"Valentin Katayev. The Cottage in the Steppe (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

his coat was trimmed with a lambskin collar from which Pavlik could see the
blue stand-up collar of his tunic. He was carrying a large cardboard-bound
register under his arm. The messenger walked up leisurely to the gate,
looked at the triangular lamp with the house number underneath it, and
stopped. Pavlik's heart sank.
"Where do the Bacheis live?" the messenger asked.
Pavlik realized that his end had come. There could be no doubt that
this was an official note to his father concerning the behaviour of Pavel
Bachei, preparatory-class pupil-in other words, the most dreadful fate that
could befall a schoolboy.
"What is it? Do they want Father?" Pavlik asked with a sickly smile. He
did not recognize his own voice and blushed a deep crimson as he added, "You
can give it to me, I'll deliver it and you won't have to climb the stairs!"
"I must have his signature," the messenger said sternly, curling his
big moustache.
"Second floor, number four," Pavlik whispered and felt hot, choked,
nauseous, and scared to death.
It never dawned on the boy that the messenger was a stranger. And in
any case, this being his first year at school, he could not possibly know
all the personnel.
The moment the front door closed after the messenger the light went out
for Pavlik. The world with all its beauty and freshness no longer existed
for him. It had vanished on the instant. The crimson winter sun was setting
beyond the blue-tinted snow-covered Kulikovo Field and the station; the
bells of the frozen cab horse around the corner tinkled as musically as
ever; the pots of hot cranberry jelly, set out on the balconies to cool,
were steaming as usual, the coat of delicate pale-blue snow on the balcony
railings and the steam curling over the pots seemed as cranberry-red as the
cooling jelly itself; the street, full of the holiday spirit, was as gay and
as lively as ever.
Pavlik no longer noticed any of this. At first he made up his mind that
he would never go home again-he would roam the streets until he died of
hunger or froze to death. Then, after he 'had walked around the
side-streets, he took a sacred vow to change his whole way of life and
never, never take part in any "obstructions" again; moreover, he would be a
model pupil, the best-behaved boy not only in Odessa, but in all Russia, and
thus earn Father's and Auntie's forgiveness. Then he began to feel sorry for
himself, for his ruined life, and even started to cry, smearing the tears
all over his face. In the end pangs of hunger drove him, home and, utterly
exhausted with suffering, he appeared on the threshold after the lamps had
been lit. Pavlik was ready to confess and repent when he suddenly noticed
that the whole family was in a state of great excitement. The excitement,
apparently, had nothing at all to do with the person of Pavlik, as no one
paid the slightest attention to him when he came in.
The dining-room table had not been cleared. Father was striding from
room to room, his shoes squeaking loudly and 'his coat-tails flying. There
were red spots on his face.
"I told you. I warned you," Auntie kept repeating, as she swung back
and forth on the swivel stool in front of the piano with its wax-spotted
silver candlesticks.