It was the third year of the war. There were no adult healthy men in the ail, and therefore the wife of my elder brother Sadyk (he was also at the front), Jamil, the brigade leader sent for purely male work - to carry grain to the station. And so that the elders did not worry about the bride, he sent me along with her, a teenager. He also said: I will send Daniyar with them.

Jamilya was pretty - slim, stately, with blue-black almond-shaped eyes, tireless, dexterous. She knew how to get along with neighbors, but if she was touched, she would not yield to anyone in swearing. I dearly loved Jamil. And she loved me. It seems to me that my mother secretly dreamed someday to make her the domineering mistress of our family, who lived in harmony and abundance.

On the current, I met Daniyar. They said that in childhood he remained an orphan, about three years he poked around the yards, and then went to the Kazakhs in the Chakmak steppe. Daniyar’s wounded leg (he just returned from the front) did not bend, and therefore they sent him to work with us. He was closed, and in the ail he was considered a man with oddities. But in his silent, gloomy reverie there was something hidden that we did not dare to deal with him a crony.

And Jamilya, it so happened, either laughed at him, or did not pay attention to him at all.Not everyone would tolerate her antics, but Daniyar looked at the laughing Jamila with sullen admiration.

However, our tricks with Dzhamilya ended once sadly. Among the bags was one huge, seven pounds, and we were controlled by him together. And somehow, on a current, we dumped this bag into a partner’s chaise. At the station, Daniyar examined the monstrous load with concern, but, noticing Jamilya grinning, he put the bag on his back and went. Jamilya caught up with him: “Drop the bag, I’ve joked!” - “Get out!” - he said firmly and went along the ladder, falling more and more on his wounded leg ... Around the dead silence came. “Drop it!” People shouted. "No, he will not quit!" Someone whispered convincingly.

The whole next day Daniyar kept steady and silent. Returned from the station late. Suddenly he began to sing. It struck me with what passion, with how burning the melody was saturated. And I suddenly became aware of his oddities: reverie, love of loneliness, silence. Daniyar’s songs aroused my soul. And how Jamil has changed!

Every time when we returned to the ail at night, I noticed how Jamilya, shocked and moved by this singing, came closer to the chaise and slowly pulled her hand to Daniyar ... and then lowered it. I saw something piling up and ripening in her soul, demanding a way out. And she was afraid of it.

Once, as usual, we drove from the station. And when Daniyar's voice began to gain height again, Jamilya sat next to her and gently leaned her head against his shoulder. Quiet, timid ... The song suddenly broke off.It was Jamilya who impulsively hugged him, but then jumped off the chaise and, barely holding back her tears, said sharply: “Do not look at me, go!”

And there was an evening on a current, when through my sleep I saw how Jamilya came from the river, sat next to Daniyar and fell to him. “Jamilam, Jamaltai!” Whispered Daniyar, calling her the most tender Kazakh and Kyrgyz names.

Soon the steppe blew out, the sky became cloudy, cold rains began - the harbingers of snow. And I saw Daniyar walking with a duffel bag, and next came Jamil, holding with one hand the strap of his bag.

How many conversations and gossip were in the ail! Women vying condemned Jamil: to leave such a family! with a man of hunger! Maybe I alone did not blame her.