there… But what if there were?.. Okay, can't reach Nadir anyway for now… Apples on the table, help yourself.
Aman-Jalil turned to the small table to take an apple and paled: a small human head crowned the pyramid of apples…
…In the daytime, a soldier brought a bag of apples, telling the mother:
– A gift from Renk, just sift through them, they've been sitting a while, might be some wormy ones…
And he left. Mother spread out the sack in the courtyard and poured the apples out… Her wild cry tore little Aman-Jalil away from his game. Running to his mother, he found her lying unconscious near the apples, and his father was sleeping, buried in the apples so that only his head was visible on top of the apple mountain. The boy pushed his mother away and asked her, when she opened her empty eyes:
– Why is daddy sleeping so uncomfortably?
And before his mother could stop him, Aman-Jalil rushed to his father and struck him on the forehead. The head rolled down the apple hill. Aman-Jalil screamed so loudly that his cry startled a flock of pigeons into the air, where they circled for a long time, hesitant to descend to the ground… And his father's head was already swarmed with flies…
…Now Aman-Jalil didn't scream, calmly picked up the apple, and took such a big bite that chewing became uncomfortable.
– It scares me, the old donkey, – he thought bitterly, – but you won't get the documents anyway.
– Do you like it?
– It's a tasty apple, boss.
– I meant something else.
– The real one?
– What did you think? I have one craftsman, a real Indian from the Maya tribe; he can't read knots, true, but he knows how to dry heads in hot sand… I think I'll leave the collection to the anthropology museum in my will.
– Is there a museum that collects skulls?
– You're dense, uneducated. I wouldn't trust you with any other position, but you'll handle the inquisition.
– I'll do my best, boss, just don't deny me in council.
– I won't deny you, not at all.
– The council is all-powerful… Can I go now, boss?
– Go… Wait! – Ahmed stopped Aman-Jalil at the door. – Why did you remove my pilot? I understand getting rid of those two crooks, but why the pilot? He's loyal to me; I don't understand.
– Nadir will dig the ground, and the pilot will be next. He won't cover for me: they flew there together, he'll say, and only one came back… I could see the question in his eyes. The pilot will say, Nadir will understand whose man I am, and that's your end…
– You cut off all the links, you're the only one left?
– If there's nothing else to do, I should be cut off too…
Ahmed suddenly calmed down.
– You understand, then?
– Even a blind man can see…
– Go, get to work!
Aman-Jalil left the office. Ahmed was left alone. Here it is, the new generation… Who can I work with? He doesn't chatter, he acts quickly. But for him, a person isn't a person, anything but a living person with their own troubles, desires, thoughts. And this one will only know the desires of the bosses and his own desires. Uncertain days are coming. There are few of his own people; I have to take such people. It's dangerous to work with them. Like a circus trainer: the tigers seem tame, but how many trainers have been torn apart as soon as they sense weakness… Oh, damn, I forgot!
Ahmed called. The secretary entered.
– Did Aman-Jalil leave? Bring him back immediately.
The secretary disappeared… After a while, during which Ahmed sat as if hypnotized, staring at one spot, Aman-Jalil entered.
– Listen carefully, jigit: do you know what your first task in the inquisition will be?
– What is it, boss!
– The Gyarov case!
Aman-Jalil was silent.
– Why so quiet?
– I'm calculating.
– Money?
– Time!
Ahmed looked at Aman-Jalil with surprise, and he hastened to explain.
– How much time I'll need for it.
– How much?
– About a month.
– Why don't you ask why?
– Orders aren't discussed.
– He's your own uncle.
– I've known him since childhood; you can't stop someone like him: can't bribe him, can't scare him… Killing him now is out of the question, they'll say it's "terror"!.. So I need a month to prepare everything…
…Wazir looked at Aman-Jalil with pity as he indulged in his favorite pastime: shooting flies. Aman-Jalil's eyes gleamed with the success of his hunt, fingers and rubber band stained with blood.
– What kind of monster have you become, boy?
– A passing young man!
– What kind, what kind?
– My grandmother tells me: "not from mother, not from father, but from a passing young man."
– You have such a wonderful uncle to look up to.
– Everyone's eager to give me examples: at school, on the street, at home. Some say – these are bad, others – those are bad, the third – both are bad. Leave me alone, I am my own "example".
The reflections from the window glass danced on his face, leaving bloody traces. Aman-Jalil, as usual, wiped the sweat from his forehead with blood-stained fingers… Wazir recalled that horrible scene again, tied to the pole, forced to watch as youths just a little older than Aman-Jalil violated his young wife: they frolicked like puppies, squealing with excitement, shoving each other, and then formed a line; the penultimate one failed, frustration stirred his anger and rage; he grabbed a dagger and slit the stomach of the victim lying beneath him. The last one, denied his share, struck the
