Anton Pavlovich Chekhov
stupid frenchman
The clown from the circus of the Gintz brothers, Henry Purkua, went to the Moscow tavern Testov to have breakfast.
Give me the consommé! he ordered the sexual.
Will you order with poached or without poached?
No, it's too satisfying with poached ... Two or three croutons, perhaps, give ...
While waiting for the consommé to be served, Pourquois began to observe. The first thing that caught his eye was a plump, handsome gentleman sitting at the next table, preparing to eat pancakes.
“But how much they serve in Russian restaurants!” thought the Frenchman, watching his neighbor pour hot oil on his pancakes. “Five pancakes! How can one person eat so much dough?”
The neighbor, meanwhile, anointed the pancakes with caviar, cut them all into halves, and swallowed them in less than five minutes...
Chelaek! - he turned to the sexual. - Give me some more! What are your portion sizes? Give me ten or fifteen at once! Give balyk ... salmon, or something!
"Strange..." thought Purkua, looking at his neighbor.
Ate five pieces of dough and asks for more! However, such phenomena are not uncommon... I myself had an uncle François in Brittany, who ate two bowls of soup and five lamb cutlets on a bet... They say that there are also illnesses when they eat a lot ... "
The floorman put a mountain of pancakes and two plates with balyk and salmon in front of the neighbor. The handsome gentleman drank a glass of vodka, ate some salmon, and began eating pancakes. To the great surprise of Purkua, he ate them in a hurry, barely chewing, like a hungry ...
"Obviously he's ill," thought the Frenchman.
Give me more caviar! shouted the neighbor, wiping his oily lips with a napkin. Don't forget green onions!
“But... however, half of the mountain is already gone!” the clown was horrified. “My God, he ate all the salmon too? , but he cannot stretch beyond the abdomen ... If we had this gentleman in France, he would be shown for money ... God, there is no longer a mountain!
Give me a bottle of Nui ... - said the neighbor, taking caviar and onions from the sex. - Just warm it up first ... What else? Perhaps, give me another portion of pancakes... Hurry up only...
I'm listening ... And what do you order after the pancakes?
Something lighter... Order a Russian-style sturgeon selyanka and... and... I'll think about it, go!
“Maybe I’m dreaming about this?” the clown was amazed, leaning back in his chair. “This man wants to die. You can’t eat such a mass with impunity. Yes, yes, he wants to die! seems suspicious that he eats so much? It can't be!"
Purkua called the clerk who was serving at the next table to him and asked in a whisper:
Listen, why are you giving him so much?
That is, uh... uh... they demand, sir! How not to submit? – the sexual was surprised.
Strange, but in this way he can sit here until the evening and demand! If you yourself do not have the courage to refuse him, then report to the head waiter, invite the police!
The clerk grinned, shrugged, and walked away.
“Savages!” the Frenchman was indignant to himself. “They are still glad that a madman, a suicide, who can eat an extra ruble, is sitting at the table!
Orders, nothing to say! grumbled the neighbor, turning to the Frenchman.
These long intermissions annoy me terribly! From serving to serving, if you please, wait half an hour! That way you will lose your appetite to hell and be late ... It's three o'clock now, and I have to be at the anniversary dinner by five.
Pardon, monsieur,” Pourquoi turned pale, “you are already having lunch!
No-no... What kind of lunch is this? It's breakfast... pancakes...
Then a village woman was brought to a neighbor. He poured himself a full plate, peppered it with cayenne pepper and began to sip ...
“Poor fellow…” continued the Frenchman, horrified. “Either he is ill and does not notice his dangerous condition, or he does all this on purpose… for the purpose of suicide… My God, I know that I will stumble upon such a picture, I would never have come here! My nerves can't stand such scenes!"
And the Frenchman began to look at his neighbor's face with regret, expecting every minute that convulsions were about to begin with him, such as Uncle Francois always had after a dangerous bet ...
“Apparently, he is an intelligent, young man... full of strength...” he thought, looking at his neighbor. Judging by his clothes, he must be rich, contented... but what makes him decide to take such a step?... And couldn't he have chosen another way to die? I, sitting here and not going to help him! Perhaps he can still be saved!"
Purqua resolutely got up from the table and approached his neighbor.
Listen, monsieur, he turned to him in a low, insinuating voice. “I don’t have the honor of being acquainted with you, but nevertheless, believe me, I am your friend ... Can I help you with something?” Remember, you are still young... you have a wife, children...
I do not understand! the neighbor shook his head, staring at the Frenchman.
Oh, why hide, monsieur? After all, I can see very well! You eat so much that... it's hard not to suspect...
I eat a lot?! the neighbor wondered. -- I?! Fullness ... How can I not eat if I have not eaten anything since the morning?
But you eat an awful lot!
Why don't you pay! What are you worried about? And I don't eat much at all! Look, I eat like everyone else!
Purqua looked around him and was horrified. The sex officers, pushing and bumping into each other, carried whole mountains of pancakes ... People sat at the tables and ate mountains of pancakes, salmon, caviar ... with the same appetite and fearlessness as the handsome gentleman.
"Oh, wonderland!" thought Pourqua, leaving the restaurant. "Not only the climate, but even their stomachs do wonders for them! Oh, country, wonderful country!"
Irina Pivovarova
Spring rain
I didn't want to study yesterday. It was so sunny outside! Such a warm yellow sun! Such branches swayed outside the window! .. I wanted to stretch out my hand and touch every sticky green leaf. Oh, how your hands will smell! And the fingers stick together - you can't pull them apart... No, I didn't want to learn my lessons.
I went outside. The sky above me was fast. Clouds hurried along it somewhere, and sparrows chirped terribly loudly in the trees, and a big fluffy cat warmed up on a bench, and it was so good that spring!
I walked in the yard until the evening, and in the evening mom and dad went to the theater, and I went to bed without doing my homework.
The morning was dark, so dark that I did not want to get up at all. That's how it always is. If the sun is shining, I immediately jump up. I dress quickly. And coffee is delicious, and mom does not grumble, and dad jokes. And when the morning is like today, I barely get dressed, my mother pushes me and gets angry. And when I have breakfast, dad makes me remarks that I sit crookedly at the table.
On the way to school, I remembered that I had not done a single lesson, and this made me even worse. Without looking at Lyuska, I sat down at my desk and took out my textbooks.
Vera Evstigneevna entered. The lesson has begun. Now I will be called.
- Sinitsyn, to the blackboard!
I started. Why should I go to the board?
- I didn't learn, I said.
Vera Evstigneevna was surprised and gave me a deuce.
Why do I feel so bad in the world?! I'd rather take it and die. Then Vera Evstigneevna will regret that she gave me a deuce. And mom and dad will cry and tell everyone:
“Oh, why did we ourselves go to the theater, and they left her all alone!”
Suddenly they pushed me in the back. I turned around. They put a note in my hand. I unrolled a narrow long paper ribbon and read:
“Lucy!
Don't despair!!!
Two is rubbish!!!
You'll fix two!
I will help you! Let's be friends with you! It's just a secret! Not a word to anyone!!!
Yalo-quo-kyl.
It was as if something warm had been poured into me. I was so happy that I even laughed. Luska looked at me, then at the note and proudly turned away.
Did someone write this to me? Or maybe this note is not for me? Maybe she is Lucy? But on the reverse side was: LYUSA SINITSYNA.
What a wonderful note! I have never received such wonderful notes in my life! Well, of course, a deuce is nothing! What are you talking about?! I'll just fix the two!
I re-read twenty times:
"Let's be friends with you..."
Well, of course! Sure, let's be friends! Let's be friends with you!! Please! Very happy! I really love it when they want to be friends with me! ..
But who is writing this? Some kind of YALO-QUO-KYL. Incomprehensible word. I wonder what it means? And why does this YALO-QUO-KYL want to be friends with me?.. Maybe I'm beautiful after all?
I looked at the desk. There was nothing pretty.
He probably wanted to be friends with me because I'm good. What, I'm bad, right? Of course it's good! After all, no one wants to be friends with a bad person!
To celebrate, I nudged Luska with my elbow.
- Lucy, and with me one person wants to be friends!
- Who? Lucy immediately asked.
- I don't know who. It's kind of unclear here.
- Show me, I'll figure it out.
- Honestly won't you tell anyone?
- Honestly!
Luska read the note and pursed her lips:
- Some idiot wrote it! I couldn't say my real name.
- Or maybe he's shy?
I looked around the whole class. Who could write the note? Well, who? .. It would be nice, Kolya Lykov! He is the smartest in our class. Everyone wants to be friends with him. But I have so many triplets! No, he is unlikely.
Or maybe Yurka Seliverstov wrote this? .. No, we are already friends with him. He would send me a note for no reason!
At recess, I went out into the corridor. I stood at the window and waited. It would be nice if this YALO-QUO-KYL made friends with me right away!
Pavlik Ivanov came out of the classroom and immediately went to me.
So, it means that Pavlik wrote it? It just wasn't enough!
Pavlik ran up to me and said:
- Sinitsyna, give me ten kopecks.
I gave him ten kopecks to get rid of it as soon as possible. Pavlik immediately ran to the buffet, and I stayed at the window. But no one else came up.
Suddenly Burakov began to walk past me. I thought he was looking at me in a strange way. He stood next to her and looked out the window. So, it means that Burakov wrote the note?! Then I'd better leave now. I can't stand this Burakov!
- The weather is terrible,” said Burakov.
I didn't have time to leave.
- Yes, the weather is bad, I said.
- The weather can't be worse, - said Burakov.
- Terrible weather, I said.
Here Burakov took an apple out of his pocket and bit off half with a crunch.
- Burakov, give me a bite, - I could not stand it.
- And it is bitter, - said Burakov and went down the corridor.
No, he didn't write the note. And thank God! You won't find another one like this in the whole world!
I looked at him contemptuously and went to class. I went in and freaked out. Written on the blackboard was:
SECRET!!! YALO-QUO-KYL + SINITSYNA = LOVE!!! NOT A WORD TO ANYONE!
In the corner, Luska was whispering with the girls. When I entered, they all stared at me and began to giggle.
I grabbed a rag and rushed to wipe the board.
Then Pavlik Ivanov jumped up to me and whispered in my ear:
- I wrote you a note.
- You lie, not you!
Then Pavlik laughed like a fool and yelled at the whole class:
- Oh, die! Why be friends with you?! All freckled like a cuttlefish! Silly tit!
And then, before I had time to look back, Yurka Seliverstov jumped up to him and hit this blockhead with a wet rag right on the head. Peacock howled:
- Ah well! I'll tell everyone! I’ll tell everyone, everyone, everyone about her, how she receives notes! And I'll tell everyone about you! You sent her a note! - And he ran out of the classroom with a stupid cry: - Yalo-quo-kyl! Yalo-quo-kul!
Lessons are over. Nobody approached me. Everyone quickly collected their textbooks, and the class was empty. We were alone with Kolya Lykov. Kolya still couldn't tie his shoelace.
The door creaked. Yurka Seliverstov stuck his head into the classroom, looked at me, then at Kolya, and left without saying anything.
But what if? Suddenly it's still Kolya wrote? Is it Kolya? What happiness if Kolya! My throat immediately dried up.
- Kohl, please tell me, - I barely squeezed out of myself, - it's not you, by chance ...
I did not finish, because I suddenly saw how Colin's ears and neck were filled with paint.
- Oh you! Kolya said without looking at me. - I thought you... And you...
- Kolya! I screamed. - So I...
- Chatterbox you, that's who, - said Kolya. - Your tongue is like a pomelo. And I don't want to be friends with you anymore. What else was missing!
Kolya finally got through the string, got up and left the classroom. And I sat down in my seat.
I won't go anywhere. Outside the window is such a terrible rain. And my fate is so bad, so bad that it can't get any worse! So I will sit here until the night. And I will sit at night. One in a dark classroom, one in an entire dark school. So I need it.
Aunt Nyura came in with a bucket.
- Go home, dear, - said Aunt Nyura. - Mom was tired of waiting at home.
- No one was waiting for me at home, Aunt Nyura, - I said and trudged out of the classroom.
Bad fate! Lucy is no longer my friend. Vera Evstigneevna gave me a deuce. Kolya Lykov... I didn't even want to think about Kolya Lykov.
I slowly put on my coat in the locker room and, barely dragging my feet, went out into the street ...
It was wonderful, the best spring rain in the world!!!
Cheerful wet passers-by ran along the street with their collars up!!!
And on the porch, right in the rain, stood Kolya Lykov.
- Come on, he said.
And we went.
Evgeny Nosov
living flame
Aunt Olya looked into my room, again caught me behind the papers, and, raising her voice, said commandingly:
Will write something! Go get some air, help cut the flower bed. Aunt Olya took out a birch bark box from the closet. While I gladly kneaded my back, raking the damp earth with a rake, she sat down on a mound and sorted bags of flower seeds into varieties.
Olga Petrovna, what is it, - I notice, - you do not sow poppies in the flower beds?
Well, which of the poppies is the color! she answered confidently. - It's a vegetable. It is sown in the beds along with onions and cucumbers.
What do you! I laughed. - Still in some old song sings:
And her forehead, like marble, is white. And the cheeks are burning, as if the color of poppies.
It only blooms for two days,” Olga Petrovna persisted. - For a flower bed, this does not fit in any way, puffed and immediately burned out. And then all summer this mallet sticks out and only spoils the view.
But all the same, I secretly poured a pinch of poppy into the very middle of the flower bed. She turned green after a few days.
Have you planted poppies? - Aunt Olya approached me. - Oh, you are such a mischievous! So be it, I left the top three, I felt sorry for you. And shed the rest.
Unexpectedly, I left on business and returned only two weeks later. After a hot, tiring road, it was nice to enter Aunt Olya's quiet old house. The freshly washed floor was cool. Overgrown under the window jasmine bush dropped a lacy shadow on the desk.
Pour kvass? she suggested, looking sympathetically at me, sweaty and tired. - Alyoshka was very fond of kvass. It used to be that he himself bottled and sealed
When I rented this room, Olga Petrovna, raising her eyes to the portrait of a young man in a flight uniform that hangs over the desk, asked:
Not prevent?
What do you!
This is my son Alex. And the room was his. Well, you settle down, live on health.
Handing me a heavy copper mug with kvass, Aunt Olya said:
And your poppies have risen, the buds have already been thrown away. I went to look at the flowers. In the center of the flower bed, above all the variegation of flowers, my poppies rose, throwing three tight, heavy buds towards the sun.
They broke up the next day.
Aunt Olya went out to water the flower bed, but immediately returned, rattling an empty watering can.
Well, go look, bloomed.
From a distance, the poppies looked like lit torches with live flames blazing merrily in the wind. A light wind swayed them a little, the sun pierced the translucent scarlet petals with light, which made the poppies either flare up with a quivering bright fire, or fill with a thick crimson. It seemed that if you just touched it, they would immediately scorch you!
Poppies burned wildly for two days. And at the end of the second day, they suddenly crumbled and went out. And immediately on a lush flower bed without them it became empty.
I picked up from the ground still quite fresh, in drops of dew, a petal and straightened it in my palm.
That's all, - I said loudly, with a feeling of admiration that has not yet cooled down.
Yes, it burned down ... - Aunt Olya sighed, as if in a living being. - And somehow I didn’t pay attention to this poppy before ... He has a short life. But without looking back, lived to the fullest. And it happens to people...
I now live on the other side of the city and occasionally visit Aunt Olya. I recently visited her again. We sat at the summer table, drank tea, shared the news. And next to it, a large carpet of poppies was blazing in a flower bed. Some crumbled, dropping petals to the ground like sparks, others only opened their fiery tongues. And from below, from the damp, full of vitality of the earth, more and more tightly rolled buds rose up to keep the living fire from going out.
Ilya Turchin
Edge case
So Ivan reached Berlin, carrying freedom on his mighty shoulders. In his hands was an inseparable friend - a machine gun. Behind the bosom is a piece of mother's bread. So I saved a piece of bread all the way to Berlin.
On May 9, 1945, defeated Nazi Germany surrendered. The guns fell silent. The tanks stopped. The air raid alerts went off.
It became quiet on the ground.
And people heard the wind rustle, the grass grows, the birds sing.
At this hour, Ivan got to one of the Berlin squares, where the house set on fire by the Nazis was still burning down.
The area was empty.
And suddenly a little girl came out of the basement of the burning house. She had thin legs and a face darkened with grief and hunger. Stepping unsteadily on the sun-drenched asphalt, helplessly stretching out her hands, as if blind, the girl went towards Ivan. And she seemed so small and helpless to Ivan on a huge empty, as if extinct, square, that he stopped, and pity squeezed his heart.
Ivan took out a precious piece of bread from his bosom, squatted down and handed the girl bread. The edge has never been so warm. So fresh. Never before has it smelled like rye flour, fresh milk, kind motherly hands.
The girl smiled, and thin fingers clutched at the edge.
Ivan carefully lifted the girl from the scorched earth.
And at that moment, a terrible, overgrown Fritz, the Red Fox, looked out from around the corner. What did he care about the end of the war! Only one thought was spinning in his confused fascist head: "Find and kill Ivan!"
And here he is, Ivan, on the square, here is his broad back.
Fritz - The Red Fox took out a filthy pistol with a crooked barrel from under his jacket and fired treacherously from around the corner.
The bullet hit Ivan in the heart.
Ivan trembled. Reeled. But he did not fall - he was afraid to drop the girl. I just felt like heavy metal poured into my legs. Boots, a cloak, a face became bronze. Bronze - a girl in his arms. Bronze - a formidable machine gun behind powerful shoulders.
A tear rolled down from the girl's bronze cheek, hit the ground and turned into a sparkling sword. Bronze Ivan took hold of its handle.
Shouted Fritz - Red Fox from horror and fear. The charred wall trembled from the cry, collapsed and buried him under it...
And at the same moment, the piece that mother had left also became bronze. The mother understood that trouble had befallen her son. She rushed to the street, ran where her heart led.
People ask her:
Where are you in a hurry?
To my son. Trouble with my son!
And they brought her in cars and trains, on steamboats and on airplanes. Mother quickly got to Berlin. She went out to the square. I saw a bronze son - her legs buckled. Mother fell on her knees, and so she froze in her eternal sorrow.
Bronze Ivan with a bronze girl in her arms still stands in the city of Berlin - it is visible to the whole world. And if you look closely, you will notice between the girl and Ivan's wide chest a bronze piece of mother's bread.
And if enemies attack our Motherland, Ivan will come to life, carefully put the girl on the ground, raise his formidable machine gun and - woe to the enemies!
Valentina Oseeva
grandma
The grandmother was fat, broad, with a soft, melodious voice. “I filled the whole apartment with myself! ..” Borka’s father grumbled. And his mother timidly objected to him: an old man... Where can she go? “Healed in the world ...” father sighed. “She belongs in an orphanage—that’s where!”
Everyone in the house, not excluding Borka, looked at the grandmother as if she were a completely superfluous person.
Grandma slept on a chest. All night she tossed heavily from side to side, and in the morning she got up before everyone else and rattled dishes in the kitchen. Then she woke up her son-in-law and daughter: “The samovar is ripe. Get up! Have a hot drink on the road ... "
She approached Borka: “Get up, my father, it’s time for school!” "Why?" Borka asked in a sleepy voice. "Why go to school? The dark man is deaf and dumb - that's why!
Borka hid his head under the covers: “Go on, grandma ...”
In the passage my father shuffled with a broom. “And where are you, mother, galoshes Delhi? Every time you poke into all the corners because of them!
Grandmother hurried to help him. “Yes, here they are, Petrusha, in plain sight. Yesterday they were very dirty, I washed them and put them on.
Borka would come from school, throw his coat and hat into his grandmother’s hands, throw a bag of books on the table and shout: “Grandma, eat!”
The grandmother hid her knitting, hurriedly set the table, and, crossing her arms over her stomach, watched Borka eat. During these hours, somehow involuntarily, Borka felt his grandmother as his close friend. He willingly told her about the lessons, comrades. Grandmother listened to him lovingly, with great attention, saying: “Everything is fine, Boryushka: both bad and good are good. From a bad person becomes stronger, from good shower it blooms."
Having eaten, Borka pushed the plate away from him: “ delicious kissel today! Have you eaten, grandma? “Eat, eat,” the grandmother nodded her head. “Don’t worry about me, Boryushka, thank you, I’m well fed and healthy.”
A friend came to Borka. The comrade said: “Hello, grandmother!” Borka cheerfully nudged him with his elbow: “Let's go, let's go! You can't say hello to her. She's an old lady." The grandmother pulled up her jacket, straightened her scarf and quietly moved her lips: “To offend - what to hit, caress - you need to look for words.”
And in the next room, a friend said to Borka: “And they always say hello to our grandmother. Both their own and others. She's our boss." "How is it the main one?" Borka asked. “Well, the old one ... raised everyone. She cannot be offended. And what are you doing with yours? Look, father will warm up for this. "Do not warm up! Borka frowned. “He doesn’t greet her himself…”
After this conversation, Borka often for no reason asked his grandmother: “Do we offend you?” And he told his parents: “Our grandmother is the best, but she lives the worst of all - no one cares about her.” The mother was surprised, and the father was angry: “Who taught you to condemn your parents? Look at me - it's still small!
Grandmother, smiling softly, shook her head: “You fools should be happy. Your son is growing up for you! I have outlived mine in the world, and your old age is ahead. What you kill, you will not return.
* * *
Borka was generally interested in Babkin's face. There were various wrinkles on this face: deep, small, thin, like threads, and wide, dug out over the years. “Why are you so adorable? Very old?" he asked. Grandma thought. “By wrinkles, my dear, a human life, like a book, can be read. Grief and need have signed here. She buried children, cried - wrinkles lay on her face. I endured the need, fought - again wrinkles. My husband was killed in the war - there were many tears, many wrinkles remained. Big rain and that one digs holes in the ground.
He listened to Borka and looked in the mirror with fear: did he not enough cry in his life - is it possible that his whole face will drag on with such threads? "Go on, grandma! he grumbled. "You always talk nonsense..."
* * *
Recently, the grandmother suddenly hunched over, her back became round, she walked more quietly and kept sitting down. “It grows into the ground,” my father joked. “Don’t laugh at the old man,” the mother was offended. And she said to her grandmother in the kitchen: “What is it, you, mother, are you moving around the room like a turtle? Send you for something and you won't get back."
Grandmother died before the May holiday. She died alone, sitting in an armchair with knitting in her hands: an unfinished sock lay on her knees, a ball of thread on the floor. Apparently, she was waiting for Borka. There was a ready-made device on the table.
The next day, the grandmother was buried.
Returning from the yard, Borka found his mother sitting in front of an open chest. All sorts of junk was piled on the floor. It smelled of stale things. The mother took out a crumpled red slipper and carefully straightened it with her fingers. “Mine too,” she said, and leaned low over the chest. - My..."
At the very bottom of the chest, a box rattled - the same cherished one that Borka always wanted to look into. The box was opened. Father took out a tight bundle: it contained warm mittens for Borka, socks for his son-in-law, and a sleeveless jacket for his daughter. They were followed by an embroidered shirt made of old faded silk - also for Borka. In the very corner lay a bag of candy tied with a red ribbon. Something was written on the bag in big block letters. The father turned it over in his hands, squinted and read aloud: “To my grandson Boryushka.”
Borka suddenly turned pale, snatched the package from him and ran out into the street. There, crouching at someone else's gate, he peered for a long time at grandmother's scribbles: "To my grandson Boryushka." There were four sticks in the letter "sh". "I didn't learn!" thought Borka. How many times did he explain to her that there were three sticks in the letter "w" ... And suddenly, as if alive, the grandmother stood in front of him - quiet, guilty, who had not learned her lesson. Borka looked around in confusion at his house and, clutching the bag in his hand, wandered down the street along the long fence of someone else ...
He came home late in the evening; his eyes were swollen with tears, fresh clay stuck to his knees. He put Babkin’s bag under his pillow and, covering himself with a blanket, thought: “Grandma won’t come in the morning!”
Tatyana Petrosyan
A note
The note had the most innocuous appearance.
According to all gentlemen's laws, an ink mug and a friendly explanation should have been found in it: "Sidorov is a goat."
So Sidorov, not suspecting the worst, instantly unfolded the message ... and was dumbfounded. Inside, it was written in large beautiful handwriting: "Sidorov, I love you!" Sidorov felt mockery in the roundness of his handwriting. Who wrote this to him? Squinting, he looked around the class. The author of the note was bound to reveal himself. But the main enemies of Sidorov this time for some reason did not grin maliciously. (The way they used to smirk. But not this time.)
But Sidorov immediately noticed that Vorobyova was looking at him without blinking. It doesn’t just look like that, but with meaning!
There was no doubt: she wrote the note. But then it turns out that Vorobyova loves him ?! And then Sidorov's thought reached a dead end and thrashed about helplessly, like a fly in a glass. WHAT DO YOU LIKE??? What consequences will this entail and how should Sidorov be now? ..
"Let's talk logically," Sidorov reasoned logically. "What, for example, do I like? Pears! I love - that means I always want to eat ..."
At that moment, Vorobyova turned back to him and licked her lips bloodthirstyly. Sidorov froze. Her eyes, which had not been trimmed for a long time, caught his eye ... well, yes, real claws! For some reason, I remembered how Vorobyova greedily gnawed a bony chicken leg in the buffet ...
