In most people's imagination, the man known as "Don" always lived in a large, heavily guarded manor house far from the crowd - the black cast-iron gate opened silently, the gray cement road led straight to the large mansion with forty rooms, the grim-faced, ruthless guards lurked in the shadows like black flowers, and the surveillance probes were innumerable, densely parked in any place you could or could not think of, the towering foyer, the smooth marble patchwork floor, Crystal chandeliers, crimson wool carpets, carved hardwood doors, gilded doorknobs, trained servants tiptoe between doorways, a beautiful woman descending from a coiled staircase, her snow-white shoulders and neck bare, black tulle sadly obscuring the rest, diamonds hanging above her heart, smiling, walked towards her master, a well-dressed beast with a hideous face.

No, no, no, not at all, at least Don. Chegalle. Bisandi didn't like it.

He and his family live in the mountain town of Poseidon Island, surrounded by layers of local dwellings - old-fashioned, about one person high, the walls are mottled and old, like the walls of other houses, it is probably more than a hundred years old, made of russet and beige, stone blocks of various sizes, the original wall skin has long been peeled off, there is no power grid on the top, no wire or broken glass, only the traces of the rain accumulated over the years, hanging down one by one. They occupy almost three-quarters of the wall, and look like earth-black vines clinging to the wall; Fruit-bearing olive trees poke out of the wall, casting heavy shadows on the stone pavement beyond, and the sand-coloured houses are tightly wrapped in them, and the black-rimmed windows on the second floor, the same colour of rain buckets and downspouts, and the garcinia yellow roof tiles, if you will, stand on the higher steps.

The car could only reach the middle of the hill town, some distance from Don's residence, which had to be reached on foot, and the Grand Hopkins, at the invitation of Mayare, walked side by side with him, and the little Hopkins sat on the shoulders of a guard, and they climbed the wide stone steps all the way up the bread-shaped hills, and at the point where they were about to reach the top, they turned into a narrow alley, and down the alley was a small circular patio-shaped square, on one side of which was a miniature chapel, "behind which was the cemetery," said Mayare. The people of the Bisandi family will be buried there, and our women will pray there," he gazed at the church, took off his hat, and drew a cross on his chest, but his footsteps did not stop—facing the church was a more spacious road, and the gold-trimmed sunlight shone down from the sky where a thin cloud always remained, and the goose-yellow walls on either side were anchored by iron frames, in which brick-red clay pots were placed, and star-like flowers and verdant leaves scrambled out of it, and the air smelled faintly of sulfur, and the saltiness of the sea breeze, the surroundings are unusually quiet, and people can only hear their own chattering footsteps.

The dwellings on both sides of the road belong to Bisandi, while the Don. Chegalle. Bissandi was entrenched in the deepest part, and he was surrounded and protected by his own people, and he was very safe.

Mayare sniffled and rang the doorbell, and Sasha slipped off the guard's shoulders and handed his hand to his father, who had plenty of time to look around before the door opened—several black, perforated stones were placed next to the entrance steps, and a wheel as tall as he leaned against them.

"Mount Etna is above us, and Poseidon Island has been buried seven times," Meyare said, "and he was a generous and stern father who brought us fertile ash and death, but we were not willing to leave here." ”

Hopkins and Hopkins blinked—not so much courage, but rather that the inhabitants of Poseidon seemed more than happy to enjoy the thrill of the unpredictable, anytime danger and death that could occur at any time—and it was no accident that "Masoye" would have appeared here.

A thin old woman opened the door to them, and the men were greeted by a quiet and spacious courtyard, where the largest part of the courtyard was encroached upon by thick, soft and elastic carpet-like dwarf Bermuda grass, the edge of which was dominated by dense ryegrass, a small but vigorous olive grove guarded the wings of the house, and the low stone walls pierced through the dense foliage until the other end of the courtyard, and was closely connected to another dwelling, beyond which one could see directly the blue water, and more below the stone wall. Countless groves of dark green olives—and in a short glance the Hopkins saw small grapefruit trees bearing golden fruits, and the doors of the houses were closed—perhaps because the owners of the houses had come to the courtyard—as the literal meaning of the word, Don jumped up from his wicker chair and ran toward the Hopkins.

