SELECTED PASSAGES FOR READING BY MEMORY
Having emptied the bowler hat, Vanya wiped it dry with a crust. He wiped the spoon with the same crust, ate the crust, stood up, bowed sedately to the giants and said, lowering his eyelashes:
- Thank you very much. Much pleased with you.
- Maybe you want some more?
- No, full.
"Otherwise we can put you another bowler hat," said Gorbunov, winking, not without boasting. - It means nothing to us. What about a shepherd?
“It doesn’t fit into me anymore,” Vanya said shyly, and his blue eyes suddenly shot a quick, mischievous look from under his lashes.
- If you don't want it, whatever you want. Your will. We have such a rule: we do not force anyone, - said Bidenko, known for his justice.
But the vain Gorbunov, who liked to have all people admire the life of scouts, said:
- Well, Vanya, how did our grub seem to you?
“Good grub,” said the boy, putting a spoon into the pot with the handle down and collecting bread crumbs from the Suvorov Onslaught newspaper, which was spread out instead of a tablecloth.
- Right, good? Gorbunov perked up. - You, brother, will not find such grub in anyone in the division. The famous grub. You, brother, the main thing, hold on to us, to the scouts. You will never get lost with us. Will you hold on to us?
“I will,” the boy said cheerfully.
That's right, you won't get lost. We will wash you in the bath. We'll cut your patches. We will fix some uniform so that you have a proper military appearance.
- Will you take me for reconnaissance, uncle?
- Yves intelligence will take you. Let's make you a famous spy.
- I, uncle, am small. I'll crawl through everywhere, - Vanya said with joyful readiness. - I know every bush around here.
- It's expensive.
- Will you teach me how to shoot from a machine gun?
- From what. The time will come - we will teach.
- I would, uncle, just shoot once, - said Vanya, looking greedily at the machine guns, swaying on their belts from the incessant cannon fire.
- Shoot. Don't be afraid. This will not follow. We will teach you all military science. Our first duty, of course, is to credit you for all kinds of allowances.
- How is it, uncle?
- This, brother, is very simple. Sergeant Egorov will report about you to the lieutenant
gray-haired. Lieutenant Sedykh will report to the battery commander Captain Yenakiev, Captain Yenakiev orders to give an order for your enlistment. From that, then, all kinds of allowances will go to you: clothing, welds, money. Do you understand?
- Understood, uncle.
- This is how it is done with us scouts ... Wait a minute! Where are you going to?
- Wash the dishes, uncle. Mother always ordered us to wash the dishes after herself, and then clean the closet.
"You gave the right order," Gorbunov said sternly. “The same is true in military service.
“There are no porters in the military service,” the fair Bidenko pointed out instructively.
- However, wait a little longer to wash the dishes, we will drink tea now, - said Gorbunov smugly. - Do you respect drinking tea?
- I respect, - said Vanya.
- Well, you're doing the right thing. Here, among the scouts, this is how it is supposed to be: as we eat, so immediately drink tea. It is forbidden! Bidenko said. “We drink, of course, over the top,” he added indifferently. - We do not consider this.
Soon a large copper kettle appeared in the tent - a subject of special pride for the scouts, it is also the source of the eternal envy of the rest of the batteries.
It turned out that the scouts really did not consider sugar. Silent Bidenko untied his duffel bag and put a huge handful of refined sugar on the Suvorov Onslaught. Before Vanya had even blinked an eye, Gorbunov sloshed two large piles of sugar into his mug, however, noticing an expression of delight on the boy's face, he sloshed a third. Know, they say, us scouts!
Vanya grabbed a tin mug with both hands. He even closed his eyes in pleasure. He felt like he was in an extraordinary, fairy-tale world. Everything around was fabulous. And this tent, as if illuminated by the sun on a cloudy day, and the roar of a close battle, and good giants throwing handfuls of refined sugar, and the mysterious “all kinds of allowances” promised to him - clothing, welding, money, - and even the words “pork stew”, printed in large black letters on the mug. - Do you like it? Gorbunov asked, proudly admiring the pleasure with which the boy sipped the tea with his carefully outstretched lips.
Vanya could not even sensibly answer this question. His lips were busy fighting the tea, hot as fire. His heart was full of stormy joy because he would stay with the scouts, with these wonderful people who promise to cut his hair, equip him, teach him how to shoot from a machine gun.
All the words jumbled in his head. He only nodded his head gratefully, raised his eyebrows high and rolled his eyes, thus expressing the highest degree of pleasure and gratitude.
(In Kataev "Son of the Regiment")
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 my job.
“Don’t be lazy,” Mom says. - 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 left point A for point B...” And what will I do?.. And then I will call Kolya, Petka and Pavlik to play bast shoes. 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.
- Peacock! 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, how'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?!
(Irina Pivovarova “What is my head thinking about”)
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.
- Sinitsyna, 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 unfolded the 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! I am 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.
- Lus, 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, you won't tell anyone?"
- Honestly!
Luska read the note and pursed her lips:
- Some fool wrote! I couldn't say my real name.
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 have sent 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 doesn’t get 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're lying, not you!
Then Pavlik laughed like a fool and yelled at the whole class:
- Oh, sick! 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 were running down the street with their collars up!!!
And on the porch, right in the rain, stood Kolya Lykov.
“Come on,” he said.
And we went.
(Irina Pivovarova "Spring Rain")
The front was far from the village of Nechaev. The Nechaev collective farmers did not hear the roar of the guns, did not see how the planes were beating in the sky and how the glow of fires blazed at night where the enemy was crossing Russian soil. But from where the front was, refugees were coming through Nechaevo. They dragged sleighs with bundles, hunched under the weight of bags and sacks. Clinging to the dress of their mothers, the children walked and got stuck in the snow. Homeless people stopped, warmed themselves in the huts and moved on. Once, at dusk, when the shadow from the old birch stretched all the way to the barn, there was a knock on the door to the Shalihins. The nimble red-haired girl Taiska rushed to the side window, buried her nose in the thaw, and both of her pigtails lifted up merrily. - Two aunts! she screamed. - One young, in a scarf! And another very old woman, with a wand! And yet ... look - a girl! Grusha, Taiska's older sister, put down the stocking she was knitting and also went to the window. “Really, a girl. In a blue hood ... - So go open it, - said the mother. – What are you waiting for? Grusha pushed Thaiska: - Go, what are you doing! All seniors should? Thaiska ran to open the door. People entered, and the hut smelled of snow and frost. While the mother was talking to the women, while she was asking where they were from, where they were going, where the Germans were and where the front was, Grusha and Taiska looked at the girl. - Look, in boots! - And the stocking is torn! “Look, she’s clutching her bag, she doesn’t even open her fingers. What does she have there? - And you ask. - And you yourself ask. At this time, he appeared from Romanok Street. The frost hit his cheeks. Red as a tomato, he stopped in front of a strange girl and stared at her. I even forgot to cover my legs. And the girl in the blue bonnet was sitting motionless on the edge of the bench. With her right hand, she clutched a yellow handbag that hung over her shoulder to her chest. She silently looked somewhere at the wall and seemed not to see or hear anything. The mother poured hot soup for the refugees and cut off pieces of bread. - Oh, yes, and the unfortunate ones! she sighed. - And it’s not easy on your own, and the child is toiling ... Is this your daughter? - No, - the woman answered, - a stranger. “They lived on the same street,” the old woman added. The mother was surprised: - A stranger? And where are your relatives, girl? The girl looked at her gloomily and said nothing. “She has no one,” the woman whispered, “the whole family died: her father is at the front, and her mother and brother are here.
Killed ... The mother looked at the girl and could not come to her senses. She looked at her light coat, which must have been blown through by the wind, at her torn stockings, at her thin neck, plaintively whitening from under a blue bonnet... Killed. All killed! But the girl is alive. And she is the only one in the world! The mother approached the girl. - What is your name, daughter? she asked kindly. “Valya,” the girl replied indifferently. “Valya… Valentina…” the mother repeated thoughtfully. - Valentine ... Seeing that the women took up the knapsacks, she stopped them: - Stay over tonight. It's already late in the yard, and the snow has begun to blow - look how it sweeps! And leave in the morning. The women stayed. Mother made beds for tired people. She arranged a bed for the girl on a warm couch - let her warm herself well. The girl undressed, took off her blue bonnet, poked her head into the pillow, and sleep immediately overcame her. So, when grandfather came home in the evening, his usual place on the couch was occupied, and that night he had to lie down on the chest. After dinner, everyone calmed down very soon. Only the mother tossed and turned in her bed and could not sleep. She got up in the night, turned on a small blue lamp, and quietly walked over to the couch. The weak light of the lamp illuminated the girl's tender, slightly flushed face, large fluffy eyelashes, dark brown hair, scattered over a colorful pillow. "You poor orphan!" mother sighed. - As soon as you opened your eyes to the light, and how much grief fell on you! For such and such a small one! .. For a long time the mother stood near the girl and kept thinking about something. I took her boots from the floor, looked - thin, wet. Tomorrow this little girl will put them on and go somewhere again... But where? Early, early, when it was a little light in the windows, the mother got up and lit the stove. Grandfather got up too: he did not like to lie down for a long time. It was quiet in the hut, only sleepy breathing was heard and Romanok was snoring on the stove. In this silence, by the light of a small lamp, mother spoke softly to grandfather. “Let's take the girl, father,” she said. - I'm so sorry for her! Grandfather put down the felt boots he was mending, raised his head and looked thoughtfully at his mother. - Take the girl? .. Will it be okay? he replied. We are rural, and she is from the city. "Isn't it all the same, father?" There are people in the city and people in the countryside. After all, she is an orphan! Our Taiska will have a girlfriend. They will go to school together next winter... Grandfather came up and looked at the girl: - Well... Look. You know better. Let's just take it. Just look, don't cry with her later! - Eh! .. Maybe I won’t cry. Soon the refugees also got up and began to pack for the journey. But when they wanted to wake the girl, the mother stopped them: “Wait, you don’t have to wake her up. Leave Valentine with me! If there are any relatives, tell me: he lives in Nechaev, with Darya Shalikhina. And I had three guys - well, there will be four. Let's live! The women thanked the hostess and left. But the girl remained. “Here I have another daughter,” said Daria Shalikhina thoughtfully, “daughter Valentinka ... Well, we will live. So a new man appeared in the village of Nechaev.
(Lyubov Voronkova "Girl from the City")
Not remembering how she had left the house, Assol was already running to the sea, caught up by an irresistible
wind-blown events; at the first corner she stopped almost exhausted; her legs were wobbly,
breath broke and went out, consciousness was held by a thread. Beside myself with fear of losing
will, she stamped her foot and recovered. At times, either the roof or the fence was hidden from her
Scarlet Sails; then, fearing that they might have vanished like a mere phantom, she hurried
overcome the painful obstacle and, seeing the ship again, stopped with relief
take a breath.
Meanwhile, in Kapern there was such confusion, such excitement, such general unrest, which would not yield to the effect of the famous earthquakes. Never before
the big ship did not approach this shore; the ship had those very sails, the name
which sounded like a mockery; now they clearly and irrefutably blazed with
the innocence of a fact that refutes all the laws of being and common sense. Men,
women, children in a hurry rushed to the shore, who was in what; residents spoke to
yard to yard, jumping on each other, screaming and falling; soon formed by the water
crowd, and Assol quickly ran into this crowd.
While she was gone, her name flew among the people with nervous and gloomy anxiety, with malicious fright. Men spoke more; strangled, snake hiss
dumbfounded women sobbed, but if one of them began to crack - poison
got into his head. As soon as Assol appeared, everyone fell silent, everyone moved away from her with fear, and she was left alone in the middle of the emptiness of the sultry sand, confused, ashamed, happy, with a face no less scarlet than her miracle, helplessly stretching out her hands to the tall ship.
A boat full of tanned rowers separated from him; among them stood the one whom, as she
it seemed now, she knew, vaguely remembered from childhood. He looked at her with a smile
which warmed and hurried. But thousands of the last ridiculous fears overcame Assol;
mortally afraid of everything - mistakes, misunderstandings, mysterious and harmful interference, -
she ran up to her waist into the warm ripple of the waves, shouting: “I'm here, I'm here! It's me!"
Then Zimmer waved his bow - and the same melody burst through the nerves of the crowd, but this time in a full, triumphant chorus. From excitement, movement of clouds and waves, shine
water and gave the girl almost could no longer distinguish what was moving: she, the ship or
boat, - everything moved, circled and fell.
But the oar splashed sharply near her; she raised her head. Gray bent down, her hands
grabbed his belt. Assol closed her eyes; then, quickly opening your eyes, boldly
smiled at his radiant face and breathlessly said:
- Absolutely like that.
And you too, my child! - Taking out a wet jewel from the water, Gray said. -
Here I come. Did you recognize me?
She nodded, holding on to his belt, new soul and quivering eyes.
Happiness sat in her like a fluffy kitten. When Assol decided to open her eyes,
the rocking of the boat, the glitter of the waves, approaching, powerfully tossing and turning, the side of the "Secret" -
everything was a dream, where light and water swayed, swirling, like the play of sunbeams on a wall streaming with rays. Not remembering how, she climbed the ladder to strong hands Gray.
The deck, covered and hung with carpets, in scarlet splashes of sails, was like a heavenly garden.
And soon Assol saw that she was standing in a cabin - in a room that could no longer be better.
be.
Then from above, shaking and burying her heart in her triumphant cry, again rushed
great music. Again Assol closed her eyes, fearing that all this would disappear if she
look. Gray took her hands, and knowing now where it was safe to go, she hid
a face wet with tears on the chest of a friend who came so magically. Carefully, but with a laugh,
himself shocked and surprised that an inexpressible, inaccessible to anyone
precious moment, Gray lifted up by the chin this long-long dreamed
face, and the girl's eyes finally opened clearly. They had all the best of a man.
- Will you take my Longren to us? - she said.
- Yes. - And he kissed her so hard after his iron "yes" that she
laughed.
(A. Green.» Scarlet Sails»)
By the end of the school year, I asked my father to buy me a two-wheeled bicycle, a battery-powered submachine gun, a battery-powered airplane, a flying helicopter, and table hockey.
- I so want to have these things! I said to my father. - They are constantly spinning in my head like a carousel, and from this my head is spinning so much that it is difficult to stay on my feet.
“Hold on,” said the father, “don’t fall and write all these things on a piece of paper for me so that I don’t forget.”
- Yes, why write, they already sit firmly in my head.
“Write,” said the father, “it doesn’t cost you anything.”
- In general, it costs nothing, - I said, - just an extra hassle. - And I wrote in large letters on the whole sheet:
WILISAPET
GUN-GUN
AIRCRAFT
VIRTALET
HACKEY
Then I thought about it and decided to write “ice cream” again, went to the window, looked at the sign opposite and added:
ICE CREAM
Father read and says:
- I'll buy you ice cream for now, and wait for the rest.
I thought he had no time now, and I ask:
- Until what time?
- Until better times.
- Until what?
- Until the next end of the school year.
- Why?
- Yes, because the letters in your head are spinning like a carousel, this makes you dizzy, and the words are not on their feet.
It's like words have legs!
And I've already bought ice cream a hundred times.
(Viktor Galyavkin "Carousel in the head")
Rose.
