Ukraine Is My Pain

In memory of my friends, Who lived, loved, dreamed...

                      
                            Chapter 1

              - Ryuk! Ryuk! (breakfast) – it was the voice of a policeman who woke up the prisoners at 6:00 a.m.
Aram opened his eyes, yawned and sat down on the cot, dangling his legs. My whole body ached, there was a noise in my head. The fact that he was here at the police station confirmed his fears: he was tied up. He looked gloomily around the cell: two-tiered iron bunks. The cellmates turned out to be a Pakistani and two Africans. The camera was small. A policeman walked down the corridor, opening the latticed doors with a bang and repeating in a rude voice:
- Ryuk, ryuk.
             He looked at Aram for a moment and grinned. Aram blushed and frowned at the bridge of his nose. I lay back on the bed, I didn't feel like eating. I closed my eyes and began to reconstruct the picture of yesterday's events. In the morning, Faisal called and asked in a cheerful, mysterious voice what he was doing today. Aram replied that he would probably go to Amalguvain, rent a room at Palm Beach and relax to the fullest. Faisal was happy for him and immediately offered:
- Aram, habibi (dear), there is a business, my friends from Qatar have arrived, a lot of money. They are looking for where to spend them. We lived and studied in the USA. They prefer parties with people of an unusual orientation. They pay a lot!
Aram cursed. "Extraordinary orientation!" But who does this Faisal take him for?! He's an artist! His toned, toned body speaks for itself. While still a student at the theater school in his native Yerevan, he loved to experiment with dressing up in women's clothes. Sometimes, especially when Shakespeare was being staged, he portrayed his gloomy heroines. It wasn't bad. What Faisal was offering did not require much effort in disguising herself as a woman. You had to be a man here, but a gay man. Aram scratched his ear, his earlobe hurt. Yesterday, during the arrest, when he was struggling, trying to jump over the table to the door, the policeman pulled his diamond earring with all his might and tore it out, tearing his earlobe.
The cellmates were asleep. Aram closed his eyes and dozed off. A policeman's shout woke him up. The latter ordered him in Arabic to get dressed and go out. Aram got out of bed, looked around for pants and was embarrassed. Of all the clothes that he was wearing during the arrest, a top with an open back and leggings of a poisonous pink color. Catching the policeman's mocking gaze, he sat down on the bed. He went somewhere, returned with a prison robe - a loose shirt and trousers, like Pakistani trousers. I ordered Aram to change his clothes and go out. He hurriedly dressed and walked down the corridor to the exit. There they put him in a car, handcuffed him and took him to Niyabu (prosecutor's office), to the investigator for interrogation. The Murakabat police Station was located in the city. We reached the building quickly. Aram was taken out of the car and handed over to the officer on duty, who took him to a spacious office.
               Entering, Aram looked around. There was a table in the office, at which an Arab in a white gondura (traditional clothing of Arab men) sat importantly, there was a chair and a small sofa. The Arab looked Aram over carefully from head to toe and invited him to sit down on a chair. There was a folder with papers on his desk, apparently with Aram's case. After quickly running his eyes over what he had written, he grinned slightly. Then he pushed the folder away and began to mockingly look at Aram.
- Enty (you) are khaniz? (gay) – he asked, looking straight at Aram.
He blushed, tensed, and answered angrily:
- La (no).
The Arab paused and spoke again in English:
- Tell me.
Aram was silent, knowing that with this story, he would not change anything in his situation. In the UAE, strangely enough, it is not customary to commute the sentence with sincere repentance.
- OK, - the Arab said in response to Aram's silence, - Now you will go back to prison, sit, think, then you will come back in a month.
Aram sat with his head down.
- And this will continue until you tell me what you did in my country. The sooner you admit your guilt, the sooner you will get a sentence, serve it and go home.
The investigator got up from his desk and walked briskly out of the office. A policeman on duty came for Aram, handcuffed him and led him out of the building. Already on the way to Murakabat, he listened to the advice of a policeman:
- You'd better tell me everything, you'll get a sentence sooner, and then, maybe, you'll fall under afrach (amnesty).
