Lingvo Fan Club

Февраль 2007

“Lelya! Home!” My mother’s voice floats high above corn and sunflower stalks bordering neat patches of blooming potatoes, beds of carrots and beets, rows of ripening tomatoes and bell peppers, pumpkin and cucumber vines. It mingles with the falling dusk and sweet smoke of wood fires rising from the chimneys—all over the village women are preparing supper. The cattle are returning home from the day of grazing in the distant clover meadows by Gitalova Hill. The herdsman, Ivan Silantyevich, simply Silych to everyone, even kids, carries a rope whip over his shoulder. He looks sunburned and tired but content, anticipating a hearty meal of potatoes boiled in their skins, pickled herring, brown bread, and a salad of cucumbers, tomatoes, and onions from the vegetable garden tended by Ivan’s wife Pelageya Martynovna. The thought of his darling baba brings a smile to Silych’s parched lips; maybe Pelagesha will be benevolent enough to allow him a shot or two of Stolichnaya from the bottle she keeps under lock and key in the kitchen cabinet next to the icebox. Прочитать остальную часть записи »