Rasputin's story “French Lessons” is studied in 6th grade during literature lessons. The heroes of the story are close to modern children due to their diversity of characters and desire for justice. In “French Lessons,” it is advisable to analyze the work after reading the author’s biography. In our article you can find out what the work teaches, and get acquainted with a detailed analysis according to the “French Lessons” plan. This will greatly facilitate the work in the lesson when analyzing the work, and analysis of the story will also be needed for writing creative and test papers.
Brief Analysis
Year of writing – 1973.
History of creation– the story was first published in 1973 in the newspaper “Soviet Youth”
Subject– human kindness, caring, the importance of a teacher in a child’s life, the problem of moral choice.
Composition- traditional for the short story genre. It has all the components from exposition to epilogue.
Genre- story.
Direction- village prose.
History of creation
The story “French Lessons,” which takes place in the late forties, was written in 1973. Published in the same year in the Komsomol newspaper of Irkutsk “Soviet Youth”. The work is dedicated to the mother of a close friend of the writer Alexander Vampilov, teacher Anastasia Prokopyevna Kopylova.
According to the author himself, the story is deeply autobiographical; it was childhood impressions that formed the basis of the story. After graduating from a four-year school in his native village, the future writer was forced to move to the regional center of Ust-Uda to continue his studies in high school. It was a difficult period for little boy: life with strangers, half-starved existence, inability to dress and eat as expected, rejection of a village boy by his classmates. Everything that is described in the story can be considered real events, because this is exactly the path that the future writer Valentin Rasputin took. He believed that childhood is the most important period in the formation of talent; it is in childhood that a person becomes an artist, writer or musician. There he draws his inspiration for the rest of his life.
In the life of little Valya there was the same Lidia Mikhailovna (this is real name teacher), who helped the boy, tried to brighten up his difficult existence, sent parcels and played “wall.” After the story came out, she found her former student and happened long-awaited meeting, with particular warmth he recalled a conversation that took place with Lydia Mikhailovna as an adult. She forgot many things that the writer remembered from childhood; he kept them in his memory for many years, thanks to which a most wonderful story appeared.
Subject
The work raises theme of human indifference, kindness and help to those in need. Problem moral choice and special “morality”, which is not accepted by society, but has a reverse side - bright and selfless.
The young teacher, who managed to consider the boy’s misfortune, his deplorable situation, became a guardian angel for a certain period of his life. Only she considered the boy’s diligence and ability to study behind the poverty. The French lessons she gave him at home became life lessons for both the boy and the young woman herself. She really missed her homeland, prosperity and comfort did not give her a feeling of joy, but “returning to a serene childhood” saved her from everyday life and homesickness.
The money that the main character of the story received in a fair game allowed him to buy milk and bread and provide himself with the most necessary things. Moreover, he did not have to participate in street games, where for his superiority and skill in the game he was beaten by boys out of envy and powerlessness. Rasputin outlined the theme of “French Lessons” from the first lines of the work, when he mentioned the feeling of guilt before teachers. Main idea The story is that by helping others, we help ourselves. Helping the boy, giving in, being cunning, risking her job and reputation, Lydia Mikhailovna realized what she herself lacked in order to feel happy. The meaning of life is to help, to be needed and not to depend on the opinions of others. Literary criticism emphasizes the value of Rasputin's work for all age categories.
Composition
The story has a traditional composition for its genre. The narration is told in the first person, which makes the perception very realistic and allows you to introduce a lot of emotional, subjective details.
The climax there is a scene where the school director, without reaching the teacher’s room, comes to her and sees a teacher and a student playing for money. It is noteworthy that the idea of the story is presented by the author in the philosophical phrase of the first sentence. It also follows from it problems story: feeling of guilt before parents and teachers - where does it come from?
The conclusion suggests itself: they invested their best in us, they believed in us, but were we able to live up to their expectations? The story ends abruptly, the last thing we learn is a package from Kuban that came to the boy narrator from former teacher. He sees real apples for the first time in the hungry year of 1948. Even from a distance, this magical woman manages to bring joy and celebration into the life of a little person.
