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

Ice-cold water was poured into a large goblet from a heavy, misty
decanter that had become frosted in the ship's refrigerator; then a small
amount of wine was added to the water.
The wine did not mix with the water immediately. It swirled around in
threads and then spread out, making the water a bright ruby-red, and
throwing a pink swaying star-like reflection on the starched table-cloth.




ISTANBUL






The biggest impression of those first days was the sight of the open
sea. For a day and two nights, between Odessa and the Bosporus, there was no
land in sight. The ship was making good speed, yet it seemed to be
motionless in the centre of a blue circle.
At noon, when the sun was directly overhead, Petya could not figure out
which way they were heading.
There was something entrancing about this seeming immobility, about the
empty horizon and the triumph of the two blue elements-sea and sky-between
which Petya's whole existence seemed to be suspended.
At dawn of the. second day he was awakened by the sound .of running
feet overhead. The ship's bell was ringing, the engines had stopped and in
the unusual stillness he could hear the clear gurgling sound of water
lapping at the ship's side. He looked out the porthole and through the early
morning mist saw a steep green bank. There was a little lighthouse and a
barrack with a tiled roof on the bank.
Petya threw on his clothes and ran up on deck. A Turkish pilot in a red
fez was standing next to the captain, and the ship inched slowly into the
green lane of the Zoospores. The lane widened and narrowed like a meandering
river. At times the bank would be so close that Petya thought he could
stretch his arm and touch the leaning white tombstones chaotically scattered
among the cypresses in the Moslem cemetery, the poppy-red flag with the
crescent in the middle that waved over the custom-house, or the turf-covered
earthwork of the shore batteries.
This was Turkey-they were now abroad, in a foreign country, and Petya
suddenly felt a sharp pang of longing for his homeland, and, at the same
time, a burning curiosity. The homesickness remained with him until he
returned to Russia.
The sun was now quite high, and by the time they reached the Golden
Horn and dropped anchor in the roads of Constantinople Bay the warm
reflections of the water sparkled and gleamed all over the ship-from
water-line to mast-top.
From then on the Bachei family was possessed by a madness common to all
inexperienced tourists. They felt that every minute was precious and wanted