"Lev Kassil. The black book and Schwambrania (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

Since the handbook contained a vocabulary as well as a short section of
sailing directions, Jack soon became a regular linguist, as he learned to
speak German, English, French and Italian.
Speaking for Jack, I would read the vocabulary aloud, line after line.
The result was most satisfying.
"Thunder, lightning, waterspout, typhoon!" Jack, the Sailor's Companion
would say. "Donner, blitz, wasserhose! How do you do, sir or madame, good
morning, bonjour. Do you speak any other language? Yes, I speak German and
French. Good morning, evening. Goodbye, guten Morgen, Abend, adieu. I have
come by boat, ship, on foot, on horseback; par mer, a pied, a cheval.... Man
overboard. Un uomo in mare. What is the charge for saving him? Wie viel ist
der bergelon?"
Sometimes Jack's imagination ran away with him, and I would blush for
shame at his whopping lies.
"The pilot grounded us," Jack, the Sailor's Companion would say angrily
on page 103, but would then confess in several languages (page 104): "I
purposely ran aground to save the cargo."
We began our day in Pokrovsk with an arrival whistle while still in our
beds. This meant we had returned from a night spent in Schwambrania.
Annushka would watch the morning ritual patiently.
"Slow speed! Cast down the mooring rope!" Oska commanded after he had
sounded his fog horn.
We cast off our blankets.
"Stop! Let down the gangplank!"
We swung our legs over the side of our beds.
"All off! We've arrived!"
"Good morning!"

A QUIET HAVEN


Our house was just another big boat. It had dropped anchor in the quiet
harbour of Pokrovsk. Papa's consulting room was the bridge. No second class
passengers, meaning us, were allowed there. The parlour was the first class
deck house. The dining room was the mess. The terrace was the promenade
deck. Annushka's room and the kitchen were the third class deck, the hold
and the engine room. Second class passengers were not allowed in there,
either. That was really a shame, because if there was ever any smoke in the
house it came from there.
There smokestack was not a make-believe one, but a real one, and real
flames roared in the furnace. Annushka, the stoker and the engineer, used
real tools: a poker and scoop. The deck house bell rang insistently. The
samovar whistled, signalling our departure. As the water in it bubbled over
Annushka snatched it up and carried it off to the mess, holding it as far
away from her body as possible. That was how babies were carried off when
they had wet their diapers.
We were summoned up on deck and had to leave the engine room.
We always left the kitchen unwillingly, because this was the main
porthole of our house, a window to the outside world, so to speak. The kind
of people we had been told once and for all were not the kind we were to