Fly Hunter: The Story of an Inquisitor

"Allah, bless Isaac, let him be a Jew, but what a good man, what wonderful advice he gave. Listen, what wonderful advice he gave, all for one hundred coins: divide all the wealth into two equal parts, throw one into the devil's mouth and hide the other properly. That's what I thought to do: set aside the gold coins to hide, and decided to give away the rest. You can't hide a diamond necklace when the whole city knows about it. Soldiers descended so suddenly, they piled onto my old head like snow. I thought—everything's over. Isaac saved me again, I had to give him a tenth. How clever he is: he dumped a pile of used paper in the bathroom, tucked the wrapped gold at the bottom, then covered it again with dirty scraps. The soldiers took half, ransacked the house, turned it upside down, but, imagine, couldn't find the gold. Thank you, Allah, you even Isaac's bright head, not because he's bald, but truly bright, made to work for the good of the believers, so the devil got less. The moan hangs on the ground, how life will continue, scary to think…"

By Ahmed's order, newspapers printed fabricated obituaries of the razed dissidents and dissenters every day, meetings and assemblies were held daily where the crimes of the razed were read out. In newspapers, meetings, and assemblies, authorities gave solemn assurances that strict, exceptional measures were applied only to enemies, while other honest traders and representatives of the old nobility could sleep peacefully. And everyone believed, or just pretended to believe, rejoicing daily that the soldiers-plunderers had passed them by again, others again, not him, him – why, he is an honest fellow traveler and objector. Like sheep, they waited their turn, when their throats would all be cut, presenting an example of humility and longsuffering.

But where could you go? The border was so tightly guarded that not even a fly could fly across it, and if by stupidity it mistakenly changed direction and crossed the border, Aman-Jalil immediately shot it down with his rubber thread. He won't miss—a sniper. His recruited agents spread rumors that they saw him flying like an angel in all white over the border, and silence and peace descended where he flew. And he blew into the big horn and shouted loudly, "Sleep peacefully, the border is locked!"

Aman-Jalil found many voluntary helpers among small shopkeepers and the dispossessed, provided many ears and eyes at his disposal. Patriots didn't demand any pay, their share in this universal plunder.

Envy! Here is the foundation of this vile layer of society. Here is its nutrient medium, always teeming with bacteria that shake the world with a terrible epidemic of hatred, devastating and terrifying for many generations. In every quarter, on every street, in every house of cities, towns, and villages, there were people who knew what the neighbor had for lunch. They bombarded the Inquisition with anonymous letters, revealing such intimate details that the inquisitors marveled at how quickly society sought to return to a slave-owning system. People didn't know what to do with the freedom they received and begged to be returned to slavery, where each would dream again of a kind master and a warm bowl of porridge.

So, Aman-Jalil's department was buzzing with work. Those who paid their dues to Aman-Jalil lived comfortably: with a salary of a hundred coins, each adult clan member had a splendid mansion, two huge country houses, one of which had to be by the bluest sea in the world. They bought freely for their wives, daughters, and mistresses—cars, furs costing fifteen thousand coins each, not to mention "trifles" like diamond and gold baubles. And nobody dared ask them any questions that could cause insomnia. Numerous letters, signed and unsigned, exposing underground millionaires, were intercepted. Gossips and facts were meticulously registered and compiled, so underground millionaires didn't have to hide in the Sierra Mountains. Against those naive patriots who dared to sign their names, cases of slander against respected and revered people were opened. The "slanderers" were thrown into prisons or exiled to the uninhabited islands of Lusin. "Let them gossip there!"

Lies were rewarded, and truth was persecuted. It became profitable to live by lies to survive, just to survive. People adapted, with difficulty, but adapted. There was no other way to live. You could think what you wanted, but aloud you had to say only what the newspapers suggested, what was preached from the high tribunes, and what they started teaching even in schools and kindergartens. Portraits of Iosif Besarionis and Ahmed appeared everywhere. "The Fuhrer thinks, and we implement these thoughts in life!" "Let's turn great plans into reality!" "The whole world is watching us!" They just didn't add: "with horror"!

