At the Tolubeevsky depot, Alexander was considered the best locomotive driver
Vasilievich Maltsev.
He was about thirty years old, but he already had the qualifications of a first driver
class and drove fast trains for a long time. When the first powerful one arrived at our depot
passenger locomotive of the "IS" series, then they were assigned to work on this machine
Maltsev, which was quite reasonable and correct. Assistant to Maltsev
have worked old man from the depot mechanics named Fedor Petrovich
Drabanov, but he soon passed the machinist exam and went to work for
another car, and I, instead of Drabanov, was assigned to work in the brigade
Maltsev as an assistant; before that I also worked as a mechanic’s assistant, but only
on an old, low-powered car.
I was pleased with my assignment. The IS car, the only one in production at that time
our traction area, just by its appearance made me feel
inspiration; I could look at her for a long time, and was especially moved by joy
awakened in me - as beautiful as when I first read it in childhood
poems by Pushkin. In addition, I wanted to work in a first-class team
mechanic to learn from him the art of driving heavy speed
Alexander Vasilyevich accepted my appointment to his brigade calmly and
indifferent; he apparently didn’t care who his members were
assistants
Before the trip, as usual, I checked all the components of the car, tested everything
its servicing and auxiliary mechanisms and calmed down, considering the machine
ready to go. Alexander Vasilievich saw my work, he followed
her, but after I checked the condition of the car again with my own hands,
He definitely didn't trust me.
This was repeated later, and I was already accustomed to the fact that Alexander
Vasilievich constantly interfered with my duties, although he was upset
silently. But usually, as soon as we were on the move, I forgot about my
chagrin. Taking your attention away from the devices monitoring your condition
running steam locomotive, from observing the work of the left car and the path ahead, I
looked at Maltsev. He led the lineup with the courageous confidence of a great
master, with the concentration of an inspired artist who has absorbed all
external world into one’s inner experience and therefore has power over it.
Alexander Vasilyevich’s eyes looked forward abstractly, as if empty, but I
knew that he saw with them the whole road ahead and all of nature rushing towards us
towards - even a sparrow, swept from the ballast slope by the wind
piercing the space of the car, even this sparrow attracted the eye
Maltsev, and he turned his head for a moment after the sparrow: what’s wrong?
It will become after us where he flew.
It was our fault that we were never late; on the contrary, we are often
were delayed at intermediate stations that we must proceed from
progress, because we walked with the catch up of time and us through delays
entered back into the schedule.
We usually worked in silence; only occasionally Alexander Vasilievich, not
turning in my direction, he knocked on the boiler with the key, wanting me to turn
your attention to any disorder in the operating mode of the machine, or
preparing me for a sudden change in this regime so that I am vigilant.
I always understood the silent instructions of my senior comrade and worked with
full diligence, but the mechanic still treated me, as well as
to the oiler-stoker, aloof and constantly checking in the parking lots
grease fittings, tightening the bolts in the drawbar units, tested the axle boxes on
driving axles, etc. If I have just inspected and lubricated any
working rubbing part, then Maltsev, following me, examined it again and
lubricated, as if not considering my work valid.
“I, Alexander Vasilyevich, have already checked this crosshead,” I said
him once when he started checking this detail after me.
“But I want it myself,” Maltsev answered smiling, and in his smile there was
sadness that struck me.
Later I understood the meaning of his sadness and the reason for his constant
indifference to us. He felt superior to us because
understood the machine more accurately than we did, and he did not believe that I or anyone else could
learn the secret of his talent, the secret of seeing at the same time and incidental
sparrow, and a signal ahead, feeling at the same moment the path, the weight of the train and
machine force. Maltsev understood, of course, that in diligence, in diligence
we can even overcome him, but I couldn’t imagine that we are more than him
they loved the steam locomotive and drove trains better than him - he thought it couldn’t have been better.
And that’s why Maltsev was sad with us; he was bored by his talent, how
from loneliness, not knowing how to express it so that we understand.
And we, however, could not understand his skills. I asked once
allow me to lead the composition myself; Alexander Vasilievich allowed
I drove about forty kilometers and sat down in the assistant’s place. I led the train, and
twenty kilometers later I was already four minutes late, and exits from
covered long climbs at a speed of no more than thirty kilometers per
hour. Maltsev drove the car after me; he climbed the climbs at speed
fifty kilometers, and on curves his car didn’t get thrown around like
me, and he soon made up for the time I had lost.
I worked as Maltsev’s assistant for about a year, from August to July, and 5
July Maltsev made his last trip as a driver
courier train...
We took a train of eighty passenger axles, which was late for us at
four hours' journey. The dispatcher came out to the locomotive and specifically asked
Alexander Vasilievich to reduce, as far as possible, train delays, reduce
this is at least three o'clock late, otherwise it will be difficult for him to give out an empty
to the next road. Maltsev promised him to catch up with time, and we set off.
It was eight o'clock in the afternoon, but the summer day still lasted, and the sun
shone with solemn morning power. Alexander Vasilievich demanded from
keep me at all times the steam pressure in the boiler is only half an atmosphere lower
ultimate.
Half an hour later we emerged into the steppe, onto a calm, soft profile. Maltsev
brought the speed up to ninety kilometers and did not go lower, on the contrary -
on horizontals and small slopes the speed was increased to one hundred kilometers. On
climbs, I forced the firebox to the maximum possible and forced the fireman
manually load the scoop, to help the stoker machine, because I have steam
Maltsev drove the car forward, moving the regulator to the entire arc and giving
reverse to full cut-off. We were now walking towards a powerful cloud that had appeared
from beyond the horizon. From our side the cloud was illuminated by the sun, and from the inside it was torn
fierce, irritated lightning, and we saw swords of lightning vertically
pierced the silent distant land, and we rushed madly towards that distant
earth, as if rushing to its defense. Alexander Vasilyevich was apparently carried away
this is a sight: he leaned far out the window, looking forward, and his eyes,
accustomed to smoke, fire and space, they now shone with inspiration.
