Read another story by V. P. Astafiev - “A Horse with pink mane" What people does the writer continue to talk about, introducing us to their life, habits and characteristics of their characters?

Horse with a pink mane

Grandmother returned from the neighbors and told me that the Levontiev children were going to Uval 1 for strawberries, and told me to go with them.

You will dial 2 points. I will take my berries to the city, I will also sell yours and buy you gingerbread.

A horse, grandma?

Horse, horse.

Gingerbread horse! This is the dream of all village kids. He is white, white, this horse. And his mane is pink, his tail is pink, his eyes are pink, his hooves are also pink.

Grandmother never allowed us to carry around with pieces of bread. Eat at the table, otherwise it will be bad. But gingerbread is a completely different matter.

You can tuck a gingerbread under your shirt, run around and hear the horse kicking its hooves on its bare belly. Cold with horror - lost! - grab your shirt and be happy to see that there he is, the fire horse!..

1 Uval is a gentle hill of considerable length.

2 Tuesok - a birch bark basket with a tight lid.

With such a horse, you will immediately appreciate how much attention! The Levontiev guys fawn over you this way and that, and let the first one hit the siskin, and shoot with a slingshot, so that only they will then be allowed to bite off the horse or lick it.

When you give Levontyev’s Sanka or Tanka a bite, you must hold with your fingers the place where you are supposed to bite and hold it tightly, otherwise Tanka or Sanka will bite so hard that the horse’s tail and mane will remain.

Levontiy, our neighbor, worked at Badog 3 together with Mishka Korshunov. Levontiy harvested timber for badog, sawed it, chopped it and delivered it to the lime plant, which was opposite the village on the other side of the Yenisei.

Once every ten days - or maybe fifteen, I don’t remember exactly - Levontii received money, and then in the Levontevs’ house, where there were only children and nothing else, a feast began.

Some kind of restlessness, a fever or something, then gripped not only the Levontiev house, but also all the neighbors. Early in the morning, Levontikha and Aunt Vasenya ran to see my grandmother, out of breath, exhausted, with rubles clutched in a fistful.

Wait, you crazy one! - her grandmother called out to her. - You have to count!

Aunt Vasenya obediently returned, and while grandma was counting the money, she shuffled her bare feet like a hot horse, ready to take off as soon as the reins were let go.

3 Badoga - long logs.

Grandmother counted carefully and for a long time, looking at every ruble. As far as I remember, my grandmother never gave Levontikha more than seven or ten rubles from her “reserve” for a rainy day, because this entire “reserve” seemed to consist of ten. But even with such a small amount, the crazy 4 Vasenya managed to shortchange by a ruble, or even three.

How do you treat money, you eyeless scarecrow! - the grandmother attacked the neighbor. - I’ll give you a ruble! Another ruble! What will happen?

But Vasenya again whipped up her skirt like a whirlwind and rolled away:

She did!

Grandma spent a long time blaspheming Levontiikha, Levontii himself, hitting herself on the thighs with her hands, spitting, and I sat down by the window and looked longingly at the neighbor’s house.

He stood by himself, in the open space, and nothing prevented him from looking at the white light through the somehow glazed windows - no fence, no gate, no porch, no frames, no shutters.

In the spring, the Levontiev family picked up the ground around the house a little, erected a fence from poles, twigs, and old boards. But in winter, all this gradually disappeared in the womb of the Russian stove, sprawled in the middle of the hut.

Tanka Levontyevskaya used to say this, making noise with her toothless mouth, about their whole establishment:

But when dad snoops at us, you run and don’t miss it! Uncle Levontius himself went out on warm evenings wearing pants held on by a single copper button with two eagles, and a calico shirt without buttons at all. He would sit on an ax-marked log representing a porch, smoke, look, and if my grandmother reproached him through the window for idleness and listed the work that, in her opinion, he should have done in the house and around the house, Uncle Levontius would only scratch himself complacently:

I, Petrovna, love freedom! - and moved his hand around himself. - Fine! Like the sea! Nothing depresses the eyes!

4 Zapoloshnaya - fussy.

Uncle Levontius once sailed the seas, loved the sea, and I loved it. The main goal of my life was to break into Levontius’s house after his payday. This is not so easy to do. Grandma knows all my habits.

There's no point in peeking out! - she thundered. “There’s no point in eating these proletarians, they themselves have a louse on a lasso in their pocket.”

But if I manage to sneak out of the house and get to the Levontievskys, then that’s it: here I am surrounded by rare attention, here I have a complete holiday.

Get out of here! - the drunken Uncle Levontius sternly ordered one of his boys. And while one of them reluctantly crawled out from behind the table, he explained this action to the children in an already limp voice: “He is an orphan, and you are still with your parents!” - And, looking pitifully at me, he immediately roared: - Do you even remember your mother? - I nodded my head affirmatively, and then Uncle Levontius sadly leaned on his arm, rubbed the tears down his face with his fist, and remembered: - Badoga was injected with her for one year! - And completely bursting into tears: - Whenever you come... night, midnight... “Propagation... you are a lost head, Levontius!” -he will say and... get hangover-and-it...

Here Aunt Vasenya, Uncle Levontius’s children and I, together with them, burst into a roar, and it became so pitiful in the hut, and such kindness overwhelmed the people that everything, everything spilled out and fell out on the table, and everyone vied with each other to treat me and ate it themselves. strength.