And alongside Ahmed, more and more often at official receptions, one could see the figure of Aman-Jalil. He and his kind were gaining strength and already casting sideways glances at those who had found and raised them—supporting roles no longer satisfied them. They needed a leader, they were needed by a leader, and they created an earthly god, offering themselves as slaves. "Great Iosif Besarionis!" "Incomparable Iosif Besarionis!" "Wise Iosif Besarionis!" "Iosif Besarionis—teacher of all nations of the world!" "Iosif Besarionis—leader of all countries!" Such slogans adorned the walls of houses and along highways, especially along the transcontinental route. But the new generation was mistaken in thinking that the leader would remain loyal to them. He had propelled them, determining who would be pawns and who would be figures. He chose those capable and ready for anything: to abandon parents, forget about brothers and sisters, betray wife and friend, deny children. He advanced every sharp-toothed, every fanged one; his advice was the law for everyone, but those who did not understand their debt to him, who showed even the slightest freedom, he discarded from the board of his game, understandable only to him alone. But perceptive ones were advanced to important posts in his party of emir, in the army, in the police, and most importantly, in the Inquisition. The stake was placed on the Inquisition. After Torquemada, Iosif Besarionis was the first to realize the influence of the Inquisition on the minds and feelings of society and understood that whoever owned the Inquisition, owned those minds and feelings. And he worked tirelessly.

Io listened, but the rector's voice rang out or disappeared when Io's thoughts soared to his native mountains:

– Lord! You give us peace; for all our affairs You arrange for us… Firm in spirit, You keep in perfect peace, for he trusts in You… Do you not know? Have you not heard? The everlasting Lord God, who created the ends of the earth, does not grow weary or tired. His understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the weak, and to those who have no might He increases strength. Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall, but those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint… Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand. Behold, all those who were incensed against you shall be ashamed and disgraced; they shall be as nothing, and those who strive with you shall perish. You shall seek them and not find them, those who contended with you. Those who war against you shall be as nothing, utterly nothing; for I, the Lord your God, will hold your right hand, saying to you, "Fear not, I will help you"…

"Now thus says the Lord, who created you, O Jacob, and He who formed you, O Israel: 'Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; you are Mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, nor shall the flame scorch you. For I am the Lord your God'… 'Turn to Me and be saved, all you ends of the earth; for I am God, and there is no other… Even to your old age, I am He, and even to gray hairs I will carry you! I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry, and will deliver you'…

"Oh, Allah, how I prayed to You when I managed to cross the border with the caravan of smugglers.

The caravan master on this side told me there was no need to check me; you can't play such fear on your face, death was standing behind your shoulder and laughing. I didn't scare him, didn't say why I fled. I said I killed two, feared blood revenge. This was familiar to him, mundane, routine. The caravan master took the payment and disappeared from my life; he won't talk much about me, who cares about some killer. If he knew the real reason, he wouldn't sleep at night, he would betray me with guts.

And the reason was terrible… Before the coup, every summer my father sent me to his brother on aylag to shepherd sheep. "Best rest from city life," he said, "all day outdoors." And I liked it. Better to work in nature, in silence and peace, breathing crystal-clear air, eating fresh food than spend time behind counters in dust, heat, and dirt, breathing dust, heat, and dirt, eating stale food. Maybe that's why I never got sick with various colds, such tempering I got in the mountains. Shepherds took me as an equal and didn't allow descent, the eldest, if I did something wrong, could give such a slap that my cheek burned all day. But he hit only for business: we, city dwellers, were lazy, while an eye and an eye were needed for a flock. Sheep are like people: there are smart ones, they don't run anywhere, they quietly eat grass, run to the watering hole with everyone, no cares with them, but there are crazy ones, as soon as you turn away from them, they want to run into the forest, or even down the road, into the village, once I ran for ten minutes, until I caught it, a couple of kilometers away, and, oh, did I beat her all the way back until the shepherds saw it… And on that fateful day, one of the crazy daughters of the sheep flock ran away from me down the road. I noticed her only when she disappeared around the bend, so I ran straight into the forest along the path, thinking how I would catch this naughty one and spank her. The path led to a fork in our road to aylag with a road to the city. Luckily, I noticed them from afar; I have eyes like a hawk, the shepherds say. They were—bandits. They stopped the mail coach on the road and robbed it. I hid in the bushes and lay down, forgot about the sheep, myself, like a sheep, defenseless. And the bandits laid down the postal workers and the guard on the roadside and shot them all one by one. As soon as they started shooting them in the back of the head, I wanted to run, but my legs wouldn't listen, they became cotton, I couldn't even move a finger, I lay down and prayed they wouldn't notice me, or they would kill me. So I lay until the last one was shot. Among the passengers of the coach was one woman. They immediately took her into the forest and were shot amidst the cries of this woman. My mother screamed, and the bandits laughed and fired a bullet into the back of the next one. Finally, the woman's screams fell silent, there was no one else to kill, then the stone that was crushing me and not letting me run away disappeared, and I crawled away and ran to my sheep, not knowing what to tell the shepherds. I forgot to think about the escaped sheep. And what to think about it: clearly, she got into kebabs with robbers and murderers. I decided not to say a word to the shepherds: everyone had a rifle; suddenly, they would want a reward for catching state criminals, and those would kill them and me too. No, it's better to forget this horror, I stayed alive and thanked Allah. I sat on a hill, basking in the sun, just closed my eyes— they kill, I open— the sun, green grass, blue sky, peace and grace, I close my eyes— shoot in the back of the head. I started thinking about the city, remembered my street, my native house, the shop, my friends… And the shepherds found me on the hill with a dead bird in their beak, and the most relaxed ones fell asleep on the stone and ate from the bag with dry bread.