He understood that the work and power of our machine could be compared with
the work of a thunderstorm, and, perhaps, was proud of this thought.
Soon we noticed a dust whirlwind rushing across the steppe towards us.
This means that the storm was bearing a thundercloud on our foreheads. The light darkened around us;
dry earth and steppe sand whistled and scraped against the iron body
steam locomotive; there was no visibility, and I started the turbo dynamo for illumination and
turned on the headlight in front of the locomotive. It was now difficult for us to breathe
from the hot dusty whirlwind that clogged into the cabin and doubled in its
force from the oncoming movement of the car, from flue gases and early dusk,
surrounding us. The locomotive howled its way forward into the vague, stuffy darkness.
Into the slit of light created by the headlight. Speed dropped to
sixty kilometers; we worked and looked forward, as if in a dream.
Suddenly a large drop hit the windshield and immediately dried up,
tormented by the hot wind. Then an instant blue light flashed at my eyelashes
and penetrated into my very shuddering heart; I grabbed the faucet
injector, but the pain in my heart had already left me, and I immediately looked into
towards Maltsev - he looked ahead and drove the car without changing his face.
What was it? - I asked the fireman.
Lightning,” he said. - I wanted to hit us, but just a little
missed.
Maltsev heard our words.
What lightning? - he asked loudly.
“Now it was,” said the fireman.
“I didn’t see,” Maltsev said and turned his face outward again.
Did not see! - the fireman was surprised. - I thought the boiler exploded, what?
the light came on, but he didn’t see.
I also doubted that it was lightning.
Where's the thunder? - I asked.
We passed the thunder,” explained the fireman. - Thunder always strikes afterwards.
While he hit, while the air was shaken, while back and forth, we were already away from him
flew by. Passengers may have heard - they are behind.
the dark steppe, over which the quiet, overworked people rested motionless
It got completely dark, and it came good night. We smelled the damp
earth, the fragrance of herbs and grains, saturated with rain and thunderstorms, and rushed
forward, catching up with time.
I noticed that Maltsev began to drive worse - on curves we
was thrown, the speed reached more than a hundred kilometers, then decreased
up to forty. I decided that Alexander Vasilyevich was probably very tired, and
so I didn’t say anything to him, although it was very difficult for me to keep
the best mode for the operation of the furnace and boiler with this behavior of the mechanic. However
in half an hour we must stop to get water, and there, at the stop,
Alexander Vasilyevich will eat and rest a little. We've already caught up forty minutes,
and until the end of our traction section we will catch up in at least another hour.
content:
Main character story - Alexander Vasilyevich Maltsev - was considered the best locomotive driver in the depot. He was quite young - about thirty years old - but already had the status of a first class driver. And no one was surprised when he was assigned to the brand new and very powerful passenger locomotive "IS". It was "reasonable and correct." The narrator became Maltsev's assistant. He was extremely pleased that he got into this IS car - the only one in the depot.
Maltsev showed virtually no feelings towards the new assistant, although he closely watched his work. The narrator was always amazed that after checking the machine and its lubrication, Maltsev rechecked everything himself and lubricated it again. The narrator was often annoyed at this oddity in the driver’s behavior, believing that they simply didn’t trust him, but then he got used to it. To the sound of the wheels, he forgot about his offense, carried away by the instruments. He often looked at how inspired Maltsev was driving the car. It was like an actor's performance. Maltsev carefully watched not only the road, but also managed to enjoy the beauty of nature, and even a small sparrow caught in the air stream from the locomotive did not escape his gaze.
The work always happened in silence. And only sometimes Maltsev tapped the boiler with the key, “wishing that I would turn my attention to some disorder in the operating mode of the machine...”. The narrator says that he worked very hard, but the driver’s attitude towards him was exactly the same as towards the oiler-stoker, and he still carefully checked all the details of his assistant. One day, unable to resist, the narrator asked Maltsev why he double-checked everything after him. “But I want it myself,” Maltsev answered smiling, and in his smile there was sadness that struck me.” Only later did the reason for this sadness become clear: “he felt superior to us, because he understood the car more accurately than we did, and he did not believe that I or anyone else could learn the secret of his talent, the secret of seeing both a passing sparrow and a signal at the same time.” ahead, feeling at the same moment the path, the weight of the train and the force of the machine." This means that he was simply bored alone with his talent.
One day, the narrator asked Maltsev to let him drive the car a little, but his car was thrown around in turns, the climbs were overcome slowly, and very soon he was four minutes late. As soon as control passed into the hands of the driver himself, the delay was caught up.
The narrator worked for Maltsev for about a year when the incident happened. tragic story... Maltsev’s car took a train of eighty passenger axles, which were already running three hours late. Maltsev’s task was to reduce this time as much as possible, at least by an hour.
We hit the road. The car was working almost at its limit, and the speed was no less than ninety kilometers per hour.
The train was traveling towards a huge cloud, inside of which everything was bubbling and lightning was flashing. Soon the driver's cabin was engulfed in a whirlwind of dust; almost nothing was visible. Suddenly lightning struck: “an instant blue light flashed at my eyelashes and penetrated me to my shuddering heart; I grabbed the injector tap, but the pain in my heart had already left me.” The narrator looked at Maltsev: he didn’t even change his face. As it turned out, he didn’t even see lightning.
Soon the train passed through the downpour, which began after the lightning, and drove out into the steppe. The narrator noticed that Maltsev began to drive the car worse: on turns the train... was thrown, the speed either decreased or increased sharply. Apparently the driver was just tired.