The last days of August... Autumn was already setting in. The sun was setting. A sudden gusty downpour, without thunder or lightning, had just rushed over our wide plain. The garden in front of the house was burning and smoking, all flooded with the fire of dawn and the flood of rain. She was sitting at the table in the living room and with stubborn thought looked into the garden through the half-open door. I knew what was happening then in her soul; I knew that after a short, albeit painful, struggle, at that very moment she gave herself over to a feeling that she could no longer control. Suddenly she got up, quickly went out into the garden and disappeared. An hour struck ... another struck; she did not return. Then I got up and, leaving the house, went along the alley, along which - I did not doubt it - she also went. Everything darkened around; the night has already come. But on the damp sand of the path, brightly alley even through the poured darkness, I could see a roundish object. I leaned over ... It was a young, slightly blossoming rose. Two hours ago I saw this same rose on her chest. I carefully picked up the flower that had fallen into the mud and, returning to the living room, put it on the table in front of her chair. So she returned at last - and, with light steps going through the whole room, she sat down at the table. Her face grew pale and came to life; quickly, with cheerful embarrassment, her downcast eyes, like diminished ones, ran around. She saw a rose, grabbed it, looked at its crumpled, soiled petals, glanced at me, and her eyes, suddenly stopping, shone with tears. “What are you crying about? - I asked. - Yes, about this rose. Look what happened to her. Here I decided to show profound thought. “Your tears will wash away this dirt,” I said with a significant expression. “Tears do not wash, tears burn,” she answered and, turning to the fireplace, threw the flower into the dying flame. “Fire will burn even better than tears,” she exclaimed, not without daring, “and cross-eyed eyes, still shining from tears, laughed boldly and happily. I realized that she, too, had been burned. (I.S. Turgenev "ROSE")
I SEE YOU PEOPLE!
- 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! The son of Gerasim returned, the son of Nina returned, Minin Yevgeny returned, and the father of Nodar Tadpole returned, and the father of Otiya. 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! After? Then... You know, Bezhana, how much I love Khatia? So I'm marrying her! Certainly! 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?
- Has our Sosoya completely lost his mind? Who are you talking to?
- Ah, hello, Uncle Gerasim!
- Hello! What are you doing here?
- So, I came to look at the grave of Bezhana ...
- Go to the office ... Vissarion and Khatia returned ... - Gerasim lightly patted my cheek.
I lost my breath.
- So how is it?!
- Run, run, son, meet ... - I did not let Gerasim finish, broke off, and rushed down the slope.
Faster, Sosoya, faster! Jump!.. Hurry, Sosoya!.. I'm running like I've never run in my life!.. My ears are ringing, my heart is ready to jump out of my chest, my knees are giving way... Don't you dare stop, Sosoya!.. Run! If you jump over this ditch, it means that Khatia is all right... You jumped! fifty without taking a breath - it means that everything is fine with Khatia ... One, two, three ... ten, eleven, twelve ... Forty-five, forty-six ... Oh, how difficult ...
- Hatia-ah-ah! ..
Out of breath, I ran up to them and stopped. I couldn't say another word.
- Soso! Khatia said quietly.
I looked at her. Khatia's face was as white as chalk. She looked with her huge, beautiful eyes somewhere into the distance, past me and smiled.
- Uncle Vissarion!
Vissarion stood with his head bowed and was silent.
- Well, uncle Vissarion? Vissarion did not answer.
- Hatia!
The doctors said that it was impossible to do the operation yet. They told me to definitely come next spring ... - Khatia said calmly.
My God, why didn't I count to fifty?! My throat tickled. I covered my face with my hands.
How are you, Sosoya? Do you have some new?
I hugged Khatia and kissed her on the cheek. Uncle Vissarion took out a handkerchief, wiped his dry eyes, coughed, and left.
How are you, Sosoya? Khatia repeated.
- Well ... Don't be afraid, Khatia ... Will they have an operation in the spring? I stroked Khatia's face.
She narrowed her eyes and became so beautiful, such that the Mother of God herself would envy her ...
- In the spring, Sosoya ...
“Don’t be afraid, Hatia!
“But I’m not afraid, Sosoya!”
“And if they can’t help you, I will, Khatia, I swear to you!”
“I know, Sosoya!
- Even if not ... So what? Do you see me?
“I see, Sosoya!
– What else do you need?
“Nothing else, Sosoya!”
Where are you going, dear, and where are you leading my village? Do you remember? One day in June, you took away everything that was dear to me in the world. I asked you, dear, and you returned everything you could return to me. I thank you dear! Now it's our turn. You will take us, me and Khatia, and lead you to where your end should be. But we don't want you to end. Hand in hand we will walk with you to infinity. You will never again have to deliver news about us in triangular letters and envelopes with printed addresses to our village. We'll be back, dear! We will face the east, we will see the golden sun rise, and then Khatia will say to the whole world:
- People, it's me, Khatia! I see you people!
(Nodar Dumbadze “I see you people!…”
Near a big city, an old, sick man was walking along a wide carriageway.
He staggered along; his emaciated legs, tangled, dragging and stumbling, stepped heavily and weakly, as if
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strangers; his clothes hung in tatters; his uncovered head fell on his chest... He was exhausted.
He sat down on a roadside stone, leaned forward, leaned on his elbows, covered his face with both hands - and through twisted fingers tears dripped onto the dry, gray dust.
He remembered...
He recalled how he was once healthy and rich - and how he spent his health, and distributed wealth to others, friends and enemies ... And now he does not have a piece of bread - and everyone has left him, friends even before enemies ... Can he really stoop to the point of begging? And he was bitter at heart and ashamed.
And the tears kept dripping and dripping, mottling the gray dust.
Suddenly he heard someone calling his name; he lifted his weary head - and saw a stranger before him.
The face is calm and important, but not severe; eyes are not radiant, but light; eyes piercing, but not evil.
- You gave away all your wealth, - an even voice was heard ... - But you don’t regret that you did good?
“I don’t regret it,” the old man replied with a sigh, “only now I’m dying.”
“And there wouldn’t be beggars in the world who stretched out their hand to you,” continued the stranger, “there would be no one for you to show your virtue, could you practice it?
The old man did not answer - and thought.
“So don’t be proud now, poor fellow,” the stranger spoke again, “go, stretch out your hand, give other good people the opportunity to show in practice that they are good.
The old man started up, looked up... but the stranger had already disappeared; and in the distance a passer-by appeared on the road.
The old man came up to him and held out his hand. This passer-by turned away with a stern look and did not give anything.
But behind him was another - and he gave the old man a small alms.
And the old man bought himself a penny of bread for himself - and the begged-for piece seemed sweet to him - and there was no shame in his heart, but on the contrary: a quiet joy dawned on him.
(I.S. Turgenev "Alms")
Happy
Yes, once I was happy. I have long defined what happiness is, a very long time ago - at the age of six. And when it came to me, I did not immediately recognize it. But I remembered what it should be, and then I realized that I was happy. * * * I remember: I am six years old, my sister is four. Now we are tired and quiet. We stand side by side, looking out the window at the muddy spring twilight street. Spring twilight is always disturbing and always sad. And we are silent. We listen to how the lenses of the candelabra tremble from carts passing along the street. If we were big, we would think about human malice, about insults, about our love that we insulted, and about the love that we insulted ourselves, and about the happiness that No. But we are children and we don't know anything. We are just silent. We are afraid to turn around. It seems to us that the hall has already completely darkened and the whole big, noisy house in which we live has darkened. Why is he so quiet now? Maybe everyone left it and forgot us, little girls huddled up against the window in a huge dark room? (*61) Near my shoulder I see my sister's frightened, round eye. She looks at me – should she cry or not? - I say loudly and cheerfully. - Lena! Today I saw a horse-drawn carriage! I cannot tell her everything about the immensely joyful impression that the horse-drawn carriage made on me. The horses were white and ran quickly, soon; the car itself was red or yellow, beautiful, there were a lot of people in it, all strangers, so that they could get to know each other and even play some kind of quiet game. And behind on the footboard stood the conductor, all in gold - or maybe not all, but only a little, on buttons - and blew into a golden trumpet: - Rram-rra-ra! The sun itself rang in this pipe and flew out of her with golden-voiced splashes. How can you tell it all! You can only say: - Lena! I saw the horse-tram! Yes, and nothing else is needed. From my voice, from my face, she understood all the boundless beauty of this vision. And can anyone really jump into this chariot of joy and rush to the sound of the solar trumpet? - Rram-rra-ra! No, not everyone. Fraulein says you have to pay for it. That's why they don't take us there. We are locked in a boring, musty carriage with a rattling window, smelling of morocco and patchouli, and we are not even allowed to press our noses to the glass. But when we are big and rich, we will only ride a horse. We will, we will, we will be happy!
(Taffy. "Happy")
Petrushevskaya Lyudmila Kitten of the Lord God
One grandmother in the village fell ill, got bored and gathered for the next world.
Her son still didn’t come, didn’t answer the letter, so the grandmother prepared to die, let the cattle go into the herd, put a can of clean water by the bed, put a piece of bread under the pillow, placed the filthy bucket closer and lay down to read prayers, and the guardian angel stood by in her mind.
And a boy with his mother came to this village.
Everything was not bad with them, their own grandmother functioned, kept a vegetable garden, goats and chickens, but this grandmother did not particularly welcome when her grandson tore berries and cucumbers in the garden: all this was ripe and ripe for stocks for the winter, for jam and pickles the same grandson, and if necessary, the grandmother herself will give.
This expelled grandson was walking around the village and noticed a kitten, small, big-headed and pot-bellied, gray and fluffy.
The kitten strayed to the child, began to rub against his sandals, casting sweet dreams on the boy: how it will be possible to feed the kitten, sleep with him, play.
And the guardian angel rejoiced over the boys, standing behind his right shoulder, because everyone knows that the Lord himself equipped the kitten into the world, as he equips all of us, his children. And if the white light receives another creature sent by God, then this white light continues to live.
And every living creature is a test for those who have already settled: will they accept a new one or not.
So, the boy grabbed the kitten in his arms and began to stroke it and carefully press it to him. And behind his left elbow was a demon, who was also very interested in the kitten and the mass of opportunities associated with this particular kitten.
The guardian angel got worried and began to draw magical pictures: here the cat is sleeping on the boy’s pillow, here he is playing with a piece of paper, here he is walking like a dog at his leg ... And the demon pushed the boy under the left elbow and suggested: it would be nice to tie a tin can on the kitten’s tail! It would be nice to throw him into the pond and watch, dying with laughter, how he will try to swim out! Those bulging eyes! And many other different proposals were made by the demon into the hot head of the expelled boy, while he was walking home with a kitten in his arms.
And at home, the grandmother immediately scolded him, why did he carry the flea to the kitchen, his cat was sitting in the hut, and the boy objected that he would take him to the city with him, but then the mother entered into a conversation, and it was all over, the kitten was ordered carry away from where he took it and throw it over the fence.
The boy walked with the kitten and threw him over all the fences, and the kitten merrily jumped out to meet him after a few steps and again jumped and played with him.
So the boy reached the fence of that grandmother, who was about to die with a supply of water, and again the kitten was abandoned, but then he immediately disappeared.
And again the demon pushed the boy under the elbow and pointed him to someone else's good garden, where ripe raspberries and black currants hung, where gooseberries were golden.
The demon reminded the boy that the local grandmother was sick, the whole village knew about it, the grandmother was already bad, and the demon told the boy that no one would prevent him from eating raspberries and cucumbers.
The guardian angel began to persuade the boy not to do this, but the raspberries were so red in the rays of the setting sun!
The guardian angel cried that theft would not lead to good, that thieves were despised all over the earth and put in cages like pigs, and that it was a shame for a person to take someone else's - but it was all in vain!
Then the guardian angel finally began to instill fear in the boy that the grandmother would see from the window.
But the demon was already opening the gate of the garden with the words “he sees, but he will not come out” and laughed at the angel.
And the grandmother, lying in bed, suddenly noticed a kitten that climbed into her window, jumped onto the bed and turned on its motor, anointing itself in grandmother's frozen feet.
Grandmother was glad for him, her own cat was poisoned, apparently, with rat poison from neighbors in the garbage.
The kitten purred, rubbed its head against the grandmother's legs, received a piece of black bread from her, ate it and immediately fell asleep.
And we have already said that the kitten was not simple, but he was a kitten of the Lord God, and the magic happened at the same moment, they immediately knocked on the window, and the old woman’s son with his wife and child, hung with backpacks and bags, entered the hut: having received a letter from his mother, which arrived very late, he did not answer, no longer hoping for mail, but demanded a vacation, took his family and set off on a journey along the route bus - station - train - bus - bus - an hour on foot through two rivers, through the forest yes field, and finally arrived.
His wife, rolling up her sleeves, began to unpack bags of supplies, prepare dinner, he himself, taking a hammer, set off to repair the gate, their son kissed his grandmother on the nose, picked up a kitten and went into the raspberry garden, where he met a stranger boy, and here the guardian angel of the thief grabbed his head, and the demon retreated, chatting his tongue and smiling impudently, the unfortunate thief behaved in the same way.
The owner boy carefully put the kitten on an overturned bucket, and he gave the kidnapper a neck, and he rushed faster than the wind to the gate, which the grandmother's son had just begun to repair, blocking the whole space with his back.
The demon sneered through the fence, the angel covered himself with his sleeve and cried, but the kitten passionately stood up for the child, and the angel helped to compose that the boy didn’t climb into raspberries, but after his kitten, who supposedly ran away. Or was it the devil who composed it, standing behind the wattle fence and chatting his tongue, the boy did not understand.
In short, the boy was released, but the adult did not give him a kitten, he ordered him to come with his parents.
As for the grandmother, her fate still left her to live: in the evening she got up to meet the cattle, and in the morning she cooked jam, worrying that they would eat everything and there would be nothing to give her son to the city, and at noon she sheared a sheep and a ram in order to have time to knit mittens for the whole family and socks.
Here our life is needed - here we live.
And the boy, left without a kitten and without raspberries, walked gloomy, but that evening he received a bowl of strawberries with milk from his grandmother for no reason, and his mother read him a fairy tale for the night, and the guardian angel was immensely glad and settled down in the sleeping man's head , like all six-year-old children. Kitten of the Lord God One grandmother in the village fell ill, got bored and gathered for the next world. Her son still didn’t come, didn’t answer the letter, so the grandmother prepared to die, let the cattle go into the herd, put a can of clean water by the bed, put a piece of bread under the pillow, placed the filthy bucket closer and lay down to read prayers, and the guardian angel stood by in her mind. And a boy with his mother came to this village. Everything was not bad with them, their own grandmother functioned, kept a vegetable garden, goats and chickens, but this grandmother did not particularly welcome when her grandson tore berries and cucumbers in the garden: all this was ripe and ripe for stocks for the winter, for jam and pickles the same grandson, and if necessary, the grandmother herself will give. This expelled grandson was walking around the village and noticed a kitten, small, big-headed and pot-bellied, gray and fluffy. The kitten strayed to the child, began to rub against his sandals, casting sweet dreams on the boy: how it will be possible to feed the kitten, sleep with him, play. And the guardian angel rejoiced over the boys, standing behind his right shoulder, because everyone knows that the Lord himself equipped the kitten into the world, as he equips all of us, his children. And if the white light receives another creature sent by God, then this white light continues to live. And every living creature is a test for those who have already settled: will they accept a new one or not. So, the boy grabbed the kitten in his arms and began to stroke it and carefully press it to him. And behind his left elbow was a demon, who was also very interested in the kitten and the mass of opportunities associated with this particular kitten. The guardian angel became worried and began to draw magical pictures: here the cat is sleeping on the boy’s pillow, here he is playing with a piece of paper, here he is walking like a dog at his leg ... And the demon pushed the boy under the left elbow and suggested: it would be nice to tie a canning tin to the kitten’s tail jar! It would be nice to throw him into the pond and watch, dying with laughter, how he will try to swim out! Those bulging eyes! And many other different proposals were made by the demon into the hot head of the expelled boy, while he was walking home with a kitten in his arms. And at home, the grandmother immediately scolded him, why did he carry the flea to the kitchen, his cat was sitting in the hut, and the boy objected that he would take him to the city with him, but then the mother entered into a conversation, and it was all over, the kitten was ordered carry away from where he took it and throw it over the fence. The boy walked with the kitten and threw him over all the fences, and the kitten merrily jumped out to meet him after a few steps and again jumped and played with him. So the boy reached the fence of that grandmother, who was about to die with a supply of water, and again the kitten was abandoned, but then he immediately disappeared. And again the demon pushed the boy under the elbow and pointed him to someone else's good garden, where ripe raspberries and black currants hung, where gooseberries were golden. The demon reminded the boy that the local grandmother was sick, the whole village knew about it, the grandmother was already bad, and the demon told the boy that no one would prevent him from eating raspberries and cucumbers. The guardian angel began to persuade the boy not to do this, but the raspberries were so red in the rays of the setting sun! The guardian angel cried that theft would not lead to good, that thieves were despised all over the earth and put in cages like pigs, and that it was a shame for a person to take someone else's - but it was all in vain! Then the guardian angel finally began to instill fear in the boy that the grandmother would see from the window. But the demon was already opening the gate of the garden with the words "he sees, but does not come out" and laughed at the angel.
