– Don't worry, boss. If a shadow of discontent crosses her face, that shadow will vanish in my dungeons…
– That's right: the pure with the pure, the impure with the impure!
Aman-Jalil changing into his outfit was a matter of minutes. They waited a long time for Leila. Minutes dragged by in complete silence. Ahmed perused papers, jotting notes into a thick, leather-bound tome. 'Mortirologia'. Everyone knew about it, but no mortal, except Ahmed, had ever dared to peer into its pages.
Aman-Jalil watched a fly that had managed to slip past the servants into the study. His fingers automatically reached into his vest pocket, where he had stashed an elastic band from his suit. The fly lazily explored the vast chamber, filled with a sweet scent, gradually approaching Aman-Jalil. On the small table next to him lay a large open box of rum-filled chocolate bombs. Aman-Jalil swatted the fly over the open box, wiped the elastic band absentmindedly on his vest, tucked it back into his pocket, and with his bloodied fingers, picked up a rum-filled chocolate bomb and popped it into his mouth. A tiny sip of rum pleasantly refreshed his throat, and the chocolate eased the mild burn…
Finally, the door from the sitting room swung open, and Leila entered in her bridal attire. The men stood up respectfully, struck by her beauty and elegance. Although Aman-Jalil briefly thought Gulshan would look just as stunning in that expensive bridal gown. He thought, then pushed the thought aside and knelt before Leila.
– Goddess, I am your unworthy servant! To look upon you is to be blinded by the sun!
Leila was very pleased with the impression she made, soothed by Aman-Jalil's submission…
No mullah had ever married such an odd couple. 'I commit sacrilege, Allah! But understand: if I refuse, at best they'll throw me in prison, at worst they'll kill me, I know them. Neither of them believes in you, so this whole spectacle is illegal, but what do they care? They've desecrated the holy mosque, and now they're off to the church. They close down temples and mosques, turn them into warehouses or even stables.'
The mullah hurried through the ceremony, swiftly reciting verses from the Quran as a lesson, but upon receiving the money, he counted it with pleasure, as he hadn't seen such a sum in a year.
The wedding ceremony at the church was long and solemn. But then Leila became restless, running around the chancel, dragging Aman-Jalil, her father, the priest, and the others present along with her. She tore off her veil and waved it around, singing an inappropriate French song. The priest silently moved his lips, praying to himself so as not to incur the wrath of the Lord, and was on the verge of fainting.
– Champagne! – Leila shouted.
A crate of champagne appeared instantly. Ancient icons had often heard the clash of swords, the whistle of arrows, gunfire, but they had never heard the popping of corks from bottles. It was as if wild hordes had burst into the temple of love and forgiveness, bringing in horses and setting fires. But these were not fires; they were generous tips. Leila lit them from the candles and tossed them into the air or stuck them under the icons. They drank champagne, sprinkled it on the chancel, and poured it on the icons…
The revelry continued at the Palace of Matrimony and Family. Gleaming with excitement, Leila hurled crystal glasses at the walls and champagne bottles through the windows, shattering the glass. She theatrically tore apart the marriage registry book. The solemnity of the ceremony was shattered. At Ahmed's signal, another book was swiftly brought in, a separate one, bound in satin, with gold embossing on thick paper. Leila resigned herself, signed her name coldly, and gave Aman-Jalil a cool kiss.
At the feast table, Leila was the epitome of calmness. She looked at the abundance laid out before her but did not eat or drink. For such an occasion as a wedding, Ahmed had ordered the museum's ancient imperial gold service, a gift from the Emir, and the guests reverently partook from this service, feeling themselves among the world's elite.
In bed, Aman-Jalil was pleasantly surprised to find she was still a virgin. True, her expertise raised some doubts, but Aman-Jalil had known since childhood how girls could engage in sex while remaining virgins… Therefore, he proudly displayed the sheets with fresh bloodstains to the assembled guests, provoking a wave of delight and another reason for new toasts and libations.
Out of habit more than curiosity, when he returned to duty, Aman-Jalil requested information on his wife from the capital's archives. The information stunned him. The report listed numerous romantic liaisons of Leila's, but those were trivial; what truly astounded Aman-Jalil was that a year ago, Leila had officially married, registering her union in the capital out of great love, severing all her numerous romantic ties.
Aman-Jalil tasked his agent-doctor to visit all clinics, and within a day, a frightened surgeon stood before Aman-Jalil, begging for mercy.
– If Ahmed finds out, I won't escape Bibir Island.
– They don't exile the dead! – Aman-Jalil replied mysteriously.
The broken doctor spilled everything to him right away: how he performed surgery on Leila, making her a virgin again. For some reason, the surgeon began to boast about the staggering fee, but Aman-Jalil cut him off and kicked him out of the office, yelling unexpectedly:
– Get out, you sanctimonious prick, or I'll turn you into a boy!
Ahmed's betrayal stung Aman-Jalil deeply. He had been ready to marry Ahmed's mistress, only to be deceived about his own daughter. The world of men worked in strange ways.
