es
S. Skitalec
© S. Skitalec, 2019
ISBN 978-5-4496-9410-2
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
PART ONE
I
Solar, cheerful morning of early spring. Shirokaya Street of the big village is full of liquid dirt, pools and the spring murmuring streamlets. From a distance, from a high belltower of rural church, the joyful ringing of easter bells rushes. At the corner of the wide church area above descent to the river there is a small timbered lodge with a high porch. Near the house where recently carpenters worked, crude odorous beams lie, and it very much pleases a band of children, barefoot, with the panties which are rolled up knee-deep, with the long hair cut in a curve piece; and only the smallest of them – the three-year-old peanut – is dressed in a city way: in a jacket and картузик with tapes, in brand new shoes. In total on it brand new, elegant, festive. From a pocket the silver chain of hours is seen.
Children tore off crude bark from a beam, soft from the inside, separate it damp, gentle tapes, twist toy reins and knutik. All of them sit on a porch, busied. The Tatar, the biggest bosses. The others watch with what art it twists a crude string. Small costs below as cannot get on steps differently as on all fours.
– Vukol! – speaks Tatork small gently – what it at you on a chain?
– Hours – Vukol answers.
– Let’s have a look!
The Tatar himself took out the real silver watch from the child’s pocket, smelled them, licked and put to an ear.
– Tick! to it-bo! chevo-s there inside ticks! Ottsova, that?
– On a name-day presented! – Vukol speaks and wants to take hours back, but Tatorka sat down with them on the top step and was engaged in opening of a cover.
Children as flies, stuck around it.
Vukol very much wants to receive back hours, but he hesitates to insist and to get difficult on a porch, will not part forcibly children: all of them it is more of it.
– See you! – derisively Tatorka speaks – at hours! And what cap, with tapes yes from tsvyata!
Children laughed.
– Rich, devils! – continued the Tatar, picking hours a knife.
Vukol offended by laughter of companions flashed to ears, removed a cap, broke from it tapes and artificial roses, threw them on the earth, crushed.
Children laughed loudly again:
– Strizhenny bare, as Tatar!
Also were engaged in hours.
In big eyes of Vukol there were tears.
The Tatar broke off both covers of hours and began to take out small screws and castors, seeking that ticks there, “inside”.
– Give hours! – Vukol shouted.
Back Vukol received them in unassembled form: all interior of hours represented a handful of fragments.
– Nothing – encouraged him Tatork – to you their houses will soil!
Vukol silently thrust fragments into a pocket.
– Give the handle, do not become angry! – tenderly Tatorka told, going down from a porch.
Vukol reconciled and flattered smiled.
– On! – he trustfully stretched a tiny hand.
The Tatar unexpectedly pressed his palm below than the waist and made impropriety.
All laughed delighted.
Vukol began to cry. It seemed to it that his hand is profaned forever. Wanted to run home, but also it was a pity to leave companions: a game in a horse with just prepared harness was assumed.
– Fool! – he told Tatorke.
– I am a fool? I will give those! To Vdar in a nose – at once blood will scatter… and to the father we will tell that you fought on the street! To you do not order to fight, and to us nothing, it is possible! What you blink? And eyes on a flat dish, do not vidt crumbs! There is a pool, washed up, exclusively! Yes something I am nasty? – The Tatar threateningly moved to it, but it was suddenly softened: – Well, an aydata in a horse to play! Three that? Vukol! You will go to my three?
– I will go.
Children, having joined hands, were built in the three. Everyone took a vozhzha in teeth. Tatorka, the coachman, really whips the three. Vukol represents pristyazhny; all rush on dirt the middle of the wide street, the brand new suit of Vukol is splashed with dirt, but the sun shines joyfully, dirt – warm, sparkles under the sun, streamlets murmur, from a harness is so fresh and smells delicious; Vukol is happy that Tatorka accepted him in a game, jumps with odorous, soft, bitterish vozhzhy in teeth, bending the head on one side as do to a horse in a pristyazhka – and suddenly, having stumbled, unexpectedly falls in dirt. The three stops, and all companions watch how it rises from a pool: liquid dirt flows from a face and hands, all its elegant suit in dirt. To cause sympathy of companions, Vukol loudly cries, standing in dirt with the stained hands bulged in the parties. But children laugh again.
– Well, spaced out more widely than a mitten! – the Tatar speaks. – I those here will stop up it!
The Tatar grabbed after the journey a handful of horse manure and wants to push to it in a mouth.
Vukol with a roar takes to heels, there, where the home porch is seen at the corner. He runs very fast, but Tatorka is much more and stronger it, on the bridge through a ditch caught up, grabbed by a collar and – about horror! – stuffed to it the mouth is full, smeared with manure of a lip and cheek. The kid even ceased to cry, convulsively bent to a stream and began to wash the person muddy water. All he was soiled and wetted through, but there is a wish to play at horses to him after all, only not from Tatorkaya. Children stand in the distance and watch how Tatorka at a slow pace comes back to them.
Suddenly on a porch the father Vukola appears. According to his face it is noticeable that the father heard his crying, perhaps, saw everything and very annoys.
Long dense curls of the father flutter downwind. He quickly goes to the son, silently takes Vukol by hands and carries away to the house. There they are met by mother and throws up the hands at the sight of the sobbing son in the suit tormented and splodgy with dirt. It without planing as the father, never scolds and does not punish; Vukol knows that mother would regret and consoled, would change clothes of him for all dry and released to play, but the father angrily discharges her, itself undresses the son and puts on the big bed veiled by bed curtains.
– Sleep! – by an imperative voice he speaks, drawing bed curtains.
Vukol long lies sobbing. If he could expect terrible appearance of the father, then would not cry on the street. He with envy hears voices of companions behind a window. It seems to it that the father did not understand his tears that it was only necessary to caress, console and again to release to play.