Late in the evening or completely at night, Uncle Levontius asked the same question: “What is life?!” - after which I grabbed gingerbread cookies, sweets, the Levon Tyev children also grabbed whatever they could get their hands on and ran away in all directions. Vasenya asked the last move. And my grandmother “welcomed” her until the morning. Levontii smashed the remaining glass in the windows, cursed, thundered, and cried.

The next morning he glassed the windows, repaired the benches and table, then, full of darkness and remorse, went to work. Aunt Vasenya, after three or four days, was again walking around the neighbors and no longer throwing up a whirlwind in her skirt. She again borrowed money, flour, potatoes - whatever she had to...

So, with Uncle Levontius’s children, I went to the strawberry market to earn gingerbread with my labor. The kids carried glasses with broken edges, old birch bark tueski, half torn for kindling, and one boy had a ladle without a handle. The Levontief eagles threw dishes at each other, floundered, began to fight once or twice, cried, and teased. On the way, they dropped into someone's garden and, since nothing was ripe there yet, they piled onions, ate until they salivated green, and threw away the half-eaten ones. They left only a few feathers for the whistles. They squeaked into their bitten feathers all the way, and to the music we soon arrived in the forest, on a rocky ridge.

Then everyone stopped squeaking, scattered around the ridge and began to take strawberries, just ripening, white-sided, rare and therefore especially joyful and expensive.

I took it diligently and soon covered the bottom of a neat little glass by two or three. Grandma used to say: the main thing with berries is to close the bottom of the vessel. I breathed a sigh of relief and began to pick berries faster, and I found more and more of them higher up the ridge.

The Levontiev children walked quietly at first. Only the lid, tied to the copper teapot, jingled. The older boy had this kettle, and he rattled it so that we could hear that the elder was here, nearby, and we had nothing and no need to be afraid.

Suddenly the lid of the kettle rattled nervously and a fuss was heard.

Eat, right? Eat, right? What about home? - the elder asked and gave someone a kick after each question.

A-ha-a-a-a! - Tanka sang. - Sanka ate it too, so it’s okay...

Sanka got it too. He got angry, threw the vessel and fell into the grass. The eldest took and took berries, and apparently he felt offended. He, the eldest, takes berries and tries to do them for the house, but they eat the berries or even lie on the grass. The elder jumped up and kicked Sanka again. Sanka howled and rushed at the elder. The kettle rang and berries splashed out. The Levontiev brothers are fighting, rolling on the ground, crushing all the strawberries.

After the fight, the elder man gave up. He began to collect the spilled, crushed berries - and into his mouth, into his mouth.

So, you can, but it means I can’t? You can, but that means I can’t? - he asked ominously until he had eaten everything he had managed to collect.

Soon the Levontiev brothers somehow quietly made peace, stopped calling them names and decided to go to the Malaya Rechka to splash around.

I also wanted to splash, but I did not dare to leave the ridge, because I had not yet filled the full container.

Grandma Petrovna was scared! Oh you! - Sanka grimaced.

But my grandmother will buy me a gingerbread horse!

Maybe a mare? - Sanka grinned. He spat at his feet and quickly realized something: “Better tell me, you’re afraid of her, and you’re also greedy!”

Do you want to eat all the berries? - I said this and immediately repented: I realized that I was in trouble.

Scratched, with bumps on his head from fights and various other reasons, with pimples on his arms and legs, with red, bloody eyes, Sanka was more harmful and angrier than all the Levontiev boys.

Weak! - he said.

Am I weak? - I swaggered, looking sideways into the tuesok. There were berries already above the middle. - Am I weak? - I repeated in a fading voice and, so as not to give up, not to be afraid, not to disgrace myself, I decisively shook the berries into the grass: - Here! Eat with me!

The Levontiev horde fell, and the berries instantly disappeared. I only got a few tiny berries. It's a pity for the berries. Sad. But I assumed despair and gave up on everything. It’s all the same now! I rushed along with the Levontiev children to the river and boasted:

I’ll also steal grandma’s kalach!

The guys encouraged me: they say, act, and bring more than one loaf of bread. Maybe you can grab 5 more shanegs or a pie.

We splashed cold water from the river, wandered along it and caught a sculpin with our hands. Sanka grabbed this disgusting-looking fish, and we tore it to pieces on the shore for its ugly appearance. Then they fired stones at flying birds and hit a swift. We fed the swift water from the river, but it bled into the river, but could not swallow the water, and died, dropping its head. We buried the swift on the shore, in the pebbles, and soon forgot about it, because we got busy with an exciting, creepy business: we ran into the mouth of the cold cave where she lived (this was known for certain in the village) devilry. Sanka ran the furthest into the cave. Even evil spirits didn’t take him!

This is something else! - Sanka boasted, returning from the cave. “I would run further, run deep into the depths, but I’m barefoot, and there the snakes die.”

Zhmeev? - Tanka retreated from the mouth of the cave and, just in case, pulled up her falling panties.

I saw the brownie with the brownie,” Sanka continued to tell.

Clapper! - the eldest cut off Sanka. - Brownies live in the attic and under the stove.