Main characters
Genre
The genre of the story in which Valentin Rasputin dressed his narrative is ideal for depicting truthful life events. The realism of the story, its small form, the ability to plunge into memories and reveal inner world characters through various means - all this turned the work into small masterpiece– deep, touching and truthful.
The historical features of the time were also reflected in the story through the eyes of a little boy: hunger, devastation, impoverishment of the village, the well-fed life of city residents. The direction of village prose, to which the work belongs, was widespread in the 60s-80s of the 20th century. Its essence was as follows: it revealed the features of village life, emphasized its originality, poeticized and in some way idealized the village. Also, the prose of this direction was characterized by showing the devastation and impoverishment of the village, its decline and anxiety for the future of the village.
Work test
Rating analysis
Average rating: 4.8. Total ratings received: 950.
The stories of V. G. Rasputin are distinguished by amazingly attentive and caring attitude to a person, to his difficult fate. The author draws images ordinary people who live ordinary life with her sorrows and joys. At the same time, he reveals to us the rich inner world of these people. Thus, in the story “French Lessons,” the author reveals to readers the life and spiritual world of a village teenager.
Story
French lessons
Anastasia Prokopyevna Kopylova
It’s strange: why do we, just like before our parents, always feel guilty before our teachers? And not for what happened at school - no, but for what happened to us after.
I went to fifth grade in '48. It would be more correct to say, I went: in our village there was only primary school, therefore, in order to study further, I had to travel fifty kilometers from home to the regional center. A week earlier, my mother had gone there, agreed with her friend that I would live with her, and on the last day of August, Uncle Vanya, the driver of the only lorry and a half on the collective farm, unloaded me on Podkamennaya Street, where I was to live, and helped me carry a bundle with bed, patted him on the shoulder encouragingly goodbye and drove off. So, at the age of eleven, my independent life.
The hunger had not yet gone away that year, and my mother had three of us, I was the eldest. In the spring, when it was especially difficult, I swallowed it myself and forced my sister to swallow the eyes of sprouted potatoes and grains of oats and rye in order to spread the plantings in my stomach - then I wouldn’t have to think about food all the time. All summer we diligently watered our seeds with clean Angarsk water, but for some reason we did not receive a harvest or it was so small that we did not feel it. However, I think that this idea is not completely useless and will come in handy for a person someday, but due to inexperience we did something wrong there.
It’s hard to say how my mother decided to let me go to the district (we called the district center a district). We lived without our father, we lived very poorly, and she apparently decided that it couldn’t get any worse - it couldn’t get any worse. I studied well, went to school with pleasure, and in the village I was recognized as a literate person: I wrote for old women and read letters, went through all the books that ended up in our unprepossessing library, and in the evenings I told all sorts of stories from them to the children, adding more of my own. But they especially believed in me when it came to bonds. During the war, people accumulated a lot of them, winning tables came often, and then the bonds were brought to me. It was believed that I had a lucky eye. Winnings did happen, most often small ones, but in those years the collective farmer was happy with any penny, and then completely unexpected luck fell from my hands. The joy from her involuntarily spread to me. I was singled out from the village kids, they even fed me; One day Uncle Ilya, a generally stingy, tight-fisted old man, having won four hundred rubles, rashly grabbed me a bucket of potatoes - in the spring it was considerable wealth.
And all because I understood the bond numbers, the mothers said:
Your guy is growing up smart. You… let’s teach him. The diploma will not be wasted.
And my mother, despite all the misfortunes, gathered me, although no one from our village in the area had studied before. I was the first. Yes, I didn’t really understand what was ahead of me, what trials awaited me, my dear, in a new place.
I studied well here too. What was left for me? - then I came here, I had no other business here, and I didn’t yet know how to take care of what was entrusted to me. I would hardly have dared to go to school if I had left at least one lesson unlearned, so in all subjects, except French, I kept straight A's.
