Читать книгу SYMBOL OF ETERNITY - В. Спейс - Страница 4

The air was filled with the spicy scent of the flowers. Gentle breeze in July, almost touching, stirred the tops of tall and lush grass, turning over the leaves and stems from this, it seems that grass whispering among themselves about the fabulous, intimate secrets hidden in their impenetrable thickets.

That would get there in the foliage of the jungle to become at least for a moment such as a hard worker ant, help him drag a huge three ant mote growth. Then climb up the slippery, shiny, and lacquered like a pole, to the luxurious flower stalk of clover and drink, like a bee, nectar.

– Zhu- Ju- ju- ju- at- Well! – Deep voice buzzing bumble bee.

Black ball spinning for a while over the flower, as if taking aim, and finally sits down heavily on a pink velvet bud. Effectively, with ease, moving awkwardly hairy body from flower to flower, with obvious pleasure, he relishes the sweet nectar, completely ignoring the curious glance, given breakfast in a hornet. Do you think there is time to look around, when there are so many colors, let’s quickly collect juicy fragrant nectar. Yes, if you notice on the background of the sea of fragrant multicolored buds head, but noticed that the eyes of the boys to watch the sky itself. They are blue, blue. Or maybe, he thought, that two bumblebee cornflower turned heads in a light summer breathing.

My blond head stuck in the overgrown grasses. Fascinated by what he saw the mystery of nature, I looked wide- eyed at the pristine beauty of the grass, on the scurrying with concern fussiness, insects buzzing, rustling, pulsating in the grass. In the old orchard trees and my eyes finally met the sky. I look into his bottomless blue, lying on his back. How do you want to fly in the vast expanse of alluring, float in it, and look, and look down upon the native village? In the garden, where I am lying. On an apiary. In the old park. At his home, which is near here, is to climb over the fence and cross the road.

The sun rises higher and higher. Paints gradually lose their transparency, turning in faded colors. Day flares. In the sun gets hot, this sun. A hot breeze brings the smell of pine resin. With difficulty, she broke away from the inviting cool grass, I went on the fleecy green carpet of grass pulp aside little white houses, beehives lined up in neat rows of mesh fence apiary…

Through the glass, a single large, the windows on the wooden floor of the room falls sheaf of sunlight outlining a neat square with shadows of leaves stirring in him. Close to the windowsill lined with straight lines (sundial), the charge of the table, at the same time it is a workbench for carpentry work. It smells pungent resinous aroma. Fresh chips and spicy smell of wax coming from the framework, completely hung on the walls of the little room, creating this amazing flavor of the honey wax and pine shavings.

The situation storeroom beekeeper adds oven lined almost to the ceiling. In the corner of the room, facing the window on the left is a metal barrel with a centrifuge inside. From large handle through gear meshing rotation is transferred to the centrifuge.

For table- bench elderly man is sitting. He is holding a thick book and read carefully. Through lowered to nose round glasses in the book look brown eyes focused from under bushy gray eyebrows. The old man suddenly looked up from reading, listening. Behind the door, the sound of footsteps. He turned his head and looked at the door. On the threshold appeared the boy:

– Hello Grandfather!

– Ah, it’s you, Valik. Come in, – Said the old man, gentle and kind voice.

– Grandpa, and honey it is time to look at?

– It’s time. It has long been conducted. Oh- ho- ho. Where were you yesterday?

– So I came and so early. Just have been the cases. – Contrite I replied…

– Well, – he smiles slyly, – beekeeper.

He got up heavily and went to the centrifuge:

– Here’s your honey. – And, groaning, he pulled out of the barrel with a heavy frame,

full of amber honey, honeycomb.

– Take a mug and pick up the faster water.

Honey mixed with wax honeycombs, melted in the mouth, and was much more delicious honey that eating just a spoon. I took out of his mouth neat Chewed lumps and throwing them into a bucket where the beekeeper dropped pieces of wax, then to fuse the wax ingot. These bars he swapped the wax screen within a tagged them neat Allen, a future bee masonry. Full of honey, I sipped two to three sips of water from heavy copper mugs and taken again juicy chew honeycomb. And so, savoring ate and ate until the beekeeper did not stop me:

– Show the stomach?

I pulled up his shirt, revealing a swollen like a drum and round belly.

– Wow! – Consciously, carefully, and the feeling of rough skin on the abdomen. – There have already appeared on the skin drops of honey!

– «Maybe I ate too much, and volvulus?» – Thought whit apprehension. And ask cunning beekeeper was hesitant, he asked instead:

– Grandpa, what have you got for this mug?

– What, this?

– Well, this here, though, and small and heavy. – I, twisting in the hands of a copper mug, – The houses and a larges and light.

– So there you have it, and that we have.

The conversation usually ends. But I wanted to talk more. I peered searchingly at the old man’s gray shaggy eyebrows, and continued:

– What are you reading?

– What are you reading? Uh, it’s still too early to know you.

He closed a massive hardcover and pushed aside the thick volume. Then he got up from his chair, carefully considering any line inscribed in pencil on the windowsill. Shadow of a window frame coincided with one of them. As a satisfied grunt, the old man said:

– Well, it’s time, and return home.

It’s a shame; it was in the heart of the old man. And the fact that he is silent, afraid of honey, speaking on his stomach. Yes, apparently, does not like guest’s beekeeper. On the way home I stopped in front of the garden fence. Furtively looked around, and then hastily pulled coats the stomach and examined carefully. Belly glittering beads of sweat, said on its entire surface, and these drops are so similar to a drop of honey that the finger itself involuntarily reached for the sticky balls and collect some beam on the finger. Flavor drops are the most common were salty bitter. Now, if in the act of the boy he noticed his friends. Forever rest run away from him. But their next and the boy continued to study the bulging belly. He even turned to the sun, but all in vain, but small sparkles of sweat drops of honey anywhere debts. So beekeeper deceived him? Again irritation coming right up to the throat treacherous lumpy. I frowned, shirt tucked in his pants. Put on the right shoulder suspenders, pants will not fall. And jumped over the fence…

Summer is hot time for rural laborers working in the field. Summer day passes fast as one minute. For children, running around in kindergartens and schoolchildren, tourists on vacation, summer day suddenly rushes, replacing morning to noon, noon to evening. And it roaring herd, returning from the pastures, in the copper sunset. We hear vociferous appeals to mothers of calling home playing children.

In the evening, at dinner, I asked my mother:

– Mom, who is a beekeeper?

The mother did not quite answer:

– You better ask grandmother?

I frowned again:

– «Well, what, why do not they talk to me in a kind way? Eh, that’s

Vali father all the time with a smile, all the time, all about everything.»

But curiosity got the better. And I went to my grandmother, who was busy at this time, as always, by the stove. Grandma turned to my face, all pitted with deep fine wrinkles, with the ever- trembling chin:

– You jumped off the table? Sit back,. – I sat down again at the table – I’ll get potatoes with meat.

Grandmother, deftly wielding pitchforks furnace, pulled out of the pot with a hot stove.

– Ba- A, a, Grandma?

Ta hear, hear. What do you want?

– And who is a beekeeper? – I did not give up.

– This Is Fedos Kuzmovich, Diaconal!

– Ba- A, a, a grandmother, and that such Diaconal?

– This is the one who in the church hymns. Here come with me there and hallow see.