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The Turks.       

     In the 90s, my parents lived in the Straight Way near Alma-Ata.

     At that time, it was a clean, well-groomed village. People lived amicably and cheerfully in it. Families of different nationalities lived on our street: Kazakhs, Turks, Russians, and Ukrainians. The closest neighbors to us were two families opposite to our house: uncle Abzar with aunt Feruza and uncle Sabyr with aunt Valida. None of the events we did not hold without them, and we were frequent guests with them. Yes, there is no different way in the village lifestyle.

     I remember the beautiful quiet summer evenings, when my wife and I brought a daughter for the weekend to my grandparents and lingered on a street bench surrounded by neighbors. Nearby children played and rustled, and we sat on benches, gnawed seeds and discussed world news.

     Once my spouse, daughter and I spent the night in the village, and my parents went to friends to visit. In the evening, I was poisoned somewhere in the city, and in the middle of the night I had an attack, such that I thought I would die. My hands and feet began to fail. My wife ran to the neighbors for help. Of course, first of all, she rushed to the yard to uncle Abzar. He immediately ran up, looked at me and said that I urgently need to go to the hospital. He started his car, put me and his wife, and Aunt Feruza was ordered to stay at home with my daughter, so that we would not be afraid if she woke up. We rushed to Kalkamansky hospital, uncle Abzar and my wife barely dragged me to resuscitation. A few more minutes and, perhaps, now you would not read these lines. In general, the case was really bad. This entire time uncle Abzar, together with my wife, stood at the wheelchair, until I was released from some kind of prick, and I realized that this time I was lucky.

     Then I often recalled this incident and thought: what if uncle Abzar did not help us? No. This is simply impossible. It is better to say this: what if he simply would not have been at home? Scary to think. After all, he saved my life.

     So, why did I remember this today?

     Because uncle Abzar is a Turk. Nevertheless, that night I did not care. Uncle Abzar did not care that I was Kazakh. He simply saved his neighbor's life, a man.

     For some reason, today I just wanted to tell you about it.


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