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. The grandmother slept on the 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!” "For what?" 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.
... He came from Borka's school, threw his coat and hat into his grandmother's hands, threw a bag of books on the table and shouted: “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 bad man is made stronger good shower it blooms.” Having eaten, Borka pushed the plate away from him: “Delicious jelly 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 grandmother'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!”
(V. Oseeva "Grandma")
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. 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? A? Wow! Will you give it to me home?
I said:
- No I will not give. Present. 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 speak:
- Compared Barbados with a dump truck ...
And Mishka:
- Well, do you want me to give you a swim ring?
I speak:
- 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, in the palm of your hand, 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 answered:
- 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 a valuable thing as a dump truck for this 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 come the 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. Street. 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 jam jar
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 Anryusha rises with them. There is no land, no water, no air. Complete airless space. It's called space. And the Earth somewhere far away flickers with a dim light. And melts, melts
Our planet has melted
and with it our country.
There is no white light here
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,
pot 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:
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 Vorobyeva 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?
A stupid 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 loved Hannibal like 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 we should go for a swim?" 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, elephant-father!” 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 deep night bent over the radio circuit with a soldering iron in her hands.
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 there was fumbling white mouse. 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. No! 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 little 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 them out of the cannons, and rise noise and roar.
“No, no,” Fritz Marie interrupted, “my godfather told me about a beautiful garden. There big lake, 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 Mamsell Trudchen (her big doll) had completely deteriorated: she had become so clumsy, she fell to the floor every now and then, so that her whole face was now covered 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 a fun holiday. 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 surprisingly small in stature. 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. This is true. 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 small 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 memo! - 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. Of the upper chests, by that time one 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 hardly studied English at the institute. 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 tell 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 told the 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 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 All-Russian competition"Living Classic"
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. "Storm".
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 " A 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 "Conduit and Shvambrania", Nikolai Nosov - for novels about Dunno, Vitaly Bianki - for "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 his 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? - All. - 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. - For what? “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 most interesting place, he became worried 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 crawled 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 pen 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, looking perplexedly at his golden pen, said: - How does it happen?.. This is how it turns out!.. 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)
Heading 5 Heading 615
V. Rozov "Wild Duck" from the cycle "Touch of the War")
The food was bad, I always wanted to eat. Sometimes food was given once a day, and then in the evening. Oh, how I wanted to eat! And on one of those days, when dusk was already approaching, and there was still not a crumb in our mouths, we, about eight fighters, were sitting on the high grassy bank of a quiet river and almost whined. Suddenly we see, without a gymnast. Something holding in hands. Another friend of ours is running towards us. Ran up. The face is radiant. The bundle is his tunic, and something is wrapped in it.
Look! Boris exclaims victoriously. He unfolds the tunic, and in it ... a live wild duck.
I see: sitting, hiding behind a bush. I took off my shirt and - hop! Have food! Let's fry.
The duck was weak, young. Turning her head from side to side, she looked at us with astonished beady eyes. She simply could not understand what kind of strange cute creatures surround her and look at her with such admiration. She did not break free, did not quack, did not strain her neck to slip out of the hands holding her. No, she looked around gracefully and curiously. Beautiful duck! And we are rough, unclean-shaven, hungry. Everyone admired the beauty. And a miracle happened, good fairy tale. Someone just said:
Let's let go!
Several logical remarks were thrown, such as: “What's the point, there are eight of us, and she is so small”, “Still messing around!”, “Borya, bring her back.” And, no longer covering anything, Boris carefully carried the duck back. Returning, he said:
I put her in the water. I dived. And where it surfaced, I did not see. I waited and waited to see, but I did not see. It's getting dark.
When life wraps me up, when you start cursing everyone and everything, you lose faith in people and you want to shout, as I once heard the cry of one very famous person: "I don't want to be with people, I want with dogs!" - in these moments of disbelief and despair, I remember a wild duck and think: no, no, you can believe in people. This will all pass, everything will be fine.
I can be told; “Well, yes, it was you, intellectuals, artists, everything can be expected about you.” No, in the war everything was mixed up and turned into one whole - single and invisible. In any case, the one where I served. There were two thieves in our group who had just been released from prison. One proudly told how he managed to steal a crane. Apparently he was talented. But he also said: “Let go!”
______________________________________________________________________________________
Parable about life - Life values
Once a wise man, standing in front of his students, did the following. He took a big glass vessel and filled it to the brim with large stones. Having done this, he asked the disciples if the vessel was full. Everyone confirmed that it was full.
Then the sage took a box of small pebbles, poured it into a vessel and gently shook it several times. Pebbles rolled into the gaps between large stones and filled them. After that, he again asked the disciples if the vessel was now full. They again confirmed the fact - full.
And finally, the sage took a box of sand from the table and poured it into a vessel. The sand, of course, filled the last gaps in the vessel.
Now,” the sage addressed his disciples, “I would like you to be able to recognize your life in this vessel!”
Large stones represent important things in life: your family, your loved one, your health, your children - those things that, even without everything else, can still fill your life. Small stones represent less important things, such as your job, your apartment, your house, or your car. Sand symbolizes life's little things, everyday fuss. If you first fill your vessel with sand, then there will be no room for larger stones.
It is the same in life - if you spend all your energy on small things, then there will be nothing left for big things.
Therefore, pay attention first of all to important things - find time for your children and loved ones, watch your health. You will still have enough time for work, for home, for celebrations and everything else. Watch your big stones - they are the only ones that have value, everything else is just sand.
A. Green. Scarlet Sails
She sat with her legs tucked up, her hands around her knees. Leaning attentively towards the sea, she looked at the horizon with large eyes, in which there was nothing left of an adult, - the eyes of a child. Everything that she had been waiting for so long and fervently was done there - at the end of the world. She saw in the land of distant depths an underwater hill; climbing plants streamed upward from its surface; among their round leaves, pierced at the edge with a stalk, bizarre flowers shone. The upper leaves glistened on the surface of the ocean; the one who knew nothing, as Assol knew, saw only awe and brilliance.
A ship rose from the thicket; he surfaced and stopped in the very middle of the dawn. From this distance he was visible as clear as clouds. Scattering joy, he burned like wine, a rose, blood, lips, scarlet velvet and crimson fire. The ship was heading straight for Assol. The wings of foam fluttered under the powerful pressure of his keel; already, having risen, the girl pressed her hands to her chest, as a wonderful play of light turned into a swell; the sun rose, and the bright fullness of the morning pulled the covers from everything that was still basking, stretching on the sleepy earth.
The girl sighed and looked around. The music stopped, but Assol was still at the mercy of her sonorous choir. This impression gradually weakened, then became a memory and, finally, just tiredness. She lay down on the grass, yawned and, blissfully closing her eyes, fell asleep - really, a sleep as strong as a young nut, without worries and dreams.
She was awakened by a fly roaming on her bare foot. Turning her leg restlessly, Assol woke up; sitting, she pinned up her disheveled hair, so Gray's ring reminded of itself, but considering it nothing more than a stalk stuck between her fingers, she straightened it; since the hindrance did not disappear, she impatiently raised her hand to her eyes and straightened up, instantly jumping up with the force of a splashing fountain.
Gray's radiant ring shone on her finger, as if on someone else's - she could not recognize her own at that moment, she did not feel her finger. - “Whose thing is this? Whose joke? she exclaimed rapidly. - Am I sleeping? Maybe you found it and forgot? Grasping her right hand, on which there was a ring, with her left hand, she looked around in amazement, searching the sea and green thickets with her gaze; but no one moved, no one hid in the bushes, and in the blue, far-lit sea there was no sign, and a blush covered Assol, and the voices of the heart said a prophetic "yes." There were no explanations for what had happened, but without words or thoughts she found them in her strange feeling, and the ring became close to her. Trembling, she pulled it off her finger; holding it in a handful like water, she examined it - with all her soul, with all her heart, with all the glee and clear superstition of youth, then, hiding it behind her bodice, Assol buried her face in her hands, from under which a smile broke uncontrollably, and, lowering her head, slowly went back the way.
So, - by chance, as people who can read and write say - Gray and Assol found each other in the morning summer day full of inevitability.
"A note". Tatyana Petrosyan
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?
(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.
________________________________________________________________________________________
The candle was burning. Mike Gelprin
The bell rang when Andrei Petrovich had lost all hope.
Hello, I'm on the ad. Do you give literature lessons?
Andrei Petrovich peered into the screen of the videophone. A man in his thirties. Strictly dressed - suit, tie. He smiles, but his eyes are serious. Andrei Petrovich's heart skipped a beat, he posted the ad on the net only out of habit. There were six calls in ten years. Three got the wrong number, two more turned out to be old-fashioned insurance agents, and one confused literature with a ligature.
I give lessons, - Andrey Petrovich stammered from excitement. - N-at home. Are you interested in literature?
Interested, - nodded the interlocutor. - My name is Max. Let me know what the conditions are.
"For nothing!" almost escaped Andrey Petrovich.
Pay by the hour, he forced himself to say. - By agreement. When would you like to start?
I, in fact ... - the interlocutor hesitated.
Let's go tomorrow, - Maxim said decisively. - At ten in the morning will suit you? By nine I take the children to school, and then I am free until two.
Arrange, - Andrey Petrovich was delighted. - Write down the address.
Speak, I will remember.
That night Andrey Petrovich did not sleep, walked around the tiny room, almost a cell, not knowing what to do with his shaking hands. For twelve years now he had been living on a beggarly allowance. Ever since the day he was fired.
You are too narrow a specialist, - then, hiding his eyes, the director of the lyceum for children with humanitarian inclinations said. - We appreciate you as an experienced teacher, but here is your subject, alas. Tell me, do you want to retrain? The lyceum could partially cover the cost of education. Virtual ethics, the basics of virtual law, the history of robotics - you could very well teach it. Even cinema is still quite popular. He, of course, did not have long left, but in your lifetime ... What do you think?
Andrei Petrovich refused, which he later regretted a lot. It was not possible to find a new job, literature remained in a few educational institutions, the last libraries were closed, philologists one after another retrained in all sorts of things. For a couple of years, he knocked on the thresholds of gymnasiums, lyceums and special schools. Then he stopped. I spent half a year on retraining courses. When his wife left, he left them too.
Savings quickly ran out, and Andrei Petrovich had to tighten his belt. Then sell the air car, old but reliable. Antique service, left from my mother, behind him things. And then ... Andrey Petrovich felt sick every time he remembered this - then it was the turn of books. Ancient, thick, paper, also from my mother. Collectors gave good money for rarities, so Count Tolstoy fed for a whole month. Dostoevsky - two weeks. Bunin - one and a half.
As a result, Andrey Petrovich had fifty books left - his most beloved, re-read ten times, those with which he could not part. Remarque, Hemingway, Marquez, Bulgakov, Brodsky, Pasternak... Books stood on a bookcase, occupying four shelves, Andrei Petrovich wiped dust from the spines every day.
“If this guy, Maxim,” Andrey Petrovich thought randomly, nervously pacing from wall to wall, “if he ... Then, perhaps, it will be possible to buy Balmont back. Or Murakami. Or Amada.
Nothing, Andrey Petrovich suddenly realized. It doesn't matter if you can buy it back. He can convey, that's it, that's the only important thing. Hand over! Pass on to others what he knows, what he has.
Maxim rang the doorbell at exactly ten, to the minute.
Come in, - Andrey Petrovich began to fuss. - Have a seat. Here, in fact ... Where would you like to start?
Maxim hesitated, carefully sat down on the edge of the chair.
What do you think is necessary. You see, I'm a layman. Full. They didn't teach me anything.
Yes, yes, of course, - nodded Andrei Petrovich. - Like everyone else. IN general education schools Literature has not been taught for almost a hundred years. And now they no longer teach in special schools.
Nowhere? Maxim asked quietly.
I'm afraid it's nowhere. You see, the crisis began at the end of the twentieth century. There was no time to read. First to the children, then the children grew up, and there was no time for their children to read. Even more once than parents. Other pleasures appeared - mostly virtual ones. Games. All sorts of tests, quests ... - Andrey Petrovich waved his hand. - Well, of course, technology. Technical disciplines began to replace the humanities. Cybernetics, quantum mechanics and electrodynamics, high energy physics. And literature, history, geography receded into the background. Especially literature. Are you following, Maxim?
Yes, please continue.
In the twenty-first century, books stopped printing, paper was replaced by electronics. But even in the electronic version, the demand for literature fell - rapidly, several times in each new generation compared to the previous one. As a result, the number of writers decreased, then they disappeared altogether - people stopped writing. Philologists lasted a hundred years longer - due to what was written in the previous twenty centuries.
Andrei Petrovich fell silent, wiped his suddenly sweaty forehead with his hand.
It’s not easy for me to talk about this,” he said at last. - I realize that the process is natural. Literature died because it did not get along with progress. But here are the children, you understand... Children! Literature was what molded minds. Especially poetry. That which determined the inner world of man, his spirituality. Children grow up without spirituality, that's what's terrible, that's what's terrible, Maxim!
I myself came to this conclusion, Andrey Petrovich. And that is why I turned to you.
Do you have children?
Yes, - Maxim hesitated. - Two. Pavlik and Anya, good weather. Andrei Petrovich, I only need the basics. I will find literature on the net, I will read. I just need to know what. And what to focus on. You learn me?
Yes, - said Andrey Petrovich firmly. - I'll teach.
He stood up, crossed his arms over his chest, concentrated.
Pasternak,” he said solemnly. - It's snowy, it's snowy all over the earth, to all limits. A candle burned on the table, a candle burned ...
Will you come tomorrow, Maxim? - trying to calm the trembling in his voice, asked Andrey Petrovich.
Certainly. Only now ... You know, I work as a manager for a wealthy married couple. I run the household, do business, set up accounts. I have a low salary. But I, - Maxim looked around the room, - I can bring food. Some things, perhaps household appliances. For payment. Will it suit you?
Andrei Petrovich involuntarily blushed. It would suit him for free.
Of course, Maxim, - he said. - Thank you. I'm waiting for you tomorrow.
Literature is not only what is written about, - Andrei Petrovich said, pacing around the room. - This is also how it is written. Language, Maxim, is the same tool used by great writers and poets. Here listen.
Maxim listened intently. He seemed to be trying to memorize, to memorize the teacher's speech.
Pushkin, - Andrey Petrovich said and began to recite.
"Tavrida", "Anchar", "Eugene Onegin".
Lermontov "Mtsyri".
Baratynsky, Yesenin, Mayakovsky, Blok, Balmont, Akhmatova, Gumilyov, Mandelstam, Vysotsky...
Maxim listened.
Not tired? Andrey Petrovich asked.
No, no, what are you. Please continue.