“You need to pull yourself together,” Sidorov pulled himself together. (Hands turned out to be dirty. But Sidorov ignored the little things.) “I love not only pears, but also my parents. However, there can be no question of eating them. Mom bakes sweet pies. Dad often wears me around his neck. And I love them for that..."
Then Vorobyova turned around again, and Sidorov thought sadly that now he would have to bake sweet pies for her all day long and wear her to school around his neck to justify such a sudden and crazy love. He took a closer look and found that Vorobyova was not thin and it would probably not be easy to wear her.
“All is not lost yet,” Sidorov did not give up. “I also love our dog Bobik. Especially when I train him or take him out for a walk ...” Then Sidorov felt stuffy at the mere thought that Vorobyova could make him jump for every pie, and then he will take him for a walk, holding tightly to the leash and not allowing him to deviate either to the right or to the left ...
“... I love the cat Murka, especially when you blow directly into her ear ... - Sidorov thought in despair, - no, that’s not it ... I like to catch flies and put them in a glass ... but this is too much ... I love toys that you can break and see what's inside..."
From the last thought, Sidorov felt unwell. There was only one salvation. He hurriedly tore a sheet out of his notebook, pursed his lips resolutely, and in firm handwriting brought out the menacing words: "Vorobyova, I love you too." Let her be scared.
Hans Christian Andersen
Girl with matches
How cold it was that evening! It was snowing and dusk was gathering. And the evening was the last of the year - New Year's Eve. In this cold and dark time, a little beggar girl, with her head uncovered and barefoot, wandered through the streets. True, she came out of the house shod, but how much use was there in huge old shoes?
These shoes were worn by her mother before - that's how big they were - and the girl lost them today when she rushed to run across the road, frightened by two carriages that were rushing at full speed. She never found one shoe, the other was dragged off by some boy, saying that it would make an excellent cradle for his future children.
So the girl was now wandering barefoot, and her legs were reddened and blue from the cold. In the pocket of her old apron were several packs of sulfur matches, and she held one pack in her hand. All that day she did not sell a single match, and she was not given a penny. She wandered hungry and chilled, and she was so exhausted, poor thing!
Snowflakes settled on her long blond curls, beautifully scattered over her shoulders, but she, really, did not suspect that they were beautiful. Light poured in from all the windows, and the street smelled deliciously of roast goose—after all, it was New Year's Eve. That's what she thought!
Finally, the girl found a corner behind the ledge of the house. Then she sat up and huddled, tucking her legs under her. But she became even colder, and she did not dare to return home: after all, she did not manage to sell a single match, she did not help out a penny, and she knew that her father would kill her for this; besides, she thought, it was cold at home too; they live in the attic, where the wind blows, although the biggest cracks in the walls are stuffed with straw and rags. Her little hands were completely numb. Ah, how the light of a small match would have warmed them! If only she had dared to pull out a match, strike it against the wall and warm her fingers! The girl timidly pulled out one match and... teal! Like a match flared up, how brightly it lit up!
The girl covered it with her hand, and the match began to burn with an even, bright flame, like a tiny candle. Amazing candle! It seemed to the girl that she was sitting in front of a large iron stove with shiny brass balls and shutters. How gloriously the fire burns in it, how warm it blows! But what is it? The girl stretched out her legs to the fire to warm them up, and suddenly ... the flame went out, the stove disappeared, and the girl was left with a burnt match in her hand.
She struck another match, the match caught fire, lit up, and when its reflection fell on the wall, the wall became transparent, like muslin. The girl saw a room in front of her, and in it a table covered with a snow-white tablecloth and laden with expensive porcelain; on the table, spreading a wonderful aroma, was a dish of roast goose stuffed with prunes and apples! And the most wonderful thing was that the goose suddenly jumped off the table and, as it was, with a fork and a knife in its back, waddled along the floor. He went straight to the poor girl, but ... the match went out, and an impenetrable, cold, damp wall again stood in front of the poor girl.
The girl lit another match. Now she sat in front of a luxurious
Christmas tree. This tree was much taller and more elegant than the one that the girl saw on Christmas Eve, going up to the house of a wealthy merchant and looking out the window. Thousands of candles were burning on her green branches, and multi-colored pictures, which adorn shop windows, looked at the girl. The little girl held out her hands to them, but ... the match went out. The lights began to go higher and higher and soon turned into clear stars. One of them rolled across the sky, leaving a long trail of fire behind it.
“Someone died,” the girl thought, because her recently deceased old grandmother, who alone in the whole world loved her, told her more than once: “When an asterisk falls, someone’s soul flies away to God.”
The girl again struck a match against the wall and, when everything around her lit up, she saw her old grandmother in this radiance, so quiet and enlightened, so kind and affectionate.
Grandmother, - the girl exclaimed, - take, take me to you! I know that you will leave when the match goes out, disappear like a warm stove, like a delicious roast goose and a wonderful big tree!
And she hurriedly struck all the matches left in the pack - that's how much she wanted to keep her grandmother! And the matches flared up so dazzlingly that it became brighter than during the day. Grandmother during her life has never been so beautiful, so majestic. She took the girl in her arms, and, illuminated by light and joy, both of them ascended high, high - to where there is neither hunger, nor cold, nor fear, they ascended to God.
On a frosty morning, behind the ledge of the house, they found a girl: a blush played on her cheeks, a smile on her lips, but she was dead; she froze on the last evening of the old year. The New Year's sun illuminated the dead body of the girl with matches; she burned almost a whole pack.
The girl wanted to warm herself, people said. And no one knew what miracles she saw, in the midst of what beauty, together with her grandmother, they met New Year's Happiness.
Irina Pivovarova
What is my head thinking
If you think that I am a good student, you are wrong. I study hard. For some reason, everyone thinks that I am capable, but lazy. I don't know if I'm capable or not. But only I know for sure that I'm not lazy. I sit on tasks for three hours.
Here, for example, now I'm sitting and I want to solve the problem with all my might. And she does not dare. I tell my mom
- Mom, I can't do it.
- Don't be lazy, says mom. - Think carefully, and everything will work out. Just think carefully!
She's leaving on business. And I take my head with both hands and say to her:
- Think head. Think carefully… “Two pedestrians went from point A to point B…” Head, why don't you think? Well, head, well, think, please! Well, what are you worth!
A cloud floats outside the window. It is as light as fluff. Here it stopped. No, it floats on.
Head, what are you thinking? Aren `t you ashamed!!! “Two pedestrians went from point A to point B ...” Luska, probably, also left. She is already walking. If she had approached me first, I would have forgiven her, of course. But is she suitable, such a pest ?!
"...From point A to point B..." No, it won't fit. On the contrary, when I go out into the yard, she will take Lena by the arm and will whisper with her. Then she will say: "Len, come to me, I have something." They will leave, and then they will sit on the windowsill and laugh and gnaw on seeds.
“... Two pedestrians went from point A to point B ...” And what will I do? .. And then I will call Kolya, Petka and Pavlik to play rounders. And what will she do? Yeah, she'll put on a Three Fat Men record. Yes, so loudly that Kolya, Petka and Pavlik will hear and run to ask her to let them listen. They listened a hundred times, everything is not enough for them! And then Lyuska will close the window, and they will all listen to the record there.
"... From point A to point ... to point ..." And then I'll take it and shoot something right into her window. Glass - ding! - and shatter. Let him know.
So. I'm tired of thinking. Think do not think - the task does not work. Just awful, what a difficult task! I'll walk around for a bit and start thinking again.
I closed my book and looked out the window. Lyuska alone was walking in the yard. She jumped into hopscotch. I went outside and sat down on a bench. Lucy didn't even look at me.
- Earring! Vitka! Lucy immediately screamed. - Let's go to play bast shoes!
The Karmanov brothers looked out the window.
- We have a throat, both brothers said hoarsely. - They won't let us in.
- Lena! Lucy screamed. - Linen! Come out!
Instead of Lena, her grandmother looked out and threatened Lyuska with her finger.
- Pavlik! Lucy screamed.
Nobody appeared at the window.
- Pe-et-ka-ah! Luska perked up.
- Girl, what are you yelling at?! Someone's head popped out of the window. - A sick person is not allowed to rest! There is no rest from you! - And the head stuck back into the window.
Luska furtively looked at me and blushed like a cancer. She tugged at her pigtail. Then she took the thread off her sleeve. Then she looked at the tree and said:
- Lucy, let's go to the classics.
- Come on, I said.
We jumped into the hopscotch and I went home to solve my problem.
As soon as I sat down at the table, my mother came:
- Well, what's the problem?
- Does not work.
- But you've been sitting on it for two hours already! It's just awful what it is! They ask the children some puzzles!.. Well, let's show your task! Maybe I can do it? I did finish college. So. “Two pedestrians went from point A to point B ...” Wait, wait, this task is familiar to me! Listen, you and your dad decided it last time! I remember perfectly!
- How? - I was surprised. - Really? Oh, really, this is the forty-fifth task, and we were given the forty-sixth.
At this, my mother got very angry.
- It's outrageous! Mom said. - It's unheard of! This mess! Where is your head?! What is she thinking about?!
Alexander Fadeev
Young Guard (Mother's Hands)
…Mother Mother! I remember your hands from the moment I became aware of myself in the world. During the summer, they were always covered with a tan, he no longer departed in the winter - he was so gentle, even, only a little bit darker on the veins. And dark veins.
From the very moment when I became aware of myself, and until the last minute, when you are exhausted, quietly, in last time laid her head on my chest, seeing me off on a difficult path of life, I always remember your hands at work. I remember how they scurried about in soapy suds, washing my sheets, when these sheets were still so small that they didn’t look like diapers, and I remember how you in a sheepskin coat, in winter, carried buckets in a yoke, putting a small hand in a mitten in front of the yoke , she is so small and fluffy, like a mitten. I see your fingers with slightly thickened joints on the primer, and I repeat after you: "Be-a-ba, ba-ba."
I remember how imperceptibly your hands could take a splinter out of your son's finger and how they instantly threaded a needle when you sewed and sang - you sang only for yourself and for me. Because there is nothing in the world that your hands could not do, that they could not do, that they would not disdain.
But most of all, for all eternity, I remember how gently they stroked, your hands, slightly rough and so warm and cool, how they stroked my hair, and neck, and chest, when I lay half-conscious in bed. And whenever I opened my eyes, you were near me, and the nightlight burned in the room, you looked at me with your sunken eyes, as if from darkness, you yourself were all quiet, bright, as if in robes. I kiss your clean, holy hands!
Look around you too, young man, my friend, look back like me, and tell me whom you offended in life more than your mother - is it not from me, not from you, not from him, not from our failures, mistakes and not Is it because of our grief that our mothers turn gray? But the hour will come when all this at the mother's grave will turn into a painful reproach to the heart.
Mom, mom! .. Forgive me, because you are the only one, only you in the world can forgive, put your hands on your head, as in childhood, and forgive ...
Victor Dragunsky
Denis' stories.
... would
Once I sat and sat, and for no reason at all suddenly thought up such a thing that I was even surprised myself. I thought how nice it would be if everything around the world was arranged the other way around. Well, for example, for children to be in charge in all matters and adults should have to obey them in everything, in everything. In general, adults should be like children, and children like adults. That would be great, it would be very interesting.
Firstly, I imagine how my mother would “like” such a story that I go around and command her as I want, and dad would probably “like” it too, but there’s nothing to say about my grandmother. Needless to say, I would remember them all! For example, my mother would be sitting at dinner, and I would say to her:
"Why did you start a fashion without bread? Here's some more news! Look at yourself in the mirror, who do you look like? The spitting image of Koschey! Eat now, they tell you! - And she would eat with her head down, and I would only gave the command: "Hurry! Don't hold your cheek! Thinking again? Are you all solving the world's problems? Chew properly! And don't sway in your chair!"
And then dad would come in after work, and he wouldn’t even have time to undress, and I would have already shouted: “Aha, he’s come! You have to wait forever! Wash your hands right now! it's scary to look at the towel. With a brush and don't spare soap. Come on, show me your nails! It's horror, not nails. It's just claws! Where are the scissors? squish your nose, you're not a girl... That's it. Now sit down at the table."
He would sit down and quietly say to his mother: "Well, how are you?" And she would also say quietly: "Nothing, thank you!" And I would immediately: "Conversations at the table! When I eat, I am deaf and dumb! Remember this for the rest of your life. Golden Rule! Dad! Put down the newspaper now, you are my punishment!"
And they would sit with me like silk, and even when my grandmother came, I would squint, clasp my hands and scream: "Dad! Mom! Admire our grandmother! What a view! Chest open, hat on the back of the head! Red cheeks, all my neck is wet! It's good, there's nothing to say. Admit it, you played hockey again! And what is that dirty stick? Why did you drag it into the house? What? It's a hockey stick! Get it out of my sight right now - to the back door!"
Then I would walk around the room and tell all three of them: "After dinner, everyone sit down for lessons, and I'll go to the cinema!"
Of course, they would immediately whine and whimper: "And we are with you! And we also want to go to the movies!"
And I would say to them: “Nothing, nothing! Yesterday we went to a birthday party, on Sunday I took you to the circus! Look! I liked having fun every day.
Then the grandmother would have prayed: "Take me at least! After all, every child can take one adult with him for free!"
But I would have shied away, I would have said: "And people over seventy years old are not allowed to enter this picture. Stay at home, gulena!"
And I would walk past them, deliberately tapping my heels loudly, as if I didn’t notice that their eyes were all wet, and I would start getting dressed, and I would turn around in front of the mirror for a long time, and sing, and they would be even worse from this. were tormented, and I would open the door to the stairs and say ...
But I did not have time to think of what I would say, because at that time my mother came in, the real one, alive, and said:
You are still sitting. Eat now, look who you look like? Poured Koschey!
Lev Tolstoy
birdie
It was Seryozha's birthday, and many different gifts were given to him: tops, horses, and pictures. But more than all the gifts, Uncle Seryozha gave a net to catch birds.
The grid is made in such a way that a plank is attached to the frame, and the grid is thrown back. Pour the seed on a plank and put it out in the yard. A bird will fly in, sit on a plank, the plank will turn up, and the net will slam itself shut.
Seryozha was delighted, ran to his mother to show the net. Mother says:
– Not a good toy. What do you want birds? Why would you torture them?
– I'll put them in cages. They will sing and I will feed them!
Seryozha took out a seed, poured it on a plank and put the net into the garden. And everything stood, waiting for the birds to fly. But the birds were afraid of him and did not fly to the net.
Seryozha went to dinner and left the net. I looked after dinner, the net slammed shut, and a bird beats under the net. Seryozha was delighted, caught the bird and carried it home.
– Mother! Look, I caught a bird, it must be a nightingale! And how his heart beats.
Mother said:
– This is a chizh. Look, do not torture him, but rather let him go.
– No, I will feed and water him. He put Seryozha chizh in a cage, and for two days he sprinkled seed on him, and put water, and cleaned the cage. On the third day he forgot about the siskin and did not change his water. His mother says to him:
– You see, you forgot about your bird, you better let it go.
– No, I won't forget, I'll put water on and clean out the cage.
Seryozha put his hand into the cage, began to clean it, and the chizhik, frightened, beats against the cage. Seryozha cleaned out the cage and went to fetch water.
The mother saw that he had forgotten to close the cage, and she shouted to him:
– Seryozha, close the cage, otherwise your bird will fly out and be killed!
Before she had time to say, the siskin found the door, was delighted, spread his wings and flew through the upper room to the window, but did not see the glass, hit the glass and fell on the windowsill.
Seryozha came running, took the bird, carried it to the cage. The chizhik was still alive, but lay on his chest, spreading his wings, and breathing heavily. Seryozha looked and looked and began to cry:
– Mother! What should I do now?
– Now you can't do anything.
Seryozha did not leave the cage all day and kept looking at the chizhik, but the chizhik still lay on his chest and breathed heavily and quickly. When Seryozha went to sleep, the chizhik was still alive. Seryozha could not sleep for a long time; every time he closed his eyes, he imagined a siskin, how he lies and breathes.
In the morning, when Seryozha approached the cage, he saw that the siskin was already lying on its back, tucked up its paws and stiffened.
Since then, Seryozha has never caught birds.
M. Zoshchenko
Nakhodka
One day, Lelya and I took a candy box and put a frog and a spider in it.
We then wrapped this box in clean paper, tied it with a chic blue ribbon, and placed the bag on a panel opposite our garden. As if someone was walking and lost their purchase.
Putting this package near the cabinet, Lelya and I hid in the bushes of our garden and, choking with laughter, began to wait for what would happen.
And here comes the passer-by.
When he sees our package, he, of course, stops, rejoices and even rubs his hands with pleasure. Still: he found a box of chocolates - this is not so often the case in this world.
With bated breath, Lelya and I are watching what will happen next.
The passer-by bent down, took the package, quickly untied it, and, seeing the beautiful box, was even more delighted.
And now the lid is open. And our frog, bored of sitting in the dark, jumps out of the box right into the hand of a passerby.
He gasps in surprise and tosses the box away from him.
Here Lelya and I began to laugh so much that we fell on the grass.
And we laughed so loudly that a passer-by turned in our direction and, seeing us behind the fence, immediately understood everything.
In an instant, he rushed to the fence, jumped over it in one fell swoop and rushed to us to teach us a lesson.
Lelya and I asked a strekach.
We ran screaming across the garden towards the house.
But I stumbled over the garden bed and stretched out on the grass.
And then a passer-by tore my ear pretty hard.
I screamed out loud. But the passer-by, after giving me two more slaps, calmly retired from the garden.
Our parents came running to the screaming and noise.
Holding my reddened ear and sobbing, I went up to my parents and complained to them about what had happened.
My mother wanted to call the janitor to catch up with the janitor and arrest him.
And Lelya was already rushing for the janitor. But her father stopped her. And he said to her and her mother:
- Don't call the janitor. And do not arrest a passerby. Of course, it's not the case that he tore off Minka by the ears, but if I were a passerby, I would probably do the same.
Hearing these words, mother became angry with father and said to him:
- You're a terrible egoist!
And Lelya and I were also angry with dad and didn’t say anything to him. Only I rubbed my ear and cried. And Lelka also whimpered. And then my mother, taking me in her arms, said to my father:
“Instead of standing up for a passerby and bringing the children to tears, you would better explain to them that there is something wrong with what they did. Personally, I do not see this and regard everything as innocent childish fun.
And dad did not find what to answer. He only said:
- Here the children will grow up big and someday they will know why this is bad.
Elena Ponomarenko
LENOCHKA
(Track "Search for the Wounded" from the movie "Star")
Spring was filled with warmth and hubbub of rooks. It seemed that the war would end today. I have been at the front for four years now. Almost none of the battalion medical instructors survived.
My childhood somehow immediately passed into adulthood. In between fights, I often thought about school, the waltz... And the next morning there was war. The whole class decided to go to the front. But the girls were left at the hospital to take monthly courses of medical instructors.
When I arrived at the division, I already saw the wounded. They said that these guys did not even have weapons: they were mined in battle. The first feeling of helplessness and fear I experienced in August 1941 ...
- Are there guys alive? - making my way through the trenches, I asked, carefully peering into every meter of the earth. Guys, who needs help? I turned over the dead bodies, they all looked at me, but no one asked for help, because they no longer heard. Artillery killed everyone...
- Well, this can not be, at least someone must stay alive ?! Petya, Igor, Ivan, Alyoshka! - I crawled up to the machine gun and saw Ivan.
- Vanechka! Ivan! - she screamed at the top of her lungs, but her body had already cooled down, only Blue eyes stared fixedly at the sky. As I descended into the second trench, I heard a groan.
- Is there someone alive? People, call out at least someone! I screamed again. The groan was repeated, indistinct, muffled. She ran past the dead bodies, looking for him, the survivor.
- Nice little one! I'm here! I'm here!
And again she began to turn over everyone who came across on the way.
– Not! Not! Not! I will definitely find you! You just wait for me! Do not die! - and jumped into another trench.
Up, a rocket shot up, illuminating him. The groan was repeated somewhere very close.
- Then I will never forgive myself for not finding you, - I shouted and commanded myself: - Come on. Come on, listen! You can find it, you can! A little more - and the end of the trench. God, how scary! Faster Faster! “Lord, if you exist, help me find him!” and I got on my knees. I, a Komsomol member, asked the Lord for help ...
Was it a miracle, but the groan was repeated. Yes, he is at the very end of the trench!
- Hold on! - I shouted with all my strength and literally burst into the dugout, covered with a cape.
- Dear, alive! - his hands worked quickly, realizing that he was no longer a tenant: a severe wound in the stomach. He held his insides with his hands.
- You will have to deliver the package,” he whispered softly, dying. I covered his eyes. In front of me lay a very young lieutenant.
- Yes, how is it?! What package? Where? You didn't say where? You didn't say where! - looking around, she suddenly saw a package sticking out of her boot. “Urgent,” read the inscription, underlined in red pencil. "Field mail of the divisional headquarters."
Sitting with him, a young lieutenant, I said goodbye, and tears rolled down one after another. Taking his documents, I walked along the trench, staggering, I felt sick when I closed the eyes of the dead soldiers along the way.
I delivered the package to headquarters. And the information there, indeed, turned out to be very important. Only here is the medal that I was awarded, my first military award, never put it on, because it belonged to that lieutenant, Ostankov Ivan Ivanovich.
…After the end of the war, I gave this medal to the mother of the lieutenant and told how he died.
In the meantime, there were battles ... The fourth year of the war. During this time, I completely turned gray: red hair became completely white. Spring was approaching with warmth and rook hubbub ...
Yuri Yakovlevich Yakovlev
GIRLS
FROM VASILIEVSKY ISLAND
I am Valya Zaitseva from Vasilievsky Island.
A hamster lives under my bed. He will fill his full cheeks, in reserve, sit on his hind legs and look with black buttons ... Yesterday I thrashed one boy. She gave him a good bream. We, Vasileostrovsky girls, know how to stand up for ourselves when necessary ...
It's always windy here on Vasilievsky. It's raining. Wet snow falls. Floods happen. And our island is sailing like a ship: on the left is the Neva, on the right is the Nevka, in front is the open sea.
I have a girlfriend - Tanya Savicheva. We are neighbors with her. She is from the second line, building 13. Four windows on the first floor. There is a bakery nearby, a kerosene shop in the basement... Now there is no shop, but in Tanino, when I was not yet born, the first floor always smelled of kerosene. I was told.
Tanya Savicheva was the same age as I am now. She could have grown up a long time ago, become a teacher, but she remained a girl forever ... When my grandmother sent Tanya for kerosene, I was not there. And she went to the Rumyantsev Garden with another girlfriend. But I know everything about her. I was told.
She was a singer. Always sang. She wanted to recite poetry, but she stumbled on words: she would stumble, and everyone thought that she had forgotten the right word. My girlfriend sang because when you sing, you don't stutter. She could not stutter, she was going to become a teacher, like Linda Avgustovna.
She has always played teacher. He puts on a large grandmother's scarf on his shoulders, folds his hands with a lock and walks from corner to corner. "Children, today we will do a repetition with you ..." And then he stumbles on a word, blushes and turns to the wall, although there is no one in the room.
They say there are doctors who treat stuttering. I would find this. We, Vasileostrovsky girls, will find anyone you want! But now the doctor is no longer needed. She stayed there... my friend Tanya Savicheva. She was taken from besieged Leningrad to the mainland, and the road, called the Road of Life, could not give Tanya life.
The girl died of starvation... Doesn't matter why you die - from hunger or from a bullet. Maybe hunger hurts even more...
I decided to find the Road of Life. I went to Rzhevka, where this road begins. I walked two and a half kilometers - there the guys built a monument to the children who died in the blockade. I also wanted to build.
Some adults asked me:
- Who are you?
- I'm Valya Zaitseva from Vasilyevsky Island. I also want to build.
I was told:
- It is forbidden! Come with your area.
I didn't leave. I looked around and saw a baby, a tadpole. I grabbed onto it.
- Did he also come with his district?
- He came with his brother.
You can with your brother. It is possible with the region. But what about being alone?
I told them
- You see, I don't just want to build. I want to build for my friend... Tanya Savicheva.
They rolled their eyes. They didn't believe it. They asked again:
- Is Tanya Savicheva your friend?
- What's special here? We are the same age. Both are from Vasilyevsky Island.
But she's not there...
What stupid people, and still adults! What does "no" mean if we're friends? I told them to understand
- We have everything in common. Both street and school. We have a hamster. He will fill his cheeks ...
I noticed that they did not believe me. And to make them believe, she blurted out:
We even have the same handwriting!
-Handwriting?
They were even more surprised.
- And what? Handwriting!
Suddenly they cheered up, from the handwriting:
- It is very good! This is a real find. Let's go with us.
- I'm not going anywhere. I want to build...
- You will build! You will write for the monument in Tanya's handwriting.
“I can,” I agreed.
- I don't have a pencil. Give?
- You will write on concrete. Do not write on concrete with a pencil.
I have never painted on concrete. I wrote on the walls, on the pavement, but they brought me to a concrete plant and gave Tanya a diary - a notebook with the alphabet: a, b, c ... I have the same book. For forty kopecks.
I picked up Tanya's diary and opened the page. It was written there:
"Zhenya died on December 28, 12.30 am, 1941."
I got cold. I wanted to give them the book and leave.