- And if I don't admit my guilt and keep silent, will they let me go?  Aram was interested.
- You admit it, you don't admit it, you sign it, you don't sign it, they'll still convict and deport you. This is the UAE.
Aram thought about it. Already in the cell, in the evening, after dinner, having met with cellmates, and having heard their stories, I decided to follow the advice of a policeman. Aram's cellmates were middle-aged men. Ahmed, a Pakistani man caught stealing, and two Nigerians carrying drugs in their stomachs. Ahmed was a man of few words, spending most of his time in prayer. Nigerians turned out to be more talkative. There was plenty of time to get to know each other and get to know each other better. The investigator will have the next inquest in about a month, the policeman answered him.
Early one morning, after prayer, Aram felt that Ahmed was very worried about something. He asked him:
- Ahmed, have you been taken to the interrogation yet?
After a moment's silence, the latter put the rosary aside and showed Aram his hands above the elbow. They were bruised and bruised. By the way, Aram did not know what Ahmed was sitting for.
- Have you been beaten?
- Yes, I have a shameful case (case) – harami (theft), - Ahmed replied dejectedly to Aram's surprised look
"Did you rob someone?"
- Yes, his boss, a rich Indian.
Aram knew that Hindus and Pakistanis did not like each other very much.
- Tell me, Ahmed, how did you manage to get here?  Aram persisted.
Ahmed sighed and began:
- I have been in the UAE for many years, I worked as a taxi driver. They didn't pay much, but they had enough to live on. I sent my salary to my family in Pakistan. It so happened that I drove the Indian to the airport several times. He remembered me. We started talking. He, like me, is a Muslim, has a UK passport. He owns real estate and is engaged in business in the UAE. He asked me about my family, about my life. A good man! Good. He offered me a job as his personal chauffeur. He promised a salary of $ 1,000. I couldn't believe my ears! An Indian, and such a salary! I have a wife and four children at home in Pakistan.
                 Everyone needs to be fed. I happily agreed. My future employer quickly issued me a work visa, and I started working for him. I drove him and brought him to work in the office. Sometimes I drove his wife to shopping malls. The job is easy, the earnings are good.  Ahmed sighed heavily and continued:
"Humans are the meanest creatures on earth. They do not remember the good and fall into the net of Iblis, Shaitan. I worked for him for over a year. I visited his family. I was well received, his wife gave my children gifts, and I sent them to Pakistan. Live and rejoice that Allah has sent you such a person! One day, when I came to pick up the owner to take him home, I went up to his office. He invited me to sit down and wait.
He opened the safe himself and began to stack the cash. A lot of money! I've seen it all. Then he closed the safe door, but left the key in the lock. I tensed up. Iblis has already started his work. I stopped sleeping and eating normally. The owner was surprised at my frown. When he asked me if I was okay, I just looked away. I went up to his office a few more times and each time I saw that the key was sticking in the lock. The owner sometimes gave me the key to the office so that I could give it to my wife or bring this key to him when he forgot it at home. It turned out that he once again forgot his key. I went to his house, took the key from his wife and made a duplicate on the way. The night before namaz (prayer), I looked at the key for a long time.
Then I prayed, but I did not read the Surah, but asked Allah to help me with my idea. I knew there were cameras everywhere. Iblis had already taken full possession of me and everything else came quickly to me. To remain unrecognizable, I got an abaya (a woman's dress). On the weekend, while everyone was sleeping, I drove up to the building where my master's office was located. Calmly taking the elevator, I went to the door and opened it with a duplicate. I was wearing gloves, an abaya and covered my face with a veil. Entering the office, I quickly walked to the safe and Oh, a miracle! The key was in the lock. Silently opening the safe door, I looked inside. The bundles of $ were stacked on top of each other and there was a box in the back. I picked up the dress, put the money in my pants and sent the box there. Without hurrying, he went out, locked the door and rode the elevator down.
I knew that the cameras had captured a woman entering my boss's office. I didn't go home. He rushed straight to Fujairah, to the ocean. It was deserted. I calmed down and decided to check the loot. After counting the money, I became the owner of $ 40,000. After examining the box, I found in it gold jewelry with sapphires and diamonds for a fabulous sum. Frantically thinking where to hide all this, I began to look for a place between the stones. I found it, dug a hole, buried it and marked it for myself so as not to forget. Then I got into the car slowly and drove to Dubai, to my place. Strangely, when I fell on the bed, I immediately fell into a dead sleep.
