But Nigyar, as the singer was called, belonged to those circles where Aman-Jalil had not yet been granted access and where he was eager to enter. Perhaps that's why Aman-Jalil craved her love, admiration, her attachment. But this "ungrateful" woman refused to see him, sent back expensive gifts. But most offensive to Aman-Jalil was that Nigyar was the wife of Kasym-the-know-it-all, who had tormented him with mockery at school. Kasym worked as a compere, leading his wife's concerts, filling the pauses between numbers with jokes, humorous sketches… His wife, apparently, had told him about Aman-Jalil's courtship, and Kasym publicly shamed him, not naming names, but Aman-Jalil understood everything, he had already learned to understand half-words, and Kasym-the-know-it-all he always understood. And he always had the desire to slap Kasym like a fly, he hated this brazen, insolent man.

But his hands were tied. Kasym was a relative of Ahmed himself, not close, but a relative. And it was impossible to take him with bare hands. Especially since at all government concerts, Kasym spoke the right words, only those that are allowed to be spoken. But at government concerts, Kasym did not perform so often. But at regular concerts, Kasym, as Aman-Jalil found out, also managed to work as an intelligence officer, catching foreign agents who flew into our "world center" under the guise of musicians. Kasym was very intelligent, for Aman-Jalil's love of Nigyar's family, the government would not touch him. And so the matter was at an impasse.

Times were changing, but Kasym couldn't change quickly enough. He often had a strange dream: that wings were growing out of him and he was leaping off a cliff, flying far, far away through the darkness of the night towards the horizon ablaze with the dawn's flickers. Yet, the wings started to fall apart feather by feather, and how helpless his hands felt in the air, how powerless they were, nothing to lean on, nowhere to hold onto, and the abyss was endless, and as he fell, Kasym gradually dissolved into the air, or rather merged…

Aman-Jalil decided to try to destroy Kasym, to "catch" him on something. For this, he needed qualified help. So, he summoned Ayesha, a well-known writer in the city and throughout the country. Aman-Jalil knew well that the writer also worked in the circus and cabaret, writing sketches and replays under the pseudonym Pendyr. The summons to the inquisition already evoked a tremor of respect in the law-abiding hearts of citizens; for many, this summons proved to be final, and they did not return home. Therefore, the writer, pale as a wall, looked obsequiously at Aman-Jalil and was ready for anything. Aman-Jalil spent a long time compiling lists of "conspirators," paying no attention to Ayesha. Then he graciously noticed him.

– Dear Ayesha! Have you been here long? These secretaries don't understand anything about visitors. They have one measure for everyone. And I'm exhausted, I have no strength left.

– It's okay, it's okay, – stammered Ayesha, – I'll wait, I have plenty of time, not in a hurry.

– Once we summon someone here, they stop thinking about work. They're only interested in their own skin. Do you understand me, my friend?

– Clearly, how could I not understand, I completely agree with you.

– Do you know that your relative has been arrested?

– I know, of course, but I declare that he is not my relative and not even of the same surname. Among the Ayeshas, there have never been degenerates.

– A major conspirator, eh! I swear by my father, I don't know what to do: he claims that you, dear respected writer, knew about his conspiracy. No, he doesn't say you were involved, I don't claim that, it's up to the investigator to say, but he knew.