to concoct something more absurd yet convincing… A photograph, one that could serve as evidence, but a photograph of what?"
The district center was a larger, dirtier village. Aman-Jalil pulled up to the largest building, confident it was Sardar Ali's house. To his surprise, the house turned out to be a place of meetings and decision-making. A large ship bell hung in front of the house, somehow finding its way into this dry province, very far from the sea, clearly serving as the town bell.
– "Which country did they bring this thing from? Some Ottoman must have thought it golden, see how it sparkles. They use rough brick to clean it, no different from a corporal in the military making you polish buttons with pounded red brick," Aman-Jalil thought enviously.
Sardar Kareem lived nearby in a small adobe house with his wife and a bunch of children. The serenity on his blissful face made him resemble ancient Byzantine icons.
– "It's a pity I can't accommodate you in my house, it's too small, but I'll settle you next door, there's a widow with a daughter living there, plenty of room, very cozy," he sadly sang, and the gray in his beard and temples shimmered with pure silver, while tenderness and affection stood in his eyes. – "I'll visit you there, have tea, talk, you must have a lot of news, I've never left the district, they still shoot in the mountains, those overthrown seek revenge, kill from around the corner, one infiltrated the police, bringing much evil. When those who are supposed to protect fail, they also rob and kill, it's scary. robbers are now lawmakers. Then lies will become truth, truth lies, black white, and white will be canceled by decree: 'what looks white is only gray in reality'…"
– "Individual cases, sardar, we won't allow former enemies to take our place. Even executioners have their own…"
– "There should be no executioners in our society, we fought for a long time to eliminate them…"
– "Executioners have always been, are, and will be, executioners are more necessary than science, science can be forbidden, various astrology can be canceled, but executioners, like bread, are necessary. You can't live without bread, sardar!.."
Sardar Kareem escorted Aman-Jalil and the chauffeur into the widow's house. Aman-Jalil surreptitiously scrutinized the widow's face, trying to read the true nature of Sardar Ali's relationship with her, but her eyes were empty, her face covered in the ashes of sorrow. Later in conversation, Aman-Jalil would learn that the widow's husband had been recently killed by the bandits who had infiltrated the police. They brutally burned him alive in a barn with two friends.
– "No, you won't find compromising material in their relationship. As the saying goes, 'a friend of a deceased husband and nothing more'… Aman-Jalil was starting to despair. He remembered Ahmed's words well: 'you're stuck with compromising material for life'… And the tone in which these words were spoken left no doubt that this would indeed be the case."
The widow's daughter, Gulshan, entered the room, and Aman-Jalil was taken aback, struck by a decision that came to him instantly, at first glance at her… The girl's beauty could captivate any man: a young doe couldn't match her elegance and grace, a panther her flexibility and resilience. Eyes like Gulshan's had been praised by poets and lovers for thousands of years… Aman-Jalil was conquered by her appearance, but he had no intention of canceling his plans. He liked what he had planned very much, and it would be doubly foolish to cancel it. Pity briefly touched his heart and flew away, frightened by the cold.
Softly and somewhat timidly, Aman-Jalil asked Sardar Ali to acquaint him with the necessary documents for which he had come on inspection from such a distance.
– "You understand, respected one, that besides your vilayat, I have two more, and I would like to return to the city as soon as possible… Duty to fulfill."
– "Of course, my dear, such zeal in work is rare these days. You deserve recognition…"
Surprised by such zeal, Sardar Kareem invited Aman-Jalil to follow him. As he left, Aman-Jalil turned at the door and cast such a submissive look at Gulshan, this delicate gazelle, that even a large, fat green fly didn't make him want to snatch a rubber band from his pocket and deal with it…
There were few papers, and those that interested Aman-Jalil were nonexistent, but he timed it so that he could finish with them only late in the evening. And then he immediately expressed a desire to leave for another vilayat.
– "Such perfect order, I swear by my father. I could have stayed away. But you understand, sardar, orders are not discussed. They are only executed. Quickly executed… Forgive me for bothering you, respected one…"
But Sardar Kareem, as willingly as we fall into a trap set for us, insisted that Aman-Jalil and his companion spend the night:
—"I won't let you go. It's dangerous at night in the mountains, I warned you, they shoot… You are our honored guest, can we allow anything to happen to you… And they haven't told you the news yet…
—What news?.. Just rumors: 'The Beard' has split from his old wife, the battle companion who went through all the underground in the Serra mountains with him…
—It can't be… 'The Beard'… Married a young one?
—He didn't marry. He lives with two young cousins. Loose women with such improper surnames that even to repeat them would dirty the tongue… Nadir – your friend?..
—The only one! – Sardar Kareem's smile broadened.
—Nika is highly esteemed by Iosif Besarionis… It's amazing that Sardar Kareem is so modest. Think about it, huh, why not move to the Emir's palace? The capital is not a district center…
—Which palace? – Sardar Kareem laughed happily. – My scoundrels would overrun any palace…
—They have marble toilets with golden toilets…
—What is that?
– What's this, I don't even know, heard it around town: seems like it's a toilet, but one you'd want to live in…
– Wow, what a life is coming. In two years it'll reach us too, we'll live like people…
Sardar Kareem had no desire to rush to the capital, even though his friend Nadir held an honorary position in the palace and invited him over. Nadir owed him his life; during a battle, Ali shielded Nadir from a point-blank shot, and now the bullet-scarred bone ached in damp weather. Kareem felt he belonged where he was, the most content man alive, yet the war with Ahmed drained him of strength and health: Ali couldn't stand by as Ahmed plundered the entire region and replaced old seasoned fighters, whom Sardar Kareem had fought alongside in the mountains, with his sycophants and freeloaders… Ali's naive soul saw goodness and loyalty in everyone, ideals they had fought for over the years in the harsh conditions of the Serra mountains, where their leader, the brave hero Kareem, had supported everyone with his courage in the darkest hour, when Renka's forces tried to storm the main rebel base. Kareem painted pictures of a bright future: justice and love would reign in the land, once they expelled the exploiters (a word Ali had been practicing for a week, still pronouncing it syllable by syllable), turning all wastelands into gardens, draining swamps, demolishing prisons to build palaces in their place "…with golden toilets. The boy told the truth. Ahmed sent it mockingly, checking to humiliate his enemy, undoubtedly."
After
