struggle, he hadn't yet held the entire country in his chubby little hands… The diminutive men filled ministries, flooded party and administrative apparatuses; the shorter the stature, the greater the ambition. They began inventing enemies, a bottomless barrel: no matter how much you pour in, it never fills; one enemy begets another, and merely proclaiming "enemy!" demands proof, such frightful times.
Recently, they announced illiteracy had been eradicated in the country; everyone could read and write, and there was paper enough. And they were already starting to write.
Just yesterday, Sardar Ali read such a composition on a free topic: "Arvad—enemy, chased my hens from his garden with a stick, one of them has been limping for two days now, all because Arvad served in Renka's forces; everyone says he killed the main rebel Karmas, sentence him to the northern island of Bibir for the rest of his life, maybe they'll cure him of cruelty"…
This letter had been sent to Sardar Ali from the city, urgently advising him to take measures and arrest the murderer… Ali had known Arvad his whole life; he had never served in Renka's forces or killed anyone, never leaving his village even once, so he couldn't have killed the main rebel Karmas, who had lived in another country eighty years ago… Ali also knew who had written this letter, Arvad's neighbor: before he learned to read and write, vanity had slumbered in him, literacy had opened up the world to him, but in a distorted light, as if through some monstrous prism, feeling his own importance, he now inflated any quarrel into the dimensions of a global conflagration, whereas before he had been just an ordinary person, not very good, not very bad, just different…
Over tea at Widow Aman-Jalil's, he willingly shared various amusing stories, all sorts of small-town gossip that forever fluttered around the city, then offered to make tea from his ancient Indian country, the way only he could brew it. "I'm sure none of you have ever tasted such tea," Aman-Jalil smirked to himself. The widow led him to the kitchen.
– I won't offend you if I stay alone to "do magic"…
For the first time since her husband's death, the widow smiled; she had never seen a man in the kitchen before, and she left, deciding she was embarrassing the boy. Aman-Jalil took out a flat box from a hidden pocket, opened it, poured powder into the teapot, generously added the rare tea, and brewed this diabolical mixture…
…Husayn, Aman-Jalil's neighbor in the house, though three years older, looked younger, being skinny and small, no one would guess he was nineteen. And Aman-Jalil, who had worked for Ismail Pasha as a runner for two years already, was easily taken for an adult, so solidly built and looking mature.
Husayn approached Aman-Jalil, relaxing on his day off after a successful fly hunt.
– Listen, I want to marry Dilber.
– Marry her! – Aman-Jalil threw indifferently.
– But she doesn't love me, – Husayn exclaimed in desperation.
– Spit and find another one," Aman-Jalil echoed someone else's words in a grown-up manner. "Isn't there enough of them running around?"
– But I love her," Husayn sobbed.
– Then marry her!" Aman-Jalil graciously allowed.
– How? " Husayn asked. "Give me advice."
– Please, advice is everywhere. If you want, as a friend, I'll help you with action.
– Of course I want," Husayn replied.
– Do you have money?..
– No! " Husayn sighed.
Aman-Jalil pondered.
– Alright, I've come up with something else," he lit up. "Is your mother a doctor?"
– A physician.
– Same thing, a doctor. Get some sleeping powder from her, a lot of it, then I'll call you.
– When?
– You can do it now, Dilber is alone, she's doing something, some session… distract her, her parents are at work, they'll come home late in the evening… Do you have the powder?
– I do, and it's very strong. Mom prepared five packs for her friend who has nightmares at night and doesn't want to see them…
– Send me two packs.
– Why two?
– I need them!
– Well, if you say so…
Husayn ran for the powder, while Aman-Jalil knocked on Dilber's door.
– Tufyak, come out, I have business.
The angry plump woman flew out of the room.
– Calling names again, hooligan?
– Shut it, there's business…
– What business could we have together?
– Remember what I promised you?.. Weight loss powder!
– Oh, Aman-Jalilik! My good, handsome one, let me kiss your little nose.
– I don't want a nose kiss, kiss me on the lips.
– You're not grown up enough for lip kisses yet, grow up first! How much money do you need?
– Five coins!
– Oh, that's expensive!
– Love is the only thing that's free.
– Ugh, hooligan!
– Princess!
– Okay, bring the powder.
– Go, get the money ready, I'll bring it to you…
Dilber went to her room, and just then Husayn, pale as chalk from agitation, rushed in with two boxes of powder.
– Here… Brought it.
– Hide, I'll call you…
Aman-Jalil knocked on Dilber's door and entered. Dilber pretended to read, but as soon as Aman-Jalil entered the room, the book was tossed aside. The prepared money lay on the table.
– How does the powder work?… How do you take it?
– Box for a week. Two powders a day, a kilogram down…
– Can you try it right away?
– You can, just need to lie down… Try it, I want to see how noticeable
