Iskander entered the bedroom, Eyshan lightly shuddered, froze from his animal heavy beauty. The young woman lay in the bed and waited for the husband. Iskander went to bed, began to shower the maidenly elastic, despite two children, body of the wife. Eyshan was gentle and brittle, in embraces of the husband she was dissolved in pleasure, totally, without a rest, turning into sweet. The man felt boundless tenderness to this faithful woman, but he couldn’t give more, even in the bed, at the highest points of proximity, sometimes suddenly another heavenly face appeared in memory. And Eyshan as if felt it, but couldn’t reach this face to crush it, to rip out of the heart and memory of the husband. She didn’t know anything about this image except that it existed.

Iskander carefully moved in the Eyshan’s body, and in front of his eyes bit the lip, threw up the eyes, shivered under his hands when he touched her shoulders, caressed the scar on his cheek the blue-eyed, gold-haired northerner. Sometimes, cruel memory threw up other light eyes, an evil break of the smile, right there bitterness poisoned mind and heart, desire died, the powerless disappointment bothered to carry Eyshan to the world of paradise delight. The wife, feeling as Iskander, frozen, thought of something so deep that he forgot about her, gritted teeth that the groan of offense didn’t escape.

“Everything is ok, darling, I’m here,” she whispered, stroked the covered with scars back of Iskander.

“Sorry,” the man hoarsely responded, and started the dance of love over again, trying to throw out the past from memory.

Eyshan so many times tried to talk to Iskander, but the husband tore off the talks about the past, neither tears, nor offenses helped. There was the war, there was captivity, everyone knew about it. But Iskander let nobody into his nightmares.

All men of the family of Huruy died in that war, Eyshan had the mother, the grandma and three sisters, now all lived in the house of Al-Diva. Eyshan idolized the husband, but she wanted to reign over his heart sovereignly. And she didn’t own it even to the grain of sand.

Now she didn’t think, she cried with pleasure. The husband knew her well, knew how to force her to die of happiness in the embraces. Eyshan sobbed especially loudly and calmed down, she didn’t even manage to think, how he was, at what moment Iskander rose on tops of pleasure. The man imperiously, reliably embraced her. Eyshan tenderly, thoughtfully drove fingers on the covered with wounds back of the husband.

Iskander leaned back on the bed, suiting the wife on the shoulder, and, stroking her silk hair, silk gentle skin, the man thought of the forthcoming campaign to which he wouldn’t go, and Eyshan thought of him.