It was…
That was a long time ago.
This was when I still loved to get sick. But just don't hurt too much. Not to get sick so that they take you to the hospital and give you ten injections, but to get sick quietly, at home, when you are lying in bed, and they bring you tea with lemon.
In the evening, my mother comes running from work:
My God! What's happened?!
Yes, nothing ... Everything is in order.
I need tea! Strong tea! - Mom worries.
You don't need anything... leave me.
My dear, dear ... - my mother whispers, hugs me, kisses me, and I moan. There were wonderful times.
Then my mother would sit next to me on the bed and begin to tell me something or draw a house and a cow on a piece of paper. That's all she could draw, a house and a cow, but I've never seen anyone draw a house and a cow so well in my life.
I lay and moaned and asked:
Another house, another cow!
And a lot turned out on a leaflet of houses and cows.
And then my mother told me stories.
These were strange stories. I have never read anything like this anywhere.
Many years passed before I realized that my mother was telling me about her life. And in my head everything fit like a fairy tale.
Year after year passed, the days flew by.
And this summer I got really sick.
It's a shame to get sick in the summer.
I lay on the bed, looked at the tops of the birches and remembered my mother's fairy tales.
The Tale of the Gray Stones
It was a long time ago... a very long time ago.
It was getting dark.
A rider raced across the steppe.
The horse's hooves beat dully into the ground, bogged down in deep dust. A cloud of dust rose behind the rider.
A fire burned along the road.
Four people were sitting by the fire, and some gray stones lay in the field aside from them.
The rider realized that these were not stones, but a herd of sheep.
He drove up to the fire, said hello.
The shepherds looked sullenly into the fire. No one answered the greeting, no one asked where he was going.
Finally one shepherd raised his head.
Stones, he said.
The rider did not understand the shepherd. He saw sheep, but he did not see stones. Whipping his horse, he galloped on.
He rushed to the place where the steppe merged with the earth, and an evening black cloud rose towards him. Clouds of dust crawled along the ground under a cloud.
The road led to a ravine with deep slopes. On the slope - red and clay - lay gray stones.
“These are certainly stones,” the rider thought, and flew into the ravine.
An evening cloud immediately covered him and white lightning stuck into the ground in front of the horse's hooves.
The horse darted to the side, lightning struck again - and the rider saw how the gray stones turned into animals with sharp ears.
The animals rolled down the slope, rushed under the horse's feet.
The horse snored, jumped up, hit with a hoof - and the rider flew out of the saddle.
He fell to the ground and hit his head on a rock. It was a real stone.
The horse sped off. Behind him, long gray stones crawled along the ground in pursuit. Only one stone remained on the ground. Pressing his head against him, lay a man who rushed to no one knows where.
In the morning silent shepherds found him. They stood over him without saying a word.
They did not know that at the very moment when the rider hit the stone with his head, a new man appeared in the world.
And the rider raced to see this man.
A minute before his death, he thought:
“Who will be born? Son or daughter? It would be nice to have a daughter."
A girl was born. They named her Olga. And simply everyone called her - Lelya.
Tale of giant creatures
It was a hot July day.
There was a girl in the meadow. She saw green grass in front of her, on which large dandelions were scattered.
Run, Lelya, run! she heard. - Run faster.
I'm afraid, - Lyolya wanted to say, but she could not say.
Run Run. Do not be afraid of anything. Never be afraid of anything. Run!
“There are dandelions,” Lyolya wanted to say, but she could not say.
Run straight through the dandelions.
“So they are ringing,” thought Lyolya, but quickly realized that she would not be able to say such a phrase, and she ran straight through the dandelions. She was sure they would ring under her feet.
But they were soft and did not ring underfoot. But the earth itself rang, dragonflies rang, a silver lark rang in the sky.
Lyolya ran for a long, long time and suddenly saw that a huge white creature was standing in front of her.
Lelya wanted to stop, but she could not stop.
And a huge creature beckoned with an unfamiliar finger, deliberately attracted to itself.
Lela ran. And then a huge creature grabbed her and threw her into the air. Quietly my heart skipped a beat.
Don't be afraid, Lyolya, don't be afraid, - a voice was heard. Don't be afraid to be thrown into the air. You do know how to fly.
And Lyolya really tried to fly, flapped her wings, but did not fly far away, she again fell on her hands. Then she saw a broad face and small, small eyes. Black ones.
It's me, - said a huge creature - Marfusha. You will not know? Run back now.
And Lelya ran back. She ran through the dandelions again. They were warm and ticklish.
