Adalatov died a true Christian. He had dreamed about erecting, near Uvada Factory, a big church with golden crosses on the cupolas and a belfry whose bells would ring inviting people of Matarak to attend the service in the morning when the yellow clouds stretch along the skyline in the rising sun, and in the evening when the vermilion of the sun sadly fades in the horizon. But Adalatov"s dreams were, however, not destined to come true. The civil funeral was attended by all the fellow-villagers, friends and acquaintances of the Director. When the Imam of the local Mosque Zainutdin Ibn Gainutdin arrived all like one burst out crying.
We were all amazed at his tolerance of other people's beliefs. He said all people on earth were the children of Adam Allaikhissalam.
Adalatov"s friend Yegumy Alexandrovich Kopilov was at the head of the service.
By Christian tradition Kalankhan Adalatov had been dressed, brushed, and put in the coffin on a soft cotton bed-sheet. Meanwhile some one spoke:
- Kalankhan Adalatov"s personality was really historical. Therefore I suggest that we should take his death-mask so that the future generations might not damn and curse us!
- That"s right! - said Adalatov"s friend, producer Manna Sundal, the man who lived along with his family in the Theater of Comedy and Satire - we should immediately find the sculptor who can take Kalankhan"s death mask!
- Then Kunzhibay and Ramazanov left and an hour later came back with the artist Akhunjan. The latter put alabaster into the bucket filled it with water and started mixing the grout. When all was set Akhunjan poured the plaster on Adalatov"s face.
We all watched his work with great interest. At last the plaster had thickened, and Akhunjan pulled Adalatov"s death mask up. But it came up along with the head of the deceased Director. Akhunjan tried to remove the mask but couldn"t tear it off. Then he took a hammer and a piercer and started knocking along the edge of the mask. But the mask was too hard, so Akhumjan"s face broke out in sweat, whether from hard work or from shame. Meanwhile, Kalankhan Adalatov lay under the mask like Tutankhamun"s mummy. Suddenly Ramazanov shouted to the artist:
- Get out, you good-for-nothing sculptor! Who do you think you are, Tsereteli ? Is that the way of making a death mask? Get lost, you lousy stone-cutter!
He rolled up his sleeves and spit into his palms. Adalatov was lying in the coffin like the mummy of Pharaoh Ramesses II. Ramazanov pulled the death mask to himself with all might and managed to tear it off. But mechanically he jumped back and fell down. As a result, Adalatov"s death mask broke into pices like a litle glass toy that falls off a New Year's tree.
- Ok, we can do without a mask! - said Usta Churan.
The conductor waved his baton and the band began to play rumbling. It was the funeral march of Frederic Chopin. Several men lifted the coffin of Kalankhan Adalatov adorned with garlands and wreaths and carried it, shifting from shoulder to shoulder, like a boat without ores over the black waves of the sea of people.
They put the coffin with Kalankhan Adalatov on a tractor drawn carriage looking like a gun-carriage and we made our way toward the cemetery. The carriage was slow as if feeling the loss and the mourning. The near and dear of the deceased one sat around the coffin shedding tears. I, too, was among them, and I also wept. As we approached the cemetery the cotton waste carrier stopped because the road had been dug up by the road rebuilt service. So the men had to carry the coffin on their shoulders. At last we had arrived at the burial place.
By tradition people had to say good bye to the deceased man. The priest Yegumy Alexandrovich said:
-Open the face of the deceased one.
I went up to the coffin and opened the lid. Goodness gracious! Adalatov was not there!
- My goodness!, what"s that?- I said
- Well, what"s the matter? - the preist asked.
- The coffin is empty! - I said.
There came voices from all sides: "Oh, God Almighty! Oh. mamma mia!" Tarzana Nikolayevna, embracing her son, was howling like a wolf in the snow-clad wood under the full moon.. The priest Yegumy Kopylov crossed several times looking into the sky and said:
- A miracle has happened! The deceased man, like Jesus Christ,. has ascended to God"s altar. Adalatov was, indeed, an angel in the make-up of a man! Oh, Lord, receive the soul and body of the deceased man! Receive and bless him! In the name of the Father and of Son and of Holy Spirit, Amen!
When he finished the prayer Adalatov"s near and dear burst out crying again. My soul became emtty. I had lost my good old friend, an honest boon companion of mine, my dear neighbor and teacher. Leaving me he has risen to heaven.
- We didn"t appreciate him properly when he was alive - Ramazanov said sobbing. Yegumy Alexandrovich told us to lift the empty coffin and go back. I looked and saw that the boards were turned over. We exchanged glances and ran down the street.
. It so happened that they had dropped the Director"s body on the way to the cemetry and didn"t notice(it. The upturned body was lying in the ditch by the road. We picked him up, put him in the coffin and went back. After the ceremony we buried him again, our wise Director Kalankhan Adalatov. The band still dinned playing the funeral march of Frederic Chopin. The grave diggers set up a cross on Adalatov"s grave, and then, putting on our head-dresses, we all dispersed.
Zurab Konstantines dze Tsereteli - (born January 4, 1934 in Tbilisi) a controversial Russian-Georgian painter, sculptor and architect who holds the office of President of the Russian Academy of Arts.