Fly Hunter: The Story of an Inquisitor - страница 12

– 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.

– What beauty, – Aman-Jalil rejoiced, – does this pathetic vilayat deserve such a beauty? I won't leave here!

Sensing it was time to leave, he kissed her soft lips once more, hungrily and for a long time, and suddenly felt a reciprocal kiss. Aman-Jalil, holding his breath, dressed in the dark and, quietly whistling to the driver, left the house for the courtyard. The large southern stars winked playfully at him; at first, the moon was not visible, but then it crawled out of the clouds, illuminating the path to the car. Dressing on the go, the driver rushed out of the house, then dove back in to emerge with the camera and flash in hand, silently hiding everything in the car, avoiding looking at Aman-Jalil, angry with him, and sitting behind the wheel, almost silently leaving the village.