1 Shanga - this is what they call cheesecake in the North and Siberia - a bun with cottage cheese.

Sanka was confused, but immediately challenged the elder:

What kind of brownie is that? Home. And here is a cave one. Covered in moss, he's all gray and trembling - he's cold. And the housewife is thin, looks pitifully and moans. You can’t lure me, just come up and he’ll grab it and eat it. I hit her in the eye with a rock!..

Maybe Sanka was lying about the brownies, but it was still scary to listen to, and it seemed to me that someone in the cave kept moaning and moaning. Tanka was the first to pull away from this bad place, and after her all the guys fell from the mountain. Sanka whistled and yelled, giving us heat...

We spent the whole day so interesting and fun, and I completely forgot about the berries. But the time has come to return home. We sorted out the dishes hidden under the tree.

Katerina Petrovna will ask you! He'll ask! - Sanka neighed. - We ate the berries... Ha ha! They ate it on purpose! Ha ha! We're fine! Ha ha! And you are ho-ho!..

I myself knew that to them, the Levontievskys, “ha-ha,” and to me, “ho-ho.” My grandmother, Katerina Petrovna, is not Aunt Vasenya.

I quietly followed the Levontiev guys out of the forest. They ran ahead of me in a crowd and drove a ladle without a handle along the road. The ladle clanked as it bounced on the stones, and the remains of the enamel bounced off it.

You know what? - After talking with the brothers, Sanka returned to me. - You push herbs into the bowl, and berries on top - and you're done! “Oh, my child! - Sanka began to accurately imitate my grandmother. “I helped you to recover, orphan, I helped you...” And the demon Sanka winked at me and rushed on, down the ridge.

I sighed and sighed, almost cried, and began to tear up the grass. The narwhal pushed it into the container, then picked up some berries, laid them on the grass, and it even turned out to be wild strawberries.

You are my child! - my grandmother began to cry when I, frozen with fear, handed her my vessel. - The Lord has helped you, orphan!.. I’ll buy you a gingerbread, and a huge one. And I won’t pour your berries into mine, but I’ll take them right away in this little bag...

It relieved a little.

I thought that now my grandmother would discover my fraud, give me what I was due, and was already prepared for punishment for the crime I had committed.

But it worked out. Everything worked out fine. Grandmother took the tuesok to the basement, praised me again, gave me something to eat, and I thought that I had nothing to be afraid of yet and life was not so bad.

I ate and went outside to play, and there I felt the urge to tell Sanka about everything.

And I’ll tell Petrovna! And I'll tell you!..

No need, Sanka!

Bring the roll, then I won’t tell you.

I secretly snuck into the pantry, took the kalach out of the chest and brought it to Sanka under my shirt. Then he brought more, then more, until Sanka got drunk.

“I fooled my grandmother. Kalachi stole. What will happen? - I was tormented at night, tossing and turning on the bed. Sleep did not take me as a completely confused criminal.

Why are you messing around there? - Grandma asked hoarsely from the darkness. - Probably wandered in the river again? Are your legs hurting again?

No,” I responded, “I had a dream...

Sleep with God! Sleep, don't be afraid. Life scarier than dreams, father..

“What if I wake her up and tell her everything?”

I listened. Difficult breathing could be heard from below

grandmothers. It’s a pity to wake her up: she’s tired, it’s too early for her to get up.

No, it’s better that I don’t sleep until the morning, I’ll keep watch for my grandmother, I’ll tell her about everything: about the little girls, and about the housewife and the brownie, and about the rolls, and about everything, about everything...

This decision made me feel better, and I didn’t notice how my eyes closed. Sanka’s unwashed face appeared, and then strawberries flashed, they overwhelmed Sanka, and everything in this world.

The floors smelled of pine, a cold, mysterious cave...

Grandfather was at Zaimka 6, about five kilometers from the village, at the mouth of the Mana River. There we sown a strip of rye, a strip of oats and a strip of potatoes.

Talk about collective farms was just beginning at that time, and our villagers were still living alone. I loved visiting my grandfather’s farm. He’s calm there, somehow thorough. Maybe because grandfather never made noise and even worked leisurely, but very quickly and pliably. Oh, if only the settlement were closer! I would have left, hidden. But five kilometers was a huge, insurmountable distance for me then. And Alyosha, my brother, is gone. Recently, Aunt Augusta came and took Alyoshka with her to the forest plot where she worked.

I wandered around, wandered around the empty hut and could not think of anything else how to go to the Levontyevskys.

Did Petrovna swim away? - Sanka grinned and snorted saliva into the hole between his front teeth. He could fit another tooth in this hole, and we were terribly envious of this Sanka hole. How he spat at her!

Sanka was getting ready to go fishing and was unraveling the fishing line. The little Levontievskys walked near the benches, crawled, hobbled on their crooked legs. Sanka handed out slaps left and right because the little ones were getting under the arm and tangling the fishing line.

“There’s no hook,” he said angrily. - He must have swallowed something.

6 Zaimka - a plot of land far from the village, developed (plowed) by its owner.

“Nice,” Sanka reassured me. - You have a lot of hooks, I would give them. I'd like to take you fishing.

I was delighted and rushed home; I grabbed fishing rods and bread, and we went to the stone bullocks, behind the cattle 7, which descended straight into the Yenisei below the village.

