"Anatoly Rybakov. The dirk (Кортик, англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

many things had he smashed, torn or spoiled! Books, clothes.... All his
misdeeds fell on Mother's thin shoulders. But she worked patiently, darned
and sewed. And he was ashamed of holding her hand in the street "like a
little boy." He never kissed Mother-he thought that was sloppy. And to-day,
too, he had been thinking of some way to distress her, after she had dropped
every thing at home, suffered an agonizing week travelling in goods-vans and
brought him all the things he needed. She had carried them all herself and
now never left his bedside.
Misha half closed his eyes. The room was quite dark. Only the corner
where Mother was sitting was illumined by the golden light of the passing
day. She was sewing, her head bent over her work, and singing softly.


Blacker than treachery, blacker than tyranny,
Black is an autumn night,
Black as the prisons that loom in the mistiness,
Black is the tyrant's might.

And the word "Hear. . ." that started the refrain was as drawn-out and
melancholy as a groan.
This was the song of a young prisoner with fine features, who sang it
with his hands clutching the bars of his prison while his eyes gazed on the
happy, inaccessible world outside.
Mother sang on and on. Misha opened his eyes; he could just dimly make
out her pale face in the darkness. One song followed another and all of them
were mournful and sad.
Misha suddenly burst out crying.
"Misha, darling, what's the matter?" Mother asked gently, bending over
him.
Without a word, he flung his arms round her neck, pulled her towards
him, and pressed his face against her warm, familiar blouse.
"Mummy, darling, I love you so!" he whispered.


Chapter 8

VISITORS



Misha recovered quickly; the only bandage left was on his head. He was
allowed to get up for short intervals and to sit up in bed, and, finally,
his chum Genka was let in to see him.
Genka came into the room timidly and stopped near the door. Misha did
not turn his head.
"Sit down," he said weakly and watched Genka out of the corner of his
eye.
His friend sat down gingerly on the edge of a chair, stared
open-mouthed at Misha, and vainly tried to hide his rather dirty feet under
the chair.