Busy with electrical problems, the narrator did not notice that the train was rushing under red warning lights. The wheels are already clattering like firecrackers. "We're crushing firecrackers!" - the narrator shouted and reached for the controls. "Away!" - Maltsev exclaimed and slammed on the brakes.
The locomotive stopped. About ten meters away from him there is another locomotive, its driver was waving a red hot poker with all his might, giving a signal. This meant that while the narrator turned away, Maltsev drove first under the yellow, then under the red signal, and who knows what other signals. Why didn't he stop? “Kostya!” Alexander Vasilyevich called me.
I approached him. - Kostya! What's ahead of us? - I explained to him.
The narrator brought the dejected Maltsev home. Near the house itself, he asked to be left alone. To the narrator’s objections, he replied: “Now I see, go home...” And indeed, he saw his wife come out to meet him. Kostya decided to check him and asked whether his wife’s head was covered with a scarf or not. And having received the correct answer, he left the driver.
Maltsev was put on trial. The narrator tried his best to justify his boss. But they could not forgive him for the fact that Maltsev endangered not only his life, but also the lives of thousands of people. Why didn’t blind Maltsev transfer control to someone else? Why did he take such a risk?
The narrator will ask Maltsev the same questions.
“I was used to seeing the light, and I thought I saw it, but I saw it then only in my mind, in my imagination. In fact, I was blind, but I didn’t know that. I didn’t even believe in firecrackers, although I heard them: I thought I misheard. And when you blew the stop horn and shouted to me, I saw a green signal ahead, I didn’t guess right away.” The narrator responded to Maltsev’s words with understanding.
The following year, the narrator takes the driver's exam. Every time, leaving on the road, checking the car, he sees Maltsev sitting on a painted bench. He leaned on a cane and turned his face with empty, blind eyes towards the locomotive. "Away!" — that’s all he said in response to the narrator’s attempts to console him. But one day Kostya invited Maltsev to go with him: “Tomorrow at ten thirty I will drive the train. If you sit quietly, I will take you into the car.” Maltsev agreed.
The next day the narrator invited Maltsev to the car. The blind man was ready to obey, so he humbly promised not to touch anything, but only to obey. His driver put one hand on the reverse, the other on the brake lever, and put his hands on top to help. On the way back we walked the same way. Already on the way to the destination, the narrator saw a yellow traffic light, but decided to check his teacher and went to the yellow one at full speed.
“I see a yellow light,” Maltsev said. “Or maybe you’re just imagining that you’re seeing the light again!” - answered the narrator. Then Maltsev turned his face to him and began to cry.
He drove the car to the end without help. And in the evening the narrator went with Maltsev to his home and for a long time could not leave him alone, “how own son, without protection against the action of the sudden and hostile forces of our beautiful and furious world."
At the Tolubeevsky depot, Alexander Vasilyevich Maltsev was considered the best locomotive driver.
He was about thirty years old, but he already had the qualifications of a first-class driver and had been driving fast trains for a long time. When the first powerful passenger locomotive of the IS series arrived at our depot, Maltsev was assigned to work on this machine, which was quite reasonable and correct. An elderly man from the depot mechanics named Fyodor Petrovich Drabanov worked as an assistant for Maltsev, but he soon passed the driver exam and went to work on another machine, and I, instead of Drabanov, was assigned to work in Maltsev’s brigade as an assistant; Before that, I also worked as a mechanic’s assistant, but only on an old, low-power machine.
I was pleased with my assignment. The IS machine, the only one on our traction site at that time, evoked a feeling of inspiration in me by its very appearance; I could look at her for a long time, and a special, touched joy awoke in me - as beautiful as in childhood when reading Pushkin’s poems for the first time. In addition, I wanted to work in the crew of a first-class mechanic in order to learn from him the art of driving heavy high-speed trains.
Alexander Vasilyevich accepted my appointment to his brigade calmly and indifferently; he apparently did not care who his assistants would be.
Before the trip, as usual, I checked all the components of the car, tested all its servicing and auxiliary mechanisms and calmed down, considering the car ready for the trip. Alexander Vasilyevich saw my work, he followed it, but after me, he again checked the condition of the car with his own hands, as if he did not trust me.
This was repeated later, and I was already accustomed to the fact that Alexander Vasilyevich constantly interfered with my duties, although he was silently upset. But usually, as soon as we were on the move, I forgot about my disappointment. Distracting my attention from the instruments monitoring the condition of the running locomotive, from monitoring the operation of the left car and the path ahead, I glanced at Maltsev. He led the cast with the courageous confidence of a great master, with the concentration of an inspired artist who has absorbed the entire outer world into his inner experience and therefore dominates it. Alexander Vasilyevich’s eyes looked ahead abstractly, as if empty, but I knew that he saw with them the whole road ahead and all of nature rushing towards us - even a sparrow, swept from the ballast slope by the wind of a car piercing into space, even this sparrow attracted Maltsev’s gaze, and he turned his head for a moment after the sparrow: what would become of it after us, where it flew.
It was our fault that we were never late; on the contrary, we were often delayed at intermediate stations, which we had to proceed on the move, because we were running with time catching up and, through delays, we were put back on schedule.
We usually worked in silence; Only occasionally did Alexander Vasilyevich, without turning in my direction, tap the key on the boiler, wanting me to draw my attention to some disorder in the operating mode of the machine, or preparing me for a sharp change in this mode, so that I would be vigilant. I always understood the silent instructions of my senior comrade and worked with full diligence, but the mechanic still treated me, as well as the lubricator-stoker, aloof and constantly checked the grease nipples in the parking lots, the tightness of the bolts in the drawbar units, tested the axle boxes on the drive axes and so on. If I had just inspected and lubricated any working rubbing part, then Maltsev, after me, inspected and lubricated it again, as if not considering my work valid.