The day changed into a new one. Andrei Petrovich perked up, awakened to a life in which meaning suddenly appeared. Poetry was replaced by prose, it took much more time, but Maxim turned out to be a grateful student. He caught on the fly. Andrei Petrovich never ceased to be surprised how Maxim, at first deaf to the word, not perceiving, not feeling the harmony embedded in the language, comprehended it every day and learned it better, deeper than the previous one.
Balzac, Hugo, Maupassant, Dostoevsky, Turgenev, Bunin, Kuprin.
Bulgakov, Hemingway, Babel, Remarque, Marquez, Nabokov.
Eighteenth century, nineteenth, twentieth.
Classics, fiction, science fiction, detective.
Stevenson, Twain, Conan Doyle, Sheckley, Strugatskys, Weiners, Japriso.
One day, on Wednesday, Maxim did not come. Andrey Petrovich spent the whole morning waiting, persuading himself that he might fall ill. I couldn't, whispered an inner voice, stubborn and absurd. Scrupulous pedantic Maxim could not. He never missed a minute in a year and a half. And he didn't even call. By evening Andrey Petrovich could no longer find a place for himself, and at night he never closed his eyes. By ten in the morning he was completely exhausted, and when it became clear that Maxim would not come again, he wandered to the videophone.
The number is out of service, - said the mechanical voice.
The next few days passed like one bad dream. Even his favorite books did not save him from acute anguish and the reappeared feeling of his own worthlessness, which Andrei Petrovich did not remember for a year and a half. Call hospitals, morgues, an obsessive buzz in the temple. And what to ask? Or about whom? Did a certain Maxim act, about thirty years old, excuse me, I don’t know his last name?
Andrei Petrovich got out of the house when it became unbearable to stay within the four walls.
Ah, Petrovich! - welcomed the old man Nefyodov, a neighbor from below. - Long time no see. Why don't you go out, are you ashamed, or what? So you don't seem to mind.
In what sense am I ashamed? Andrey Petrovich was taken aback.
Well, what about this, yours, - Nefyodov ran the edge of his hand across his throat. - who visited you. I kept thinking why Petrovich, in his old age, got in touch with this audience.
What are you about? Andrey Petrovich felt cold inside. - With what audience?
It is known from what. I see these pigeons right away. Thirty years, count, worked with them.
With whom with them? Andrey Petrovich pleaded. - What are you talking about?
Do you really not know? - Nefyodov was alarmed. “Look at the news, it’s all over the place.
Andrei Petrovich did not remember how he got to the elevator. He climbed up to the fourteenth, with trembling hands fumbled in his pocket for the key. On the fifth attempt, he opened it, minced to the computer, connected to the network, scrolled through the news feed. My heart suddenly skipped a beat. Maxim looked from the photo, the lines of italics under the picture blurred before his eyes.
“Caught by the owners,” Andrey Petrovich read from the screen, focusing his vision with difficulty, “of stealing food, clothing and household appliances. Home robot tutor, DRG-439K series. Control program defect. He stated that he independently came to the conclusion about the childish lack of spirituality, with which he decided to fight. Arbitrarily taught children subjects outside the school curriculum. He hid his activities from the owners. Withdrawn from circulation ... In fact, disposed of .... The public is concerned about the manifestation ... The issuing company is ready to suffer ... A specially created committee decided ... ".
Andrei Petrovich got up. On shaky legs, he walked into the kitchen. He opened the sideboard, on the bottom shelf was an open bottle of cognac brought by Maxim as payment for tuition. Andrey Petrovich tore off the cork and looked around in search of a glass. I didn’t find it and pulled it out of my throat. He coughed, dropping the bottle, and staggered back against the wall. His knees gave way, Andrei Petrovich sank heavily to the floor.
Down the drain, came the final thought. All down the drain. All this time he trained the robot.
Soulless, defective piece of iron. He put everything he has into it. Everything that is worth living for. Everything he lived for.
Andrey Petrovich, overcoming the pain that seized his heart, got up. He dragged himself to the window, tightly wrapped the transom. Now the gas stove. Open the burners and wait half an hour. And that's it.
The knock on the door caught him halfway to the stove. Andrei Petrovich, clenching his teeth, moved to open it. There were two children in the doorway. A boy of ten. And the girl is a year or two younger.
Do you give literature lessons? - looking from under the bangs falling over her eyes, the girl asked.
What? - Andrei Petrovich was taken aback. - Who are you?
I am Pavlik, - the boy took a step forward. - This is Anechka, my sister. We are from Max.
From… From whom?!
From Max, - stubbornly repeated the boy. - He told me to deliver. Before he... how his...
It's snowy, it's snowy all over the earth to all limits! the girl suddenly cried out loudly.
Andrei Petrovich grabbed his heart, swallowing convulsively, stuffed it, pushed it back into his chest.
Are you kidding? He spoke softly, barely audibly.
The candle was burning on the table, the candle was burning, the boy said firmly. - This is what he ordered to pass, Max. Will you teach us?
Andrei Petrovich, clinging to the door frame, stepped back.
My God, he said. - Come in. Come in kids.
____________________________________________________________________________________
Leonid Kaminsky
Composition
Lena sat at the table and did her homework. It was getting dark, but from the snow, which lay in snowdrifts in the yard, it was still light in the room.
In front of Lena lay an open notebook in which only two phrases were written:
How do I help my mom?
Composition.
Further work did not go. Somewhere near the neighbors a tape recorder was playing. One could hear Alla Pugacheva persistently repeating: “I so want the summer not to end! ..”.
“But it’s true,” Lena thought dreamily, “it’s good if summer didn’t end! .. Sunbathe yourself, swim, and no writings for you!”
She read the headline again: How I Help Mom. “How can I help? And when to help here, if they ask so much at home!
A light went on in the room: it was my mother who came in.
- Sit, sit, I won't disturb you, I'll just tidy up the room a little. She began wiping the bookshelves with a rag.
Lena began to write:
“I help my mother with the housework. I clean the apartment, wipe the dust off the furniture with a rag.
Why are you throwing your clothes all over the room? Mom asked. The question was, of course, rhetorical, because my mother did not expect an answer. She began to put things in the closet.
“I put things in their places,” Lena wrote.
“By the way, your apron should be washed,” Mom continued talking to herself.
“I’m washing clothes,” Lena wrote, then she thought and added: “And I’m ironing.”
“Mom, a button on my dress came off,” Lena reminded me and wrote: “I sew on buttons if necessary.”
Mom sewed on a button, then went out into the kitchen and returned with a bucket and a mop.
Pushing the chairs back, she started wiping the floor.
“Come on, put your feet up,” Mom said, deftly wielding a rag.
- Mom, you're bothering me! - Lena grumbled and, without lowering her legs, she wrote: "My floors."
Something burning came from the kitchen.
- Oh, I have potatoes on the stove! Mom screamed and rushed to the kitchen.
“I’m peeling potatoes and cooking dinner,” Lena wrote.
- Lena, have dinner! Mom called from the kitchen.
- Now! Lena leaned back in her chair and stretched.
The bell rang in the hallway.
Lena, this is for you! Mom shouted.
Olya, Lena's classmate, entered the room, flushed with frost.
- I do not for a long time. Mom sent for bread, and I decided on the way - to you.
Lena took a pen and wrote: "I go to the store for bread and other products."
- Are you writing an essay? Olya asked. - Let me see.
Olya looked into the notebook and burst out:
- Wow! Yes, this is not true! You wrote it all!
Who said you can't compose? Lena was offended. – After all, that’s why it’s called so: co-chi-non-nie!
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Texts for learning by heart for the competition "Live Classics-2017"
An excerpt from the story
Chapter II
My mommy
I had a mother, affectionate, kind, sweet. We lived with my mother in a small house on the banks of the Volga. The house was so clean and bright, and from the windows of our apartment one could see the wide, beautiful Volga, and huge two-story steamships, and barges, and a pier on the shore, and crowds of strollers who went out at certain hours to this pier to meet the incoming steamers ... And my mother and I went there, only rarely, very rarely: mother gave lessons in our city, and she was not allowed to walk with me as often as I would like. Mommy said:
Wait, Lenusha, I'll save up some money and take you up the Volga from our Rybinsk all the way to Astrakhan! Then we'll have fun.
I rejoiced and waited for spring.
By the spring, mommy saved up a little money, and we decided to fulfill our idea with the very first warm days.
- That's as soon as the Volga is cleared of ice, we will ride with you! Mom said, gently stroking my head.
But when the ice broke, she caught a cold and began to cough. The ice passed, the Volga cleared up, and Mom kept coughing and coughing endlessly. She suddenly became thin and transparent, like wax, and kept sitting by the window, looking at the Volga and repeating:
- Here the cough will pass, I will get better a little, and we will ride with you to Astrakhan, Lenusha!
But the cough and cold did not go away; the summer was damp and cold this year, and every day mommy became thinner, paler and more transparent.
Autumn has come. September has arrived. Long lines of cranes stretched over the Volga, flying to warm countries. Mommy no longer sat at the window in the living room, but lay on the bed and shivered all the time from the cold, while she herself was hot as fire.
Once she called me to her and said:
- Listen, Lenusha. Your mother will soon leave you forever... But don't worry, dear. I will always look at you from the sky and rejoice at good deeds my girl and...
I did not let her finish and wept bitterly. And Mommy also cried, and her eyes became sad, sad, exactly the same as those of the angel whom I saw on the big image in our church.
After calming down a little, Mom spoke again:
- I feel that the Lord will soon take me to Himself, and may His holy will be done! Be smart without a mother, pray to God and remember me... You will go to live with your uncle, my brother, who lives in St. Petersburg... I wrote to him about you and asked him to take in an orphan...
Something painfully painful at the word "orphan" squeezed my throat ...
I sobbed, wept, and thrashed around my mother's bed. Maryushka (a cook who had lived with us for nine whole years, from the very year of my birth, and who loved mother and me without memory) came and took me to her, saying that "mother needs peace."
I fell asleep all in tears that night on Maryushka's bed, and in the morning ... Oh, what a morning! ..
I woke up very early, I think at six o'clock, and I wanted to run straight to my mother.
At that moment Maryushka came in and said:
- Pray to God, Lenochka: God took your mother to him. Your mom has died.
- Mom's dead! I repeated like an echo.
And suddenly I felt so cold, cold! Then there was a noise in my head, and the whole room, and Maryushka, and the ceiling, and the table, and chairs - everything turned upside down and swirled in my eyes, and I no longer remember what happened to me after that. I think I fell to the floor unconscious...
I woke up when my mother was already lying in a large white box, in a white dress, with a white wreath on her head. An old gray-haired priest recited prayers, the choristers sang, and Maryushka prayed at the threshold of the bedroom. Some old women came and also prayed, then looked at me with pity, shook their heads and mumbled something with their toothless mouths...
- Orphan! Round orphan! said Maryushka, also shaking her head and looking at me pitifully, and weeping. Old women were crying...
On the third day, Maryushka took me to the white box in which Mama was lying and told me to kiss Mama's hand. Then the priest blessed mother, the singers sang something very sad; some men came up, closed the white box and carried it out of our house...
I cried out loud. But then the old women I already knew arrived in time, saying that they were carrying my mother to be buried and that there was no need to cry, but to pray.
The white box was brought to the church, we defended the mass, and then some people came up again, picked up the box and carried it to the cemetery. A deep black hole had already been dug there, where Mom's coffin was lowered. Then they covered the hole with earth, put a white cross over it, and Maryushka took me home.
On the way, she told me that in the evening she would take me to the station, put me on a train and send me to Petersburg to my uncle.
“I don’t want to go to my uncle,” I said gloomily, “I don’t know any uncle and I’m afraid to go to him!”
But Maryushka said that she was ashamed to speak like that to the big girl, that her mother heard it and that she was hurt by my words.
Then I quieted down and began to remember my uncle's face.
I never saw my St. Petersburg uncle, but there was his portrait in my mother's album. He was depicted on it in a golden embroidered uniform, with many orders and with a star on his chest. He had very important view and I was unwittingly afraid of him.
After dinner, which I barely touched, Maryushka packed all my dresses and underwear into an old suitcase, gave me tea to drink, and took me to the station.
Lydia Charskaya
NOTES OF A LITTLE GIRL STUDENT
An excerpt from the story
Chapter XXI
To the sound of the wind and the whistle of a blizzard
The wind whistled, squealed, grunted and hummed in different ways. Now in a plaintive thin voice, now in a rough bass rumble, he sang his battle song. The lanterns flickered almost imperceptibly through the huge white flakes of snow that fell in abundance on the sidewalks, on the street, on carriages, horses and passers-by. And I went on and on, on and on...
Nyurochka told me:
“We must first go through a long big street, on which there are such tall houses and luxurious shops, then turn right, then left, then right again and left again, and there everything is straight, right to the very end - to our house. You will immediately recognize him. It is near the cemetery itself, there is also a white church ... such a beautiful one.
I did so. Everything went straight, as it seemed to me, along a long and wide street, but I did not see any tall houses or luxurious shops. Everything was obscured from my eyes by a living loose wall of noiselessly falling huge flakes of snow, white as a shroud. I turned to the right, then to the left, then to the right again, doing everything exactly as Nyurochka told me, and everything went on and on and on without end.
The wind ruthlessly ruffled the floors of my burnusik, piercing me with cold through and through. Snow flakes hit my face. Now I was not going as fast as before. My legs felt like lead from fatigue, my whole body shivered from the cold, my hands froze, and I could barely move my fingers. Having turned almost for the fifth time to the right and to the left, I now went on a straight path. Quietly, barely perceptibly flickering lights of lanterns came across to me less and less often ... The noise from the horse-drawn carriages and carriages on the streets subsided considerably, and the path along which I was walking seemed to me deaf and deserted.
At last the snow began to thin; huge flakes did not fall so often now. The distance cleared up a little, but instead it was such a thick twilight around me that I could barely see the road.
Now neither the noise of the ride, nor the voices, nor the exclamations of the coachmen could be heard around me.
What silence! What dead silence!
But what is it?
My eyes, already accustomed to the semi-darkness, now distinguish the surroundings. Lord, where am I?
No houses, no streets, no carriages, no pedestrians. In front of me is an endless, vast expanse of snow... Some forgotten buildings along the edges of the road... Some kind of fences, and in front of me is something huge black. It must be a park or a forest, I don't know.
I turned back... Lights flicker behind me... lights... lights... How many of them! Without end... without counting!
- Oh my God, this is a city! City, of course! I exclaim. - And I went to the outskirts ...
Nyurochka said that they lived on the outskirts. Yes of course! What is darkening in the distance, this is the cemetery! There is a church, and, not reaching, their house! Everything, everything happened as she said. And I got scared! That's stupid!
And with joyful animation, I again cheerfully walked forward.
But it was not there!
My legs now barely obeyed me. I could barely move them from exhaustion. The incredible cold made me tremble from head to toe, my teeth chattered, my head was noisy, and something hit my temples with all its might. To all this, some strange drowsiness was added. I was so sleepy, so terribly sleepy!
"Well, well, a little more - and you will be with your friends, you will see Nikifor Matveyevich, Nyura, their mother, Seryozha!" I mentally cheered myself up as best I could.
But that didn't help either.
My legs could hardly move, now I could hardly pull them out, first one, then the other, out of the deep snow. But they move more and more slowly, everything ... quieter ... And the noise in my head becomes more and more audible, and something hits my temples more and more strongly ...
Finally, I can’t stand it and sink into a snowdrift that has formed on the edge of the road.
Ah, how good! What a sweet way to relax! Now I don't feel any fatigue or pain... Some kind of pleasant warmth spreads all over my body... Oh, how good! So I would sit here and not go anywhere from here! And if it were not for the desire to find out what happened to Nikifor Matveyevich, and to visit him, healthy or sick, I would certainly fall asleep here for an hour or two ... I fell asleep soundly! Moreover, the cemetery is not far away... You can see it there. A mile or two, no more...
