Birthday

This house united his childhood and youth. All of his recollections related to the apartment located on the third floor of this house, where he lived with his family until the age of twenty-two. He grew up here. He opened and closed its door when he went to school and the university for the first time.

Once, a banquet had been held in this apartment. All his relatives and friends came to congratulate his father and bless the newborn baby who was so small and had black eyes. This baby looked ironically at this banquet with his goggled eyes, as if he foresaw the indifferences they would show in the future.

Now, it was thirty years from that day. Today was the jubilee day of his life that started with happiness and continued with misfortune.

Birthdays were always important days for him, as there was only one day all for him every year. Of course, it is not that he was getting older on this day. A birthday is one of those days when a person forgets all his problems and wants to think only of himself. For him, life seemed to be boring and dispensable like a useless thing. The events that had happened lately aroused pessimistic thoughts in him, causing him to mistrust the future. There were still two people cheering up this body heavy with fatigue, his daughter and wife, whose sincerity he believed and whose friendship he trusted.

While driving his car, he remembered his past and wanted to recollect when he met his friends the last time.

“When did Seymour call me up last? Yes, I remember it, it was in the winter, raining. He told me he wanted to visit us with his family and brought a gift when he came. No, it was not winter. Why would they have unexpectedly come to us in winter? Why with a gift?” Putting his hand on his forehead he thought, “When do people bring gifts?”

He remembered his birthday party held five years ago. Adalat come late. Then his father called and wished him well. This celebration was attended by most of his friends with whom he had spent his youth.

Ten days before that celebration, his daughter was born, and many people came to see her. They had a nice time, remembered past days and promised to increase the number of the parties they had. However, these people disappeared again, except on birthdays.

He pulled over to the side of the road and got out. All of the shops were closed and the city seemed to be deserted. Although it was getting clearer, this city that had always been lit and full of people, now at night was in a deep sleep.

He looked for an open shop, because he was to buy some alcohol and fruit juice for today’s birthday party. He had already bought the food in the afternoon, but as he did not have enough money he decided to buy the beverages later.

While he was walking the streets with hands in the pockets of his trousers he imagined today’s birthday party: relatives and friends would come, some will call. Unlike past years, the wishes to be pronounced today would be colder and more affected.

To tell the truth, he knew who would wish him well today. Sometimes, although, all relations are broken off between people and they cannot stand not talking to each other on such important days. At all events, his father helped and supported them, but due to the new century, modern life or the integration of western life, people have become more forgetful. It is a pity that he knew well that the time would come when people he would accept, would take on this appearance, too.

He remembered the days he spent with guests and friends, when his father was alive. He was very proud of his father, because he was well respected and kept friendly relations with the authorities. He wished his father had not been rich, had not gained an honorable “name”. He wanted his father to have been an ordinary man with an average “name”, which no one would have envied.

“Who has not been in close contact with us! Sarkhan’s father procurator-general Mais Mammadov, Zaur’s father, Rector Jahangir Hasanov, Adalat’s father who worked at the Central Committee, and his uncle, the director of a factory. Besides, we visited Kislovodsk, Moscow and Kiev each month with them, but now I have become a poor man.”

“Maybe, if my father had not died, everything would be like past times. Undoubtedly, even more than it was before. But as the Soviet Union had disintegrated, his father lost all of his money in banks and nothing remained for my sister and me. Being in reduced circumstances, we were to sell our apartment. Look at this world’s ironies. Mister Shakhmar Abdullaev was the director of one of the great wine-mills in the country and his son, me – a person with financial difficulties.

His life changed after his father’s death. As he became poor, people he thought were his friends and close persons left him, the majority forgot him forever. Although he was now a worker of a machine-building plant, people who once came round held good posts and lived their own lives. None of them remembered and gave him a helping hand. He understood it very well and paid no attention to their indifferences.

It was now clear to him: if you have money you have friends; if you do not, you have nothing. He had resolved his dilemma to his satisfaction and was pleased with the fact that now he could see the real faces of the people he saw everyday when his father was alive. Of course, there will be some people who will phone, visit and wish him well today, but he knew well that all of these would be lies and falsehoods.

They had a nice time at the party, reminisced about past days and even promised to hold more of parties like today’s. However, after that day, the people disappeared again, except on birthdays.

By Samed Safarov