“I, Alexander Vasilyevich, have already checked this crosshead,” I told him one day when he began checking this part after me.
“But I want it myself,” Maltsev answered smiling, and in his smile there was sadness that struck me.
Later I understood the meaning of his sadness and the reason for his constant indifference towards us.
A. Platonov
IN A BEAUTIFUL AND FURIOUS WORLD
At the Tolubeevsky depot, Alexander Vasilyevich Maltsev was considered the best locomotive driver.
He was about thirty years old, but he already had the qualifications of a first-class driver and had been driving fast trains for a long time. When the first powerful passenger locomotive of the IS series arrived at our depot, Maltsev was assigned to work on this machine, which was quite reasonable and correct. An elderly man from the depot mechanics named Fyodor Petrovich Drabanov worked as an assistant for Maltsev, but he soon passed the driver’s exam and went to work on another machine, and instead of Drabanov, I was assigned to work in Maltsev’s brigade as an assistant; Before that, I also worked as a mechanic’s assistant, but only on an old, low-power machine.
I was pleased with my assignment. The “IS” car, the only one on our traction site at that time, evoked a feeling of inspiration in me by its very appearance: I could look at it for a long time, and a special, touched joy awoke in me, as beautiful as in childhood when I first read Pushkin’s poems. In addition, I wanted to work in the crew of a first-class mechanic in order to learn from him the art of driving heavy high-speed trains.
Alexander Vasilyevich accepted my appointment to his brigade calmly and indifferently: he apparently did not care who would be his assistants.
Before the trip, as usual, I checked all the components of the car, tested all its servicing and auxiliary mechanisms and calmed down, considering the car ready for the trip. Alexander Vasilyevich saw my work, he followed it, but after me, he again checked the condition of the car with his own hands, as if he did not trust me.
This was repeated later, and I was already accustomed to the fact that Alexander Vasilyevich constantly interfered with my duties, although he was silently upset. But usually, as soon as we were on the move, I forgot about my disappointment. Distracting my attention from the instruments monitoring the condition of the running locomotive, from monitoring the operation of the left car and the path ahead, I glanced at Maltsev. He led the cast with the courageous confidence of a great master, with the concentration of an inspired artist who has absorbed the entire outer world into his inner experience and therefore dominates it. Alexander Vasilyevich’s eyes looked ahead, as if empty, abstractly, but I knew that he saw with them the whole road ahead and all of nature rushing towards us - even a sparrow, swept from the ballast slope by the wind of a car piercing into space, even this sparrow attracted Maltsev’s gaze , and he turned his head for a moment after the sparrow: what will happen to him after us, where did he fly?
It was our fault that we were never late; on the contrary, we were often delayed at intermediate stations, which we had to proceed on the move, because we were running with time, and through delays we were put back on schedule.
We usually worked in silence; Only occasionally did Alexander Vasilyevich, without turning in my direction, tap the key on the boiler, wanting me to draw my attention to some disorder in the operating mode of the machine, or preparing me for a sharp change in this mode, so that I would be vigilant. I always understood the silent instructions of my senior comrade and worked with full diligence, but the mechanic still treated me, as well as the lubricator-stoker, aloof and constantly checked the grease nipples in the parking lots, the tightness of the bolts in the drawbar units, tested the axle boxes on the drive axes and so on. If I had just inspected and lubricated any working rubbing part, then Maltsev followed me again inspecting and lubricating it, as if not considering my work valid.
“I, Alexander Vasilyevich, have already checked this crosshead,” I told him one day when he began checking this part after me.
“But I want it myself,” Maltsev answered smiling, and in his smile there was sadness that struck me.
Later I understood the meaning of his sadness and the reason for his constant indifference towards us. He felt superior to us because he understood the car more accurately than we did, and he did not believe that I or anyone else could learn the secret of his talent, the secret of seeing both a passing sparrow and a signal ahead, at the same moment sensing the path, the weight of the composition and the force of the machine. Maltsev understood, of course, that in diligence, in diligence, we could even overcome him, but he could not imagine that we loved the locomotive more than him and drove trains better than him - he thought it was impossible to do better. And that’s why Maltsev was sad with us; he missed his talent as if he were lonely, not knowing how to express it to us so that we would understand.
And we, however, could not understand his skills. I once asked to be allowed to drive the train myself: Alexander Vasilyevich allowed me to drive about forty kilometers and sat in the assistant’s place. I drove the train - and after twenty kilometers I was already four minutes late, and I covered the exits from long climbs at a speed of no more than thirty kilometers per hour. Maltsev drove the car after me; he took the climbs at a speed of fifty kilometers, and on the curves his car did not throw up like mine, and he soon made up for the time I had lost.
I worked as Maltsev’s assistant for about a year, from August to July, and on July 5, Maltsev made his last trip as a courier train driver...
We took a train of eighty passenger axles, which was four hours late on its way to us. The dispatcher went to the locomotive and specifically asked Alexander Vasilyevich to reduce the train's delay as much as possible, to reduce this delay to at least three hours, otherwise it would be difficult for him to issue an empty train onto the neighboring road. Maltsev promised to catch up with time, and we moved forward.
It was eight o'clock in the afternoon, but the summer day still lasted, and the sun shone with the solemn strength of the morning. Alexander Vasilyevich demanded that I keep the steam pressure in the boiler only half an atmosphere below the limit all the time.
