Unbearable silence

      The day started off tense. Yesterday, after Amala arrived, there was a kind of reception, as for an acting ambassador. She did not have any rights to present her credentials, but she had every right to participate in the conference and conduct briefings. Today, at nine o'clock in the morning, she had a meeting with the Secretary of the Foreign Office in charge of British affairs. The driver seemed silent, but very curious or suspicious, because he could not take his eyes off Amala. However, all the employees of the diplomatic mission were famous for this: for a long time they could not get used to the fact that the representative of England wore a sari. Amala was neutral about this, seeing no point in expressing anything. But at the end of the trip the driver could not stand it:       —Miss, do you really represent the United Kingdom? - He asked with a guilty look.       — Yes. - Amala smiled.       —But how could this happen?       — The will of fate. “She answered mysteriously, getting out of the car.       The Ministry of Foreign Affairs appeared as a huge building, divided into four wings: north, east, west and south. The square was landscaped with a bright lawn and flower beds, the paths were paved with red stone. Gardeners were already working here in the morning. Having granted diplomatic permission, Amala walked into the hall where she was directed. The spacious corridors gave a feeling of freshness that was missing in the hot days of the approaching spring. Amala was greatly impressed by the story from the Ramayana, laid out in mosaics. Having entered the desired wing, she found a man in a formal suit hanging around the door of his own office. Amala appeared before him in confusion:       — Good afternoon, I beg your pardon, is Mr. Kapoor waiting for someone else?       — Hello. Mr. Kapoor waits for no one except his workers. They didn’t have time to decorate the office for Navratri. - He shrugged, pulling his hand: - Miss Khan?       Amala was quite surprised, grinning:       —So you are Mr. Kapoor?        “I am.” He answered his throat, grinning. - I am very glad to see you. It's a shame it's in this situation.       — It's okay, we'll wait. I'll pretend nothing happened.       —May I allow you to sit down? “He spread his arms, pointing to the official chairs where the press or security usually sat. “You won’t be offended?”       — Of course not! “Amala carefully sat down on the edge of the expensive upholstery. - This is not a muveton, you are on the contrary... It has hospitality.       Mr. Kapoor laughed.       —The main thing is to have hospitality, but whether you have a home is no longer important, is it?       — Indeed. Heaven is in the hut, you know.       - Yes... - The Dreamer drawled, clasping his hands behind his back. - The main thing is to be with the right person.       Amala nodded.       — How were you received? Any complaints or suggestions?       —Everything is great, thank you. Nice staff, everything was on time, the food was delicious, the room was clean. It's a pleasure to be with you, thank you.       —Yes, it’s good that someone was a little luckier with the staff. “He pointed to the door, behind which there was some rustling.       — It's okay. The main thing is that we found a common language. After all, that was the purpose of the meeting, wasn’t it?       —You noticed correctly. Life is easier if you can enjoy the little things. Such people will go far.       Amala nodded.       —Are you nervous before the briefing?       — Honestly, no. The reason is serious, there will be no press. I don't see any point in worrying in vain.       — That's right. Not the first time, right?       — Yes, I have already replaced the director of the department in Switzerland, and led the emergency mission in France.       — Wow. — Kamal raised his eyebrows in interest. — Wave is not bad for such a young age. It's nice that we were sent an experienced specialist.       Amala grinned without a hint of embarrassment.       —I also had to work a lot for this.       The hint was taken. The office doors burst open with a bang and workers came out, speaking loudly in the local dialect. While waiting for the noisy crowd to pass, Mr. Kapoor finally invited Amala to enter:       —An ambassador may not wait for another ambassador, but he must wait until construction work is completed in his office.       Amala laughed, but let out a delighted sigh when she entered. The spacious office was decorated with flower garlands, and behind Mr. Kapoor’s desk there was a portrait of Indira Gandhi, hung with orange velvet flowers.       — Wow! - She couldn’t resist.       —Thank you. - He smiled embarrassedly. — You can visit all our festivals. You won't see anything like that there!       —I’ll definitely try!..—Amala stammered, looking around the office.

