– "No, we didn't cover that…"
– "We did, you just didn't learn the verses well…"
Aman-Jalil remembered reading in class:
– "I remember a wonderful moment, Before me you appeared, Like a genius of pure beauty, Like a fleeting vision…"
– "On the contrary only," noted the teacher aloud, though he intended to say it to himself.
Immediately, Aman-Jalil started again:
– "I remember a wonderful moment, Before you I appeared, Like a fleeting vision…"
And he stumbled, feeling he had made a mistake. Kasim, the know-it-all, sitting in the front row, calmly finished for Aman-Jalil:
– "With a humped nose and a pig…"
The classroom buzzed. Suddenly, Aman-Jalil wished intensely that Kasym would turn into a fly for just a minute…
And Kasym did become a fly, but no matter how much Aman-Jalil swatted at him with the rubber band, it bounced off Kasym as if from Milanese armor. Aman-Jalil futilely chased after Kasym. When he grew tired of the pursuit, Kasym fluttered out the window, waving a goodbye with his tiny paw at Aman-Jalil… Once again, the class erupted in uproarious laughter at the failure…
The teacher restored order with a wave of his hand:
– I can confidently predict one thing for you: you will never be a poet; you have absolutely no feel for poetry… Remember when you once read: "…and her eyes clicked shut, and she snapped her fingers"…
– "My grandmother used to curse: 'You won't study, you'll either become a dervish or a poet, or some kind of bandit,'" Aman-Jalil thought. "They're all pursued, laughed at, mocked, even killed… If I ever need it, Kasym will write for me"…
Ahmed swung open the reception door wide. Seeing the deputy, Aman-Jalil straightened up in a "stand at attention" posture and "eyed the boss."
– Come in! – commanded Ahmed.
Aman-Jalil, marching as if on parade, entered the office and froze. Ahmed carefully closed the door behind him, looked satisfied at the stunned Aman-Jalil, and sat down at the desk.
The beauty and luxury of the office overwhelmed Aman-Jalil: black and red wood, handwoven carpets, Anatolian, walls adorned with paintings in gilded frames, gold and silver statuettes, ashtrays, inkwells… everything gleamed, sparkled… mesmerized.
– Come here!…
Aman-Jalil took two steps and froze again out of deference.
– You may sit down!…
Aman-Jalil timidly perched on the edge of the chair and glanced at Ahmed. Ahmed was barely visible behind the desk, but his bulging eyes inspired fear.
– Listen!…
– I am all ears, teacher!
– Who are you?…
– Your servant, teacher!…
– Are you already a member of our party?…
– Disciple!…
– Who recommended you, besides Ismail Pasha?
– My uncle, Gyaurov…
– Not our man… Do you know anything about him?… Something…
– You always know everything about relatives, or almost everything… What do you want to know?
– After… Do you want to become my man?
– I dream of it!
– And can you act like a fly?
– I can, teacher!
– In the head?
– Wherever you say!…
– And… when I say… Remember: initiative is punishable…
– I don't know what that is, teacher.
– Do nothing without orders…
– As you say, so it will be.
– As it will be, so I will say…
The old spider looked at the young man searchingly: "His jaws are still weak, but they will become steel, and I will forge them," he thought. "My clan needs fresh blood, and he's ready for anything… Everyone beneath him is mere flies!"
Aman-Jalil gazed at Ahmed with devotion and determination. "Here's the center of the web, where he will strive, where all threads are held and all signals known, and the main prey to him, the center," he thought, but in his eyes read: "I am loyal, like your hand, foot, so loyal that—if I'm gone, it'll hurt you as much as if your hand or foot were amputated"… He knew a few more foreign words: condom, impotent, pederast, gonorrhea, syphilis, cosmopolitan, agent, spy, career, boss, chief, head honcho, beefsteak, stuffed cabbage, kasha Guryevskaya… "Maybe I should throw in something else for Ahmed," Aman-Jalil pondered. "He'll understand right away that I didn't just arrive from the village yesterday"…
– Listen and remember, no need to write anything down: take a car with a driver, head to the Kalanvale district-vilayet, where my enemy rules everything, writes about me to Iosif Besarionis himself in the capital, estranges my father from the entire world, all nations and peoples, the leader and teacher from historical deeds. The great commander, whose toenail all the Caesars and Napoleons combined are not worthy to stand near, is forced to waste precious time not thinking about how to defeat all enemies, but on dirty accusations, where there's no more truth than hydrogen in the air…
Ahmed fell silent, staring intensely at Aman-Jalil, pondering: "Does the Messiah find it interesting, having descended upon our sinful, shit-stained planet, that I ordered the spring wheat planting a month earlier, and the cotton planting half a month later, that my own sheep graze alongside the state's, and if my sheep perish, they are forever listed in the state's records… Does the Universe care to know that each position has its own tariff? Of course, you fool, don't know that word. Must I give away a lucrative position just for pretty eyes? Yet for pretty eyes, I award positions. My seventy-eighth wife received a country estate in the reserve, and her brother became the chief forester. True, he sells timber, exterminates game, young when he strolls, but are such trivialities not for the ears of the pillar of the universe…"
Ahmed stepped away from the table, approaching Aman-Jalil. The latter tried to rise from his chair, but Ahmed placed a hand on his shoulder, urging him to stay seated.
– "I'm telling you all this so you appreciate my trust. The details, they'll tell you on site in detail. Maybe even reveal more. I myself don't know much, and from the emir's palace, they won't inform… Funny?" Ahmed suddenly barked.
– "Sad, boss, that a scoundrel like me intrudes on your trust. Such villains should be killed, like dung flies," replied Aman-Jalil.
