business!’

***

When the British approached the square in front of the combine, Ashten was already standing on the plinth, staring at the dried lambskin that he held high in his outstretched hands. The lights, all of them directed onto the statue, made the statue look huge and majestic. Zhanaidarov himself was struck by this view of the statue. The English guests walked around the statue, respectfully and admiringly looking at it with the most enthusiastic words. ‘Amazing!’, ‘wonderful!’ ‘Rare art!’ came to Zhanaidarov’s ears, and with each passing moment he felt more and more excited, his heart clenched tightly as if fine needles were being thrust into it. Don’t let them be too long, take them away quickly,’ he whispered to the instructor as he walked past and looked at the Communist Party secretary for ideology with great respect. Averting his eyes, he raised his face to the sky and sighed. Then he noticed a trickle of white steam escaping from his mouth. It was only now that he remembered that the rain that had fallen in the morning and towards the end of the day had turned to snow, and he saw flakes of snow that whipped around the sharp beams of the searchlight, and the white, slightly thawed, shoulder straps of Ashten’s black overcoat. He stood motionless, bravely exposing his face to the falling snow, and Zhanaidarov admired the selflessness of the plumber. He even felt pity for him in his heart. Despite the fact that the secretary of the district party committee hurried things along, the foreign guests kept walking around the statue, and were in no rush to leave the square in front of the factory. They wanted to know where the stone for the plinth had come from, when it was erected, who first came up with the idea of commemorating the first master of leather tanning, who the sculptor was, and what school and style was favoured. In general, they completely messed with Zhanaidarov’s head. He barely had time to fend off the questions that were falling like snow from the dark sky. At one point he noticed with horror that the secretary of the regional committee for ideology had come up to them and was also listening in silence. ‘Praise to Allah!’ he thought, frightened by his lies about the stone being transported from afar and other details about the

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