Half an hour later we emerged into the steppe onto a calm, soft profile. Maltsev brought the speed up to ninety kilometers and did not go lower; on the contrary, on horizontals and small slopes he brought the speed up to one hundred kilometers. On climbs, I forced the firebox to its maximum capacity and forced the fireman to manually load the scoop, to help the stoker machine, because my steam was running low.
Maltsev drove the car forward, moving the regulator to the full arc and giving the reverse to the full cutoff. We were now walking towards a powerful cloud that appeared over the horizon. From our side, the cloud was illuminated by the sun, and from inside it was torn by fierce, irritated lightning, and we saw how swords of lightning pierced vertically into the silent distant land, and we rushed madly towards that distant land, as if rushing to its defense. Alexander Vasilyevich, apparently, was captivated by this spectacle: he leaned far out the window, looking ahead, and his eyes, accustomed to smoke, fire and space, now sparkled with inspiration. He understood that the work and power of our machine could be compared with the work of a thunderstorm, and perhaps he was proud of this thought.
Soon we noticed a dust whirlwind rushing across the steppe towards us. This means that the storm was bearing a thundercloud on our foreheads. The light darkened around us: the dry earth and steppe sand whistled and scraped along the iron body of the locomotive, there was no visibility, and I launched the turbodynamo for illumination and turned on the headlight in front of the locomotive. It was now difficult for us to breathe from the hot dusty whirlwind that was billowing into the cabin and redoubled in its strength by the oncoming movement of the machine, from the flue gases and the early darkness that surrounded us. The locomotive howled its way forward into the vague, stuffy darkness into the slit of light created by the frontal searchlight. The speed dropped to sixty kilometers; we worked and looked forward, as if in a dream.
Suddenly a large drop hit the windshield and immediately dried up, washed away by the hot wind. Then an instant blue light flashed at my eyelashes and penetrated me to my shuddering heart. I grabbed the injector tap, but the pain in my heart had already left me, and I immediately looked in the direction of Maltsev - he was looking forward and driving the car without changing his face.
What was it? - I asked the fireman.
Lightning,” he said. “I wanted to hit us, but I missed a little.”
Maltsev heard our words.
What lightning? - he asked loudly.
“Now it was,” said the fireman.
“I didn’t see,” Maltsev said and turned his face outward again.
Did not see? - the fireman was surprised. “I thought the boiler exploded when the light came on, but he didn’t see it.”
I also doubted that it was lightning.
Where's the thunder? - I asked.
We passed the thunder,” explained the fireman. - Thunder always strikes afterwards. By the time it hit, by the time it shook the air, by the time it went back and forth, we had already flown past it. Passengers may have heard - they are behind.
It got completely dark and a calm night came. We felt the smell of damp earth, the fragrance of herbs and grains, saturated with rain and thunderstorms, and rushed forward, catching up with time.
I noticed that Maltsev’s driving became worse - we were thrown around on curves, the speed reached more than a hundred kilometers, then dropped to forty. I decided that Alexander Vasilyevich was probably very tired, and therefore did not say anything to him, although it was very difficult for me to keep the furnace and boiler operating in the best possible conditions with such behavior from the mechanic. However, in half an hour we must stop to get water, and there, at the stop, Alexander Vasilyevich will eat and rest a little. We've already caught up for forty minutes, and we'll have at least another hour to catch up before the end of our traction section.
Still, I became concerned about Maltsev’s fatigue and began to look carefully ahead - at the path and at the signals. On my side, above the left car, an electric lamp was burning, illuminating the waving, drawbar mechanism. I clearly saw the tense, confident work of the left machine, but then the lamp above it went out and began to burn poorly, like one candle. I turned back into the cabin. There, too, all the lamps were now burning at a quarter incandescence, barely illuminating the instruments. It’s strange that Alexander Vasilyevich did not knock on me with the key at that moment to point out such a disorder. It was clear that the turbodynamo did not give the calculated speed and the voltage dropped. I began to regulate the turbodynamo through the steam line and fiddled with this device for a long time, but the voltage did not rise.
At this time, a hazy cloud of red light passed across the instrument dials and the ceiling of the cabin. I looked outside.
Ahead in the darkness - close or far, it was impossible to determine - a red streak of light wavered across our path. I didn’t understand what it was, but I understood what had to be done.
Alexander Vasilievich! - I shouted and gave three beeps to stop.
Explosions of firecrackers were heard under the tires of our wheels. I rushed to Maltsev, he turned his face towards me and looked at me with empty, calm eyes. The needle on the tachometer dial showed a speed of sixty kilometers.
Maltsev! - I shouted. “We’re crushing firecrackers!” And I extended my hands to the controls.
Away! - Maltsev exclaimed, and his eyes shone, reflecting the light of the dim lamp above the tachometer.
He immediately applied the emergency brake and reversed.
I was pressed against the boiler, I heard the howling of wheel tires, whittling the rails.
Maltsev! - I said. - We need to open the cylinder valves, we’ll break the car.
No need! We won't break it! - answered Maltsev.
We stopped. I pumped water into the boiler with an injector and looked outside. Ahead of us, about ten meters, a steam locomotive stood on our line, with its tender facing us. There was a man on the tender; in his hands he had a long poker, red-hot at the end, and he waved it, wanting to stop the courier train. This locomotive was the pusher of a freight train that had stopped at the stage.
This means that while I was adjusting the turbodynamo and not looking ahead, we passed a yellow traffic light, and then a red one and, probably, more than one warning signal from the linemen. But why didn’t Maltsev notice these signals?
Kostya! - Alexander Vasilyevich called me.
I approached him.
Kostya!.. What is there ahead of us?
The next day I brought the return train to my station and handed over the locomotive to the depot, because the bandages on two of its ramps had slightly shifted. Having reported the incident to the head of the depot, I led Maltsev by the arm to his place of residence; Maltsev himself was seriously depressed and did not go to the head of the depot.