But I'm from Vasileostrovskaya. And if a friend's older sister died, I should stay with her, and not run away.
- Let's get your concrete. I will write.
The crane lowered a huge frame with a thick gray dough at my feet. I took a wand, squatted down and began to write. The concrete blew cold. It was difficult to write. And they told me:
- Do not rush.
I made mistakes, smoothed the concrete with my palm, and wrote again.
I didn't do well.
- Do not rush. Write calmly.
"Grandmother died on January 25th, 1942."
While I was writing about Zhenya, my grandmother died.
If you just want to eat, it's not hunger - eat an hour later.
I tried to fast from morning to evening. Endured. Hunger - when day after day your head, hands, heart - everything that you have is starving. First starving, then dying.
Leka died on March 17 at 5 am 1942.
Leka had his own corner, fenced off with cabinets, where he drew.
He earned money by drawing and studied. He was quiet and short-sighted, wearing spectacles, and kept creaking with his drawing pen. I was told.
Where did he die? Probably, in the kitchen, where the "potbelly stove" smoked with a small, weak engine, where they slept, ate bread once a day. A small piece, like a cure for death. Leka didn't have enough medicine...
“Write,” they told me quietly.
In the new frame, the concrete was liquid, it crawled over the letters. And the word "died" disappeared. I didn't want to write it again. But they told me:
- Write, Valya Zaitseva, write.
And I wrote again - "died."
"Uncle Vasya died on April 13, 2:00 at night, 1942."
"Uncle Lyosha May 10 at 4 o'clock in the afternoon 1942."
I am very tired of writing the word "died". I knew that with each page of the diary, Tanya Savicheva was getting worse. She stopped singing a long time ago and did not notice that she stuttered. She no longer played teacher. But she did not give up - she lived. I was told... Spring has come. Trees turned green. We have a lot of trees on Vasilyevsky. Tanya dried up, froze, became thin and light. Her hands trembled and her eyes hurt from the sun. The Nazis killed half of Tanya Savicheva, and maybe more than half. But her mother was with her, and Tanya held on.
- Why don't you write? - quietly told me.
- Write, Valya Zaitseva, otherwise the concrete will harden.
For a long time I did not dare to open the page with the letter "M". On this page, Tanya's hand wrote: "Mom on May 13 at 7.30 in the morning, 1942." Tanya did not write the word "died". She didn't have the strength to write that word.
I gripped my wand tightly and touched the concrete. I did not look into the diary, but wrote by heart. Good thing we have the same handwriting.
I wrote with all my might. The concrete became thick, almost frozen. He no longer crawled on the letters.
- Can you write more?
- I'll finish it, - I answered and turned away so that my eyes could not see. After all, Tanya Savicheva is my ... girlfriend.
Tanya and I are of the same age, we Vasileostrovsky girls know how to stand up for ourselves when necessary. If she had not been from Vasileostrovsky, from Leningrad, she would not have lasted so long. But she lived - so she did not give up!
Opened page "C". There were two words: "The Savichevs are dead."
She opened the page "U" - "Everyone died." The last page of Tanya Savicheva's diary was with the letter "O" - "There is only Tanya left."
And I imagined that it was me, Valya Zaitseva, left alone: without mom, without dad, without sister Lyulka. Hungry. Under fire.
AT empty apartment on the second line. I wanted to cross this last page, but the concrete hardened and the stick broke.
And suddenly I asked Tanya Savicheva to myself: “Why alone?
And I? You have a girlfriend - Valya Zaitseva, your neighbor from Vasilyevsky Island. We will go with you to the Rumyantsev Garden, we will run, and when we get bored, I will bring my grandmother's scarf from home, and we will play teacher Linda Augustovna. A hamster lives under my bed. I'll give it to you for your birthday. Do you hear, Tanya Savicheva?"
Someone put a hand on my shoulder and said:
- Let's go, Valya Zaitseva. You've done what it takes. Thank you.
I don't understand what they say "thank you" for. I said:
- I'll come tomorrow... without my district. Can?
“Come without a district,” they told me.
- Come.
My friend Tanya Savicheva did not shoot at the Nazis and was not a partisan scout. She just lived in hometown at the very hard time. But, perhaps, the Nazis did not enter Leningrad because Tanya Savicheva lived in it and many other girls and boys lived there, who remained forever in their time. And today's guys are friends with them, as I am friends with Tanya.
And they only make friends with the living.
I.A. Bunin
Cold fall
In June of that year, he was a guest at our estate - he was always considered our man: his late father was a friend and neighbor of my father. But on July 19, Germany declared war on Russia. In September, he came to us for a day - to say goodbye before leaving for the front (everyone then thought that the war would end soon). And then came our farewell party. After supper, as usual, a samovar was served, and, looking at the windows fogged up from its steam, the father said:
- Surprisingly early and cold autumn!
We sat quietly that evening, only occasionally exchanging insignificant words, exaggeratedly calm, hiding our secret thoughts and feelings. I went to the balcony door and wiped the glass with a handkerchief: in the garden, in the black sky, pure ice stars sparkled brightly and sharply. Father was smoking, leaning back in his armchair, gazing absently at a hot lamp hanging over the table, mother, in glasses, was diligently sewing up a small silk bag under its light - we knew which one - and it was both touching and creepy. Father asked:
- So you still want to go in the morning, and not after breakfast?
“Yes, if you will, in the morning,” he replied. “It’s very sad, but I haven’t quite ordered the housework yet.
Father sighed lightly.
- Well, as you wish, my soul. Only in this case, it's time for my mother and I to sleep, we certainly want to see you off tomorrow ... Mom got up and crossed her future son, he leaned towards her hand, then to his father's hand. Left alone, we stayed a little longer in the dining room - I decided to play solitaire, he silently walked from corner to corner, then asked:
- Do you want to walk a little?
My heart was becoming more and more difficult, I answered indifferently:
- Good...
Dressing in the hallway, he continued to think something, with a sweet smile he remembered Fet's poems:
What a cold autumn!
Put on your shawl and hood...
Look - between the blackening pines
As if the fire is rising...
There is some kind of rustic autumn charm in these verses. "Put on your shawl and cowl..." The days of our grandparents... Oh, my God! Still sad. Sad and good. I very-very love you...
Having dressed, we went through the dining-room to the balcony, and descended into the garden. At first it was so dark that I held on to his sleeve. Then black boughs began to appear in the brightening sky, showered with minerally shining stars. He paused and turned towards the house.
- Look how very special, in autumn, the windows of the house shine. I will be alive, I will always remember this evening ... I looked, and he hugged me in my Swiss cape. I pulled the shawl away from my face, tilted my head slightly so that he kissed me. He kissed me and looked into my face.
“If they kill me, you still won’t immediately forget me?” I thought: “What if they really kill him? and will I really forget him at some time - after all, everything is forgotten in the end?” And hastily answered, frightened by her thought:
- Do not say that! I won't survive your death!
After a pause, he spoke slowly:
- Well, if they kill you, I'll wait for you there. You live, rejoice in the world, then come to me.
He left in the morning. Mama put around his neck that fatal pouch that she had sewn up in the evening—it contained a golden icon that her father and grandfather had worn in the war—and we all made the sign of the cross with a kind of impetuous despair. Looking after him, we stood on the porch in that stupefaction that happens when you see someone off for a long time. After standing, they entered the deserted house... They killed him - what a strange word! - in a month. So I survived his death, recklessly saying once that I would not survive it. But, remembering everything that I have experienced since then, I always ask myself: what happened in my life after all? And I answer myself: only that cold autumn evening. Has he ever been? Still, there was. And that's all that was in my life - the rest is an unnecessary dream. And I believe: somewhere there he is waiting for me - with the same love and youth as on that evening. "You live, rejoice in the world, then come to me..."
I lived, I was glad, now I will come soon.
Texts for the competition "Live Classics"
"But what if?" Olga Tikhomirova
It has been raining since morning. Alyoshka jumped over puddles and walked quickly, quickly. No, he wasn't late for school at all. He just noticed Tanya Shibanova's blue cap from a distance.
You can't run: you're out of breath. And she might think that he was running after her all the way.
Nothing, he will catch up with her anyway. He will catch up and say ... But what to say? More than a week, as quarreled. Or maybe take it and say: “Tanya, let’s go to the cinema today?” Or maybe give her a smooth black pebble that he brought from the sea?...
What if Tanya says: “Take away, Vertisheev, your cobblestone. What do I need it for?!”
Alyosha slowed down his pace, but, glancing at the blue cap, he hurried again.
Tanya walked calmly and listened to the wheels of cars rustling along the wet pavement. So she looked back and saw Alyoshka, who was just jumping over a puddle.
She walked more quietly, but did not look back. It would be nice if he caught up with her near the front garden. They would go together, and Tanya would ask: “Do you know, Alyosha, why some maple leaves are red and others are yellow?” Alyoshka will look, look, and... Or maybe he won't look at all, but will only growl: “Read books, Shiba. Then you will know everything." After all, they quarreled ...
There was a school around the corner of the big house, and Tanya thought that Alyoshka would not have time to catch up with her .. We need to stop. But you can't just stand in the middle of the sidewalk.
In the big house there was a clothing store, Tanya went to the window and began to examine the mannequins.
Alyoshka came up and stood next to him ... Tanya looked at him and smiled a little ... "Now she will say something," Alyoshka thought, and in order to get ahead of Tanya, he said:
Ah, it's you, Shiba.. Hello...
Hello, Vertisheev, - she threw.
Shipilov Andrey Mikhailovich "True story"
Vaska Petukhov came up with such a device, you press the button, and everyone around starts telling the truth. Vaska made this device and brought it to school. Here Marya Ivanovna comes into the classroom and says: - Hello guys, I'm very glad to see you! And Vaska on the button - one! “And to tell you the truth,” Marya Ivanovna continues, “then I’m not at all happy, why should I be happy!” I'm tired of you worse than a bitter radish for two quarters! Teach you, teach, put your soul into you - and no gratitude. Tired! I will not stand on ceremony with you anymore. A little bit - just a couple!
And during the break, Kosichkina comes up to Vaska and says: - Vaska, let's be friends with you. - Come on, - says Vaska, and he himself on the button - one! “But I’m not just going to be friends with you,” Kosichkina continues, but with a specific purpose. I know your uncle works at Luzhniki; so, when "Ivanushki-international" or Philip Kirkorov in again will perform, then you will take me with you to the concert for free.
Vaska became sad. Walks all day at school, presses a button. As long as the button is not pressed, everything is fine, but once you press it, this begins! ..
And after school - New Year's Eve. Santa Claus comes into the hall and says: - Hello guys, I'm Santa Claus! Vaska on the button - one! “Although,” Santa Claus continues, “in fact, I’m not Santa Claus at all, but Sergey Sergeevich, a school watchman. The school has no money to hire a real artist for the role of Dedmorozov, so the director asked me to speak for time off. One performance - half a day off. Only, I think that I miscalculated, I should have taken not half, but the whole day off. What do you guys think?
Vaska felt very bad at heart. He comes home sad, sad. - What happened, Vaska? - Mom asks, - you don’t have a face at all. - Yes, - says Vaska, - nothing special, I just suffered disappointment in people. “Oh, Vaska,” Mom laughed, “how funny you are; how I love you! - Truth? - Vaska asks, - and he himself on the button - One! - Truth! Mom laughs. - True true? - says Vaska, and he presses even harder on the button. - True true! Mom answers. - Well, then, that's what, - says Vaska, - I love you too. Very very!
"Groom from 3 B" Postnikov Valentin
Yesterday afternoon, in math class, I firmly decided it was time for me to get married. And what? I'm already in the third grade, but I still don't have a bride. When, if not now. A couple more years and the train left. Dad often says to me: At your age, people already commanded a regiment. And it is true. But first I have to get married. I told my best friend Petka Amosov about this. He sits at the same desk with me.
– You are absolutely right,” Petka said decisively. - We will choose a bride for you at a big break. From our class.
At recess, the first thing we did was make a list of brides and began to think about which one of them I should marry.
– Marry Svetka Fedulova, says Petka.
– Why on Svetka? I was surprised.
– Freak! She's an excellent student, - says Petka. “You’ll be cheating on her for the rest of your life.
– No, I say. - Svetka is in a bad mood. She also crammed. Will make me teach lessons. He will dart around the apartment like a clockwork and whine in a nasty voice: - Learn your lessons, learn your lessons.
– Crossing out! Petka said decisively.
– Can I marry Soboleva? I ask.
– On Nastya?
– Well, yes. She lives near the school. It’s convenient for me to see her off, I say. - Not like Katka Merkulova - she lives behind the railway. If I marry her, why should I drag myself all my life to such a distance? My mom doesn't let me walk in that area at all.
– That's right, Petya shook his head. - But Nastya's dad doesn't even have a car. But Mashka Kruglova has one. A real Mercedes, you will drive it to the movies.
– But Masha is fat.
– Have you ever seen a Mercedes? Petka asks. - Three Mashas will fit in there.
– That's not the point, I say. - I don't like Masha.
– Then let's marry you to Olga Bublikova. Her grandmother cooks - you will lick your fingers. Remember, Bublikova treated us to grandma's pies? Oh, and delicious. With such a grandmother, you will not be lost. Even in old age.
– Happiness is not in pies, I say.
– And in what? Petka is surprised.
– I would like to marry Varka Koroleva, - I say. - Blimey!
– And what about Varka? Petka is surprised. - No fives, no Mercedes, no grandmother. What kind of wife is this?
– That's why she has beautiful eyes.
– Well, you give, - Petka laughed. - The most important thing in a wife is a dowry. This is what the great Russian writer Gogol said, I heard it myself. And what kind of dowry is this - eyes? Laughter, and nothing more.
– You don’t understand anything,” I waved my hand. “The eyes are the dowry. The best!
That was the end of the matter. But I didn't change my mind about getting married. So know!
Viktor Golyavkin. Things are not going my way
One day I come home from school. On this day, I just got a deuce. I walk around the room and sing. I sing and sing so that no one would think that I got a deuce. And then they will ask again: “Why are you gloomy, why are you thoughtful?”
Father says:
- What is he singing like that?
And mom says:
- He must be in a cheerful mood, so he sings.
Father says:
- Probably got an A, that's fun for a man. It's always fun when you do something good.
When I heard this, I sang even louder.
Then the father says:
- Well, Vovka, please your father, show the diary.
At this point, I immediately stopped singing.
- What for? - I ask.
- I see, - says the father, - you really want to show the diary.
He takes my diary, sees a deuce there and says:
- Surprisingly, got a deuce and sings! What, is he crazy? Come on, Vova, come here! Do you happen to have a temperature?
- I don't have, - I say, - no temperature ...
Father spread his hands and says:
- Then you should be punished for this singing...
That's how bad luck I am!
Parable "What you have done will return to you"
At the beginning of the twentieth century, a Scottish farmer was returning home and passing by a swampy area. Suddenly he heard cries for help. The farmer rushed to help and saw a boy who was being sucked into his terrible abyss by the swamp slurry. The boy tried to get out of the terrible mass of the swamp, but his every movement sentenced him to imminent death. The boy screamed. out of desperation and fear.
The farmer quickly cut down a thick bough, carefully
approached and extended a saving branch to the drowning man. The boy got out to safety. He was trembling, he could not stop his tears for a long time, but the main thing is that he was saved!
- Let's go to my house, - the farmer suggested to him. - You need to calm down, dry off and warm up.
- No, no, - the boy shook his head, - my dad is waiting for me. He's probably very worried.
Gratefully looking into the eyes of his savior, the boy ran away ...
In the morning, the farmer saw that a rich carriage pulled up by luxurious thoroughbred horses drove up to his house. A richly dressed gentleman stepped out of the carriage and asked:
- Did you save my son's life yesterday?
- Yes, I am, replied the farmer.
- How much do I owe you?
- Don't hurt me, sir. You don't owe me anything because I did what a normal person should have done.
The class is frozen. Isabella Mikhailovna bent over the magazine and finally said:
- Rogov.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and slammed their books shut. But Rogov went to the blackboard, scratched himself, and for some reason said:
- You look good today, Isabella Mikhailovna!
Isabella Mikhailovna took off her glasses:
- Well, well, Rogov. Get started.
Rogov sniffed and began:
- Your hairstyle is neat! Not what I have.
Isabella Mikhailovna got up and went to the world map:
- Haven't you learned your lesson?
- Yes! Rogov exclaimed with fervor. - I repent! Nothing can be hidden from you! The experience of working with children is great!
Isabella Mikhailovna smiled and said:
- Oh, Rogov, Rogov! Show me where Africa is.
- There, - said Rogov and waved his hand out the window.
“Well, sit down,” Isabella Mikhailovna sighed. - Troika...
At recess, Rogov gave interviews to his comrades:
- The main thing is to start this kikimore about eyes ...
Isabella Mikhailovna was just passing by.
“Ah,” Rogov reassured his comrades. - This deaf grouse can't hear more than two steps.
Isabella Mikhailovna stopped and looked at Rogov in such a way that Rogov realized that the grouse could hear more than two steps away.
The very next day, Isabella Mikhailovna again summoned Rogov to the board.
Rogov turned as white as a sheet and croaked:
- You called me yesterday!
- And I still want, - said Isabella Mikhailovna and narrowed her eyes.
“Oh, such a dazzling smile you have,” Rogov mumbled and fell silent.
- What else? asked Isabella Mikhailovna dryly.
“Your voice is also pleasant,” Rogov squeezed out of himself.
“So,” said Isabella Mikhailovna. - You haven't learned your lesson.
“You see everything, you know everything,” said Rogov languidly. - And for some reason they went to school, ruin your health for people like me. You should go to the sea now, write poetry, meet a good man ...
Bowing her head, Isabella Mikhailovna thoughtfully drew a pencil over the paper. Then she sighed and said softly:
- Well, sit down, Rogov. Troika.
KOTINA KINDNESS Fyodor Abramov
Nikolai K., nicknamed Kitty-glass, had enough dashing in the war. The father is at the front, the mother has died, and they don’t take them to the orphanage: there is an uncle. True, the uncle is disabled, but with a good deed (tailor), - what should he warm the orphan?
The uncle, however, did not warm the orphan, and the sonfront-line soldier often fed from the garbage. Collects potato peels, cooks in a cananke on a bonfire near the river, in which sometimes it will be possible to catch some minnow, and that’s how he lived.
After the war, Kotya served in the army, built a house, started a family, and then took his uncle to him -that by that time he was completely decrepit, in his ninth decade
exceeded.
Uncle Kotya did not refuse anything. What he ate with his family, then in a cup for his uncle. And he didn’t even carry a glass around, if when he himself took communion.
- Eat, drink, uncle! I don’t forget my relatives, ”Kotya would say every time.
- Don't forget, don't forget, Mikolayushko.
- Did not offend in terms of food and drink?
- Didn't offend, didn't offend.
- Adopted, then, a helpless old man?
- Adopted, adopted.
- But how did you not take me into the war? The newspapers write that other people's children were taken in for education, because the war. Folk. Do you remember how they sang in the song? "There is a people's war, a holy war..." But am I a stranger to you?
- Oh, oh, your truth, Mikolayushko.
- Don't you ooh! Then it was necessary to groan, when I was rummaging through the garbage pit ...
Kotya usually ended the table conversation with a tear:
- Well, uncle, uncle, thank you! The dead father would have bowed to you if he had returned from the war. After all, he thought, the son of Evon, a miserable orphan, under the wing of his uncle, and the crow warmed me with its wing more than my uncle. Do you understand this with your old head? After all, moose and those from the wolves of small moose protect everyone, and you, after all, are not an elk. You are an uncle dear ... Eh! ..
And then the old man began to cry out loud. For exactly two months he brought up Kotya's uncle day after day, and on the third month the uncle hanged himself.
An excerpt from a novel Mark Twain "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn"
I closed the door behind me. Then he turned, I look - here he is, dad! I was always afraid of him - he beat me very well. My father was about fifty years old, and looked no less than that. His hair is long, uncombed and dirty, hanging in tufts, and only his eyes shine through them, as if through bushes. There is not a blood in the face - it is completely pale; but not as pale as other people's, but such that it is terrible and disgusting to look at - like a fish's belly or like a frog. And the clothes are a complete tear, there is nothing to look at. I stood and looked at him, and he looked at me, swaying slightly in his chair. He examined me from head to toe, then says:
- Look at how you dressed up - fu-you well-you! I suppose you think that you are now an important bird - so, or what?
“Maybe I think so, maybe I don’t,” I say.
- Look, don't be too rude! - Got crazy while I was gone! I'll quickly finish off with you, I'll knock you down! He also became educated, they say you know how to read and write. Do you think your father is no match for you now, since he is illiterate? That's all I'll get out of you. Who told you to gain stupid nobility? Tell me who told you to?
- The widow said.
- Widow? That's how it is! And who allowed the widow to poke her nose into other people's business?
- Nobody allowed.
- Okay, I'll show her how to meddle where they don't ask! And you, look, drop your school. Do you hear? I'll show them! They taught the boy to turn up his nose in front of his own father, what importance he let on himself! Well, if I see you hanging around this very school, stay with me! Your mother could neither read nor write, so she died illiterate. And all your relatives died illiterate. I can neither read nor write, and he, look at you, what a dandy he has dressed up! I'm not the type of person to endure this, do you hear? Well, read on, I'll listen.
I took the book and started reading something about General Washington and the war. In less than half a minute, he grabbed the book with his fist, and it flew across the room.
- Correctly. You know how to read. And I didn't believe you. You look at me, stop wondering, I will not tolerate this! follow
I will be you, such a dandy, and if I only catch near this very
school, I'll skin you! I'll pour you - you won't have time to come to your senses! Good son, nothing to say!
He took the blue yellow picture, where a boy with cows was drawn, and asked:
- What is this?
- This was given to me because I study well. He tore the picture apart and said:
- I'll give you something too: a good belt!
He muttered for a long time and grumbled something under his breath, then said:
- Think what a sissy! And he has a bed, and sheets, and a mirror, and a carpet on the floor - and his own father should wallow in the tannery along with the pigs! Good son, nothing to say! Well, yes, I'll quickly finish with you, I'll beat all the nonsense! Ish let on the importance ...
Before, I didn’t really like studying, but now I decided that
I will certainly go to school, to spite my father.
SWEET WORK Sergey Stepanov
The boys sat at a table in the yard and languished from idleness. It's hot to play football, it's far to go to the river. And so already twice today went.
Dimka came up with a bag of sweets. He gave everyone a piece of candy and said:
- Here you are playing the fool, and I got a job.
- What job?
- A taster at a confectionery factory. I took work home.
- Are you serious? - the boys got excited.
- Well, you see.
- What is your job there?
- I'm trying sweets. How are they made? They pour a bag of granulated sugar, a bag of powdered milk, then a bucket of cocoa, a bucket of nuts into a large vat ... And if someone puts in an extra kilogram of nuts? Or vice versa...
“Quite the opposite,” someone put in.
- It is necessary, in the end, to try what happened, We need a person with good taste. And they can't eat it anymore. Not that there is - they can no longer look at these sweets! Therefore, they have automatic lines everywhere. And the result is brought to us, the tasters. Well, we will try and say: everything is fine, you can take it to the store. Or: but here it would be nice to add raisins and make a new variety called Zyu-Zyu.
- Wow, great! Dimka, and you ask, do they need more tasters?
- I will ask.
- I would go to the chocolate candy section. I am well versed in them.
- And I agree with caramel. Dimka, do they pay salaries there?
- No, they only pay with sweets.
- Dimka, let's come up with a new kind of sweets now, and you will offer them tomorrow!
Petrov came up, stood nearby for a while and said:
- Who are you listening to? Has he deceived you? Dimka, confess: you are hanging noodles on your ears!
- Here you are always like this, Petrov. You will come and ruin everything. Do not dream.
Ivan Yakimov "Strange Procession"
In the autumn, on Nastasya the Shepherd, when they fed the shepherds in the yards - they thanked them for saving their livestock, Mitrokha Vanyugin's ram disappeared. I searched, searched for Mitrokh, there is no ram anywhere, for the life of me. He began to walk around houses and yards. He visited five owners, and then directed his steps to Makrida and Epifan. He comes in, and with the whole family they slurp fatty lamb soup, only spoons flash.
Bread and salt, - says Mitrokha, looking askance at the table.
Come in, Mitrofan Kuzmich, you will be a guest. Sit down to sip soup with us, - the owners invite.
Thank you. No, they slaughtered a sheep?
Thank God, they killed him, enough for him to accumulate fat.
And I don’t know where the ram could have disappeared, - Mitrokha sighed and, after a pause, asked: - Didn’t he get to you by chance?
Or maybe he did, you need to look in the barn.
Or maybe he got under the knife? The guest narrowed his eyes.
Maybe he got under the knife, - the owner answers without embarrassment at all.
You don't joke, Epifan Averyanovich, you're not in the dark, tea, slaughtering a ram, you must distinguish your friend from someone else's.
Yes, these rams are all gray as wolves, so who can tell them apart, Macrida said.
Say skin. I recognize my sheep in a row.
The owner carries the skin.
Well, for sure, my ram! - Mitrokh rushed from the bench. - There is a black spot on the back, and on the tail, look, the wool is scorched: Manyokha is blind, she scorched it with a torch when she watered it. - What does it do, rowing in the middle of the day?
