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…"
"Did you swallow your tongue out of joy?" Ahmed chuckled.
Aman-Jalil hastily feigned embarrassment. Layla looked at him mockingly and somewhat arrogantly.
"I agree to be your wife, but on one condition: every word of mine is law to you!… Understand?"
Her eyes flashed so fiercely that Aman-Jalil thanked Allah that his heart belonged to Gulshan and Nigyar. Falling for this monster would mean a lifetime of suffering, or at least until you loved. So he obediently bowed his head.
"So it shall be: every word of yours is law to me."
Ahmed clapped his hands. Immediately, servants entered the study carrying a black morning coat for the groom and a white lace gown with Dutch gold embroidery for the bride. Leila went to the sitting room behind the study.
– The mullah is waiting, the priest too. Everything's set at the Palace of Matrimony and Family. First the mosque, then the church. Shame they turned the Catholic cathedral into a warehouse, they've just finished renovating it. And then the seals and champagne at the Palace of Matrimony and Family… How do you like the grand plan?… Oh, here are the golden watches with two diamonds each for you. A gift for your daughter. She's a symbolist, whatever that means—I checked with the medics just in case. They say it's nothing serious… Your gift, the diamond necklace, I've already presented to the bride. Tell me, where did you get such money, huh? You're just a humble inquisition clerk, yet this necklace costs ten times more than what you earn in ten years. Are you saving on matches?
– An aunt passed away and left it to me," Aman-Jalil replied, playing along nervously.
– So, you have several of them? My dear, then I'm at ease about my daughter. She won't know the meaning of 'denial'. Right?
– Don't worry, boss. If a shadow of discontent crosses her face, that shadow will vanish in my dungeons…
– That's right: the pure with the pure, the impure with the impure!
Aman-Jalil changing into his outfit was a matter of minutes. They waited a long time for Leila. Minutes dragged by in complete silence. Ahmed perused papers, jotting notes into a thick, leather-bound tome. 'Mortirologia'. Everyone knew about it, but no mortal, except Ahmed, had ever dared to peer into its pages.
Aman-Jalil watched a fly that had managed to slip past the servants into the study. His fingers automatically reached into his vest pocket, where he had stashed an elastic band from his suit. The fly lazily explored the vast chamber, filled with a sweet scent, gradually approaching Aman-Jalil. On the small table next to him lay a large open box of rum-filled chocolate bombs. Aman-Jalil swatted the fly over the open box, wiped the elastic band absentmindedly on his vest, tucked it back into his pocket, and with his bloodied fingers, picked up a rum-filled chocolate bomb and popped it into his mouth. A tiny sip of rum pleasantly refreshed his throat, and the chocolate eased the mild burn…
Finally, the door from the sitting room swung open, and Leila entered in her bridal attire. The men stood up respectfully, struck by her beauty and elegance. Although Aman-Jalil briefly thought Gulshan would look just as stunning in that expensive bridal gown. He thought, then pushed the thought aside and knelt before Leila.
– Goddess, I am your unworthy servant! To look upon you is to be blinded by the sun!
Leila was very pleased with the impression she made, soothed by Aman-Jalil's submission…
No mullah had ever married such an odd couple. 'I commit sacrilege, Allah! But understand: if I refuse, at best they'll throw me in prison, at worst they'll kill me, I know them. Neither of them believes in you, so this whole spectacle is illegal, but what do they care? They've desecrated the holy mosque, and now they're off to the church. They close down temples and mosques, turn them into warehouses or even stables.'
The mullah hurried through the ceremony, swiftly reciting verses from the Quran as a lesson, but upon receiving the money, he counted it with pleasure, as he hadn't seen such a sum in a year.
The wedding ceremony at the church was long and solemn. But then Leila became restless, running around the chancel, dragging Aman-Jalil, her father, the priest, and the others present along with her. She tore off her veil and waved it around, singing an inappropriate French song. The priest silently moved his lips, praying to himself so as not to incur the wrath of the Lord, and was on the verge of fainting.
– Champagne! – Leila shouted.
A crate of champagne appeared instantly. Ancient icons had often heard the clash of swords, the whistle of arrows, gunfire, but they had never heard the popping of corks from bottles. It was as if wild hordes had burst into the temple of love and forgiveness, bringing in horses and setting fires. But these were not fires; they were generous tips. Leila lit them from the candles and tossed them into the air or stuck them under the icons. They drank champagne, sprinkled it on the chancel, and poured it on the icons…
The revelry continued at the Palace of Matrimony and Family. Gleaming with excitement, Leila hurled crystal glasses at the walls and champagne bottles through the windows, shattering the glass. She theatrically tore apart the marriage registry book. The solemnity of the ceremony was shattered. At Ahmed's signal, another book was swiftly brought in, a separate one, bound in satin, with gold embossing on thick paper. Leila resigned herself, signed her name coldly, and gave Aman-Jalil a cool kiss.
At the feast table, Leila was the epitome of calmness. She looked at the abundance laid out before her but did not eat or drink. For such an occasion as a wedding, Ahmed had ordered the museum's ancient imperial gold service, a gift from the Emir, and the guests reverently partook from this service, feeling themselves among the world's elite.
In bed, Aman-Jalil was pleasantly surprised to find she was still a virgin. True, her expertise raised some doubts, but Aman-Jalil had known since childhood how girls could engage in sex while remaining virgins… Therefore, he proudly displayed the sheets with fresh bloodstains to the assembled guests, provoking a wave of delight and another reason for new toasts and libations.
Out of habit more than curiosity, when he returned to duty, Aman-Jalil requested information on his wife from the capital's archives. The information stunned him. The report listed numerous romantic liaisons of Leila's, but those were trivial; what truly astounded Aman-Jalil was that a year ago, Leila had officially married, registering her union in the capital out of great love, severing all her numerous romantic ties.
Aman-Jalil tasked his agent-doctor to visit all clinics, and within a day, a frightened surgeon stood before Aman-Jalil, begging for mercy.
– If