Fly Hunter: The Story of an Inquisitor - страница 31

– From today, you'll work as my secretary. Your first duty, besides love, is to guard this office… Well, it's in your interest too: there are photographs in the safe… No film, don't bother opening it, – joked Aman-Jalil. – Congratulations on the child; it's good you left it… Listen, idea! Let me marry you off to an old man: wealthy, has his own house, you won't need anything, and no need to sleep with him. High, eh!

Gulshan looked at him, but saw and heard nothing. Before her eyes was a huge fiery sphere from which pornographic photographs shot out like lightning bolts, and in the center of the sphere, Gulshan saw Aman-Jalil's grotesquely swollen face, with fangs sticking out of his mouth like a vampire. The sphere suddenly burst into fiery, jagged pieces and… Gulshan realized clearly that she was entirely under the spell of this man who loved her, she knew it firmly, rather felt it, and the only thing permitted to her was to completely submit to his whims and desires. And Gulshan decided to submit…

"Damn it, he's turned my whole world upside down. That's why Sardar Kareem disappeared, only to die suddenly in the capital. This nosy devil's to blame. He came here for this, knowing nothing about me and never seeing me, this damn nosy one… He was obstructing them somehow, so they got rid of him… Ah! What's it got to do with me? I'll have a child, and I must think about him. The main thing is, this damn nosy one is crazy about me, violated me again, scoundrel, if that's what he likes, let him, I don't feel a thing anyway. He rejoiced at the child, so he won't abandon it like some useless thing. I'll do whatever he says, won't be worse… Those photos are so terrible, if anyone sees them, shame won't save me, I'll have to sit like a dog on a leash in his office and guard… That's what that dream was about: an endless road, and I'm walking on it, the sun mercilessly scorching, dying of thirst, hands tied, a noose around my neck held by a horse's saddle, with him in the saddle, the nosy devil, in a red caftan, golden stars scattered, holding a long pike in his hand and skewering all passing children like butterflies and beetles. Fangs bloody protruded from his mouth, somehow giving him a perpetually smiling appearance. And Gulshan followed behind his horse, her bare feet bloodied along the road. Poor Gulshan!.. I'm going crazy, talking about myself like about someone else, a completely different person… About another person… Am I still the same Gulshan?"

Two weddings were taking place simultaneously. The chauffeur looked sadly at his wife, who was seven years older than him, and at his newlywed son-in-law, thirty years older than him, and it was difficult to calculate how much older he was than his wife's stepdaughter, whom the chauffeur cast longing glances at, and hard to calculate indeed. But the women were satisfied: the widow, receiving such a young and handsome husband, the father of her child, was so grateful to Aman-Jalil that she forgave some "trifles," such as the death of Sardar Ali, a friend of her family, violence against her daughter, and even the forced husband imposed on her, at the sight of whom she felt nauseated. Gulshan, for her part, was very pleased that her husband was so old and ugly.

"Ugly! Not even a thought will come to lie with you in bed at such a mournful moment. Sits there as if he's at a funeral," – thought Gulshan, pretending to be a happy bride.