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

nothing and simply threw up her hands in alarm at the very idea. Actually,
it was all very stupid, for hadn't the jam been made and sent expressly for
the purpose of being eaten!
While stretching his legs, Petya opened the sideboard, got up on to a
chair and looked on the very top shelf where the heavy jar of Yekaterinoslav
jam stood. After admiring it for a while he closed the sideboard and
returned to his pupil. Gavrik was labouring away and had already got as far
as "N," which he did not know how to write. Petya helped him, praised his
penmanship, and noted casually:
"By the way, Grandma sent us a six-pound jar of strawberry jam for
Christmas."
"You don't say." '
"Honestly!"
"They don't make jars that big."
"Don't they?" Petya smiled sarcastically
"No, they don't."
"A fat lot you know about jars!" Petya mumbled and stalked into the
dining-room. When he returned, he gingerly placed the heavy jar on the desk
between globe and microscope. "Well, go on, say it's not a six-pounder."
"You win."
Gavrik drew his notebook closer land copied out three more Latin
letters: "O," identical with the Russian letter, "P," resembling the Russian
"R," and a rather strange-looking one called "Q," which gave him not a
little trouble.
"Fine!" Petya exclaimed. He hesitated a moment and added, "What do you
say to trying the jam? Want to?"
"I don't mind," Gavrik said. "But what'll Auntie say?"
"We'll just have a spoonful, she won't even notice the difference."
"Petya went to fetch a spoon, then he patiently untied the bow of the
tight cord. He carefully raised the top paper, which had taken the shape of
a lid and, still more carefully, removed the parchment disk beneath.
The disk had been soaked in rum to keep the jam from spoiling, and
directly underneath lay the glossy, placid surface. With the utmost caution
Petya and Gavrik helped themselves to a full spoon each.
The Yekaterinoslav grandmother was a famous jam-maker, and strawberry
jam was her pride. But this jam in particular was of unrivalled quality.
Never had Petya-to say nothing of Gavrik-tasted anything like it. It was
fragrant, thick, and, at the same time, ethereal, full of large transparent
berries, tender, choice, deliciously sprinkled all over with tiny yellow
seeds, and it just melted in their mouths.
They licked their spoons clean and made the happy discovery that,
actually, the quantity of jam in the jar hadn't gone down a bit-the surface
was still level with the top. No doubt, some physical law of large and small
quantities could well be applied to this particular case: the vast capacity
of the jar and the minute capacity of the tea-spoon, but since neither Petya
nor Gavrik as yet had any idea of this law, they thought it no less than a
miracle that the jam had remained at its former level.
"Exactly as it was," Gavrik said.
"I told you she wouldn't notice it." With these words Petya replaced
the first parchment disk, then the paper lid, rewound the cord tightly, made