Not on purpose, sorry, Kuzmich. He was standing at the very door, cursed, who knew him that he was yours, - the owners shrug their shoulders. - Don't tell anyone, for God's sake. Take our sheep and the matter is over.
No, not the end! Mitrokha jumped. “Your ram is a goner, the lamb is against mine. Spin my sheep!
But how do you get it back if it's half eaten? - the owners are perplexed.
Turn everything that is left, pay money for the rest.
An hour later, a strange procession moved from the house of Makrida and Epifan to the house of Mitrokha in front of the eyes of the whole village . Epifan walked ahead, falling on his right leg, with a mutton skin under his arm, behind him importantly walked Mitrokha with a sack of mutton on his shoulder, and Makrida brought up the rear . She minced with cast iron on outstretched arms - she carried half-eaten soup from Mitrokhin's ram. The ram, although disassembled, returned to the owner again.
Bobik visiting Barbos N. Nosov
Bobik saw a scallop on the table and asked:
And what kind of drink do you have?
What a drink! This is a comb.
What is it for?
Oh you! Barbos said. - It is immediately clear that he has lived in a kennel for the whole century. Don't know what a scallop is for? Comb your hair.
How is it to comb?
Barbos took a comb and began to comb the hair on his head:
Here's how to brush your hair. Go to the mirror and comb your hair.
Bobik took the comb, went to the mirror and saw his reflection in it.
Listen, - he shouted, pointing to the mirror, - there is some kind of dog!
Yes, it's you in the mirror! Barbos laughed.
Like me? I'm here, and there's another dog. Barbos also went to the mirror. Bobik saw his reflection and shouted:
Well, now there are two of them!
Well no! - said Barbos. - These are not two of them, but two of us. They are there, in the mirror, lifeless.
How inanimate? Bobby shouted. - They're moving!
Here's the weirdo! - answered Barbos. - We are moving. You see, there is one dog that looks like me! - That's right, it looks like it! Bobby rejoiced. Exactly like you!
And the other dog looks like you.
What you! Bob replied. - There's some kind of nasty dog, and her paws are crooked.
The same paws as yours.
No, you're lying to me! I put some two dogs there and you think I'll believe you, - said Bobik.
He began combing his hair in front of the mirror, then suddenly burst out laughing:
Look, this eccentric in the mirror is combing his hair too! Here is a scream!
watchdogonlysnorted and stepped aside.
Viktor Dragunsky "Top-down"
Once I sat and sat, and for no reason at all suddenly thought up such a thing that I was even surprised myself. I thought how nice it would be if everything around the world was arranged the other way around. Well, for example, for children to be in charge in all matters and adults should have to obey them in everything, in everything. In general, adults should be like children, and children like adults. That would be great, it would be very interesting.
Firstly, I imagine how my mother would “like” such a story that I go and command her as I want, and dad would probably “like” it too, but there’s nothing to say about my grandmother. Needless to say, I would remember them all! For example, my mother would be sitting at dinner, and I would say to her:
“Why did you start a fashion without bread? Here's more news! Look at yourself in the mirror, who do you look like? Poured Koschey! Eat now, they tell you! - And she would eat with her head down, and I would only give the command: - Faster! Don't hold your cheek! Thinking again? Are you solving the world's problems? Chew properly! And don't rock in your chair!"
And then dad would come in after work, and he wouldn’t even have time to undress, and I would have already shouted:
"Yeah, he showed up! You always have to wait! My hands now! As it should, as it should be mine, there is nothing to smear the dirt. After you, the towel is scary to look at. Brush three and spare no soap. Come on, show me your nails! It's horror, not nails. It's just claws! Where are the scissors? Don't move! I do not cut with any meat, but I cut it very carefully. Don't sniff, you're not a girl... That's right. Now sit down at the table."
He would sit down and quietly say to his mother:
"Well, how are you?"
And she would also say quietly:
"Nothing, thanks!"
And I would immediately:
“Table talkers! When I eat, I am deaf and dumb! Remember this for the rest of your life. Golden Rule! Dad! Put down the newspaper now, you are my punishment!”
And they would sit with me like silk, and when my grandmother came, I would squint, clasp my hands and wail:
"Dad! Mother! Take a look at our grandma! What a view! The coat is open, the hat is on the back of the head! Cheeks are red, the whole neck is wet! Okay, nothing to say. Admit it, I played hockey again! What is that dirty stick? Why did you bring her into the house? What? It's a stick! Get her out of my sight right now—to the back door!”
Then I would walk around the room and say to all three of them:
“After dinner, everyone sit down for lessons, and I’ll go to the cinema!”
Of course, they would immediately whine and whimper:
“And we are with you! And we also want to go to the cinema!”
And I would them:
“Nothing, nothing! Yesterday we went to a birthday party, on Sunday I took you to the circus! Look! I enjoyed having fun every day. Sit at home! Here you have thirty kopecks for ice cream, and that’s it!”
Then the grandmother would pray:
“Take me at least! After all, each child can bring one adult with him for free!”
But I would shirk, I would say:
“And people over seventy years old are not allowed to enter this picture. Stay at home, gulena!”
And I would walk past them, deliberately tapping my heels loudly, as if I didn’t notice that their eyes were all wet, and I would start getting dressed, and I would turn around in front of the mirror for a long time, and sing, and they would be even worse from this. were tormented, and I would open the door to the stairs and say ...
But I did not have time to think of what I would say, because at that time my mother came in, the real one, alive, and said:
- You are still sitting. Eat now, look who you look like? Poured Koschey!
Gianni RodariQuestions inside out
Once upon a time there was a boy who all day long did nothing but pester everyone with questions. There is nothing wrong with this, of course; on the contrary, curiosity is a laudable thing. But the trouble is that no one could answer the questions of this boy.
For example, he comes one day and asks:
- Why do the boxes have a table?
Of course, people only opened their eyes in surprise or, just in case, answered:
- Boxes are used to put something in them. Well, let's say dinnerware.
- I know why the boxes. Why do boxes have tables?
People shook their heads and hurried to leave. Another time he asked:
- Why does the tail have a fish?
Or more:
- Why does the mustache have a cat?
People shrugged their shoulders and hurried to leave, because everyone had their own business.
The boy grew up, but still remained a little why, and not a simple one, but an inside-out why. Even as an adult, he went around and pestered everyone with questions. It goes without saying that no one, not a single person, could answer them. Completely despairing, why the little one went inside out to the top of the mountain, built himself a hut and thought up more and more new questions there in freedom. He invented, wrote them down in a notebook, and then racked his brains, trying to find the answer. However, never in his life did he answer any of his questions.
Yes, and how was he to answer if in his notebook it was written: "Why does the shadow have a pine tree?" "Why don't clouds write letters?" "Why don't postage stamps drink beer?" The tension gave him headaches, but he paid no attention to it and kept making up and making up his endless questions. Little by little he grew a long beard, but he did not even think about trimming it. Instead, he came up with a new question: "Why does a beard have a face?"
In a word, it was an eccentric, of which there are few. When he died, one scientist began to investigate his life and made an amazing scientific discovery. It turned out that this little boy had been used to wearing stockings inside out since childhood and had been wearing them like that all his life. He never managed to put them on properly. That is why he could not learn to ask the right questions until his death.
Look at your stockings, did you put them on right?
SENSITIVE COLONEL O. Henry
The sun is shining brightly and the birds are singing merrily on the branches. Peace and harmony are poured throughout nature. At the entrance to a small suburban hotel, a visitor sits quietly smoking a pipe while waiting for a train.
But then a tall man in boots and a wide-brimmed hat comes out of the hotel with a six-shot revolver in his hand and shoots. The man on the bench rolls down with a loud yell. The bullet grazed his ear. He jumps to his feet in amazement and rage and yells:
- Why are you shooting at me?
A tall man approaches with a wide-brimmed hat in his hand, bows and says:
- I'm sorry, seh. I'm Colonel Jay, seh, I thought you were "fucking me, seh", but I see that I was mistaken. Very "hell that didn't kill you, sah."
- I insult you - with what? - breaks out from the visitor. - I didn't say a single word.
- You banged on the bench, sah, as if you wanted to say that you were a woodpecker,
se", and I - p" belong to the d "ugo" ode. I see now that you are
knocked out the ashes from your t "ubki, se." P "I ask you to p" forgiveness, sah, "and also that you go and de" zeros with me for a glass, sah, "to show that you have no sediment on your soul p" against the gentleman who "th" "Ines my apologies to you, sah."
"A MONUMENT OF SWEET CHILDHOOD" O. Henry
He was old and weak, and the sand in the hours of his life had almost run out. He
moved with unsteady steps along one of the most fashionable streets in Houston.
He left the city twenty years ago, when the latter was little more than a village eking out a semi-impoverished existence, and now, tired of wandering around the world and filled with an agonizing desire to look once again at the places where his childhood had passed, he returned and found that the noisy business city had grown on the site of his ancestral home.
He searched in vain for some familiar object that might remind him of bygone days. Everything has changed. There,
where his father's hut stood, the walls of a slender skyscraper rose; the wasteland where he played as a child was lined with modern buildings. Splendid lawns stretched out on either side, running up to sumptuous mansions.
Suddenly, with a cry of joy, he rushed forward with redoubled energy. He saw in front of him - untouched by the hand of man and unchangeable by time - an old familiar object, around which he ran and played as a child.
He stretched out his arms and rushed towards him with a deep sigh of contentment.
Later he was found sleeping with a quiet smile on his face on an old garbage heap in the middle of the street - the only monument of his sweet childhood!
Eduard Uspensky "Spring in Prostokvashino"
Once, a package arrived for Uncle Fyodor in Prostokvashino, and in it was a letter:
“Dear Uncle Fedor! Your beloved aunt Tamara, a former colonel in the Red Army, is writing to you. It's time for you to get busy agriculture- both for education and for the harvest.
Carrots should be planted at attention. Cabbage - in a row through one.
Pumpkin - on command "at ease". Preferably near an old dump. The pumpkin will “suck out” the entire garbage dump and become huge. The sunflower grows well away from the fence so that the neighbors do not eat it. Tomatoes should be planted leaning against sticks. Cucumbers and garlic require constant fertilization.
I read all this in the charter of the agricultural service.
I bought seeds in glasses at the market and poured everything into one bag. But you'll figure it out on the spot.
Don't get carried away by gigantism. Remember the tragic fate of Comrade Michurin, who died after falling from a cucumber.
Everything. We kiss you with the whole family.
From such a package, Uncle Fyodor was horrified.
He selected a few seeds for himself, which he knew well. He planted sunflower seeds in a sunny place. I planted pumpkin seeds near the garbage dump. And that's it. Soon everything grew delicious, fresh, like in a textbook.
Marina Druzhinina. CALL, YOU WILL BE SINGED!
On Sunday we drank tea with jam and listened to the radio. As always at this time, live radio listeners congratulated their friends, relatives, bosses on their birthday, wedding day or something else significant; told how wonderful they were, and asked to perform for these wonderful people good songs.
- One more call! - once again jubilantly proclaimed the announcer. - Hello! We are listening to you! Who will we congratulate?
And then... I couldn't believe my ears! The voice of my classmate Vladka rang out:
- This is Vladislav Nikolaevich Gusev speaking! Congratulations to Vladimir Petrovich Ruchkin, sixth grade student "B"! He got an A in math! First this quarter! And in general the first! Give him the best song!
- Great congratulations! - the announcer was delighted. - We join these warm words and wish the respected Vladimir Petrovich that the mentioned five will not be the last in his life! And now - "Twice two - four"!
The music started playing and I almost choked on my tea. It's no joke - they sing a song in honor of me! After all, Ruchkin is me! Yes, and Vladimir! Yes, and Petrovich! And in general, I study in the sixth "B"! Everything matches! Everything but five. I didn't get any fives. Never. And in my diary I flaunted something exactly the opposite.
- Vovka! Did you get a five? - Mom jumped out from behind the table and rushed to hug and kiss me. - Finally! I dreamed about it so much! Why were you silent? How modest! And Vlad is a real friend! How happy for you! I even congratulated you on the radio! Five must be celebrated! I'll bake something delicious! - Mom immediately kneaded the dough and began to sculpt pies, singing cheerfully: "Twice two - four, twice two - four."
I wanted to shout that Vladik is not a friend, but a reptile! Everything lies! There was no five! But the language did not turn at all. No matter how hard I tried. Mom was very happy. I never thought that my mother's joy had such an effect on my tongue!
- Well done son! Dad waved the newspaper. - Show five!
- We collected diaries, - I lied. - Maybe tomorrow they will distribute it, or the day after tomorrow ...
- OK! When they give it out, then we'll love it! Let's go to the circus! And now I'm running for ice cream for all of us! - Dad rushed off like a whirlwind, and I rushed into the room, to the phone.
Vladik picked up the phone.
- Hello! - giggles. - Did you listen to the radio?
- Are you completely crazy? I hissed. - Parents here lost their heads because of your stupid jokes! And me to disentangle! Where can I get them five?
- How is it where? Vlad replied seriously. - Tomorrow at school. Come to me right now to do the lessons.
Gritting my teeth, I went to Vladik. What else was left for me?
In general, for two whole hours we were solving examples, tasks ... And all this instead of my favorite thriller "Cannibal Watermelons"! Nightmare! Well, Vladka, wait!
The next day, at a mathematics lesson, Alevtina Vasilievna asked:
- Who wants to do homework at the blackboard?
Vlad poked me in the side. I gasped and raised my hand.
First time in life.
- Ruchkin? - Alevtina Vasilievna was surprised. - Well, you are welcome!
And then... Then a miracle happened. I figured everything out and explained it right. And in my diary the proud five blushed! Honestly, I did not even imagine that getting fives is so nice! Who does not believe, let him try ...
On Sunday we, as always, drank tea and listened to
the program "Call, they will sing to you." Suddenly the radio receiver again chattered in Vladka's voice:
- Congratulations to Vladimir Petrovich Ruchkin from the sixth "B" with the top five in the Russian language! Please give him the best song!
What-o-o-o?! Only the Russian language was not enough for me! I shuddered and looked at my mother with desperate hope - maybe I didn’t catch it. But her eyes were shining.
- What a smart guy you are! - Mom exclaimed, smiling happily.
Marina Druzhinina story "Horoscope"
The teacher sighed and opened the magazine.
Well, "be of good cheer now"! Or rather, Ruchkin! List the birds, please, that live on the edges of the forest, in open places.
That's the number! I did not expect this at all! Why me? I shouldn't be called today! The horoscope promised "to all Sagittarius, and therefore to me, incredible luck, unbridled fun and a meteoric rise through the ranks."
Maybe Maria Nikolaevna will change her mind, but she looked at me expectantly. I had to get up.
Only here's what to say - I had no idea, because I did not teach the lessons - I believed the horoscope.
Oatmeal! Redkin whispered in my back.
Oatmeal! I repeated automatically, not trusting Petka too much.
Correctly! - the teacher was delighted. - There is such a bird! Come on!
"Well done Redkin! Correctly suggested! Anyway, I have a lucky day today! The horoscope did not disappoint! - joyfully flashed through my head, and without any doubt, in one breath, I blurted out after Petka's saving whisper:
Millet! Manka! Buckwheat! Pearl barley!
An explosion of laughter drowned out the barley. And Maria Nikolaevna shook her head reproachfully:
Ruchkin, you must be very fond of porridge. But what about the birds? Get in! "Two"!
I literally seethed with indignation. I showed
Redkin's fist and began to think how to take revenge on him. But retribution immediately overtook the villain without my participation.
Redkin, to the blackboard! - commanded Maria Nikolaevna. - You, it seems, whispered something to Ruchkin about dumplings, okroshka. Are these birds of the open, too, in your opinion?
No! - Petka grinned. - I was joking.
It is wrong to suggest - vilely! This is much worse than not learning the lesson! the teacher was outraged. - I'll have to talk to your mom. Now name the birds - relatives of the crow.
There was silence. Redkin was clearly not in the know.
Vladik Gusev felt sorry for Petka, and he whispered:
Rook, jackdaw, magpie, jay ...
But Redkin, apparently, decided that Vladik was taking revenge on him for his friend, that is, for me, and prompted incorrectly. After all, everyone judges by himself - I read about it in the newspaper ... In general, Redkin waved his hand to Vladik: they say, shut up, and announced:
The crow, like any other bird, has a large family. This is mom, dad, grandmother - an old crow - grandfather ...
Here we just howled with laughter and fell under the desks. Needless to say, unbridled fun was a success! Even the deuce did not spoil the mood!
It's all?! Maria Nikolaevna asked menacingly.
No, not everything! - Petka did not let up. - The crow also has aunts, uncles, sisters, brothers, nephews ...
Enough! the teacher shouted. “Two.” And so that all your relatives come to school tomorrow! Oh, what am I saying!... Parents!
(Martynov Alyosha)
1. Viktor Golyavkin. How I sat under the desk (Volikov Zakhar)
Only the teacher turned away to the blackboard, and I once - and under the desk. When the teacher notices that I have disappeared, he will be terribly surprised, probably.
I wonder what he'll think? He will start asking everyone where I have gone - that will be laughter! Half a lesson has already passed, and I'm still sitting. "When, - I think, - will he see that I'm not in the class?" And it's hard to sit under the desk. My back even hurt. Try to sit like this! I coughed - no attention. I can't sit anymore. Moreover, Seryozhka pokes me in the back with his foot all the time. I couldn't stand it. Didn't make it to the end of the lesson. I get out and say: - Sorry, Pyotr Petrovich ...
The teacher asks:
- What's the matter? Do you want to board?
- No, excuse me, I was sitting under the desk...
- Well, how is it comfortable to sit there, under the desk? You were very quiet today. That's the way it's always been in class.
3. The story "Nakhodka" M. Zoshchenko
One day, Lelya and I took a candy box and put a frog and a spider in it.
Then we wrapped this box in clean paper, tied it with a chic blue ribbon, and put this package on the panel opposite our garden. As if someone was walking and lost their purchase.
Putting this package near the cabinet, Lelya and I hid in the bushes of our garden and, choking with laughter, began to wait for what would happen.
And here comes the passer-by.
When he sees our package, he, of course, stops, rejoices and even rubs his hands with pleasure. Still: he found a box of chocolates - this is not so often the case in this world.
With bated breath, Lelya and I are watching what will happen next.
The passer-by bent down, took the package, quickly untied it, and, seeing the beautiful box, was even more delighted.
And now the lid is open. And our frog, bored of sitting in the dark, jumps out of the box right into the hand of a passerby.
He gasps in surprise and tosses the box away from him.
Here Lelya and I began to laugh so much that we fell on the grass.
And we laughed so loudly that a passer-by turned in our direction and, seeing us behind the fence, immediately understood everything.
In an instant, he rushed to the fence, jumped over it in one fell swoop and rushed to us to teach us a lesson.
Lelya and I asked a strekach.
We ran screaming across the garden towards the house.
But I stumbled over the garden bed and stretched out on the grass.
And then a passer-by tore my ear pretty hard.
I screamed out loud. But the passer-by, after giving me two more slaps, calmly left the garden.
Our parents came running to the screaming and noise.
Holding on to my reddened ear and sobbing, I went up to my parents and complained to them about what had happened.
My mother wanted to call the janitor to catch up with the janitor and arrest him.
And Lelya was already rushing for the janitor. But her father stopped her. And he said to her and her mother:
- Don't call the janitor. And do not arrest a passerby. Of course, it's not the case that he tore off Minka by the ears, but if I were a passerby, I would probably do the same.
Hearing these words, mother became angry with father and said to him:
- You are a terrible egoist!
And Lelya and I were also angry with dad and didn’t say anything to him. I just rubbed my ear and cried. And Lelka also whimpered. And then my mother, taking me in her arms, said to my father:
- Instead of standing up for a passerby and bringing the children to tears, you would rather explain to them that there is something wrong with what they did. Personally, I do not see this and regard everything as innocent childish fun.
And dad did not find what to answer. He only said:
- Here the children will grow up big and someday they will know why this is bad.
4.
BOTTLE
Just now, on the street, a young boy broke a bottle.
He was carrying something. I dont know. Kerosene or gasoline. Or maybe lemonade. In a word, some kind of soft drink. The time is hot. I want to drink.
So, this kid walked, gape and slammed the bottle on the sidewalk.
And such, you know, dullness. There is no way to shake off the fragments from the sidewalk with your foot. Not! Broke it, damn it, and moved on. And other passers-by, so, and walk on these fragments. Very cute.
Then I deliberately sat down on the chimney at the gate, looking to see what would happen next.
I see people walking on glass. Cursing, but walking. And such, you know, dullness. Not a single person is found to fulfill a public duty.
Well, what is it worth? Well, I would take it and stop for a couple of seconds and shake off the fragments from the sidewalk with the same cap. No, they're passing by.
“No, I think, dear! We still do not understand social tasks. Let's hit the glass."
And then, I see some guys stopped.
- Oh, they say, it's a pity that there are few barefoot people today. And then, they say, it would be great to run into it.
And suddenly a man comes along.
A completely simple, proletarian-looking person.
This person stops around this broken bottle. Shakes her pretty head. Grunting, he bends down and sweeps the fragments aside with a newspaper.
“I think it's great! I grieved in vain. The consciousness of the masses has not yet cooled down.”
And suddenly a policeman comes up to this gray, simple man and scolds him:
- What are you, he says, a chicken head? I ordered you to carry away the fragments, and you pour aside? Since you are the janitor of this house, you must free your area from your extra glasses.
The janitor, muttering something under his breath, went into the yard, and a minute later reappeared with a broom and a tin shovel. And he started picking up.
And for a long time, until they drove me away, I sat on the pedestal and thought about all sorts of nonsense.
And you know, perhaps the most surprising thing in this story is that the policeman ordered to clean up the windows.
I was walking along the street... I was stopped by a beggar, decrepit old man.
Inflamed, tearful eyes, blue lips, rough tatters, unclean wounds... Oh, how ugly poverty gnawed at this unfortunate creature!
He held out his red, swollen, dirty hand to me... He groaned, he bellowed for help.
I began to fumble in all my pockets... Not a purse, not a watch, not even a handkerchief... I took nothing with me.
And the beggar waited... and his outstretched hand swayed weakly and shuddered.
Lost, embarrassed, I firmly shook that dirty, trembling hand...
- Do not seek, brother; I have nothing brother.
The beggar fixed his inflamed eyes on me; his blue lips smiled - and he, in turn, squeezed my cold fingers.
- Well, brother, - he muttered, - and thanks for that. That's also an alms, brother.
I realized that I also received alms from my brother.
12. The story "Goat" Twark Man
We left early in the morning. Fofan and I were put in the back seat and we began to look out the window.
Dad drove carefully, did not overtake anyone and told Fofan and me about the rules traffic. Not about how and where you have to cross the road so that you are not run over. And about how you need to go so that you don’t run over anyone yourself.
You see, the tram has stopped, dad said. - And we have to stop to let the passengers through. And now, when they have passed, you can get under way. But this sign says that the road will narrow and instead of three lanes there will be only two. Let's look to the right, to the left, and if there is no one, we will rebuild.
Fofan and I listened, looked out the window, and I felt my legs and arms move by themselves. As if it was me, and not dad, was driving.
Pa! - I said. - Will you teach Fofan and me to drive a car?
Papa was silent for a bit.
In fact, this is an adult thing, he said. “Grow up a little, and then you’ll have to.
We began to drive up to the turn.
But this yellow square gives us the right to pass first. - said dad. - Main road. There is no traffic light. Therefore, we show the turn and ...
He didn't manage to get out all the way. From the left there was a roar of the engine and a black "ten" swept past our car. She swerved back and forth twice, screeched her brakes, blocked our path and stopped. A young guy in a blue uniform jumped out of it and quickly walked towards us.
Have you broken something? Mom got scared. Are you going to be fined now?
Yellow square - dad said in confusion. - Main road. I didn't break anything! Maybe he wants to ask something?
Dad lowered the glass, and the guy almost ran to the door at a run. He leaned over and I saw that his face was angry. Or no, not even evil. He looked at us as if we were the biggest enemies in his life.
What are you doing, goat!? he yelled so loudly that Fofan and I flinched. - You kicked me out! Well goat! Who taught you to ride like that? Who, I ask? They will put, damn it, goats behind the wheel! It's a pity, I'm not in the service today, I would write you out! What are you staring at?
All four of us silently looked at him, and he kept yelling and yelling through the word, repeating "goat." Then he spat on the wheel of our car and went to his "top ten". DPS was written on his back in yellow letters.
The black "ten" screeched its wheels, took off like a rocket and sped away.
We sat in silence for a while.
Who is that? Mom asked. - Why is he so nervous?
Fool Because Absolutely - I answered. - DPS. And he was nervous because he was driving fast and almost crashed into us. He himself is to blame. We were on the right track.
My brother was also yelled at last week, Fofan said. - A DPS is a road patrol service.
Is he to blame and yelled at us? Mom said. - Then it's not DPS. This is HAM.
And how is it translated? I asked.
No, Mom replied. - Ham, he is a boor.
Dad touched the car and we drove on.
Got upset? Mom asked. - No need. Did you drive correctly?
Yes, dad replied.
Well, forget it, my mother said. - There are few boors in the world. Though in the form, though without the form. Well, parents saved on his upbringing. So that's their problem. He probably yells at them too.
Yes, dad replied.
Then he fell silent and did not say another word all the way to the dacha.
13.V. Suslov "POCK"
A sixth grader stepped on an eighth grader's foot.
