The Swamp thing. Part 1

A boy, about eleven years old, picked up a stone and, aiming at something, threw it. With a loud and lingering splash, the stone fell into the water.

— Bli-in... — the boy drawled in frustration and squatted down to pick up a new shell.

Vitalik found a suitable one, picked it up, and turned around just in case. No, grandfather hasn't left the garage yet: the gates are open, and the car (an old "six") is still standing on the street. The setting sun was reflected in the side windows of the car, making them sparkle fiercely. The boy smiled: Well, he still had at least five minutes to play.

— I see a fascist "submarine"... battery, aim... five degrees to the left...  The kid muttered to himself. He narrowed his brown eyes, taking aim, and shouted, "FIRE!"

The thrown projectile splashed into a small river, causing the "submarine" (played by a bottle of "solvent") to sway on the waves. Vitalik grunted and sat down again, hoping to find another stone.

The August sun flooded the garages with a pleasant, slightly diffused light. The river—if a stream four meters wide could be called a river—shone iridescent with oil and gasoline stains, which, however, did not bother the garage owners. Empty bottles of vodka, beer, and solvent lay scattered here and there on the bank overgrown with stunted reeds, interspersed with pieces of iron that looked strange to the boy, the contours of which were securely hidden by a layer of oil and dirt. The kid found a piece of asphalt and got to his feet. He looked hopefully back at the garage again. No one.

Aim, throw...

— Fire!... — a pause and almost immediately a disappointed sigh, — eeeehh!

The stone lightly struck the side of the bottle, but did not break it. However, Vital was not very upset: the game was interesting and he did not want to go home yet.

At the age of eleven, Vitalik understood that his mother would not approve of such fun. How, how, to pick up stones and throw them into bottles with a very specific purpose — so that they break! The boy even wrinkled his sunburned nose, imagining how she scolded him for dirty knees and explained that breaking bottles is not a cultural thing. He knew that his mother was probably right, but he liked this game: if he hit it well, the glass would shatter, and the bottle with the broken neck would sink to the bottom in such a funny way!..

There was the sound of an engine starting and the boy turned around. That's right, it's time to go home — grandpa was putting the car in the garage. Vital sighed, threw the last stone — missed again!  And he walked away from the river.

Grandpa had already driven the car and Vital looked into the cool interior of the garage. It always seemed to the boy like a cave full of incomprehensible treasures. Shelves along both walls were full of all kinds of spare parts; one was completely filled with boxes, in which, as the boy knew, you could find rusty nails, huge bolts with nuts screwed on them, and a bunch of other incomprehensible devices and pieces. Against the far wall lay a rolled-up inflatable boat, on which he and his grandfather had sailed on the lake this summer and caught carp and "rotans". There were broken skis with only one stick nearby.

His grandfather was sitting in the cabin of the "six" with Uncle Lesha, a neighbor in the garages. They were talking about something, sometimes laughing. Vital saw a neighbor take a bottle out from under his feet and pour something - probably vodka - into glasses. The men clinked glasses and drank.

Vital sighed and went to the car.

— Hello, Vitalka! — Uncle Lyosha greeted me. His horse-like face was flushed, and he squinted myopically at the boy through dirty round glasses with cheap plastic frames.

—Hello, Uncle Lyosha,— the boy replied without much enthusiasm.

Grandfather looked at him and said:

— Now, we'll go in about five minutes. Play for now.

Vitalik nodded and left the garage.

It's Uncle Lyosha again... Today, my grandfather might not have been drinking if it hadn't been for the neighbor.

Vital sighed. He had a very vague idea why adults drink, but he liked that his grandfather was becoming cheerful and good-natured. But then Grandma would start yelling again, and they'd probably have a fight. This means that grandpa will gloomily watch TV for the rest of the evening, and grandma will go to a bench near the house and sit there until it gets dark. And Vitalka won't see the promised pancakes as his ears.

The boy went out into the middle of the dusty passage between the townspeople, and began to pick at the gray mud with the tip of his sandal, absently thinking about delicious pancakes with jam. The sun was sinking towards the horizon, and occasionally the sound of cars could be heard from the road behind the garage cooperative. A train horn sounded from afar. The boy raised his head and hopefully thought that maybe he would be lucky and his grandfather would allow him to put a couple of 2 kopecks on the rails. That would be great! Vital promised to show the guys in the yard what coins turn into after the train passes over them...

A car door slammed behind him, Vitali turned around and saw his grandfather locking the six. Uncle Lyosha had already left the garage and was now standing, wiping his glasses with a T-shirt.

— Lech, — grandfather nodded at the garage door.

— Now, wait a minute! — Uncle Lyosha finished wiping his glasses, and began to help close the garage.

— Well, that's it, let's go, Vitalka! — said the grandfather and smiled cheerfully.

"Home?" — the boy asked. I clarified it because Uncle Lyosha could well have offered his grandfather to go to the nearest wine bar.

Grandpa nodded and smiled again.:

— Yeah, home. Making pancakes.

— Hurrah! Honestly?

Grandpa put a big warm hand on the back of the boy's head:

- of course.

— Great! And the grandmother...

"I wouldn't mind pancakes with sour cream either,— Uncle Lyosha chimed in.

Grandpa pulled a beret over his head and grinned:

— Let your wife cook for you, be awesome.

The neighbor jokingly swung at the grandfather, and they laughed. Vitalka joined them, completely forgetting about his recent unhappy thoughts.

So they walked along the passage between the garages: the adults a little in front, Vitalka following, five meters behind. Grandpa and Uncle Lyosha were talking about something, but the boy wasn't listening, he wasn't very interested, and he didn't like his grandfather when his grandson started "warming his ears," as he called it. So the boy walked behind, hardly paying attention to the elders. He looked down at his feet, hoping to find a coin, which would be a very wonderful end to a wonderful day. Yes, I should have remembered to ask Grandpa to wait for the train and put it down...

Alexey laughed loudly in front.

— You're giving it, Sergeyich!  Uncle Lyosha exclaimed. Vitalka looked at the adults with interest. —Did you just tell her that?"..

— Be quiet! — grandfather tsked at him, turned around and looked at Vitalik.

"Come on, come on, I'm sorry," Alexei said, giggling, and lowered his voice so that only vague fragments of words reached the boy again.