Grandpa chuckled snidely.
— Said a scientific word and you think it’s all explained?
— Anyway, a laguna is not open ocean — said Graendal.
The plane touched the water, made a long arc and stopped a few hundred meters from a small boat. The pilot pulled back the cowl.
— Good luck!
— Good luck in the sky! — Graendal said, got out of the cab to the right float, and jumped into the boat, which was already near him.
Irji gravely sat at the helm. Thin and dark-skinned, he could pass for a native, if not the red hair, green eyes and freckles that the tan could not quite hide.
— They were freaking annoying , yes, Dad? — he asked, aiming the boat at a distant pier.
— Who?
— Well, the — the boy shook his left hand in the air — Western offies. Our ekostory teacher says they are schmucks — and have always been. How do euros and the yankees live there?
— He says that?
— Well, not exactly, but close. Is that not true?
— What can I say — Graendal scratched his head — of course, the politicians there are rotten. But people adapt. They survive and perceive the politicians as a nuisance. And how are the things here?
— Fine. Sabi and I fixed the windmill turbine yesterday, while ma was at work.
— What, you dragged Sabi to the tower ? Don’t you understand she’s too young?
— She wanted to, why do you blame me?
— Did you at least use the safety belts?
— Of course, but ma is still cursing.
They were approaching the house. The building, as it’s common in Meganesian suburbs, consisted mainly of terraces, balconies and canopies . Except that here in the center there was a reinforced concrete box, wooden staircase entwined with plastic and covered with a roof in the shape of a butterfly spreading its wings. There was a butterfly proboscis, or more precisely, a hose dipped into the pooclass="underline" the roof doubled as a condensing water collector and a solar battery. On the sides were the wind turbine tower, a pole with a satellite dish, an antenna and the tanks of the local water supply system. This level of autonomy was commonplace here. Many even produced fuel alcohol from fermented algae in the backyard. The Vlkov family preferred to buy not only fuel, but also fish in the city market, earning the reputation of the somewhat lazies among the neighbors. Alcohol, people could understand, but buying fish when the ocean is full of it? On the other hand, the Vlkov’s orchard was the subject of envy. How, people were asking, did they manage to grow not only the usual plants like pumpkins and bananas, but even grapes, from which they made an excellent grappa? No one believed that this is only a consequence of Laysha’s agroengineering knowledge, and attributed her talent to her Italian origin. Everything, they said, is in the genes. From the front terrace, a wide staircase led down to the pier at the ocean shore, where stood another canopy. The canopy hosted the usual array of cheap aircrafts and a small SUV. At the pier was moored a proa , not a heavy one, with a trawl winch for fishing like most, but of a lightweight and sporty kind. Pampering, people would say.
On the tip of the pier, between the two marker beacons, hands on hips, stood Laysha. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt that has been white once, but now was covered with spots of fruit juice. For a native Calabrian farmer, she was lacking in the volume of the breast and thighs, and a higher education didn’t bring her closer either. But these small things couldn’t really stop Laysha if she decided to take on the role.
— Horror! — She said, casting a mocking glance on her husband with bright green eyes — Sunken cheeks, green face. What the hell did you eat in this barbaric Europe? To the table, now!
— Phew — Graendal hugged her, burying his face in the coarse hair the color of dark bronze — To the table sounds great. And if somebody poured me a glass of grappa...
— You’ll get it after you take a shower and throw your rags in the washing machine. Looks like you have collected all the dust from this dirty continent.
— Nothing like that — he said — there’s plenty left.
— I'm happy then. The Europeans won’t have to change their habits. And now, to the shower.
2. Magna Carta and the world press
After taking a shower and wrapping himself in a lava-lava, Graendal finally felt fully at home. The whole family gathered on the central terrace, which doubled as a living room. However, Irji was already sitting at the computer doing something on the Internet, and Sabi slept wrapped in a blanket in a wide armchair in front of the TV in the far corner of the terrace overlooking the garden.
— Seeing the cartoon about these stupid polar bears again? — He asked, patting her behind the ear.
— They are pandas, not polar bears — she mumbled without opening her eyes.
— You think that makes a difference?
— It does. They are not stupid, they’re funny — she opened her eyes, — Hey Dad, when did you come back?
— About ten minutes ago. Honey, do you think it would be better for you to sleep in the kids’ room? We're going to make noise here.
— You can make noise — she allowed generously, turning to the other side — won’t bother me. It’s boring in the kids’ room.
— Come on, leave it, — intervened Laysha — let her sleep here. And come to the table already. I poured you the Ein-Topf, it ought to be taken hot.
— Ein what?
— Ein Topf. It’s a Bavarian soup.
— Ah — he said, coming to the table — smells delicious.
— Yeah, eat already — Laysha said — and, by the way, explain me what happened there? On the TV it looked like a circus. I could understand nothing and turned it off.
— I didn’t understand either — he said, swallowing the first spoonful of soup — we should have sent Jella or Macrin instead. Or, at least, Ashura. After all, they are judges by rating, and I am one by lot. They could explain things much better.
— Macrin called yesterday and said that it’s good you went.
— What else did he say?
— He said they divided your work among them, to give you a day off. Kind of a gift from colleagues.
— How nice of them, — muttered Graendal with his mouth full.
— Do not grumble, Gren.
— I’m not grumbling, — he said — by the way, where’s the grappa?
— To your left in a plastic bottle.
— Ah, I see — he filled his glass and licked his lips.
— Pa, what does "fascist" mean? — asked Irji.
— Are you too lazy to look it up in encyclopedia?
— It says that the Germans were criminals, they created a state, banned criticism of the government and killed everyone who disagreed with the way they organized the community. And they started a war, even though nobody attacked them.
— Well, it’s more or less correct.
— Pa, why then «Europe monitor daily» calls you a fascist?
Laysha turned to Graendal, shrugged, and said:
— Tough luck. Now you'll have to explain the kid who the Nazis are.
Graendal shrugged, took a small sip of vodka and:
— Irji, do you know why I had to fly to Strasbourg?
— Because you're kicked some fags out of the country and some other fags raised a fuss about it.
Laysha clasped her hands:
— Hey, where did you hear that word?