The snow stopped falling, the blizzard subsided a little, and the moon emerged from behind the clouds.
Oh, it would be better if the moon did not shine and I would not know at least the sad reality!
No cemetery, no church, no houses - there is nothing ahead! .. Only the forest turns black as a huge black spot far away, and a white dead field spreads around me with an endless veil ...
Horror gripped me.
Now I just realized that I was lost.
Lev Tolstoy
Swans
Swans flew in herds from the cold side to the warm lands. They flew across the sea. They flew day and night, and another day and another night they flew over the water without rest. There was a full moon in the sky, and far below the swans saw blue water. All the swans are tired, flapping their wings; but they did not stop and flew on. Old, strong swans flew in front, those that were younger and weaker flew behind. One young swan flew behind everyone. His strength has weakened. He flapped his wings and could not fly further. Then he, spreading his wings, went down. He descended closer and closer to the water; and his comrades further and further whitened in the moonlight. The swan descended into the water and folded its wings. The sea stirred under him and rocked him. A flock of swans was barely visible as a white line in the bright sky. And it was barely audible in the silence how their wings rang. When they were completely out of sight, the swan bent his neck back and closed his eyes. He did not move, and only the sea, rising and falling in a wide strip, raised and lowered him. Before dawn, a light breeze began to stir the sea. And the water splashed into the white chest of the swan. The swan opened his eyes. In the east the dawn was reddening, and the moon and the stars became paler. The swan sighed, stretched out his neck and flapped his wings, rose and flew, catching his wings on the water. He climbed higher and higher and flew alone over the dark rippling waves.
Paulo Coelho
Parable "The Secret of Happiness"
One merchant sent his son to learn the Secret of Happiness from the wisest of all people. The young man walked for forty days through the desert and,
Finally, he came to a beautiful castle that stood on top of a mountain. There lived the sage he was looking for. However, instead of the expected meeting with a wise man, our hero ended up in a hall where everything was seething: merchants entered and left, people were talking in the corner, a small orchestra played sweet melodies and there was a table laden with the most delicious dishes of the area. The sage talked with different people, and the young man had to wait for his turn for about two hours.
The sage listened attentively to the young man's explanations about the purpose of his visit, but said in response that he did not have time to reveal to him the Secret of Happiness. And he invited him to take a walk around the palace and come back in two hours.
“However, I want to ask for one favor,” added the sage, holding out a small spoon to the young man, into which he dropped two drops of oil. - Throughout the walk, hold this spoon in your hand so that the oil does not spill out.
The young man began to go up and down the palace stairs, keeping his eyes on the spoon. After two hours he returned to the sage.
- Well, - he asked, - have you seen the Persian carpets that are in my dining room? Have you seen the park that the head gardener has been creating for ten years? Have you noticed the beautiful parchments in my library?
The young man, embarrassed, had to confess that he had not seen anything. His only concern was not to spill the drops of oil that the sage had entrusted to him.
“Well, come back and get acquainted with the wonders of my Universe,” the sage told him. You can't trust a man if you don't know the house he lives in.
Calmed down, the young man took a spoon and again went for a walk around the palace; this time, paying attention to all the works of art hanging on the walls and ceilings of the palace. He saw gardens surrounded by mountains, the most delicate flowers, the delicacy with which each piece of art was placed exactly where it needed to be.
Returning to the sage, he described in detail everything he saw.
“Where are those two drops of oil that I entrusted to you?” the Sage asked.
And the young man, looking at the spoon, found that all the oil had spilled out.
“That is the only advice I can give you: The secret of happiness is to look at all the wonders of the world, while never forgetting two drops of oil in your spoon.
Leonardo da Vinci
Parable "NEVOD"
And once again the net brought a rich catch. The fishermen's baskets were filled to the brim with heads, carps, tenches, pikes, eels and many other victuals. Whole fish families
with children and household members, were taken to the market stalls and were preparing to end their existence, writhing in agony in hot pans and boiling cauldrons.
The fish remaining in the river, confused and seized with fear, not daring even to swim, dug deeper into the silt. How to live on? One cannot cope with the seine alone. It is thrown daily in the most unexpected places. He mercilessly kills the fish, and in the end the whole river will be devastated.
- We must think about the fate of our children. No one, except us, will take care of them and save them from a terrible delusion, - the minnows, who had gathered for advice under a large snag, argued.
- But what can we do? - Tench asked timidly, listening to the speeches of the daredevils.
- Destroy the net! - minnows answered in unison. On the same day, omniscient nimble eels spread the message along the river
about a bold decision. All fish, young and old, were invited to gather tomorrow at dawn in a deep, quiet pool, protected by spreading willows.
Thousands of fish of all colors and ages sailed to the appointed place to declare war on the seine.
- Listen carefully! - said the carp, which more than once managed to gnaw through the nets and escape from captivity. - A net as wide as our river. To keep it upright under water, lead sinkers are attached to its lower knots. I order all the fish to divide into two flocks. The first must lift the sinkers from the bottom to the surface, and the second flock will firmly hold the upper nodes of the network. Pike are instructed to gnaw through the ropes with which the seine is attached to both banks.
With bated breath, the fish listened to every word of the leader.
- I order the eels to immediately go on reconnaissance! - continued the carp. - They should establish where the seine is thrown.
The eels went on a mission, and the fish schools huddled along the shore in agonizing expectation. Minnows, meanwhile, tried to encourage the most timid and advised not to panic, even if someone fell into the net: after all, the fishermen would still not be able to pull him ashore.
Finally the eels returned and reported that the net had already been abandoned about a mile down the river.
And now a huge armada of fish flocks swam to the goal, led by a wise carp.
- Swim carefully! - warned the leader. - Look at both, so that the current does not drag in the net. Work with might and main fins and slow down in time!
A seine appeared ahead, gray and ominous. Seized with a fit of anger, the fish boldly rushed to the attack.
Soon the net was raised from the bottom, the ropes holding it were cut by sharp pike teeth, and the knots were torn. But the angry fish did not calm down and continued to pounce on the hated enemy. Grasping the crippled leaky seine with their teeth and working hard with their fins and tails, they dragged him into different sides and tore into small pieces. The water in the river seemed to boil.
The fishermen talked for a long time, scratching their heads, about the mysterious disappearance of the net, and the fish still proudly tell this story to their children.
Leonardo da Vinci
Parable "PELICAN"
As soon as the pelican went in search of food, the viper sitting in ambush immediately crawled, stealthily, to its nest. Fluffy chicks slept peacefully, not knowing anything. The snake crawled close to them. Her eyes flashed with an ominous gleam - and the massacre began.
Having received a fatal bite, the peacefully sleeping chicks did not wake up.
Satisfied with what she had done, the villainess crawled into the shelter in order to enjoy the grief of the bird from there.
Soon the pelican returned from hunting. At the sight of the brutal massacre inflicted on the chicks, he burst into loud sobs, and all the inhabitants of the forest fell silent, shocked by unheard-of cruelty.
- Without you there is no life for me now! - the unfortunate father lamented, looking at the dead children. - Let me die with you!
And he began to tear his chest with his beak at the very heart. Hot blood gushed from the open wound in streams, sprinkling the lifeless chicks.
Losing his last strength, the dying pelican cast a farewell glance at the nest with the dead chicks and suddenly shuddered in surprise.
O miracle! His shed blood and parental love brought dear chicks back to life, snatching them from the clutches of death. And then, happy, he expired.
lucky
Sergey Silin
Antoshka ran down the street, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jacket, stumbled and, falling, had time to think: “I’ll break my nose!” But he didn't have time to get his hands out of his pockets.
And suddenly, right in front of him, out of nowhere, a small, strong man the size of a cat appeared.
The peasant stretched out his arms and took Antoshka on them, softening the blow.
Antoshka rolled onto his side, got up on one knee and looked at the peasant in surprise:
- Who are you?
- Lucky.
- Who-who?
- Lucky. I will make sure you are lucky.
- Does every person have a lucky one? - asked Antoshka.
“No, there aren’t many of us,” the man replied. - We just go from one to another. From today I will be with you.
- I'm starting to get lucky! Antoshka rejoiced.
- Exactly! - Lucky nodded.
- And when will you leave me for another?
- When required. I remember that I served a merchant for several years. And one pedestrian was helped for only two seconds.
- Yeah! thought Antoshka. - So I need
anything to wish?
- No no! The man raised his hands in protest. - I'm not a wish maker! I only help a little smart and hardworking. I just stay close and make sure that a person is lucky. Where did my invisibility cap go?
He fumbled around with his hands, felt for the invisibility cap, put it on, and disappeared.
- Are you here? - just in case Antoshka asked.
“Here, here,” said Lucky. - Don't look at
me attention. Antoshka put his hands in his pockets and ran home. And wow, lucky: I had time to the beginning of the cartoon to the minute!
Mom came home from work an hour later.
- And I got an award! she said with a smile. -
Let's go shopping!
And she went to the kitchen for the packages.
- Mom also got lucky? Antoshka asked his assistant in a whisper.
- No. She's lucky because we're close.
- Mom, I'm with you! shouted Antoshka.
Two hours later they returned home with a mountain of purchases.
- Just a streak of luck! Mom wondered, her eyes sparkling. All my life I have dreamed of such a blouse!
- And I'm talking about such a cake! - Antoshka cheerfully responded from the bathroom.
The next day at school, he received three fives, two fours, found two rubles and reconciled with Vasya Potereshkin.
And when, whistling, he returned home, he discovered that he had lost the keys to the apartment.
- Lucky, where are you? he called.
A tiny, unkempt woman peeked out from under the stairs. Her hair was disheveled, her nose, her dirty sleeve was torn, her shoes were asking for porridge.
- You didn't have to whistle! - she smiled and added: - I'm unlucky! What, upset, huh? ..
Don't worry, don't worry! The time will come, I will be called away from you!
- Clearly, - Antoshka became despondent. - The streak of bad luck begins ...
- That's for sure! - Unlucky nodded happily and, stepping into the wall, disappeared.
In the evening, Antoshka got a scolding from dad for the lost key, accidentally broke his mother's favorite cup, forgot what was asked in Russian, and could not finish reading the book of fairy tales, because he left it at school.
And in front of the window the phone rang:
- Antoshka, is that you? It's me, Lucky!
- Hello, traitor! Antoshka muttered. - And who are you helping now?
But Lucky didn't take offense at the "traitor".
- One old woman. Guess she's been unlucky all her life! So my boss sent me to her.
Tomorrow I will help her win a million rubles in the lottery, and I will return to you!
- Is it true? Antoshka rejoiced.
- True, true, - Lucky answered and hung up.
At night Antoshka had a dream. As if he and Lucky were dragging four string bags of Antoshkin's favorite tangerines from the store, and from the window of the house opposite, a lonely old woman who was lucky for the first time in her life was smiling at them.
Charskaya Lidia Alekseevna
Lucina life
Princess Miguel
“Far, far away, at the very end of the world, there was a large beautiful blue lake, similar in color to a huge sapphire. In the middle of this lake, on a green emerald island, among myrtle and wisteria, intertwined with green ivy and flexible lianas, stood a high rock. a palace, behind which was laid out a wonderful garden, fragrant with fragrance, a very special garden, which can only be found in fairy tales alone.
The powerful king Ovar was the owner of the island and the lands adjacent to it. And the king had a daughter growing up in the palace, the beautiful Miguel - the princess "...
A motley ribbon floats and unfolds a fairy tale. A number of beautiful, fantastic pictures swirl before my spiritual gaze. Aunt Musya's usually ringing voice is now lowered to a whisper. Mysterious and cozy in a green ivy gazebo. The lacy shadow of the trees and bushes surrounding her throw moving spots on the pretty face of the young storyteller. This tale is my favorite. Since the day my dear nanny Feni, who knew how to tell me so well about the girl Thumbelina, left us, I have been listening with pleasure to the only fairy tale about Princess Miguel. I love dearly my princess, despite all her cruelty. Is it really her fault, this green-eyed, pale pink and golden-haired princess, that when she was born into the light of God, instead of a heart, the fairies put a piece of diamond into her childish small chest? And that a direct consequence of this was the complete absence of pity in the soul of the princess. But how beautiful she was! She is beautiful even in those moments when, with the movement of a tiny white hand, she sent people to a fierce death. Those people who accidentally fell into the mysterious garden of the princess.
In that garden among the roses and lilies were small children. Motionless pretty elves, chained with silver chains to golden pegs, they guarded that garden, and at the same time plaintively rang their voices-bells.
Let us go free! Let go, beautiful princess Miguel! Let us go! Their complaints sounded like music. And this music had a pleasant effect on the princess, and she often laughed at the entreaties of her little captives.
But their plaintive voices touched the hearts of people passing by the garden. And they looked into the mysterious garden of the princess. Ah, it was not for joy that they appeared here! With each such appearance of an uninvited guest, the guards ran out, grabbed the visitor and, on the orders of the princess, threw him into the lake from the cliff
And Princess Miguel laughed only in response to the desperate cries and groans of the drowning...
Even now I still cannot understand how such a tale, so terrible in essence, such a gloomy and heavy tale, came into the head of my pretty cheerful aunt! The heroine of this tale, Princess Miguel, of course, was an invention of a sweet, a little windy, but very kind Aunt Musya. Ah, it doesn’t matter, let everyone think that this fairy tale is an invention, an invention and the very princess Miguel, but she, my marvelous princess, has firmly settled in my impressionable heart ... Whether she ever existed or not, what was it to me in essence it was when I loved her, my beautiful cruel Miguel! I saw her in a dream and more than once, I saw her golden hair the color of a ripe ear, her deep green eyes, like a pool of forest.
That year I was six years old. I was already sorting out the warehouses and with the help of Aunt Musya I wrote clumsy, awry and awry letters instead of sticks. And I already understood the beauty. The fabulous beauty of nature: the sun, forests, flowers. And my eyes lit up with delight at the sight beautiful picture or an elegant illustration on a magazine page.
Aunt Musya, dad and grandmother tried from my earliest age to develop an aesthetic taste in me, drawing my attention to what other children passed without a trace.
Look, Lusenka, what a beautiful sunset! You see how wonderfully the crimson sun sinks into the pond! Look, look, now the water has become quite scarlet. And the surrounding trees seem to be on fire.
I look and seethe with delight. Indeed, scarlet water, scarlet trees and scarlet sun. What a beauty!
Y. Yakovlev Girls from Vasilyevsky 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 floats 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 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 were building 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 so special about it? We are the same age. Both are from Vasilyevsky Island.
But she's not...
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:
- This 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. Only 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:
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.
- 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.
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 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 like 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."
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? they told me quietly. - 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 am.
morning of 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 writing,” 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.
In an 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 why they say "thank you" to me. 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 her hometown at the most difficult 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.
Vladimir Zheleznyakov "Scarecrow"
A circle of their faces flashed before me, and I rushed about in it, like a squirrel in a wheel.
I should stop and leave.
The boys jumped on me.
"For her legs! shouted Valka. - For the legs! .. "
They threw me down and grabbed my legs and arms. I kicked and jerked with all my might, but they tied me up and dragged me into the garden.
Iron Button and Shmakova dragged out the effigy mounted on a long stick. Dimka followed them and stood aside. The scarecrow was in my dress, with my eyes, with my mouth up to my ears. The legs were made of stockings stuffed with straw, tow and some kind of feathers stuck out instead of hair. On my neck, that is, on the scarecrow, a plaque dangled with the words: "Scarecrow is a traitor."
Lenka fell silent and somehow all faded away.
Nikolai Nikolaevich realized that the limit of her story and the limit of her strength had come.
“And they were having fun around the stuffed animal,” Lenka said. - They jumped and laughed:
"Wow, our beauty-ah-ah!"