Senior Levontievsky was not there today. His father took him with him “to the badogi”, and Sanka commanded recklessly. Since he was the eldest today and felt great responsibility, he almost didn’t get cocky anymore and even pacified the “people” if they started to fight.

Sanka set up fishing rods near the bullheads, baited worms, spat on them and cast out the fishing lines.

Sha! - Sanka said, and we froze.

It didn't bite for a long time. We were tired of waiting, and Sanka sent us off to look for sorrel, coastal garlic and wild radish.

The Levontief guys knew how to feed themselves “from the earth” - they ate everything that God sent, they did not disdain anything and that is why they were red-skinned, strong, dexterous, especially at the table.

While we were collecting greens suitable for food, Sanka pulled out two ruffs, one gudgeon and a white-eyed dace.

They lit a fire on the shore. Sanka put the fish on sticks and began to fry them.

The fish were eaten almost raw, without salt. The kids had already threshed my bread and were busy doing what they could: pulling swifts out of their holes, throwing stone tiles in the water, trying to swim, but the water was still cold, and we quickly jumped out of the river to warm up by the fire. We warmed up and fell into the still low grass.

It was a clear summer day. It was hot above. Near the cattle, the pockmarked cuckoo's tears were drooping towards the ground.

7 Cattle - pasture, pasture.

Blue bells dangled from side to side on long, crisp stems, and probably only the bees heard them ring. Near the anthill, on the warmed ground, lay striped gramophone flowers, and bumblebees poked their heads into their blue horns. They froze for a long time, exposing their shaggy crops - they must have been listening to the music. The birch leaves glistened, the aspen tree grew drowsy from the heat. The boyarka flowered and littered the water. The pine forest was covered in blue smoke. There was a slight flicker over the Yenisei. Through this flickering, the red vents of the lime kilns blazing on the other side of the river were barely visible. The forests on the rocks stood motionless, and the railway bridge in the city, visible from our village in clear weather, swayed with thin lace - and if you looked at it for a long time, it became thinner and the lace was torn.

From there, from behind the bridge, the grandmother should swim. What will happen?! And why did I do this? Why did you listen to the Levontievskys?

What a good life it was! Walk, run and don't think about anything. And now? Maybe the boat will capsize and grandma will drown? No, it’s better not to tip over. My mother drowned. What good? I'm an orphan now. Unhappy man. And there is no one to feel sorry for me. Levontius only feels sorry when he’s drunk, that’s all. But grandma just screams no, no, and gives in - she won’t last long. And there is no grandfather. He's in custody, grandpa. He wouldn't hurt me. The grandmother shouts at him: “Potatchik! I’ve indulged my own all my life, now this!..”

“Grandfather, grandfather, if only you could come to the bathhouse to wash and take me with you!”

Why are you whining? - Sanka leaned towards me with a concerned look.

Nice! - Sanka consoled me. - Don’t go home, that’s all! Bury yourself in the hay and hide. Petrovna is afraid that you might drown. Here she starts to cry: “Uto-o-o-ul my child, he threw me off, little orphan...” - and then you’ll get out!

I won't do that! And I won’t listen to you!..

Well, the leshak is with you! They're trying to take care of you... Wow! Got it! You're hooked!

I fell from the hole 1, alarming the swifts in the holes, and pulled the fishing rod. I caught a perch. Then the ruff. The fish came up and the bite began. We baited worms and cast them.

Don't step over the rod! - Sanka superstitiously yelled at the kids, completely crazy with delight, and dragged and dragged the little fish.

The kids put them on willow twig and lowered into the water.

Suddenly, behind the nearest stone bull, forged poles clicked along the bottom, and a boat appeared from behind the cape. Three men threw poles out of the water at once. Flashing with polished tips, the poles fell into the water at once, and the boat, burying itself up to its very edges in the river, rushed forward, throwing waves to the sides.

A swing of the poles, an exchange of arms, a push - the boat jumped up with its nose and moved forward quickly. She is closer, closer... The stern one pressed with his pole, and the boat nodded away from our fishing rods. And then I saw another person sitting on the gazebo. A half shawl is on the head, the ends are passed under the arms, and tied crosswise on the back. Under the shawl, dyed in burgundy color sweater. This jacket was taken out of the chest only on the occasion of a trip to the city or on major holidays.

Yes, it's grandma!

I rushed from the fishing rods straight to the ravine, jumped up, grabbed the grass, and stuck thumb legs in a shear mink. A swift flew up, hit me on the head, and I fell onto lumps of clay. He jumped off and started running along the shore, away from the boat.

8 Yar - here: the steep edge of the ravine.

Where are you going?! Stop! Stop, I say! - Grandma shouted. I ran at full speed.

I'm-a-a-a-coming, I-a-a-going home, you scammer! - Grandmother’s voice rushed after me.

And then the men stepped up.

Hold him! - they shouted, and I didn’t notice how I ended up at the upper end of the village.

Now I just discovered that it was already evening and, willy-nilly, I had to return home. But I didn’t want to go home and, just in case, I went to my cousin Keshka, Uncle Vanya’s son, who lived here, on the upper edge of the village.

I'm lucky. They were playing lapta near Uncle Vanya's house. I got involved in the game and ran until dark. Aunt Fenya, Keshka’s mother, appeared and asked me:

Why don't you go home? Grandma will lose you!

