Читать книгу SYMBOL OF ETERNITY - В. Спейс - Страница 11

There was an early thaw. End of February, beginning of March brought snowmelt. Thawing water does not have time to go into the land. Frozen layers are formed and firmly retain the entire lake. In the morning, glassy luster, reflecting the pink rays of the rising sun, shining ice in them. By evening, the ice melts again at night to become a chilled glass golf riding on his feet.

At night, the water was in the basement.

The mother found her at four o’clock in the morning, anxiously peering inside. Potatoes were flooded, flooded twenty- centimeter layer of water, and the water is slow.

I was awakened by an impatient, angry mother shouting:

– Well, get up, help carry water!

I did not immediately realize where to wear and what wear. I wanted to sleep, my eyes were closing, I wanted to go to bed again, in the midst of cozy warmth you need to get up in the nasty cold abyss. But the inexorable cry was repeated once again:

– I’ll take the rod right now! Come on, get up, reptile soul! – Not a good and an evil voice. My mother pushed me out of bed.

A minute later, in large rubber boots I slapped the cellar stairs with a bucket full of melted water and poured over the threshold.

Despite superhuman efforts, the water is not decreased. Dawn crept slowly displacing the gray haze light of the candle, which was manifested strong emaciated and evil face of the mother. I knew that bailing futile exercise. We have to find a hole where it goes, and score it. Water from the cellar itself will go into the ground.

To say the mother, then to hear the derogatory, offensive words, something like:

– " Loafer, wants to flood?!!» – And that kind of thing is something else. But I felt sorry for his mother and decided to still say:

– It is necessary to score a hole. You see already light, and water is not diminished.

– Mind- ton you, as a hostel pants. So show me where this hole? – Mother looked at me with hatred, adding binder to the words – I’ll take the whip here, and how will give you a quitter. A nu- ka, carry water and do not you dare tell me what to what to do. Ah what?!

It was unpleasant to listen to the entire unfortunate woman, but I endured day and decided to find a hole and see, and Put a cap of clay…

Creak steps in the predawn darkness frightened alerted us in dirty water in the basement with my mother.

– Who’s there? – Asked the mother.

– It’s me! – Male voice responded.

– And it’s you, Ivan! – Mother found Babchenko Ivan, the father of the boys Kohli and Shura.

– What was flooded? – Asked Ivan.

– And you do not see? – Almost crying in frustration choked voice said my mother.

– It is necessary to lift the potatoes. Or fill sand small basement.

– To lift the potatoes?!

– Good. I will help lift the potatoes of water in boxes, and then create a flooring of boards.

And work has begun to boil again. Mother suddenly commanded, looking at me:

– Go get ready for school.

I rushed into the house. The stove warmed breakfast grandmother. Warm, cozy caressed tired and sleepy body. I do not want to do, to move, to think.

– Son, comes to the table. – Grandma’s voice startled. I got there almost cooled buckwheat soup with meat.

– I did not want to wake you. Quite tortured child. – Devastate grandmother shook her head and added, – says- well, at least- was in a cesspool drowned, and she would not have suffered and it had not tortured child.

At school I was nodding his head, falling asleep in class on the Ukrainian language lesson.

Hope G. monotonous sleepy, sleepy voice some of their concerns gray eyes slowly taught grammar. So much so that it looked like a fly in our class when flying from the board to the window is not reached, and falls asleep to the voice chat in flight.

I fell on my hands, I fell asleep. Got a burning pain, some violently, dragged me by the hair.

When I finally came to his senses and jumped to his feet, to somehow ease the sharp pain, and I had not seen in a gray mist, steel and teachers look hard to keep my fingers through the hair on his head. In the class of dead silence. Children with curiously watched this scene inquisitorial executions. My head by the hair, like a pendulum clock from the floor, with metallic overtones in his voice teacher to the beat of hesitation, like an automaton, coined words:

– With my mother I was at school tomorrow! Without the mother did not dare to come! I repeat what I said?!

– With my mother I was at school tomorrow! – I made an effort not to cry, and repeated what the teacher said.

With wide- open eyes at me from the opposite end of the class looked girl Alex. The first time I felt sympathy in the eyes of the girl, and it has strengthened in me the internal forces, gave an impetus toward self- confidence. Oh, how I wanted at that moment to spit in the sleepy, hateful eyes, gall- pale face Nadezhda Grigorievna, presents a beautiful poetic Ukrainian language so mediocre and ridiculous. But fate constrained me. Bitterness choked throat. And I sat morally jacked up on the bench desks.

– And now, children, write down homework. Ivan Franco learn the verse «Kamenyar». – Monotone is said Nadezhda Grigorievna.

On the way home me caught up with Alex.

– Look, this reptile you dragged by the hair?

– Last night I pulled out the water from the cellar, and not enough sleep. – I explain Alex. – Mother furious, like a poisonous serpent, and here in the school of its cause. – I sighed in despair circumstances pulled hard on my head.

– Well, if you want, I’ll go talk to your mother. – With the participation of said Alex – Maybe this will help.