Book -11 Aliens novella. V. Speys
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He took a treat and said to me: "Give me, for the guys." And I'll tell them not to offend you. And if someone will pick you up then you just tell me. – He stood and did not go, pulling the wrapper from the candy in his hand. Aunt Zina said to me: – Valik, do not give these candies to anyone. They cannot be given with alcohol and children of these sweets.
I felt my importance and importance at these moments and turned to Aunt Zina:
– Can give one. With one, nothing bad will happen. – Mother looked at me and said, – Well, give him one. And let him go to treat his comrades.
I thrust Kolya two canteens and he happily ran off to friends, popping into his mouth all at once. There two more boys began to look in my direction. It was not difficult to guess what they learned from Kolya. After a short meeting, Kolya came again, and so it was repeated until all my sweets were over. After that, Kolya forgot about my existence …
"Oh, it's you, Kolya?" Sit next to Valik. – Gently, almost affectionately addressed to him, the teacher Aunt Olya, swinging her weighty body, went to the dispenser window.
The dining room was built in the form of a canopy. The difference in the treatment of the teacher to me and Kolya was noticeable. Kolya too late, even for a longer time. But he was treated with particular affection when he was near me. Of course, I did not understand such treatment, somewhere subconsciously feeling like an outcast.
Before us appeared plates with soup with fresh peas and pieces of meat.
Kolya looked into my plate and said:
"Give me your fat piece, I'll give you this piece of meat."
Kolya's plate had a large white cousin.
"It's not meat!" – I retorted.
– Meat! Meat! It is so white and there is no fat.
Before I could answer, as Kolya threw a white piece of boiled bacon, like a jelly, in my plate, and from my plate scooped up an appetizing rib with meat.
A lump of sorrow came to my throat, and I stopped eating offense.
"Take it, eat it, try it, it's meat." Kolya persuaded me, not far behind me.
And believing it, I took a piece in my mouth.
"Only you swallow it right away." It's meat! – Looking wide- eyed at his friend, continued Kolya.
I made an effort and swallowed a boiled piece of pencil lard. Again, it hurt my heart to deceive Kolya, who was considered a friend. I could hardly restrain tears and nausea coming closer to my throat. I did not want to eat. A piece of fat was stuck in the throat with a nauseating obstacle. But such a fragrant fresh pea, green dill and cow's home oil from above in the soup. Favorite soup, now it seemed tasteless. And then the cook hooked:
– What do not you eat? Well, eat!
Taking advantage of the minute when she turned away, Kolya grabbed my plate of soup and splashed it under the table, then quickly put the empty in front of me. The cook went around the long table and again approached us:
– Well, that's a fine fellow. Addition take?
– No, I do not want to. – I mumbled.
"Well, here, drink compote!" She set before me a faceted glass of pear compote, smelling of smoke. I drained the glass in a moment, the drink seemed so delicious after a portion of boiled, disgusting fat. It seemed to give me a bucket of compote, at that memorable moment, half a bucket would probably have drunk. But the portions were strictly limited.
The nausea was coming up. There was a pounding in his temples. Red butterflies fluttered before my eyes, my breath nearly stopped. With a feeling of disgust, I looked around and saw opposite the laughing face of Coley. The boy rejoiced. The mockery was successful, the feeling of the winner shone in his self- satisfied smirk.
At that moment I wanted to run home to my Friends, a red cockerel and a dog named Marsik, to my beloved cow, Zorka, and to the grumbling grandmother of Evgenia Lavrentievna.
I got out of the table. Nausea intensified, my heart beat faster, my temples pounding. Staggering, I, like a drunk, staggered to the washstand. There I was groaning. Fatty disgusting slices of fat, along with gastric juice, relieved the stomach .. The contents of the stomach splashed out in the washbasin of the washbasin, easing the overall condition. Kolya, pleased with himself, ran to the courtyard, where there was a fun game. I washed and rubbed my face with a towel, my well- being improved significantly, my giddiness passed, and I ran towards the cheerful voices of the children. In the courtyard I was greeted by the din of children's voices. The game was in full swing. Who sculpted grandmothers in the sandbox, who fought for molds and sand sovochki. Who collected in a flower bed, where, by the way, it was forbidden to do this, flowers, while Aunt Olya saw off my grandmother. But only she turned in the direction of the children, all the children were playing innocently. The pranks were instantly forgotten. Terrible – a teacher with a punishing stalk of luxurious nettles, was a respected and terrible face for children's perception. I joined a group of boys who were busy with a wooden swing, outwardly somewhat reminiscent of a giant paperweight painted with blue paint, which had succeeded where to peel off. The children paid no attention to me. Two of them were sitting in the seat on the left, and the three of them were swaying with pleasure. From an unequal weight, the swing jumped and almost did not swing.
– Hey! Let me show you Moscow! "I suddenly suggested.
"How?" The boys shouted almost in chorus.
– Very simple. Let's get into the seat alone, and you all sit in front of me and lift me high up to the clouds. The children cried together. I climbed onto the seat alone, all five climbed opposite, and I was raised high above the courtyard of the kindergarten, above the flower bed, over the children.
"Well, see Moscow?" Asked the blond boy, with wide- open blue eyes.
– I see! I replied authoritatively.
– Anu- ka, show me! " – all amicably rushed to me, and" paperweight ", threw me down, rolling in my direction.
– Well, what have you done?! I now do not see anything.
But the game began to flow in a new channel. About Moscow, all forgotten, starting to play in
"Kwacha" (in catch- up, who caught up with the others, he and Kwacha). For fun games, I forgot about the punishment, but it waited for me, threatening an unexpected revenge for disobeying my grandmother.
A teacher Olya suddenly appeared:
– Don't play enough?! – called my aunt Olya.
After breakfast, the aunt Olya, full and clumsy from her fullness, led the children into an oak grove on soft velvety grass. She spread the blanket under the thick, knobby trunk of the old oak, placed her fat body on him, and began her daily occupation, knitting blouses or darn stockings.
"Wreath!" She called with venomous notes in her voice. "You're punished today; you will not play." Sit here and do not go anywhere.
What could be more terrible for the most terrible punishment for a restless boy, how to sit next to a fat teacher, suffocating choking afterwards, clogging your breath, when there is a cheerful game right here next to your eyes. Loses the game, which breaks all my soul, and the severity of the prohibition does not allow to give pleasure, then the game becomes a hundred times more attractive than it really is. And this is the world of adults. What can be more boring than this world? Do adults really do not understand the hearts of little people, because the prohibitions in this my age bring up the deception and cunning of the little ones. So sitting next to Aunt Olya, I philosophically reflected. And sad thoughts plunged me into the jungle of reasoning that adults can only stimulate the child to play in the resolution, and the ban only tightens the soul, pushes the crime.
"Wreath!" Called the boy, bored with boredom, a skinny and frail peer. His wide open gray- blue eyes, looked innocent. The smile was affable and kind, and the upturned nose made the whole facial expression infinitely naive. He began to entice me with his gestures. The teacher at this time, snuffling, already nodded, somehow managing to sleep sitting, not leaning back on the trunk of an oak. I stood up cautiously, tiptoed over the oak.
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