of the hot oven, delicious- smelling smoke and a piece of pork is not greasy and my mother and I started dinner at grandma’s conversations.
– Until the summer, we go to Pereyaslav, and I will see hut, where i grew and Gregory – wiping his greasy hands on apron, said the grandmother.
– If necessary, it is necessary – did not mind my mother, and added, – and who will cook a meal? Well I’m at work?
– I asked Manu to, yet I will not manage for a while. – I could not resist and put my two cents:
– Grandma, takes me with you.
– A mother let go, I’ll take the? – Slyly looking at my mother, my grandmother asked.
– From nothing to do Mani? – Angry mother said. Check out the grandmother apparently she did not like. It was evident that it is a bad mood. Not having finished hot, the mother out of the house into the yard.
Grandma met a week later, accompanied by Aunt Manya and her son Basil, a senior Air Force lieutenant on leave, went to the station. First, as always, helped Uncle Vanya. He rode in a cart drawn by two horses and took the whole company, to deliver up to the Brest- Litovsk highway that from Shpitek three kilometers. There on the bus escort took Eugene Lavrentevna the station. Brother Gregory grandmother was visiting two weeks. She came rejuvenated, with happy experiences and of course presents. These were the two pigeon carcasses, and two dozen pigeon’s eggs, as Gregory’s grandfather was an avid fan of pigeons and contained a large pigeon with pedigreed pigeons and rare specimens. He wanted to give the grandmother of two rare breed pigeons for me, but my grandmother refused, arguing that there is no place to contain. When I found out about it, angry. Grandmother concise and accurate answers to my disappointment:
– Do you want to have spoiled all here? Who is going to clean up, eh? – And the question was dropped by itself.
But Grandfather Gregory fashioned for me out of genuine leather sturdy boots. They send me the exact size, because my grandmother before leaving lifted the measure of my foot. Boots should have been lubricated with tar, and Uncle Vanya for me brought a half- liter jar of birch tar. Where did he get the tar, only God knows? I greased boots with tar, and they gleamed and smelled of tar, pleasant tickling in the nose. Still, nice to receive gifts.
Chapter Nine
There was an early thaw. End of February, beginning of March brought snowmelt. Thawing water does not have time to go into the land. Frozen layers are formed and firmly retain the entire lake. In the morning, glassy luster, reflecting the pink rays of the rising sun, shining ice in them. By evening, the ice melts again at night to become a chilled glass golf riding on his feet.
At night, the water was in the basement.
The mother found her at four o’clock in the morning, anxiously peering inside. Potatoes were flooded, flooded twenty- centimeter layer of water, and the water is slow.
I was awakened by an impatient, angry mother shouting:
– Well, get up, help carry water!
I did not immediately realize where to wear and what wear. I wanted to sleep, my eyes were closing, I wanted to go to bed again, in the midst of cozy warmth you need to get up in the nasty cold abyss. But the inexorable cry was repeated once again:
– I’ll take the rod right now! Come on, get up, reptile soul! – Not a good and an evil voice. My mother pushed me out of bed.
A minute later, in large rubber boots I slapped the cellar stairs with a bucket full of melted water and poured over the threshold.
Despite superhuman efforts, the water is not decreased. Dawn crept slowly displacing the gray haze light of the candle, which was manifested strong emaciated and evil face of the mother. I knew that bailing futile exercise. We have to find a hole where it goes, and score it. Water from the cellar itself will go into the ground.
To say the mother, then to hear the derogatory, offensive words, something like:
– " Loafer, wants to flood?!!» – And that kind of thing is something else. But I felt sorry for his mother and decided to still say:
– It is necessary to score a hole. You see already light, and water is not diminished.
– Mind- ton you, as a hostel pants. So show me where this hole? – Mother looked at me with hatred, adding binder to the words – I’ll take the whip here, and how will give you a quitter. A nu- ka, carry water and do not you dare tell me what to what to do. Ah what?!
It was unpleasant to listen to the entire unfortunate woman, but I endured day and decided to find a hole and see, and Put a cap of clay…
Creak steps in the predawn darkness frightened alerted us in dirty water in the basement with my mother.
– Who’s there? – Asked the mother.
– It’s me! – Male voice responded.
– And it’s you, Ivan! – Mother found Babchenko Ivan, the father of the boys Kohli and Shura.
– What was flooded? – Asked Ivan.
– And you do not see? – Almost crying in frustration choked voice said my mother.
– It is necessary to lift the potatoes. Or fill sand small basement.
– To lift the potatoes?!
– Good. I will help lift the potatoes of water in boxes, and then create a flooring of boards.
And work has begun to boil again. Mother suddenly commanded, looking at me:
– Go get ready for school.
I rushed into the house. The stove warmed breakfast grandmother. Warm, cozy caressed tired and sleepy body. I do not want to do, to move, to think.
– Son, comes to the table. – Grandma’s voice startled. I got there almost cooled buckwheat soup with meat.
– I did not want to wake you. Quite tortured child. – Devastate grandmother shook her head and added, – says- well, at least- was in a cesspool drowned, and she would not have suffered and it had not tortured child.
At school I was nodding his head, falling asleep in class on the Ukrainian language lesson.
Hope G. monotonous sleepy, sleepy voice some of their concerns gray eyes slowly taught grammar. So much so that it looked like a fly in our class when flying from the board to the window is not reached, and falls asleep to the voice chat in flight.
I fell on my hands, I fell asleep. Got a burning pain, some violently, dragged me by the hair.
When I finally came to his senses and jumped to his feet, to somehow ease the sharp pain, and I had not seen in a gray mist, steel and teachers look hard to keep my fingers through the hair on his head. In the class of dead silence. Children with curiously watched this scene inquisitorial executions. My head by the hair, like a pendulum clock from the floor, with metallic overtones in his voice teacher to the
