STORY - BURNING UP, Author - Lobar Rustamova (Uzbekistan)

BURNING UP

Lobar Rustamova 

(Member of the Writers' Union of Uzbekistan)

The child’s face was flushed from the fever…

Every so often, he twitched.

When the pain flared up, his little beady eyes widened in alarm, scanning the room anxiously. He clutched his stomach tightly.

As soon as the green door — the one he’d been staring at — creaked open, the boy stirred with sudden alertness. He tried to sit up, lifting his head from the pillow. But he had not eaten a single bite since morning — his strength had faded. Failing to rise, he let his head fall back onto the pillow.

An elderly woman, about sixty, entered the room. Her forehead was wrapped in a sky-blue scarf.

— “Grandma,” the boy whispered in a frail, broken voice.

— “Yes, yes, it’s me,” she replied, hurrying to his side. “Your granny’s here, my precious… Have you forgotten me already? Oh, let me give my soul to your little frame, my jewel. Would you like some warm tea?”

She gently stroked his head, placing her palm on his burning forehead.

The boy turned his head slowly from side to side, weakly saying "no."

— “Then how about a little yogurt? You used to love it, remember?”

Granny took a spoonful of yogurt and tried to feed him. But the boy pressed his dry, cracked lips tightly together and refused to open his mouth. With his small hands, he pushed away the spoon and the hand that held it.

— “All right, if you don’t want it…”

The old woman kissed the tears from his eyes.

— “They’ll be here soon. Just one injection, and you’ll feel better, my darling…”  

    After the injection, the boy’s fever seemed to subside a little.

He opened his dark eyes and even asked his grandmother for some water.

The grandmother moved between his bedside and the next room, where she quietly scolded her son and daughter-in-law:

— “And she calls herself a mother? It’s been four days since she left! Doesn’t she care about her child? Her home?”

The boy had pulled his legs out from under the blanket.

He tossed and turned, shifting from side to side, unable to open his eyes again. The fever had returned, now mixed with weakness, and he began to drift into delirium. Broken, scattered dreams began to play before him...

A blue sea.

Waves washing gently over the shore, then rolling back into the deep.

The boy sat at the edge of the water, hugging his knees, eyes fixed on a boat far out in the ocean.

It was a small boat with white sails, rising and falling with the waves.

And then—there she was—his mother’s bright, cheerful face appeared on board.

— “Mom! Mommy!” he called out.

But he hesitated, afraid to step into the wild, crashing waves.

The boat didn’t come closer.

Still it rocked on the horizon.

Finally… finally it began to approach.

The boy was overjoyed — his heart nearly burst from happiness.

He ran, shouting:

— “Mommy! I’m over here! Mommy!”

He waded through mounds of damp sand brought in by the waves.

But suddenly, a strong wind blew from the opposite direction — pushing the boat away again.

The boat vanished.

Disappeared entirely.

The boy stood on the shore, running back and forth, crying bitterly.

The roar of the waves crashing on the beach frightened him. He couldn’t bring himself to enter the water.

Instead, he called out again and again:

— “Mom! Mommy! Mom!”

Suddenly, the boy sat up in bed, arms outstretched, screaming.

— “Lie down, my little lamb, lie down,” said his grandmother gently.

She tucked the blanket around him and stroked his hair.

— “May your mother’s work disappear if it means leaving you like this… Couldn’t she find something quiet and decent to do? Your father’s away for ten days at a time — always off on ‘business trips,’ so they say…”

She glanced down at her grandson’s pale face.

— “Look how thin you’ve gotten… my poor little soul.”

She kissed his forehead and sighed deeply.

Morning broke.

The grandmother tried everything — but the child still refused to eat.

He lay on his side, eyes closed, unmoving…

— “Say one word to her, and she throws her job and her degree in your face,” the old woman muttered angrily. “Fine, work if you must — but don’t forget you have a child too!”

Fuming, she headed back toward the child’s room — and just then, the door opened.

There stood her daughter-in-law, a bag in one hand, a mesh sack in the other.

The old woman had been ready to bite her head off — “Just wait till she gets here, I’ll give her a piece of my mind!”

But the moment she saw her, her anger dissolved into tears.

— “Shavkatjon... Shavkatjon...” she sobbed, calling for her grandson, reaching toward his room with trembling hands.

— “Shavkatjon, my baby,” the mother cried out, flinging the door open and rushing toward her little boy, who lay wilted like a fading tulip.

— “Mommy…” the boy whimpered.

She gathered him into her arms, pulling him close. Looking toward her mother-in-law with guilt in her eyes, she whispered:

— “I got held up… there was a surprise audit, it dragged on… Thank you, Mom… Thank you for everything.”

— “His fever has gone down,” the grandmother replied, wiping her cheeks. “But he won’t eat a thing. On top of that, he missed you badly. He called for you over and over when the fever was high.”

The boy looked up at his mother’s face. He reached out and gently touched her long black hair. His fingers traced her cheeks. Then he looked into her eyes again, searching.

Yes.

It was her.

It was really his mommy.

He let out a long, trembling sigh and wrapped both arms around her neck, resting his head against her chest.