Shackles. S. Skitalec
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quickly!. Uslykhamsha, our men went to the city, on a market there аблакат is and what аблакат? The employed conscience, the drunkard! Want the father твово to ask – how to be?
The laurels were afraid on Chalka and are efficient as the adult, interpreted the wood…
And the wood, native and close where each tree was familiar, each natural boundary bore the name, moved as live, and rustled under warm wind, spoke by many voices, and its voices merged in a solemn, viscous song. Ahead, through wide branches of oaks the flat, oval valley appeared through, the silvery black poplars going to the sky were seen.
– The merchant – continued Laurels – through the Spiked glade began to dig a ditch glubochenny and whose cattle for it will pass – we will exhaust! Did not see still a ditch?.
– And to spit to me on a kuptsova a ditch!
Vukol flashed and suddenly whacked fetters of a quick racer. The uncle did not manage to tell also words how Hector with the rider was taken out on a glade. Ringing footfall was given in the wood, the croup of a horse with a wavy long tail flashed and easy hoofs started gleaming.
– Ditch! – very much the Laurels cried and, lapping Chalka, zatrusit after. But where there was Chalke to keep up with Vaska who became angry from blow? Vukol rushed on a bareback racer mad gallop and enjoyed a desperate gallop: only wind whistled in ears, the wide field rushed towards, floated, coming nearer, gray-haired black poplars, and gradually as the cradle or a castle on waves, shook under them a hot, smooth back of a stately horse. There was a wish to rush сломя a head that everything was at all, and here only Vukol felt, without giving himself in it the report as he passionately loves this wood, both a glade, and mighty black poplars over eternally roaring Proran, the native village at silent Postepk and the hot, fire-spitting, fantastically flying together with it racer. There was a wish to throw down someone a challenge, to show that to it the devil not the brother, to overturn the enraged horse nonexistent barriers, to crush someone who plans the evil against darling, from a cradle of the favourite wood.
– Ditch! – from far away the warning, thin, plaintive voice of Laurels reached it because of wind noise.
Vukol for a moment became puzzled, wanted to besiege a horse, but was already late. In one of waves of a gallop of Vaskin the back rose especially highly and is long. The horse reared and suddenly as if separated from the earth. Vukolu seemed that he somehow very easily slipped from Vaski’s back and head over heels swept on a grass, having painfully hit a heel of the left leg against the earth.
At this time it was approached by Laurels, nearly falling from Chalka from laughter.
The edge of the wood left three children – barefoot, everyone with a horse bridle through a shoulder. They helped Laurels to take Vaska for an occasion. The laurels confused to it and Chalke forward legs fetters, removed from that and another a bridle, lashed everyone, and horses amicably began to jump to the wood.
Vukol rubbed and warmed up a leg: nothing, pain ceased, now it was possible to go. Children still from a distance cried to it:
– To catch crayfish!
It were the neighbour’s children living near a dedovy log hut, three brothers Rebrov: Stepashka, on a pro-rank the Sheep Mug, the Scaffold and Vanka Alyapa. All of them five since small years kept the unseparable company.
Vukol invented fantastic games, every time new, in compliance with contents of the read books, told strange and sophisticated stories, but for this purpose it was always necessary to go at first to the wood, to a stream or the lake, to catch hands of crayfish, then to make fire, and after it Vukol was inspired on stories and any inventions: the last campaigns behind cucumbers and water-melons on others often were among a melon field and kitchen gardens, behind green pods and podsolnushka; for these feats to them sometimes got, but it was so pleasant to creep with fragile heart on a belly, to talk in a whisper and to come back in the same way with production. Business was not in a theft charm: it was always the game invented by Vukol. It was – the ataman of robbers, the captain Nemo, Robinzon, and the uncle – a Cossack captain or Friday, the others received roles too. Before beginning a game, he behind a fire told a story which should be played.
– Teperich, so we will catch crayfish, and after the game will go!. Tea, brought what new?
– Of course!. I will already tell you, and now – let’s go on Eric.
Vukol, despite the hurt leg, ran ahead of all: dry and thin, it was easiest on the run: nobody could be ahead him. Behind the Spiked glade Postepok fell into abrupt, hilly coast, and in this place was called Eric: here much crayfish were found. The great master to catch them there was Stepashka the Sheep Mug. He undressed, carefully went down in water, having plunged into it up to a throat, a vypucha of an eye, began to rummage hands under water: in the abrupt, mossy coast crayfish hid in special holes, and nobody was able to pull out so dexterously underwater hermits as did it the Mug. In a minute he threw on the coast of large cancer, then another, the third. Other children brought together them and piled. The laurels went to ask a kettle to fishermen, Vukol collected dead wood. The fire flared soon.
When all took seat around fire, Vukol told:
– I will tell you a new game – the siege of Troy – from life of ancient people is called… There were heroes – Odysseus, Achilles and Hector. I read this book recently… Troy – it was the city, and it was burned during war, and war came out because of Beautiful Elena. This history so begins:
Anger, about the goddess, sing of Achilles, Peleev of the son…
Sheep Mug diligently inflated a flame, and his long, freckled face amazingly similar to a sheep or goat muzzle reddened from a flame and strain. The laurels, in a shubnyak full of holes, a ripped cap, barefoot, enclosed firewood, Alyapa, small, tolstenky, with linen hair, with a thick nose – broke the prepared boughs, the Scaffold, similar to the brother, but is more comely, was heated at fire: autumn morning was coldish, fresh wind blew. Vukol wound a wreath from oak branches, put on it the head. After the ardent story all were silent for about a minute.
– And an otkelev you know all this, exactly everywhere were? – with ingenuous surprise bloated Alyapa asked.
– Yes itself bat that in books read! – was responsible for Vukol Lyosk – at – ooh, fierce to a chitanye!.
– I not only read – Vukol objected – I when he in the city of veins, in theater saw any representations also in them played roles. There such stories are played, well and you see, happened as really, real-life such people what lived one thousand years ago…
– See you!
– Really! – all alive saw both Elena Prekrasnuyu and Paris and Menelaus! Only in a ridiculous look, and in the book they are not ridiculous!.
– And the fire of Troy saw?
– And that as?
– Eh, here to have a look! – lanky the Mug waved long hands – I love if that burns!. – and again began to blow on fire.
– Throw! – derisively told it the being silent Laurels all the time – and so too burns!
– I love! – it was not appeased the Mug, however rose from knees, shifted a cap on a nape and wiped sweat from a freckled forehead. Then, having become even more similar to a sheep, unexpectedly screamed, having turned on one leg: – Great burns! Give, children, a near stack zazhgy! at-at! as if was engaged!
– Waugh-from! – with a sneer the solid Laurels squoze the word – clever what!. it is told, three years not баял, and blurted out – so take out Saints! unless it then was mown to burn down?
– Yes it not our hay, not rustic, купцово!
– So