By chance.
In the dining room for pies without a queue climbed - and stepped on.
And got a slap.
The sixth grader jumped back to a safe distance and expressed himself:
- Dylda!
The sixth grader got upset. And I forgot about the pies. Walked out of the dining room.
I met a fifth grader in the hallway. I gave him a slap on the back of the head - it became easier. Because if they gave you a slap on the back of the head, and you can’t give it to anyone, then it’s very insulting.
- Strong, right? the fifth grader scoffed. And in the other direction along the corridor stomped.
I passed by a ninth grader. Past the seventh grader proceeded. I met a boy from the fourth grade.
And gave him a slap. For the same reason.
Further, as you already guess, according to the ancient proverb “there is power - you don’t need mind”, a third-grader received a slap on the back of the head. And he also did not keep it with him - he weighed the second grader.
And why does a second grader need a slap on the back of the head? To nothing at all. He sniffed and ran to look for the first grader. Who else? Do not give cuffs to the elders!
I feel sorry for the first grader. He has a hopeless situation: do not run away from school to Kindergarten fight!
The first grader became thoughtful from the slap on the back of the head.
His father met him at home.
Asks:
- Well, what did our first grader get today?
- Yes, - he answers, - he got a slap on the back of the head. And they didn't mark it.
(Krasavin)
Anton Pavlovich ChekhovCOTTAGE RESIDENTS
A couple of recently married couples walked back and forth on the dacha platform. He held her by the waist, and she clung to him, and both were happy. From behind the cloudy fragments the moon looked at them and frowned: she was probably envious and annoyed at her boring, useless virginity. The still air was thickly saturated with the smell of lilac and bird cherry. Somewhere, on the other side of the rails, a corncrake was screaming...
- How good, Sasha, how good! - said the wife. - Really, one might think that all this is a dream. Look how cozy and affectionate this forest looks! How lovely are these solid, silent telegraph poles! They, Sasha, enliven the landscape and say that there, somewhere, there are people ... civilization ... But don't you like it when the wind faintly brings the noise of a moving train to your ears?
- Yes... What, however, you have hot hands! It's because you're worried, Varya... What did we cook for dinner today?
- Okroshka and a chicken ... We have enough chicken for two. They brought you sardines and salmon from the city.
The moon, as if sniffing tobacco, hid behind a cloud. Human happiness reminded her of her loneliness, her lonely bed beyond the forests and valleys...
“The train is coming!” Varya said. - How good!
Three fiery eyes appeared in the distance. The head of the station stepped out onto the platform. Beacons flickered here and there on the tracks.
- Let's see the train and go home, - Sasha said and yawned. - We live well with you, Varya, so well that it's even unbelievable!
The dark monster silently crept up to the platform and stopped. Sleepy faces, hats, shoulders flashed in the half-lit carriage windows...
- Ah! Oh! - I heard from one car. - Varya and her husband came out to meet us! Here they are! Varenka!.. Varenka! Oh!
Two girls jumped out of the car and hung on Varya's neck. Behind them appeared a stout, elderly lady and a tall, skinny gentleman with gray sideburns, then two high school students laden with luggage, behind the high school students a governess, behind the governess a grandmother.
- And here we are, and here we are, my friend! - began the gentleman with sideburns, shaking Sasha's hand. - Tea, waiting! I suppose he scolded his uncle for not going! Kolya, Kostya, Nina, Fifa... children! Kiss cousin Sasha! All to you, all the brood, and for three, four days. I hope we don't hesitate? You, please, no ceremony.
Seeing the uncle with the family, the spouses were horrified. While the uncle was talking and kissing, a picture flashed through Sasha's imagination: he and his wife give guests their three rooms, pillows, blankets; salmon, sardines and okroshka are eaten in one second, cousins pick flowers, spill ink, make noise, auntie talks all day about her illness (tapeworm and pain in the pit of the stomach) and that she was born Baroness von Fintich ...
And Sasha already looked with hatred at his young wife and whispered to her:
- They came to you ... damn them!
- No, to you! - she answered, pale, also with hatred and malice. - These are not mine, but your relatives!
And turning to the guests, she said with a friendly smile:
- Welcome!
The moon came out from behind the cloud again. She seemed to be smiling; she seemed pleased that she had no relatives. And Sasha turned away to hide his angry, desperate face from the guests, and said, giving his voice a joyful, benevolent expression: - You are welcome! You are welcome, dear guests!
Viktor DRAGUNSKY
Glory to Ivan Kozlovsky
I have only fives in the report card. Only four in calligraphy. Because of the blot. I don't really know what to do! I always have blots coming off my pen. I already dip only the very tip of the pen into the ink, but the blots still come off. Just some miracles! Once I wrote a whole page cleanly, it's expensive to look at a real five page. In the morning I showed it to Raisa Ivanovna, and there, in the very middle, was a blot! Where did she come from? She wasn't there yesterday! Maybe it leaked from some other page? Don't know...
And so I have one five. Only singing triple. This is how it happened. We had a singing lesson. At first we all sang in chorus "In the field there was a birch tree." It turned out very beautifully, but Boris Sergeevich frowned all the time and shouted:
Pull the vowels, friends, pull the vowels!..
Then we began to draw vowels, but Boris Sergeevich clapped his hands and said:
A real cat concert! Let's deal with each one individually.
This means with each one separately.
And Boris Sergeevich called Mishka.
Mishka went up to the piano and whispered something to Boris Sergeevich.
Then Boris Sergeevich began to play, and Mishka sang softly:
Like thin ice
White snow fell...
Well, Mishka squeaked funny! This is how our kitten Murzik squeaks. Is that how they sing! Almost nothing is heard. I just couldn't help it and laughed.
Then Boris Sergeevich gave Mishka a five and looked at me.
He said:
Come on, guinea pig, come out!
I quickly ran to the piano.
Well, what are you going to do? asked Boris Sergeevich politely.
I said:
Song of the Civil War "Lead, Budyonny, bolder us into battle."
Boris Sergeevich shook his head and began to play, but I immediately stopped him:
Please play louder! I said.
Boris Sergeevich said:
You will not be heard.
But I said
Will be. And how!
Boris Sergeevich began to play, and I took in as much air as I could sing:
High in the clear sky
A scarlet banner is curling ...
I really like this song.
So I see the blue-blue sky, it's hot, the horses are clattering with their hooves, they have beautiful purple eyes, and a scarlet banner curls in the sky.
Here I even closed my eyes in delight and shouted with all my might:
We ride horses there
Where is the enemy!
And in an intoxicating battle ...
I sang well, probably, it was even heard on the other street:
A swift avalanche! We rush forward!.. Hurrah!..
Reds always win! Retreat, enemies! Give!!!
I pressed my fists on my stomach, it came out even louder, and I almost burst:
We crashed into the Crimea!
Here I stopped because I was sweaty and my knees were trembling.
And although Boris Sergeevich played, he somehow leaned over the piano, and his shoulders were also shaking...
I said:
Well, how?
Monstrous! praised Boris Sergeevich.
Good song, truth? I asked.
Good, said Boris Sergeevich and covered his eyes with a handkerchief.
It's just a pity that you played very quietly, Boris Sergeevich, I said, it could have been even louder.
Okay, I'll take it into account, said Boris Sergeevich. Didn't you notice that I played one thing, and you sang a little differently!
No, I said, I didn't notice! Yes, it doesn't matter. I just needed to play louder.
Well, said Boris Sergeevich, since you haven't noticed anything, let's give you a three for now. For diligence.
How's the three? I even rushed. How can this be? Three is too little! The bear sang softly and then got a five ... I said:
Boris Sergeevich, when I rest a little, I can do it even louder, don't think. I didn't have a good breakfast today. And then I can sing so that everyone's ears will be laid here. I know another song. When I sing it at home, all the neighbors come running, asking what happened.
What is this? asked Boris Sergeevich.
Compassionate, I said and started:
I loved you...
Love, perhaps...
But Boris Sergeevich hastily said:
Well, well, well, we will discuss all this next time.
And then the phone rang.
Mom met me in the locker room. When we were about to leave, Boris Sergeevich approached us.
Well, he said, smiling, maybe your boy will be Lobachevsky, maybe Mendeleev. He can become Surikov or Koltsov, I won’t be surprised if he becomes known to the country, as Comrade Nikolai Mamai or some boxer is known, but I can absolutely assure you of one thing: he will not achieve the glory of Ivan Kozlovsky. Never!
Mom blushed terribly and said:
Well, we'll see that!
And as we walked home, I kept thinking:
"Does Kozlovsky sing louder than me?"
"HE IS ALIVE AND SHINES..."
One evening I was sitting in the yard, near the sand, and waiting for my mother. She probably lingered at the institute, or at the store, or, perhaps, stood at the bus stop for a long time. Don't know. Only all the parents of our yard had already come, and all the guys went home with them and probably already drank tea with bagels and cheese, but my mother was still not there ...
And now the lights in the windows began to light up, and the radio began to play music, and dark clouds moved in the sky - they looked like bearded old men ...
And I wanted to eat, but my mother was still not there, and I thought that if I knew that my mother was hungry and was waiting for me somewhere at the end of the world, I would immediately run to her, and would not be late and would not made her sit on the sand and get bored.
And at that moment Mishka came out into the yard. He said:
- Great!
And I said
- Great!
Mishka sat down with me and picked up a dump truck.
- Wow! Mishka said. - Where did you get it? Does he pick up the sand himself? Not by myself? Does he dump himself? Yes? And the pen? What is she for? Can it be rotated? Yes? BUT? Wow! Will you give it to me home?
I said:
- No I will not give. Gift. Dad gave before leaving.
The bear pouted and moved away from me. It got even darker outside.
I looked at the gate so as not to miss when my mother comes. But she didn't go. Apparently, I met Aunt Rosa, and they stand and talk and do not even think about me. I lay down on the sand.
Mishka says:
- Can you give me a dump truck?
- Get off, Mishka.
Then Mishka says:
- I can give you one Guatemala and two Barbados for him!
I say:
- Compared Barbados with a dump truck ...
And Mishka:
- Well, do you want me to give you a swim ring?
I say:
- He's screwed on you.
And Mishka:
- You'll stick it!
I even got angry.
- Where can I swim? In the bathroom? On Tuesdays?
And Mishka pouted again. And then he says:
- Well, it wasn't! Know my kindness! On the!
And he handed me a box of matches. I took her in hand.
- You open it, - said Mishka, - then you will see!
I opened the box and at first I didn’t see anything, and then I saw a small light green light, as if a tiny star was burning somewhere far, far away from me, and at the same time I myself was holding it in my hands now.
- What is it, Mishka, - I said in a whisper, - what is it?
- This is a firefly, - said Mishka. - What, good? He's alive, don't worry.
- Bear, - I said, - take my dump truck, do you want to? Take forever, forever! And give me this star, I'll take it home ...
And Mishka grabbed my dump truck and ran home. And I stayed with my firefly, looked at it, looked and could not get enough of it: how green it is, as if in a fairy tale, and how close it is, in the palm of your hand, but it shines, as if from afar ... And I could not breathe evenly , and I could hear my heart beating, and a little prickle in my nose, as if I wanted to cry.
And I sat like that for a long time, a very long time. And there was no one around. And I forgot about everyone in the world.
But then my mother came, and I was very happy, and we went home. And when they began to drink tea with bagels and cheese, my mother asked:
- Well, how is your dump truck?
And I said:
- I, mother, changed it.
Mom said:
- Interesting! And for what?
I replied:
- To the firefly! Here he is in a box. Turn off the light!
And my mother turned off the light, and the room became dark, and the two of us began to look at the pale green star.
Then mom turned on the light.
"Yes," she said, "it's magic!" But still, how did you decide to give such valuable thing like a dump truck, for that worm?
“I've been waiting for you for so long,” I said, “and I was so bored, and this firefly, it turned out to be better than any dump truck in the world.
Mom looked at me intently and asked:
- And why, what exactly is it better for?
I said:
- How can you not understand? After all, he is alive! And it glows!
GREEN LEOPARDS
The teacher wrote on the blackboard the topic of the essay: "Your comrade."
“Do I have a REAL friend? Andryusha thought. With whom you can climb mountains, and go on reconnaissance, and dive to the bottom of the oceans. And in general, even to the ends of the world to go! .. "
Andryusha thought and thought, then thought and thought again and decided: he has such a comrade! And then in a notebook in large letters he wrote:
MY FRIEND GRANDMA
Her name is Klavdiya Stepanovna, or simply Grandmother Klava. She was born a long time ago, and when she grew up, she became a railway worker. Grandmother Klava took part in various sports parades. That's why she's so brave and smart
Andryusha read the composition and sighed: he did not like it. Is it possible to write so boringly about your grandmother?
No way, he thought.
And he began to dream. About real mountains, in which I have never been. Here's to climbing to the top!
There, where the eternal glaciers do not melt.
Where is the snow avalanche
falls off the cliff.
Where it's cold even in July
And eagles soar in the sky
The mountain paths are dangerous there.
Rockfall thunders in the gorge.
Here appear Snow leopards –
covered in snow from head to toe.
They go out on the road
they have a great appetite!
And each of the leopards by the leg
wants to grab you.
A horde of leopards approached.
Fear slips the belt
But here on top
grandma Klava climbed up
agile like a deer.
Backpack on her back
and there are 28 cutlets in it,
piece of African cheese
and even a Chinese bracelet.
And the grandmother fed the leopards
minutes, maybe two
and industrious hand
patted them on the head.
The snow leopards are fed up
and politely say:
“Thank you, grandmother Klava,
for a tasty and satisfying lunch!..”
And then they brushed their teeth and
went to the lair to take a nap.
"That's it, grandma! Andryusha thought. “With such a comrade, not only in the mountains, but also in intelligence, it’s not a bit scary.”
And then it occurred to him:
Night. The outside. Flashlight. Pharmacy
No, it's better like this:
Night. Lake. Moon. Oak forest. And in the middle is a ravine. In a word, a typical military situation
It is not supposed to sneeze in intelligence!
Do you see the blackening ravine?
The enemy is hiding there
enemy of the Soviet people.
As he jumps out of the ditch,
how to draw his gun
as he asks Grandma Klava:
"And how old are you, grandmother?"
But grandmother Klava will not flinch -
she's such a person!
(no, it's better like this:
she's such a person!)
So it doesn't even flinch
taking off the bag.
And in that knapsack according to the charter
supposed: 20 cutlets,
bottle of ghee
and even a tram ticket.
Our enemy will feed
he will not sigh in our way:
“Thank you, Grandma Klava!
This is a nutritious reality
treat"
And immediately throw his gun away into the sea.
Andryusha now dreamed well: he clearly imagined how the pistol was slowly sinking to the very bottom of the oceans. Wow, deep!
Water washing half the world,
the ocean of the world is seething.
It's very damp at the bottom.
happens at night.
Water is there on the left and on the right
so there is nothing to breathe
But the glorious grandmother Klava
brave enough to dive!
And in the deep water valley
mustachioed sperm whale lies.
He thinks a bitter thought
and quietly gnaws at the bone:
"And who is there with fins
moves like a sawfish?
Let me, yes it's yourself
Yes, it's Grandma Kla"
With joy at the sperm whale
breath stuck in the goiter -
he can't speak the words
but only mumbling: boo-boo-boo
And the scuba grandmother
got 12 cutlets,
cherry jar jam
and even a bouquet of daisies.
And the sperm whale, know for yourself, mumbles: “Save-BU BU-BU-shka, save-BU BU-BU-shka” and from happiness it only blows multi-colored bubbles.
And those bubbles rise to the surface where the edge of the water is. Or the edge of the air in general, the real edge of the world. And Andryusha rises with them. There is no land, no water, no air. Complete airless space. It's called space. And the Earth is somewhere far away flickering with a dim light. And melts, melts
Our planet has melted
and with it our country.
Not visible here white light,
but grandmother Klava is visible!
She is near the starry outskirts,
flies among interplanetary worlds,
like Yuri Gagarin
or maybe like German Titov.
In a spacesuit with Grandma Klava
hidden 8 cutlets,
pan with chicken broth
and even the "Dawn" alarm clock.
Astronomers of the universe look
for a tasty and satisfying lunch
in their big telescopes
and send grateful greetings:
THANK YOU START
GRANDMA KLAUDIA STEPANOVNA ZPT
YOUR MOTHER'S CARE
THE NAME OF THE WORLD PUBLIC
THK
Thundering national glory -
thundering sound:
"Long live Grandma Klava,
as well as grandma's grandson!
And even the constellations in the sky
Libra, Scorpio and Sagittarius -
greet grandmother with grandson
I'll end with this:
THE END
And on time! Because the bell just rang.
“Oh, sorry,” Andryusha sighed, the lesson is so short.
He remembered that he had another grandmother. Her name is Elena Gerasimovna, or simply grandmother Lena. She, too, was born a long time ago. And also
“Okay, Andryusha decided. I will definitely write about it next time.”
And he signed the essay: Andryusha IVANOV, grandson of grandmother Klava (and grandmother Lena too)
Tatyana PETROSYAN
A NOTE
The note had the most innocuous appearance.
According to all gentlemen's laws, an ink mug and a friendly explanation should have been found in it: "Sidorov is a goat."
So Sidorov, not suspecting the worst, instantly unfolded the message and was dumbfounded.
Inside, in large, beautiful handwriting, it was written: “Sidorov, I love you!”
Sidorov felt mockery in the roundness of his handwriting. Who wrote this to him? Squinting, he looked around the class. The author of the note was bound to reveal himself. But for some reason, Sidorov's main enemies did not grin maliciously this time. (That's how they usually grinned. But not this time.)
But Sidorov immediately noticed that Vorobyova was looking at him without blinking. It doesn’t just look like that, but with meaning! There was no doubt: she wrote the note. But then it turns out that Vorobyova loves him ?!
And then Sidorov's thought reached a dead end and thrashed about helplessly, like a fly in a glass. WHAT DO YOU LIKE??? What consequences will this entail and how should Sidorov be now? ..
“Let's reason logically,” Sidorov reasoned logically. What do I like, for example? Pears! I love means I always want to eat"
At that moment, Vorobyova turned back to him and licked her lips bloodthirstyly. Sidorov froze. He was struck by her long untrimmed, yes, real claws! For some reason, I remembered how Vorobyeva greedily gnawed a bony chicken leg in the buffet
“We need to pull ourselves together,” Sidorov pulled himself together. (Hands turned out to be dirty. But Sidorov ignored the little things.) I love not only pears, but also my parents. However, there is no question of eating them. Mom bakes sweet pies. Dad often wears me around his neck. And I love them for it"
Here Vorobyeva turned around again, and Sidorov thought with anguish that now he would have to bake sweet pies for her all day long and wear her to school around his neck to justify such a sudden and crazy love. He took a closer look and found that Vorobyova was not thin and would probably not be easy to wear.
“All is not lost yet,” Sidorov did not give up. I also love our dog Bobik. Especially when I train him or take him out for a walk.
Then Sidorov felt stuffy at the mere thought that Vorobyova could make him jump for every pie, and then take him out for a walk, holding tightly to the leash and not allowing him to evade either to the right or to the left.
“I love the cat Murka, especially when you blow directly into her ear, Sidorov thought in despair, no, I don’t like catching flies and putting them in a glass, but I really love toys that you can break and see what’s inside”
From the last thought, Sidorov felt unwell. There was only one salvation. He hurriedly tore a piece of paper out of his notebook, pursed his lips resolutely, and in firm handwriting drew out the formidable words: "Vorobyova, I love you."
Let her be scared.
O. KOSHKIN
TIRED OF FIGHTING!
Exactly at 13:13, the secret intelligence agent was declassified. He ran through the streets, fleeing the chase. Two men in civilian clothes were chasing him, firing on the move. The scout had already swallowed three ciphers and was now hurriedly chewing on the fourth. “Oh, soda now! ..” he thought. How tired he was of fighting!
Top-top-top! .. the shoes of the pursuers pounded closer and closer.
And suddenly, oh happiness! The scout saw a hole in the fence. He, without hesitation, jumped into it and ended up in a zoo.
Boy, come back!” the ticket attendant waved her hands angrily.
No matter how! Former scout Mukhin ran along the path, climbed over one lattice, through another and found himself in an elephant enclosure.
I'll hide here, okay? panting, he shouted.
Hide, I'm not sorry, the elephant replied. He stood, moving his ears, and listened on the radio about the events in Africa. After all, motherland!
Are you at war? he asked when the latest news was over.
Yeah, I ate all the encryption! slapping his stomach, Mukhin boasted.
Childish fun, the elephant sighed and sadly trampled on the spot. Here is my great-grandfather fought, yes!
Chi-wo-oh? Mukhin was surprised. Your great-grandfather was a tank, or what?
Foolish boy! offended elephant. My great-grandfather was Hannibal's war elephant.
Who-oh? Mukhin did not understand again.
The elephant revived. He loved to tell the story of his great-grandfather.
Sit down, listen! he said and took a sip of water from an iron barrel. In 246 BC, the son Hannibal was born to the Carthaginian commander Hamilcar Barca. His father fought endlessly with the Romans and therefore entrusted the upbringing of his son to a war elephant. That was my dear great-grandfather!
The elephant wiped his tears with his trunk. The animals in the neighboring enclosures fell silent and also listened.
Oh, it was an elephant mountain! When he fanned himself with his ears on hot days, such a wind rose that the trees cracked. So, great-grandfather fell in love with Hannibal as his own son. Without closing his eyes, he watched so that the child would not be kidnapped by Roman scouts. Noticing a scout, he grabbed him with his trunk and threw him across the sea back to Rome.
“Hey, scouts are flying! looking into the sky, the inhabitants of Carthage spoke. Must be for war!
And for sure, to the war to the First Punic! Hamilcar Barca had already fought the Romans in Spain.
Meanwhile, the boy grew up under the care of a war elephant. Oh, how they loved each other! Hannibal recognized the elephant by his steps and fed him selected raisins. By the way, do you have any raisins? the elephant asked Mukhin.
Nope! he shook his head.
It's a pity. So, when Hannibal became a commander, he decided to start the Second Punic War. "Maybe we should not? my great-grandfather dissuaded him. Maybe, let's go better bathe?" But Hannibal did not want to listen to anything. Then the elephant trumpeted, calling the army, and the Carthaginians set off on a campaign.
Hannibal led an army across the Alps, intending to hit the rear of the Romans. Yes, it was a tough transition! Mountain eagles carried off soldiers, and hail the size of melons fell from the sky. But here the abyss blocked the way. Then great-grandfather stood over her, and the army crossed over him, as if over a bridge.
The appearance of Hannibal took the Romans by surprise. Before they had time to deploy the system, the elephant was already running at them, sweeping away everything in its path. Behind him moved the infantry, as the flanks of the cavalry Victory! The army rejoiced. The War Elephant was picked up and began to swing.
"Brothers, let's go swimming!" the elephant suggested again.
But the soldiers did not listen to him: “What else, hunting to fight!”
The Romans were also not going to put up. Consul Gaius Flaminius gathered an army and marched against the Carthaginians. Then Hannibal went to a new trick. He put the army on an elephant and led it through the swamps around the enemy. Great-grandfather walked up to his ears in the water. Soldiers hung from the sides like bunches of grapes. On the way, many got their feet wet, and the commander lost an eye.
Once again, Hannibal won! Then the Romans gathered for advice and decided that the voice of the elephant trembled, he raised the barrel and, in order to calm down, poured all the water on himself, to kill his great-grandfather! That same night, a scout dressed as Hannibal crept into the Carthaginian camp. He had poisoned raisins in his pocket. Having approached the elephant, he stood on the leeward side and said in the voice of Hannibal: “Eat, father elephant!” Great-grandfather swallowed just one raisin and fell dead
The animals in neighboring enclosures sobbed. Crocodile tears flowed from the eyes of the crocodile.
What about Hannibal? Mukhin asked.
For three days and three nights he wept for his elephant. Since then, luck has changed him. His army was defeated. Carthage was destroyed, and he himself died in exile in 183 BC.
The elephant finished the story.
And I thought only horses fought, Mukhin sighed.
We all fought here! We are all combative!.. Animals shouted with each other: camels, giraffes, and even a hippopotamus that surfaced like a submarine.
And the crocodile is the loudest:
Grab the belly, twist the tail and carry it! Like a ram. Yes, bite the enemy. Break all your teeth!
And the mice were launched under the armor, the elephant put in condemningly. This is to tickle the knights!
And us, us! frogs torn themselves in the terrarium. They will tie you up on the front line all night, croak at the scouts! ..
Mukhin grabbed his head right: what is it, all the animals were forced to fight? ..
Here he is! suddenly a voice came from behind. Gotcha! Hands up!
Mukhin turned around. His friends Volkov and Zaitsev were standing by the grate, aiming their guns.
Yes, you are tired! Mukhin waved it off. Let's go for a swim!
That's right, approved by the crocodile. Come join me in the pool, there's enough room for everyone! And the water is warm
Mukhin began to unbutton his overcoat.
I'll bring you raisins tomorrow, he said to the elephant. Good raisins, not poisoned. I'll ask my mom.
And climbed into the water.
Tatyana PETROSYAN
MOM, BE MOM!
Yurik didn't have a dad. And one day he said to his mother:
If there was a dad, he would make a stick for me.
