Wandering Spark - Part 47
Drowned men were found less than the last season - only eleven. Three were identified by the lord's letters of inquiry sent in advance, wrapped in a tarred hide and sent upstairs. Others were given, as it should be, to the sea.
People removed the nets from their fields. Bottom plants rose even more than usual.
"We won’t stay without reps," his father said with contentment.
Varan helped his mother clean up the house. Sometimes among the dirt he could find something really valuable - a metal decoration or a coin. His sisters rejoiced, and jumped on the ceiling; Varan always shuddered when a colored rag was found in the heap of rubbish.
He imagined a rainbow glow of the Imperial money.
His father repaired and cleaned the water basins. The sea gradually calmed down, gaining the usual gray color. Old Makey undertook to deliver the mail on his pedal spanking. The mother's sister from Maltown wrote that the steward of the miners had ordered a new stove to be built on the shore. And no one anywhere has heard that among the silt there was a real hundred-krown bill with rainbow glow, new.
Returned to the house - some with an offspring. Milk appeared. Varan remembered the taste of cheese.
Milk ducks were returning to their home, some of them with an offspring. They had milk and Varan remembered the taste of cheese.
Sytuhas always came down in the fall. Varan and his father went hunting and spent the night on the cold stones with crossbows for production and shot down a couple of sytuchas. With the victory they returned home - there will be new clothes, there will be barrels of pickled meat; unfortunately, you cannot eat the whole thing except by hard-drinking. They smell quite bad.
From the early morning till night there were many urgent matters. Hardly having coped with the house, the field and water collectors, Varan and father started adjusting the screw. The ropes are rotten, and they had to get new ones; the headman Karp rushed, ordered to prepare the transport as soon as possible. Varan’s family didn’t sleep at night and finally launched the screw on a regular work. And Varan, rising above the clouds, saw the world of Gorni after the season - in the yellow leaves of a withered spikeleafs, in bare stones, in littered crevices.
The sun burned down unmercifully. He had to put on his glasses immediately.
At the wharf stood the wharf man Lysik. He looked past Varan. He put words together, as through sieve.
So began the off-season.
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