We had not yet reached the house on the grassy street in which Maltsev lived when he asked me to leave him alone.
“You can’t,” I answered. - You, Alexander Vasilyevich, are a blind man.
He looked at me with clear, thinking eyes.
Now I see, go home... I see everything - my wife came out to meet me.
At the gate of the house where Maltsev lived, a woman, the wife of Alexander Vasilyevich, actually stood waiting, and her open black hair glistened in the sun.
Is her head covered or bare? - I asked.
“Without,” Maltsev answered. - Who is blind - you or me?
Well, if you see it, then look,” I decided and walked away from Maltsev.
Maltsev was put on trial, and an investigation began. The investigator called me and asked what I thought about the incident with the courier train. I replied that I thought that Maltsev was not to blame.
“He went blind from a close discharge, from a lightning strike,” I told the investigator. - He was shell-shocked, and the nerves that control his vision were damaged... I don’t know how to say this exactly.
“I understand you,” said the investigator, “you speak exactly.” This is all possible, but unreliable. After all, Maltsev himself testified that he did not see lightning.
And I saw her, and the oiler saw her too.
This means that lightning struck closer to you than to Maltsev,” the investigator reasoned. - Why aren’t you and the oiler shell-shocked and blind, but the driver Maltsev received concussion of the optic nerves and went blind? How do you think?
I became stumped and then thought about it.
Maltsev couldn’t see the lightning,” I said.
The investigator listened to me in surprise.
He couldn't see her. He was instantly blinded by the blow electromagnetic wave, which goes ahead of the lightning light. The light of lightning is a consequence of the discharge, and not the cause of lightning. Maltsev was already blind when the lightning began to shine, but the blind man could not see the light.
Interesting! - The investigator smiled. - I would have stopped Maltsev’s case if he were still blind. But you know, now he sees the same as you and I.
“He sees,” I confirmed.
“Was he blind,” the investigator continued, “when he drove the courier train at high speed into the tail of the freight train?
“Yes,” I confirmed.
The investigator looked at me carefully.
Why didn't he transfer control of the locomotive to you, or at least order you to stop the train?
“I don’t know,” I said.
“You see,” said the investigator. - An adult, conscious person controls the locomotive of a courier train, carries hundreds of people to certain death, accidentally avoids disaster, and then makes the excuse that he was blind. What it is?
But he himself would have died! - I say.
Probably. However, I am more interested in the lives of hundreds of people than in the life of one person. Maybe he had his own reasons for dying.
“It wasn’t,” I said.
The investigator became indifferent; he was already bored with me, like a fool.
“You know everything, except the main thing,” he said in slow reflection. - You can go.
From the investigator I went to Maltsev’s apartment.
Alexander Vasilyevich,” I told him, “why didn’t you call me for help when you became blind?”
“I saw it,” he replied. - Why did I need you?
What did you saw?
Everything: the line, the signals, the wheat in the steppe, the work of the right machine - I saw everything...
I was puzzled.
How did this happen for you? You passed all the warnings, you were right behind the other train...
The former first-class mechanic thought sadly and quietly answered me, as if to himself:
I was used to seeing light, and I thought I saw it, but I saw it then only in my mind, in my imagination. In fact, I was blind, but I didn’t know it... I didn’t even believe in firecrackers, although I heard them: I thought I had misheard. And when you blew the horn and shouted to me, I saw a green signal ahead. I didn't realize it right away.
Now I understood Maltsev, but I didn’t know why he wouldn’t tell the investigator about it - that, after he became blind, for a long time he saw the world in his imagination and believed in its reality. And I asked Alexander Vasilyevich about this.
“I told him,” Maltsev replied.
What is he?
This, he says, was your imagination; Maybe you’re imagining something now, I don’t know. I, he says, need to establish the facts, not your imagination or suspiciousness. Your imagination - whether it was there or not - I can’t check, it was only in your head, these are your words, and the crash that almost happened was an action.
“He’s right,” I said.
“I’m right, I know it myself,” the driver agreed. - And I’m also right, not wrong. What will happen now?
I didn't know what to answer him.
Maltsev was sent to prison. I still drove as an assistant, but only with another driver - a cautious old man who slowed down the train a kilometer before the yellow traffic light, and when we approached it, the signal changed to green, and the old man again began to drag the train forward. It wasn't work - I missed Maltsev.
In winter, I was in a regional city and visited my brother, a student, who lived in a university dormitory. My brother told me during the conversation that at their university they have a Tesla installation in their physics laboratory for producing artificial lightning. A certain idea occurred to me that was not yet clear to me.
Returning home, I thought about my guess regarding the Tesla installation and decided that my idea was correct. I wrote a letter to the investigator who was at one time in charge of Maltsev’s case, with a request to test the prisoner Maltsev to determine his exposure to electrical discharges. If it is proven that Maltsev’s psyche or his visual organs are susceptible to the action of nearby sudden electrical discharges, then Maltsev’s case must be reconsidered. I pointed out to the investigator where the Tesla installation was located and how to perform the experiment on a person.
The investigator did not answer me for a long time, but then said that the regional prosecutor agreed to carry out the examination I proposed in the university physics laboratory.
A few days later the investigator summoned me. I came to him excited, confident in advance of a happy solution to the Maltsev case.
The investigator greeted me, but was silent for a long time, slowly reading some paper with sad eyes; I was losing hope.
“You let your friend down,” the investigator then said.
And what? Does the sentence remain the same?
No, we freed Maltsev. The order has already been given - perhaps Maltsev is already at home.
Thank you. - I stood up in front of the investigator.
And we won't thank you. You gave bad advice: Maltsev is blind again...
