But the guests envied his presence and forgave his little jokes: this celebrity did not visit ordinary mortals, and his fees were breathtaking.
The old bridegroom stared blankly at the people gathered in his house: all strangers, he had never seen them before, except for Aman-Jalil, with whom he had had a preliminary conversation that the old man couldn't recall without shuddering. He already quietly hated his young wife, five months pregnant, for the second day since she moved in, acting as if she had grown up here, the mistress… "And her mother, damn sluts, looks so foolish: she gazes, silly thing, like a love-struck girl at the young husband, and he gazes at her daughter. Well, what a family! What's happening in this world, everything has turned upside down: the young marry old men, I'm fit to be her grandfather, and the young marry old women, but this marriage is beyond my understanding. In the past, such marriages were only for convenience, but what convenience can this young lad have? The widow has no money, although what kind of widow is she, damn it, she's not even a widow yet. I should kick them all to the devil! Just stand up and curse: 'go to such-and-such's mother!' As for me, this devil will kill my Javanshir right away, and I'm ready to give everything, sacrifice everything for the sake of saving my only child. For my boy, I'm ready to crawl on my knees before them. But this young slut, I'll get my revenge, I've already figured out how I'll do it… And what a wedding I had forty years ago, no one then thought about a coup, what a life it was under Renke, oh, what a life. Recently heard on the radio how a famous actress gave an interview: sweetly praised Iosif Besarionis's bloody regime, talked about how everyone lives well, but when asked how she envisions our bright future, she replied that when everything is like under Renke, stores are full of goods, you can freely travel abroad… and something else similar, I don't remember anymore. I'm sure all the radio workers involved in that broadcast were either fired, imprisoned, or even shot… For Javanshir, I made a deal that compared to it, selling my damn soul is nothing."
Aman-Jalil soon led the "newlyweds" into the bedroom. They bid them farewell with laughter, greasy jokes, and vile suggestions. Gulshan looked at Aman-Jalil in fear. "Is he really going to lay her down with the old man? Does he want to amuse himself?"
But Aman-Jalil, unabashed, stripped naked and climbed into the bed prepared for the "newlyweds."
– Undress and come to me, – he ordered Gulshan. – Or do you fancy this old man? So I'll get up… Just not to give him a place, but to kill him.
Gulshan began to undress, but she felt ashamed, blushed, and looked imploringly at Aman-Jalil.
– What, does this old prick bother you? – the brazen man taunted. – Hey, old prick, did you hear? You're bothering your lawful wife. And every word of hers is law to you. Bring a small table, put wine and fruit on it, and disappear. There's a small closet nearby, you haven't forgotten it, I think tonight you'll spend it there so that the guests think you're sleeping in tender maiden embraces… Oh, before I forget: take the sheet stained with blood from my bag, in two hours come out to the guests and show it with a happy face. Got it?
The old "bridegroom" nodded grimly. Aman-Jalil frowned.
– Didn't hear, say it again!
– In two hours, with a happy face, I'll come out to the guests and demonstrate the symbol of her innocence. If the guests don't die of laughter, they'll be satisfied.
– If someone starts dying of laughter, they'll report to me, I'll help him… die.
The old "bridegroom" set a table next to the bed, put wine and fruit on it, took out from Aman-Jalil's bag a sheet pre-prepared with signs of someone's innocence, and went to the closet located next to the bedroom.
Gulshan slowly undressed, feeling unusual excitement and novelty. Being five months pregnant, she had never really known a man until now. This was truly her first wedding night. Gulshan turned off the light and lay in the bridal bed next to her lover, the father of her future child.
Meanwhile, her lawful husband lay sleepless in the closet, thinking about his son, about the immense sacrifices he would make in the name of saving his life, waiting for the stipulated time when they would come for him, and he would have to play the comedy, affirming the innocence of his imposed wife, who was not his wife, and therefore acknowledge himself as the father of another's child, all in the name of saving his…
And this shameful moment came. Aman-Jalil's men went after him and led him to the guests. The guests greeted the "happy bridegroom" with drunken, sated laughter. Pretending to be overjoyed, the unfortunate husband and father unfolded the sheet and demonstrated fresh blood stains. Welcoming cries, approving shouts, even rowdy remarks filled the air. But only for a moment did silence fall, a neighbor of the old man's sneered from across the street:
– You can work miracles like a saint. However, no saint has ever performed such a miracle, you're the first.
Each of his words was his death sentence. In the morning, the neighbor was arrested, in the afternoon he was tried with a group of "conspirators," all of whom willingly claimed him as their own, and in the evening he was shot… If there are deadly jokes, this one was suicidal.
Aman-Jalil began to demonstrate his omnipotence.
Winter and spring flew by unnoticed. Upon Gulshan's demand, her husband rewrote his house and all his property to her, and he now lived in his own house as a lodger. The widow pitied him and took care of him, feeding him, washing his clothes, while Gulshan paid him no attention, as if he didn't exist. People are like that: they love those whom they do good to and hate those whom they offend or harm, willingly or unwittingly. The chauffeur courted Gulshan lovingly, trying to please her in everything, catching every glance from her, while his wife silently envied her daughter, silent but watching their every move.
In the summer, Gulshan's mother gave birth to a girl, and Gulshan gave birth to a boy. Her first childbirth was difficult, and Gulshan was to spend at least a month in the maternity hospital. Aman-Jalil visited her, but not daily.
– A chief can't show undue interest in his subordinate, – he reassured her.
In reality, however, Aman-Jalil had cooled towards Gulshan. He became infatuated with a cabaret singer. The woman turned out to be unyielding, and it was difficult for Aman-Jalil to arrest her on suspicion of espionage and enjoy her for the three lawful days of preliminary investigation. Almost every day, Aman-Jalil visited the young detainees in prison. The newcomer was transferred to a specially equipped cell, where there was a nickel-plated bed with a soft net, delicacies and alcoholic beverages were brought to the cell, and Aman-Jalil spent three nights in the prison. Having enjoyed the fresh air, Aman-Jalil released her, even if she was actually a spy. But if the girl resisted, then she was tied by her arms and legs to the bedposts, and Aman-Jalil got what he wanted, but in that case, a queue of guards lined up after him, anyone who was free and willing, patients with venereal diseases were put at the end of the line, and the poor victim serviced everyone against their will. Sometimes the weak victims breathed their last under another sweaty and stinking body. If the scandal couldn't be hushed up, the guards drew lots, and the one who drew the lot was "disgraced" from his job. A report on the harsh measures taken was sent upstairs, and Aman-Jalil placed the failure somewhere in the area.
But Nigyar, as the singer was called, belonged to those circles where Aman-Jalil had not yet been granted access and where he was eager to enter. Perhaps that's why Aman-Jalil craved her love, admiration, her attachment. But this "ungrateful" woman refused to see him, sent back expensive gifts. But most offensive to Aman-Jalil was that Nigyar was the wife of Kasym-the-know-it-all, who had tormented him with mockery at school. Kasym worked as a
