Lazarev Baku

On another topic. Nar – Dos. It was a peaceful evening. Marisyan was doing his last work in the garden and the beehive. I was sitting on the balcony and reading a book. Beneath a thick and wide-spreading walnut tree, a small boiler with a broken side and a rusty pipe sticking out of its head emitted smoke smelling of badly burned coal and oil. The sun was just setting. the coolness of the evening was not felt yet. There was complete calm around. The village had not yet returned from the fields. it was the busiest harvest time. The guard dog of the garden, sitting on all fours under the walnut tree, was looking at me with his extremely intelligent eyes and, sticking out his red tongue, said: sometimes he would suddenly stop talking and use his huge teeth to sniff at this or that part of his body where the wool had fallen from place to place.

They beat the door of the garden fence. The dog suddenly lazily got up from the sitting place and flew towards the door with great barking.
“He is the one without a reason,” said Marisyan, rushing after the dog.

The dog’s barking did not stop for a long time, and then it began to slowly fade away in the depths of the vast garden.
The one who came was indeed Khecha’s great-grandson—a dark-skinned youth, with very black eyes and brows, a small equally black mustache and short beard, and long shiny hair combed back. In one hand there was a pile of notebooks, in the other hand a stout and thick-headed cane. The dress was a blue blouse with a curled sash belt, the long fringe hanging down the side in two heavy tassels.—Type of the modern perpetual student.

“…the garbage of the village, and I don’t like these dogs at all,” I still heard the continuation of his conversation from afar.
— Perfect fierce beasts. They attack you from four sides so that you cannot defend yourself, they will eat you.
“Bless you, you speak as if your port was not cut off in the village,” Marisyan remarked.
– How to cut my belly… I don’t understand.
– It is a folk phrase. to cut the navel means giving birth.
“It’s true that I was born in a village, but I haven’t been in a village in how many years!” But one thing. why aren’t the city dogs like this?

“I mean, how come they don’t?”
— So fierce.
“Because the dogs of the city are civilized,” Marisyan remarked with a laugh and, going up to the balcony arm in arm with him, introduced me.
— Please meet, Khechan, the young man — Minas Papakhchyan, a future student of a German university.
Papakhchyan very politely shook my hand, put the cane in a corner, the notebooks on the table and sat down.

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