30     A2.    
 


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30       ,           ,   .    ,    A2    ,     .    ,        .           .

    , 1015  .      ,   -   ,    .





 

30     A2.    








30   

 A2.    






How to Use This Book /    


This book has thirty stories  one for every evening of a month. It is for people who already know the basics of English and want to read real stories, not exercises. The stories are longer than in a beginner's book, and they have more surprises: a lost suitcase, a broken coffee machine, two people with the same name and only one hotel room.

           .   ,          ,   .   ,     ,     :  ,  ,              .

The English in this book is simple, but it is natural. The characters talk like real people. They use the past, the present and the future. They say what they have done and what they are going to do. Sometimes they make mistakes  and so will you, and that's fine.

    ,  .     .   ,    . ,       .         ,   .

Every story is told twice. First you read a paragraph in English, then the same paragraph in Russian. The Russian text is not a word-for-word translation. It is a natural Russian text that tells the same story. Try to understand the English first. Don't stop at every new word  often you can guess it from the story. Then read the Russian and check.

   .      ,      .      ,    ,     .    .             .       .

After every story there is a short list called New Words. It has the most useful new words and phrases from the story, with a Russian translation. Some of them are phrasal verbs and fixed expressions  small phrases that English speakers use all the time.

       .              .           ,     .

One story takes ten or fifteen minutes. Read one every evening, or two at the weekend, or the same one twice. And pay attention to the first story and the last one  they are connected. By the end of the book, you will understand why.

    .     ,     ,      .           .      .






DAY 1





Evening Class


My name is Nadia. I am thirty-four, and three months ago I moved from Russia to Bristol with my husband, Misha. He found a job here, at a big company near the river. I didn't find a job. I found a lot of rain and a lot of English that I didn't understand.

  .    ,             .          .    .       ,   .

At school I studied English for ten years. I knew the grammar. I knew all the irregular verbs. But when the woman in the shop asked me, "Do you need a bag, love?", I just stood there and smiled. I didn't understand a single word. And why did she call me "love"?

      .   .    .       : Do you need a bag, love?,     .     .      ?

"You need a class," said Misha one evening. "Real people, real conversation. Not just apps on your phone."

   ,     .   ,  .      .

"I'm too old for classes," I said.

     ,   .

"You're thirty-four," he laughed. "That isn't old. That's the perfect age."

   ,   .    .   .

So on a wet Tuesday in October, I took the bus to a language school in the city centre. The evening class started at seven. I left home at six, because I was afraid of getting lost. Of course, I got lost.

                .     .      ,    . ,  .

I walked up and down the same street three times. The school was in an old building between a caf and a hairdresser's, and the sign on the door was very small. When I finally found it, it was ten past seven. My hair was wet, my shoes were wet, and my heart was beating very fast.

           .         ,       .     ,    .  ,  ,     .

The classroom was on the second floor. I opened the door quietly. Eight people were sitting around a big table, and a tall man with a grey beard was standing next to the whiteboard. Everyone turned and looked at me.

    .    .      ,         .      .

"Hello! Come in, come in," said the man. "Don't worry, we've only just started. I'm Gareth, your teacher. Sit anywhere you like."

 ! , ,   .   ,   .  ,  .   .

I saw an empty chair near the window and sat down. Then a young man with curly hair came back into the room and looked at me with big, sad eyes.

       .                .

"Sorry," he said. "That's my chair. I went to get some water."

 ,   .    .    .

He held up a plastic cup. My face became hot and red. I stood up so fast that my bag fell on the floor, and my pens and my phone went everywhere. Somebody laughed  not unkindly, but they laughed.

   .       .    ,     ,        . -    ,  .

"It's OK, it's OK," said the young man. He helped me to pick up my pens. "There's another chair here, next to me. I'm Lucas. From Brazil."

  ,  ,    .     .    ,   .  .  .

"Nadia," I said. "From Russia." My voice was very quiet.

 ,   .   .       .

Gareth clapped his hands. "Right! Let's start with names. Tell us your name and where you're from. And then spell your first name for us. Who wants to start?"

   .  !   . ,      .       .   ?

Nobody wanted to start. Gareth smiled and pointed at a woman with short blonde hair. She was about forty, and she had a notebook with a lot of colourful stickers on it.

   .          .    ,     ,    .

"My name is Kasia," she said. "I am from Poland. I live in Bristol for six years." She stopped. "No. I have lived. I have lived in Bristol for six years."

   ,   .    . I live in Bristol for six years.   .  . I have lived.       .

"Perfect," said Gareth. "And can you spell it?"

 ,   .    ?

"K-A-S-I-A," said Kasia, and then she laughed. "Six years, and I still forget the present perfect!"

 K-A-S-I-A,     .           present perfect!

