Кого зовут "свояком"

Деверь - брат мужа. Шурин - брат жены. Золовка - сест­ра мужа. Свояк - муж свояченицы. Тесть - отец жены. Тёща - мать жены. Зять - муж дочери, муж сестры, муж золовки. Пле­мянник - сын брата, сестры. Племянница - дочь брата, сестры. Двоюродный брат (кузен) - сын дяди или тёти. Двоюродная сестра (кузина) - дочь дяди или тёти. Сноха - жена сына. Свёкор - отец мужа. Свекровь - жена свёкра, мать мужа. Тётка - сестра отца, матери. Дядя – брат отца, матери. Невестка - жена сына, жена брата, жена брата мужа. Сват - отец мужа дочери или жены сына. Сватья – мать мужа дочери или жены сына. Единокровный брат (сестра) - сын (дочь) моего отца от другой матери. Единоутробный брат - сын моей матери от другого отца. Единоутробная сестра - дочь матери от другого отца. Сводный брат (сестра) - сын (дочь) мачехи или отчима.

EXERCISE 21. Restore the omitted parts of the text. Analyze the ways of naming elements of Russian culture and point out calques.

RUSSIAN WINTER

Russians are {знатоки} of the cold. They {смакуют} the onset of winter when snow magically {превращает} the drab, gray visage of a city like Moscow into a lighter, more pleasant countenance by dusting the roof-tops and window ledges with {слой свежей белой краски}, badly needed in any season. After the rainy funereal pall of autumn, I myself came to welcome the liberation of winter with its brief but brilliant sunshine, its stunning {лазурные небеса}, and its clear, {бодрящий мороз}.

In our courtyard the drivers, {суетясь} over balky engines and laughingly pouring precious vodka into the radiator of one machine which had somehow escaped more modern prophylactics, would gather {на совет} to consider and savor the first hard frost. {«Сколько градусов?»} one would ask. When winter truly arrives, Russians never ask what the temperature is. Only: {«Сколько градусов?»} Degrees below freezing is taken for granted.

As our first Moscow winter began, I was surprised to see that {вместо того, чтобы сидеть дома}, Russians would emerge and flood the buses or {электрички} with {лыжи} slung over their shoulders and journey into the nearby countryside where they darted off among the sun-dappled birches. {Мужчины покрепче} would hike out on the frozen rivers, laboriously bore {лунки}, and squat, all day watching their lines. If ever, as {иностранец-новичок}, I were to comment on the chilliness of the morning to the drivers in the courtyard, one of them was sure to humorously advise that in Siberia {плевок замерзает прежде, чем долетает до земли} or that a Siberian toilet consisted of {только одно приспособление}. “What?” I would innocently ask. {«Палку, чтобы отгонять волков»} would come the reply amidst a chorus of laughter.

Braving the cold, like downing vodka, is part of the machismo ritual for Russians, women as well as men. One morning in February, when winter {нехотя ослабила} its grip temporarily, sixty {«моржи»}, as Russians call their winter swimmers, took advantage of {бодрящий тридцатиградусный мороз} for a bracing dip among the ice floes in {Москва река. Мороз пробегал по коже} to see them march, nearly naked, across the ice and snow to the river bank and then plunge one by one into the murky brown water.

‘See how strong and healthy our {моржи} are!’ gushed an enthusiastic announcer to the fur-capped throngs on the river bank.

‘They must be out of their minds,’ a warmly dressed {капитан милиции} mumbled.

It all seemed like child's play, however, when I flew to Yakutsk in Eastern Siberia, a city as far north as Anchorage, Alaska, yet colder because it is locked in the continental fastness without the moderating influence of a nearby ocean. Yet here, too, {сибиряки}, take a certain masochistic pride in the rigors of winter and their {выносливость}. They hobbled along in clumsy, {валенки из чёрного войлока} or animal skins, legs wrapped in woolen leggings, heads buried in furs.

‘You think of our climate as oy-oy-oy,’ smiled Mrs. Aleksandra Ovchinnikova, rolling her dark brown Eskimo eyes. ‘But it is a very dry climate - good for the health,’ she insisted. 'You notice that our people don’t get fat. And they live long lives. You have to dress warmly. The women wear {шерстяные рейтузы}, one on top of the other - at least three layers, maybe six.

In Yakutia wearing layers is a life-style. Even houses and cars do it, as we discovered driving among the straggling settlements of log cabin huts with icicles hanging from the eaves to the ground. In Moscow, Ann and I had become accustomed to {окна с двойными рамами} but in Yakutia storm windows are {тройные}. Each layer has its little {форточка} to control the airflow. In the Hotel Lena the scruffy hostelry where {нас разместили} with an overflow crowd of workmen sleeping in the hallways, the {форточки} had thoughtfully been sealed to prevent drafts. In our room, the only link to the outdoors was a stove pipe, thrust through all the window layers. But someone had stuffed it full of old rags. Buses and cars, too, came equipped with {двойные ветровые стёкла} to keep them from glazing over. Vehicles, which could not be garaged overnight, were simply left {включённые моторы}.

(H. Smith. The Russians)