"I waited!"
“I figured it out! I came up with! Shmakova jumped for joy. “Let Dimka set fire to the fire!”
After these words of Shmakova, I completely ceased to be afraid. I thought: if Dimka sets fire, then maybe I'll just die.
And Valka at this time - he was the first to succeed everywhere - stuck the stuffed animal into the ground and poured brushwood around it.
“I don’t have any matches,” Dimka said quietly.
“But I have!” Shaggy put the matches into Dimka's hand and pushed him towards the effigy.
Dimka stood near the effigy, his head bowed low.
I froze - waiting for the last time! Well, I thought he would now look back and say: “Guys, Lenka is not to blame for anything ... It’s all me!”
"Set it on fire!" ordered the Iron Button.
I could not stand it and screamed:
"Dimka! No need, Dimka-ah-ah-ah! .. "
And he was still standing near the stuffed animal - I could see his back, he stooped and seemed somehow small. Maybe because the scarecrow was on a long stick. Only he was small and fragile.
"Well, Somov! said Iron Button. “Finally, go to the end!”
Dimka fell to his knees and lowered his head so low that only his shoulders stuck out, and his head was not visible at all. It turned out to be some kind of headless arsonist. He struck a match, and a flame of fire grew over his shoulders. Then he jumped up and hurriedly ran away.
They pulled me close to the fire. I kept my eyes on the flames of the fire. Grandfather! I felt then how this fire seized me, how it burns, bakes and bites, although only waves of its heat reached me.
I screamed, I screamed so much that they let me out of surprise.
When they released me, I rushed to the fire and began to scatter it with my feet, grabbed the burning branches with my hands - I did not want the stuffed animal to burn. For some reason, I really didn't want to!
Dimka was the first to come to his senses.
“What, are you crazy? He grabbed my arm and tried to pull me away from the fire. - It's a joke! Don't you understand jokes?"
I became strong, easily defeated him. She pushed so hard that he flew upside down - only his heels flashed towards the sky. And she pulled out a scarecrow from the fire and began to wave it over her head, stepping on everyone. The stuffed animal was already caught in the fire, sparks flew from it in different directions, and they all shied away from these sparks in fright.
They fled.
And I was spinning so fast, dispersing them, that I could not stop until I fell. There was a scarecrow next to me. It was scorched, trembling in the wind and from this as if alive.
At first, I lay with my eyes closed. Then she felt that she smelled of burning, opened her eyes - the scarecrow's dress was smoking. I patted the smoldering hem with my hand and leaned back on the grass.
There was a crunch of branches, receding footsteps, and silence fell.
"Anne of Green Gables" by Lucy Maud Montgomery
It was already quite light when Anya woke up and sat up in bed, looking perplexedly out the window through which a stream of joyful sunlight and behind which something white and fluffy swayed against the background of a bright blue sky.
At first, she couldn't remember where she was. At first she felt a delightful thrill, as if something very pleasant had happened, then a terrible memory came. It was Green Gables, but they did not want to leave her here, because she is not a boy!
But it was morning, and there was a cherry tree outside the window, all in bloom. Anya jumped out of bed and with one jump was at the window. Then she pushed open the window frame—the frame creaked as if it hadn't been opened in a long time, which it really was—and knelt down, peering out into the June morning. Her eyes sparkled with delight. Oh, isn't that wonderful? Isn't this a lovely place? If only she could stay here! She imagines what remains. There is room for imagination here.
A huge cherry tree grew so close to the window that its branches touched the house. It was so densely strewn with flowers that not a single leaf was visible. On both sides of the house stretched large gardens, on one side - apple, on the other - cherry, all in bloom. The grass under the trees looked yellow with blooming dandelions. Some distance away in the garden, lilac bushes were visible, all in clusters of bright purple flowers, and the morning breeze carried their dizzyingly sweet aroma to Anya's window.
Beyond the garden, green meadows covered with lush clover descended to a valley where a stream ran and many white birch trees grew, their slender trunks rising above an undergrowth that suggested a wonderful rest among ferns, mosses and forest grasses. Beyond the valley was a hill, green and fluffy with firs and firs. There was a small gap among them, and through it peeped the gray mezzanine of the house that Anne had seen the day before from the other side of the Lake of Glittering Waters.
To the left were large barns and other outbuildings, and behind them green fields sloped down to the sparkling blue sea.
Anya's eyes, receptive to beauty, slowly moved from one picture to another, greedily absorbing everything that was in front of her. The poor thing has seen so many ugly places in her life. But what was revealed to her now exceeded her wildest dreams.
She knelt, forgetting everything in the world except the beauty that surrounded her, until she shuddered as she felt a hand on her shoulder. The little dreamer did not hear Marilla come in.
"It's time to get dressed," said Marilla curtly.
Marilla simply did not know how to talk to this child, and this ignorance, which she herself disliked, made her harsh and resolute against her will.
Anya stood up with a deep sigh.
— Ah. isn't that wonderful? she asked, pointing to beautiful world outside the window.
- Yes it a big tree," said Marilla, "and blooms profusely, but the cherries themselves are no good—small and wormy.
“Oh, I'm not just talking about the tree; of course, it is beautiful ... yes, it is dazzlingly beautiful ... it blooms as if it is extremely important for itself ... But I meant everything: the garden, and the trees, and the stream, and the forests - the whole big beautiful world. Don't you feel like you love the whole world on a morning like this? Even here I can hear the brook laughing in the distance. Have you ever noticed what joyful creatures these streams are? They always laugh. Even in winter I can hear their laughter from under the ice. I'm so glad there's a stream here near Green Gables. Maybe you think it doesn't matter to me if you don't want to leave me here? But it's not. It will always please me to remember that there is a stream near Green Gables, even if I never see it again. If there weren't a stream here, I would always have an unpleasant feeling that it should have been here. This morning I am not in the midst of grief. I'm never in the midst of grief in the morning. Isn't it wonderful that there is a morning? But I'm very sad. I just imagined that you still need me and that I will stay here forever, forever. It was a great comfort to imagine it. But the most unpleasant thing about imagining things is that there comes a moment when you have to stop imagining, and this is very painful.
“Better get dressed, go downstairs, and don’t think about your imaginary things,” said Marilla, as soon as she managed to get a word in. - Breakfast is waiting. Wash your face and comb your hair. Leave the window open and turn the bed around to let it air out. And hurry, please.
Anya, obviously, could act quickly when it was required, because after ten minutes she came downstairs, neatly dressed, her hair combed and braided, her face washed; her soul was filled with the pleasant consciousness that she had fulfilled all of Marilla's demands. However, in fairness, it should be noted that she still forgot to open the bed for airing.
"I'm very hungry today," she announced, slipping into the chair Marilla pointed out to her. “The world no longer seems to be such a gloomy desert as it was last night. I'm so glad the morning is sunny. However, I love rainy mornings too. Every morning is interesting, isn't it? It is not known what awaits us on this day, and there is so much room for imagination. But I am glad that today there is no rain, because it is easier not to lose heart and endure the vicissitudes of fate on a sunny day. I feel like I have a lot to endure today. It's very easy to read about other people's misfortunes and imagine that we could heroically overcome them, but it's not so easy when you actually have to face them, right?
“For God's sake, hold your tongue,” said Marilla. A little girl shouldn't talk so much.
After this remark, Anne was completely silent, so obediently that her continued silence began to irritate Marilla somewhat, as something not quite natural. Matthew was also silent - but that was natural at least - so breakfast passed in complete silence.
As it neared its end, Anya became more and more distracted. She ate mechanically, and her big eyes they gazed at the sky outside the window with an inseparable, unseeing gaze. This annoyed Marilla even more. She had an unpleasant feeling that while the body of this strange child was at the table, his spirit soared on the wings of fantasy in some transcendental land. Who would want to have such a child in the house?
And yet, what was most incomprehensible, Matthew wanted to leave her! Marilla felt that he wanted it this morning as much as he had last night, and that he was going to want it more. It was his usual way to get some whim into his head and cling to it with amazing silent persistence—an persistence ten times more powerful and effective through silence than if he talked about his desire from morning to evening.
When breakfast was over, Anya came out of her reverie and offered to wash the dishes.
— Do you know how to wash dishes properly? asked Marilla incredulously.
- Pretty good. I'm actually better at babysitting. I have a lot of experience in this business. Too bad you don't have kids here for me to take care of.
“But I don’t want to have more children here than at the moment. You alone are enough trouble. I have no idea what to do with you. Matthew is so funny.
“He seemed very nice to me,” Anya said reproachfully. - He is very friendly and did not mind at all, no matter how much I said - he seemed to like it. I felt a kindred spirit in him as soon as I saw him.
"You're both weirdos, if that's what you mean by kindred spirits," snorted Marilla. - Okay, you can wash the dishes. Do not be sorry hot water and wipe it off properly. I've got a lot of work to do this morning because I have to go to White Sands in the afternoon to see Mrs. Spencer. You will come with me, and there we will decide what to do with you. When you're done with the dishes, go upstairs and make the bed.
Anne washed the dishes rather quickly and carefully, which did not go unnoticed by Marilla. Then she made the bed, but with less success, because she had never learned the art of wrestling with feather beds. But still the bed was made, and Marilla, in order to get rid of the girl for a while, said that she would allow her to go into the garden and play there until dinner.
Anya rushed to the door, with a lively face and shining eyes. But on the very threshold, she suddenly stopped, turned sharply back and sat down near the table, the expression of delight vanished from her face, as if it had been blown away by the wind.
"Well, what else happened?" asked Marilla.
“I don’t dare to go out,” Anya said in the tone of a martyr who renounces all earthly joys. “If I can't stay here, I shouldn't fall in love with Green Gables. And if I go out and get acquainted with all these trees, flowers, and a garden, and a stream, I can not help but love them. It's already hard on my soul, and I don't want it to get even harder. I so want to go out - everything seems to be calling me: "Anya, Anya, come out to us! Anya, Anya, we want to play with you!" - but it's better not to. You shouldn't fall in love with something from which you will be cut off forever, right? And it's so hard to resist and not fall in love, right? That's why I was so glad when I thought I'd stay here. I thought there was so much to love here and nothing would stop me. But this short nap passed. Now I've come to terms with my fate, so I'd better not go out. Otherwise, I'm afraid I won't be able to reconcile with him again. What is the name of this flower in a pot on the windowsill, please tell me?
- It's a geranium.
— Oh, I don't mean that name. I mean the name you gave her. Did you give her a name? Then can I do it? May I call her… oh, let me think… Darling will do… may I call her Darling while I'm here? Oh, let me call her that!
“For God's sake, I don't care. But what is the point of naming a geranium?
— Oh, I love things to have names, even if it's just geraniums. This makes them more human-like. How do you know you're not hurting a geranium's feelings when you just call it "geranium" and nothing else? You wouldn't like it if you were always called just a woman. Yes, I'll call her Honey. I gave a name this morning to this cherry under my bedroom window. I named her Snow Queen because she is so white. Of course, it won't always be in bloom, but you can always imagine that, right?
"I've never seen or heard anything like it in my life," Marilla muttered as she fled to the cellar for potatoes. “She's really interesting, as Matthew says. I can already feel myself interested in what else she will say. She casts a spell on me too. And she's already unleashed them on Matthew. This look, which he gave me when he left, again expressed everything that he spoke about and alluded to yesterday. It would be better if he was like other men and spoke openly about everything. Then it would be possible to answer and convince him. But what do you do with a man who only looks?
When Marilla returned from her pilgrimage to the cellar, she found Anne again in a reverie. The girl sat with her chin resting on her hands and her gaze fixed on the sky. So Marilla left her until dinner appeared on the table.
“May I take the mare and convertible after dinner, Matthew?” asked Marilla.
Matthew nodded and looked sadly at Anya. Marilla caught this glance and said dryly:
“I'm going to go to White Sands and sort this out. I'll take Anya with me so Mrs. Spencer can send her back to Nova Scotia right away. I'll leave you some tea on the stove and get home in time for the milking.
Again, Matthew said nothing. Marilla felt she was wasting her words. Nothing is more annoying than a man who doesn't answer... except for a woman who doesn't answer.
At the appointed time, Matthew hitched up the bay, and Marilla and Anne got into the cabriolet. Matthew opened the gates of the yard for them, and as they drove slowly past, he said aloud, to no one, it seemed, addressing:
“There was this guy here this morning, Jerry Buot from Creek, and I told him I'd hire him for the summer.
Marilla did not answer, but whipped the unfortunate sorrel with such force that the fat mare, unaccustomed to such treatment, galloped indignantly. When the convertible was already rolling along high road, Marilla turned and saw that the insufferable Matthew was leaning against the gate, looking sadly after them.
Sergei Kutsko
WOLVES
That's the way it's set up country life that if you don’t go out into the forest before noon, don’t take a walk through the familiar mushroom and berry places, then by evening there’s nothing to run, everything will hide.
So did one girl. The sun has just risen to the tops of the fir trees, and in the hands is already a full basket, wandered far, but what mushrooms! With gratitude, she looked around and was just about to leave, when the distant bushes suddenly shuddered and a beast came out into the clearing, its eyes tenaciously followed the figure of the girl.
— Oh, dog! - she said.
Cows were grazing somewhere nearby, and their acquaintance in the forest with a shepherd's dog was not a big surprise to them. But meeting with a few more pairs of animal eyes put me in a daze...
“Wolves,” a thought flashed, “the road is not far, to run ...” Yes, the forces disappeared, the basket involuntarily fell out of my hands, my legs became wadded and naughty.
- Mother! - this sudden cry stopped the flock, which had already reached the middle of the clearing. - People, help! - three times swept over the forest.
As the shepherds later said: “We heard screams, we thought the children were playing around ...” This is five kilometers from the village, in the forest!
The wolves slowly approached, the she-wolf walked ahead. It happens with these animals - the she-wolf becomes the head of the pack. Only her eyes were not so ferocious as they were inquisitive. They seemed to ask: “Well, man? What will you do now, when there are no weapons in your hands, and your relatives are not around?”
The girl fell to her knees, covered her eyes with her hands and wept. Suddenly, the thought of prayer came to her, as if something stirred in her soul, as if the words of her grandmother, remembered from childhood, were resurrected: “Ask the Mother of God! ”
The girl did not remember the words of the prayer. Signing herself with the sign of the cross, she asked the Mother of God, as if her mother, in last resort for intercession and salvation.
When she opened her eyes, the wolves, bypassing the bushes, went into the forest. Slowly ahead, with her head down, walked a she-wolf.
Boris Ganago
LETTER TO GOD
It happened in late XIX centuries.
Petersburg. Christmas Eve. A cold, piercing wind blows from the bay. Throws fine prickly snow. The hooves of horses clatter along the cobblestone pavement, the doors of shops slam - the last purchases before the holiday are being made. Everyone is in a hurry to get home as soon as possible.
Only a little boy slowly wanders along the snow-covered street. Every now and then he takes out his cold, reddened hands from the pockets of his shabby coat and tries to warm them with his breath. Then he stuffs them deeper into his pockets again and moves on. Here he stops at the bakery window and looks at the pretzels and bagels displayed behind the glass.
The door of the store swung open, letting out another customer, and the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted out of it. The boy swallowed convulsively, stamped his feet and wandered on.
Twilight falls imperceptibly. There are fewer and fewer passers-by. The boy pauses at the building, in the windows of which the light is on, and, rising on tiptoe, tries to look inside. Slowly, he opens the door.
The old clerk was late at work today. He has nowhere to hurry. He has been living alone for a long time and on holidays he feels his loneliness especially acutely. The clerk sat and thought bitterly that he had no one to celebrate Christmas with, no one to give gifts to. At this time, the door opened. The old man looked up and saw the boy.
