I make a choice for the world.

5

…Does not talk about himself. Burned by his own words. I don't feel mystery or insincerity. Mirumir does not want to return to where her mind drags her, contrary to the impulses of her soul. “Monroe once said:“ When hard days come, I think: it would be nice to become a cleaner in order to sweep away the inner pain ... “On the contrary, I am drawn to the cleaners in a happy time. I want to cleanse myself of the disappointments of the past, fears of the present. I am afraid of the present, because I do not know what future it will lead to ... "

Likes to look at me when I'm not looking at her. When I shave in the morning, she leans against the bathroom doorframe, watching me closely. When I explain our order to the waiter, she covers her ears with her hands, lip-reading my speech. When I go to the toilet, squeezing through the tables in the hall, she draws a heart on my back with her eyes. “So I find in you what I have been looking for for so long. No, you are not a prince on a white horse. You are my real. Real, close, native. And it doesn't matter if you are a prince or a king, whether you have a horse or not. It matters that you are here. With me. And such a… This is not pathos, Svetusvet. This is what I always wanted to say in the present. Every woman has words reserved for her real hero. Happy present. You just need to wait for him. I've been waiting"...

Lying on the purple sofa in the living room, watching Don "t Bother to Knock" 12
"You don't have to knock" (English). Psychological drama, 1952. Marilyn Monroe played the main role in it.

She nibbles on pumpkin seeds, I drink Starbucks hot chocolate. She's wearing my blue-and-white plaid shirt, and I'm in my boxer shorts. She threw her legs back on the sofa, I pulled mine out and put them on the blue ottoman. Mirumir calls Marilyn Monroe "a restless devil." “A delightful girl… They saw her first as sex, then as talent… Somehow unfair…” I have never been a fan of Norma Jean. “I don’t think she has much talent. But there is a great butt ... ”Pinching my stomach. “All of you are men from the same garden ...”

Mirumir gets up from the couch, twists his hair into a knot. Lights up. “You know, before“ Don "t Bother to Knock" I considered Monroe an empty actress of stupid comedies. But after this work, I looked at her differently ... In fact, she was an unhappy actress, because she reluctantly played even in life ... I read a lot about her. I found something in her that makes us related. I also understand that you need to run faster and faster through life. But I can’t do it either - my legs don’t go ... "The story breaks as soon as it intersects with her life. As always ...

Moves to the window. He puts his elbows on the window sill, looks at the cars passing below. Freezes, calms down. For a moment it seems to me that she has disappeared from the present. Left Istanbul, returned to Moscow. My name is Mirumir. Doesn't respond. Fear lifts me off the couch. I quietly approach from behind so as not to frighten her. My footsteps drown out the sound of the TV. I hand her my chocolate. "Want? There is still left…” She shook her head in denial. The sea wind stirs a strand of hair that has fallen on the forehead. The cigarette went out. Does not notice. “... I am wandering on all four sides ... Hardened by frost ... Strong, like a cobweb in the wind ... Hanging to the ground ... I still somehow hold on ... " - "Where is this from?" Monroe wrote. As if about me, to the point ... "

Title: When I return, be at home
Writer: Elchin Safarli
Year: 2017
Publisher: AST
Genres: Contemporary Russian Literature

About the book "When I return, be at home" by Elchin Safarli

It is hard to lose loved ones, and even harder when children leave. This is an irreplaceable loss, this is a huge emptiness in the soul until the end of days. It is difficult to put into words what parents feel at such moments. Elchin Safarli was able not only to describe the state of mind of people who lost their daughter, but also did it beautifully. You simply cannot resist emotions - they will overwhelm you with your head and will never let you go. This is one of those books that will change people's lives.

In the book "When I return, be at home" tells the story of a family where their daughter died. Each of its members experiences this tragedy in their own way. A man writes letters to his daughter. He does not think that she will never read them - he believes otherwise. He talks on a variety of topics - about love, about life, about the sea, about happiness. He tells his daughter about everything that happens around.

When you start reading Elchin Safarli's book, you can't stop. There is some special atmosphere here - the taste of salty sea air, the pleasant breeze that you feel in your hair, and the sand that sags under your steps. But the wind will disappear with the next gust, and the wave will destroy the footprints in the sand. Everything in the world disappears somewhere, but I would like so much that the most dear and beloved was always there.

It is difficult to philosophize over the books of Elchin Safarli - his skill in this matter is simply impossible to surpass. Even the name says a lot. Each line is full of pain, despair, but the desire to live on - for the sake of your child, to be able to write letters to her and talk about life.

The entire book “When I return, be at home” can be broken down into quotes that will help you not to despair in difficult times, get up and move on, no matter what. It is true they say that we begin to appreciate only when we lose it - and it does not matter whether it is a person or some object.

The book is gray as a cloudy day, sad as the story of the unhappy love of Romeo and Juliet. But she is so quivering, sincere, real ... She has power - the power of the ocean, the power of the elements, the power of parental love for their children. Impossible to transfer in simple words what you experience when you start reading this work. You just have to take a word, take a book and ... disappear for several days, talking about the eternal - about love, about life, about death ...

If you like philosophical sad works, then Elchin Safarli has prepared something special for you. Many were looking forward to this particular work and were not disappointed. Read it too, and perhaps something special will appear in your life - exactly that footprint in the sand that will help you move on, despite the difficulties and losses.

On our literary site books2you.ru you can download Elchin Safarli’s book “When I return, be at home” for free in suitable different devices formats - epub, fb2, txt, rtf. Do you like to read books and always follow the release of new products? We have a large selection of books of various genres: classics, modern science fiction, literature on psychology and children's editions. In addition, we offer interesting and informative articles for beginner writers and all those who want to learn how to write beautifully. Each of our visitors will be able to find something useful and exciting.