Mom didn't answer. But the next day, the Young Carpenter set appeared on her nightstand. Mom was sawing, planing, gluing something. And one day she handed Yurik a wonderful polished club.
Good stick, Yurik sighed. Only dad would go to football with me. The next day, my mother brought two tickets for the Luzhniki match.
Well, I'll go with you, Yurik sighed. You can't even whistle. A week later, at all matches, my mother whistled furiously with two fingers and demanded that the judge be given up for soap. Then the difficulties with soap began. But Yuri sighed:
If there was a dad, he would lift me up with one left hand and teach tricks
The next day, my mother bought a barbell and a punching bag. She achieved excellent sports results. In the mornings she lifted the barbell and Yurika with one left hand, then she hit a pear, then she ran to work, and in the evening she was waiting for the semi-finals of the World Cup. And when there was no football-hockey, my mother bent over the radio circuit with a soldering iron in her hands until late at night.
Summer came, and Yurik went to the village to his grandmother. But my mother stayed. At parting Yuri sighed:
If there was a dad, he would speak in bass, wear a vest and smoke a pipe
When Yurik returned from his grandmother, his mother met him at the station. Only Yurik did not even recognize her at first. Mom's biceps bulged under her vest, and the back of her head was cut short. With a callused hand, mother took the pipe out of her mouth and said in a gentle bass:
Well, hello son!
But Yuri just sighed.
Dad would have a beard
Yurik woke up at night. There was a light on in my mother's bedroom. He got up, went to the door and saw his mother with a shaving brush in her hand. Her face was tired. She washed her cheeks. Then she took a razor and saw Yurik in the mirror.
I'll try, son, my mother said softly. They say if you shave every day, your beard will grow.
But Yurik rushed to her and roared, burying himself in his mother's hard press.
No, no, he sobbed. No need. Become a mother again. Your father won't grow yours anyway!.. Your mother's beard will grow yours!
Since that night, my mother has abandoned the barbell. And a month later I came home with some thin uncle. He didn't smoke a pipe. And he didn't have a beard. And his ears were protruding.
He unbuttoned his coat, under which a cat was found instead of a vest. He unwound the scarf; it was a small boa constrictor. He took off his hat and there was a white mouse scurrying about. He handed Yurik a box of cake. There was a chicken in it.
Dad! Yuri beamed. And he dragged dad into the room to show the barbell.
Alexander DUDOLADOV
BAM AND DONE!
Let everything remain the same, but I will have spanish name Pedro.
Bah!..
Everything remains the same. And I'm a black-browed Spaniard. Smile like a flash.
Hey Pedro!
Smile.
Salute, Pedro!
Smile back. I don't understand the language. Guest from a friendly country. I'm going, staring at the achievements.
Oh, it's good to be a foreign guest of Moscow! Much better than Nitkin Em. Just how to do it. There is no magic wand here.
Let me be the magic wand! Such a wooden, thin. And magical!
Bach!
I Magic wand! I am useful to people. Whenever I wave, any benefit arises.
What if it becomes useful?
Bang!
And here I am! Everyone is happy for me. Everyone smiles. Old people and youth. Not! Bang!
I am the smile of youth!
I laugh! Ha ha ha ha!
Nitkin! Where are you? Why are you laughing in class? Nitkin, get up! What is the topic of the essay?
The theme of the essay, Olga Vasilievna, the essay “What do I want to become when I grow up?”
So what do you want to be when you grow up?
I want to become I want to become
Snegiryov, don't tell Nitkin!
I want to become a scientist.
Here, good. Sit down and write: scientists.
Nitkin sat down and began to draw in his notebook: “I want to become a scientist cat so that I can walk around the chain.”
And Olga Vasilievna went to the table and also began to write. Report for the district: "In the third" B "was carried out test on the topic "Who do I want to be?" According to the results of the composition, I report the following data: one doctor, eight singers, five co-operators, scientists "
Mm-uuu!
Nitkin! Get up now! And take off that stupid chain!
Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffmann. The Nutcracker and the Mouse King
On the twenty-fourth of December, the children of the medical adviser Stahlbaum were not allowed to enter the entrance room all day, and they were not allowed at all into the drawing room adjacent to it. In the bedroom, huddled together, Fritz and Marie were sitting in a corner. It was already completely dark, and they were very frightened, because the lamps were not brought into the room, as it was supposed to be on Christmas Eve. Fritz, in a mysterious whisper, told his sister (she had just turned seven years old) that from the very morning in the locked rooms something was rustling, noisy and softly tapping. And recently a little dark man darted through the hallway with a large box under his arm; but Fritz probably knows that this is their godfather, Drosselmeyer. Then Marie clapped her hands for joy and exclaimed:
“Ah, did our godfather make something for us this time?”
The senior councilor of the court, Drosselmeyer, was not distinguished by his beauty: he was a small, lean man with a wrinkled face, with a large black plaster instead of his right eye, and completely bald, which is why he wore a beautiful white wig. Every time the godfather had something entertaining for the children in his pocket: either a little man rolling his eyes and shuffling his foot, or a box from which a bird jumped out, or some other little thing. And for Christmas, he always made a beautiful, intricate toy, on which he worked hard. Therefore, his parents carefully removed his gift.
“Ah, our godfather made something for us this time!” Marie exclaimed.
Fritz decided that this year it would certainly be a fortress, and in it pretty soldiers would march and throw out articles, and then other soldiers would appear and go on the attack, but those soldiers in the fortress would bravely shoot at them from cannons, and rise noise and roar.
“No, no,” Fritz Marie interrupted, “my godfather told me about a beautiful garden. There is a large lake there, wonderfully beautiful swans with golden ribbons around their necks swim on it and sing beautiful songs. Then a girl will come out of the garden, go to the lake, lure the swans and feed them sweet marzipan...
“Swans don’t eat marzipan,” Fritz interrupted her not very politely, “but whole garden godfather and do not do it. Yes, and what good are his toys to us? We take them right away. No, I like my father's and mother's gifts much more: they remain with us, we dispose of them ourselves.
And so the children began to wonder what their parents would give them. Marie said that Mamzel Trudchen (her big doll) has completely deteriorated: she has become so clumsy, she falls to the floor every now and then, so now her whole face is in nasty marks. And then, mother smiled when Marie so admired Greta's umbrella. And Fritz assured that in his court stables there was just not enough bay horse, and there were not enough cavalry in the troops. Papa knows this well.
So, the children knew perfectly well that their parents had bought them all sorts of wonderful gifts and were now placing them on the table; but at the same time they did not doubt that the kind infant Christ shone with his gentle and meek eyes and that Christmas gifts, as if touched by his gracious hand, bring more joy than all others.
Yolka Zoshchenko
The children looked forward to fun party. And even through the crack in the door, they peeped at how mother decorates the Christmas tree.
My sister Lele was seven years old at the time. She was a lively girl.
She once said:
Minka, mom went to the kitchen. Let's go to the room where the tree stands and see what's going on there.
The children have entered the room. And they see: very beautiful tree. And under the tree are gifts. And on the Christmas tree there are multi-colored beads, flags, lanterns, golden nuts, pastilles and Crimean apples.
Lelya says:
Let's not look at gifts. Instead, let's just eat one lozenge each.
And now she comes up to the Christmas tree and instantly eats one lozenge hanging on a thread.
Lelya, if you ate a pastille, then I will also eat something now.
And Minka comes up to the Christmas tree and bites off a small piece of an apple.
Lelya says:
Minka, if you have bitten off an apple, then I will now eat another lozenge and, in addition, I will take this candy for myself.
And Lelya was such a tall, lanky girl. And she could reach high. She stood on tiptoe and began to eat the second lozenge with her big mouth.
And Minka was amazing vertically challenged. And he could hardly get anything, except for one apple, which hung low.
If you, Lelisha, have eaten the second lozenge, then I will bite off this apple again.
And Minka again took this apple in his hands and again bit it off a little.
Lelya says:
If you have bitten off an apple for the second time, then I will no longer stand on ceremony and now I will eat the third lozenge and, in addition, I will take a cracker and a nut as a keepsake.
Minka almost roared. Because she could reach everything, but he could not.
And I, Lelisha, how do I put a chair by the Christmas tree and how do I also get myself something other than an apple.
And so he began to pull a chair to the Christmas tree with his thin little hands. But the chair fell on Minka. he wanted to lift a chair. But he fell again. And straight to gifts.
Minka, you seem to have broken the doll. And there is. You took the porcelain handle from the doll.
Then mother's steps were heard, and the children ran into another room.
Soon the guests arrived. Lots of kids with their parents.
And then my mother lit all the candles on the Christmas tree, opened the door and said:
Everyone come in.
And all the children entered the room where the Christmas tree stood.
Now let every child come to me, and I will give everyone a toy and a treat.
The children began to approach their mother. And she gave everyone a toy. Then she took an apple, a lozenge and a candy from the tree and gave it to the child.
And all the children were very happy. Then mom picked up the apple that Minka had bitten off.
Lelya and Minka, come here. Which one of you took a bite of that apple?
This is Minka's work.
It was Lelka who taught me.
I'll put Lelya in a corner with my nose, and I wanted to give you a clockwork engine. But now I will give this clockwork engine to the boy to whom I wanted to give a bitten apple.
And she took the little engine and gave it to one four-year-old boy. And he immediately began to play with him.
Minkaa became angry with this boy and hit him on the arm with a toy. And he roared so desperately that his own mother took him in her arms and said:
From now on, I will not come to visit you with my boy.
You can leave, and then the train will remain with me.
And that mother was surprised at these words and said:
Your boy will probably be a robber.
And then mother took Minka in her arms and said to that mother:
Don't you dare talk about my boy like that. Better go with your scrofulous child and never come to us again.
I will do so. With you to be found that to sit in nettles.
And then another, third mother, said:
And I'll leave too. My girl didn't deserve to
She was given a doll with a broken arm.
And Lelya screamed:
You can also leave with your scrofulous child. And then the doll with the broken handle will be left to me.
And then Minka, sitting on his mother's arms, shouted:
In general, you can all leave, and then all the toys will remain with us.
And then all the guests began to leave. Then dad came into the room.
This upbringing is ruining my children. I don't want them to fight, quarrel and kick guests out. It will be difficult for them to live in the world, and they will die alone.
And dad went to the Christmas tree and put out all the candles.:
Go to bed immediately. And tomorrow I will give all the toys to the guests.
And thirty-five years have passed since then, and this Christmas tree is still not forgotten.
Bazhov Malachite box
From Stepan, you see, there are three little children left.
Two boys. The robyata are like robyata, and this one, as they say, is neither mother nor father. Even during Stepanova's life, as she was at all small, people marveled at this girl. Not only the girls-women, but also the men said to Stepan:
- Not otherwise, this one you have, Stepan, fell out of the brushes In whom it was just born! She herself is black and fable, and her eyes are green. It doesn't look like our girls at all.
Stepan jokes, it used to be:
- It's not a miracle that the black one. Father, after all, from an early age hid in the ground. And that the eyes are green - also not surprising. You never know, I stuffed malachite to master Turchaninov. Here's a reminder for me.
So he called this girl Memo. - Come on, my reminder! - And when she happened to buy something, she would always bring blue or green.
So that girl grew up in the minds of people. Exactly and in fact, the garusinka fell out of the festive belt - it can be seen far away. And although she was not very fond of strangers, but everyone was Tanya and Tanya. The most envious grandmothers admired them too. Well, what a beauty! Everyone is nice. One mother sighed:
- Beauty is beauty, but not ours. Exactly who replaced the girl for me.
According to Stepan, this girl was killed very quickly. Purely roared all over, lost weight from her face, only her eyes remained. Mother came up with the idea of giving Tanya that malachite box - let him have some fun. Though small, but a girl, from an early age it is flattering for them to put themselves on something. Tanyushka began to disassemble these things. And here's a miracle - which she tries on, she follows her. The mother didn’t know why, but this one knows everything. Yes, he also says:
- Mommy, how good is a gift from Tyatino! It is warm from him, as if you are sitting on a heating pad, and someone is stroking you softly.
Nastasya did the sewing herself, she remembers how her fingers were numb, her ears ached, her neck could not get warm. So he thinks: "It's not without reason. Oh, it's not without reason!" - Yes, hurry up the box, then again in the chest. Only Tanya from that time no-no and asks:
- Mommy, let me play with my aunt's gift!
When Nastasya stricts, well, a motherly heart, she will regret it, she will get the box, she will only punish:
- Don't break anything!
Then, when Tanya grew up, she herself began to get the box. The mother will leave with the older boys for mowing or somewhere else, Tanya will remain at home. At first, of course, he will manage that the mother punished. Well, wash the cups and spoons, shake off the tablecloth, wave it with a broom in the huts, give food to the chickens, look in the stove. He will do everything as soon as possible, and for the box. By that time, one of the upper chests remained, and even that one became light. Tanya will move it to a stool, take out a box and sort through the pebbles, admire it, try it on.
War and Peace
Troops were standing and marching everywhere in Mozhaisk. Cossacks, foot soldiers, mounted soldiers, wagons, boxes, cannons could be seen from all sides. Pierre was in a hurry to go ahead as soon as possible, and the further he drove away from Moscow and the deeper he plunged into this sea of \u200b\u200btroops, the more he was seized by the anxiety of restlessness and a new joyful feeling that he had not yet experienced. It was a feeling similar to the one he experienced in the Sloboda Palace during the arrival of the sovereign - a feeling of the need to do something and sacrifice something. He now experienced a pleasant feeling of consciousness that everything that makes up the happiness of people, the conveniences of life, wealth, even life itself, is nonsense, which is pleasant to cast aside in comparison with something With which, Pierre could not give himself an account, and her he tried to make clear to himself for whom and for what he finds a special charm to sacrifice everything. He was not interested in what he wanted to sacrifice for, but the very sacrifice constituted for him a new joyful feeling.
On the 25th in the morning Pierre left Mozhaisk. On the descent from the huge steep mountain leading from the city past the cathedral, Pierre got out of the carriage and went on foot. Behind him descended a regiment of cavalry with peselniks in front. A train of carts with the wounded in yesterday's business was rising towards them. The carts, on which three and four wounded soldiers lay and sat, jumped on a steep slope. The wounded, bound in rags, pale, with pursed lips and frowning eyebrows, holding on to the beds, jumped and jostled in the carts. Everyone looked with almost naive childlike curiosity at Pierre's white hat and green tailcoat.
One cart with the wounded stopped at the edge of the road near Pierre. One wounded old soldier looked back at him.
- Well, countryman, they will put us here, or what? Ali to Moscow?
Pierre was so thoughtful that he did not hear the question. He looked first at the cavalry regiment, which now met with a train of wounded, then at the cart in which he stood and on which two wounded were sitting. One was probably wounded in the cheek. His whole head was tied with rags, and one cheek was swollen with a child's head. His mouth and nose were on the side. This soldier looked at the cathedral and crossed himself. Another, a young boy, a recruit, blond and white, as if completely without blood in his thin face, looked at Pierre with a kind smile that stopped.
- Ah, yes, Yezhov's head was lost. Yes, on the other side, tenacious - they made a dancing soldier's song. As if echoing them, but in a different kind of merriment, the metallic sounds of chimes were interrupted in the heights. But down the slope, by the cart with the wounded, it was damp, overcast and sad.
A soldier with a swollen cheek looked angrily at the troopers of the cavalry.
- Today, not only a soldier, but also seen peasants! The peasants are being driven out, too, ”said the soldier who stood behind the cart and turned to Pierre with a sad smile. - Today they don’t understand All the people want to pile on, one word - Moscow. They want to make one end. - Despite the vagueness of the soldier's words, Pierre understood everything he wanted to say and nodded his head approvingly.
“The cavalrymen go to battle and meet the wounded, and do not think for a minute about what awaits them, but walk past and wink at the wounded. And of these twenty thousand are doomed to death!” thought Pierre, moving on.
Having entered a small village street, Pierre saw militia men with crosses on their hats and in white shirts, who were working for some reason on a huge mound. Seeing these men, Pierre remembered the wounded soldiers in Mozhaisk, and it became clear to him what the soldier wanted to express, saying that they wanted to attack all the people.
How did dad go to school?
HOW DAD WENT TO SCHOOL
When dad was little, he was very sick. He did not miss a single childhood illness. He had measles, mumps, and whooping cough. After each illness, he had complications. And when they passed, little dad quickly fell ill with a new disease.
When he had to go to school, little dad was also sick. When he recovered and went to classes for the first time, all the children had been studying for a long time. They had already become acquainted, and the teacher also knew them all. And no one knew the little dad. And everyone looked at him. It was very unpleasant. Moreover, some even stick out their tongues.
And one boy gave him a leg. And little dad fell. But he didn't cry. He stood up and pushed that boy. He also fell. Then he got up and pushed little daddy. And little dad fell again. He didn't cry again. And pushed the boy again. So they would probably push around all day. But then the bell rang. Everyone went to class and sat down in their seats. And little daddy didn't have his own place. And they put him next to the girl. The whole class started laughing. And even that girl laughed.
At this little daddy really wanted to cry. But suddenly it became funny to him, and he laughed himself. Then the teacher laughed.
She said:
Here you are, well done! And I was afraid that you would cry.
I was afraid myself, my father said.
And everyone laughed again.
Remember, children, said the teacher. When you feel like crying, by all means try to laugh. This is my advice to you for life! Now let's study.
Little dad found out that day that he was the best reader in the class. But then he found out that he writes the worst. When it turned out that he spoke best of all in the lesson, the teacher shook her finger at him.
She was a very good teacher. She was both strict and funny. It was very interesting to study with her. And her little dad remembered her advice for the rest of his life. It was his first day of school, after all. And there were many more of those days. And there were so many funny and sad, good and bad stories at little dad's school!
HOW THE PAD REVENGED THE GERMAN LANGUAGE
Alexander Borisovich Raskin (19141971)
When dad was little and went to school, he had different grades. In Russian, "good." According to arithmetic "satisfactory". On calligraphy "unsatisfactory". On drawing "bad" with two minuses. And the art teacher promised dad a third minus.
But then one day a new teacher entered the class. She was very pretty. Young, beautiful, cheerful, in some very elegant dress.
My name is Elena Sergeevna, how are you? she said and smiled.
And they all shouted:
Zhenya! Zina! Lisa! Misha! Kolya!
Elena Sergeevna covered her ears, and everyone fell silent. Then she said:
I will teach you German. Do you agree?
Yes! Yes! the whole class screamed.
And so little dad began to learn German. At first he really liked that the German chair was der stuhl, the table was der tysh, the book was das buch, the boy was der knabe, the girl was das metchen.
It was like some kind of game, and the whole class was interested to know it. But when declensions and conjugations began, some knabens and metchens got bored. It turned out that you need to study German seriously. It turned out that this is not a game, but the same subject as arithmetic and the Russian language. I had to learn three things right away: write German, read German and speak German. Elena Sergeevna tried very hard to make her lessons interesting. She brought books with funny stories to the class, taught the children to sing German songs and joked in the lesson in German too. And for those who did it right, it was really interesting. And those students who did not study and did not prepare lessons did not understand anything. And, of course, they were bored. They peeped less and less into das bukh, and more and more often were silent as a turd when Elena Sergeevna interrogated them. And sometimes, just before the German lesson, there was a wild cry: “Their habe is spaciren!” Which in translation into Russian meant: "I have to walk!". And in translation into the school language it meant: “I have to play truant!”.
Hearing this cry, many students picked up: “Shpatsiren! Shpatsiren! And poor Elena Sergeevna, when she came to the lesson, noticed that all the boys were studying the verb "shpatsiren", and only girls were sitting at their desks. And this, understandably, made her very upset. Little dad was also mainly engaged in shpatsiren. He even wrote poems that began like this:
There is no more pleasant for a child's ear Words of acquaintances: "Let's run from German!"
He did not want to offend Elena Sergeevna by this. It was just very fun to run away from the lesson, hide from the director and teachers, hide in the school attic from Elena Sergeevna. It was much more interesting than sitting in the classroom without having learned the lesson, and to the question of Elena Sergeevna: “Haben zi den federmesser?” (“Do you have a penknife?”) to answer after a long thought: “They are niht” ... (which sounded very stupid in Russian: “I don’t ...”). When little dad said that, the whole class laughed at him. Then the whole school laughed. And little dad really didn’t like being laughed at. He was much more fond of laughing at others himself. If he were smarter, he would start studying German, and they would stop laughing at him. But little dad was very offended. He got mad at the teacher. He took offense at the German language. And he took revenge on the German language. Little daddy never took it seriously. Then he did not study French properly at another school. Then he almost didn't work. English language at University. And now papa knows none foreign language. To whom did he take revenge? Now dad understands that he offended himself. He cannot read many of his favorite books in the language in which they are written. He really wants to go on a tourist trip abroad, but he is ashamed to go there, not being able to speak any language. Sometimes dad is introduced to different people from other countries. They don't speak Russian well. But they all learn Russian, and they all ask dad:
Sprechen zi Deutsch? Parlay vu france? Do you speak English?
And dad just throws up his hands and shakes his head. What can he say to them? Only: "There are none." And he is very ashamed.
HOW DAD TOLD THE TRUTH
When dad was little, he lied very badly. Other children did it somehow better. And the little dad was immediately told: “You are lying!” And they always guessed.
Little dad was very surprised. He asked, "How do you know?"
And everyone answered him: “It is written on your nose.”
After hearing this several times, little dad decided to check his nose. He went to the mirror and said:
I am the strongest, the smartest, the most beautiful! I am a dog! I am a crocodile! I'm a ship!
Having said all this, little dad looked long and patiently in the mirror at his nose. There was still nothing written on the nose.
Then he decided that he needed to lie even harder. Continuing to look in the mirror, he said rather loudly:
I can swim! I draw very well! I have beautiful handwriting!
But even this blatant lie did not achieve anything. No matter how little dad looked in the mirror, nothing was written on his nose. Then he went to his parents and said:
I lied a lot and looked at myself in the mirror, but there was nothing on my nose. Why do you say that it says that I'm lying?
Little daddy's parents laughed a lot at their stupid child. They said:
No one can see what is written on his nose. And the mirror never shows it. It's like biting your own elbow. Have you tried?
No, said little dad. But I'll try...
And he tried to bite his elbow. He tried very hard, but nothing worked. And then he decided not to look in the mirror at his nose anymore, not to bite his elbow and not lie.
Little dad decided to tell everyone only the truth from Monday. He decided that from that day on, only the pure truth would be written on his nose.
And then came this Monday. As soon as little dad washed up and sat down to drink tea, he was immediately asked:
Did you wash your ears?
And he immediately told the truth:
No.
Because all boys don't like to wash their ears. There are too many of these ears. First my one ear, and then the other. And they are still dirty at night.
But adults do not understand this. And they cried out:
A shame! Slut! Wash immediately!
Please... little dad said softly.
He left and came back very quickly.
Did you wash your ears? asked him.
Wash, he replied.
And then he was asked a completely unnecessary question:
Both or one?
One...
And then he was sent to wash the other ear. Then he was asked:
Have you been drinking fish oil?
And little dad answered the truth:
Drank.
A teaspoon or a tablespoon?
Until that day, little dad always answered: "Dining room", although he drank tea. Anyone who has ever tried fish oil should understand it. And that was the only untruth that wasn't written on the nose. Here everyone believed little dad. Moreover, he always poured fish oil first into a tablespoon, and then poured it into a teaspoon, and poured the rest back.
Tea room... said little dad. After all, he decided to speak only the truth. And for that he got another teaspoon of fish oil.
It is said that there are children who love fish oil. Have you ever seen such children? I never met them.
Little dad went to school. And there, too, it was not easy for him. The teacher asked:
Who didn't do their homework today?
Everyone was silent. And only little daddy told the truth:
I did not do.
Why? asked the teacher. Of course, one could say that there was a headache, that there was a fire, and then an earthquake began, and then ... In general, one could lie something, although this usually does not help much.
But little dad decided not to lie. And he said honest truth:
I read Jules Verne...
And then the whole class laughed.
Very well, the teacher said, I'll have to talk to your parents about this writer.
Everyone laughed again, but little daddy felt sad.
And in the evening one aunt came to visit. She asked little daddy:
Do you like chocolate?
I love you very much, said the honest little dad.
Do you love me? asked the aunt in a sweet voice.
No, said little dad, I don't.
Why?
First, you have a black wart on your cheek. And then you scream a lot, and all the time it seems to me that you are cursing.
How long to tell? Little daddy didn't get chocolate.
And the parents of little daddy told him this:
Lying, of course, is not good. But to speak only the truth all the time, in any case, by the way and inopportunely, also should not be. It's not my aunt's fault that she has a wart. And if she does not know how to speak quietly, then it is too late for her to learn. And if she came to visit and even brought chocolate, it would be possible not to offend her.
And little dad is completely confused, because sometimes it is very difficult to understand whether it is possible to tell the truth or it is better not to.
But he decided to tell the truth anyway.
And since then, little dad all his life tried never to lie to anyone. He always tried to tell only the truth. And often for this he received bitter instead of sweet. And they still tell him that when he lies, he has it written on his nose. Well, what! It's written that way! There's nothing you can do about it!
