Yes, he was exactly there. However, Andrey was sitting fastened at the working table and reading a thick book… but this was surely better than gloating the reactor.
Instead of saying hello, Svetka asked: Can you tell me how to get to the library?
Well… several million kilometers to Mars… and then it's not far to the Earth – there are libraries on every corner there. If you get lost, ask the first humanoid you meet and he is sure to show you something! – said Andrey, looking at Sveta over his book.
You yourself are a humanoid… And what’s that about – “show you something”? Are you again with your erotic fantasies and platitudes?
No fantasies, no platitudes… how shall I know what he may show you? Maybe he will show you where you get off, – laughed Andrey.
All right there, local wanton. What are you reading there?
I suddenly remembered of Kipling and decided to read him over again.
Are you in your second childhood – decided to read “Mowgli” again? – Sveta started to laugh.
No, it’s not about “Mowgli”… I read it probably when I was 6–7 years old. There was such a cartoon, too – probably the whole country remembers, I remembered the surname of Kipling… And I am ashamed to say that I thought he did not write anything else.
Later I found out that he was a military correspondent in Africa in the times of Anglo-Boer War, wrote articles, sketches and stories about India where he was born and lived, and once also wrote a lot of stories…
I read “Indian Stories”, too, – Sveta put in. They are well written, but there were few of them, I found them in some collection along with other authors.
Just the same – I read them in a collection, Andrey continued:
“English Poetry in Russian Translations, 20th century”, and you see, first there is an English variant, then a Russian translation, and there are even 2–3 variants of translation for the most interesting poems… The poems are stunning, but the main surprise is ahead… – So Kipling was a poet as well? – Yes, and a great one! I still remember some of his lines by heart:
Eyes of grey – a sodden quay,
Driving rain and falling tears,
As the steamer wears to sea
In a parting storm of cheers.
Eyes of black-a throbbing keel,
Milky foam to left and right;
Whispered converse near the wheel
In the brilliant tropic night.