She ran for a long, long time and saw a new huge creature. Blue.
Mother! Lyolya shouted, and her mother picked her up in her arms and threw her into the sky:
Don't be afraid. Do not be afraid of anything. You can fly.
And Lyolya had already flown longer and, probably, she could have flown as long as she wanted, but she herself wanted to fall into her mother's arms as soon as possible. And she descended from the sky, and mother with Lelya in her arms walked along the dandelions to the house.
Tale of some thing with a golden nose
It was… it was a long time ago. This was when Lelya learned to fly.
She flew every day now and always tried to land in her mother's arms. It was safer and more enjoyable that way.
She flew when she went outside, but at home she sometimes wanted to fly.
What can you do with you, - laughed my mother. - Fly.
And Lelya took off, but it was not interesting to fly in the room - the ceiling interfered, it was not possible to fly high.
But still she flew and flew. Of course, if it is not possible to fly outdoors, you need to fly indoors.
Well, stop flying, - said my mother. - Night in the yard, it's time to sleep. Fly now in a dream.
Nothing can be done - Lyolya went to bed and flew in a dream. And where are you going? If it is not possible to fly on the street or in the house, you need to fly in a dream.
Stop flying, my mother once said. - Learn how to walk. Go.
And Lelya went. Where she went, she didn't know.
Go bold. Don't be afraid of anything.
And she went. And as soon as she moved away, something muffled rang over her head:
Don! Don!
Lelya was frightened, but not immediately frightened.
She raised her head and saw: hanging high on the wall some thing with a golden nose. She shook her nose, and her face was round, white, like Marfushi's, only there were too many eyes.
"What's that thing with the golden nose?" Lelya wanted to ask, but she couldn't ask. Somehow the tongue hasn't turned yet. And I wanted to talk.
Lyolya plucked up courage and asked this thing:
Are you flying?
So, - the thing answered and waved its nose. She waved fearfully.
Lyolya was frightened again, but then again she was not frightened.
“But you don’t fly - well, okay,” Lyolya wanted to say, but again she failed to say it. She simply waved her hand at the thing, and she waved her nose in response. Lelya again with her hand, and that with her nose.
So they waved for a while - some with their noses, and some with their hands.
Okay, that's enough, - said Lelya. - I went.
It was...
That was a long time ago.
This was when I still loved to get sick. But just don't hurt too much. Not to get sick so that they take you to the hospital and give you ten injections, but to get sick quietly, at home, when you are lying in bed, and they bring you tea with lemon.
In the evening, my mother comes running from work:
- My God! What's happened?!
- Yes, nothing ... Everything is in order.
- I need tea! Strong tea! Mom worries.
“You don’t need anything... leave me alone.
“My dear, dear ...” mum whispers, hugs me, kisses me, and I moan. There were wonderful times.
Then my mother would sit next to me on the bed and begin to tell me something or draw a house and a cow on a piece of paper. That's all she could draw, a house and a cow, but I've never seen anyone draw a house and a cow so well in my life.
I lay and moaned and asked:
“One more house, one more cow!”
And a lot turned out on a leaflet of houses and cows.
And then my mother told me stories.
These were strange stories. I have never read anything like this anywhere.
Many years passed before I realized that my mother was telling me about her life. And in my head everything fit like a fairy tale.
Year after year passed, the days flew by.
And this summer I got really sick.
It's a shame to get sick in the summer. I lay on the bed, looked at the tops of the birches and remembered my mother's fairy tales.
Artist - Nikolai Aleksandrovich Ustinov.
Wormwood tales are bright and kind, and even a little magical stories about the childhood of a little girl Lelya, about her mother and friends, about people living in a small village with the beautiful name Polynovka. These are not even quite fairy tales - these are fairy tales-memories, like parables about an old forgotten life - amazing, quiet and beautiful! The book is good to read not only for children, but also for adults: once you start reading, it's hard to stop... One of the best books I've read lately.
Publisher: ID Meshcheryakova, 2013 - a new book, published very beautifully and with high quality, but the circulation is very small - only 3000 copies.
84x108/16 (205x290 mm - A4), 136 pages, hardcover.
The stories in the book are unlike anything else, written in a melodious folk language, flowing. These are not even fairy tales, but stories from the life of ordinary people of Polynovtsy. A steppe village in Mari El, where a Russian teacher, mother Lelya, teaches local children who cannot speak Russian. All events are described from the perspective of a little girl Lelya, this is her childhood memory. As an adult, she tells them to her son like fairy tales. "They were strange tales. I have never read such stories anywhere."
