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

few seconds that these preliminaries took seemed eternal to Genka, but Misha
did not hit him.
"The grease's dried up," he said, lowering his hand.
He started wetting his fingers all over again. This was repeated before
every blow, until Misha finally paid off all the five hot ones. Genka tried
to hold back the tears welling up in his eyes as he blew on his smarting
hand; it had turned blue.
The sun was rising higher and higher in the sky; the shortening shadows
pressed closer to the fences; the street lay hushed, hardly breathing in the
torpid heat; and the air was stifling. The boys decided to go swimming and
trooped off to the River Desna.
The narrow road, grooved by hardened ruts, wound across the fields that
spread out in all directions in greenish-yellow squares. These seemed to
sink into hollows and clamber the hills, gradually becoming round and moving
off into the distance in a broad arc that supported the woods, the isolated
barns, and the pensive clouds.
The wheat stood tall and still. The boys tore off the ears and chewed
the grain, energetically spitting out the husks that stuck to their palates.
There was a rustling in the wheat and frightened birds flew up into the air
almost from under their feet.
At the river's edge the boys chose a sandy spot, undressed, and jumped
into the water, splashing it up in huge fountains. They swam, dived,
wrestled, jumped from a rickety bridge, and finally climbed back to the bank
and dug themselves into the hot sand.
"Misha, is there a river in Moscow?" Genka asked.
"Yes. The Moscow River. I've already told you that a thousand times."
"You mean it flows through the city?"
"Yes."
"Then how can you swim in it?"
"In trunks. They won't let you near a mile of it without trunks. The
mounted militia watches."
Genka smirked in disbelief.
"What are you smirking for?" Misha said getting angry. "You haven't
seen anything except your Revsk, and you think you're smart!"
He fell silent, watching a drove of horses approach the river. "Now you
tell me: what's the smallest horse?" he asked. "A foal," Genka replied
without hesitation.
"There, you don't know! The pony's the smallest horse. There are
Shetland ponies, they're the size of dogs; while Japanese ponies are like
cats almost."
"You're fibbing!"
"Who, me? If you'd been to a circus just once you wouldn't argue. You
haven't been to a circus, have you? Own up: you haven't?... There you are.
And you're arguing!"
Genka stopped to think for a moment.
"A horse like that's no good," he said, "can't use it in the cavalry,
or anywhere else."
"What's the cavalry got to do with it? D'you think people fight only on
horseback? If you want to know, one sailor's worth three cavalrymen."
"I'm not saying anything about sailors," Genka said, "but you can't do