The postcard arrived with a half-year delay. You and your mom are invited to the wedding. Rustam and Zalin some.
“Give me a look,” the father opened the card, looking long at the invitation, the names, the signatures. I returned, I didn’t have time.
So, it was in Dagestan that you were invited to Mahatchkala! Who are they at all? There was written: “Flight and accommodation at our expense.” Father, tell me a!

Father was distracted. Then he did not remain silent for long.
This is the side of the bride invited.
Well well?
It was in the 85th year, in the New Year. Then the anomaly happened - the whole republic was covered with snow. You go out on the street - there are no walls, only the roofs are torn. On the radio announced the emergency, feed for livestock on the Chaban parking lots were dropped from helicopters, so that the fall was not big. The roads were cleaned up by the military, but their efforts were not enough.

I worked as the head of an infectious clinic; I remember congratulating patients. I stand in front of the mirror, attach a cotton beard, nurses and sanitaries cut salads. Suddenly, behind the window with a rocky rockot and a snow scroll, KRAZ stopped. Well, you know, the truck is so healthy...
I know, of course.
We looked out the window and two men came out to us. A few minutes later they came to my office. A young Dagestan family lived and worked on a parking lot in Chaban, 50 kilometers from the city centre. Standing at the door, passing by, tired, gray from the road. I invite them to sit down.

The husband begins to say, “Valera,” the daughter is dead. Six months of all the daughter, diarrhea was - two weeks, a week ago, she stopped breathing. and all. We need a death certificate, we will go to the holy land, we will be buried.

I noticed that he was holding a small suitcase in his hand. The yellow. He puts it on the table, opens it, and there the baby lies. The whole girl is blue.

Why did you, I begin to argue, endure until the last? Why didn’t they bring it right away?
I want to, Valeria! They could not break through the snow. We found a big car and we arrived.

My father cried, and kept silent. He got a form, began to record, automatically listening to the body of the child with a phonendoscope.

“I,” said my father, “hadn’t expected anything at the time. This procedure is necessary, there are a lot of them. But here I hear noise. Not a heartbeat, as everyone is used to, but noise.

“Everyone is quiet!” I shouted, attached the membrane more tightly. After two minutes in the phonendoscope again unclear "shououuh".

"As I remember now," the father tells me, "I throw everything from the table, this suitcase too, I lay the child, the chief nurse, and then I run for the resuscitation set. After a minute, a horse dose of the drug is injected into the connector with a simultaneous heart massage. There are a lot of things, you won’t understand. The child began to rose in his eyes, and then suddenly he cried... Loudly so, on the whole department...

I looked at her side by side, and her mother slipped her unconsciously on the wall. Daddy is pale, standing at the table. I call Elisa, a sanatorium. The girl was taken by helicopter with her parents. You probably remember. They often came to us afterwards, always guests carried.

The Uncle Ramadan? I say.
and yes! Ramadan is sure. Well here. This Zalina is his daughter. You see, you remember...