“Nope,” I answered as cheerfully and carelessly as possible. “She sailed off to the city.” Maybe he spends the night there.

Aunt Fenya offered me something to eat, and I happily ate everything she gave me.

And the thin-necked, silent Keshka drank boiled milk, and his mother said to him:

Everything is milky and milky. Look how the boy eats, and that’s why he’s strong.

I was already hoping that Aunt Fenya would leave me to spend the night. But she asked around, asked me about everything, after which she took my hand and took me home.

There was no longer any light in the house. Aunt Fenya knocked on the window. Grandma shouted: “It’s not locked!” We entered a dark and quiet house, where the only sounds we could hear were the multi-winged tapping of butterflies and the buzzing of flies beating against the glass.

Aunt Fenya pushed me into the hallway and pushed me into the storage room attached to the hallway. There was a bed made of rugs and an old saddle in the heads - in case someone was overwhelmed by the heat during the day and wanted to rest in the cold.

I buried myself in the rug, became quiet, listening.

Aunt Fenya and grandmother were talking about something in the hut. The closet smelled of bran, dust and dry grass stuck in all the cracks and under the ceiling. This grass kept clicking and crackling. It was sad in the pantry. The darkness was thick and rough, all filled with smell and secret life.

Under the floor, a mouse was scratching alone and timidly, starving because of the cat. And all the dry herbs and flowers crackled under the ceiling, boxes were opened and seeds were scattered into the darkness.

Silence, coolness and night life. The dogs, killed by the daytime heat, came to their senses, crawled out from under the canopy, porches, and from their kennels and tried their voices. Near the bridge that runs across the Malaya River, an accordion was playing. Young people gather on the bridge, dance and sing there.

Uncle Levontius was hastily chopping wood. Uncle Levontius must have brought something for the brew. Someone's Levon Tiev "got off" a pole... Most likely, ours. Now they have time to hunt for firewood far away!..

Aunt Fenya left and tightly closed the door in the hallway. The cat scurried stealthily across the porch. The mouse died down under the floor. It became completely dark and lonely. The floorboards did not creak in the hut, and the grandmother did not walk. She must be tired. I felt cold. I curled up and began to breathe into my chest.

I woke up from a ray of sunlight breaking through the dim window of the pantry. Dust flickered in the beam like a midge. From somewhere it was applied by arable land. I looked around, and my heart jumped joyfully: my grandfather’s old sheepskin coat was thrown over me. Grandpa arrived at night! Beauty!

In the kitchen, grandma said loudly and indignantly:

A cultured lady in a hat. He says: “I’ll buy all these berries from you.” - “Please, I beg your mercy. “I say, the poor orphan was picking berries...”

Then I fell through the ground along with my grandmother and could no longer make out what she was saying next, because I covered myself with a sheepskin coat and huddled in it to die faster. But it became hot, deaf, it became unbearable to breathe, and I opened up.

He always spoiled his own! - the grandmother made noise. - Now to this! And he's already cheating! What will become of it later? There will be a convict! He will be an eternal prisoner! I’ll take some more Levontiev ones into circulation! This is their certificate!..

But I didn't give up. Grandma’s niece ran into the house and asked how grandma swam to the city. Grandmother said that thank God, and immediately began to tell:

My little one!.. What did he do!..

That morning many people came to us, and my grandmother said to everyone: “But my little one!”

The grandmother walked back and forth, watered the cow, drove her out to the shepherd, did her various things, and every time she ran past the pantry door, she shouted:

You're not sleeping, you're not sleeping! I see everything!

"A horse with a pink mane." Artist T. Mazurin

Grandfather turned into the closet, pulled the leather reins out from under me and winked: it’s okay, don’t be shy! I sniffled.

Grandfather stroked my head, and the tears that had accumulated for so long flowed uncontrollably from my eyes.

Well, what are you, what are you! - Grandfather reassured me, wiping away the tears from my face with his big, hard hand. - Why are you lying there hungry? Ask for forgiveness... Go, go,” my grandfather gently pushed me in the back.

Holding my pants with one hand, I brought the other to my eyes, stepping into the hut, and roared:

I’m more... I’m more... I’m more... - And I couldn’t say anything further.

Okay, wash your face and sit down and chat! - the grandmother said still irreconcilably, but without a thunderstorm.

I obediently washed my face, dried myself for a long time and very carefully with a towel, shuddering every now and then from the still lingering sobs, and sat down at the table. Grandfather was busy in the kitchen, winding the reins around his hand, and doing something else. Feeling his invisible and reliable support, I took the crust from the table and began to eat it dry. Grandma poured milk into a glass in one fell swoop and placed the vessel in front of me with a knock.

Look, how humble he is! Look how quiet he is! And he won’t ask for milk!..

Grandfather winked at me: be patient. Even without him, I knew: God forbid I should contradict my grandmother now or do something wrong, not at her discretion. She must unwind, must express everything that has accumulated in her, must vent her soul.

For a long time my grandmother denounced and shamed me. I roared repentantly again. She shouted at me again.

But then the grandmother spoke up. Grandfather left somewhere. I sat and smoothed out the patch on my pants, pulling the threads out of it. And when he raised his head, he saw in front of him...

