confident in myself! Two weeks later, he was kicked again in a youth newspaper. The article was called “Shadow on the Wattle Fence…” On that same day he called Bagila. “I’m at the hotel,” he said, barely saying hello. “I’m sitting in a friend’s room, we studied together. He left on a business trip, will be late in the evening. I’m waiting.” “Will we be together?” “When will you stop being afraid of me? Like a real Kazakh, you are horrified by the word ‘hotel.’” “Yes. I will always be afraid of you.” She heard Jasyn chuckle. “I promise I’m not scary all of the time. How soon can you be with me?” Bagila thought about how long it would take her to travel, and then asked: “Should I bring today’s article?” “No need. It’s here in front of me. I’m in room five hundred and thirty.” “Okay, I’ll be there in an hour.” It was the last days of May. Low-rise buildings were drowned in blooming lilacs and apple trees, only high- rise buildings broke out of the spring boil, reflecting the pink light of the evening sun on their marble walls. In the south, an icy horseshoe, trimmed with blue spruce forests, stood on the Alatau, proudly carrying its grandeur and eternal beauty. Bagila was suddenly overwhelmed with joy. Waving a thick camel-hair sweater in her arms, she merrily ran up the stairs. Climbing up to the fifth floor, she went to the door numbered five hundred and thirty. Probably, he was waiting for her at the very doorstep: as soon as she knocked, Jasyn opened the door, instantly dragged her into the room, kissed both of her hands in turn. “The horror!” Bagila exclaimed, looking at him and wincing. “It reeks of booze! Have you been drinking alone.” “Yes. Sometimes it’s good to drink alone, without a drinking buddy.” “What’s good about that? Turns out that you could not resist criticism, huh? This weakness doesn’t really fit your character.” Bagila said, throwing the sweater on the bed and settling herself in an armchair opposite Jasyn. “Are you sick by any chance? Your eyes don’t look so good.” “No,” Jasyn shook his head. “It is impossible for my eyes to be ablaze with fire.” “Yes, your affairs are apparently not going so well,” said Bagila. “Why did you call me?” “In honour of the criticism addressed to me.”
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