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.