Next was an older Japanese man in a very neat jacket. His name was Hiro. He was a retired engineer, and his daughter lived in Bristol with her English husband. "I want to talk with my grandson," he said slowly. "He is four. His English is better than my English."

       .   .     ,        -.       ,    .   .   ,   .

Everyone laughed, and Hiro smiled too. Then it was Lucas's turn. He talked fast and moved his hands a lot. He was twenty-five, he worked in a restaurant kitchen, and he loved football, music and  he said this with a wink  English rain. "In S?o Paulo it's always hot. Here I can wear my jumper!"

 ,    .     .      .   ,        ,         .   -  .     !

Then everyone looked at me.

    .

I knew the words. I practised them on the bus. "My name is Nadia. I am from Russia." Easy. But my mouth was suddenly dry, and my name came out strange and quiet.

 ,  .    .   .   . .     ,       .

"Can you spell it?" asked Gareth kindly.

   ?    .

"N," I said. "A. D..." Then I stopped. The next letter was "I", but in my head it sounded like the Russian letter ""  and in English, that is the sound of "E". "D... E," I said. "No. Sorry. D... I..." My face was red again.

 N,   .  A. D...     .    I,           -   E.  D... E,   .  . . D... I...    .

"N-A-D-I-A," said Gareth slowly, and he wrote it on the whiteboard in big blue letters. "A beautiful name. Thank you, Nadia. Welcome."

 N-A-D-I-A,             .   . , .  .

For the next hour, we talked in pairs. I talked with Kasia about our favourite food. She told me about her mother's pierogi, and I told her about my grandmother's pelmeni. "They're the same!" said Kasia. "Almost the same," I said. It was my first real English conversation in Bristol, and it was about dumplings.

     .       .            ,       .      !   .      ,   .     -        .

Everybody made mistakes. Lucas said "I am agree" four times. Hiro said "he" about his wife and "she" about his grandson. Kasia forgot the present perfect again. And nothing terrible happened. Nobody even looked embarrassed. Slowly, my heart slowed down.

 .     I am agree.         .     present perfect.     .    .    .

At nine o'clock, Gareth stood up. "One more thing," he said. "Homework. But not for next week. This is homework for the whole course."

   .    ,   .   .     .     .

Everyone groaned.

 .

"Our course is ten weeks long," Gareth continued. "In our last lesson, each of you is going to tell the class a story. A real story, about your life. Five minutes. In English. No notes."

     ,   .          .     .  . -.  .

Five minutes! I couldn't even spell my own name. How could I talk for five minutes?

 !       .      ?

"Don't look so scared," said Gareth, and he looked at me. "Ten weeks is a long time. You'll be surprised."

    ,       .      .  .

Outside, it was still raining. Lucas opened a big umbrella and walked with me to the bus stop. "See you next Tuesday, Nadia," he said. "And don't take my chair!"

     .         .    , ,   .      !

I laughed. It was a real laugh, the first one that evening.

 . -     .

On the bus, I looked at the dark, wet streets of Bristol. Ten weeks. One story. Five minutes in English. I had no idea what my story was going to be. But for the first time in three months, I wanted to find out.

        .  .  .   -.    ,     .         .

New Words /  

to get lost (got lost) 



sign , 

whiteboard () 

to spell   

retired  

neat 

wink (with a wink)  ()

to pick up ,  ( )

embarrassed 

to groan 

no notes  ,  

to find out , 




DAY 2





The Coffee Machine


Every morning at the Brightside office in Manchester starts in the same way. At half past eight, people arrive with wet coats and tired faces. They say "Morning" to each other without looking up. And then, one by one, they walk to the kitchen and stand in front of the big silver coffee machine.

         .             .     ,   .              .

The coffee machine is the most important thing in the office. It is more important than the computers. It is more important than the boss. Everybody knows this, but nobody says it.

      .  .  .   ,     .

On Monday morning, Gary from Sales was the first in the kitchen. He put his cup under the machine and pressed the big green button. The machine made a strange noise  like an old man with a bad cough. Then it went quiet. A small red light started to flash.

          .          .          .  .    .

"No," said Gary. "No, no, no." He pressed the button again. Nothing. He pressed it five more times. Still nothing.

 ,   .  , , .     . .    . - .

"What's wrong?" asked Megan from Accounts. She was standing behind him with her pink cup.

  ?     .        .

"It's broken," said Gary. His voice was very serious, like a doctor with bad news.

 ,   .      ,   ,    .

Ten minutes later, the whole office was in the kitchen. Twelve people looked at the silver machine, and the silver machine looked back at them with its little red light.

       .      ,          .

"Maybe it needs water," said Martin from IT. He opened the water box. It was full.