I don't know how long I slept. I woke up to a knock on the door. He was wary. I wasn't afraid of being searched. I tore up the abaya on the way home and threw it in the trash. I didn't have the money or the box with me. When I opened the door, I saw two Saidish Arabs (local internal police) in white uniforms. They silently pushed me aside, went into the room, examined it and ordered me to get dressed. Strangely, they didn't search her. I got dressed and went outside with them. They handcuffed me and put me in a car.
- Are you not outraged?  Aram asked, fascinated by Ahmed's story.
- In the UAE, Pakistanis and many other immigrants from India and Bangladesh are second-class people. As a rule, these are not skilled workers who perform hard physical labor. We drove in silence in the car. All this time, one of the saidishnik glared at me. I decided and asked:
- Shu mushkil? (what's the problem?).
Without taking his eyes off me, he threw:
- Enty baden schoof (you'll see soon).
I lowered my head and got scared. When we arrived at the police station, I saw my boss and his wife. They stared at me in disbelief. I greeted him and silently sat down on a chair. After a while, a young Arab came into the office and ran his eyes over the statement of the owner, turned in my direction.
They asked me where I was, what I was doing the night before the robbery. I replied that I went to the bazaar, bought groceries, and slept the rest of the time in my room, getting up only to pray. The host and his wife nodded in response to my explanation. They were soon sent home, promising to look into the matter. I calmed down a little, as the presence of the owner was very confusing to me. This man has done so much good for me! The investigator stared at the computer for a long time, looking at me at the same time. I sat for a long time and was already yawning when a policeman burst into the room with an abaya in his hands. I felt cold. The Arabs looked at each other and one, who was holding the dress in his hands, came up and held it out in my direction, ordered me to put it on. I began to refuse and resent it.
But he squeezed me tightly in his arms and yelled, looking straight into my eyes:
- Psura! (psura* -arab) (quickly).
I had to comply. I began to reluctantly stuff my hands into the sleeves of my dress. Put it on. They examined me closely, pulled a mask over my face. Then the tracker came to the computer and looked at me and ordered me to walk around the room. I was numb with horror and began to stumble from corner to corner. Without thinking twice, one of them jumped up close to me and shouted:
- Where's the money and jewelry?!
I turned pale and shook. It gave me away.
"They conducted an investigative experiment," Aram laughed.
- I fell into a chair and began to deny everything. Then the cop hit me with his baton several times. It hurt. Everything was clear. None of the servants came into the office except me. The owner confirmed it. In general, I was afraid that I would be beaten to death and confessed everything with chattering teeth. I was taken to the place where I hid the loot. Out of fear, I couldn't find it and show it for a long time. I was beaten up again. As a result, they found it. At the confrontation, which was held at 4 a.m., the owner, still sleepy, could not believe that it was me. I lowered my head in shame and looked down. His wife was yelling at me. Later, the owner, feeling sorry for me, wanted to write tanazul (forgiveness). I returned the stolen items. He was not allowed, and I was sent here to await sentencing.
Ahmed fell silent. Aram looked at him cheerfully and calmed him down:
- Don't worry, they won't give you much. You returned everything, the owner has no complaints against you.
Ahmed sighed and said slowly:
- You see, Aram, I am a believer and have committed a great sin. Iblis is a real shaitan, pitting and pushing to do bad things against people who are kind to you, like my boss.
Aram was even more amused. And then he said:
- You know, the cops here are conscientious for the most part. Their salaries are huge, they are afraid to take bribes. In Armenia, and in other countries, the cops, if they had found stolen goods, appropriated them for themselves, they would not have returned them to the owners. You would have been disfigured beyond recognition.
Aram and Ahmed spoke in English. Two other African cellmates listened to Ahmed's story, and when he finished, one of them, Eji, pulled up his shirt and showed a huge scar on his stomach.
- What is it? – the men were surprised.