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

Petya. Petya removed his cap.
"Run! Petya, run!" he yelled land made a frantic dash for the gangway,
but he immediately realized his mistake when he saw that Petya merely
removed the ribbon and gave it to the officer, after which he put his cap on
his head again as if nothing had happened.
Gavrik looked round anxiously, but no one had paid any attention to his
yelling. They were all busy waving good-bye.
The officer handed out the passports, saluted and walked down the
gangway, followed by his soldiers and Moustache. A brisk command was shouted
in Italian, and the gangway was pulled up. Italian sailors in blue jerseys
ran along the side, nimbly taking in the mooring-lines; there was a jerky,
insistent ringing of the engine-room telegraph, the red blades of the
propeller revolved, churning up the water beneath the gold lettering which
spelled: Palermo. The deck straightened itself, the ship shuddered, and
Petya saw the pier, its structures, the stacks of goods, and the crowd of
waving people move now forward, now backward, and then, in some mysterious
way, turn up now at one rail, now at the other, only much smaller.
Everything on shore began to recede and diminish, as if carried away by the
wide stream of foamy green water seething beneath the stern.
Petya could hardly distinguish Gavrik and Auntie, who was waving her
umbrella. The panorama of the city began to rise slowly from behind the port
structures. There was Nikolayevsky Boulevard, the white columns of the
Vorontsov Palace rising on the cliff, the City Hall, and the tiny Duc de
Richelieu pointing his outstretched arm away to the horizon.




ON BOARD






They passed the breakwater and saw its other side, the one that faced
the open sea. A multitude of fishermen with long bamboo fishing-rods were
darting through the spray and foam of the breaking waves.
They could see Langeron, Alexandrovsky Park and the remains of its
famous arched wall and next to it the Industry and Trade Fair. This was a
township of fancy pavilions, the most prominent of which were the huge
three-storey wooden samovar of the Caravan Tea Company and the gold-tipped
black champagne bottle of the Rederer Company.
A symphony orchestra was playing at the Fair, and the breeze that
billowed the hundreds of coloured flags and pennants on the white flagstaffs
brought to Petya's ears snatches of violin crescendos, gently muted by the
distance.
Petya remained on deck, fascinated by the sight of the ship entering
the open sea. His only regret was that his St. George ribbon had been left
behind in the officer's pocket. The wind was getting stronger, it whipped