How many years have passed, it's hard to count. I'm the only one left, parents passed away, couldn't bring a wife home, I'm small and ugly, and those who need my shop, not me, I don't need it for free. And the day before yesterday, when I remember that day, I shiver, we were all driven out onto the street to greet the Great and Invincible Iosif Besarionis. My curiosity almost got me killed. I sneaked into the front row, I'm small in stature, want to see everything better, and found myself not far from a group of representatives from all walks of life. They hold bread and salt ready, waiting for the Leader… The car rolled up close to the group, the door opened, Iosif Besarionis stepped out of the car, and then I was pushed, the back rows pressed right under the Leader's feet. I sprawled on the dusty road, my face ended up on the Great Teacher's shoe. He seemed to really like that I kissed his shoe, thought I was, brushed the dust off my suit, then looked me in the eye and said, "Somewhere, kacó, I've met you before, I remember your eyes clearly." I stood like a post, tongue stuck to my teeth with fear, silent and waiting to be executed. But then the welcoming group jealously pushed me aside, and maybe their joy saved my life. Only I heard, managed to hear, every word of the Leader's, addressed to his companion standing nearby: "Arif, we've seen this man somewhere, find out!" I dove into the crowd as quickly as possible and ran home on all fours. Changed my dirty pants for clean ones, took all the money and valuables I had, went to a competitor, who hadn't let anyone through with his proposals recently, and sold him my father's shop, which he significantly let down, here they said that all the property of the fleeing is confiscated, even if this property is transferred or sold to another. To avoid being searched, I told everyone that I was going to a wedding, I won't be home for a few days, and left forever. I moved to a border area where my uncle still lived, where I once herded sheep. I told my uncle everything without hiding. He loved me like a son, he had no children left, they died in the Sierra mountains, helped, introduced to a familiar caravanbashi, didn't require me to lie to him. Which I willingly did… How lucky I was to have the intelligence and strength to run away! How lucky I was to live alone, without a wife and children! How lucky I was that my parents died and no one would be executed by the inquisition for my escape!… Sometimes I miss my native home, my heart aches and tears involuntarily come, but when I remember the suspicious look of Iosif Besarionis, when I remember that horror: only twenty minutes separated me from death when I left the competitor's house, I already noticed a black car parked nearby my house, and only a miracle, blinding the agents who believed I really went to a wedding, saved me; while searching all the weddings in town, I managed to board a train that safely carried me away from death… And the heartache goes away, I only feel happiness from life… True, I had to change my name and nationality and move to the end of the world…»

Aman-Jalil didn't forget about Gulshan, his shot gazelle, whose tender body he dreamed of every night. After the murder of Sardar Ali, Aman-Jalil sent his people after Gulshan, but those sent returned with nothing, the widow and daughter left somewhere unknown, sold the house, garden, land and all livestock… Aman-Jalil slapped them on the cheek.

– The fools of the heavenly king, how will you catch spies if you couldn't find the girl, they didn't fly away through the air, didn't rise into the sky. Blockheads, urgently question, if necessary, neighbors, cashiers at the station… I give you two days, if you don't find out where the widow and daughter went, blame yourselves!

What this word meant, none of the agents knew, but what followed it, they learned so well that they "dug up the earth" until they found a villager who saw the widow in the city at the bazaar, where he brought peaches and a little hashish, you have to live, for sale. The villager was very surprised to see her, they told everyone they were leaving for another vilayat to relatives, not the city. It was harder to search in the city, but Aman-Jalil had his people in every police department, he raised all his own, and a few days later Gulshan was brought to his office.

"I felt he wouldn't forget my body," said Gulshan. "He found it, even though my mother swore no one would find us in the city, not a single devil. One devil was found who found it. I wonder how he found it? Okay, I'll find out later!.. Should I tell him we'll have a baby or not? We'll see… Will her mother have a baby too? Also, a relative. Who will he be to us? My son – brother, because they have one father, at the same time he is also my brother, we have one mother, so he is my son, although I won't give birth to him. Who will he be to his father? A son is clear, a brother like my brother-in-law, and more?.. Will the mother have a son and grandson at the same time. You can get confused… Found to marry? Maybe ashamed? Afraid of the authorities? Scare him?.. No, he won't be scared, won't marry. Two to hell I'll just live with you. First get married, my dear. I'll give birth to your children, we'll live like people."

Aman-Jalil looked at Gulshan and felt his soul overflowing with tenderness and love.

