Fly Hunter: The Story of an Inquisitor - страница 35

Aman-Jalil decided to try to destroy Kasym, to "catch" him on something. For this, he needed qualified help. So, he summoned Ayesha, a well-known writer in the city and throughout the country. Aman-Jalil knew well that the writer also worked in the circus and cabaret, writing sketches and replays under the pseudonym Pendyr. The summons to the inquisition already evoked a tremor of respect in the law-abiding hearts of citizens; for many, this summons proved to be final, and they did not return home. Therefore, the writer, pale as a wall, looked obsequiously at Aman-Jalil and was ready for anything. Aman-Jalil spent a long time compiling lists of "conspirators," paying no attention to Ayesha. Then he graciously noticed him.

– Dear Ayesha! Have you been here long? These secretaries don't understand anything about visitors. They have one measure for everyone. And I'm exhausted, I have no strength left.

– It's okay, it's okay, – stammered Ayesha, – I'll wait, I have plenty of time, not in a hurry.

– Once we summon someone here, they stop thinking about work. They're only interested in their own skin. Do you understand me, my friend?

– Clearly, how could I not understand, I completely agree with you.

– Do you know that your relative has been arrested?

– I know, of course, but I declare that he is not my relative and not even of the same surname. Among the Ayeshas, there have never been degenerates.

– A major conspirator, eh! I swear by my father, I don't know what to do: he claims that you, dear respected writer, knew about his conspiracy. No, he doesn't say you were involved, I don't claim that, it's up to the investigator to say, but he knew.

Ayesha slid off the chair onto his knees.

– I swear by my father, I didn't know, damn it, I've only seen this relative once. I'll eat dirt, he's deceiving you, dear chief.

– Perhaps, perhaps, they're capable of anything. But unfortunately, it's possible that you will still learn about the delights of Bibir Island.

Ayesha banged his forehead on the floor.

– I beg you, dear Aman-Jalil, save me, I'll do anything for you, want me to write a book for you "Iosif Besarionis and the Children," and you can present it to the Great Leader.

– Let's think about it, let's think… Listen, do you know Kasym?

– I've met him, but he doesn't read my stories from the stage, prefers to write them himself.

– Write one that he will read, one that can get him arrested. "Set him up," and I'll remove you from the lists, I promise. Are you willing to help me?

– I'll do everything, boss!… There's one story about Iosif Besarionis's mustache.

– Listen, isn't that the one whose author is already relaxing on the island?

– I'll offer it to Kasym as my own. No one knows about this story.

– Go, work for the good of your country.

There were such terrible rumors about the delights of Bibir Island, and the writer's imagination was so rich that Ayesha had to drink heart drops at home, even though his heart was perfectly healthy… Taking a copy of the manuscript from its hiding place, for which the author was arrested not without Ayesha's help, he retyped it on his typewriter. Kasym had other manuscripts, and he could accidentally compare the fonts. But Ayesha didn't dare to call Kasym and personally hand him the story, afraid to reveal himself with something. So, he called Kasym's friend, the cabaret director Bulov, and asked him to come over in the evening to take the manuscript for Kasym. Bulov willingly agreed; Ayesha always had good cognac, as soon as he hinted that gasoline was expensive these days, Ayesha pulled out a bottle of Courvoisier from the buffet and poured a glass. Bulov, slowly savoring, squeezed out the cognac and, taking the manuscript for Kasym, left. On the way, he stopped by the club of underground millionaires, met a couple of acquaintances in the buffet, drank a glass of vodka on their tab, washing it down with a glass of dry wine, then his friends persuaded him to take them to a restaurant to meet the veterans of the battles in the Serra mountains, the veterans had already stopped consuming strong spirits. Overloaded beyond measure, Bulov remembered that he promised to deliver the manuscript to Kasym.