***

      Ambika and Julia sat glued to the TV.       ” — Beat me to death, just don’t touch him, don’t touch the boy! I beg you, I beg you!..” - Came from the screen.       - Lord, what a nightmare... - Ambika gasped, whose eyes were already wet.       —Don't talk. What time is it, by the way? - They looked at their watches. - Damn, it's already four! And I’m going to see grandma at five!       Ambika froze. Jul I looked at the unwashed floor in horror:       —Get up, quickly! Let's clean up urgently!       Ambika, having come to her senses, rose from her seat. The girls began to divide the rags.       — Bindi! - Julia exclaimed.       “Oh,” Ambika gasped, barely touching the spot on her forehead painted with red lipstick.       - Okay, go wash it off, I'll vacuum it for now.       Julia took out a huge machine, and a rustling sound began. The sound of the water did not subside, Julia looked in to check on her friend. The whole sink was painted red, as was her friend’s face.       — Doesn't rub off!       —Now we’ll wipe it off. — Julia rushed for bandages and face cream. She rubbed Ambika’s face for a long time, trying to erase something. She cleaned up, but with great difficulty.       —Come on, I’ll do it myself. Finish it.       I also had to scrub the sink. Julia finished dry cleaning just as Ambika started mopping the floor in her room. Julia armed herself with a rag and began to wash the windows and sills. From the crunchy TV speakers came a tearful song in Farsi:       “People, it’s better to beat the temples       But don't beat your hearts!       In a brave heart in love       The soul lives on.       On the scales where the heart was hung       Never count coins.       It’s better to just be silent, now it’s better to just be silent.       Nothing left to say, nothing more to say.       The fire was blazing between them —       It was extinguished with water.       Only the flame will ignite       With a lover's tear.       I overcame the sadness within myself,       And silence - she was able to do it.       Nothing to say, nothing to say.       Nothing more to say..."       The girls had no time to look at the screen; they were busy thoroughly cleaning the floor. But the song stirred something in my soul.       What happiness it was when only the living room remained, in which the TV was located. Sometimes, while glancing at the characters, wiping shop windows, glass and mirrors, the girls could listen to the dialogues:       “—I understood you perfectly, Mr. Braganza. I understand what you want.       —I am a modest person, Mr. Nath. I do not need anything. But for my daughter I was always ready to do anything! I should fail in this place. I have only one Bobby, and I don’t feel sorry for her.       —I also only have one Raj. And I don’t feel sorry for anything for his happiness. But he is too young and does not understand that his happiness is actually misfortune. But you overestimated your strength, Mr. Braganza. Your dreams will never come true. I believe you yourself felt that we are completely different people and the gap between us is huge. So how dare you hope that I will accept your daughter into my home?       — Did you decide that I was looking for some kind of benefit in this?!       —I am a fairly rich man. And Raj is my heir. But this fool only sees the bait and does not see the hook. Although the bait, I must admit, is beautiful..."       A couple of lovers danced while their parents argued on the ground floor. The screams were drowned out by the “Danube Waves” waltz. Ambika and Julia hid their eyes, sympathizing with the heroes.       Finally, the washing was completed. Throwing the rags to dry, they changed clothes.       —Come on, come on quickly, grandma is already waiting...       — I'm running! - Ambika shouted, fastening the necklace. They were already ready when he ran out of the house, barely having time to close it.       They ran to the village square. The wedding was already being celebrated there. Trying to remain unnoticed, Ambika and Julie ran behind the houses, hiding behind bushes and trees. Grandmother also sat at home, keeping silent so that no one would see her going to another holiday. Julia ducked through the door of the low bungalow, pulling Ambika with her.       —Grandma, we have arrived! “She screamed, kicking off her shoes.       —Why so late! - Mrs. Mary wailed excitedly, running up to them. — Has the ceremony started yet?       — Yes! — Julia answered tragically in a whisper. - Maybe I should run away myself?       — Under no circumstances! - Mrs. Jones waved her hand categorically, - Marcus should receive a gift from me. I promised him, you know?       Julia rolled her eyes.       — Ambika, baby, do you still agree to go? Can you stay for the wedding?       —No, auntie, I’ll go with you. “She smiled, receiving a warm expression from Mrs. Jones.       —Okay. I'll bring the pie now.       Ambika spun in place, clasping her hands behind her back in anticipation.       —What, you can’t wait to meet this dandy? — Julia bared her teeth.       —Where did you get the idea? — Ambika became haggard and began to urgently examine her nails. - Nothing.       — Um, yes, I already know. — Julie urged. - There is such a house... Even the eyes are not enough to see everything at once. Just be careful not to fall.       Ambika giggled, lowering her head.       —And here is the pie. — Mrs. Mary solemnly brought the creation into the living room.       — Mr. Almeida. - Julia read, turning her head.       — Yes. What, is there a mistake somewhere?       —No. “Julia showed with all her appearance how much she didn’t like the whole idea. “You treat him with such respect. he doesn't deserve it.       - Well, Julie, how can you talk about him like that? - Mary jealously covered the cake with a cloth. - Parents are not yet proof of the meanness of their children.       —I want you to never be disappointed in this, grandma. — Putting her hand on her belt, Julia looked intently at Mary, smiling sadly.       —Well, then. “Mrs. Jones looked hopefully at the icon of the Savior and crossed herself with two fingers. - God will help us.       —Amen. — Julia closed her eyes blissfully, folding her palms in prayer.       Ambika quietly bowed to God, secretly asking for help for herself. He was united, Ambika partly understood this, but for a Hindu woman to bow to a Christian icon seemed something not entirely right to her.       With noise, they ran along the houses, trying to remain unnoticed. Soon the screaming and singing village was abandoned.       It was impossible not to let out an enthusiastic “oh” at the sight of the Almeida family hall. I had to tilt my head back to see everything. the luxury and decoration of this mansion made them feel like even smaller people than they really seemed.       - Yes, girls, I once lived in such a house. “More with pleasure than Mrs. Jones proudly declared.”       Mary went in a little deeper. Her cotton saree was a great contrast to the glamorous shimmery outfits. The girls tried to keep their eyes down, but they kept rising up along someone’s incredible trains.       —Don’t look...—Julia quietly touched her palm, unable to take her eyes off the shining necklace.       — How much do you think this all costs?       — Is this? — Julia raised her finger, pointing to the atmosphere of the hall as a whole. - Yes, I don’t know such numbers.       Magnificence felt like a weight on my shoulders. The girls followed Mrs. Jones in single file. Seeing Mrs. Almeida, she waved cordially:       — Madam Almeida! Madam Almeida! Hello!       The woman reluctantly turned around when she heard the old man's voice. She left the interlocutors, coldly greeting Mrs. Mary.       — Madam Almeida, I brought a gift for our Marcus. Here, look! - She exclaimed, pulling the napkin off the pie. Mrs. Almeida did not share her joy. After hearing the former maid dejectedly, she called the waiter:       — Jivan, please take it.       — Yes, madam. “With some disgust, he extended his hands to Mrs. Almeida; he was also the owner of the house.” The unfortunate woman, who did not expect this, looked at the servant in disbelief. With great disappointment, she handed over the pie as if she were giving away her own child. The girls looked at her with all their eyes. Upset, Mrs. Mary confusedly straightened her sari, taking the girls by the arms.       -Where are you going, grandma?       - Let's go, girls. “She said absentmindedly, without taking her eyes off the floor. “The evening is over for us.”       Ambika stretched out, trying to see the noble prince of this house through the crowd of guests. Their heavy age-related shine obscured their eyes. The gold with which the columns and facades were upholstered was just as bulky. Ambika looked at them for a long time, trying to remember the lions and angels standing at the very railing. She, naively sticking out like a child in a toy store, was stubbornly taken out of the house, although Ambika did not want to leave this fairy-tale castle even for a minute. The light of the lamps gave way to the darkness of the approaching night.       —What did she tell you, grandma? — Julia asked defiantly, ready to go back right now and tell Almeida everything.       —Nothing, honey. Nothing. - Mary sighed sadly. - It had to happen. Nobody likes or remembers the servants.       —We will never return to this damn house. “Julie said decisively. - Why humiliate yourself like that?       —I came to visit my boy. I kept my vows to him as a child. Mrs. Almeida did as she saw fit.       —She did very badly, grandmother. To kick out a person who has done so much for your family - I don’t know who can forgive that.       —It’s not in our position to be offended by gentlemen. We only carry out their orders.       - Grandma, you haven’t been a maid for a long time. She had no right to treat you like that.       —Okay, let's not talk about this, Julie. Have you seen Junior Master?       Her eyes were stuck as she looked at both of them. The girls shook their heads.       —No, Mrs. Jones. I never managed to see him...       - It’s okay, I think I’ll give away such a case, look at it in all its glory. - Mrs. Jones spoke enthusiastically, lowering her head. It is unclear whether she believed her words.”