Adam’s Dictionary. Short novels. Vahid Mammadli

’s Dictionary

      Short novels

      Vahid Mammadli

      © Vahid Mammadli, 2023

      ISBN 978-5-0060-8193-2

      Created with Ridero smart publishing system

      When I am alone, I speak to myself in a foreign language, the origin of which I still cannot find. For example, yesterday, when I called my friend who is a composer, let’s go for a walk in the park near our house, my friend said: “You made a good call, I was going to pick you up.” I need a thousand manat urgently. I say debt. When you come, bring me so that I can walk willingly, today we will cover a distance of ten thousand steps,” he laughed. He himself said it in such a way that if you don’t bring a thousand manats, I won’t even come for a walk. As soon as I promised him a loan and hung up the phone, I shouted: “Takama sasa!” – these words, the meaning of which I did not understand, seemed to be said by someone else who spoke this language from inside me, the “translation” according to that situation was probably as follows: “My stupid head, you are the kutumats that no singer wants to sing (probably the translation is “banal song” means) why are you calling this shumutta (egoist) who is the author, after all, he has a headache for a thousand manats?” Hearing my screams, my wife came from the kitchen and asked, “Why are you speaking in your own language again?” I answered him again in my own language: Amada takama sasa tuta. Kkhı mataka. Yamasa kasa mitita, Yamasa kosa mota, Yamasa kutumat.

      You know, my wife already knows the “meaning” of some words, since she has heard this language that I speak to myself for a long time. Because to me “why do you call stupid people?” said and left.

      How and where this non-existent language, which I speak freely without knowing its meaning, is clear to me, is just a mystery to me, an unsolved puzzle.For example, my close friends know that when I see something I really like, I don’t say “it’s great”, I say “it’s awesome”. Apparently, the language I speak also uses foreign words like “super”, and “auza” probably means very, that is, very super. Once my daughter, a philologist, asked, “Dad, what nation’s language do you speak?” I replied that I don’t know which people’s language it is, but I feel that it is something ancient. For now, my life is like this, talking in my own language.

      Lately, I have been speaking in this language with my friends whom I trust a lot. To be honest, it doesn’t depend on me anymore… I have a friend who travels around the world and comes to Baku once or twice a year. As soon as he arrives, he calls to let us eat khangal in the inner city. Once he called from the Central Clinical Hospital saying, brother, good health, I was bitten by an exotic cockroach in Tanzania, I don’t have a fever, you can’t know the affairs of the world, maybe you should come. I was saddened by my life-loving friend’s pessimism and went to the hospital. My friend was continuously transplanted, the doctors did their best. And I sat in the chair in the ward where he was sleeping from morning to evening, often saying that he will probably recover tomorrow and we will go with him and eat khangal in the Inner City. I knew that nothing would heal him so quickly, except the love of a hookah. Every time the nurse came in and out of the ward, she asked my friend and me so many questions in a shrill voice that in the end, after she left, I couldn’t stand it and said again in my own language: “Strenka”. Although my friend did not know the meaning of the word, he understood that it was referring to the talkative, annoying nurse. I didn’t even know the meaning of what I said about the nurse.

      Thankfully, my friend recovered quickly and we fulfilled our dream of eating khangal in the Inner City with him. In front of the cafe, a word came out again in that unknown language: “Ninakupenda” (I think it meant “these pastries will kill us”). After that incident, my friend left saying that this time he will travel to South America. I said “kata susapa” behind my friend (probably meant “let your way be clear”).

      After a while, he made a video call and said hello: – I’m in Suriname in South America, I have good news for you, – pointing to the place of the slap on his face, he said: – It’s true, it wasn’t easy for me, but my friend, I determined that a word you used Sranan of the Surinamese is in Tongo. Most of the words you say don’t come out of my head, so occasionally I say to myself the words in the language you speak when I’m bored alone on the street, in a hotel, by the ocean. Even today, when I came from the hotel to the beach on the ocean, I remembered you and said out loud “Strenka”. The woman in front turned around and slapped my face. The police found out that this means “dragonfly” in the Surinamese language. After apologizing to the woman, they made me pay a fine and let me go. But I don’t regret it at all. Then sit down and have a drink in the hotel restaurant to forget the pain of the slap on my face I felt a pang in my heart and said “ninakupenda”. The maid smiled and asked, “Do you know Sukhaili?” he asked. You say, the girl is Congolese and married here to a Surinamese. “ninakupenda” means “I love you” in Sukhaili. There, in front of the restaurant, you wanted to say that you love the restaurant.