Ayesha slid off the chair onto his knees.

– I swear by my father, I didn't know, damn it, I've only seen this relative once. I'll eat dirt, he's deceiving you, dear chief.

– Perhaps, perhaps, they're capable of anything. But unfortunately, it's possible that you will still learn about the delights of Bibir Island.

Ayesha banged his forehead on the floor.

– I beg you, dear Aman-Jalil, save me, I'll do anything for you, want me to write a book for you "Iosif Besarionis and the Children," and you can present it to the Great Leader.

– Let's think about it, let's think… Listen, do you know Kasym?

– I've met him, but he doesn't read my stories from the stage, prefers to write them himself.

– Write one that he will read, one that can get him arrested. "Set him up," and I'll remove you from the lists, I promise. Are you willing to help me?

– I'll do everything, boss!… There's one story about Iosif Besarionis's mustache.

– Listen, isn't that the one whose author is already relaxing on the island?

– I'll offer it to Kasym as my own. No one knows about this story.

– Go, work for the good of your country.

There were such terrible rumors about the delights of Bibir Island, and the writer's imagination was so rich that Ayesha had to drink heart drops at home, even though his heart was perfectly healthy… Taking a copy of the manuscript from its hiding place, for which the author was arrested not without Ayesha's help, he retyped it on his typewriter. Kasym had other manuscripts, and he could accidentally compare the fonts. But Ayesha didn't dare to call Kasym and personally hand him the story, afraid to reveal himself with something. So, he called Kasym's friend, the cabaret director Bulov, and asked him to come over in the evening to take the manuscript for Kasym. Bulov willingly agreed; Ayesha always had good cognac, as soon as he hinted that gasoline was expensive these days, Ayesha pulled out a bottle of Courvoisier from the buffet and poured a glass. Bulov, slowly savoring, squeezed out the cognac and, taking the manuscript for Kasym, left. On the way, he stopped by the club of underground millionaires, met a couple of acquaintances in the buffet, drank a glass of vodka on their tab, washing it down with a glass of dry wine, then his friends persuaded him to take them to a restaurant to meet the veterans of the battles in the Serra mountains, the veterans had already stopped consuming strong spirits. Overloaded beyond measure, Bulov remembered that he promised to deliver the manuscript to Kasym.

The steering wheel of the car stopped obeying Bulov, so the director decided to leave the car at the restaurant and walk, luckily Kasym lived in the center, nearby. But after a block, Bulov saw the woman of his dreams and went after her. The woman was a professional, hoping for an acquaintance, she walked slowly, but Bulov thought she was speeding like an express train. Staggering from side to side, he stubbornly followed her, but caught up with her only in the old city district, when the woman, convinced that she was being approached, simply stopped. Bulov circled her for a long time, then tediously seduced the woman, from those women who make their piece of bread with butter on the panel, and was very proud of himself when he convinced her to take him home. He offered her twenty-five coins, so he liked her. If the woman demanded payment, the night of adventures would have cost Bulov only five coins, and twenty would have remained for a familiar venereologist. But the pleasure of being able to persuade another woman also cost something, let it be an extra twenty coins.