I closed my eyes and opened my eyes again. He closed his eyes again and opened them again. A white horse with a pink mane galloped on pink hooves across the scraped kitchen table, as if across a vast land with arable land, meadows and roads.

Take it, take it, what are you looking at? Look, but even when you deceive your grandmother...

How many years have passed since then! How many events have passed!.. And I still can’t forget my grandmother’s gingerbread - that marvelous horse with a pink mane.

V. P. Astafiev

My grandmother sent me to the ridge to buy strawberries along with the neighbor kids. She promised: if I get a full tuesk, she will sell my berries along with hers and buy me a “horse gingerbread”. A gingerbread in the form of a horse with a mane, tail and hooves covered in pink icing ensured the honor and respect of the boys of the entire village and was their cherished dream.

I went to Uval together with the children of our neighbor Levontius, who worked in logging. About once every fifteen days, “Levonty received money, and then in the neighboring house, where there were only children and nothing else, a feast began,” and Levonty’s wife ran around the village and paid off debts. On such days, I made my way to my neighbors by all means. Grandma wouldn't let me in. “There’s no point in eating these proletarians,” she said. At Levontius’s place I was willingly received and pitied as an orphan. The money the neighbor earned ran out quickly, and Vasyon’s aunt again ran around the village, borrowing money.

The Levontiev family lived poorly. There was no housekeeping around their hut; they even washed with their neighbors. Every spring they surrounded the house with a miserable tine, and every autumn it was used for kindling. To his grandmother’s reproaches, Levontii, a former sailor, replied that he “loves the settlement.”

With the Levontiev “eagles” I went to the ridge to earn money for a horse with a pink mane. I had already picked several glasses of strawberries when the Levontiev guys started a fight - the eldest noticed that the others were picking berries not in dishes, but in their mouths. As a result, all the prey was scattered and eaten, and the guys decided to go down to the Fokinskaya River. It was then that they noticed that I still had strawberries. Levontyev’s Sanka “weakly” encouraged me to eat it, after which I, along with the others, went to the river.

I only remembered that my dishes were empty in the evening. It was a shame and fear to return home with an empty suit, “my grandmother, Katerina Petrovna, is not Vasyon’s aunt, you can’t get rid of her with lies, tears and various excuses.” Sanka taught me: push herbs into the bowl and scatter a handful of berries on top. This is the “deception” I brought home.

My grandmother praised me for a long time, but didn’t bother pouring the berries in - she decided to take them straight to the city to sell. On the street, I told Sanka everything, and he demanded a kalach from me - as payment for silence. I didn’t get away with just one roll, I carried it around until Sanka was full. I didn’t sleep at night, I was tormented - I deceived my grandmother and stole the rolls. Finally, I decided to get up in the morning and confess everything.

When I woke up, I discovered that I had overslept - my grandmother had already left for the city. I regretted that my grandfather’s farm was so far from the village. Grandfather’s place is good, it’s quiet, and he wouldn’t hurt me. Having nothing better to do, I went fishing with Sanka. After a while I saw a large boat coming out from behind the cape. My grandmother was sitting in it and shaking her fist at me.

I returned home only in the evening and immediately ducked into the closet, where a temporary “bed of rugs and an old saddle” was “set up.” Curled up in a ball, I felt sorry for myself and remembered my mother. Like her grandmother, she went to the city to sell berries. One day the overloaded boat capsized and my mother drowned. “She was pulled under the rafting boom,” where she got caught in the scythe. I remembered how my grandmother suffered until the river let my mother go.

When I woke up in the morning, I discovered that my grandfather had returned from the farm. He came to me and told me to ask my grandmother for forgiveness. Having shamed and denounced me enough, my grandmother sat me down to breakfast, and after that she told everyone “what the little one did to her.”

But my grandmother still brought me a horse. Many years have passed since then, “my grandfather is no longer alive, my grandmother is no longer alive, and my life is coming to an end, but I still cannot forget my grandmother’s gingerbread - that marvelous horse with a pink mane.”

Brief summary of a horse with a pink mane

In one Siberian outback, on the banks of the Yenisei River, there lived a boy and his grandmother. One day she sent him to buy strawberries with the neighbor kids. She promised to sell the collected berries in the city and buy him a “horse gingerbread”. The gingerbread was white in the shape of a horse, covered in pink icing where the mane, tail, eyes and hooves were. In those days, a boy could only dream of such a gingerbread. He guaranteed honor and respect among other village children.

Most often he played with the Levontiev boys who lived next door. Their father was a former sailor, now a logger who brought in a salary once a month. Then there was a feast in the house. His father loved to drink, and his mother, Vasyon’s aunt, often borrowed money from neighbors, including the boy’s grandmother. Grandmother did not like him to visit them, she called them “proletarians”, undignified people. They didn’t even have a bathhouse at home; they washed at their neighbors’ houses all the time. When Uncle Levontius drank a little, sang songs, sat the boy at the table, treated him to sweets, pitied him like an orphan, but as soon as he got drunk, everyone immediately ran away. My uncle began to swear, break glass in the windows, break dishes, something he greatly regretted in the morning.

