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

his friends in Near Mills some kind of special interest, but he was in the
dark as to the reason why.
The sailor and Gavrik had exchanged the same sort of glances too.
Perhaps, Petya thought, people always behaved like that in the presence of
someone about to go abroad. Petya had not yet set foot outside his native
city, but he already felt that new experiences awaited him around every
corner. He would suddenly find himself in a side-street he had never trod
before and would stop to look at a tiled house or a garden with the curious
eyes of a tourist.
How many times, for example, had he passed the Sabansky Barracks and
never dreamed that behind its gates was an unknown world-a sleepy, deserted
yard with anchors and cannon-balls, a naval outfitter's shop where a sailor
sewed woollen signal flags, ancient windows in deep niches from which the
sea seemed altogether different and unfamiliar, luring one to explore
far-off lands.
The sailor examined the cloth and praised it. He would make the blouse,
but his charge would be five rubles. Gavrik shoved Petya aside, looked hard
at the sailor, shook his head reproachfully, and said that one ruble would
be far too much. They bargained a long time, and finally the sailor said he
would do the job for two rubles, and only because Petya was "one of us."
What this meant Petya did not understand.
The sailor then wiped the lid of a large sea chest with his sleeve,
said, "Sit down, boys," and went to fetch a copper kettle of boiling water.
They drank tea from tin mugs, sucking lumps of sugar and eating tasty rye
bread that the sailor cut off in large slices, pressing the loaf to his
brawny chest.
Gavrik and the sailor kept up a grave conversation over tea, and,
judging by what was said, Petya concluded that the sailor-Gavrik called him
"Uncle Fedya"-knew Terenty's family well and was actually a distant relative
on his mother's side. The conversation was mostly about family and money
matters. However, from certain hints and veiled expressions, Petya divined
that there was another bond between Terenty and Uncle Fedya. Petya could not
quite get the hang of it, but he vaguely felt a long-forgotten echo of the
terrible and troubled air of 1905.
At last Uncle Fedya pulled out a decrepit oilcloth tape-measure with
the numbers all worn off, measured Petya, and promised to have the blouse
ready in three days. He was as good as his word. In addition, he made a
sailor's cap for the boy with the left-over cloth, and attached an old St.
George ribbon with long ends to it. The cap was free of charge.
Petya had a look at himself in the crooked little mirror that hung on
the wall next to a coloured print of Taras Shevchenko and could not hold
back the happy, radiant smile that spread across his face all the way to his
ears.




DEPARTURE