– How her beauty blossomed, what pleasure it will be to dress this body, and even more to undress it. Give her gifts of pleasure, – Aman-Jalil thought, examining every detail of her body.

He drove away other, sinful thoughts: he wanted to undress her right here, in the office, on the wide leather couch he confiscated, where, he didn't remember anymore, and enjoy her instead of this exhausting work.

– Intentionally disappeared? – he asked, jealous.

– What's your business? Are you my husband? – Gulshan jumped up. – In your opinion, did we have to stay for the entertainment of the whole street, or even the city.

– That's right, you couldn't stay, the city is solid! – Aman-Jalil threw contemptuously.

– Listen, what have you attached to me? – offended for the native town Gulshan raged. – You came, trampled on all the laws of hospitality, adat and Quran in addition, did your dirty, black business and still make fun. You, villain, even dishonored my mother…

– Don't talk nonsense, woman, I needed your widow when you were nearby.

– Ara, means you mean, she went for a walk and had a baby?

– This is a driver, eh! I'll tell him, he'll marry your mother… Are you happy now?

– I will be happy if you follow his example and marry me, I'm also expecting a child…

Aman-Jalil was pleased.

– Well done, you make me a man… But I can't get married. Don't ask: why, why? I can't and that's all!..

…It's hard to explain what you don't understand yourself. Ahmed recently called him with a report on confiscation. He was pleased with his share, the amount sent to the capital, to the emir's palace, rejoiced like a child, and when Aman-Jalil was going to leave, he returned him from the door.

– Boy, why don't you get married? The bride didn't grow up?

Aman-Jalil was embarrassed.

– I'm joking, joking, – Ahmed laughed. – Not married yet. I found you a bride: beautiful, smart… True, I can't persuade her, but hope and wait. I said, I'll help!

– Thank you, teacher! – only Aman-Jalil found to say.

Perplexed, he left and couldn't work for a whole day because of excitement, – amused: he took out of a box made of rubber, where winter take, glued them in different places, walked, trained, knocked down with a rubber band, then tied several "flies" to the fan, turned it on, the flow of air spun "flies", and Aman-Jalil shot them "on the fly".

But the confiscation and ruin machine worked, once launched, already independently.

…Aman-Jalil tried to kiss Gulshan, but she sharply and dissatisfied pushed away.

– It's hard to explain to you, even I don't understand.

– What to understand? The child must have a father, and you will be his, or I will go to your boss, remember, I'm still a minor, and I'll tell him everything.

Aman-Jalil laughed, just laughed.

– You're a beauty! – he moaned between fits of laughter. – Parroting your mother's words like a parrot, while you – a gazelle, a doe, a roe deer, should be yourself: timid, graceful, tender. Look at the words you've learned, picked up from that one prisoner, passing on his knowledge to me every day, very smart, a great philosopher, a professor… And here you are talking like a market vendor from the central market. Shame on you!

– Me, ashamed? – protested Gulshan and… burst into tears, wiping them away childishly with her fist. – Who invited you, damned one, came, disgraced, doesn't want to marry and still lectures me.

Ignoring her tears, Aman-Jalil opened the safe and took out the photographs. Gulshan continued to sob.

– Stop crying, enough. Look at these pictures, they're real.

Aman-Jalil threw the photographs on the table in front of Gulshan, then moved to the window. He had admired the photographs so many times that he knew them by heart: all showed Gulshan, naked and in poses she, he was sure, had no idea about… Only one showed her naked partner – Sardar Kareem.

Outside, snow was falling, and rare passers-by hurried to leave the inhospitable, drafty street… Behind Aman-Jalil, there was the sound of a falling body. Aman-Jalil turned in fright and rushed to Gulshan. She lay on the carpet, holding in her hand that very last photograph. Aman-Jalil began to kiss her, trying to bring her to her senses, and then, almost without undressing, greedily took possession of her. His convulsions or the weight of his body brought Gulshan to consciousness. Seeing his face so close above her, she whispered quietly, not fully aware of what was happening:

– Is it really him?

Aman-Jalil silently got off her, bluntly fastened his trousers without hiding, helped Gulshan up, and seated her on the couch.

– It's him, it's me!… The child is mine, but you don't need to know anything else. There are things that it's dangerous to know or think about. I don't advise you to…

Aman-Jalil put the photographs back in the safe, took out a bottle of fine brandy from the shelf, poured half a glass, and made Gulshan drink it.

– Drink, drink, you're so pale, like snow, cold like ice, it's bad for you, bad for the baby, drink and don't talk.

Gulshan drank the brandy without resistance, immediately blushed, and the tremor in her body disappeared. The bad dream she had hoped for did not pass; instead, she suddenly felt the full horror of reality, its inevitability…

– 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?"