One day, Niyaz looked at Hodja Nasreddin, and, after grunting and hesitating for a long time, finally said:
“You have saved me from slavery, Hodja Nasreddin, and my daughter from dishonor. You work alongside me and do ten times more than I do. Here are three hundred and fifty tanga, the net profit from selling the pots since you have started helping me. Take this money, it is rightfully yours.”
Hodja Nasreddin stopped his wheel and stared at the old man in surprise.
“You must be ill, esteemed Niyaz! You are speaking nonsense. You are the master here, and I am your worker, so if you give me one tenth of the profit – thirty-five tanga – I will be most glad.”
He took Niyaz’s worn purse, counted off thirty-five tanga, placed them in his pocket, and returned the rest to the old man. But the old man was stubborn and would not accept it.
“This is not right, Hodja Nasreddin! This money belongs to you! If you do not wish to take it all, take at least half.”
Hodja Nasreddin became annoyed:
“Hide your purse, esteemed Niyaz, and please do not break the earthly customs. What would happen in the world if all the masters begin sharing their profits equally with their workers? Then there would not be any more masters on earth, or any workers, or any rich or poor, or any guards, or any emirs. Think: would Allah tolerate such a disruption of order? Take your purse and hide it somewhere far away, lest you bring down the wrath of Allah onto men and thus doom the entire human race!”
With these words, Hodja Nasreddin resumed spinning the pottery wheel with his foot.
“This will be an excellent pot!” he spoke, slapping the wet clay with his hands. “With a nice ring, just like our emir’s head! We’ll have to take it to the palace: let them keep it there in case the emir loses his head.”
“Watch it, Hodja Nasreddin, you will lose your head yourself one day for this sort of talk.”
“Huh! You think it is easy to remove Hodja Nasreddin’s head?
“I, Hodja Nasreddin,
always free have I been,
And I say – ‘tis no lie –
that I never shall die!
Let the emir decree
a sharp axe just for me
And announce with spite
that I steal and incite.
But I, Hodja Nasreddin,
always free have I been,
And I say – ‘tis no lie –
that I never shall die!
I will live, sing, and praise,
at the sun I will gaze,
And declare instead:
let the emir drop dead!
Yes, the sultan already
has an axe at the ready,
There’s a noose in Tehran,
and a stake with the khan.
But I, Hodja Nasreddin,
always free have I been,
And I say – ‘tis no lie –
that I never shall die!
Poor, tattered, and bare,
I have never a care,
I will live, sing, and praise,
at the sun I will gaze,
By the people respected,
and by fortune protected,
At the khan, the emir,
and the sultan I sneer!
I, Hodja Nasreddin,
always free have I been,
And I say – ‘tis no lie –
that I never shall die!”
Guljan’s laughing face appeared in the green of the grapevines behind Niyaz. Hodja Nasreddin interrupted his song and began to exchange happy, mysterious signs with Guljan.
“What are you looking at? What do you see there?” Niyaz asked.
“I see a bird of paradise the like of which the world has never seen!”
The old man turned around, grunting, but Guljan had already disappeared in the greenery, and only her silvery laugh could be heard from afar. Shielding his face from the sun, the old man squinted with his nearsighted eyes for a long time, but did not see anything except for a sparrow hopping on the poles.
“Come to your senses, Hodja Nasreddin! Where did you see a bird of paradise? This is an ordinary sparrow!”
Hodja Nasreddin laughed, while Niyaz could only shake his head, ignorant of the reason for this mirth.
After dinner, the old man saw Hodja Nasreddin to the door, climbed up on the roof, and fell asleep there, fanned by a warm, gentle breeze. Soon he began snoring and wheezing, and then a light cough came from behind the low fence: Hodja Nasreddin had returned. “He is asleep,” Guljan replied in a whisper. He leaped over the fence in a single bound.
They sat down by the pond in the shade of the poplars, which were dozing quietly, wrapped in their long green robes. The moon floated high in the clear sky, casting a bluish tint on everything; the water in the aryk babbled very softly, sparkling and flashing one moment, and vanishing in the shadows the next.
Guljan was standing before Hodja Nasreddin, lit up by the full moon and herself resembling the full moon, slender and lithe, girdled by her long hair. He spoke to her quietly:
“I love you, o queen of my soul, my first and only love. I am your slave, and I will perform whatever you wish! My entire life was spent waiting to meet you, and now I have seen you and will never forget you, and I will not be able to live without you!”
“This is probably not the first time you are saying this,” she said with jealousy.
“Me?” he exclaimed with indignation in his voice. “How could you even think that?”
And his voice sounded so sincere that she believed it, softened, and sat down beside him on the earthen bench. He pressed his lips to hers and would not release for so long that she felt short of breath.
“Listen,” she said afterwards. “Girls are supposed to receive gifts in exchange for kisses, whereas you have been kissing me every night for over a week, and I have yet to receive even a pin from you!”
“I simply did not have any money,” he replied. “But today I received payment from your father, and tomorrow, Guljan, I will bring you a luxurious gift. What would you like – a necklace, or a shawl, or perhaps a ring with an amethyst stone?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “It doesn’t matter, my dear Hodja Nasreddin, so long as I receive this gift from your hands.”
The blue water babbled in the aryk, and the stars trembled with bright and pure light in the transparent sky; Hodja Nasreddin drew closer to the girl, reached for her breast – and his hand became full. He froze, but then his cheek was scalded with such a heavy slap that he saw stars. He shrank back, shielding himself with his elbow just in case. Guljan got up, her breath heavy with anger.
“I seem to have heard the sound of a slap,” Hodja Nasreddin said meekly. “Why hit, when it is possible to express oneself with words?”
“Words!” Guljan interrupted. “It is not enough that I have abandoned all modesty and revealed my face to you, but you also had to stick your long arms where you shouldn’t.”
“But who decides where one should stick his arms, and where one shouldn’t?” Hodja Nasreddin objected in utter embarrassment and confusion. “If you had read the books of the most wise Ibn-Tufeil…”