краткий пересказ.оочень нужеен)))

спасибо!



When I was four months old, my mother died. I had no brothers or sisters. So all my boyhood, from the age of four months, there were just two of us, my father and me. We lived in an old gypsy caravan. My father owned the filling station and the caravan, that was about all he owned in the world. It was a very small filling station on a small country road with fields and woody hills around it.
While I was still a baby, my father washed me and fed me, pushed me in my pram to the doctor and did all the millions of other things a mother normally does for her child. That is not an easy task for a man, especially when he has to earn his living at the same time.
But my father was a cheerful man. I thinks that he gave me all the live he had felt for my mother when she was alive. We were very close. During my early years, I never had a moments unhappiness, and here I am on my fifth birthday.
I was a little boy as you can see, with dirt and oil all over me, but that was because I spent all day in the workshop helping my father with the cars. The workshop was stone building. My father built that himself with loving care. We are engineers, you and I, he said to me. We earn our living by repairing engines and we can’t do good work in a bad workshop. It was a fine workshop, big enough to take one car comfortably.
The caravan was our house and our home. My father said it was at least one hundred and fifty years old. Many gipsy children, he said, he been born in it and had grown up within its wooden walls. Different people had knocked at its doors, different people had lived in it. But now its best years were over. There was only one room in the caravan, and it wasn’t much bigger than a modern bathroom.
Although we had electric lights in the workshop, we were not allowed to have them in the caravan as it was dangerous. So we got our heat and light in the same way as the gypsies had done years ago. There was a wood-burning stove that kept us warm in winter and there were candles in candlesticks. I think that the stew cooked by my father is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. One plate was never enough.
For furniture, we had two narrow beds, two chairs and a small table covered with a tablecloth and some bowls, plates, cups, forks and spoons on it. Those were all the home comforts we had. They were all we needed.
I really lived living in that gypsy caravan. I lived the evenings when I was in my bed and my father was telling stories. I was happy because I was sure that when I went to sleep my father would still be there, very close to me, sitting in his chair by the fire.
My father, without any doubt, was the most wonderful and exciting father any boy ever had. Here is a picture of him.
You may think, if you don’t know him well, that he was a serous man. He wasn’t. He was actually full of fun. What made him look so serious and sometimes sad was the fact that he nevr smiled with his mouth. He did it all with his eyes. He had bright blue eyes and when he thought of something funny, you could see a golden light dancing in the middle of each eye. But the mouth never moved. My father was not what you would call an educated man. I doubt he had read many books in his life. But he was an excellent storyteller. He promised to make up a bedtime story for me every time I asked him. He always kept his promise. The best stories were turned into serials and went on many nights running.

Я не знаю даже, что такое нормальная семейная жизнь. Я была удочерена, когда мне было шесть. Моя мама не могла заботиться обо мне должным образом, поскольку у нее умственная болезнь, которая делает ее немного сумасшедшей время от времени, и она также пьет весьма немного. Я не знаю то, что случилось с моим папой - я никогда не знала его. Таким образом, я должна была оставаться с приёмными родителями или в детском доме, чтобы дать маме некоторое время на реабилитацию.
Хотя детские дома хорошие, они не лучшие места, чтобы жить. Сожители являются всегда хорошими и дружественными, но Вы окружены незнакомцами. Я иногда должна делить комнате, и если Вы не поладите с другой девочкой, это не очень забавно. Кроме того, я никогда не знаю, как долго я собираюсь быть здесь, таким образом, я должна просто хранить свою косметику в чемодане под кроватью.
У меня были некоторые хорошие приёмные родители, но ничто иное долгое время не длится. Если моей маме хорошо, я нахожусь рядом с ней, но у нас есть только маленькая квартира, и я чувствую, что я - это тот, кто управляет ей. Я волнуюсь о том, были ли счета заплачены и должна удостовериться, что мы ходим по магазинам за едой. Мама бывает в больнице долго, таким образом, я понимаю, что она не всегда будет в состоянии заботиться обо мне. Дорин, одна из моих приёмных мам, была медсестрой, и она объяснила мне, что мама не в порядке. Это помогло, потому что, когда я была маленькой, я чувствовала, что мама просто не хотела меня. Теперь я знаю, что это было из-за ее болезни.
Моя жизнь хороша в некоторой степени. Я хожу в ту же самую школу, и у меня есть хорошие друзья. Очевидно, я чувствую себя немного завидующим к ним, когда я иду к ним на чашечку чая. У них есть хорошее место, где жить, хорошая семья, но они действительно не ценят этого - они жалуются на них все время! Моя подруга Мишель хотела, чтобы я пошла и жила с нею, но это не так легко. Для начала я не могла только оставить маму. Когда она будет здорова, я должна буду с ней.
Было бы хорошо, если бы у меня были брат или сестра, то - по крайней мере, тогда у меня был бы кто-то вокруг все время. Я пресыщаюсь, будучи самостоятельной.
Я думаю, что Мишель чувствует жалость ко мне, что я живу в разных местах все время, но это так потому что это - то, к чему я привыкла, это не кажется слишком плохим. У меня все еще есть своя мама, я имею своих друзей, и я знаю весь персонал в домах. Это не похоже на то, что я полностью одинока в мире.
Когда я покину школу, я собираюсь устроиться на работу и получить хорошую квартиру для мамы и жить в ней. Тогда я буду в состоянии повесить мои фотографии и вытащить мою косметику, потому что я буду знать наверняка, что я здесь надолго...

ted and gossiped and had a little fun for an hour or two before nightfall. Zarena rarely joined them. She didn‘t like to go to the cave. No, that‘s not quite true. After a long day collecting food, sometimes all she wanted was to have some company. But Zarena was shy and couldn‘t make friends easily. When she did go to the cave, she usually stood alone, away from the other gefods, and didn‘t feel secureenough to join in their conversations. Zarena found being sociable very difficult. The other gefods mistook her quietness for arrogance. They thought that because she was more intelligent than them, she waslooking down on them. They were also jealous because she worked so hard and kept her burrow so clean and tidy. So they teased her or ignored her and made her feel sad. Because of that, she didn‘t like going to the cave. ‘Perhaps I am a bit lonely,’ she said to herself sometimes, ‘but at least I work hard. I wouldn’t want to be like Vantura even though she’s much more popular than me.’ (Vantura bullied Zarena more than the other gefods.) ‘She’s nasty and selfish andrude and unkind. I’m glad I’m not like that, even if she has got more friends than me. And I bet most of her friends only pretend to like her. They’re just scared of her. I’m sure none of them trust her.’ Zarena was strict with herself: ‘Never change who you are just to become more popular,” she told herself.