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Shackles
S. Skitalec
© S. Skitalec, 2019
ISBN 978-5-4496-9410-2
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
PART ONE
I
Solar, cheerful morning of early spring. Shirokaya Street of the big village is full of liquid dirt, pools and the spring murmuring streamlets. From a distance, from a high belltower of rural church, the joyful ringing of easter bells rushes. At the corner of the wide church area above descent to the river there is a small timbered lodge with a high porch. Near the house where recently carpenters worked, crude odorous beams lie, and it very much pleases a band of children, barefoot, with the panties which are rolled up knee-deep, with the long hair cut in a curve piece; and only the smallest of them – the three-year-old peanut – is dressed in a city way: in a jacket and картузик with tapes, in brand new shoes. In total on it brand new, elegant, festive. From a pocket the silver chain of hours is seen.
Children tore off crude bark from a beam, soft from the inside, separate it damp, gentle tapes, twist toy reins and knutik. All of them sit on a porch, busied. The Tatar, the biggest bosses. The others watch with what art it twists a crude string. Small costs below as cannot get on steps differently as on all fours.
– Vukol! – speaks Tatork small gently – what it at you on a chain?
– Hours – Vukol answers.
– Let’s have a look!
The Tatar himself took out the real silver watch from the child’s pocket, smelled them, licked and put to an ear.
– Tick! to it-bo! chevo-s there inside ticks! Ottsova, that?
– On a name-day presented! – Vukol speaks and wants to take hours back, but Tatorka sat down with them on the top step and was engaged in opening of a cover.
Children as flies, stuck around it.
Vukol very much wants to receive back hours, but he hesitates to insist and to get difficult on a porch, will not part forcibly children: all of them it is more of it.