About the book: year / Sweat appeared in large drops on Stas’s face. His black bangs, combed to one side, had been wet for a long time, and Stas kept straightening them, constantly rolling a dry straw from one side of his mouth to the other. The sun, slowly, was approaching its zenith, and his third box had not even begun to be filled with apples. The plaid shirt, tied in a knot over his stomach, had long been damp. I was tired of picking fruit, but there was simply no other option..