My house (Super Junior A to B, Supplementary Lesson 2)

My house (Super Junior A to B, Lesson 8)

The following days are a jumble of gunfire, digging, gobbled food, soldiers running in and out of the forest in small groups, distant explosions, stray shells, bandaged heads and unexpected lulls. On the very first day, before dawn, I am ordered into one of the newly dug trenches. I huddle there, squeezing my magic buttons and singing songs to the dog. When the fighting stops, the dog disappears, but a new companion takes his place. A strange little soldier crawls along the trench toward me. ‘Private Sasha!’ he cries. ‘I’ve been looking for you all day long!’ He’s old, like a grandfather, a dedushka. He has a black patch over one eye, a tape measure around his neck and a row of pins threaded into his sleeve. Hanging from his belt is the most enormous pair of scissors I have ever seen and I wonder if he uses them as a weapon. He doesn’t tell me his name, so in my head he becomes Dedushka. Dedushka squats, cups his hand to his ear, peers over the top of the trench and smiles. ‘It’s safe to be upright . . . for now.’ He helps me to my feet, dusts me off and commands me to stand as tall and straight as I can. Then he measures me. Everything from head to toe – even my toes! He writes numbers in a little notebook, strings his tape measure back around his neck, salutes and hurries away. It’s all very strange, and I wonder if Dedushka has been bumped on the head during the battle and is now a little bit muddled. I should have given him a hug before he left. I chase after him but stop when I’m hit by a shovelful of flying dirt. Sleepy Bear is digging a cave! ‘Are you going to hibernate?’ I ask. Sleepy Bear chuckles. ‘No, although that would be wonderful! I could do with a lo-o-o-ong sleep.’ He sighs and closes his eyes. He doesn’t open them again and I realise that he has gone to sleep. Standing up! I shake his arm, and he opens his eyes and keeps talking. ‘No, I’m not hibernating. I’m digging a little nook where I can sleep and eat. I’ll hang up my raincape as a door that can open and close so it feels just like a real home . . . except for the lice . . . and the bad smells . . . and the bombs that make the walls shake and crumble.’ He points further along the trench to where other soldiers are digging. ‘We’re all making little houses in the ground.’ ‘Like rabbits and moles,’ I say. Sleepy Bear chuckles. ‘Yes! And soldiers who need to hide from German bullets and bombs.’ He stops digging to roll a cigarette. ‘Should I be making a house?’ I ask. ‘I want to hide from German bullets and bombs, too.’ Sleepy Bear flops to the ground, lights his cigarette, closes his eyes and takes a deep puff. I wait for him to answer, but, instead, he begins to snore! I poke him in the side. He snorts and he murmurs, ‘I think someone has already built you a house, Sasha. Keep going along this beautiful village street and you are sure to find it.’ He falls asleep once more. I kiss his dusty cheek and whisper, ‘Thank you, Sleepy Bear.’ A little way along, I see Cook in a cloud of smoke. He has lit a fire, right here in the middle of the trench, and is stirring a cauldron full of kasha. He squats as he stirs. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask. ‘Cooking supper, of course!’ he cries. ‘But why are you doing it here?’ Cook points his spoon at the ground above the trenches. ‘Because if I do it up there, my pot will be filled with holes from German bullets and all of the kasha will leak out onto the ground. It’s bad enough that our supplies can’t get through German lines and there’s nothing to cook but buckwheat for kasha. But if we lost the kasha, too . . .’ ‘Hungry soldiers,’ I say. Cook nods. ‘And grumpy!’ ‘Like Boris!’ I gasp. ‘Even worse,’ warns Cook. I picture the kasha pot full of bullet holes. And then I realise that if the kasha pot were full of holes, then Cook would be, too. I wrap my arms around Cook’s neck and say, ‘I think this is a very good place for cooking our supper.’ I kiss his smoky cheek and run along. At the end of the trench, I find the biggest hole of all. It’s wide and deep and as busy as a beehive in a blossom tree. Above, a group of soldiers is rolling logs into place for a roof, while below, typewriters rattle and pencils scratch and papers flutter and voices crackle out of five different radios. Their words tangle together to tell a strange wartime fairy tale about German guns and a loving father called Stalin and a Red Army regiment that is lost in the deep, dark forest and a wicked beast called Hitler and a delivery of vegetables that was hit by a bomb and blown into a million tiny pieces too small even to make soup. In the middle of it all, wrestling with a rumpled map, his rifle still slung over his shoulder, is Major Scruff. ‘Major Scruff!’ I run and jump into his arms. ‘Is this our new home?’ ‘Yes, Sasha. I suppose it is.’ ‘Is it safe from German bullets and bombs?’ I ask. He stares at me. ‘Were you scared in the trenches today, Sasha?’ ‘No,’ I reply. ‘I had magic buttons and a dog and some songs to sing. Were you scared in the forest, Major Scruff?’ ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Poor Major Scruff!’ I press my hand against his cheek. The dark, rough stubble is grubby with grit and his eyelids are taking a long time to open after every blink. ‘You need a shave and a nap!’ I scold. He chuckles. ‘I am too tired to shave and too busy to nap.’ I scrunch my nose while I consider his problem. ‘I know!’ I cry. ‘You nap and I will shave your whiskers. That will be two jobs tumbled into one!’ And so that’s what we do. Major Scruff slumps into a chair and snoozes while I lather his face with soapy water and shave his whiskers. The soap suds travel from his face, up into his hair and down the front of his uniform, and I have to shave his jaw and chin three times because I keep missing bits, but I finally get it all done. I am just wiping his cheeks dry when the dog appears. He licks my hand, then stretches up and licks soap suds from Major Scruff’s ear. Major Scruff wakes with a start. He feels his newly shaved face and cries, ‘Wonderful, Sasha! I feel smooth, clean, rested and ready for action.’ He ruffles my hair. ‘We must do this again tomorrow. Although next time, you might wake me with a gentle shake of the shoulder instead of licking my ear.’