I sat down on a chair in fatigue, my soul instantly burned out, and I became thirsty.
Experts, without warning, in the dark, took Maltsev under the Tesla installation, the investigator told me. - The current was turned on, lightning occurred, and there was a sharp blow. Maltsev passed calmly, but now he again does not see the light - this was established objectively, by a forensic medical examination.
Now he again sees the world only in his imagination... You are his comrade, help him.
Maybe his sight will return again,” I expressed hope, as it was then, after the locomotive...
The investigator thought.
Hardly. Then there was the first injury, now the second. The wound was applied to the wounded area.
And, unable to restrain himself any longer, the investigator stood up and began walking around the room in excitement.
It’s my fault... Why did I listen to you and, like a fool, insist on an examination! I risked a man, but he couldn’t bear the risk.
“It’s not your fault, you didn’t risk anything,” I consoled the investigator. -What is better - a free blind person or a sighted but innocent prisoner?
“I didn’t know that I would have to prove a person’s innocence through his misfortune,” the investigator said. - This is too expensive a price.
“You are an investigator,” I explained to him, “you must know everything about a person, and even what he does not know about himself.”
“I understand you, you’re right,” the investigator said quietly.
Don't worry, comrade investigator. Here the facts were at work inside the person, and you were looking for them only outside. But you were able to understand your shortcoming and acted with Maltsev like a noble person. I respect you.
“I love you too,” the investigator admitted. - You know, you could be an assistant investigator.
Thank you, but I'm busy, I'm an assistant driver on a courier locomotive.
I left. I was not Maltsev’s friend, and he always treated me without attention and care. But I wanted to protect him from the grief of fate, I was fierce against the fatal forces that accidentally and indifferently destroy a person; I felt the secret, elusive calculation of these forces in the fact that they were destroying Maltsev, and, say, not me. I understood that in nature there is no such calculation in our human, mathematical sense, but I saw that facts occur that prove the existence of hostile, for human life disastrous circumstances, and these disastrous forces crush the chosen, exalted people. I decided not to give up because I felt something in myself that couldn’t be there in the first place. external forces nature and in our destiny, I felt my specialness as a person. And I became embittered and decided to resist, not yet knowing how to do it.
The following summer, I passed the exam to become a driver and began to travel independently on a steam locomotive of the "SU" series, working on local passenger traffic.
And almost always, when I brought the locomotive under the train standing at the station platform, I saw Maltsev sitting on a painted bench. Leaning his hand on a cane placed between his legs, he turned his passionate, sensitive face with empty, blind eyes towards the locomotive, and greedily breathed in the smell of burning and lubricating oil, and listened attentively to the rhythmic work of the steam-air pump. I had nothing to console him with, so I left, but he stayed.
It was summer; I worked on a steam locomotive and often saw Alexander Vasilyevich not only on the station platform, but also met him on the street, when he walked slowly, feeling the way with his cane. He has grown haggard and older Lately; He lived in prosperity - he was given a pension, his wife worked, they had no children, but Alexander Vasilyevich was consumed by melancholy and lifeless fate, and his body grew thin from constant grief. I sometimes talked to him, but I saw that he was bored talking about trifles and was content with my kind consolation that a blind man is also a completely full-fledged, full-fledged person.
Away! - he said after listening to my friendly words.
But I, too, was an angry man, and when, according to custom, he one day ordered me to leave, I told him:
Tomorrow at ten thirty I will lead the train. If you sit quietly, I'll take you into the car.
Maltsev agreed:
OK. I will be humble. Give me something in my hands, let me hold the reverse: I won’t turn it.
You won't spin it! - I confirmed. - If you twist it, I’ll give you a piece of coal in your hands, but I won’t take it to the locomotive again.
The blind man remained silent; he wanted to be on the locomotive again so much that he humbled himself in front of me.
The next day I invited him from the painted bench onto the locomotive and went down to meet him to help him climb into the cabin.
When we moved forward, I put Alexander Vasilyevich in my driver’s seat, I put one of his hands on the reverse and the other on the brake machine, and put my hands on top of his hands. I moved my hands as needed, and his hands worked too. Maltsev sat silently and listened to me, enjoying the movement of the car, the wind in his face and the work. He concentrated, forgot his grief as a blind man, and a gentle joy illuminated the haggard face of this man, for whom the feeling of the machine was bliss.
We drove the other way in the same way: Maltsev sat in the mechanic’s place, and I stood, bent over, next to him and held my hands on his arms. Maltsev had already become accustomed to working in this way so much that a light pressure on his hand was enough for me - and he sensed my demand with precision. The former, perfect master of the machine sought to overcome his lack of vision and feel the world by other means in order to work and justify his life.
In quiet areas, I completely moved away from Maltsev and looked forward from the side of the assistant.
We were already on the way to Tolubeev; our next flight ended safely, and we were on time. But on the last stretch a yellow traffic light was shining towards us. I did not cut back prematurely and went to the traffic light with open steam. Maltsev sat calmly, holding left hand on the reverse; I looked at my teacher with secret expectation...
Shut down the steam! - Maltsev told me.
I remained silent, worried with all my heart.
Then Maltsev stood up, extended his hand to the regulator and turned off the steam.
“I see a yellow light,” he said and pulled the brake handle towards himself.
Or maybe you are again only imagining that you see the light? - I said to Maltsev.
He turned his face to me and began to cry. I walked up to him and kissed him back.
Drive the car to the end, Alexander Vasilyevich: now you see the whole world!
He drove the car to Tolubeev without my help. After work, I went with Maltsev to his apartment, and we sat together all evening and all night.
I was afraid to leave him alone, like my own son, without protection against the action of the sudden and hostile forces of our beautiful and furious world.