I had trouble with French because of the pronunciation. I easily memorized words and phrases, translated quickly, coped well with the difficulties of spelling, but the pronunciation completely betrayed my Angarsk origin right up to the last generation, where no one had ever pronounced foreign words, if he even suspected their existence. I sputtered in French in the manner of our village tongue twisters, swallowing half of the sounds as unnecessary, and blurting out the other half in short barking bursts. Lydia Mikhailovna, a French teacher, listening to me, winced helplessly and closed her eyes. She had, of course, never heard anything like it. Over and over again she showed how to pronounce nasals and vowel combinations, asked me to repeat them - I was lost, my tongue became stiff in my mouth and did not move. It was all for nothing. But the worst thing began when I came home from school. There I was involuntarily distracted, I was forced to do something all the time, there the guys were bothering me, together with them, like it or not, I had to move, play, and work in class. But as soon as I was left alone, longing immediately fell upon me - longing for home, for the village. Never before had I been away from my family even for a day and, of course, I was not ready to live among strangers. I felt so bad, so bitter and disgusted! - worse than any disease. I wanted only one thing, dreamed of one thing - home and home. I lost a lot of weight; my mother, who arrived at the end of September, was afraid for me. I stood strong with her, didn’t complain or cry, but when she started driving away, I couldn’t stand it and roared after the car. My mother waved her hand at me from the back so that I would back off and not disgrace myself and her, I didn’t understand anything. Then she made up her mind and stopped the car.
Get ready,” she demanded when I approached. That's enough, I've finished studying, let's go home.
I came to my senses and ran away.
But I lost weight not only because of homesickness. In addition, I was constantly undernourished. In the fall, while Uncle Vanya was transporting bread in his lorry to Zagotzerno, which was located not far from the regional center, they sent me food quite often, about once a week. But the trouble is that I missed her. There was nothing there except bread and potatoes, and occasionally the mother filled a jar with cottage cheese, which she took from someone for something: she didn’t keep a cow. It seems like they’ll bring a lot, if you grab it in two days, it’s empty. I very soon began to notice that a good half of my bread was disappearing somewhere in the most mysterious way. I checked and it’s true: it was not there. The same thing happened with potatoes. Who was dragging - Aunt Nadya, a loud, tired woman who was alone with three children, one of her older girls or the younger one, Fedka - I didn’t know, I was afraid to even think about it, let alone follow. It was only a shame that my mother, for my sake, tore the last thing away from hers, from her sister and brother, but it still went by. But I forced myself to come to terms with this too. It won't make things easier for the mother if she hears the truth.
The hunger here was not at all like the hunger in the village. There, and especially in the fall, it was possible to intercept something, pick it, dig it up, pick it up, fish walked in the Hangar, a bird flew in the forest. Here everything around me was empty: strangers, strangers’ gardens, strangers’ land. A small river of ten rows was filtered with nonsense. One Sunday I sat with a fishing rod all day and caught three small, about the size of a teaspoon, minnows - you won’t get any better from such fishing either. I didn’t go again - what a waste of time to translate! In the evenings, he hung around the teahouse, at the market, remembering what they were selling for, choking on his saliva and going back with nothing. There was a hot kettle on Aunt Nadya’s stove; After throwing some boiling water and warming his stomach, he went to bed. Back to school in the morning. That's how it got to that point happy hour when a semi-truck drove up to the gate and Uncle Vanya knocked on the door. Hungry and knowing that my grub wouldn’t last long anyway, no matter how much I saved it, I ate until I was full, until my stomach hurt, and then, after a day or two, I put my teeth back on the shelf.
One day, back in September, Fedka asked me:
Aren't you afraid to play chica?
Which chick? - I didn’t understand.
This is the game. For money. If we have money, let's go play.
And I don't have one. Let's go this way and at least have a look. You'll see how great it is.
Fedka took me beyond the vegetable gardens. We walked along the edge of an oblong ridge, completely overgrown with nettles, already black, tangled, with drooping poisonous clusters of seeds, jumped over the heaps, through an old landfill and in a low place, in a clean and flat small clearing, we saw the guys. We've arrived. The guys were wary. All of them were about the same age as me, except for one - a tall and strong guy, noticeable for his strength and power, a guy with long red bangs. I remembered: he went to seventh grade.
