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Everything Begins In Childhood. Valery Yuabov
Читать онлайн.Название Everything Begins In Childhood
Год выпуска 2003
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Автор произведения Valery Yuabov
Жанр Современная русская литература
Издательство ЛитРес: Самиздат
Besides, we kids had a serious suspicion. To be precise, we were sure that the dog eaters were catching animals in order to feast on their meat. That’s why we called them dog eaters.
“Why not? It’s very simple,” we discussed the cause of dog eating. “There’s often no meat at the bazaar. That’s why they try to catch poor dogs. They skin them and chop the meat into pieces. They eat it themselves and take some of it to the bazaar. Just try to tell dog meat from mutton.”
Aroused by such ideas, our hatred of the dog eaters grew boundlessly. Unlike the adults, all of us, especially those who were older, did not limit ourselves to verbal altercations with our enemies. We devised different methods of defense and keen plans for revenge. While the dog hunters were trying to catch their prey, we boys would either puncture the tires of their truck or stick matches into the ignition. Once, we even managed to open the truck and set almost a dozen dogs free. And later, hiding in the hallways, we writhed with laughter as we watched the dog eaters’ growing rage.
Of course, as they were arriving, our first task was defense. We had to make our plans in advance, and they had to be carefully thought out. Today’s tactic was clear – hide in the basement, that very basement where Leda fed her pups.
We retreated, like the Spartans, forming a triangle, holding our briefcases out like shields, with Leda in the middle. We safely reached the third entrance, where there was a staircase leading to the basement. Going down there with Leda was not as scary as going by ourselves, but still… many of us, including me, were afraid of the basement. Its dark expanse stretched under the building for its entire length and was lit only by sunlight streaming through small windows in the back wall. Besides, the ceiling was low, and we had to bend over to walk.
The darkness and desolation made the basement a perfect refuge for all kinds of riffraff who would stay there overnight, or sometimes even live there. An alcoholic who was drinking like a fish stayed there until he sobered up; a homeless hobo lived there for a month or so until he was chased out. It would be all right if it were just that, but the high school students talked vaguely about evil spirits and ghosts.
“Once I stood there…” Sipa was telling us, “smoking. Suddenly, I looked around and saw ‘it’ staring at me with its glowing eyes. And it was mumbling as if it had been wounded… I don’t know how I managed to escape.”
“That was a homeless drunk,” his friends laughed at him. “He was asking you to help him cure his hangover, but you didn’t understand him you were so scared. You can’t be serious!”
They laughed all right, but it gave us the creeps.
Leda ran in front of us as we walked in single file, looking around, even though it was absolutely dark. We hadn’t equipped ourselves with flashlights – that was a big mistake, since it was difficult to walk in the basement without stumbling, even with flashlights. You could come across anything there – pieces of pipe, chunks of cement, bottles, various types of garbage, not to mention dried up human excrement. But we walked and walked and walked. Leda’s shining eyes showed us the way that she knew very well.
The pups, all seven of them, lay on the rags by one of the windows. We could get a better look at them there. They were tiny, and they poked each other with their wet little noses, yelping softly. How aminated they became when they smelled their mother. Pushing each other impatiently, they crawled to her belly. It wasn’t far to crawl. As soon as Leda reached them, she would sniff them without fail and lie down on her side.
We grew quiet. All we could hear was the smacking of their lips.
Suddenly, a match was struck a few steps away, by the wall. Someone uttered a cry. We didn’t even have time to get scared, as the flame illuminated Oleg’s face.
“Who are you guys hiding from?” he asked.
“From the dog eaters!” and we began to tell him about our recent “battle,” interrupting each other.
Leda was a participant in the conversation. She whirled at Oleg’s feet, yelping quietly and wagging her tail. Leda liked Oleg. He had been ready to fight to defend her many times. Dogs can discern people’s good qualities better than some humans.
“We should have burned their shed long ago,” Oleg mumbled, after listening to our story about the dog eaters.
The idea received enthusiastic support, but he never got a chance to burn down the stand.
Saying good-bye to Leda and the pups, we never imagined that we were seeing our dog for the last time, but that was what happened. Leda disappeared the next day. No one knew what had happened or how it happened. And the dog eaters never showed up again.
We ran through all the yards in the neighborhood. We asked everyone, children and adults, but no one had caught sight of her. We managed to give two of her pups to nice people, but the other five had to be drowned. Of course, the adults did it, not us.
We didn’t adopt another stray dog. It just didn’t work out. We also didn’t want to be unfaithful to Leda, for we hoped she would come back one day.
Chapter 17. A Gulp of Life
The caterpillar tracks of tanks rattled, booming shots rumbled, the barrels of cannons gave off smoke. It was just another exercise underway on the training ground of the tank school. We watched the “battle” with agitation, ecstasy and envy from the roof of our building.
We were really lucky to live in this building. We were so lucky that all the boys in town envied us. A huge plot of vacant land began behind our building and stretched for a few kilometers up into the hills. The tank school was located at the edge of that plot. The training ground where the tank exercises were carried out wasn’t far from the school. Well? Is it clear now why we were lucky? We could watch that wonderful spectacle – which was sweeter for us than any movie about war – from the roof of our building, as if from the stands of a stadium. Were we capable of simply watching? Actually, we were not on the roof but on a hill from which, as representatives of General Headquarters, we directed the battle.
“Where… Where the heck are you going? Get in position to intercept them! C’mon!” Vitya Smirnov yelled, peering into the distance through field glasses formed by his curved fingers.
We heard muted submachinegun shots… then single pistol shots…
“That was a Kalashnikov… Now it’s tracer bullets…” it was Kolya Kulikov explaining what was going on as he sat with his eyes closed. He was a real expert. Kolya rocked to the rhythm of the shooting, hugging his knees and straining his hearing till he had a sharp pain in his ears. It was as if he were sitting somewhere in a concert hall, enjoying classical music… “Three… four… five…” he counted. “They’ll be done shortly.”
A sixth revolver shot rang out, and a short period of silence fell, both on the training ground and on the roof, but the events continued unfolding in our imagination. Here was an officer lying in a trench. He was wounded, and he was outnumbered. He had no more bullets in his pistol. They were surrounding him… and…
“That’s the end,” Kolya exhaled. He wasn’t rocking any longer. There was suffering in his eyes. “That’s the end. He’s been killed.”
But still we were listening, waiting… what if…
There it was! Bang-bang-bang – single shots were heard.
“No, he hasn’t been killed,” Vitya declared triumphantly. “He was changing the cartridge clip. Kolya, you always panic.”
Yes, of course, we were representatives of General Headquarters on the hill. But we’d rather have been down there, on the battlefield, dashing forward in pursuit of the enemy, or seated at the levers of military vehicles. Forward, always forward!
Sweet dreams…
Many