"Uncle, uncle, I have to write a letter!" the boy spoke quickly.
— Do you have any money? the clerk asked sternly.
The boy, fiddling with his hat, took a step back. And then the lone clerk remembered that today was Christmas Eve and that he so wanted to give someone a present. He took out a blank sheet of paper, dipped his pen in ink and wrote: “Petersburg. 6th January. Sir...”
- What is the lord's name?
"That's not the lord," the boy muttered, still not fully believing his luck.
Oh, is that a lady? asked the clerk, smiling.
No no! the boy spoke quickly.
So who do you want to write a letter to? the old man was surprised
— Jesus.
How dare you make fun of an old man? - the clerk was indignant and wanted to show the boy to the door. But then I saw tears in the eyes of the child and remembered that today is Christmas Eve. He felt ashamed of his anger, and in a warm voice he asked:
What do you want to write to Jesus?
— My mother always taught me to ask God for help when it is difficult. She said that God's name is Jesus Christ. The boy went closer to the clerk and continued: “Yesterday she fell asleep, and I can’t wake her up.” There’s not even bread at home, I’m so hungry,” he wiped the tears that had come to his eyes with his palm.
How did you wake her up? asked the old man, rising from his desk.
- I kissed her.
- Is she breathing?
- What are you, uncle, do they breathe in a dream?
“Jesus Christ has already received your letter,” said the old man, embracing the boy by the shoulders. “He told me to take care of you, and he took your mother to Himself.
The old clerk thought: “My mother, leaving for another world, you told me to be a good person and a pious Christian. I forgot your order, but now you will not be ashamed of me.”
Boris Ganago
THE SPOKEN WORD
On the outskirts of the big city stood an old house with a garden. They were guarded by a reliable watchman - the smart dog Uranus. He never barked at anyone in vain, vigilantly watched strangers, rejoiced at his owners.
But this house was demolished. Its inhabitants were offered a comfortable apartment, and then the question arose - what to do with a shepherd? As a watchman, they no longer needed Uranus, becoming only a burden. For several days there was a fierce debate about dog fate. Through the open window from the house to the sentry kennel, the plaintive sobs of the grandson and the menacing shouts of the grandfather often flew.
What did Uranus understand from the words he heard? Who knows...
Only the daughter-in-law and grandson, who brought him food, noticed that the dog's bowl remained untouched for more than a day. Uranus did not eat in the following days, no matter how he was persuaded. He no longer wagged his tail when approached, and even looked away, as if he no longer wanted to look at the people who betrayed him.
The daughter-in-law, who was expecting an heir or heiress, suggested:
- Isn't Uranus sick? The owner in his hearts threw:
“It would be better if the dog died on its own.” Then you wouldn't have to shoot.
The bride shuddered.
Uranus looked at the speaker with a look that the owner could not forget for a long time.
The grandson persuaded the neighbor's veterinarian to look at his pet. But the veterinarian did not find any disease, only thoughtfully said:
“Maybe he yearned for something... Uranus soon died, until his death, slightly moving his tail only to his daughter-in-law and grandson, who visited him.
And the owner at night often remembered the look of Uranus, who had faithfully served him for so many years. The old man already regretted the cruel words that had killed the dog.
But is it possible to return what was said?
And who knows how the sounded evil hurt the grandson, tied to his four-legged friend?
And who knows how it, spreading around the world like a radio wave, will affect the souls of unborn children, future generations?
Words live, words don't die...
In an old book it was told: one girl's father died. The girl missed him. He was always kind to her. She lacked this warmth.
Once dad dreamed about her and said: now you be affectionate with people. Each good word serves eternity.
Boris Ganago
MASHENKA
Christmas story
Once, many years ago, the girl Masha was mistaken for an Angel. It happened like this.
One poor family had three children. Their father died, their mother worked where she could, and then fell ill. There was not a crumb left in the house, but there was so much to eat. What to do?
Mom went out into the street and began to beg, but people, not noticing her, passed by. Christmas night was approaching, and the words of the woman: “I ask not for myself, for my children ... for Christ's sake! ” drowned in the pre-holiday bustle.
In desperation, she entered the church and began to ask Christ Himself for help. Who else was there to ask?
Here, at the icon of the Savior, Masha saw a woman kneeling. Her face was filled with tears. The girl had never seen such suffering before.
Masha had an amazing heart. When they were happy nearby, and she wanted to jump for happiness. But if someone was hurt, she could not pass by and asked:
What happened to you? Why are you crying? And someone else's pain penetrated into her heart. And now she leaned towards the woman:
Do you have grief?
And when she shared her misfortune with her, Masha, who had never experienced a feeling of hunger in her life, imagined three lonely babies who had not seen food for a long time. Without thinking, she handed the woman five rubles. It was all her money.
At that time, this was a significant amount, and the woman's face lit up.
Where is your house? - Masha asked in parting. She was surprised to learn that a poor family lives in a nearby basement. The girl did not understand how it was possible to live in the basement, but she firmly knew what she needed to do this Christmas evening.
Happy mother, as if on wings, flew home. She bought food at a nearby store, and the children happily greeted her.
Soon the stove blazed and the samovar boiled. The children warmed up, sated and quieted down. A table set with food was an unexpected holiday for them, almost a miracle.
But then Nadia, the smallest, asked:
Mom, is it true that on Christmas Day God sends an Angel to the children, and he brings them many, many gifts?
Mom knew perfectly well that they had no one to expect gifts from. Thank God for what He has already given them: everyone is fed and warm. But babies are babies. They so wanted to have a tree for the Christmas holiday, the same as that of all the other children. What could she, poor thing, tell them? Destroy a child's faith?
The children looked at her warily, waiting for an answer. And my mother confirmed:
This is true. But the Angel comes only to those who believe in God with all their hearts and pray to Him with all their hearts.
And I believe in God with all my heart and pray to Him with all my heart, - Nadia did not retreat. - May he send us His Angel.
Mom didn't know what to say. Silence settled in the room, only the logs crackled in the stove. And suddenly there was a knock. The children shuddered, and mother crossed herself and opened the door with a trembling hand.
On the threshold stood a little fair-haired girl Masha, and behind her - a bearded man with a Christmas tree in his hands.
Merry Christmas! - Masha happily congratulated the owners. The children froze.
While the bearded man was setting up the Christmas tree, the Nanny Car entered the room with a large basket, from which gifts immediately began to appear. The kids couldn't believe their eyes. But neither they nor mother suspected that the girl had given them her Christmas tree and her gifts.
And when the unexpected guests left, Nadia asked:
This girl was an angel?
Boris Ganago
BACK TO LIFE
Based on the story by A. Dobrovolsky "Seryozha"
Usually the brothers' beds were side by side. But when Seryozha fell ill with pneumonia, Sasha was moved to another room and was forbidden to disturb the baby. They only asked to pray for the little brother, who was getting worse and worse.
One evening Sasha looked into the sick room. Seryozha lay with open, seeing nothing, and hardly breathed. Frightened, the boy rushed to the office, from which the voices of his parents could be heard. The door was ajar, and Sasha heard his mother, crying, say that Seryozha was dying. Pa-pa answered with pain in his voice:
- Why cry now? He can no longer be saved ...
In horror, Sasha rushed into the room of his sister. There was no one there, and with sobs, he fell to his knees in front of the icon. Mother of God hanging on the wall. Through the sobs, the words broke through:
- Lord, Lord, make sure that Seryozha does not die!
Sasha's face was filled with tears. Everything around was blurred, as if in a fog. The boy saw in front of him only the face of the Mother of God. The sense of time is gone.
- Lord, You can do anything, save Serezha!
It's already quite dark. Exhausted, Sasha stood up with the corpse and lit the table lamp. The gospel lay before her. The boy turned over several pages, and suddenly his eyes fell on the line: “Go, and as you believed, let it be for you ...”
As if having heard an order, he went to Se-rezha. At the bedside of her beloved brother, mother sat silently. She gave a sign: "Don't make noise, Seryozha fell asleep."
No words were spoken, but this sign was like a ray of hope. He fell asleep - it means he is alive, so he will live!
Three days later, Seryozha could already sit up in bed, and the children were allowed to visit him. They brought brother's favorite toys, a fortress and houses, which he cut and glued before his illness - everything that could please the baby. The little sister with a big doll stood near Seryozha, and Sasha, rejoicing, photographed them.
These were moments of true happiness.
Boris Ganago
YOUR CHILD
A chick fell out of the nest - very small, helpless, even the wings have not yet grown. He can’t do anything, he only squeaks and opens his beak - he asks for food.
The guys took it and brought it into the house. They built a nest for him out of grass and twigs. Vova fed the baby, and Ira gave water to drink and took out in the sun.
Soon the chick got stronger, and instead of a fluff, feathers began to grow in it. The guys found an old birdcage in the attic and, for reliability, put their pet in it - the cat began to look at him very expressively. He was on duty at the door all day long, waiting for the right moment. And no matter how much his children drove, he did not take his eyes off the chick.
Summer has flown by. The chick in front of the children grew up and began to fly around the cage. And soon he became cramped in it. When the cage was taken out into the street, he fought against the bars and asked to be released. So the guys decided to release their pet. Of course, it was a pity for them to part with him, but they could not deprive the freedom of someone who was created for flight.
One sunny morning, the children said goodbye to their pet, took the cage out into the yard and opened it. The chick jumped out onto the grass and looked back at his friends.
At that moment, a cat appeared. Hiding in the bushes, he prepared to jump, rushed, but ... The chick flew high, high ...
The holy elder John of Kronstadt compared our soul to a bird. For every soul the enemy hunts, wants to catch. After all, at first the human soul, just like a fledgling chick, is helpless, unable to fly. How can we preserve it, how can we grow it so that it does not break on sharp stones, does not fall into the net of a catcher?
The Lord created a saving fence behind which our soul grows and strengthens - the house of God, the Holy Church. In it, the soul learns to fly high, high, to the very sky. And she knows there such a bright joy that she is not afraid of any earthly nets.
Boris Ganago
MIRROR
Dot, dot, comma,
Minus, the face is crooked.
Stick, stick, cucumber -
Here comes the man.
With this rhyme, Nadia finished the drawing. Then, fearing that they would not understand her, she signed under it: "It's me." She carefully examined her creation and decided that something was missing from it.
The young artist went to the mirror and began to look at herself: what else needs to be completed so that anyone can understand who is depicted in the portrait?
Nadia loved to dress up and spin in front of a large mirror, tried different hairstyles. This time the girl tried on her mother's hat with a veil.
She wanted to look mysterious and romantic, like long-legged girls showing fashion on TV. Nadia introduced herself as an adult, cast a languid glance in the mirror and tried to walk with the gait of a fashion model. It didn’t turn out very pretty, and when she stopped abruptly, the hat slid down her nose.
Good thing no one saw her at that moment. That would be a laugh! In general, she did not like being a fashion model at all.
The girl took off her hat, and then her eyes fell on her grandmother's hat. Unable to resist, she tried it on. And she froze, making an amazing discovery: like two peas in a pod, she looked like her grandmother. She didn't have any wrinkles yet. Bye.
Now Nadia knew what she would become in many years. True, this future seemed to her very far away ...
It became clear to Nadia why her grandmother loves her so much, why she watches her pranks with tender sadness and sighs furtively.
There were steps. Nadya hurriedly put her cap back on and ran to the door. On the threshold, she met ... herself, only not so frisky. But the eyes were exactly the same: childishly surprised and joyful.
Nadenka hugged her future self and quietly asked:
Grandma, is it true that you were me as a child?
Grandmother was silent for a moment, then smiled mysteriously and took an old album from the shelf. Turning over a few pages, she showed a photograph of a little girl who looked very much like Nadia.
That's what I was.
Oh, you really look like me! - the granddaughter exclaimed in delight.
Or maybe you look like me? - slyly narrowed her eyes, asked the grandmother.
It doesn't matter who looks like who. The main thing is similar, - the baby did not concede.
Isn't it important? And look what I looked like...
And the grandmother began to leaf through the album. There were just no faces. And what faces! And each was beautiful in its own way. Peace, dignity and warmth, radiated by them, attracted the eye. Nadia noticed that all of them - small children and gray-haired old men, young ladies and smart military men - were somewhat similar to each other ... And to her.
Tell me about them, the girl asked.
Grandmother pressed her blood to herself, and a story about their family, coming from ancient centuries, began to flow.
The time for cartoons had already come, but the girl did not want to watch them. She was discovering something amazing that was long ago, but lives in her.
Do you know the history of your grandfathers, great-grandfathers, the history of your family? Maybe this story is your mirror?
Boris Ganago
PARROT
Petya wandered around the house. All games are boring. Then my mother gave an order to go to the store and also suggested:
Our neighbor, Maria Nikolaevna, broke her leg. She has no one to buy bread. Barely moves around the room. Let me call and see if she needs something to buy.
Aunt Masha was delighted with the call. And when the boy brought her a whole bag of groceries, she didn't know how to thank him. For some reason, she showed Petya an empty cage in which a parrot had recently lived. It was her friend. Aunt Masha looked after him, shared her thoughts, and he took it and flew away. Now she has no one to say a word to, no one to take care of. What is life if there is no one to take care of?
Petya looked at the empty cage, at the crutches, imagined how Aunt Mania was hobbling around the empty apartment, and an unexpected thought came into his head. The fact is that he had long saved up the money that was given to him for toys. Didn't find anything suitable. And now this strange thought - to buy a parrot for Aunt Masha.
Saying goodbye, Petya ran out into the street. He wanted to go to the pet store, where he had once seen various parrots. But now he looked at them through the eyes of Aunt Masha. Which one would she be friends with? Maybe this one suits her, maybe this one?
Petya decided to ask his neighbor about the fugitive. The next day he told his mother:
Call Aunt Masha... Maybe she needs something?
Mom even froze, then pressed her son to her and whispered:
So you become a man ... Petya was offended:
Wasn't I a human before?
There was, of course there was, ”my mother smiled. “Only now your soul has also woken up… Thank God!”
What is a soul? the boy was worried.
This is the ability to love.
The mother looked at her son questioningly.
Maybe call yourself?
Petya was embarrassed. Mom picked up the phone: Maria Nikolaevna, sorry, Petya has a question for you. I'll hand him the phone now.
There was nowhere to go, and Petya muttered in embarrassment:
Aunt Masha, can you buy something?
What happened at the other end of the wire, Petya did not understand, only the neighbor answered in some unusual voice. She thanked him and asked to bring milk if he went to the store. She doesn't need anything else. Thanks again.
When Petya called her apartment, he heard the hasty clatter of crutches. Aunt Masha did not want to make him wait extra seconds.
While the neighbor was looking for money, the boy, as if by chance, began to ask her about the missing parrot. Aunt Masha willingly told about the color and behavior ...
There were several parrots of this color in the pet store. Petya chose for a long time. When he brought his gift to Aunt Masha, then ... I do not undertake to describe what happened next.
Nikolay Gogol. "The Adventures of Chichikov, or Dead Souls". Moscow, 1846 university printing housePavel Ivanovich Chichikov is introduced to the sons of the landowner Manilov:
“There were already two boys in the dining room, the sons of Manilov, who were of those years when they already put children at the table, but still on high chairs. A teacher stood beside them, bowing politely and with a smile. The hostess sat down to her soup bowl; the guest was seated between the host and the hostess, the servant tied napkins around the children's necks.
"What lovely little children," said Chichikov, looking at them, "and what year is it?"
"The eldest is eighth, and the youngest was only six yesterday," said Manilova.
- Themistoclus! said Manilov, turning to the elder, who was trying to free his chin, which had been tied up in a napkin by the lackey.
Chichikov raised a few eyebrows when he heard such a partly Greek name, to which, for some unknown reason, Manilov gave the ending in "yus", but he tried at the same time to bring his face back to its usual position.
