foundry shed, when dinner-time came round, the furnace men banged on the iron bar that hung near the furnaces.
Ignoring the signal, I kept working at my moulds.
One after the other the mallets fell silent. Only the furnaces by the wall kept up their ceaseless roar.
'Right. Pack in. Let's go for dinner!' Naumenko said sternly. 'Come and wash your hands.'
Cold water from the tap splashed on my dusty hands and the pain immediately relaxed a little. Seeing my teacher take a handful of coarse sand from a tin, I did the same. The coarse sand mixed with clay cleaned the dirt off well. Soon I saw my red, work-scarred palms, with the beginnings of fresh corns on them.
In silence I followed Naumenko back to the machine, picked up the lunch that our landlady had prepared for me, and sat down near my teacher.
With slow dignity Naumenko unwrapped his lunch— three eggs, a slice of smoked chebak, curly-topped radishes, a hunk of home-baked bread with butter on it, and a bottle of strong tea.
'Never mind, lad!' Naumenko said suddenly in a kindly tone. 'You and I'll earn our bread today—that's a fact. And tomorrow we'll get enough for borshch, and after that, before you know where you are, you'll be having cutlets. . . It's always hard to start with... I've got a boy too, just a bit older than you. Used to work here, in the foundry. Now he's in Yekaterinoslav, studying at the mining institute. At first his letters were all moans and groans. 'I'll never stick it! I'm coming home!' he says. 'It's much easier at the works!' But now, he's not doing so bad. Got into the swing of it. Looks as if he's rumbled this science business. Getting cheeky too: 'When I'm a mine manager, Dad,' he says, 'you can count on a job as time-keeper,' ... Hey, what's happened to your finger?' And looking at my hand, Uncle Vasya frowned.
Now that I had washed the black-lead dust off my hands, the congealed blood under my battered thumb-nail showed up well.
'Just gave it a knock,' I said lightly.
'Just a knock! Why, your finger's swelled up like a priest at Easter. Why didn't you show me before? Off you go to the first-aid room. They'll give you a certificate.'
'No first-aid room for me!' II said as cheerfully as I could. 'Fancy bothering a doctor with a little scratch like this!'
'You're a fire-eater, H see, lad!' said Uncle Vasya, shaking his head. 'Want to stick it out. Well, you know best. But they'll always give you a certificate for a thing like that.'
There was a note of respect in his voice. He spoke to me as if I had been his partner for a long time. That was something worth far more than any direct praise.
A LADY WAKES ME
My friends were not back yet—their shops stopped work later than the foundry. Unlike the day before, the weather was blazing, but in Maria Trofimovna's half-dark little kitchen it was surprisingly cool; and even in our little room, though we were right under the roof, the air was fresher than out of doors.
The beach was crowded with people. Some were bathing, their wet limbs glistening in the sun. Others were lying motionless on the sand.
As I watched the scene from the window, I felt like going out myself to lie in the sun until Sasha and Petka arrived, and at the same time to have a wash after work.
J did not think for long. Kicking off my working boots, I rolled my clean clothes in a bundle, put on my cap, and after telling the landlady where I could be found if I was needed, ran out barefoot into the yard.
Il had only been inside the house for a few minutes, but when I came out the sunshine dazzled me and I walked to the gate blinking. The tall hollyhocks seemed to tremble in the heat.
The sun had made the concrete top of the sea wall nearly red-hot. When I had run a few paces along it, I had to jump down on to the sand. But that was even worse. The top layer of sand was so hot that it seemed someone must have warmed it up purposely on a huge frying-pan. Bathers were lying about everywhere, basking in the sun. I did not envy them in the least.
Tired but proud after my first day's work at the factory, I considered them loungers. 'While they twist and turn about here, all for nothing, covering their noses with bits of tissue-paper and lilac leaves,' I
thought, 'we, foundry men, carry about heavy ladles of molten metal.' And I felt I had a better right than anyone to rest on the beach.
Near the, water's edge I found a little vacant bench. Somebody's clothes lay at one end, covered with a folded blanket. I undressed slowly and, pushing my working clothes under the bench, walked down to the water.
During the night the sea had fallen back, leaving a stretch of smooth sand at the water's edge. The beach sloped evenly into the water, as if it had been rolled specially for the convenience of bathers. Faint, clear ripples lapped the shore—the last sighs of the storm-tossed Azov Sea.
I swam about for a bit near the shore, then came out on to the sand and flopped down on it. And only then, as I lay with closed eyes on the soft sand and listened to the soft lapping of the waves, did I realize how tired the day's work had made me. And although I lay completely relaxed, letting my whole body rest, I still felt as if I had a tamping iron in my hand and was plunging it up and down in the black moulding sand that still steamed from the previous night. 'Faster, faster! Keep going! You mustn't get behind Naumenko!' I muttered to myself. A shovel jumped into my hands. Then the signal bell rang in the distance. 'Our turn!' Naumenko's stern voice seemed to come from the sky. 'Drop everything. Come and get the iron!'
... We plod through the dry sand of the main alley. Strong hands behind him, gripping the ring of the ladle, Naumenko leads the way. His wrinkled neck is red with exertion. His sweat-soaked shirt clings to his back. I plod along behind, gripping the handles of the ladle and feeling that I shall fall at any moment. My strength is ebbing. I can hardly drag one foot after the other. My eyes are fixed on a blob of sticky brown slag. It floats gently in the ladle, surrounded by a wreath of glaring molten metal.
I can't go on. It's still a long way to the machines. If only we could get there soon! If only we could put the heavy ladle down on the dry sand, rest a little, wipe away the salty sweat that is streaming down our foreheads into the corners of our eyes! Relax our grip, if only for a minute!
'Faster! Faster!' I think, but I feel the ground giving way under my feet. . . A hole! The hole dug in the centre of the moulding floor where the foundry men pour the metal that's left over!...
I try to stop, but Naumenko strides on ahead. I fall. The ladle slips out of the handle. Molten metal flows over my chest, over my legs. I'm so hot...
Losing consciousness, I utter a deep groan, and just at that moment there is laughter above me and the touch of something cold. . .
Heavy drops of cold water were falling on my chest. They quickly scattered the remnants of my short but terrible dream.
Without opening my eyes, I tried to remember where I was. I had quite forgotten that I had fallen asleep on the beach. It seemed to me that I had dozed off while waiting for my friends in our room, and that Sasha, finding me asleep, was playing the fool as usual and pouring cold water on my chest.
'Stop playing about like a kid!' I grunted peevishly, and rubbing my eyes, blinked up at someone who was not Sasha at all.
The girl from next door stood over me holding my towel. She was glistening wet from head to foot.
'It's bad to sleep in the sun, specially for fair-skinned people. You'll get burnt!' she said.
Still in a daze, I leapt to my feet. The people lying round me looked like a lot of ghosts.
'I didn't mean to make you wet, I was going to cover you with the towel. I'm sorry.'
'It's all right. Thanks!' I muttered, and ashamed of being found asleep by this smiling girl, I staggered away and plunged into the sea.
Burrowing into the rippling waves, I swam away as fast as I could. But the water seemed icy. Soon I turned and swam back to the shore.
The girl was sitting on the bench. Now, since she had made the first advance, I had every right to talk to her,