So, with the Levontiev children, he went to the ridge to buy berries. Enough berries had already been collected when the guys started a fight among themselves. The elder noticed that the younger ones, instead of putting the berries in the dishes, put them in their mouths and began to scold them. In the fight, all the collected berries fell apart, were crushed and were eaten. Then everyone decided to go down to the Fokinskaya River, but then they noticed that the boy still had strawberries. Sanka, the most mischievous of the Levontiev boys, encouraged him to “weakly” eat all the berries. To prove that he was not greedy, the boy poured everything onto the grass and said: “Eat!” I myself only got a few crooked, tiny berries with greenery. It was a pity, but what can you do.

He only remembered that his closet was empty in the evening. The thought that his grandmother would arrange a report and calculation for him made him scared, but he didn’t show it. I let it on myself important view and he also said that he would steal the kalach from her. And he was afraid of his grandmother like fire. Katerina Petrovna, this is not Aunt Vasena, it’s not so easy for her to lie. On the way, the Levontiev children behaved terribly, they misbehaved a lot. Either the swallow was killed with a stone, or the fish was torn to pieces for its ugly appearance. They taught the boy to stuff grass into the container and put a layer of berries on top so that his grandmother wouldn’t guess. And so they did.

The grandmother greeted them joyfully, took a bowl of berries and promised to buy the boy the largest gingerbread. And he was shaking all over with fear, sensing that the deception would soon be revealed. In addition, Sanka began to say on the street that he would give him away if that kalach did not bring him. For his silence, I had to steal more than one loaf of bread. The boy suffered all night and did not sleep. In the morning I decided to confess everything, but I didn’t find my grandmother. She has already left for the city with a “fraudulent” wedding. The boy regretted that his grandfather’s place was far away. It was calm and quiet there, and his grandfather wouldn’t give him any offense. Soon, out of idleness, he and Sanka went to the river to fish. The always hungry children ate the poor catch.

A boat appeared from behind the cape. The grandmother was sitting in it and shaking her fist at him. At home, he hid in the closet and thought about his action, remembered his mother. She once also went to the city to sell berries. One day the boat capsized and she drowned. The next morning my grandfather arrived from the farm. He advised the boy to talk to his grandmother and ask for forgiveness. Oh, and she shamed him, accused him of deception, and then sat him down to breakfast. But she still brought him a gingerbread horse, such a marvelous one with a pink mane. So many years have passed since then, so many events have passed, but he could not forget his grandmother’s gingerbread.

V.P. Astafiev is one of the writers who had a difficult childhood in the difficult pre-war years. Having grown up in the village, he was well acquainted with the peculiarities of the Russian character, the moral foundations on which humanity has rested for centuries.

His works, which made up the “Last Bow” cycle, are devoted to this topic. Among them is the story “The Horse with the Pink Mane.”

Autobiographical basis of the work

At the age of seven, Viktor Astafiev lost his mother - she drowned in the Yenisei River. The boy was taken in by his grandmother, Katerina Petrovna. Until the end of his life, the writer was grateful to her for her care, kindness and love. And also for the fact that she formed in him true moral values, which the grandson never forgot. One of important points of his life, forever etched in the memory of the already matured Astafiev, and he tells in his work “The Horse with a Pink Mane.”

The narration is told from the perspective of the boy Vitya, who lives with his grandparents in the taiga Siberian village. His daily routine is similar to each other: fishing, playing with other children, going to the forest to pick mushrooms and berries, helping with housework.

The author pays special attention to the description of the Levontius family, who lived in the neighborhood. In the story “The Horse with a Pink Mane,” it is their children who will play an important role. Enjoying unlimited freedom, with little idea of ​​what true kindness, mutual assistance and responsibility are, they will push the main character to commit an act that he will remember all his life.

The plot begins with the grandmother's news that the Levontiev children are going to the ridge to buy strawberries. She asks her grandson to go with them, so that later he can sell the berries he collected in the city and buy the boy gingerbread. A horse with a pink mane - this sweetness was the cherished dream of every boy!

However, the trip to the ridge ends in deception, to which Vitya goes, having never picked strawberries. The guilty boy tries in every possible way to delay the disclosure of the offense and the subsequent punishment. Finally, the grandmother returns from the city lamenting. So the dream that Vitya would have a wonderful horse with a pink mane turned into regret that he had succumbed to the tricks of the Levontiev children. And suddenly the repentant hero sees that same gingerbread in front of him... At first he does not believe his eyes. The words bring him back to reality: “Take it... You’ll see... when you fool your grandmother...”.

Many years have passed since then, but V. Astafiev could not forget this story.

“The Horse with the Pink Mane”: the main characters

In the story, the author shows the period of growing up of a boy. In a country devastated by civil war, everyone had a hard time, and in a difficult situation, everyone chose their own path. Meanwhile, it is known that many character traits are formed in a person in childhood.

Getting to know the way of life in the house of Katerina Petrovna and Levontia allows us to conclude how different these families were. Grandmother loved order in everything, so everything went its own, predetermined course. She instilled the same qualities in her grandson, who was left an orphan at an early age. So the horse with the pink mane was supposed to be his reward for his labors.