Why did you bring this? - he said displeasedly to Fedka.
“He’s one of us, Vadik, he’s one of us,” Fedka began to justify himself. - He lives with us.
Will you play? - Vadik asked me.
There is no money.
Be careful not to tell anyone that we are here.
Here's more! - I was offended.
No one paid any more attention to me; I stepped aside and began to observe. Not everyone played - sometimes six, sometimes seven, the rest just stared, rooting mainly for Vadik. He was the boss here, I realized that right away.
It didn't cost anything to figure out the game. Each person put ten kopecks on the line, a stack of coins, tails up, was lowered onto a platform limited by a thick line about two meters from the cash register, and on the other side, a round stone puck was thrown from a boulder that had grown into the ground and served as a support for the front leg. You had to throw it so that it would roll as close to the line as possible, but not go beyond it - then you got the right to be the first to break the cash register. They kept hitting with the same puck, trying to turn it over. coins on the eagle. Turned over - yours, hit further, no - give this right to the next one. But the most important thing was to cover the coins with the puck during the throw, and if at least one of them ended up on heads, the entire cash box went into your pocket without talking, and the game began again.
Vadik was cunning. He walked to the boulder after everyone else, when full picture the order was before his eyes and he saw where to throw in order to come out ahead. The money was received first; it rarely reached the last ones. Probably everyone understood that Vadik was being cunning, but no one dared to tell him about it. True, he played well. Approaching the stone, he squatted slightly, squinted, aimed the puck at the target and slowly, smoothly straightened up - the puck slipped out of his hand and flew to where he was aiming. With a quick movement of his head, he tossed his stray bangs up, casually spat to the side, indicating that the job was done, and with a lazy, deliberately slow step stepped towards the money. If they were in a heap, he hit them sharply, with a ringing sound, but he touched single coins with a puck carefully, with a knurl, so that the coin did not break or spin in the air, but, without rising high, just rolled over to the other side. No one else could do that. The guys struck at random and took out new coins, and those who had nothing to take out became spectators.
It seemed to me that if I had money, I could play. In the village we tinkered with the grandmothers, but even there we need an accurate eye. And I, in addition, loved to come up with games for accuracy: I’ll pick up a handful of stones, find a more difficult target and throw at it until I achieve the full result - ten out of ten. He threw both from above, from behind the shoulder, and from below, hanging the stone over the target. So I had some skill. There was no money.
The reason my mother sent me bread was because we didn’t have any money, otherwise I would have bought it here too. Where do they come from on the collective farm? Still, once or twice she put a fiver in my letter - for milk. With today's money it's fifty kopecks, you won't get any money, but it's still money, you could buy five half-liter jars of milk at the market, at a ruble per jar. I was told to drink milk because I was anemic, and often, out of the blue, I started feeling dizzy.
But, having received an A for the third time, I did not go for milk, but exchanged it for change and went to the landfill. The place here was chosen wisely, you can’t say anything: the clearing, closed by hills, was not visible from anywhere. In the village, in full view of adults, people were persecuted for playing such games, threatened by the director and the police. No one bothered us here. And it’s not far, you can reach it in ten minutes.
The first time I spent ninety kopecks, the second sixty. It was, of course, a pity for the money, but I felt that I was getting used to the game, my hand was gradually getting used to the puck, learning to release exactly as much force to throw as was required for the puck to go correctly, my eyes also learned to know in advance where it would fall and how much longer will roll across the ground. In the evenings, when everyone had left, I came back here again, took out the puck Vadik had hidden from under a stone, raked out my change from my pocket and threw it until it got dark. I achieved that out of ten throws, three or four were correct for the money.
And finally the day came when I won.
Autumn was warm and dry. Even in October it was so warm that you could walk around in a shirt, rain fell rarely and seemed random, inadvertently brought in from somewhere out of bad weather by a weak tailwind. The sky turned completely blue like summer, but it seemed to become narrower, and the sun set early. Over the hills in clear hours the air smoked, carrying the bitter, intoxicating smell of dry wormwood, distant voices sounded clearly, and flying birds screamed. The grass in our clearing, yellowed and withered, still remained alive and soft, the guys who were free from the game, or better yet, lost, were fiddling around on it.
