In the evenings, Aman-Jalil entertained solitary-minded idiots who thought they were being unfairly equated with geniuses: "They do nothing but think, even a donkey thinks with its big head, but we work, build—whatever we build doesn't matter, the main thing is that we build. We don't think, we work. They think, but don't work. They all get the same, unfair. The district sardar thinks those who think mean something, we don't need thinkers, we need workers. If they don't work, they don't make mistakes. If we make mistakes, it means we work. Those who think don't make mistakes, but they also don't work. It's clear that if anyone doesn't work on building the new society, they are a rotten shard left by the windswept overturn of Renka's despotic regime. When there was only the base freedom to leave the country and return, choose something tasty to satisfy their belly from an abundance of food, but there was not a gram of freedom to build a new bright building, for the construction of which it is mandatory to forcibly drive under guard everyone capable of working. Only those who cannot, who have no strength, have the right not to work, but they have no right to demand food from us. 'Those who work—live, those who don't—die.' The bright building must be built faster, give all your strength to construction, even if there is no strength left to live in this bright building. But others will say, 'Well done, thank you!'"

However, despite Sardar Ali's dissatisfaction, Aman-Jalil did not find the compromising material that Ahmed expected from him.

"There's nothing easier than fabricating the truth," Aman-Jalil recalled his math teacher saying when asked, "what is seven times two?" He answered, "eighteen." "But your fabrication is closer to the truth than if you had said, 'twenty-five.' In mathematics, truth matters, not personal truth, so I give you a 'two'."

"And if there's nothing easier than fabricating something, then you have to concoct something more absurd yet convincing… A photograph, one that could serve as evidence, but a photograph of what?"

The district center was a larger, dirtier village. Aman-Jalil pulled up to the largest building, confident it was Sardar Ali's house. To his surprise, the house turned out to be a place of meetings and decision-making. A large ship bell hung in front of the house, somehow finding its way into this dry province, very far from the sea, clearly serving as the town bell.

"Which country did they bring this thing from? Some Ottoman must have thought it golden, see how it sparkles. They use rough brick to clean it, no different from a corporal in the military making you polish buttons with pounded red brick," Aman-Jalil thought enviously.

Sardar Kareem lived nearby in a small adobe house with his wife and a bunch of children. The serenity on his blissful face made him resemble ancient Byzantine icons.

"It's a pity I can't accommodate you in my house, it's too small, but I'll settle you next door, there's a widow with a daughter living there, plenty of room, very cozy," he sadly sang, and the gray in his beard and temples shimmered with pure silver, while tenderness and affection stood in his eyes. "I'll visit you there, have tea, talk, you must have a lot of news, I've never left the district, they still shoot in the mountains, those overthrown seek revenge, kill from around the corner, one infiltrated the police, bringing much evil. When those who are supposed to protect fail, they also rob and kill, it's scary. robbers are now lawmakers. Then lies will become truth, truth lies, black white, and white will be canceled by decree: 'what looks white is only gray in reality'…"

"Individual cases, sardar, we won't allow former enemies to take our place. Even executioners have their own…"

"There should be no executioners in our society, we fought for a long time to eliminate them…"

"Executioners have always been, are, and will be, executioners are more necessary than science, science can be forbidden, various astrology can be canceled, but executioners, like bread, are necessary. You can't live without bread, sardar!.."

Sardar Kareem escorted Aman-Jalil and the chauffeur into the widow's house. Aman-Jalil surreptitiously scrutinized the widow's face, trying to read the true nature of Sardar Ali's relationship with her, but her eyes were empty, her face covered in the ashes of sorrow. Later in conversation, Aman-Jalil would learn that the widow's husband had been recently killed by the bandits who had infiltrated the police. They brutally burned him alive in a barn with two friends.

"No, you won't find compromising material in their relationship. As the saying goes, 'a friend of a deceased husband and nothing more'… Aman-Jalil was starting to despair. He remembered Ahmed's words well: 'you're stuck with compromising material for life'… And the tone in which these words were spoken left no doubt that this would indeed be the case."

The widow's daughter, Gulshan, entered the room, and Aman-Jalil was taken aback, struck by a decision that came to him instantly, at first glance at her… The girl's beauty could captivate any man: a young doe couldn't match her elegance and grace, a panther her flexibility and resilience. Eyes like Gulshan's had been praised by poets and lovers for thousands of years… Aman-Jalil was conquered by her appearance, but he had no intention of canceling his plans. He liked what he had planned very much, and it would be doubly foolish to cancel it. Pity briefly touched his heart and flew away, frightened by the cold.

Softly and somewhat timidly, Aman-Jalil asked Sardar Ali to acquaint him with the necessary documents for which he had come on inspection from such a distance.

"You understand, respected one, that besides your vilayat, I have two more, and I would like to return to the city as soon as possible… Duty to fulfill."

"Of course, my dear, such zeal in work is rare these days. You deserve recognition…"

Surprised by such zeal, Sardar Kareem invited Aman-Jalil to follow him. As he left, Aman-Jalil turned at the door and cast such a submissive look at Gulshan, this delicate gazelle, that even a large, fat green fly didn't make him want to snatch a rubber band from his pocket and deal with it…

There were few papers, and those that interested Aman-Jalil were nonexistent, but he timed it so that he could finish with them only late in the evening. And then he immediately expressed a desire to leave for another vilayat.

"Such perfect order, I swear by my father. I could have stayed away. But you understand, sardar, orders are not discussed. They are only executed. Quickly executed… Forgive me for bothering you, respected one…"

But Sardar Kareem, as willingly as we fall into a trap set for us, insisted that Aman-Jalil and his companion spend the night:

—"I won't let you go. It's dangerous at night in the mountains, I warned you, they shoot… You are our honored guest, can we allow anything to happen to you… And they haven't told you the news yet…