'Create a quiz based on this lesson: . Tenali Rama was known for his sense of humour. In fact, King Krishnadevaraya used to enjoy his witty remarks even when they were targeted at him. Here is one such story. Scene 1 One day, an Arab horse trader visited the court of King Krishnadevaraya. He had a fine horse for the king. The (Greek/Chinese/Arab/ British) trader visited the court of King Krishnadevaraya King: All of you know that I am very fond of horses. The horses in my stable are the finest indeed! Send the trader in! I always want some rare breeds of horses from across the world to add to my man collection. Trader: Good day, Your Majesty! I have brought one of the finest horses from ArabiaI request you to see the horse. I am sure you will want him for your royal stable. King: This is indeed a magnificent creature! I wish to buy this fine horse. Trader: Your Majesty, I have two more such horses with me in Arabia and it would be my pleasure to bring them to you. Trader: You are really kind and I am sure you will like ader merchant magnificent splendid/superb King: I am so happy to hear that. I agree to buy the other two horses as well Into Trader: l am grateful for your offer and I promise to return with the other two horses within a week's time. Scene 2 Months passed, but there was no sign of the trader. Worried and anxious, the king decided to take a stroll in the garden. There, he spotted Tenali Rama sitting under a tree and scribbling something on a piece of paper. King: What are you writing on this sheet of paper, Rama? Rama: Here is the paper. You can see for yourself. It is the list of names of people who can be called 'very foolish!. Rama showed the paper to the king. It was a list of names with the king's name at the top. King: My name is always on top of the list. I do know that you respect me. On the top of the list was written— 'List of the Biggest Fools in the World! He became furious. King: How can you call your King, 'a fool?' You will have to explain it to me. Rama: lam really sorry that I had to add you as well in the list of fools. How could your Highness trust an unknown Arab horse trader, give him a huge advance, and expect him to return? ' King: What if he really comes back? Rama: If he returns with his horses after taking so much money from you, then I will put his name as the first one. So, he will be on top of the list of fools. The king realized his mistake. His anger slowly gives way to laughter. King: You are really funny, Rama. I was very unhappy, but with your witty remark, you have defused my anger and anxiety. I love your sense of humour. Rama: Dear King, you are so good to everyone! You fail to understand that you should be good to people, but should never trust strangers. The king agreed and they walked back to the palace.

My House

110.31.b.17.C

Topic: Reading/Vocabulary Development

STAAR English II High School 2014 - Past Paper

110.31.b.1.B

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