short novels
Red raspberry
The wide road passes through the center of the village and divides it into two parts. Behind the village, there are high mountains covered with wood, but below the village there are pine and fir-tree forests. In front, the village is pressed against the sandy shores of the sea. Possibly, this village is the nicest village of the world. It is situated in the frontier. Look, the frontier lines lie along the top of the mountains seen from here. In other side of these lines, there is situated one of the oldest and biggest countries of the East…
For years the frontier was closed. It was impossible for the villagers of this nice village to go to the country situated in the other side of the frontier. It wasn’t too easy as at present. Till the time when the former system was abolished, the inhabitants of this village grew harvest in the sowing areas, gathered the harvest and lived somehow thanks to the wages they got. But the villagers had another income too.
Each year starting from the middle of May till autumn, all the people of the village, including the children and adults, picked the fruits of raspberry bushes, which grew on the outskirts of the village, in the forest and in their gardens. They picked raspberries into the buckets, placed the buckets on the road, at their gates towards the city. The road was towards the north, leading to other different countries.
So, the inhabitants of the village lived in this way, brought up children.
During that period there were two big houses. One of them belonged to the chief of the collective-farm, the other house belonged to the director of the village school.
Years passed…. The borders were opened after the former system fell. It became easy to go to the country situated in other side of the frontier not only from this city, but also from the whole country. There was built a big custom -house in the village.
Then in the village there was much changing. The clothes of the villagers and some traditions also changed. Every day on the main road passing through the village, a lot of nice and colored trailers were rushing about. Those trailers were coming from the far countries and directing towards the north.
But only one thing wasn’t changed in the village. It was the tradition of to place the bucketful of raspberries at the gates of their yards, on the main road.
