– No, I'm alone, he can't do it.
– Have you been at this long?
– First time, I swear!
– Is she asleep?
– The powder worked… If you want, you can be second.
– Go, stand watch! – Ismail Bey trembled with desire.
– Twenty coins!
– What?.. That's steep!
– A young one on the street corner costs fifty. Here, you'll be second, I swear on my father.
– Fine, here, extortionist.
– Insulting me. You've still got thirty coins in your pocket…
Aman-Jalil jingled the coins in his pocket satisfactorily and went out onto the veranda to stand watch… Little flies swarmed over a drop of jam that had somehow landed on the windowsill. The burgeoning generation densely surrounded the sweet treat. Aman-Jalil fetched a rubber band and with three snaps created a bloody massacre at the feast.
He then practiced shooting flies in mid-air… Hearing his mother's voice as she returned from the bath, Aman-Jalil knocked on Dilber's door and cautiously peeked inside. Ismail Bey was hastily dressing. Aman-Jalil slipped into the room and closed the door behind him. When he turned around, he saw Ismail Bey doing something to Husayn. Aman-Jalil approached closer. Ismail Bey was smearing Dilber's blood onto Husayn.
– What are you doing?
– And he decided to marry her? Let him marry, we'll help him, people should help each other, what do you think, son?
– I still want to, but you should leave, mother's here, you'll leave her with nothing today.
– You don't know your mother well, young man!
Ismail Bey mischievously stepped outside, leaving Aman-Jalil with Dilber…
Later that evening, Dilber's parents caught their shameless daughter in Husayn's embrace; they were asleep. A wedding had to be arranged. Husayn was so happy, so overjoyed, he embraced Aman-Jalil and swore eternal friendship to him…
Aman-Jalil poured tea into the cups and pondered how to get out of this tea-drinking.
– Go, bring me… – he ordered the driver, – French cognac. Men need cognac for such meetings. Let the women drink tea; we'll warm up differently.
The driver was eager. Hoping to get a drink himself, he hastily carried out the task. But Sardar Kareem refused the cognac.
– I don't drink wine!
– Oh, what a devout Muslim you are! Give a few coins to the mullah; he'll absolve all your sins for the next week.
– I don't go to the mullah.
– Well, that's not good; you don't want to drink with a friend.
– I prefer tea; you yourself said we've never had anything like this…
Nevertheless, Aman-Jalil poured him cognac despite any objections.
– Leave it there; if you want, you can drink it.
But Sardar Kareem didn't touch the cognac and continued drinking tea.
– Top quality! – he complimented, taking a sip.
– Drink up; I have plenty. If you want, I'll leave a pack for you.
Aman-Jalil and the driver toasted "to the health of those present." Meanwhile, Sardar Kareem, the widow, and her daughter drank tea… but not for long. Soon, the sleeping draught took effect. Aman-Jalil looked at the sprawled bodies with satisfaction. The driver froze in horror.
– Did you poison them? – he asked Aman-Jalil in a hoarse voice.
– Nonsense, I swear by my father! Can't you hear the widow snoring?
– I see! – the driver sighed calmly.
– I see that you fancy her too; take her, take her to another room, do whatever you want with her for half an hour, then dress her as she was, and come to me with the camera…
The driver carried the widow to the neighboring room. Aman-Jalil slowly undressed Gulshan and violently assaulted her unfeeling body, then quickly undressed Sardar Ali, placed him next to the widow's daughter, and smeared blood on him: "Now say you didn't harm the little girl." Sardar Kareem groaned in his sleep. "Moan, moan; you'll cry in the morning." Aman-Jalil froze, staring greedily at Gulshan's exposed beauty. "Take her to the city?.. No, it's dangerous; she might say something wrong and ruin everything, they'll remove Sardar Ali, then I'll try." But his eyes avidly caressed the exposed, disgraced body of the underage girl.
The driver entered the room holding the dressed widow.
Aman-Jalil hissed quietly:
– Fool, I told you to bring the camera, not the widow. Leave her in the neighboring room quietly and quickly come back with the camera; mine's getting cold, and the nights aren't warm, you understand.
The driver hurried. Gently placing the widow in the adjacent room, he dashed to the car for the camera. When he returned, Aman-Jalil hissed at him again:
– Fool, how will you take pictures in the dark? Are you a troublemaker?
The driver looked at the three burning candles in the antique candlestick and realized there was indeed little light. Attaching a flash to the camera was a matter of minutes…
Aman-Jalil posed in various positions, every trick he had learned in his life, with Gulshan's and Sardar Ali's naked, motionless bodies, while the obedient driver carefully photographed them. He had been obedient since childhood, and obedient people, as he had learned, lived well. He was ordered to carry out any task by this youth; he did so. He was told to keep an eye on him in both eyes; he did.
The driver finished the roll, but Aman-Jalil made him load a second cassette.
– Keep shooting, don't be lazy. What if the first roll is spoiled, we'll ruin everything; there are dangerous Sicilian men and troublemakers abroad, only dreaming of harming our mountainous state.
The driver obediently loaded and clicked the second cassette. His eyes lit up at Gulshan; he moved towards her, but Aman-Jalil sent him to the widow.
– Don't get attached! The widow is a person too, deserving of tenderness; how she treats us, listen.
The driver, glancing angrily, which was not visible in the darkness, obediently went to the widow, while Aman-Jalil blew out the candles and for an hour warmed Gulshan's chilled body.