This book, according to many reviews (which we fully subscribe to!) is the best of all children's books that I have read lately. And not only for children - it is also interesting for adults - for everyone who is close to folk life.
And what are the illustrations here! Books with illustrations by Ustinov are always masterpieces, and here Ustinov and Koval were also friends - that's why the book turned out so solid and real ...
WHERE CAN I BUY. The book is for sale in the labyrinth , in ozone, in myshop, .
The Tale of the Gray Stones 
Tale of giant creatures
Tale of some thing with a golden nose
The tale of the porch and the mound
Tale of the next room.
Tale of the Main Man
The Tale of Grandfather Ignat
Tale of Polynovka
Marfushina's tale three pancakes long
The Tale of the Wormwood
The story of the soldier
The story about. how Mishka went to war
Tale of the game of eggs
Marfushina's tale about the steppe brother
The story of how autumn came
The story of how school started
The tale of the surname
The Tale of the Russian Language Lesson 
The Tale of the Pine Lamp
Tale of grandfather Ignat about the wolf Evstifska
Tale of Holiday Poems
The Tale of the Snow Clock
Tale of a snowstorm
The Tale of the Wolves and the Silly Cow
The Tale of the Spinning Tops
The Tale of the Spinning Tops (continued)
The Tale of the Three Rubles
Tale of grandfather Ignat about the other three rubles
Tale of sisters
The Tale of the Roasted Gander
Tale of the Ice
The tale of the silver falcon, told by Natakay
Tale of the broken droshky
The Tale of the Coming of Spring
Tale of goose letters 
Tale of a strict holiday
Tale of the Sower
The tale of how the lilac did not bloom
Lunin's tale about mountain ash
The Tale of the Devil with Horns and a Beard
Tale of grandfather Ignat about the goat Kozma Mikitich
Tale about Katya
The Tale of the Lucky Lilac
Wormwood fairy tales completely captivate the reader with their unusualness, dissimilarity to others, melodiousness and poetry of the language and plot. Immerse yourself in the atmosphere of the steppe, flowering herbs, it’s not for nothing that fairy tales - wormwood... These are the tales that his mother told the author when he was little, these are the memories of his mother about childhood.
The main character of the book is a little girl who lives with her mother (a rural teacher) in a village somewhere in the wide Russian steppe. The time the book describes is the beginning of the 20th century. The author tells about the life of a zemstvo teacher who teaches illiterate children. There is a lot of folklore - wise and kind villagers ("Marfushina's tales").
It was...
Those were wonderful times...
It was...
That was a long time ago.
This was when I still loved to get sick. But just don't hurt too much. Not to get sick so that you were taken to the hospital and injected with ten injections, but to get sick quietly, like at home, when you are lying in bed, and they bring you tea with lemon.
In the evening, my mother comes running from work:
- My God! What's happened?!
- Yes, nothing ... Everything is in order.
- I need tea! Strong tea! - Mom worries.
- You don't need anything ... leave me.
- My dear, dear ... - mum whispers, hugs me, kisses me, and I moan. There were wonderful times.
Then my mother sat next to me on the bed and began to tell me something or drew a house and a cow on a piece of paper. That's all she could draw, a house and a cow, but I've never seen anyone draw a house and a cow so well in my life. I lay and moaned and asked:
- One more house, one more cow!
And a lot turned out on a leaflet of houses and cows.
And then my mother told me stories.
These were strange stories. I have never read anything like this anywhere.
Many years later. before I realized that my mother was telling me about her life. And in my head everything fit like a fairy tale.
Year after year, the days flew by.
And this summer I got very sick.
It's a shame to get sick in the summer.
I lay on the bed, looked at the tops of the birches and remembered my mother's fairy tales.
About the author and artist of this book. Koval and Ustinov
Wormwood fairy tales are a gift for mom. Yuri Iosifovich Koval did not hide this and spoke frankly: "The fact is that my mother was very sick then, these were her dying years. And I loved her very much, and I wanted to do something for her. And what can a writer do - write." 
There is also a gift for dad. All connoisseurs of "kovalina" life immediately understand that cheerful and beautiful Adventures of Vasya Kurolesov would never have been born if the boy Yura had not been so proud of his dad. The fact is that Iosif Koval was a very brave and unusual person. During the war, he worked in the city of Moscow, on Petrovka, in the department for combating banditry, then he became the head of the criminal investigation department of the entire Moscow region, was wounded and awarded many times, but at the same time he remained cheerful, witty and even "laughing .. About books He joked about his son like this: “In fact, I suggested everything to Yurka!”