He was about forty or fifty years old, and his hair was gray, but it was evident that he was still energetic, his mind was active, and his body, which was more than three times the width and three-quarters height of an ordinary person, was as flexible and agile as ever.

"I beg your pardon," he said in a loud and emotional voice, "it is unfortunate that I cannot meet you in person, and I have been in some trouble lately—some reckless lads have some opinions about me. Chegalle regretfully loosened his shoulders: "My side is full of danger. ”

"That's very worrying," Hopkins said sincerely, like a truly innocent outsider.

"It doesn't matter," Chegalle stretched out his hand, and his nephew Mayare came at once, and their hands were clasped together, "I have a good helper, my good heir," said Chegalle, "he is smarter than me, younger than me, more capable than me, and I am old—I am about to have him take over my shift, and when this matter is settled," Chegalle said cheerfully, "I can leave everything without any worries—my benefactor, my guest, and we can enjoy the abundant sunshine and fresh air together." , hot springs, mineral water, crisp and delicious pickled olives and lemon juice, wine...... Well, even when I think about it, I feel so happy—it looks like it's time for me to step back. ”

"Please don't say that." Mayare gently interrupted his uncle's speech: "There will always be only one Don, and that is you." His tone was unusually resolute: "Of course, I'll get rid of the annoying things as soon as possible, and then you can go shark fishing with your guests in peace—you may need to rest for a while, but for a while, I won't just let you go, I have a lot to learn and rely on." ”

They smile face to face, then look at the guests with a warm and eager look in their eyes that makes it seem like they should really say something - for the deep and genuine affection that is held directly in front of you on a silver platter.

"It's enviable." Hopkins said, "Chegalle, you have a good nephew. ”

"Yes," said Chegalle, his face flushed, and his nose, which was fatter than Meyare, trembled uneasily in the morning air, as if at any moment he was about to sneeze in astonishment, "though I cannot have a clever and beautiful son like you, but I have Meyare, who has made up for all my shortcomings, whom I have raised, who I have raised, who has nurtured him, and who will in the near future give everything in my hands to my only heir, Meyare, who is my son, the beloved little piglet of the old wild boar." He affectionately rubbed Meiare's chin with the horn of his strong forehead: "Well, we have plenty of time to talk afterward, and now is the time to use our mouths for another purpose, come with me, guests, lovely old Andreana has prepared for you—a feast not inferior to that of the Romans and Florentines." ”

It was indeed a feast, and although breakfast was a little late and lunch a little early, the food on a marble table large enough for twenty people to dine at once was unquestionable.

Golden croissants with jam and chocolate, cookies garnished with fruit, mille-feuille cheese, pear chunks and peaches submerged in honey water, homemade yogurt, baked apples, pickled olives, tender scrambled eggs, alcoholic cocktail, non-alcoholic fruitcocktail, tomato salad, potato salad, octopus salad, fried small sea fish, tubular noodles with eggplant and mozarella cheese, shell-like pasta stirred with cheese, Seafood cheese pasta with shells and shrimp and, of course, surrounded by the sea, and countless fish steaks and oysters, among which a whole piece of beef ham, which has been carefully grilled – old Andreana brings out plates of dessert from the kitchen, chocolate cherries, crème crème and banana pie in the shape of bananas.

According to tradition, they eat al fresco. A dozen or so comfortable rattan chairs were placed around the wide marble table, and Chegalle, as the master and head, sat naturally in the center, with Mayare to his right, Hopkins to his left, and old Andreana to be one of them, and the chauffeurs and guards who followed them—even then, the portion of food was a little too much.

They prayed a simple pre-meal prayer, and Chegal was the first to open his eyes, his voice full of joy: "Please, my friends, my companions, my children, please, please make full use of this most human right, which is sinless, is the gift of our Lord, and every edible thing is blessed." ”

As if to set an example, he took a bun and stuffed it into his mouth contentedly.

(To be continued)

Well, sorry...... Well, as we all know, work is intense and lasting......