Fly Hunter: The Story of an Inquisitor - страница 39

Aman-Jalil got married. It was advantageous. And he couldn't refuse.

Ahmed called him to his office over the phone:

"Come in, my dear, I have a gift for you!"

Aman-Jalil hurried to his boss. Aman-Jalil's nervousness wasn't unfounded; Ahmed's gifts were hard for many to stomach, and some perished from indigestion. Anything could happen, so Aman-Jalil checked his channels, known only to him. There seemed to be no storm brewing, at least nobody knew anything.

In Ahmed's office, Aman-Jalil saw a young, beautiful girl. Aman-Jalil liked her, but she glanced briefly at him, frowned maliciously, and turned away. Ahmed stood up from his desk, approached him like a long-awaited guest.

"I'm glad to see you, my dear! Great Iosif Besarionis said he's watching your work and is pleased with it. He remembers you… And you, remember who you owe everything to… Now, back to business, I invited you here for this… Look at this beauty! Listen, you can't imagine how long it took me to persuade her. Every day on the phone, I told her about your great love, how you torment me with your talks about her, sent her your gifts, ordered flowers at your request. If I didn't love you like a son, I would have grown tired long ago of coaxing this capricious beauty. So, you owe me! I've fulfilled your pleas: she agreed to be your wife. Now you can call me 'dad'!… Let's kiss!"

Ahmed embraced Aman-Jalil and shed tears. Anyone who didn't know Ahmed, seeing this scene, might seriously think he was a "kind uncle." Aman-Jalil knew better. So, he shed tears in response, respectfully kissed Ahmed's hand.

"My gratitude knows no bounds! You are the light that illuminates the beautiful path to an unparalleled future! I owe you everything, and until my last breath, I will remember this."

Ahmed led Aman-Jalil to the capricious and discontented beauty.

"My daughter! Here's that shy admirer who tormented me with his stories of his love for you. Look, Majnun, here's your Layla. Children, give each other your hands, unite them to walk together on the path of happiness and harmony."

Without hesitation, Aman-Jalil reached out, trying to show happiness and love on his face and in his eyes. The girl stood up, glanced at Aman-Jalil for a moment, and reluctantly extended her hand. But her handshake was gentle and warm. She was half a head taller than Aman-Jalil, slender, graceful, with huge black eyes that harmonized beautifully with her flowing black hair. She was more beautiful than Gulshan, exuding an aristocratic air. She belonged to the circle where Aman-Jalil's road was previously paved. Yet, something mean, haughty, and unpleasant was imprinted on this angelic face.

"My name is really Layla, but I hope that father's beautiful metaphor is only half true, and you're not Majnun. I can't stand mad, sentimental admirers pretending to be Werther. Surely you've read 'The Sorrows of Young Werther'? Nonsense and rubbish are in the title itself, as if there could be an old Werther. What the author wants to impress upon us doesn't mean it's reality…"

She continued talking, but Aman-Jalil had tuned her out, lost in his own thoughts: he was thrilled to learn that Layla was Ahmed's daughter.

"Frankly, I was sure Ahmed would marry me off to one of his mistresses," Aman-Jalil admitted to himself. "But refusal wasn't an option. And this way, it's advantageous. To be kin with Ahmed himself…"