Cognac by Samy

There was Grandpa and Grandpa. They ate all that God sent.

My grandfather and grandmother (parents of my father) lived in a village in the Dnipropetrovsk region. When I was very young, my parents visited them once a year. It seems, and not very far, half a thousand kilometers, and often you do not ride. The older I became, the less I went to my grandmother. My son is already 3 years old. I need to show my grandson.

They arrived. The grandmother covers the table, the grandfather gets a promised bottle with the French "Sammene". My grandfather doesn’t know how to please his grandson. He went to over-smoke and, at the same time, narrated a cup of large, sweet, fragrance black rice. Eat, he says, you have such, he says, no. Yes, and we do not have, this is just one bush such, the rest of the berries will be smaller. And where he came from! I did not seem to have planted him.

“Ah well. “I didn’t,” says the grandmother. He begins to tell.

One day, my grandfather decided to make another portion of "Sammene". Not for drinking, but for appetite. Usually the portion is 6 liters. Well, what a self-respecting manufacturer will not check on the quality of their products! People may have to drink.

I tried the first. Then the second, then the third. In general, the next day, I could only remember how I dropped the first three liters. Where the bottle with the other three liters went – fog.

“Listen to me, mother! “Where is the other female?”
“Eat it, you wicked man! He ate yesterday so that he doesn't remember how he struck a bottle in the yard and at the doorstep and struck it. I am hardly daring.”

Grandfather was confused: why would it be that he fell asleep with a bottle of selfie in the courtyard in a walk, but the memory did not suggest anything, and he did not argue.

And the grandmother, the day before, seeing the peaceful grandfather, decided to hide the mother. Her grandfather had long known all her nuts: he even found wood in a barrel of grain and in a pebble. Once (he told me later) found a bottle in an old oven. It was closed with a polyethylene cover. Grandfather slowly, "for appetite," until he understood that retaliation was inevitable as the victory of communism over imperialism. Then he walked through the tree with a pile on the cover, like the rats bite, and the harvest "exhaled."

My grandmother buried a bottle in the garden. My grandfather did not.

She threw the beetle and other healing herbs into her own, wheeled a iron lid, and so that it did not rust, lubricated it with solidol, wrapped it in cellophane and wrapped it in a cloth. While the grandfather cried peacefully (it was heard even in the garden), she pulled out a pit and buried the straw until a moment called "for the chance." And in order not to forget the place, she broke the branch from the shrub of rice and kicked into the ground.

Half a year. In the spring, the branch was accepted, and in the summer produced the first modest harvest. Then, apparently, and "for every case" was, but to destroy the rich shrub of chickpeas the hand did not rise. Especially because the berries on it were rarely selective, the size of a small cherry. 10 years have passed.
The grandmother finished her story.

The grandfather, who was about to overturn the chark, stopped its movement in the middle of the way and listened to the confession of the grandmother, not moving, like the banderologists under Kaa's gaze. Something changed in his face. There was such a range of feelings!

When the grandmother finished, for half a minute there was a troubling silence, interrupted by the enthusiastic whispers of the grandson who was wearing in the garden and courtyard. Then the grandfather brought the trajectory of the chark to the logical destination, shouted, wiped his lips and resolutely stood up.
“Well, my granddaughter! Take the scarf!”
“Where are you! I will not ruin the straw!”
“Baby, we are careful.”

Per in the excavations of Troy, archaeologists did not work as carefully as we do. It was undermined side by side, and, centimeter by centimeter, until they heard the promising "day!"
The cloth has already shrunk, but cellophane has worthy to withstand the burden of time. The solidol, of course, was dry, but formed a protective film that prevented moisture from reaching the metal.
Of course, the content was immediately tested on the subject "and suddenly broke up".
It was the nutritious moisture of the color of the noble cognac, and the herb bouquet...! “Camus” from “Napoléon” are resting!

P.S During the excavation, none of the shrubs were injured.

P.S to P.S A grandfather, a participant of two wars, with a fragmentary wound in the head (instead of a bone - pulsing skin), ate what God sent. He quit smoking for a year before his death, and he did not smoke until the last day. He died at the 89th year of life.

And you say “vegetarians”, “meat eaters”!

* the joke name of the self, which from Ukrainian is literally translated as "self chases".