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

It's terrible, say what you like, it's terrible," Auntie said at
dinner. She put down the ladle and pressed her fingers to her temples. "You
can think what you like about Tolstoi- personally, I look on him as the
greatest of writers-but all his non-resistance and vegetarianism are
ridiculous, and as for the Russian government, its attitude in the matter is
abominable. We are disgraced in the eyes of the whole world! As big a
disgrace as Port Arthur, Tsushima, or Bloody Sunday."
"I beg you to-" Father said anxiously. "No, please don't beg me. We
have a dull-witted tsar and a dull-witted government! I'm ashamed of being a
Russian."
"Stop, I beg you!" Father shouted. His chin jutted forward and his
beard shook slightly. "His Majesty's person is sacred. He is above
criticism. I won't permit it. Especially in front of the children."
"I'm sorry, I won't do it again," Auntie answered hurriedly.
"Let's drop the subject."
"There's just one thing I can't understand, and that is how an
intelligent, kind-hearted man like you, who loves Tolstoi, can honestly
regard as sacred a man who has covered Russia with gallows and who-"
"For God's sake," Father groaned, "let's not discuss politics. You are
an expert at turning any conversation into a political discussion! Can't we
talk without getting mixed up in politics?"
"My dear Vasily Petrovich, you still haven't realized that everything
in our lives is politics. The government is politics. The church is
politics. The schools are politics. Tolstoi is politics."
"How dare you speak like that?" "But I will!"
"Blasphemy! Tolstoi is not politics." "That's exactly what he is!"
And for long after, while Petya and Pavlik were doing their home-work
in the next room, they could hear the excited voices of Father and Auntie,
interrupting each other.
"Master and Man, Concession, Resurrection!" "War and Peace, Platon
Karatayev!" "Platon Karatayev, too, is politics!" "Anna Karenina, Kitty,
Levin!" "Levin argued communism with his brother!" "Andrei Bolkonsky,
Pierre!" "The Decembrists!" "Haji Murat!" "Nikolai Palkin!" ( The derogatory
nickname of Nicholas I, signifying "cudgel."-Tr).
"Stop, I beg you. The children can hear us."
Pavlik and Petya were sitting quietly at Father's desk, beside the
bronze oil lamp with the green glass lampshade.
Pavlik had finished his home-work and was busy putting together his new
writing outfit of which he was still very proud. He was pasting a transfer
on his pencil-box, patiently rolling up the top layer of wet paper with his
finger. A multi-coloured bouquet of flowers bound with light-blue ribbons
could be seen through it. He heard the voices in the dining-room, but did
not pay any attention to them; his mind was full of the incident that had
taken place during the writing lesson earlier" in the day. The
"obstruction," which at first sight seemed such a daring and funny prank,
now appeared in another light altogether. Pavlik could not banish the
horrible scene from his eyes.