Fly Hunter: The Story of an Inquisitor - страница 15

Suleyman was a philosopher: "When you stand behind the counter for so many years, giving out keys to visitors, and dozens of people pass in front of you every day, you involuntarily start studying them," he thought, "often I turn out to be right. Studying becomes a second profession, interesting, captivating, like everything else you love, and the main interrogators from the main administration have something to tell… When this mountain man came in, stubborn and proud, I recognized him immediately; I love to read the memories of the strong of this world, while reading, you live his life, and the 'great standing' behind the counter doesn't seem so burdensome. Nadir wrote about him in his book, his portrait, one to one, probably, and they took a picture of him in this costume, not another, they're all poor honest, only such a person can put his chest under a bullet, covering someone else with it. I would buy him a jacket in gratitude, but he won't cover me from a bullet, but his boss for a good soul. I would not have covered my boss for any rugs, and he would not have covered someone else's boss… He took the cheapest room, a pantry, not a room under the very roof, a former attic, one narrow window, and that's the yard, not the room, and he carried the fibrous, cheap suitcase upstairs, very light, probably half-empty… Three more similar, clearly compatriots, entered with this mountain man, and one immediately sat in a chair, covered himself with a newspaper like an inexperienced spy, who recently went in pea coats, and from under the newspaper was examining the legs of the women passing by him. Such a small one, but with such a big nose… The other two, more like wrestlers from the circus than civil servants, as they are in their documents, demanded rooms next to the hero. Oddly enough, they don't look like paupers at all, especially the one who covered himself with a newspaper, what is he hiding, I will recognize you from the first presentation even through a hundred years, if the nose does not fall through. I tried to explain to them that even criminals are not kept in such cages with us, one of the gangs, snorting, said: "You understand a lot in which cages we keep criminals," and I was confused. And they stubbornly stood their ground. The inexperienced spy finished reading the newspaper and came up to us, looked at me with the eyes of a killer, listened attentively, and then ordered to give them the requested rooms. There were only two free ones, but they took them, and when I wanted to register them, the big-nosed man sternly looked at me and said, "We'll settle up in the morning, then you'll register"… They didn't have any luggage, just a small briefcase and that's all… When I hinted that I wanted some tea, the big-nosed man counted out three groschen to me one by one and said, "This is for your tea with sugar, you didn't ask for sugar, this is so you remember my generosity"… Either a straightforward idiot or a cheeky one, like the world has never seen…”

Until late at night Sardar Kareem was transcribing Ahmed's sins onto paper, describing in detail each case, providing dates, facts, and the names of witnesses. Only once did he interrupt his comforting work: he ate a piece of stale churek with cheese and drank water from the tap. And then he wrote again, trying not to miss anything and to facilitate the subsequent work of Iosif Besarionis's inquisition. Sardar Kareem did not miss a single detail, his hand grew tired, groaned, so much he wrote, there was never so much in his life. But as soon as he wrote it down, he fell asleep with a sense of duty fulfilled and instantly slept soundly, the heavy sleep of a very tired person…