you won’t suffer a loss. Better go and say hello to Yesirkep. Kyz-Zhibek is starting in three minutes.’ People were pressing on all sides, and Tashkenbai had to give in. When the film started, he, supported on both sides, was already sitting by the television, occasionally dropping his head on his chest. Astonished at what was happening on the screen, Tashkenbai shouted out, ‘Oh, God!’ He glared fiercely at Yesirkep, but allowed himself nothing more. However, this incident undermined Yesirkep’s hitherto unquestionable authority. Uzun-Kulak had done his dirty work, and even on the central homestead there were some snide jokes about Yesirkep, so that he now had an excuse for stopping the station every day. Gradually he resumed his humility and silently endured the taunts. Today he was quite sure that no one had noticed his behaviour during the earthquake, but for some reason the rumour spread throughout the village. In the evening he came home angry and attacked his wife from the doorstep: ‘I will kick you out! Divorce! If it comes to that, Yesirkep can do without his wife. Go back to your parents!’ His wife knew what had happened. ‘What’s got into you?’ she asked calmly, putting the noodles into the pan. ‘Have you slept with evil spirits?’ ‘Urgh, wretch,’ cried Yesirkep. ‘The rumour has spread all over the village, and now she pretends not to understand anything. Who but you saw me hit the child?’ ‘Stop talking nonsense!’ said Kamasiya as she con- tinued with her noodles. ‘Change your clothes, wash your hands and sit down at the table. Dinner is ready.’ ‘Don’t change the subject! Who else could have told those chatterboxes how I hit the child and jumped out of the house?’ ‘Who could have told? Your son did. He’s been playing outside all day.’ Yesirkep, bewildered by this simple explanation, was momentarily confused. Kamasiya hummed into her palm and, unable to restrain herself, clutched her stomach and laughed until she cried. Yesirkep became alarmed. ‘Hey, hey, that’s enough! The children will hear you!’ he hissed miserably in a voice that had settled with confusion. And then he ran out into the street. If a Kazakh starts to make a fuss over someone, no good can come of it. Yesirkep’s peers were tirelessly spreading new stories about him, presenting fiction as truth, and turning the truth into God’s punishment. Who would have thought that