The main character of the story, Alexander Vasilyevich Maltsev, was considered the best locomotive driver in the depot. He was quite young - about thirty years old - but already had the status of a first class driver. And no one was surprised when he was assigned to the brand new and very powerful passenger locomotive "IS". It was "reasonable and correct." The narrator became Maltsev's assistant. He was extremely pleased that he got into this IS car - the only one in the depot.
Maltsev showed virtually no feelings towards the new assistant, although he closely watched his work. The narrator was always amazed that after checking the machine and its lubrication, Maltsev rechecked everything himself and lubricated it again. The narrator was often annoyed at this oddity in the driver’s behavior, believing that they simply didn’t trust him, but then he got used to it. To the sound of the wheels, he forgot about his offense, carried away by the instruments. He often looked at how inspired Maltsev was driving the car. It was like an actor's performance. Maltsev carefully watched not only the road, but also managed to enjoy the beauty of nature, and even a small sparrow caught in the air stream from the locomotive did not escape his gaze.
The work always happened in silence. And only sometimes Maltsev tapped the boiler with the key, “wishing that I would turn my attention to some disorder in the operating mode of the machine...”. The narrator says that he worked very hard, but the driver’s attitude towards him was exactly the same as towards the oiler-stoker, and he still carefully checked all the details of his assistant. One day, unable to resist, the narrator asked Maltsev why he double-checked everything after him. “But I want it myself,” Maltsev answered smiling, and in his smile there was sadness that struck me.” Only later did the reason for this sadness become clear: “he felt superior to us, because he understood the car more accurately than we did, and he did not believe that I or anyone else could learn the secret of his talent, the secret of seeing both a passing sparrow and a signal at the same time.” ahead, feeling at the same moment the path, the weight of the train and the force of the machine." This means that he was simply bored alone with his talent.
One day, the narrator asked Maltsev to let him drive the car a little, but his car was thrown around in turns, the climbs were overcome slowly, and very soon he was four minutes late. As soon as control passed into the hands of the driver himself, the delay was caught up.
The narrator worked for Maltsev for about a year when a tragic story happened... Maltsev’s car took a train of eighty passenger axles, which were already running three hours late. Maltsev’s task was to reduce this time as much as possible, at least by an hour.
We hit the road. The car was working almost at its limit, and the speed was no less than ninety kilometers per hour.
The train was traveling towards a huge cloud, inside of which everything was bubbling and lightning was flashing. Soon the driver's cabin was engulfed in a whirlwind of dust; almost nothing was visible. Suddenly lightning struck: “an instant blue light flashed at my eyelashes and penetrated me to my shuddering heart; I grabbed the injector tap, but the pain in my heart had already left me.” The narrator looked at Maltsev: he didn’t even change his face. As it turned out, he didn’t even see lightning.
Soon the train passed through the downpour, which began after the lightning, and drove out into the steppe. The narrator noticed that Maltsev began to drive the car worse: the train was thrown around on turns, the speed either decreased or increased sharply. Apparently the driver was just tired.
Busy with electrical problems, the narrator did not notice that the train was rushing under red warning lights. The wheels are already clattering like firecrackers. "We're crushing firecrackers!" – the narrator shouted and reached for the controls. "Away!" – Maltsev exclaimed and slammed on the brakes.
The locomotive stopped. About ten meters away from him there is another locomotive, its driver was waving a red hot poker with all his might, giving a signal. This meant that while the narrator turned away, Maltsev drove first under the yellow, then under the red signal, and who knows what other signals. Why didn't he stop? “Kostya!” Alexander Vasilyevich called me.
I approached him. - Kostya! What's ahead of us? – I explained to him.
The narrator brought the dejected Maltsev home. Near the house itself, he asked to be left alone. To the narrator’s objections, he replied: “Now I see, go home...” And indeed, he saw his wife come out to meet him. Kostya decided to check him and asked whether his wife’s head was covered with a scarf or not. And having received the correct answer, he left the driver.
Maltsev was put on trial. The narrator tried his best to justify his boss. But they could not forgive him for the fact that Maltsev endangered not only his life, but also the lives of thousands of people. Why didn’t blind Maltsev transfer control to someone else? Why did he take such a risk?
The narrator will ask Maltsev the same questions.
“I was used to seeing the light, and I thought I saw it, but I saw it then only in my mind, in my imagination. In fact, I was blind, but I didn’t know that. I didn’t even believe in firecrackers, although I heard them: I thought I misheard. And when you blew the stop horn and shouted to me, I saw a green signal ahead, I didn’t guess right away.” The narrator responded to Maltsev’s words with understanding.
The following year, the narrator takes the driver's exam. Every time, leaving on the road, checking the car, he sees Maltsev sitting on a painted bench. He leaned on a cane and turned his face with empty, blind eyes towards the locomotive. "Away!" - that’s all he said in response to the narrator’s attempts to console him. But one day Kostya invited Maltsev to go with him: “Tomorrow at ten thirty I will drive the train. If you sit quietly, I will take you into the car.” Maltsev agreed.
The next day the narrator invited Maltsev to the car. The blind man was ready to obey, so he humbly promised not to touch anything, but only to obey. His driver put one hand on the reverse, the other on the brake lever, and put his hands on top to help. On the way back we walked the same way. Already on the way to the destination, the narrator saw a yellow traffic light, but decided to check his teacher and went to the yellow one at full speed.
“I see a yellow light,” Maltsev said. “Or maybe you’re just imagining that you’re seeing the light again!” - answered the narrator. Then Maltsev turned his face to him and began to cry.
He drove the car to the end without help. And in the evening the narrator went with Maltsev to his home and for a long time could not leave him alone, “like his own son, without protection against the action of the sudden and hostile forces of our beautiful and furious world.”