V. Golyavkin. My good dad
3. On the balcony
I go to the balcony. I see a girl with a bow. She lives in that front door. She can whistle. She will look up and see me. This is what I need. "Hi," I say, "tra-la-la, three-li-li!" She will say: "Fool!" - or something different. And it will go further. As if nothing had happened. Like I didn't tease her. Me too! What is a bow to me! It's like I'm waiting for it! I'm waiting for dad. He will bring me presents. He will tell me about the war. And about different old times. Dad knows so many stories! Nobody can tell better. I would listen and listen!
Dad knows about everything in the world. But sometimes he doesn't want to talk. Then he is sad and keeps saying: “No, I wrote the wrong one, the wrong one, the wrong music. But you! - That’s what he tells me. - You won’t let me down, I hope?” I don't want to offend my dad. He wants me to become a composer. I am silent. What is music to me? He understands. "It's sad," he says. "You can't even imagine how sad it is!" Why is it sad when I'm not sad at all? After all, my father does not want me bad. Then why is that? "Who will you be?" - he says. "Commander," I say. "War again?" My dad is unhappy. And he fought. He himself rode a horse, fired from a machine gun
My dad is very kind. My brother and I once said to dad: "Get us ice cream. But more. So that we can eat." - "Here's a bowl for you," said dad, "run for ice cream." Mom said: "They'll catch a cold!" - "It's summer now," answered dad, "why would they catch a cold!" - "But the throat, the throat!" Mom said. Dad said: "Everyone has a throat. But everyone eats ice cream." - "But not in such quantity!" Mom said. "Let them eat as much as they want. What does the quantity have to do with it! They won't eat more than they can!" That's what dad said. And we took a basin and went for ice cream. And they brought a whole basin. We put the basin on the table. The sun shone from the windows. The ice cream began to melt. Dad said: "That's what summer means!" - He ordered us to take spoons and sit down at the table. We all sat down at the table - me, dad, mom, Boba. Bob and I were thrilled! Ice cream flows over the face, over the shirts. We have such a good dad! He bought so much ice cream! What now we do not want soon
Dad planted twenty trees in our street. Now they have grown. Huge tree in front of the balcony. If I reach out, I'll get a branch.
I'm waiting for dad. Now he will appear. It's hard for me to see through the branches. They close the street. But I bend down and see the whole street.
"Notes of an outstanding loser" Artur Givargizov
TEACHERS CAN'T HOLD
Everyone knows that teachers can not stand each other, they only pretend that they love, because everyone considers their subject the most important. And the Russian language teacher considers her subject to be the most important. Therefore, she asked an essay on the topic "The most important subject." It was enough to write just one sentence: "The most important subject is the Russian language", even with errors, and get a five; and everyone did so, except for Seryozha; because Seryozha did not understand what subjects in question, he thought the object was something solid, and wrote about a lighter.
“The most important subject, the teacher read Serezha’s essay aloud, is a lighter. You can't smoke without a lighter." Just think, she stopped, you won’t light it. I asked a passer-by for a light, and that's it.
What if it's in the desert? Seryozha calmly objected.
In the desert and from the sand you can light a cigarette, the teacher answered calmly. Hot sand in the desert.
Well, Seryozha calmly agreed, but in the tundra, at minus 50 ??
In the tundra, yes, the Russian language teacher agreed.
Then why two? Seryozha asked.
“Because we are not in the tundra,” the Russian language teacher sighed calmly. And not in the tundra, she suddenly screamed, the most important subject is the great and mighty Russian language!!!
RESULTS of the All-Russian competition "Live Classics"
19th century
1. Gogol N.V. "Taras Bulba" (2), "The Enchanted Place", "The Government Inspector", "The Night Before Christmas" (3), "Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka".
2. Chekhov A.P. "Thick and Thin" (3), "Chameleon", "Burbot", "Joy", "Summer Residents".
3. Tolstoy L.N. "War and Peace" (excerpts "Petya Rostov", "Before the fight", "Petya's death", Natasha Rostova's monologue (5)), "The Lion and the Dog"
4. Turgenev I.S. Poem in prose "Doves", "Sparrow" (2), "Schi", "Russian language".
5. Pushkin A.S. "Young lady-peasant" (3).
Aksakov S.T. "Early summer".
Glinka F.N. "Partizan Davydov".
Dostoevsky F.M. "Netochka Nezvanova".
Korolenko V. "The Blind Musician".
Ostrovsky N.A. "Thunderstorm".
20th century
1. Green A. "Scarlet Sails" (7)
2. Paustovsky K.G. "Basket with fir cones" (3), "Old cook", "Old house residents".
3. Platonov A.P. "Unknown flower" (2), "Flower on the ground"
4. M. Gorky (1), "Tales of Italy"
5. Kuprin A.I. (2)
Alekseevich S. "Last Witnesses"
Aitmatov Ch.T. "scaffold"
Bunin I.A. "Lapti"
Zakrutkin V. "The Human Mother"
Rasputin V.G. "French lessons".
Tolstoy A. N. "Nikita's Childhood"
Sholokhov M.A. "Sassy".
Shmelev I.S. "Summer of the Lord", an excerpt from the chapter "Conversation"
Troepolsky G.N. "White Bim Black Ear"
Fadeev A. "Young Guard" excerpt "Mother"
Original work (search engines don't link to the title)
"The Tale of Aimio, the North Wind and the Fairy of the Taka River - Tika"
Children's literature
Alexandrova T. "Traffic light"
Gaidar A.P. "Distant countries", "Hot stone".
Georgiev S. "Sasha + Tanya"
Zheleznikov V.K. "Scarecrow"
Nosov N. "Fedina's task"
Pivovarova I. "Nature Protection Day"
Black Sasha "Diary of Pug Mickey"
Foreign literature
1. Antoine de Saint-Exupery "The Little Prince" (4).
2. Hugo V. Les Misérables.
3. Lindgren A. "Pippi, Longstocking".
4. Sand J. "What the flowers say."
5. S.-Thompson "Lobo".
6. Twain M. "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer"
7. Wilde O. "Star Boy".
8. Chapek Karel "A Dog's Life".
For example, Lev Kassil became famous for the book “Konduit and Shvambrania”, Nikolai Nosov for the novels about Dunno, Vitaly Bianki for the Forest Newspaper, Yuri Sotnik for the story “How I Was Independent”
But Radiy Pogodin does not have such a book. Even his story “Dubravka”, the story “Turn on the Northern Lights”, the story “Chizhi”
After "Scarlet", Yuri Koval began to write one after another his wonderful stories and novels: "The Adventures of Vasya Kurolesov", "Nedosok Napoleon III", "Five Kidnapped Monks", "Sagebrush Tales". The novel "Suer-Vyer".
Well, Lizaveta Grigorievna, I saw young Berestov; looked enough; were together all day.
Like this? Tell me, tell me in order.
If you please, let's go, I, Anisya Egorovna, Nenila, Dunka
Okay, I know. Well then?
Let me tell you everything in order. Here we are in time for dinner. The room was full of people. There were Kolbinsky, Zakharyevsky, a clerk with her daughters, Khlupinsky
Well! and Berestov?
Wait a minute. So we sat down at the table, the clerk in the first place, I was next to her, and my daughters pouted, but I don’t give a damn about them
Oh Nastya, how boring you are with your eternal details!
How impatient are you! Well, we left the table and we sat for three hours, and the dinner was glorious; blue, red and striped blancmange cake. So we left the table and went into the garden to play burners, and the young gentleman immediately appeared.
Well? Is it true that he is so handsome?
Surprisingly good, handsome, one might say. Slender, tall, blush all over the cheek
Right? And I thought he had a pale face. What? What did he look like to you? Sad, thoughtful?
What do you? Yes, I have never seen such a mad man. He took it into his head to run into the burners with us.
Run into the burners with you! Impossible!
Very possible! What else did you think! Catch, and well, kiss!
Your will, Nastya, you're lying.
It's your choice, I'm not lying. I forcefully got rid of him. The whole day was with us like that.
But how, they say, he is in love and does not look at anyone?
I don’t know, sir, but he looked at me too much, and at Tanya, the clerk’s daughter, too; and on Pasha Kolbinskaya, but it’s a sin to say, he didn’t offend anyone, such a prankster!
It is amazing! What do you hear about him at home?
The master, they say, is beautiful: so kind, so cheerful. One thing is not good: he likes to chase girls too much. Yes, for me, this is not a problem: it will settle down over time.
How I would like to see him! Lisa said with a sigh.
So what's so smart about it? Tugilovo is not far from us, only three versts: go for a walk in that direction, or ride on horseback; you will surely meet him. Every day, early in the morning, he goes hunting with a gun.
No, not good. He might think I'm chasing him. Besides, our fathers quarreled, so I still won't be able to get to know him. Ah, Nastya! Do you know what? I'll dress up as a peasant woman!
And indeed; put on a thick shirt, sundress, and go boldly to Tugilovo; I guarantee you that Berestov will not miss you.
And I can speak very well here. Ah, Nastya dear Nastya! What a glorious invention!
Viktor Golyavkin
THIS IS INTERESTING!
When Goga began to go to first grade, he knew only two letters: O circle, and T - hammer. And that's it. I didn't know any other letters. And he couldn't read. Grandmother tried to teach him, but he immediately came up with a trick: - Now, now, grandmother, I'll wash the dishes for you. And he immediately ran to the kitchen to wash the dishes. And the old grandmother forgot about her studies and even bought him gifts for helping with the household. And Gogin's parents were on a long business trip and hoped for a grandmother. And of course, they did not know that their son had not yet learned to read. But Goga often washed the floor and dishes, went for bread, and his grandmother praised him in every possible way in letters to his parents. And read aloud to him. And Goga, sitting comfortably on the sofa, listened with eyes closed. “Why should I learn to read,” he reasoned, if my grandmother reads aloud to me. He didn't even try. And in class, he dodged as best he could. The teacher says to him: - Read it here. He pretended to read, and he himself told from memory what his grandmother read to him. The teacher stopped him. To the laughter of the class, he said: - If you want, I'd better close the window so that it doesn't blow. Or: - I'm so dizzy that I'll probably fall now ... He pretended so skillfully that one day his teacher sent him to the doctor. The doctor asked: - How is your health? - Bad, - said Goga. - What hurts? - Everything. - Well, go to class then. - Why? Because you don't have any pain. - How do you know? - How do you know that? the doctor laughed. And he lightly pushed Goga to the exit. Goga never pretended to be sick again, but he continued to evade. And the efforts of classmates did not lead to anything. First, Masha, an excellent student, was attached to him.
“Let’s study seriously,” Masha told him. - When? Goga asked. - Yeah right now. - Now I will come, - said Goga. And he left and didn't come back. Then Grisha, an excellent student, was attached to him. They stayed in the classroom. But as soon as Grisha opened the primer, Goga reached under the desk. - Where are you going? - asked Grisha. “Come here,” Goga called. - Why? “No one will interfere with us here. - Yah you! - Grisha, of course, was offended and immediately left. No one else was attached to him.
As time went. He dodged. Gogin's parents arrived and found that their son could not read a single line. The father grabbed his head, and the mother grabbed the book that she brought to her child. - Now every evening, - she said, - I will read aloud this wonderful book to my son. Grandmother said: - Yes, yes, every evening I also read interesting books aloud to Gogochka. But the father said: - Very much even in vain you did it. Our Gogochka has grown lazy to such an extent that he cannot read a single line. I ask everyone to leave for the meeting. And dad, along with grandma and mom, left for a meeting. And Goga was at first worried about the meeting, and then calmed down when his mother began to read to him from a new book. And even dangled his legs with pleasure and almost spat on the carpet. But he didn't know what the meeting was! What did they decide! So Mom read him a page and a half after the meeting. And he, dangling his legs, naively imagined that this would continue to continue. But when mom stopped at the very interesting place He got excited again. And when she handed him the book, he became even more excited. “Read it yourself,” his mother told him. He immediately suggested: - Come on, Mommy, I'll wash the dishes. And he ran to wash the dishes. But even after that, my mother refused to read. He ran to his father. The father strictly told him never to make such requests to him again. He slipped the book to his grandmother, but she yawned and dropped it from her hands. He picked up the book from the floor and gave it back to his grandmother. But she again dropped it from her hands. No, she had never fallen asleep so quickly in her chair before! "Is it really," thought Goga, "she is sleeping, or was she instructed at the meeting to pretend?" Goga pulled her, shook her, but grandmother did not even think of waking up. And he so wanted to know what happens next in this book! In desperation, he sat down on the floor and looked at the pictures. But from the pictures it was difficult to understand what was going on there. He brought the book to class. But classmates refused to read to him. Even more than that: Masha immediately left, and Grisha defiantly climbed under the desk. Goga stuck to a high school student, but he flicked his nose and laughed. How to be further? After all, he will never know what is written next in the book until he reads it.
It remained to study. Read for yourself. That's what a home meeting means! That's what the public means! He soon read the whole book and many other books, but out of habit he never forgot to go out for bread, wash the floor or wash the dishes. That's what's interesting!
Viktor Golyavkin
TWO GIFTS
On his birthday, dad gave Alyosha a pen with a golden nib. Golden words were engraved on the handle: "Alyosha on his birthday from dad." The next day Alyosha with his new handle went to school. He was very proud: after all, not everyone in the class has a pen with a golden nib and golden letters! And then the teacher forgot her pen at home and asked the guys for a while. And Alyosha was the first to hand her his treasure. And at the same time he thought: “Maria Nikolaevna will definitely notice what a wonderful pen he has, read the inscription and say something like: “Oh, what a beautiful handwriting it is written!” Or: “What a charm!” Then Alyosha will say: “And you look on a golden pen, Maria Nikolaevna, a real golden one!" But the teacher did not look at the pen and did not say anything like that. She asked Alyosha for a lesson, but he did not learn it. And then Maria Nikolaevna put a deuce in the journal with a golden pen and returned the pen. Alyosha, perplexedly looking at his golden pen, said: - How does it happen? can you put deuces with a golden pen?
“So today you don’t have golden knowledge,” the teacher said. - It turns out that dad gave me a pen so that they would give me deuces with it? Alyosha said. - That's the number! What kind of gift is this?! The teacher smiled and said: - Dad gave you a pen, and today's gift you made yourself.
FAST, FAST! (V. Golyavkin)
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List of works for memorization and definition of the genre of the work the teacher does it on his own according to the author's program.
An excerpt of a work (poetic) for grades 5-11 should be a complete semantic text equal to at least 30 lines; prose text - 10-15 lines (grades 5-8), 15-20 lines (grades 9-11). Texts for memorization from a dramatic work are determined by the form of a monologue.
1. A.S. Pushkin. "The Bronze Horseman" (excerpt "I love you, Peter's creation ...")
2. I.S. Turgenev. "Fathers and Sons" (excerpt)
3. I.S. Goncharov. "Oblomov" (excerpt)
4. A.N. Ostrovsky. "Thunderstorm" (excerpt: one of the monologues)
5. F.I. Tyutchev. "Oh, how deadly we love..."
6. N.A. Nekrasov. “The Poet and the Citizen” (excerpt “The son cannot look calmly ...”); “You and I are stupid people ...”, “Who is living well in Rus'?” (excerpt)
7. A.A. Fet. "Distant friend, understand my sobs..."
8. A.K. Tolstoy. “In the midst of a noisy ball, by chance ...”
9. L.N. Tolstoy. "War and Peace" (excerpt)
10. A. Rimbaud. "Cupboard"
Alexander Pushkin."I love you, Peter's creation" (from the poem "The Bronze Horseman")
I love you, Peter's creation,
I love your strict, slender look,
Neva sovereign current,
Its coastal granite,
Your fences have a cast-iron pattern,
your thoughtful nights
Transparent dusk, moonless brilliance,
When I am in my room
I write, I read without a lamp,
And the sleeping masses are clear
Deserted streets, and light
Admiralty needle,
And, not letting the darkness of the night
To golden skies
One dawn to replace another
Hurry, giving the night half an hour.
I love your cruel winters
Still air and frost
Sledge running along the wide Neva,
Girlish faces brighter than roses
And shine, and noise, and the talk of balls,
And at the hour of the feast idle
The hiss of foamy glasses
And punch flame blue.
I love belligerent liveliness
Amusing Fields of Mars,
Infantry troops and horses
monotonous beauty,
In their harmoniously unsteady formation
Patchwork of these victorious banners,
The radiance of these copper caps,
Shot through and through in battle.
I love, military capital,
Your stronghold smoke and thunder,
When the midnight queen
Gives a son to the royal house,
Or victory over the enemy
Russia triumphs again
Or breaking your blue ice
The Neva carries him to the seas
And, feeling spring days, rejoices.
Show off, city of Petrov, and stop
Unshakable as Russia,
May he make peace with you
And the defeated element;
Enmity and old captivity
Let Finnish waves forget
And vain malice will not be
Disturb Peter's eternal sleep!
I.S. Turgenev. "Fathers and Sons" (excerpt)
And now I repeat to you in parting ... because there is nothing to be deceived: we are saying goodbye forever, and you yourself feel it ... you acted wisely; for our bitter, tart, bean * life you were not created. There is neither impudence nor anger in you, but there is young courage and young enthusiasm; it is not good for our business. Your noble brother cannot go further than noble humility or noble effervescence, and this is nothing. You, for example, do not fight - and you already imagine yourself well done - but we want to fight. What! Our dust will eat your eyes out, our dirt will stain you, but you have not grown up to us, you involuntarily admire yourself, it is pleasant for you to scold yourself; but we are bored - give us others! we need to break others! You are a nice fellow; but you are still a soft, liberal barich - e volatu, as my parent puts it.
Are you saying goodbye to me forever, Eugene? - Arkady said sadly, - and you have no other words for me?
Bazarov scratched the back of his head.
Yes, Arkady, I have other words, but I won’t express them, because this is romanticism, it means: get wet *. And you get married as soon as possible; Yes, get your own nest, but make more children. They will be smart just because they will be born on time, not like you and me.
NOTES:
* BOBYL single, bachelor, celibate, single, unmarried, unmarried.
* GET FUCKED and crumble, crumble, crumble - soften up, fall into a sentimental mood.
I.S. Goncharov."Oblomov" (excerpt)
No,” Olga interrupted, raising her head and trying to look at him through her tears. - I recently found out only that I loved in you what I wanted to be in you, what Stoltz pointed out to me, what we invented with him. I loved the future Oblomov! You are meek, honest, Ilya; you are tender... dove; you hide your head under your wing - and you want nothing more; you are ready to coo all your life under the roof ... yes, I’m not like that: this is not enough for me, I need something else, but I don’t know what! Can you teach me, tell me what it is, what I lack, give it all so that I ... And tenderness ... where it is not!
Oblomov's legs buckled; he sat down in an armchair and wiped his hands and forehead with a handkerchief.
The word was cruel; it deeply wounded Oblomov: inside it seemed to burn him, outside it blew cold on him. In response, he smiled somehow pathetically, painfully bashfully, like a beggar who was reproached for his nakedness. He sat with that smile of impotence, weakened by excitement and resentment; his faded look clearly said: "Yes, I am poor, miserable, poor ... beat, beat me! .."
Who cursed you, Ilya? What did you do? You are kind, smart, gentle, noble... and... you are dying! What ruined you? There is no name for this evil...
There is, he said softly.
She looked at him questioningly, her eyes full of tears.
Oblomovism! - he whispered, then took her hand, wanted to kiss, but could not, only pressed it tightly to his lips, and hot tears dripped onto her fingers.
Without raising his head, without showing her his face, he turned and walked away.
A.N. Ostrovsky."Thunderstorm" (excerpt: one of the monologues)
Katherine's monologue.
I say, why people do not fly like birds? You know, sometimes I feel like I'm a bird. When you stand on a mountain, you are drawn to fly. That's how I would run up, raise my hands and fly ...
How frisky I was! I completely screwed up on you...
Was I like that! I lived, did not grieve about anything, like a bird in the wild. Mother did not have a soul in me, dressed me up like a doll, did not force me to work; Whatever I want, I do it. Do you know how I lived in girls? Now I'll tell you. I used to get up early; if it’s summer, I’ll go to the spring, wash myself, bring water with me and that’s it, water all the flowers in the house. I had many, many flowers. Then we’ll go to church with mama, all of us are wanderers—our house was full of wanderers; yes pilgrimage. And we will come from the church, we will sit down for some work, more like gold velvet, and the wanderers will begin to tell: where they were, what they saw, different lives, or they sing poetry. So it's time for lunch. Here the old women lie down to sleep, and I walk in the garden. Then to vespers, and in the evening again stories and singing. That was good!
Monologue of Kuligin.
Cruel morals, sir, in our city, cruel! In philistinism, sir, you will see nothing but rudeness and bare poverty. And we, sir, will never get out of this bark! Because honest labor will never earn us more daily bread. And whoever has money, sir, he tries to enslave the poor, so that he can make even more money from his free labors. Do you know what your uncle, Savel Prokofich, answered the mayor? The peasants came to the mayor to complain that he would not read any of them by the way. The mayor began to say to him: “Listen, he says, Savel Prokofich, you count the peasants well! Every day they come to me with a complaint!” Your uncle patted the mayor on the shoulder, and said: “Is it worth it, your honor, to talk about such trifles with you! A lot of people stay with me every year; you understand: I’ll underpay them for some penny per person, and I make thousands of this, so it’s good for me! That's how, sir!
F.I. Tyutchev."Oh, how deadly we love..."
Oh, how deadly we love
We are everything rather destroy,
What is dear to our heart!
How long have you been proud of your victory?
You said she's mine...
A year has not passed - ask and tell,
What is left of her?
Where did the roses go,
The smile of the lips and the sparkle of the eyes?
Everything was singed, tears were burned out
Its hot moisture.
Do you remember when you met
At the first meeting fatal,
Her magical eyes, speeches
And the laughter of an infant is alive?
And now what? And where is all this?
And was the dream durable?
Alas, like northern summer,
He was a passing guest!
Fate's terrible sentence
Your love was for her
And undeserved shame
She lay down on her life!
A life of renunciation, a life of suffering!
In her soul depth
She had memories...
But they changed it too.
And on the ground she became wild,
The charm is gone...
The crowd, surging, trampled into the mud
That which bloomed in her soul.
And what about long torment,
Like ashes, did she manage to save?
Evil pain, bitter pain,
Pain without joy and without tears!
Oh, how deadly we love!
As in the violent blindness of passions
We are the most likely to destroy
What is dearer to our heart! ..
N.A. Nekrasov.“The Poet and the Citizen” (excerpt “The son cannot look calmly ...”)
The son cannot look calmly
On the mother's mountain,
There will be no worthy citizen
To the fatherland is cold in soul,
He has no bitterness...
Go into the fire for the honor of the fatherland,
For conviction, for love...
Go and die flawlessly.
You won't die in vain, it's solid,
When blood flows under him...
And you, the poet! heaven's chosen one,
Herald of the truths of the ages,
Do not believe that he who does not have bread
Not worth your prophetic strings!
Do not believe that people have fallen at all;
God did not die in the soul of people,
And a cry from a believing chest
She will always be available!
Be a citizen! serving the art
Live for the good of your neighbor
Subordinating your genius to feeling
All-embracing Love;
And if you are rich in gifts,
Do not bother to expose them:
In your work they will shine themselves
Their life-giving rays.
Take a look: in the fragments of a hard stone
The wretched worker crushes,
And flies from under the hammer
And the flame splatters by itself!
N.A. Nekrasov."You and I are stupid people..."
You and I are stupid people:
What a minute, the flash is ready!
Relief of an agitated chest,
An unreasonable, harsh word.
Speak up when you're angry
Everything that excites and torments the soul!
Let us, my friend, be angry openly:
The world is easier - and more likely to get bored.
If prose in love is inevitable,
So let's take a share of happiness from her:
After a quarrel so full, so tender
Return of love and participation.
N.A. Nekrasov.“Who is living well in Rus'?” (excerpt)
You are poor
You are abundant
You are powerful
You are powerless
Mother Rus'!
Saved in bondage
Free heart -
Gold, gold
The heart of the people!
The strength of the people
mighty force -
Conscience is calm
The truth is alive!
Strength with unrighteousness
Doesn't get along
Victim of untruth
not called,
Rus' does not stir
Rus' is dead!
And lit up in it
The hidden spark
We got up - nebuzheny,
Came out - uninvited,
Live by the grain
The mountains have been applied!
The army rises
Innumerable!
The strength will affect her
Invincible!
You are poor
You are abundant
You are beaten
You are almighty
Mother Rus'!
A.A. Fet.“Distant friend, understand my sobs ...” (“A. L. Brzheskoy”)
Distant friend, understand my sobs,
Forgive me for my painful cry.
With you, memories bloom in my soul,
And I'm not used to cherishing you.
Who will tell us that we did not know how to live,
Soulless and idle minds,
That goodness and tenderness did not burn in us
And we didn't sacrifice beauty?
Where is it all? Still the soul burns
Still ready to embrace the world.
Real heat! Nobody is answering,
The sounds will resurrect - and die again.
Only you alone! high excitement
There is blood in the cheeks, and inspiration in the heart. -
Away with this dream - there are too many tears in it!
It’s not a pity for life with a weary breath,
What is life and death? What a pity for that fire
That shone over the whole universe,
And goes into the night, and cries, leaving.
A.K. Tolstoy.“In the midst of a noisy ball, by chance ...”
In the midst of a noisy ball, by chance,
In the turmoil of the world,
I saw you, but the mystery
Your features are covered.
Like the sound of a distant flute,
Like the waves of the sea.
