The Rug

The Rug

By Arseny Minghajev

Sabir Yetsi was sitting in a house full of nothing. He had two modes of existence: thinking and sitting. Thinking while sitting was impossible, and so was sitting while thinking. A thought was formed on walks, and put down on paper at home. As Sabir put it: “I make plans on foot and execute them on arse.” 

He set his candle aside and stood up. It was time for a nightly walk. It was time for some thinking. Sabir went outside and put his house in his pocket. 

Sabir Yetsi’s house was empty because it was too small to be filled with anything. The smallest couch in existence was too big to be carried into his room. For a rug he had a handkerchief, for a table – a flat pin. For his curtains he had napkins, and for a bathtub – a bottle cap. 

Sabir was a fearful man. He was a university professor and could afford a bigger house, but was too afraid of the dust that it might collect. Even worse, some dirty burglar might sneak into his house and steal everything! Isn’t it better to be safe than paranoid? 

When he was younger and braver, Sabir had a luxurious beard. One time at breakfast a breadcrumb got stuck in it, but poor Sabir didn’t notice. That evening at home, after a day of lecturing, Sabir went into his bathroom and shrieked at the reflection of his face with a dry piece of toast on it. He hastily got a razor, shaved the beard off, and never grew it out again.

Sabir walked by shops, restaurants and nightclubs, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk into them. “Someone could step on my foot at a nightclub,” he thought to himself. “A waiter might spit in my soup at the restaurant,” he cringed. “Some old lady’s always groping the vegetables and bread in shops. I would rather eat moldy bread than commit such a crime against my neighbors,” he scoffed. “Those poor loaves. They don’t deserve to be felt up with smelly old fingers.” 

As these thoughts crossed his restless walking mind, he didn’t notice how his pin-table slipped out of his pocket and fell down on the road. However, thankfully, a kind young lady by the name of Maddy did. She picked it up, ran after Sabir, and pulled on his shirt. Sabir Yetsi flinched and his voice cracked: “Who?!” Maddy turned red and extended her hand: “Sir, you dropped this.” Sabir reached out to take the pin-table, but accidentally pricked his finger. Sabir Yetsi turned pale with horror. “What if I get gangrene?” he thought. “What if it spreads to my legs and I have to amputate them? I will not be able to walk ever again! I will not be able to think! I will sit in a wheelchair, turn into a vegetable, and get groped by that old hag!” He nearly collapsed on the ground, but Maddy caught him. “Sir, you will be alright,” she reassured Sabir. Maddy saw the handkerchief peeking out from his pocket: “Look, I will stop the bleeding,” she said, and pressed down with the cloth on the little red spot on Sabir’s finger. “My rug!” the man shouted. “You’ve contaminated it! With blood! My own blood! My flesh is but my own demise,” he proclaimed and slowly sat down on the pavement, immediately losing the ability to think. 

Maddy was mortified. She ran over to the nearest store and bought this strange man a comfortable fluffy rug. She put the white rug in Sabir’s hands and helped him up. “What is this?” he asked. 

“A rug,” said Maddy.

“But this is not my rug,” whispered Sabir, stunned by this interaction. 

“Well, isn’t it comfortable?” asked Maddy. 

“Yes,” replied Sabir, “it is.” 

“Then maybe you should keep it,” smiled Maddy. “Now I have to go. Excuse me for the mess I’ve caused. Goodbye.” 

Sabir stood there, dumbfounded on a desolate street. He reached into his pocket and took out his napkin-curtains. Suddenly, they seemed utterly pathetic. Sabir threw them to the ground, and thought to himself: “I will buy the biggest, most expensive curtains I can find.” He paused, looked around, saw no-one, smiled, and added: “Just to spite all of you.”