Portartur. 1940 - Boris Trofimov

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time in the hope that Valya would seem to him.Inova met Lykova affably. He gave her a bunch of military news, expressed favorable assumptions and, thus, extremely pleased Seraphim Prokopyevna. Two times mothers managed to call her daughter into the living room and make her play the piano.

      Valya noticed a big change in Lykov. He leaned over, walked with his head down, stopped drinking vodka and smoking.

      On the fifth day of the war, Lykov transferred to the state gratuitously the remnants of building materials worth fifty thousand rubles. His father telegraphically approved the act, but demanded that he rather leave home. Showing the telegram to Seraphim Prokopievna, Lykov said:

      – I can not decide to leave here.

      – We are going back to Harbin in April. The movement of goods has stopped, and the entire composition of the bank’s branch has nothing to do here.

      Talk with Valery failed. Lykov grieved.

      “How short-sighted I am! The judge boy was right. Dad will approve the choice.”

      Alexander Petrovich wrote Valais a letter. Week waited for an answer. Sent the second.

      “You do not believe that I love you madly,” he wrote. – Time of my reasoning is over. I dropped the calculations. You made me turn round. I will do everything you order.”

      Valya answered:

      “No sacrifice is needed for me. How do you not understand that you need to marry after a year or two and, moreover, a girl who would not know you yesterday… I have a feeling of disgust for you… You smell like a foreigner… Maybe it’s cruel, but you are not a boy, but everyone a recognized smart businessman… I don’t need anything. But homeland needs you. Go to the headquarters and take on the share of concerns for the construction of fortifications in dangerous places. Work and live among the soldiers.”

      four

      In the courtyard occupied by the servants of the seventh cannon, the big fanza was cleared, and the Chinese family lived in a small one. The host and the teenage chinchone each morning went to the field. There were three Chinese women: an old woman and two young women, one of them pregnant. At the threshold of the fanza, three small girls played all day.

      Konevyazov memorized a few words of Russian-Chinese jargon, and at each meeting he tried to encourage the owner of the court, who went to hang his head. Orlovets decided to prove to his master that he must definitely leave Nangual.

      – You what, the kind person, you sit here, but you don’t leave somewhere far away from war? You have a horse, you have a cart, and so go.

      The Chinese looked at the orlovtsov and shrugged.

      – Captain Shango… My booty.

      Apparently, the master assumed that the soldier wanted to get some thing from him. Konevyazov thought about himself:

      “Why did the Chinese stay here? Why didn’t you go north with the others? The Japanese landed, the path is cut. Is it a pity that he should leave his native village? A pregnant wife is about to be resolved… How can he explain?”

      One evening he called the host to the arba. – You have to go, you have to go soon.

      The Chinese again wondered. An old woman came out into the yard. The girls ran to the orlovtsu, they have become accustomed to it.

      – What, again, wanted sugar? I will give sugar, dam, – the gunner laughed and put the children in the arba. Turning to the fanzi host, he said:

      – Grandmother sit, madame sit, and then let’s go. – Konevyazov harnessed himself in a cart and drove her a few steps to the gate.

      The girls laughed and waved their hands, but the Chinese did not understand anything. The seriousness with which the orlovets spoke, worried him. He looked around in bewilderment and, crouching down in the middle of the courtyard, lit a pipe.

      – Tunda? – asked orlovets.

      “Butunda,” the Chinese replied, and his face showed annoyance.

      On the next day, the gunner remained pragmatic. Women often came out of the fanza and looked at the familiar Russian soldier who walked around the yard with an important look, guarding sacks of barley and hay bales. Around noon, the host approached the Orlovs, took his hand and led him to the corner of the fanza. A Chinese with a pale face came out to meet them; having examined the artilleryman, the stranger bowed and said in Russian:

      – Hello. I came here at the request of the owner. You ask him for something, but he does not know what it is. Tell me, and I will tell him.

      Ege, what a suave, thought Orlovets.

      – I do not ask for anything and the Russian soldier does not need anything. Why did he stay in the village and not leave, like other peasants?

      The stranger spoke with the host fanza, replied:

      – He has a family secret.

      – When he tells a secret, then I will give him advice.

      The Chinese held a long meeting.

      – The question concerns his wife. She has to give birth in a month. He has no son. We, the Chinese, cannot have a son. The oracle said: if his wife resolves under the roof of his ancestors, then they will have a son. So he waits.

      – Hitch. Ancestral roof? Own home means. – Konevyazov thought. – And you tell him that the wife should give birth under the open sky. It is the roof of the ancestors. Do you understand?

      The translator opened his mouth, opened his eyes, and the soldier continued with enthusiasm.

      – The sky – our common roof forever and ever. Fanza host new. Therefore, his father, and even more so, his grandfather, could not be born in it. Ask.

      In the eyes of the translator flashed a spark of satisfaction.

      “He says father was born in the north.”

      – So I knew! – exclaimed Orlovets. – Let him take his family and go away from here. Yes, that his wife must have given birth under the open sky. Then there will be a son.

      The peasant, having listened to the words of the translator, happily nodded his head:

      – Shango, captain!

      – That’s it! – Konevyazov looked around, but the translator had already disappeared.

      The owner hastily left the fanzu. Soon all the women came to the threshold and bowed to the orlovtsu.

      About an hour after the departure of the translator, the thought struck:

      – Why, it was a Japanese, a Japanese spy! What is I gaping. He needed information, and he took the risk. Scoundrel!..

      Chapter nine

      one

      The sky was gloomy. It was raining. A steam locomotive puffed around the water pump station at Kinzhou. The top of Mount Samson is shrouded in a grayish cloud. On the platform is empty, but behind the station building, A little further wire barriers, noise. They stopped to rest field batteries. Fed black horses snorted and bellowed. The gunners fussed at the cannons, clearing dirt from the guns and wheels. Past south along the road were arrows.

      Gunners, army soldiers, fireworks, non-commissioned officers and officers often raised their heads and looked to the left of Mount Samson. They all knew

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