THE MAN WITH TWO HEADS
Utkul did not stop talking for a minute.
- Do you think you saved a simple warrior? No, dear. Know this: I am entrusted with important matters by the great Ynancho Alp Bilge himself, our great ajo-kagan Bars-beg. Don't believe it? Just take a look at this.
Utkul pulled out a bundle and took out a long iron sword. It shimmered blue, only the blades made of welded steel sparkled as if they had a silver edge.
- This is not an ordinary sword! It was made for Bars-beg himself... The best ore was mined from the belly of the Temir mountain!.. You surely have not seen how this is done, and how skilled blacksmiths forge a sword, how they weld steel blades that no chainmail can withstand... And the steel for the tip falls from the sky... Don’t be surprised. It is sent by Tengri-kudai himself when it rains. Have you seen how stars fall?
- There I see a yurt, — said Yaruk, — shall we not replenish ourselves with the hospitable host?
Utkul looked ahead. There, in the hollow, at the slope of the hill, an unremarkable yurt was visible; smoke was curling around it.
- Hey! It’s not worth going there. A despicable man lives there. A guest may be defiled by meeting such a host.
- I don’t understand...
- What’s unclear? When I say “despicable man,” it means just that.
- Still, we need to stop. We have no supplies, and my stomach is starting to grumble.
- Fine. You pulled me out of the water - I concede. Besides, my stomach is also making its voice heard.
When they got closer, it became clear: at the summer open hearth, two women were bustling about, and several children were running around. A piebald horse, waving its tail, was grazing nearby. About twenty sheep were scattered across the slopes of the hill.
Behind the first yurt stood a second one, just as shabby.
At the sight of the horsemen, the women, with loud cries, grabbed the children and disappeared into the back yurt. A wolfhound ran towards the guests, choking on its angry barking.
Utkul drove it away with his whip. Finally, the host emerged from the front yurt, a tall gray-haired man with a gloomy, emaciated face. He called the wolfhound back, made an inviting gesture, and disappeared behind the flap again.
Utkul dismounted, but Yaruk remained seated, as if turned to stone. A grayish pallor emerged on his face through the bronze tan, even his lips turned blue...
— What’s wrong?..
Yaruk came to his senses.
— What was that hanging around his neck? - he rasped out.
— Didn’t you see? The head of his thieving son. Punished according to custom... Now he will carry it until his death. That’s why he is a Despicable Man.
Yaruk finally dismounted, they hobbled the horses, let them graze right there on the lush grass, and entered the yurt. The host stood at the entrance.
He did not greet them with a single word, only grimly pointed to the honored places, two piles of sheep skins.
When the guests sat down, he muttered:
- Food will be served soon. — And remained standing.
Yaruk’s pallor disappeared; now his face was flushed crimson. He could not take his eyes off the host’s chest: there, on a thin cord, hung a human head. With short light brown hair. Wrinkled, shrunken, smoked, and seemingly gnawed by moths. It was the head of a seventeen-year-old youth; as far as one could see, the features of the face would have been even pleasant if it were not for the torturous grimace frozen forever.
A woman entered. Bowing low, not looking at the guests, she silently spread an old but freshly washed tablecloth, broke pieces of flatbread. Another woman entered, set down two cups for kumys and handed over a leather bag. The women also brought dried meat on a plate, lumps of cheese, and a condiment: salt in a salt shaker and a bunch of spicy herbs that whet the appetite. After that, they silently disappeared. The host remained standing at the threshold.
Utkul eagerly began to eat. But Yaruk could not eat. He tried to overcome the spasms of nausea; it seemed to him that the horrible smell of the smoked corpse was sticking to his skin, penetrating heavily into his nostrils, and rising mournfully from his stomach to his throat. Sweat broke out on his forehead. Overcoming himself, he said:
— Dear, take your rightful place.
Utkul seemed to feel nothing. He raised his head and, with a mouth full, retorted:
— The Despicable Man with Two Heads, according to custom, cannot share a meal with guests who have honored him with their visit. Isn’t that unknown to you, oh Yaruk? After all, his son is a thief, and his son’s head is on his chest.
— This is a bad custom, — replied Yaruk. — But there is another custom: if the guest wishes it, the host sits down.
— That’s the last thing I need! To smell this smoked thieving head...
— There is a third custom: if the guest allows it, the host has the right to remove this head for a while...
— Do as you wish, — Utkul replied angrily.
Yaruk bowed:
— Do as I ask, host...
The host obediently removed his terrible amulet, shuffled over to the pile of dishes, and carefully hid it in a clay jug, covering it with a lid. Yaruk noticed that the jug was full of dry fragrant herbs: wormwood and some others. After that, he sat further away from the guests, closer to the exit, away from the honored place.
The women entered and served hot broth.
The conversation did not flow. Utkul slurped with enjoyment. Yaruk, however, only pretended to eat. The same was true for the host.
Having eaten his fill, the kagan's warrior burped loudly, leaned back on the skins, and began to talk again. His tone carried haughty and contemptuous notes.
— I haven’t been to your yurt for a long time, Man with Two Heads... I remember you used to camp closer to the river. How long have you been here?
— Two moons.
— Do you have any connections with relatives?
— No.
— And rightly so! — approved Utkul. — Why burden people with such kinship?
The host said nothing, but Yaruk said:
— You should check on your horse: it may wander far, and you are in a hurry.
— That’s true! I’ll go take a look. Wouldn’t want it to be stolen: these are thieving places, heh-heh-heh!..
Satisfied with his wit, Utkul went out. Yaruk immediately turned to the host:
— I will not say words of consolation, host. I will only say this: you bear the grief that has befallen you with courage.
The host replied:
— Can the Unstained understand the Stained...
— Do you even know who I am? Perhaps I am a thief myself? The host stared at the guest in amazement.
— Yes, I am a thief, I tell you. I was very young, just a pup. Our bag was managed by Texin-inal, a fat boar.
He took a liking to my older sister. And he took her. And he didn’t even make her his wife — he already had seven wives — but just as a servant by the pillow. And he paid a bride price — two sheep and a lame stallion. And my sister was a beauty...
Yaruk stretched out his right leg, tucking the left one under.
— I was filled with resentment. We conspired with my peers and stole several mares from Texin-inal... What a commotion it caused! The fat boar Texin-da'al sent hundreds of horsemen everywhere. We were caught. That night I escaped, went into the mountains.
And my friends were executed. Their fathers, like you, are now obliged to carry their sons' heads on their necks...
Agitation distorted the host's features, he hoarsely asked:
— What is your name?
— You still do not recognize me, esteemed Mamyr-ata? Before you is Tiklich, the friend of your executed son. Just now call me Yaruk. You do not recognize me — and it’s no wonder: twenty winters have passed! Your son was our leader, the chief of all the young horsemen of our aul. And my sister was his fiancée. That’s why we decided to take revenge on the fat boar Texin-inal... Twenty winters, twenty years I hid in the mountains. At first, I mined ore from the belly of the mountains — there is no worse work than this! But there they did not ask what your kin was... And now I want to see my native places. What is there to fear now? If you did not recognize me, who will recognize me?
The host did not have time to respond. Utkul entered:
— It’s time to mount the horses. The great kagan Bars-beg himself is waiting for me.
As he was leaving, Yaruk whispered:
— At the first opportunity, I will visit you, father...
Nizami Ganjavi "Iskander-name"