A completely different atmosphere reigned in the neighbor's house. Lack of money alternated with a feast, when Levontius bought various things with the money he received. At such a moment, Vitya loved to visit his neighbors. Moreover, the tipsy Levontiy began to remember him dead mother and slipped the best piece to the orphan. The grandmother did not like these visits by her grandson to the neighbors’ house: she believed that they themselves had a lot of children and often had nothing to eat. And the children themselves were not well-mannered, so they could have a bad influence on the boy. They will really push Vitya into deception when he goes with them to get the berries.

The story “The Horse with a Pink Mane” is the author’s attempt to determine the reason for what may guide a person who commits bad or good deeds in life.

Hike to the ridge

The writer describes in some detail the road for strawberries. The Levontiev kids behave unreasonably all the time. Along the way, they managed to climb into someone else’s garden, pull onions and use them on whistles, and fight with each other...

On the ridge, everyone began to pick berries, but the Levontievskys didn’t last long. Only the hero conscientiously put the strawberries into the container. However, after his words about the gingerbread caused only ridicule among his “friends”, wanting to show his independence, he succumbed to the general fun. For some time, Vitya forgot about his grandmother and the fact that until recently his main desire was a horse with a pink mane. The retelling of what amused the children that day includes the murder of a defenseless siskin and the massacre of fish. And they themselves constantly quarreled, Sanka especially tried. Before returning home, he told the hero what to do: fill the container with grass, and put a layer of berries on top - so the grandmother will not find out anything. And the boy followed the advice: after all, nothing would happen to Levontievsky, but he would be in trouble.

Fear of punishment and remorse

Research human soul at decisive moments in life - a task that is often solved fiction. “The Horse with a Pink Mane” is a work about how difficult it was for a boy to admit his mistake.

The next night and the whole long day, when the grandmother went with the tuesk to the city, turned into a real test for Vitya. Going to bed, he decided to get up early and confess everything, but did not have time. Then the grandson, again in the company of neighboring children and constantly teased by Sashka, fearfully awaited the return of the boat on which the grandmother had sailed away. In the evening, he did not dare to return home and was glad when he managed to lie down in the pantry (Aunt Fenya brought him home already after dark and distracted Katerina Petrovna). He could not sleep for a long time, constantly thinking about his grandmother, feeling sorry for her and remembering how hard she experienced the death of her daughter.

Unexpected ending

Fortunately for the boy, his grandfather returned from the farm at night - now he had help, and it was not so scary.

Lowering his head, pushed by his grandfather, he timidly entered the hut and roared at the top of his voice.

His grandmother put him to shame for a long time, and when she finally ran out of steam and there was silence, the boy timidly raised his head and saw an unexpected picture in front of him. A horse with a pink mane “galloped” across the scraped table (V. Astafiev remembered this for the rest of his life). This episode became one of the most important for him. moral lessons. Grandmother's kindness and understanding helped develop such qualities as responsibility for one's actions, nobility and the ability to resist evil in any situation.

Astafiev is a wonderful writer who has written many children's works. Most often they were autobiographical in nature, where the author described situations from his life in the village. Just the work Horse with a Pink Mane is one of such works that we will do today.

Analysis of the story The Horse with a Pink Mane

Having studied Astafiev's story The Horse with a Pink Mane, we can easily analyze the work. I would like to immediately note that we studied the work in 6th grade. You read it with pleasure and despite the fact that it makes you smile at the hero’s trick, the author’s work is instructive. Here Astafiev addresses the topic of the formation of a child’s personality and character, his maturation.

Turning to the plot, we meet the boy. His grandmother asks him to pick strawberries, which she is going to sell at the market. With the proceeds, the grandmother promises the desired gingerbread in the shape of a horse. This gingerbread is the dream of all village children. So Vitya went into the forest. Neighborhood friends went with him. While the hero was picking berries, his friends frolicked and ate what they picked. Later they wanted to eat Viti's berries, calling him greedy and cowardly. And then the child falls under bad influence. In order not to fall on his face in front of his friends, he pours out all the strawberries and they eat them. But what about grandma? Instead of telling everything as it is, he, on the advice of his friends, tears up the grass and sprinkles strawberries on top of it. The grandmother, not noticing the deception, goes to the city.

What is Vitya doing? He feels very bad. His conscience is tormenting him. That's not how he was raised. And it’s scary now, because the grandmother’s wrath can no longer be avoided. Thoughts only about deception. He doesn't like games and doesn't like fishing. He is ashamed and hurt for his action and so, on the advice of his grandfather, the child goes to his grandmother. He asks for forgiveness. The grandmother, of course, scolded the child, but then took out a gingerbread and handed it to the boy, which for him became a symbol of love and grandmother’s kindness. The boy remembered this gingerbread for a long time, and even as an adult he remembered that same gingerbread horse.

Analyzing the work, we see how Astafiev is trying to convey to the reader the importance of responsibility for his actions. He says that every person, even if he has made a mistake, must find the courage to admit it and admit that he was wrong. You need to learn to keep your word and, most importantly, not to succumb to bad influence.

Essay plan

1. Meet Vitya
2. The Levontiev family and their reckless life
3. To the forest to pick berries
4. Children's pranks. The berries are all eaten
5. Invented deception with berries
6. Grandma goes to town
7. The child is tormented by his conscience
8. Admission of guilt. Grandma asks you for forgiveness
9. The gingerbread horse is a symbol of grandma’s kindness and a lesson for life.