CONFESSION…

One of the happiest days in my life is February 2, 1990. They gave me the operator - Belfer himself, he was considered the best operator at the GOSTELEDODIO of the CheSSSR. And they appointed a day for filming. I was waiting for the first independent shooting in the Zama information program under the leadership of Lilia Ausheva, my first mentor in journalism. I rejoiced! With a quick step, I headed towards the bridge over the Sunzhu, it was the shortest path connecting Kirov Park, where the television center was located, with the city center. Approaching the bridge, I noticed an elegant, elegant female figure, captivating with some special grace of movements, a proud and easy tread. The snow-white sheepskin coat “a la Snow Maiden” tightened a slender camp of strangers, high heels loudly clatter on a metal bridge. I was young, noted by myself (in any case, I thought about myself), and at that moment I was soaring on the wings of the dream: I was already dreaming of a brilliant career of the TV star. “Let's begin to conquer the hearts of fans,” a playful thought flashed in my head, and I rushed after this lovely creature! I was already completely prepared to overtake, start a conversation, starting with some banal phrase such as “and not scary to such a young girl ...”, but then breathing caught, and an unintelligible moo was heard from my lips. I recognized her! The stupid phrase was stuck in my throat, I was numb with horror. And she, without reducing the step, went further, smoothly, regally carrying her proud profile. Finally, I managed to rush about something similar to "de Dick Hujulda Hyan!"

Without even giving me a look, she dropped in a breastly voice: “Dalla Veziil!” Hearing a response greeting that I did not dare to count on, I completely stunned and, hesitating, stumbled on the last step. Then she looked around. This little woman managed to look at the completely confused young man “from top to bottom”, and suddenly the shadow of a smile flashed on her lips. Just ready to fall through the earth from embarrassment, I, unexpectedly for myself, began to crumble in complementary, assuring the star that I have long been its faithful fan.

She “modestly” replied: “You are not alone.” A short cold phrase instantly cut me off, but the thought that behind the bridge they can wait for such luck - to talk to her will never fall out again, gave me courage. "But still, like me, no one loves you!" I blurted out. A crafty sparks flashed in her blue-black eyes. The ice was melted. I struck more confidently next to the star, enthusiastically admiring it, catching every word. “Someday,” flashed in consciousness, “I will tell the whole light, as I met with the idol of that time!” The legendary, unique to Maryam Aydamirova!

This name and today wakes up a bright, not cooling joy in the heart of everyone who happened to know her, hear her voice, see her thin, elegant fingers, masterfully sorting out the keys of the harmony ...

So, we went together. In a warmed voice, she asked the name where I work. I talked about myself, about the coming after a few days shooting in the Palace of Pioneers. Fate that day clearly favored me: it turned out that Maryam was invited to the holiday, she will be there! But the next stupidity that I froze almost ruined everything. When we approached the tram stop, I asked the route. “Pensioners drive on the tram,” she snapped. And I walked past the tram tracks - I, of course, continued to accompany it.
Students were hanging out in front of the main building of the university - the noisy color of our youth. A cheerful crowd scurried back and forth and rolled noisily. But suddenly, as if by the wave of a magic wand, the rumble was a verse, the youth parted, and Mary and I ended up in a living corridor. Greetings flew from all sides, she answered with a slight nod. I was bursting with pride from the involvement of this adoration, which poured out from all sides. I turned my head, trying to catch an envious look. How stupid I was! Everyone looked only at her, what did I mean next to her? Neither before nor after I no longer had to see the crowd covered by such a unanimous, elevating love for a creative person. She was never the bearers of anyone appointed titles, but truly a people's artist.!

We walked from the television center to the house of fashion through Lenin Avenue (as I later found out, it was her beloved street). Sweetings completely, I fell asleep by the questions incessantly: everything was interesting. Alas: there is nothing to think to squeeze such a conversation into the close framework of the article. Near the bakery opposite the fashion house, Maryam said: "So we came." I began to say goodbye. She invited to visit, but I took it as a tribute to traditional courtesy, which would be indifferent to abuse on my part. I was afraid to predict fate, generous to me that day. Comforted some polite excuses, and we broke up. I stood for a long time, looking after her, hopped with happiness, unexpectedly falling on me ... Many years have passed since then, and what years! So much of all sorts of things it was irrevocably left in memory, it was as if there was no. But I remember that first meeting with the Queen of the Chechen stage as clearly as if it were yesterday. Every moment I remember, every word said by her.

Then we made friends - I dare to affirm this. Yes, Maryam Aydamirova honored me with her friendship and trust. But even in this luck, a drop of bitterness lurked: over time, I found out that in her life there was not only a recognition, popularity, a sea of flowers, the enthusiasm of passers -by on the street, which often rushed to her, hurrying to express how she was a road as a road. We often wandered around the city together, I witnessed these outpourings, who brought the artist a great joy, about which her admirers, perhaps, were not guessed, with such royal restraint she thanked for compliments. And yet Maryam, victoriously beautiful, and on weekdays, a festive in appearance, secretly wore a load of loss, suffering and separation, treason and betrayal that fell to her share.