Returning from their honeymoon brought another disappointment: his wife was expecting a child.
– A pregnant virgin! – Aman-Jalil whispered to himself in disbelief. What could be more absurd…
Gulshan fell into depression. She took Aman-Jalil's marriage hard. Before their trip to the Azores, he had spent an entire day with her, tender and tireless. Something about Aman-Jalil's disappointed face held her back from asking how his wife compared.
With Aman-Jalil gone, everything began to fall apart. And then her stepfather started paying too much attention, trying to barge into her room when she was changing clothes. He stared through the window when she forgot to draw the curtain between the toilet and the bath. Her mother was jealous, lashing out over trifles. The atmosphere in the house became unbearable. Only the old master walked around, oblivious to everything except his son. Lately, he had been dreaming of the boy, reaching out to him with a smile…
Gulshan started drinking, crying like a child. She felt sorry for herself. She had fallen in love with the cognac brought to the local chief. And she liked it so much that one day, she got drunk, passed out, and fell asleep in a chair.
Her stepfather, finding her in such a convenient state, took advantage of the opportunity. He carried her to the bedroom, undressed her hurriedly, and took her with a joy comparable to a thirsty traveler finding an oasis in the desert. Though Gulshan was insensible, she still experienced a kind of ecstatic pleasure.
In the early morning, the exhausted chauffeur fell asleep. Gulshan woke to his loud snoring. She stared at her stepfather through blurry eyes, her head pounding, mouth dry, thoughts confused. Then her husband's father walked into the room.
– You should lock the door! – he grumbled, seeing her stepfather in her bed.
And he left the room, spitting on the ground. Gulshan felt destroyed, dead inside. She got out of bed, put on a robe, and went to the bathroom. She scrubbed herself fiercely, as if trying to scrub away every touch of her abusive stepfather. When she came out of the bathroom, Gulshan drank a strong, hot tea, trying to regain her composure. But in her head, the words kept pounding: "It's all over, it's all over, it's all over… If Aman-Jalil finds out, he'll kick me out to hell and back… Then it's the panel for me, but even that won't let me go, he'll send me to some remote place where seeing a decent human face is already a holiday. I need to find a way out immediately, I need to find it now…"
Gulshan grabbed a heavy, thick stick from the kitchen, used for stirring laundry in the vat, and went into the bedroom. Her stepfather lay on his back, snoring with his mouth wide open. Gulshan struck him several times in the face with the stick, knocking out a couple of teeth before he woke up, yelling:
– Have you gone mad, you fool? I'll disfigure you, you whore!
Gulshan fetched a small, almost toy-like pistol from the bedside table drawer, a nickel-plated Browning.
– I'll shoot you, you dog!
– Fool! – the frightened chauffeur recoiled from her. – What will Aman-Jalil say when they find me here naked? Think before you act.
And with that, clutching his clothes, Gulshan's stepfather slowly exited the bedroom. Despite her urge to pull the trigger into his bare back, she couldn't bring herself to do it. Killing someone for the first time is exceedingly difficult. At the threshold, her stepfather turned back.
– Keep silent, or I'll come up with something you'll never wash off in your life! – he threatened menacingly, spitting blood.
And he slipped out the door. It was then that Gulshan remembered her official husband had entered the bedroom earlier, saying something she couldn't recall, but regardless – he was a dangerous witness.
"Stepfather will stay silent," Gulshan thought. "But what's the point of protecting me? He'll betray me!"
And an idea dawned on her. A terrifying idea. Such ideas only arise from desperation or from twisted minds. Gulshan went to the study. She didn't quit her job not because she had nothing else to live on, but because she couldn't leave Aman-Jalil unattended. Besides, Aman-Jalil didn't insist on it; he needed a devoted person in such a responsible position as secretary…
From the closet, Gulshan took out last year's lists of executed prisoners, found the most suitable one, which included the surnames of her late husband's son's friends and acquaintances, meaning he could have heard of or known them. Diluting the ink with water to make the writing look faded and old, Gulshan added the surname, first name, and patronymic of her fake husband's son to the list. She carefully dried the entry on the hotplate. Now the forgery could only be detected with specialized equipment, more advanced than the human eye. And the old man's eyes were weak.
Having crafted such a deadly weapon, Gulshan returned home. She had grown so accustomed to considering this house her own that she forgot it belonged to someone else, or rather, it had belonged until recently, and essentially, she had stolen it.
The old man was praying when Gulshan entered his room.
– Can't you refrain from defiling my prayers for even a minute with your presence? – the old man snapped angrily at her. – I forbid you to enter my room.
– We need to talk.
The old man sneered at Gulshan.
– Afraid I'll tell Aman-Jalil how you're cheating on him? Maybe I will, maybe I won't! Depends on how you behave!
Gulshan smiled.
– Who will believe you, you old sot! You were also forbidden to enter my rooms.