Mom didn't tell me. She only remembered often. About her distant village childhood, and even wrote down her memories - quite simply, everything was as it was. So there are no fictions about the old village life in the Wormwood Tales. 
Wormwood tales were the latest that two friends managed to talk about - Yuri Iosifovich Koval and Nikolai Aleksandrovich Ustinov. Once upon a time, in 1987, they made this book together. Then another publishing house decided to release it again, and the artist Ustinov began to consult on the phone, which picture would be best to put on the cover. We decided: let there be a wolf Evstifeyka.
Soon a book with Evstifeyka appeared, but Yuri Koval did not see it ... And that was also a long time ago, almost twenty years ago. That's why books are needed. If you open Wormwood Tales today or even tomorrow, if you don’t know anything at all about the writer Koval and the artists Ustinov, you can immediately see that they are friends...
Very BEAUTIFUL tales. This is what a child's life is like. This is the first knowledge of the world.
And most importantly - "to get to what you want yourself."
Yuri Koval gave these fairy tales to everyone a journey to childhood, to the beginning.
Yes, everyone has their own porch. I also have a match with lilac in the third window.
The window just opened, and the rooms were filled with delicious and happy air - it means that the birthday is coming soon.
Can't get enough of a book. What a spacious Polynovka.
And why is a person alone with this universal nature not alone?! and no melancholy in this circular beauty!
And there is enough for everyone here. Especially kindness.
Yes, and have not looked at the sky for a long time.
This village prose, children's, is addictive, almost without "struggle struggle with struggle" (of course, the author mentioned the wolf Evstifeyka - but what, there was such a time).
Strong sower - Yuri Koval.
It is a pity that the originality of fairy tales was violated back in 1987.
And in 1990, all the same, one came out - alone wormwood (crossed out from the book, it is not in this edition either)
THE TALE ABOUT THE BELL BROTHERS.
“And there was a huge house nearby.
He was visible through Lyolino's third window, but she did not see him for a very long time. It was too big to see it right away, and Lelya looked at the lilac that grew near the fence of the house.
When you can look at lilacs in bloom, then you really don’t want to look at anything else anymore. Even on the house near which the lilac grows.
And the house itself seemed to grow. So it seemed to Lela when she nevertheless saw him one early morning.
For a long, long time she raised her head, but still did not see where this house ends. And it seemed to her that it never ends anywhere, and disappears in high clouds.
But it wasn't. The house ended, as any house built on the ground always has an end. And at the very top of it, almost in the clouds, bells hung and doves lived.
And as soon as the elder bell struck, a flock of pigeons rose into the sky, and Lyolya knew that a magic dove also lives among the pigeons. Nobody told her about him, she knew about the dove herself.
Someday he will fly to heaven and bring her happiness from there. She did not yet understand that the magic dove had already brought her happiness long ago.
The bells were resonant, drawn out, and the oldest of them spoke in a bass voice. He could be heard for many miles around, and his name, of course, was Ivan.
He hit hard, softly, as if pronouncing his simple name:
- I-van! I-van!
And he had middle brothers - Stepan and Martemyan, and, of course, small bells - Mishki and Grishki, Trishki and Arishki.
And when all the bells rang, the bell ringing unfolded unheard-of wings over the surrounding steppes:
-I-van! I-van!
-Stepan!
-Martemyan!
-Mishki yes Grishki,
- Trishki yes Arishki.
- I have a bell-brother there, - the Mishka-soldier once said to Lela. - He calls like this: - Bear! Bear!
- How is it - the bell brother?
- Well, it's very simple. He is like me. Only I live as a person, and he - like a bell.
- Do I have anyone there?
“I don’t know,” the soldier doubted. - You're too small.
And just then they called “everything”. Huge wings of bell ringing spread over the steppe.
Lyolya stood and listened, and it seemed to her that she heard the bell brother pronounce her name:
- Lelya-Leles! Lelya-Leles!
“No, it’s unlikely,” the soldier doubted. - You're still small.
The soldier was, of course, wrong. Because every person who lives on earth has his own bell brother.
You just need to listen - you will definitely hear how he calls you.
***
Like many others, I can’t imagine my book pantry without Yu.I. Koval.
I'm waiting for Suer-Vyer to be re-released.
The second edition of Kovala's book has appeared. Memoirs about the writer are no less interesting to read than his books.
And the books are certainly from the publishing house Meshcheryakov V.Yu.