She did not like to remember the past - it was not in her nature that it was in vain to take old wounds. But sometimes it broke it out.

When the deportation of the 44th struck, Maryam was 18 years old. She, like all Chechens, had to experience cold, hunger, loss of relatives and friends. She even managed to sit on the bunks. This, of course, could not but leave a harsh mark in her heart. Those who first encountered her are robes. A little deliberate coldness was her armor, a way of self -defense from annoying “flies”. But then, when this ice was melting, it became insanely feminine, even sentimental. And it was always spectacular! Her elegance, which did not change her under any circumstances, impeccably laid hairstyle, manners - all in it gave out a “breed”. She knew how to be on top not only in front of the crowded hall, but also at any moment of everyday life: she never allowed herself to relax. Such women adore heroes and hates plebs. Simple and at the same time inaccessible to Maryam Aydamirov, she lost her composure in only one single case: if she was talking about her son Alik, who died at 13, is ridiculous, from an accident. At the same time, her tears rolled in hail. They say that time is the best doctor, but no, it could not heal this bleeding wound in her heart. The tragedy occurred on December 21, 1973 during its tour outside the republic. Within two days, the Minister of Culture of the SSRSSR, Vakha Tataev, was looking for her so that she managed to say goodbye to her son ...

She got seriously ill, underwent a difficult operation. Doctors forbade to go on stage, and even take a heavy accordion in their hands ...

But it was not for Maryam. The will and performance of the singer shocked. Talent was combined in it with the professionalism of the highest class. No wonder the halls have always been crowded at her concerts. This rich, gentle and at the same time a powerful voice literally fascinated. The soul of the people, in the greatness of which she was immensely believed, was revealed in her songs. She sang without indulging in the tastes of the mob, but turning to those whose spiritual height was indisputable for her. May the “crowds” of modern pop vocalists of both sexes, imitating a Russified Chechen folklore under the “plywood”, hurrying to stun, stir the audience with rhythms, running around the hall and a variegated outfits. One succeeds better, the other is worse, but in all this is a cheap thing, to which Maryam would never have descended. When she stretched the fur of her harmony, she was not equal to her. And how she danced! The gray -haired Chechens got up from their places when she, opening her hands, like the wings of the eagle, went out into the circle. There were no equal to Maryam, no, unfortunately, now. We are probably flickering slowly in the pursuit of the ruble, forgetting that talent is the treasure of the spirit. She was truly marked by God - who heard and saw her would not argue with me.
The beginning of the 90s, everyone remembers as the time of rallies. One evening, returning from work, in the square in front of the building of the former Council, I noticed Maryam. Standing aside, she looked at the crowd of protesters with a frozen gaze. I asked with a smile: "Maryam, have you come to the rally too?" She, without looking back, replied: "I have a premonition of trouble ... It was already in my life, I do not want a repetition ... Come out of here!"

That evening we walked for a long time along the central avenue of Grozny. She looked alarmed, upset, something happened to her ...

Formers of culture, art, most of the creative and scientific intelligentsia in those years were in a difficult situation. Although in this environment, of course, there were flexible personalities, ready to fit under any power. Other of them at the same time with many public and political figures, I remember, came into indescribable ecstasy from paintings, poems and even the Galushki of the first lady. The era of universal admiration for Erzatz-art came, spirituality was absorbed in material ...

Maryam was from another test, she was pushed. Our eternal trouble comes down to an old proverb: "What we have, we do not store, losing - weeping." Only after the departure of Aydamirova, people again, it seems, begin to understand how much she meant to them. And then ...

Maryam no longer gave concerts. This could not but oppress the artist, accustomed to the stage, to the passionate response of her public, to work to exhaustion .. Perhaps the only consolation for her was Tamara Dadasheva, whose work she appreciated. Under the curtain, Dadasheva invited Aydamirov to the stage, and she instantly brilliantly young, where were the years only? She again owned the hearts of hundreds of her fellow countrymen, who idolized her talent, her song, her gift of inexhaustible love for those for whom she did.

Maryam Aydamirova could live, comforting and delighting people, for a long time. She left us at 66 ... quietly and imperceptibly. But a whole era of national culture left her.

Maybe someday we are fully aware of what her life and her death were for us. And our children will study at the Musical School named after the Great, I am not afraid of the word, Chechenka, who expressed in the songs the spirit of their people, his undefeated Chechnya. The undefeated and invincible, for the spirit of reprisal is not terrible.

Israpil Shovkhalov.