Half-breed Xi. Japanese boy Toli - the key to the

Hello, I'm Toli. I hope you haven't forgotten me? The story of the underground city of the Jurchens began with me; Unfortunately, it's over for me.

I'm sorry I couldn't say goodbye. Did not have time. But this is not my fault. From Japan, the country where my parents were born and where I've never been, came a prescription. According to the order, our entire family had to leave Vladivostok within two days and go to the homeland of their ancestors. Tickets are attached.

Then, two years ago, I was fifteen years old, now, respectively, seventeen.

I will not talk about my disappointment and longing. I did not imagine the country where my ancestors lived at all.

In the first months of our stay, all of us, with the exception of grandfather, were dragged in for interrogations. Or, as one of those who interrogated me used to say, "conversations." "Conversed", regardless of any circumstances.

When my mother fell ill (after returning from Vladivostok, she started coughing again), two military men in white coats came to pick her up. With a stretcher. Eneko was also dragged for interrogation. Grandpa braced himself as much as he could. One day he could not stand it, and sent a letter to an old friend. After that, mother and Eneko were left alone. Soon they stopped dragging their father to interrogations. Uncle Kenryu and I remained objects of suspicion and mistrust.

I told everything without concealment. And about the dungeon, and about the city, and about the book. It was simply impossible to hide anything. The secret department had a huge arsenal and means to untie tongues.

I was told this during my first interrogation.

Neither I nor my uncle had absolutely no desire to be subjected to interrogation of the first or second degree.

What they did to us for a year was called zero degree interrogation.

One of the investigators hit me in the face when information about the book appeared in my story. He screamed that I was a liar!

Another investigator ordered me to drive a needle under my fingernail when, having learned from the bitter experience of "talking" with the previous investigator, I tried to withhold information about the dungeon, the stone bird, the missing wall and the book.

However, what is surprising is that as soon as I reached the moment in my story when two Russians caught up with the Japanese who kidnapped the girl, my jailers changed faces and refused to listen to my story further.

A stack of paper and a pen were handed to me almost honorably. As soon as I finished writing the sheet, it was almost torn out of my hands. I myself saw how my writings were locked in a safe.

As I wrote, two members of the secret service, a lower rank than the one who interrogated me, simply ate me with their eyes.

When the report was finished and one of the employees came into the office to escort me to the car, I saw fear in the eyes of the one who was holding a stack of written paper. The employee tried to hold the sheets in such a way that he would not accidentally catch his eye on what I had written.

I told my uncle about all this. After conferring, we worked out a plan.

And, according to the plan, they always returned in their story to the events with the girl Larisa, and the Japanese who kidnapped her.

They stopped beating us, but after each interrogation we were ordered to fill out a mountain of sheets. Soon, calluses appeared on the finger. The interrogations became more infrequent, and then stopped altogether.

So a year and another six months passed. In the meantime, my mother's health was deteriorating. The doctors just shrugged.

The situation was again saved by grandfather's friend. How he acted, and what arguments he gave, I don’t know, but a year and eight months after our arrival in Tokyo, we were allowed to return to Vladivostok.

I left the land of my ancestors without regret. I didn't go to school in Tokyo, I didn't make any friends.

But what about a book, or rather, a sheet from a book, you ask?

Nothing, I will answer you! Absolutely nothing! Away from the book, the sheet turned into a crumpled and yellowed leaf from time to time. Or rather, a piece of paper.

The way back to the city where I was born took some time, but still, the time spent on the road flew by quickly. We got to Tokyo longer and harder. Or did it just seem to me?

Our home greeted us with the smell of dampness and the crackling of dry floors. Furniture and things were to be delivered later. The housekeeper, who stayed in Vladivostok and bombarded us with pitiful letters, greeted my mother almost with tears. The fuss, tears, exclamations began! While the women groaned and gasped, I reached into the trunk, where my old textbooks lay, and caught my uncle's understanding look. Knowing the housekeeper, I was afraid that she would throw away the sheet when she arranged the books on the shelf.

My hands were trembling when I took out the sheet. At some point, it seemed to me that the leaf was also vibrating. However, I quickly realized that this was just an illusion.

The leaf was... No, not dead, no, the leaf was asleep. Happiness and delight overwhelmed me, and I did not want to think about the bad. But... The page from the book was so... drooping, miserable and old!

Uncle gently took the page from my hands.

"Tokagawa, don't be upset! Everything will be fine! Let's go for a walk! Let's see if the city has changed, visit your friends!

- Let's go! All the same, silence in the house until the evening is not expected! However ... And what aboutmake a sheet? You can’t put it in your pocket, it will be remembered!

- Put it back in the book! And put the book on the shelf.

“It’s good that everything in our room is still in place, isn’t it, uncle?” We’ll just put the books on the shelf, and turn the beds over, and it’s as if they didn’t leave!

“I’m glad you forgot all the bad things so quickly!” And… What is it? Is someone crying?

This is Eneko. Some things don't change and never seem to change!

- Let's go, nephew! Now your father will come and the suggestion session will begin.

- Let's go to. Only ... I mean, dad is not the same as he was, he has changed, right?

We all have changed, although at first glance it is not noticeable.

"Uncle, where are we going?"

- Who would you like to see first?

— Pavel!

— Pavla… Hmmm… Well, let's go to Pavel.
Полный текст тут http://proza.ru/2014/08/13/182