The Cherry Orchard

He inherited the house from his grandfather. Eighteen-year-old Vlad lived alone in the depths of a cherry orchard. He chased away noisy children and stray dogs—he let no one in.

On that sultry afternoon, Vlad was harvesting. Suddenly, a branch snapped. A stranger of about thirty was pushing his way through the foliage: light shoes, a city jacket.

"Stop!" Vlad shouted, but the man was already picking cherries, stuffing them into his mouth by the handful.

“How sweet,” he exhaled, squinting with pleasure.

Vlad was taken aback. Then he grabbed the broom and, swinging it, wheezed:

• Get out! Get out!

The man didn’t run away, but slowly backed away, smiling through his juice-stained lips:

— Hush, hush... I'm Kolya. Your cousin.

Vlad froze. The broom trembled in his hand. The bitter scent of cherries filled the garden.

I don't know