— Themistoclus, tell me, what is the best city in France?
Here the teacher turned all his attention to Themistoclus and seemed to want to jump into his eyes, but at last he completely calmed down and nodded his head when Themistoclus said: "Paris."
What is the best city in our country? Manilov asked again.
The teacher turned his attention back.
"Petersburg," replied Themistoclus.
- And what else?
“Moscow,” replied Themistoclus.
- Clever, darling! Chichikov said to this. “Tell me, however…” he continued, immediately turning to the Manilovs with a kind of astonishment, “in such years and already such information! I must tell you that this child will have great abilities.
Oh, you don't know him yet! - answered Manilov, - he has an extremely large amount of wit. Here is the smaller one, Alcides, that one is not so fast, but this one now, if he meets something, a bug, a goat, his eyes suddenly start to run; will run after her and immediately pay attention. I'll read it on the diplomatic side. Themistoclus,” he continued, turning to him again, “do you want to be a messenger?
“I want to,” answered Themistoclus, chewing bread and shaking his head right and left.
At this time, the footman who was standing behind wiped the envoy's nose, and he did it very well, otherwise a pretty extraneous drop would have sunk into the soup.
2 Fyodor Dostoyevsky. "Demons"
Fedor Dostoevsky. "Demons". St. Petersburg, 1873 Printing house of K. Zamyslovsky Chronicle retells the content philosophical poem, which in his youth was written by the now aged liberal Stepan Trofimovich Verkhovensky:
“The scene opens with a chorus of women, then a chorus of men, then some forces, and at the end of everything, a chorus of souls who have not yet lived, but who would very much like to live. All these choirs sing about something very vague, mostly about someone's curse, but with a touch of higher humor. But the scene suddenly changes, and some kind of “Celebration of Life” sets in, at which even insects sing, a tortoise appears with some kind of Latin sacramental words, and even, if I remember, one mineral sang about something - that is, the object is already completely inanimate. In general, everyone sings incessantly, and if they talk, they somehow vaguely scold, but again with a hint of highest value. Finally, the scene changes again, and a wild place appears, and a civilized young man wanders between the cliffs, who picks and sucks some herbs, and to the question of the fairy: why is he sucking these herbs? he answers that, feeling an excess of life in himself, he seeks oblivion and finds it in the juice of these herbs; but that his main desire is to lose his mind as soon as possible (the desire, perhaps, is superfluous). Then suddenly a young man of indescribable beauty rides in on a black horse, followed by a terrible multitude of all nations. The young man represents death, and all peoples yearn for it. And, finally, in the very last scene suddenly appears tower of babel, and some athletes finally complete it with a song of new hope, and when they have already completed it to the very top, then the owner, let’s say even Olympus, runs away in a comical form, and humanity, guessing, having taken possession of his place, immediately begins new life with a new penetration of things.
3 Anton Chekhov. "Drama"
Anton Chekhov. Collection "Colorful stories". St. Petersburg, 1897 Edition of A. S. Suvorin The soft-hearted writer Pavel Vasilyevich is forced to listen to the longest dramatic essay, which is read aloud to him by the graphomaniac writer Murashkina:
"Don't you think this monologue is a bit long? Murashkina suddenly asked, raising her eyes.
Pavel Vasilievich did not hear the monologue. He was embarrassed and said in such a guilty tone, as if not a mistress, but he himself wrote this monologue:
“No, no, not at all… Very nice…”
Murashkina beamed with happiness and continued to read:
— „Anna. You got caught up in the analysis. You stopped living with your heart too early and trusted your mind. — Valentine. What is a heart? This is an anatomical concept. As a conventional term for what is called feelings, I do not recognize it. — Anna(confused). And love? Is it really the product of an association of ideas? Tell me frankly: have you ever loved? — Valentine(with bitterness). Let's not touch the old, not yet healed wounds (pause). What are you thinking about? — Anna. I think you are unhappy."
During the 16th apparition, Pavel Vasilyevich yawned and accidentally made a sound with his teeth, like dogs make when they catch flies. He was frightened by this indecent sound and, in order to disguise it, gave his face an expression of touching attention.
„XVII phenomenon ... When will the end? he thought. - Oh my God! If this torment continues for another ten minutes, then I will call out to the guards… Unbearable!“
Pavel Vasilyevich sighed lightly and was about to get up, but immediately Murashkina turned the page and continued to read:
“Act two. The scene represents a rural street. To the right is the school, to the left is the hospital. On the steps of the latter sit villagers and villagers.
"I'm sorry..." Pavel Vasilyevich interrupted. - How many actions?
“Five,” Murashkina answered, and immediately, as if afraid that the listener would not leave, quickly continued: “Valentine is looking out of the school window. You can see how, in the back of the stage, the villagers carry their belongings to the tavern.
4 Mikhail Zoshchenko. "In Pushkin's Days"
Mikhail Zoshchenko. "Favorites". Petrozavodsk, 1988 Publishing house "Karelia" At a literary evening dedicated to the centenary of the death of the poet, the Soviet building manager makes a solemn speech about Pushkin:
“Of course, dear comrades, I am not a literary historian. I will allow myself to approach the great date simply, as they say, humanly.
Such a sincere approach, I believe, will bring the image of the great poet even closer to us.
So, a hundred years separate us from it! Time really runs incredibly fast!
The German war, as you know, began twenty-three years ago. That is, when it began, it was not a hundred years before Pushkin, but only seventy-seven.
And I was born, imagine, in 1879. Therefore, he was even closer to the great poet. Not that I could see him, but, as they say, we were separated by only about forty years.
My grandmother, even cleaner, was born in 1836. That is, Pushkin could see her and even pick her up. He could nurse her, and she could, what good, cry in her arms, not guessing who took her in his arms.
Of course, it is unlikely that Pushkin could nurse her, especially since she lived in Kaluga, and Pushkin, it seems, did not go there, but still this exciting possibility can be admitted, especially since he could, it seems, stop by Kaluga to see his acquaintances.
My father, again, was born in 1850. But Pushkin, unfortunately, was no longer there, otherwise he, perhaps, even my father could nurse.
But he certainly could already take my great-grandmother in his arms. She, imagine, was born in 1763, so great poet could easily come to her parents and demand that they let him hold her and babysit her ... Although, however, in 1837 she was, perhaps, about sixty years old, so, frankly, I don’t even know how they had it there and how they got along with it ... Maybe even she nursed him ... But what is covered with the darkness of obscurity for us was probably not difficult for them, and they knew perfectly well whom to nurse and who to download. And if the old woman really was about six or ten years old by that time, then, of course, it is ridiculous even to think that someone was nursing her there. So, it was she who nursed someone.
And, perhaps, pumping and singing lyrical songs to him, she, without knowing it herself, aroused poetic feelings in him and, perhaps, together with his notorious nanny Arina Rodionovna, inspired him to compose some individual poems.
5 Daniil Kharms. What are they selling in stores now?
Daniel Kharms. Collection of stories "The Old Woman". Moscow, 1991 Yunona Publishing House “Koratygin came to Tikakeev and did not find him at home.
And Tikakeev at that time was in the store and bought sugar, meat and cucumbers there. Koratygin hovered at Tikakeev's door and was about to write a note, when suddenly he saw Tikakeev himself walking in and carrying an oilcloth purse in his hands. Koratygin saw Tikakeev and shouted to him:
- And I already whole hour I am waiting!
“That’s not true,” says Tikakeyev, “I’ve only been out of home for twenty-five minutes.
“Well, I don’t know that,” said Koratygin, “only I’ve been here for an hour already.
- Do not lie! Tikakeev said. - It's embarrassing to lie.
- Most gracious sovereign! Koratygin said. - Take the trouble to choose expressions.
“I think…” Tikakeyev began, but Koratygin interrupted him:
“If you think…” he said, but then Tikakeyev interrupted Koratygin and said:
- You're good yourself!
These words infuriated Koratygin so much that he pinched one nostril with his finger, and blew his nose at Tikakeyev with the other nostril. Then Tikakeyev snatched the biggest cucumber out of his purse and hit Koratygin on the head with it. Koratygin clutched his head with his hands, fell and died.
That's what big cucumbers are now sold in stores!
6 Ilya Ilf and Evgeny Petrov. "Knowing of limits"
Ilya Ilf and Evgeny Petrov. "Knowing of limits". Moscow, 1935 Publishing house "Spark" A set of hypothetical rules for stupid Soviet bureaucrats (one of them, a certain Basov, is the anti-hero of the feuilleton):
“It is impossible to accompany all orders, instructions and instructions with a thousand reservations so that the Basovs do not do stupid things. Then a modest resolution, say, on the prohibition of the transport of live piglets in tram cars should look like this:
However, when levying a fine, piglet holders should not:
a) push in the chest;
b) call scoundrels;
c) push at full speed from the platform of the tram under the wheels of an oncoming truck;
d) they cannot be equated with malicious hooligans, bandits and embezzlers;
e) in no case should this rule be applied to citizens who bring with them not piglets, but small children under the age of three;
f) it cannot be extended to citizens who do not have piglets at all;
g) as well as schoolchildren singing revolutionary songs in the streets.”
7 Mikhail Bulgakov. "Theatrical Romance"
Michael Bulgakov. "Theatrical Romance" Moscow, 1999 Publishing house "Voice" The playwright Sergei Leontievich Maksudov reads his play "Black Snow" to the great director Ivan Vasilievich, who hates shooting on the stage. The prototype of Ivan Vasilyevich was Konstantin Stanislavsky, Maksudova - Bulgakov himself:
“Along with the approaching twilight came disaster. I read:
- "Bakhtin (to Petrov). Well, goodbye! Very soon you will come for me ...
P e tr o v. What are you doing?!
Bakhtin (shoots himself in the temple, falls, an accordion is heard in the distance ...) ".
- That's wrong! exclaimed Ivan Vasilyevich. Why is this? This must be crossed out without a second's delay. Have mercy! Why shoot?
“But he must commit suicide,” I answered with a cough.
- And very well! Let him finish and let him be stabbed with a dagger!
“But, you see, it’s a civil war… Daggers were no longer used…”
- No, they were used, - Ivan Vasilyevich objected, - this one told me ... how he ... forgot ... that they were used ... You cross out this shot! ..
I kept silent, making a sad mistake, and read on:
- "(...monica and individual shots. A man appeared on the bridge with a rifle in his hand. Luna ...)"
- My God! exclaimed Ivan Vasilyevich. - Shots! Again shots! What a disaster! You know what, Leo ... you know what, you delete this scene, it's superfluous.
“I considered,” I said, trying to speak as softly as possible, “this scene is the main one ... Here, you see ...
- Formed delusion! Ivan Vasilyevich snapped. - This scene is not only not the main one, but it is not necessary at all. Why is this? Your this one, how is it?..
— Bakhtin.
- Well, yes ... well, yes, he stabbed himself there far away, - Ivan Vasilyevich waved his hand somewhere very far away, - and another comes home and says to his mother - Bekhteev stabbed himself!
“But there is no mother…” I said, staring dumbfounded at the glass with the lid.
- It is necessary! You write it. It is not hard. At first it seems that it is difficult - there was no mother, and suddenly she is - but this is a delusion, it is very easy. And now the old woman is crying at home, and who brought the news ... Call him Ivanov ...
- But ... after all, Bakhtin is a hero! He has monologues on the bridge... I thought...
- And Ivanov will say all his monologues! .. You have good monologues, they need to be preserved. Ivanov will say - here Petya stabbed himself and before his death he said such and such, such and such ... There will be a very strong scene.
8 Vladimir Voinovich. "The Life and Extraordinary Adventures of the Soldier Ivan Chonkin"
Vladimir Voinovich. "The Life and Extraordinary Adventures of the Soldier Ivan Chonkin". Paris, 1975 Publisher YMCA-Press Colonel Luzhin is trying to extract information from Nyura Belyashova about a mythical fascist resident named Kurt:
“Well then. Putting his hands behind his back, he walked around the office. — You all the same. Frankly, you don't want to be with me. Well. Mil forcibly. You will not. As the saying goes. We help you. And you don't want us. Yes. By the way, you don't happen to know Kurt, do you?
— Kur something? Nura was surprised.
“Yeah, Kurt.
“Who doesn’t know chickens?” Nura shrugged. “But how is it possible in a village without chickens?”
- It is forbidden? Luzhin asked quickly. - Yes. Certainly. In the village without Kurt. No way. It is forbidden. Impossible. He pulled the desk calendar toward him and picked up a pen. - What's your last name?
"Belyashova," Nyura announced eagerly.
— Belya… No. Not this. I need a surname not yours, but Kurt. What? Luzhin scowled. "And you don't want to say that?"
Nyura looked at Luzhin, not understanding. Her lips were trembling, and tears came back to her eyes.
"I don't understand," she said slowly. - What kind of surnames can chickens have?
- Chickens? Luzhin asked. - What? Chickens? A? He suddenly understood everything and, jumping to the floor, stamped his feet. — Out! Go away".
9 Sergey Dovlatov. "Reserve"
Sergey Dovlatov. "Reserve". Ann Arbor, 1983 Hermitage Publishing House The autobiographical hero works as a guide in Pushkinskiye Gory:
“A man in a Tyrolean hat approached me shyly:
— Excuse me, can I ask a question?
- I'm hearing you.
- Did they give it?
- That is?
- I'm asking, did they give it? The Tyrolean drew me to the open window.
- In what sense?
- In direct. I would like to know if it was given or not given? If you didn't, say so.
- I don't understand.
The man blushed slightly and began to hurriedly explain:
- I had a postcard ... I am a philocartist ...
— Philokartist. I collect postcards... Philos - love, kartos...
- I have a color postcard - "Pskov Dali". And so I ended up here. I want to ask - is it given?
“In general, they did,” I say.
— Typically Pskov?
- Not without it.
The man, beaming, walked away ... "
10 Yuri Koval. "The lightest boat in the world"
Yuri Koval. "The lightest boat in the world." Moscow, 1984 Publishing house "Young Guard" A group of friends and buddies of the protagonist are considering sculptural composition artist Orlov "People in hats":
“People in hats,” said Clara Courbet, smiling thoughtfully at Orlov. What an interesting idea!
"Everyone is wearing hats," Orlov got excited. - And everyone has their own inner world under the hat. See this nosy one? Nosy, he is nosy, but under his hat he still has his own world. What do you think?
The girl Clara Courbet, and behind her the rest, looked intently at the big-nosed member of the sculptural group, wondering what kind of inner world he had.
“It is clear that there is a struggle going on in this man,” Clara said, “but the struggle is not easy.
Everyone stared at the big-nosed one again, wondering what kind of struggle could be going on in him.
“It seems to me that this is a struggle between heaven and earth,” Clara explained.
Everyone froze, and Orlov was taken aback, apparently not expecting such a forceful look from the girl. The policeman, the artist, was clearly dumbfounded. It probably never occurred to him that heaven and earth could fight. Out of the corner of his eye he glanced at the floor, and then at the ceiling.
"That's all right," said Orlov, stuttering a little. - Accurately noted. That is the fight...
“And under that crooked hat,” Clara continued, “under that crooked hat is a struggle of fire and water.
The policeman with the gramophone finally staggered. By the power of her views, the girl Clara Courbet decided to outshine not only the gramophone, but also the sculptural group. The policeman-artist was worried. Choosing one of the simpler hats, he pointed his finger at it and said:
— And under this there is a struggle between good and evil.
"Hehe," said Clara Courbet. - Nothing like this.
The policeman shuddered and, closing his mouth, looked at Clara.
Orlov elbowed Petyushka, who was crunching something in his pocket.
Peering into the sculptural group, Clara was silent.
"There's something else going on under that hat," she began slowly. “It’s… fighting fighting fighting!”
