The Inspector. No, you will have to teach them that yourself.
Aga-Merdan. Good. They must depose as follows: One evening at sunset a week before the death of Hadji-Ghafour, we were going all four of us to pay a visit to the houses of the dead. In passing before the house of Hadji-Ghafour we saw him standing at his gate and holding in his arms a babe in long clothes. We saluted him, and asked him how his health was? “Whose child is that?” we said to him. “It is my own,” he answered, “he was born three weeks ago. He is my only son; I have no other child.”
The Inspector [turning to the witnesses]. Do you understand, boys?
Hepou. Yes, we understand.
Aga-Merdan. Can you repeat the story as I told it?
Hanife. Undoubtedly so; there are no far-fetched expressions to puzzle us.
Aga-Merdan. Very good, my friends. May God bless you!
Cheida. How in the name of everything, Aga-Merdan, would God bless such a transaction as this?
Aga-Merdan. Why not? My dear friend, if you were acquainted with the whole affair you would certainly say yourself that God would bless it. The unhappy widow of Hadji-Ghafour has been for ten years mistress of his house and fortune. Would it be just that a sickly wench should carry off all this money, and proceed to enjoy it with a base loafer, a heretic, and for the sole reason that the latter is to have criminal relations with her? According to the words of your doctors, the Sunnites are excluded from the court of heaven.
Cheida. Now, by God, but you speak the truth!