Chapter N.XI

What appeared before Delia's eyes left her with a rather pleasant impression. Japhet had not bad taste: the walls of his apartment were covered with wallpaper in geometric patterns, on top of which hung pictures in simple wooden frames - they were mostly oil-painted seascapes, although once Delia's eyes caught a portrait of certain person in a white dress, who sat on a wooden chair and held on her knees a basket from which several flowers protruded.

- Who is this? - the girl somewhat unceremoniously pointed at the portrait with her finger.

Japhet, who, having finished the front door, was about to go to the kitchen (in which ajussi Jo has already entered), lingered in the corridor and carefully examined the picture that his young guest had in mind. Then he looked down at Delia and adjusted his glasses.

- Portrait of Elizabeth the Second from the hand of some Hungarian painter, - he said.

The girl couldn't believe her ears. Delia looked more closely at the portrait, but no matter how hard she tried, she did not notice in it any similarities with the English queen. This, however, was not at all surprising - the portrait depicted a girl, God forbid, eight years old, and therefore it would be strange if at such a young age she already looks like her in the present tense (sixty-something years old at the time of the events).

- Unfortunately, I can't remember the artist's name, but I don't think you're interested anyway, - continued the owner of the apartment.

Delia ignored this slightly haughty remark - she was much more interested in why this man living in America needed to hang a portrait of the Queen of Great Britain in his apartment. Is it really the matter that in this picture she was depicted at a young age? However, the girl thought, the owner could hang a picture of this kind just like that, without any special intention... Be that as it may, Delia's soul has already awakened the thirst for curiosity inherent in young children, mixed with the suspicion of a man eager to know how things really are.

She looked inquiringly at Japhet, but he, ignoring her, opened the drawer of a nearby secretaire en portefeuille and took out a some book. Delia moved closer to him and peered at the gilded letters on the white cloth cover - the title read "Edward Coleman, Fables of My Father Swan".

- What is that? - she asked, however, already guessing the contents of the book.

The fact is that if the name of the author did not tell her anything, the name itself aroused her interest, since it clearly echoed the well-known collection of magic stories "Tales of My Mother Goose", which Delia's mother used to read to her at night as a child. And although since then when she turned eight, at home never mentioned again about fairy tales, this did not prevent the girl from being in awe of them, even if she understands, that the witchcraft described in them contradicts the material world and is hardly worthy of the attention of educated people.

Meanwhile, Japh looked at Delia and, taking the book under his arm, adjusted his glasses again, which kept sliding down to the tip of his aquiline nose.

- I just thought, what if a child came to visit me, - he began, - then I just have to offer him something interesting. Do you like fairy tales? - Japh asked kindly.

- Who doesn't love them? - Delia responded enthusiastically.

- Then you and I will definitely find a common language! - there was genuine joy in voice of apartment's owner.

- Hey Japh, are you going to set the table? - a disgruntled and even authoritative shout reached their ears.
 
These words of ajussi Jo reawakened in the girl a little forgotten feeling of hunger, and Delia at the same moment rushed from the corridor to the kitchen, which, however, was somewhat reckless on her part, because the small space of Japhet's apartment was not conducive to such a method of transportation. Jordan was sitting in a chair, leaning back and impatiently fingered on the surface of the kitchen table, covered with a plain white enameled cloth. When he saw baby girl, he smiled reassuringly at her.

- Sit down, Delia, let's see what Japh will treat us to, - he said lazily.

At the same time, he nodded his head at a chair that stood by the window.

- By the way, how what to address you? - said the girl, taking her place at the table.

Delia addressed this question to the owner of the apartment, who had already entered the kitchen. He placed the book of fairy tales on the edge of the countertop and, rolling up his sleeves, glanced at the curious guest.

- Ajussi Japh, just call me ajussi Japh, - hesitating a bit, he replied.

After these words, he went to the oven and, opening the glass door, took out an aluminum baking sheet, smoked from time, on which lay a large bundle of aluminum foil. Holding the dripping pan with both hands, apartment's owner carefully placed it on the table and, taking a knife, made a transverse cut on the mint and shiny surface, after which he laid out the lamb shoulder blade on the cutting board.

- Burnt again, how can... - he sighed ruefully.

Delia, swallowing her saliva, leaned across the table and stared at the appetizing surface of the meat. Indeed, the crust on the underside of the shoulder blade was slightly charred.

- Nothing wrong, - said the girl, sniffing the nice smell. - I love roast with crispy crust.

- If you been a lover of meat with blood, then you would be disappointed, - ajussi Japh chuckled.

He began to cut the lamb shoulder into small pieces, and Jordan made a sign to the girl. At first she did not understand what he meant, but following the movement of his right hand, guessed that he wanted her to get the plates. Delia got up and, shuffling her shoes, walked over to the countertop and pulled out the first drawer she found at random. It contained forks and spoons.