Школьные истории на английском и русском языках / School Stories in English and Russian. Игорь Евтишенков

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СКАЧАТЬ partners could not do all routine job without him. But life in China was a nightmare for Peter. Dad was crazy about his own childhood and the way he was educated in a John Dewey’s school. He wanted Peter to follow his way. He made Peter work at a factory in China for a while. On Sundays. There was no air conditioning and the food was lousy, always. But Dad said Peter had to learn life the way it was: no sugar, no sweets, just pure water, hard work and perspiration all over the body. The humidity was always 100% and the temperature was over 30 Centigrade all the day long. It was a disaster. Peter barely survived. At school they studied six days a week and almost ten month a year. But there was no home work at all in there. Strange. And now he was in Russia. Not much better but he had no perspiration every day at the very least. Dad said the future would belong to nuclear energy, and he was sure the Russians had some good ideas on that. Dad is a very smart man. But he’s as stubborn as a mule. So, he even convinced Mom to teach in The University of Foreign Languages in Moscow to move about.

      Peter smiled and eyed another pile of papers. Damn, Geography! In the afternoon he hesitated about how to fill in the maps and how to find the coordinates of some cities and mountains. He didn’t, however, now. He knew Google Maps would never-ever let him down. He entered the data and got the first reply. With a safe conscience he jotted down all the necessary latitudes and longitudes on the maps and gave a stretch with delight. Even though he was against the boring homeworks he did not want to upset his Dad. Doing too much was not the right way to success, he thought. Peter was tired. He’d be better off leaving all this behind now. He was thirsty and died for some tea. But he kept one eye on the monitor. There was a flickering envelope in the right down corner. New incoming mail? His heart missed a beat. It was like email apnea. He could not say how but he was sure it was Mary’s email in there. He clicked the icon. Damn, it was her!

      «Hi Pete, could you help me to translate the text below, please?» – was number one in her «list of wishes’.

      H-m-m, she could do it herself… But after looking through the pages Peter understood their English teacher alias «Dragon’ was in a very bad mood today: the text was about fiber optic glass and its physical characteristics. How could they translate it from Russian into English? Even he could not… For some time this job absorbed him and he did not notice the second question in the message. After pressing the «Reply All» button he saw Natalie’s email in the address line too. There were also a few words about it down there: «Please, help us with Natalie because she is my best friend and we won’t translate the text without your help. I owe u a lot, Pet!» My aunt! It was unfair. Peter wanted to delete the message but decided to scroll it down. And in the end he found one more thing.

      «Peter, u know, I have a problem. A friend of mine asked me to translate a few words for her. Could you have a look, please? I’ll email you all the questions in the second message,» she was really a «hoo lee’ as the Chinese used to say. «A cunning fox’. He did not want to help Natalie but he did want to help Mary. They, women! What kind of secret did she want to keep from Natalie but reveal to him? He was intrigued. Peter didn’t delete his message. He waited for a while and all but pressed «Send’ button. It was through. But another one appeared instead on the message bar. It was a mail agent notification about one more incoming to his second account. Peter chose «download’ option. In a few seconds it was on the screen. And it was from Mary. What could she hide from her «best friend Natalie’ in it?

      «Evening, Peter’, she began in her Russian way. She was nervous for sure. There were too many mistypings in her second email. He smiled; she usually made a lot of thumbos when texting, too. «I have a very unusual question to you. You see, I have a very close friend. She lives in Saint Petersburg. We have been close since childhood. It’s a very long story. But now she is in trouble. She has a boy-friend in the UK. They met at Malta last year. And unfortunately, she fell in love. But he does not reply to her emails anymore. That guy even changed his Skype account and she cannot call him now. So, she wrote him a verse. Could you be so kind to have a look at her version that I also tried to correct a little bit, please? Please, do not comment and no jokes. It is a sensitive matter.»

      Peter smiled. He was obviously flattered. Mary’s words gave him quite a thrill. He no longer thought why Mary kept this a secret though girls usually adored to gossip about such stories. He felt the inspiration overwhelming him. Here, he began to read:

      No matter if it’s day or night,

      Your glance is no longer bright

      As it was seven days before…

      But you are right: what is it for?

      Why am I begging for a kiss?

      Why do I wonder if you miss?

      Why am I talking so much

      And do not dare even touch?

      Who am I now? Who are you?

      Are two too many or too few?

      If you don’t love me, nor do I!

      And saying this I want to cry…

      But if I hate again to meet

      Why feeling pain is so sweet?

      And nobody helps reply:

      I can’t help suffering… but why?

      Peter fell into deep thought and entered his own world where time stood still. Even though there were very many mistakes in the verse, it touched him. He was typing and thinking, and noticed nothing around him. His father knocked at his door twice and even half-opened it, but Peter did not turn around. «Hard worker as I am’ – thought Dad and went back to his room. Peter meanwhile kept on doing his unusual «homework». Finally, he was through. He relaxed and read the lines from the very beginning:

      Effulgent day or stygian night,

      Your ardent glance, no longer bright

      As it was seven days before…

      Pitiless pain! What is it for?

      Why am I begging for the kiss?

      Why do I wonder if you miss?

      Why do I dream and dare not touch;

      Yet, overwhelming fear I clutch?

      Who am I now and who are you?

      Is two too many or too few?

      If you don’t love me, nor do I!

      My sin in blood-red tears I vie…

      But, if I hate again to meet,

      Why is this poignant pain so sweet?

      Beloved, this is my gutted cry:

      I can’t help suffering… but why?

      Peter was satisfied. It sounded good and Mary’s friend’s guy is likely to be surprised. Undoubtedly. That’s what they wanted and they’ll get it. Email disappeared from the screen and dropped into Mary’s incoming box in the north suburbs of Moscow. She started when the speaker beeped loudly, and clicked the envelope icon with a trembling hand. As she was reading it brought tears to her eyes. She was looking at a young boy’s picture in her hands and whispered his name. It was the guy she met at Malta the year before. She could see nothing but his face and was quietly crying.

      But Peter couldn’t see it. He was far away. His throat was soaring. He wanted to drink. So, he rushed to the kitchen. Mum and Dad waited for him over there.

      «Sonny, you look a little odd’, said Mom.

      «Yes, I am’, Peter agreed and smiled.

      «Was your homework so interesting?», wondered Dad with a witty smile. «I opened your door twice but you even did СКАЧАТЬ