 ,   ,     IT-.     .   .

"Maybe it needs coffee beans," said Megan. But the beans were there too.

 ,   ,   .      .

"Maybe it needs a holiday," said somebody at the back, and a few people laughed  but not Gary. Gary never laughed before his first coffee.

 ,   ,   - ,        .        .

In the corner, next to the fridge, stood Finley. He was twenty-one, and he was the new intern. He started at Brightside three weeks ago. He was very quiet and a little shy. He wore the same grey jumper every day, and the others called him "the boy" when he couldn't hear. Most of the time, they forgot that he was there.

 ,  ,  .     ,     .       .       .          ,       .       .

Finley opened his mouth. "Um, I think" he said.

  .  -,  ...   .

But at that moment the door opened, and Diane came in. Diane was the boss. She was tall, she walked fast, and she always had a plan.

        .   . , ,      .

"What's going on here?" she asked. "Why is nobody at their desk?"

   ?   .       ?

"The coffee machine is broken," said Gary.

  ,   .

Diane looked at the machine. Then she looked at her team. "Right," she said. "There's a meeting with an important client at ten. I need everybody to work. We can live without coffee for one morning."

   .    .  ,   .       .  ,   .       .

Everybody went back to their desks. But nobody worked.

    .     .

Gary looked at his screen for twenty minutes and didn't type a single word. Megan answered the same email three times. Martin fell asleep with his head on his hand, and his keyboard typed "jjjjjjjjjjjj" in a very important document. At half past nine, somebody started to talk about the caf on the corner  but it was raining hard, and the caf always had a long queue on Mondays.

          .          .  ,   ,         .    -          ,         .

"I can't think," said Gary loudly. "My brain isn't working. I need coffee, or I'm going home."

    ,    .     .   ,    .

At a quarter to ten, Diane came out of her office. She had the coffee machine's instruction book in her hand. It was very thick.

      .        .  .

"OK," she said. "I'm going to fix it myself. How difficult can it be?"

 ,   .     .     ?

She went into the kitchen, and everybody followed her. Diane opened the book. "Page forty-seven," she read. "If the red light is flashing, check the..." She turned the page. "Check the... Oh, this part is in German." She turned another page. "And this part is in Italian."

   ,     .   .    ,   .     , ...    .  ... ,     .     .      .

She pressed the green button. She pressed the red button. She pressed both buttons together. She hit the side of the machine with her hand  not very hard, but hard enough. The machine made the coughing noise again, and then a little brown water came out onto the floor.

   .  .   .         ,  .   ,       .

"Oh dear," said Megan.

 -,   .

"I should call the repair company," said Diane. She looked at her watch. "But the client is coming in fifteen minutes."

    ,   .    .       .

Then a quiet voice came from the corner.

      .

"Excuse me. Can I try?"

 .   ?

Everybody turned around. Finley was standing next to the fridge. His face was a little red.

 .    .     .

"You?" said Gary.

 ?   .

"My dad has a caf," said Finley. "In Stockport. He has the same machine. I worked there every summer when I was at school. It breaks all the time."

    ,   .   .     .     ,    .    .

Diane looked at him for a second. Then she gave him the instruction book.

    .    .

Finley didn't open the book. He went to the machine, opened a small door at the back and took out a little metal box. It was full of old, wet coffee. He emptied it into the bin, washed it in the sink and put it back. Then he pressed two buttons together for three seconds and waited.

    .    ,         .       .      ,       .          .

The red light stopped flashing. It turned green. The machine made a happy little sound, and the wonderful smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen.

   .   .    ,       .

For a moment, nobody said anything. Then Gary started to clap. Megan clapped too, and then Martin, and then everybody. Finley looked at the floor, but he was smiling.

    .    .  ,   ,     .    ,  .

"How did you do that?" asked Diane.

    ?   .

"The box at the back was full," said Finley. "When it's full, the machine stops. It's in the book, I think. Page forty-eight." He smiled shyly. "But it's in German."

    ,   .    ,  .    , -.   .    .    .

Everybody laughed. Gary made the first cup of coffee  and gave it to Finley. "You first," he said. "You deserve it."

 .          .   ,   .   .

The meeting with the client went very well. Everybody was awake, everybody had ideas, and Gary was even polite.

    .   ,    ,     .

The next morning, there was a new sign on the coffee machine. Somebody wrote it in big black letters: "PROBLEMS? ASK FINLEY."

       . -      : ?  Ȼ.

And from that day, nobody in the Brightside office called him "the boy" again.

            .

New Words /  

to press (a button)  ()

to flash 

to go quiet (went quiet) 

intern 

shy (shyly)  ()

queue 

to fix 

to empty , 

sink 

to clap  ( )

to deserve 

polite 




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