I liked your slim figure
And all your thoughtful look
And your laughter, both sad and sonorous,
Since then it has been in my heart.
In the hours of lonely nights
I love, tired, lie down -
I see sad eyes
I hear a cheerful speech;
And sadly I fall asleep so
And in the dreams of the unknown I sleep ...
Do I love you - I don't know
But I think I love it!
L.N. Tolstoy. "War and Peace" (excerpt)
In captivity, in a booth, Pierre learned not with his mind, but with his whole being, with his life, that man was created for happiness, that happiness is in himself, in satisfying natural human needs, and that all misfortune comes not from lack, but from excess; but now, in these last three weeks of the campaign, he learned another new, comforting truth - he learned that there is nothing terrible in the world. He learned that just as there is no position in which a person would be happy and completely free, so there is no position in which he would be unhappy and not free. He learned that there is a limit to suffering and a limit to freedom, and that this limit is very close; that the man who suffered because one leaf was wrapped in his pink bed, suffered in the same way as he suffered now, falling asleep on the bare, damp earth, cooling one side and warming the other; that when he used to put on his narrow ballroom shoes, he suffered in exactly the same way as now, when he was completely barefoot (his shoes had long been disheveled), his feet covered with sores. He learned that when he, as it seemed to him, of his own free will married his wife, he was no more free than now, when he was locked up at night in the stable. Of all that he later called suffering, but which he then hardly felt, the main thing was his bare, worn, scabbed feet.
A. Rimbaud."Cupboard"
Here is an old carved wardrobe, whose oak is in dark stains
He began to look like good old men a long time ago;
The closet will open, and the haze from all secluded corners
The enticing smell pours like old wine.
Full, full of everything: junk heap,
Pleasantly smelling yellow linen,
Grandmother's scarf, where there is an image
Griffin, lace, and ribbons, and rags;
Here you will find medallions and portraits,
A strand of white hair and a strand of another color,
Children's clothes, dried flowers...
Oh closet of old! Lots of stories
And you keep a lot of fairy tales securely
Behind this door, blackened and creaky.
Chingiz Aitmatov. "Mother Field" The scene of a fleeting meeting between mother and son at the train.
The weather was, like yesterday, windy and cold. It is not for nothing that the station gorge is called the caravanserai of the winds. Suddenly the clouds parted and the sun peeped through. "Oh," I thought, "if only my son would suddenly flash, like the sun from behind the clouds, would appear before my eyes at least once ..."
And then there was the sound of a train in the distance. He came from the east. The ground shook underfoot, the rails hummed.
Meanwhile, a man came running with red and yellow flags in his hands, shouted in his ear:
- Will not stop! Will not stop! Away! Get out of the way! - And he began to push us away.
At that moment there was a shout nearby:
- Mom-ah! Alima-a-an!
He! Maselbek! Oh, my God, my God! He swept past us quite close. He leaned over with his whole body from the car, holding on to the door with one hand, and with the other waved his hat to us and shouted goodbye. I only remember how I screamed: "Maselbek!" And in that short moment I saw him exactly and clearly: the wind tousled his hair, the skirts of his overcoat beat like wings, and on his face and in his eyes - joy, and grief, and regret, and goodbye! And without taking my eyes off him, I ran after him. The last wagon of the echelon rustled past, and I still ran along the sleepers, then fell. Oh, how I moaned and screamed! My son was leaving for the battlefield, and I said goodbye to him, hugging the cold iron rail. The clatter of wheels went farther and farther away, then it died away. And now it still sometimes seems to me that this echelon is passing through my head and the wheels are knocking in my ears for a long time. Aliman ran all in tears, sank down next to me, wants to lift me up and can’t, she chokes, her hands are shaking. Then a Russian woman, a switchman, arrived in time. And also: "Mom! Mom!" hugging, crying. Together they took me to the roadside, and as we walked to the station, Aliman gave me a soldier's hat.
“Take it, mother,” she said. - Maselbek left.
It turns out that he threw his hat to me when I ran after the carriage. I was driving home with this hat in my hands; sitting in the britzka, tightly pressed her to her chest. She still hangs on the wall. An ordinary soldier's gray earflap with an asterisk on the forehead. Sometimes I will take it in my hands, bury my face and smell my son.
"Microsoft Word 97 - 2003 Document (4)"
The poem in prose "The Old Woman" is read by Magomirzaev Magomirza
I walked along wide field, one.
And suddenly I fancied light, cautious steps behind my back... Someone was following my trail.
I looked around and saw a small, hunched-over old woman, all wrapped up in gray rags. The old woman's face alone was visible from under them: a yellow, wrinkled, sharp-nosed, toothless face.
I approached her... She stopped.
- Who are you? What do you need? Are you a beggar? Do you want charity?
The old woman did not answer. I leaned towards her and noticed that both her eyes were covered with a translucent, whitish membrane, or hymen, which happens in other birds: they protect their eyes with it from too much bright light.
But the old woman's hymen did not move and did not open her eyes ... from which I concluded that she was blind.
- Do you want charity? I repeated my question. - Why are you following me? - But the old woman still did not answer, but only cringed a little.
I turned away from her and went on my way.
And here again I hear behind me the same light, measured, as if sneaking footsteps.
“That woman again! I thought. - Why did she come to me? - But I immediately added in my mind: - Probably, she blindly lost her way, now she is following my steps by ear in order to go out with me to a living place. Yes Yes; This is true".
But a strange uneasiness gradually took possession of my thoughts: it began to seem to me that the old woman was not only following me, but that she was guiding me, that she was pushing me first to the right, then to the left, and that I involuntarily obeyed her.
However, I continue to walk ... But ahead of me, on my very road, something blackens and expands ... some kind of pit ...
"Grave! flashed in my head. "That's where she's pushing me!"
I turn sharply back ... The old woman is again in front of me ... but she sees! She looks at me with big, angry, ominous eyes... the eyes of a bird of prey... I move towards her face, towards her eyes... Again the same dull hymen, the same blind and dull appearance.
"Oh! - I think ... - this old woman is my destiny. The fate from which no man can escape!
"Don't leave! don't leave! What is crazy? ... We must try. And I rush to the side, in a different direction.
I walk briskly... But light steps still rustle behind me, close, close... And the pit darkens ahead again.
I again turn in the other direction ... And again the same rustle behind and the same menacing spot in front.
And wherever I rush about, like a hare on the run ... everything is the same, the same!
Stop! I think. “I will deceive her!” I'm not going anywhere!" – and I immediately sit down on the ground.
The old woman is standing behind, two steps away from me. I can't hear her, but I feel she's there.
And suddenly I see: that spot that blackened in the distance is floating, crawling itself towards me!
God! I look back... The old woman looks straight at me - and her toothless mouth is twisted into a smile...
- You will not leave!
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"Microsoft Word 97 - 2003 Document (5)"
Prose poem "Azure Sky"
Azure Realm
O blue kingdom! O kingdom of azure, light, youth and happiness! I saw you... in a dream.
There were several of us on a beautiful, dismantled boat. A white sail rose like a swan's chest under frisky pennants.
I didn't know who my comrades were; but I felt with all my being that they were as young, cheerful and happy as I am!
Yes, I did not notice them. All around I saw one boundless azure sea, all covered with small ripples of golden scales, and above my head the same boundless, the same azure sky - and across it, triumphant and as if laughing, the gentle sun rolled.
And between us, from time to time, laughter rose ringing and joyful, like the laughter of the gods!
Otherwise, words, poems full of wondrous beauty and inspirational power suddenly flew from someone’s lips ... It seemed that the sky itself sounded in response to them - and all around the sea trembled sympathetically ... And there again came blissful silence.
Slightly diving on soft waves, our fast boat floated. She did not move with the wind; it was ruled by our own beating hearts. Wherever we wanted, she rushed there, obediently, as if alive.
We came across islands, magical, translucent islands with tides of precious stones, yachts and emeralds. Intoxicating incense rushed from the rounded banks; one of these islands showered us with white roses and lilies of the valley; from others, rainbow-colored, long-winged birds suddenly rose up.
Birds circled above us, lilies of the valley and roses melted in the pearl foam that slid along the smooth sides of our boat.
Together with flowers, with birds, sweet, sweet sounds flew in ... Women's voices seemed to be in them ... And everything around: the sky, the sea, the swaying of the sail in the sky, the murmur of the stream behind the stern - everything spoke of love, of blissful love!
And the one that each of us loved - she was here ... invisibly and close. Another moment - and then her eyes will shine, her smile will bloom ... Her hand will take your hand - and will carry you away to an unfading paradise!
O blue kingdom! I saw you... in a dream.
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"Microsoft Word 97 - 2003 Document (6)"
Oleg Koshevoy about his mother (excerpt from the novel "Young Guard").
"... Mom, mom! I remember your hands from the moment I became
be aware of yourself in the world. During the summer, they were always covered with a tan, he no longer departed in the winter - he was so gentle, even, only a little bit darker on the veins. Or maybe they were even rougher, your hands - after all, they had so much work in life - but they always seemed so tender to me, and I loved kissing them right on their dark veins so much.
Yes, from the moment I became conscious of myself to the last
minutes when you are exhausted, quietly laid your head on my chest for the last time, seeing you off on a difficult path of life, I always remember your hands at work. I remember how they scurried about in soapy suds, washing my sheets, when these sheets were still so small that they looked like diapers, and I remember how you in a sheepskin coat, in winter, carried buckets on a yoke, putting a small hand in a mitten in front of the yoke , she is so small and fluffy, like a mitten. I see your fingers with slightly thickened joints on the primer, and I repeat after
you: "be-a - ba, ba-ba". I see how with your strong hand you bring the sickle under the corn, broken by the pressure of the other hand, right on the sickle, I see the elusive sparkle of the sickle and then this instantaneous smooth, so feminine movement of the hands and the sickle, throwing back the ears in a bunch so as not to break the compressed stems.
I remember your hands, unbending, red, lubricated from the icy water in the hole where you rinsed your linen when we lived alone - it seemed completely alone in the world - and I remember how imperceptibly your hands could take a splinter out of my son’s finger and how they instantly threaded a needle when you sewed and sang - sang only for yourself and for me. Because there is nothing in the world that your hands could not do, that they could not do, that they would abhor! I saw how they kneaded clay with cow dung to coat the hut, and I saw your hand peeking out of silk, with a ring on your finger, when you raised a glass of red Moldavian wine. And with what submissive tenderness, your full and white arm above the elbow wrapped around your stepfather's neck, when he, playing with you, lifted you up in his arms - stepfather, whom you taught to love me and whom I honored as my own, already for one thing, that you loved him.
But most of all, for all eternity, I remember how gently they stroked, your hands, slightly rough and so warm and cool, how they stroked my hair, and neck, and chest, when I lay half-conscious in bed. And, whenever I opened my eyes, you were always near me, and the night-light burned in the room, and you looked at me with your sunken eyes, as if from darkness, you yourself were all quiet and bright, as if in robes. I kiss your clean, holy hands!
You led your sons to war - if not you, then another, the same as
you, - you will not wait for others forever, and if this cup has passed you, then it has not passed another, the same as you. But if even in the days of war people have a piece of bread and have clothes on their bodies, and if stacks stand in the field, and trains run along the rails, and cherries bloom in the garden, and the flame rages in the blast furnace, and someone's invisible force raises the warrior from the ground or from the bed, when he was ill or wounded - all this was done by the hands of my mother - mine, and his, and him.
Look around you too, young man, my friend, look around like me, and tell me who you are.
offended in life more than a mother - is it not from me, not from you, not from him, is it not from our failures, mistakes and not from our grief that our mothers turn gray? But the hour will come when all this at the mother's grave will turn into a painful reproach to the heart.
Mom, mom! .. Forgive me, because you are the only one in the world who can forgive, put your hands on your head, as in childhood, and forgive ... "
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"Microsoft Word 97 - 2003 Document (7)"
A.P. Chekhov. "Gull". Monologue of Nina Zarechnaya (final scene of farewell to Treplev)
I'm so tired... I wish I could rest... Rest!
I am a seagull... No, not that. I'm an actress. And he is here ... He did not believe in the theater, he kept laughing at my dreams, and little by little I also stopped believing and lost heart ... And then the worries of love, jealousy, constant fear for the little one ... I became petty, insignificant, I played senselessly ... I didn’t know what to do with my hands, I didn’t know how to stand on the stage, I didn’t control my voice. You don't understand this state when you feel like you're playing terribly. I am a seagull.
No, not that ... Remember, you shot a seagull? By chance, a man came, saw and, having nothing to do, killed him ... The plot for a short story ...
What am I talking about?.. I'm talking about the stage. Now I'm not like that ... I'm already a real actress, I play with pleasure, with delight, I get drunk on stage and feel beautiful. And now, while I live here, I keep walking, walking and thinking, thinking and feeling how my spiritual strength is growing every day ... Now I know, I understand. Kostya, that in our business it doesn’t matter whether we play on stage or write - the main thing is not glory, not brilliance, not what I dreamed of, but the ability to endure. Learn to bear your cross and believe. I believe, and it does not hurt me so much, and when I think about my calling, I am not afraid of life.
No, no... Don't see me off, I'll go myself... My horses are close... So she brought him with her? Well, it doesn't matter. When you see Trigorin, don't tell him anything... I love him. I love him even more than before... I love him, I love him passionately, I love him to the point of despair!
It was good before, Kostya! Remember? What a clear, warm, joyful, pure life, what feelings - feelings like delicate, graceful flowers ... "People, lions, eagles and partridges, horned deer, geese, spiders, silent fish that lived in the water, starfish and those that could not be seen with the eye - in a word, all lives, all lives, all lives, having completed a sad circle, died out. For thousands of centuries, as the earth does not bear a single living creature, and this poor moon lights its lantern in vain In the meadow, the cranes no longer wake up with a cry, and May beetles are not heard in the linden groves ... "
I will go. Farewell. When I become a great actress, come and see me.
Do you promise? And now... It's getting late. I can barely stand...
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"Microsoft Word 97 - 2003 Document (8)"
BAD CUSTOM. Zoshchenko.
In February, my brothers, I fell ill.
lay down in city hospital. And here I am, you know, in the city hospital, being treated and resting my soul. And all around is silence and smoothness and God's grace. Around the cleanliness and order, even lying awkward. And if you want to spit - spittoon. If you want to sit down - there is a chair, if you want to blow your nose - blow your nose on your health in your hand, but so that in the sheet - my God, they don’t let you into the sheet. There is no such thing, they say.
Well, calm down.
And you can't help but calm down. There is such care around, such caress that it is better not to come up with. Just imagine, some lousy person is lying down, and they drag him dinner, and they clean the bed, and put thermometers under his arm, and shove clysters with his own hands, and even take an interest in health.
And who is interested? Important, advanced people - doctors, doctors, sisters of mercy and, again, paramedic Ivan Ivanovich.
And I felt such gratitude to all this staff that I decided to bring material gratitude.
I think you won’t give it to everyone - there won’t be enough giblets. Ladies, I think, one. And who - began to look closely.
And I see: there is no one else to give, except to the paramedic Ivan Ivanovich. The man, I see, is large and imposing, and he tries hardest of all and even goes out of his way.
Okay, I think I'll give it to him. And he began to think about how to stick it in, so as not to offend his dignity and so as not to get punched in the face for it.
The opportunity soon presented itself.
The paramedic comes to my bed. Hello.
Hello, how are you? Was there a chair?
Ege, I think, pecked.
How, I say, there was a chair, but one of the patients took it away. And if you want to sit down - sit down at your feet on the bed. Let's talk.
The paramedic sat down on the bed and sits.
Well, - I say to him, - how in general, what do they write, are the earnings great?
Earnings, he says, are small, but which intelligent patients, even at death, strive to put into their hands without fail.
If you please, I say, although not near death, I do not refuse to give. And I've been dreaming about it for a long time.
I take out money and give. And he so graciously accepted and made a curtsey with his pen.
And the next day it all started.
I was lying very calmly and well, and no one had bothered me until now, and now the paramedic Ivan Ivanovich seemed to be stunned by my material gratitude. During the day, ten or fifteen times he will come to my bed. That, you know, he will correct the pillows, then he will drag him into the bath, He tortured me with some thermometers. Earlier, a thermometer or two will be set in a day - that's all. And now fifteen times. Previously, the bath was cool and I liked it, but now it’s getting cold. hot water- at least shout the guard.
I already and that way, and so - no way. I still shove money to him, a scoundrel - just leave me alone, do me a favor, he goes into a rage even more and tries.
A week has passed - I see, I can't take it anymore.
I got tired, lost fifteen pounds, lost weight and lost my appetite.
And the paramedic is trying hard.
And since he, a tramp, almost boiled me in boiling water. By God. Such a bath, the scoundrel, did - I already had a callus on my leg burst and the skin came off.
I tell him:
What, I say, you bastard, are you boiling people in boiling water? There will be no more financial gratitude for you.
And he says:
It won't - it won't. Die, he says, without the help of scientists.
And now everything is going the same again: the thermometers are set once, the bath is cool again, and no one bothers me anymore.
No wonder the fight against tips is happening. Oh, brothers, not in vain!
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"Microsoft Word 97 - 2003 Document"
I SEE YOU PEOPLE! (Nodar Dumbadze)
- Hello, Bezhana! Yes, it's me, Sosoya... I haven't been to you for a long time, my Bezhana! Excuse me!.. Now I’ll put everything in order here: I’ll clear the grass, straighten the cross, repaint the bench… Look, the rose has already faded… Yes, a lot of time has passed… And how much news I have for you, Bezhana! I don't know where to start! Wait a bit, I’ll tear out this weed and tell you everything in order ...
Well, my dear Bezhana: the war is over! Do not recognize now our village! The guys have returned from the front, Bezhana! Gerasim's son returned, Nina's son returned, Yevgeny Minin returned, and Nodar's father returned, and Otiya's father. True, he is without one leg, but what does it matter? Just think, a leg! .. But our Kukuri, Lukayin Kukuri, did not return. Mashiko's son Malkhaz didn't come back either... Many didn't come back, Bezhana, and yet we have a holiday in the village! Salt, corn appeared ... Ten weddings were played after you, and at each I was among the guests of honor and drank great! Do you remember Georgy Tsertsvadze? Yes, yes, the father of eleven children! So, George also returned, and his wife Taliko gave birth to the twelfth boy, Shukria. That was fun, Bezhana! Taliko was in a tree picking plums when she went into labor! Do you hear Bejana? Almost resolved on a tree! I managed to get down! The child was named Shukria, but I call him Slivovich. It's great, isn't it, Bezhana? Slivovich! What is worse than Georgievich? In total, thirteen children were born to us after you ... And one more piece of news, Bezhana, - I know it will please you. Father took Khatia to Batumi. She will be operated on and she will see! Then? Then... You know, Bezhana, how much I love Khatia? So I'm marrying her! Of course! I'm doing a wedding, a big wedding! And we will have children!.. What? What if she doesn't wake up? Yes, my aunt also asks me about it... I'm getting married anyway, Bezhana! She can't live without me... And I can't live without Khatia... Didn't you love some kind of Minadora? So I love my Khatia ... And my aunt loves ... him ... Of course, she loves, otherwise she would not ask the postman every day if there is a letter for her ... She is waiting for him! You know who... But you also know that he will not return to her... And I am waiting for my Khatia. It makes no difference to me how she will return - sighted, blind. What if she doesn't like me? What do you think, Bejana? True, my aunt says that I have matured, prettier, that it’s hard to even recognize me, but ... what the hell is not joking! .. However, no, it’s impossible that Khatia doesn’t like me! After all, she knows what I am, she sees me, she herself spoke about this more than once ... I graduated from tenth grade, Bezhana! I'm thinking of going to college. I will become a doctor, and if Khatia is not helped in Batumi now, I will cure her myself. So, Bejana?
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"Microsoft Word Document"
Marina Tsvetaeva. Sonechka's monologue. "How I love to love ...".
Do you ever forget when you love something - you love it? I never. It's like a toothache, only the opposite is the opposite of a toothache. Only there it whines, but here there is no word.
And what wild fools they are. Those who do not love do not love themselves, as if the point is to be loved. I'm not saying, of course, but you get up like a wall. But you know, there is no wall that I would not break through.
Do you notice how all of them, even the most kissing, even the most, as if loving, are so afraid to say this word? How do they never say it? One of them explained to me that this was grossly behind the times, that why words are needed when there are deeds, that is, kisses and so on. And I told him: "No. The case still does not prove anything. And the word is everything!"
After all, this is all I need from a person. "I love you" and nothing else. Let him dislike it any way he likes, do whatever he likes, I won't believe the deeds. Because the word was I only fed on this word. That's why she was so emaciated.
And how stingy, prudent, cautious they are. I always want to say: "Just tell me. I won't check." But they do not say, because they think that it is to marry, to contact, not to untie. "If I'm the first to say, I'll never be the first to leave." As if with me you can not be the first to leave.
I've never left first in my life. And how much more God will let me go in my life, I will not be the first to leave. I just can not. I do everything so that the other one leaves. Because I'm the first to leave - it's easier to go over my own corpse.
I have never been the first one to leave. Never stopped loving. Always until the very last opportunity. Until the very last drop. Like when you drink as a child and it's already hot from an empty glass. And you keep pulling and pulling and pulling. And only your own steam ...
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"Microsoft Office Word Document (23)"
Larisa Novikova
Pechorin's monologue from "A Hero of Our Time" by M. Lermontov
Yes, this has been my fate since childhood. Everyone read on my face signs of bad feelings that were not there; but they were supposed - and they were born. I was modest - I was accused of slyness: I became secretive. I deeply felt good and evil; no one caressed me, everyone insulted me: I became vindictive; I was gloomy - other children are cheerful and talkative; I felt superior to them—I was placed inferior. I became envious. I was ready to love the whole world - no one understood me: and I learned to hate. My colorless youth flowed in the struggle with myself and the light; my best feelings, fearing ridicule, I buried in the depths of my heart: they died there. I told the truth - they did not believe me: I began to deceive; knowing well the light and springs of society, I became skilled in the science of life and saw how others without art were happy, enjoying the gift of those benefits that I so tirelessly sought. And then despair was born in my chest - not the despair that is cured at the muzzle of a pistol, but cold, powerless despair, hidden behind courtesy and a good-natured smile. I became moral cripple: one half of my soul did not exist, it dried up, evaporated, died, I cut it off and threw it away, while the other moved and lived at the service of everyone, and no one noticed this, because no one knew about the existence of its dead half; but now you have awakened in me the memory of her, and I have read her epitaph to you.
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"a wish"
It is worth wanting for real and ...
To tell the truth, all my life I often had all sorts of difficult-to-realize desires and fantasies in my head.
At one time, for example, I dreamed of inventing such an apparatus with which it would be possible to turn off the voice of any person at a distance. According to my calculations, this device (I called it TIKHOFON BYU-1 - the voice cut-off device according to the Barankin system) should have acted like this: suppose today at the lesson the teacher tells us about something uninteresting and thereby prevents me, Barankin, from thinking about what something interesting; I flip the switch on the quiet phone in my pocket, and the teacher's voice disappears. Those who do not have such an apparatus continue to listen, and I calmly go about my business in silence.
I really wanted to invent such a device, but for some reason it didn’t go beyond the name
I also had other strong desires, but none of them, of course, captured me like this, for real, like the desire to turn from a man into a sparrow! ..
I sat on the bench, not moving, not being distracted, not thinking about anything extraneous, and thinking only about one thing: “How would I turn into a sparrow as soon as possible.”
At first I sat on a bench just like all ordinary people sit, and did not feel anything special. All sorts of unpleasant human thoughts still climbed into my head: about the deuce, and about arithmetic, and about Mishka Yakovlev, but I tried not to think about all this.
I’m sitting on a bench with my eyes closed, goosebumps run through my body like crazy, like guys at a big break, and I sit and think: “I wonder what these goosebumps and these oats mean? Goosebumps - this is still understandable to me, I probably served my legs, but what does oats have to do with it?
I even ate my mother's oatmeal in milk with jam and always ate it at home without any pleasure. Why do I want raw oats? I'm still a man, not a horse?
I sit, think, wonder, but I can’t explain anything to myself, because my eyes are tightly closed, and this makes my head completely dark and unclear.
Then I thought: “Has something like this happened to me ...” - and therefore I decided to examine myself from head to toe ...
Holding my breath, I slightly opened my eyes and first of all looked at my legs. I look - instead of legs, I have dressed shoes, bare sparrow paws, and with these paws I stand barefoot on a bench, like a real sparrow. I opened my eyes wider, I look - instead of hands I have wings. I open my eyes even more, turn my head, I look - the tail sticks out from behind. This is what happens? It turns out that I still turned into a sparrow!
I am a sparrow! I'm no longer Barankin! I am the real, the most that neither is a sparrow sparrow! So that's why I suddenly wanted oats: oats are the favorite food of horses and sparrows! All clear! No, not everything is clear! What is that coming out? So my mom was right. So, if you really want to, then you can really achieve everything and achieve everything!
Here is the discovery!
About such a discovery, perhaps, it is worth tweeting to the whole yard. Why, for the whole yard - for the whole city, even for the whole world!
I spread my wings! I rolled out my chest! I turned towards Kostya Malinin and froze with my beak open.
My friend Kostya Malinin continued to sit on the bench, like the most ordinary person ... Kostya Malinin did not manage to turn into a sparrow! .. Here you go!
