are allegedly sold in Tashkent at every turn. “One has only to go out into the street, as the tablecloth is already out laid in front of you,” he exclaimed dreamily. “As long as you have some roubles, you can eat your fill!” The storyteller seemed to have arrived from a distant unknown country and therefore did not know that those sitting in the car had been to Tashkent at least five or six times already… Bagila stared intently at the white stripes on the pavement flying under the car, and wondered to her- self: how can such mature, respectable people talk with pleasure about some petty, meaningless things, laugh, downright laugh where there is nothing to laugh at, even at the slightest things. The cars in front stopped next to a six-story building in the very centre of the city, they were so close they were basically squeezing each other. The owner of the apartment building turned out to be a lean, tall, middle-aged man with thick grey hair beyond his age, the same one who had been talking about his trip to Tashkent all the way over here without a break. When they noisily entered the apartment, they were met by a beautiful swarthy hostess of about thirty, smiling shyly at the door. “Oh, Malika, how are you?” Exclaimed her father, and Bagila realised that this woman was the wife of the fan of Tashkent shish kebabs. Quickly wiping her hands on her apron, she embraced her father, saying: “Oh, Karatai, it turns out you’re here as well!” She rushed to serve the guests slippers. “You used to come often, but then you became the boss and disappeared before our eyes. Have you gained any weight? Well let me see!” She began to examine Karatai from all sides. “No, looks like your stomach still isn’t ahead of you.” But remember, the first head of the district should not be thinner than necessary.” “Malika, don’t forget that we have another distinguished guest in our house today,” the owner said sternly to his wife, who, in his opinion, was too carried away by Karatai. She turned to Bagila, who was quiet in the corner of the corridor. “Oh goodness, how lovely! Beautiful! I remember your name is Bagila?” Maliki gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Indeed, it is not time that ages a person, but those who they
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