It was summer, in a distant and beautiful childhood. I was on vacation with my grandfather and grandmother in the village. My cousin Valera was sent to them for "re-education", thus ensuring his parents a peaceful existence for at least two months.
It should be noted that Valera was two years younger than me, distinguished by unlimited discouragement and stubbornness, but was a funny guy. According to his grandfather, Valera was an exact copy of his older brother Michael, which I hardly believed, since Uncle Misha was a respected man, a frontman with a bunch of all kinds of medals and orders, and in combination an outstanding carpenter.
So it turned out that soon came and uncle Misha to help his grandfather set up a roof for the bathroom, in shiny chromium boots, which he was very proud of. On the second day of his stay in guests, presumably on educational grounds, a conflict occurred between Uncle Misha and Valera, which ended with the well-deserved backbone Valera. This was the beginning of the guerrilla “war” between Valera and Uncle Misha.
One beautiful summer morning, my uncle Mishina’s virtuous mother’s whip was spread all over the house with an occasionally gliding definition in it.
“Valera is a shit.” The reason for which was the presence of one left shoe in the senes and the complete absence of the right. Whose hand it was, there was no doubt.
- Misha, and he's right to take both, enough one, you're in one left
You will not walk? Grandfather noticed reasonably.
After a short educational process, the shoe was brought by himself.
and Valery. He was hidden in the shrubs. No more shoes.
The next day, at three in the morning, a confused and confused Valera came out of the shadows.
Not to my grandfather, but to me.
I have these shoes...
The others who heard this continued to eat breakfast. Grandpa thought about something for a moment and smiled a little.
Going out in the shade and approached the shoes, the grandfather examined them, removed the stickers from them, and called me. The shoes were twisted to the wooden floor with self-cuts.
Well here, you see? And you didn’t believe they stood up with each other, he told me.
Grandpa smiled.
“Walker, with whom have you fought, right? The front intelligence? – is
My grandfather went to Valerie. Then he added to the open door:
“Mish, let’s turn around, old joke man.
After that, there was no higher authority for Valera than Uncle Mish.