Heat Page #3

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There was a turtle.

I thought you were tired.

Can I

ask you a question, comrade Dzuraev?

Your records,

have you set them with the same gap?

With such thorns,

no one would do better.

There used to be a special unit

to burn weeds for me.

- And then I came at high speed.

- Why aren't they here now?

No one cares about it.

Kalipa.

It's late. And the food is already cold.

And where is Kemel?

I'm not his babysitter.

Why are you like this, Abakir?

You've become like a devil yourself, and

you want to drive the kid to the grave.

One couldn't drive someone

like him to the grave.

You're here.

Listen, Abakir,

what was that race you organized?

Am I fulfilling the plan?

Of course.

It's almost a record.

Then congratulate me and bug off.

Why are you badgering the boy?

No matter how I bend over backwards,

I never get a kind word from you.

Are you tired?

I've grown old.

Abakir, look -

there's a glow!

Weeds are burning.

How beautiful!

Kemel!

Kemel!

Kemel!

You've burnt all the cut thorns.

Just look at the lines!

That's alright.

That means we'll plough

over the ashes today.

That's great, isn't it?

You and Abakir will get on better.

He's kind.

All you need to do is listen

to what he's saying.

And don't argue.

Listen, why don't we

try going over the ashes?

But he will kill me.

You don't know Abakir! Get up!

Do you want me to teach you?

I know how to do it.

Alright, here goes!

Look.

Who is it?

Kemel.

Let her rip!

Abakir, don't get angry.

It's me who let him.

C*nt!

Abakir!

It's Moscow!

...In the struggle you have lost...

It works.

...the worst thing

is the inertia of style...

Battery-powered!

It's a habit, but it seems like feelings.

It's a finished work,

but there's no relief.

Suberb.

It's great.

It's a changed you...

- Our Asan writes poetry too.

- Listen, Aldei.

You strive for truth,

but you lie like a fraud.

I'm sick of this noise.

It's not wings any more -

it's nothing but feathers.

Turn it off.

It gives me headache.

...you're afraid of unbelief.

Style is courage to

admit truth to yourself!

Turn it off!

Lose everything, but

not fall into illusions.

Why?

...feel oneself to be oneself only...

Even if your life has

turned out to be empty...

Kalipa,

turn off the radio.

Recognition of the end is also

a possibility of the beginning.

He who admits a defeat is not beaten.

The worst thing is the inertia of style.

Enough.

Now,

here is what, foreman -

as long as he's here, I won't work.

What's gotten into you?

But this is...

- What if...

- Sadabek!

I suggest that I be working

on a trailer with Abakir,

and you and Kemel will somehow...

- What do you say?

- No, foreman.

It's not a solution.

It's either me or him.

Do you

understand the situation?

Do you fully understand it?

What will happen if

I leave?

Why aren't you saying anything?

Make your choice, foreman.

It's you who'll stay with them.

Sadabek,

I won't

- go anywhere from here.

- And I'm not letting you go.

Winter is coming, we have plenty

of work to do, and you two...

Enough, foreman.

I got it.

Kalipa, give me my backpack.

Well?

I'll do it.

It's your fault.

You hear me?

It's all your fault!

What are you staring at?

Do you realize what you have done

with your constant arguing?

Go away!

Get out of here!

Where is Abakir?

Bring Abakir back to me! Do you

hear me? Go and bring him back!

I can't live without him,

don't you understand?

He has to be here! Here!

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