"E.Voiskunsky, I.Lukodyanov. The Crew Of The Mekong (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

and in fifteen minutes reached the marina.
A dark-haired girl in a white blouse and gay-coloured skirt was sitting
on the edge of the pier dangling her tanned legs above the water and reading
a book. When Yura caught sight of the girl he hastened out along the pier
towards her. .
"Hallo there, Val!" he called.
The girl slammed her book shut and sprang to her feet.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" She snatched off her sunglasses
to glare at Yura. "We made a date for eight o'clock and now it's going on
for ten."
"We had an urgent job to do for Mehti," Yura explained. "Val, I want
you to meet Boris Privalov."
Privalov held out his hand. "It's a pleasure," he said. "I've spoken
with you on the phone. You're the girl who rings up Yura, aren't you?"
Val smiled. "Why, yes. But maybe I'm not the only one."
"Of course you're not," Nikolai put in. "Half of the girls in town ring
him up."
"Can I help it if I'm popular?" Yura asked plaintively.
Val gave a giggle and pinched his arm.
They went aboard a sailboat that was tied up at the pier. It had the
name Mekong on its bows.
Why was this Caspian boat named after that great river, 4,500
kilometres long, which flows through China, Burma, Laos, Thailand, Cambodia
and Vietnam?
Well, sailing enthusiasts prefer lyrical names like Orion and Sputnik
to the old-fashioned Swift or Hurricane. The man formerly in charge of this
white sailboat had taken a liking to the Greek word meconium, which conjured
up some sort of mythological picture in his mind. But as soon as he painted
this name on the bows he found himself the butt of curious jokes and
innuendoes. Looking up the word, he learned that it was indeed Greek, but
had nothing to do with mythology at all. He never showed up at the marina
again.
The boat was turned over to Nikolai and Yura. Instead of racking their
brains for a totally new name they simply changed Meconium into Mekong.
The stay-sail halyard block was quickly replaced by the new one. Soon
after, the Mekong, heeling to starboard, was sweeping across the bay towards
the sea.
"Haul the sheets home!" commanded Nikolai, who was the skipper.
Privalov had crewed for them for more than a year but he much preferred to
spend his weekends at home on the sofa with a book. He did not turn up at
the marina very often, although he liked sailing.
After making fast the stay-sail sheet Privalov stretched out on the hot
boards of the deck. How wonderful it was to lie there not thinking about
anything, feeling the sun warm your bare back, watching the city with its
hustle and bustle recede into the distance, and listen to the chatter and
laughter of the two young men and the girl!
How wonderful it would be not to think about anything! But the pipeline
kept intruding.
Quite some time had already passed since a bold project for laying an
underwater pipeline between the mainland and the Neftianiye Reefs, a famous