Now every day after school I ran here. The guys changed, newcomers appeared, and only Vadik did not miss a single game. It never started without him. Following Vadik, like a shadow, was a big-headed, stocky guy with a buzz cut, nicknamed Ptah. I had never met Bird at school before, but looking ahead, I will say that in the third quarter he suddenly fell out of the blue into our class. It turns out that he stayed in the fifth year for the second year and, under some pretext, gave himself a vacation until January. Ptakh also usually won, although not as much as Vadik, less, but did not remain at a loss. Yes, probably because he didn’t stay because he was at one with Vadik and he slowly helped him.
From our class, Tishkin, a fussy little boy with blinking eyes, who loved to raise his hand during lessons, would sometimes run into the clearing. He knows, he doesn’t know, he still pulls. They call - he is silent.
Why did you raise your hand? - they ask Tishkin.
He spanked with his little eyes:
I remembered, but by the time I got up, I forgot.
I wasn't friends with him. Due to timidity, silence, excessive village isolation, and most importantly - from wild homesickness, which left no desires in me, I had not yet become friends with any of the guys. They were not attracted to me either, I remained alone, not understanding and not highlighting the loneliness of my bitter situation: alone - because here, and not at home, not in the village, I have many comrades there.
Tishkin did not seem to notice me in the clearing. Having quickly lost, he disappeared and did not appear again soon.
And I won. I started winning constantly, every day. I had my own calculation: there is no need to roll the puck around the court, seeking the right to the first shot; when there are a lot of players, it’s not easy: the closer you reach to the line, the greater the danger of going over it and being the last one left. You have to cover the cash register when throwing. That's what I did. Of course, I took a risk, but given my skill it was a justified risk. I could lose three or four times in a row, but on the fifth, having taken the cash register, I would return my loss threefold. He lost again and returned again. I rarely had to hit coins with a puck, but even here I used my trick: if Vadik hit with a roll towards himself, I, on the contrary, hit away from myself - it was unusual, but in this way the puck held the coin, did not allow it to spin and, moving away, turned after her.
Now I have money. I didn’t allow myself to get too carried away with the game and hang around in the clearing until the evening, I only needed a ruble, a ruble every day. Having received it, I ran away, bought a jar of milk at the market (the aunts grumbled, looking at my bent, beaten, torn coins, but they poured milk), had lunch and sat down to study. I still didn’t eat enough, but the mere thought that I was drinking milk gave me strength and quelled my hunger. It began to seem to me that my head was now spinning much less.
At first, Vadik was calm about my winnings. He himself didn’t lose money, and it’s unlikely that anything came from his pockets. Sometimes he even praised me: here’s how to throw, learn, you bastards. However, soon Vadik noticed that I was leaving the game too quickly, and one day he stopped me:
What are you doing - grab the cash register and tear it up? Look how smart he is! Play.
“I need to do my homework, Vadik,” I began to make excuses.
Anyone who needs to do homework doesn't come here.
And Bird sang along:
Who told you that this is how they play for money? For this, you want to know, they beat you a little. Understood?
Vadik no longer gave me the puck before himself and only let me get to the stone last. He shot well, and often I would reach into my pocket for a new coin without touching the puck. But I shot better, and if I had the opportunity to shoot, the puck, as if magnetized, flew right into the money. I myself was surprised at my accuracy, I should have known to hold it back, play more inconspicuously, but I artlessly and mercilessly continued to bomb the box office. How was I to know that no one has ever been forgiven if he gets ahead in his business? Then do not expect mercy, do not seek intercession, for others he is an upstart, and the one who follows him hates him most of all. I had to learn this science that autumn on my own skin.
I had just fallen into the money again and was going to collect it when I noticed that Vadik had stepped on one of the coins scattered on the sides. All the rest were heads up. In such cases, when throwing, they usually shout “to the warehouse!” So that - if there is no eagle - the money is collected in one pile for the strike, but, as always, I hoped for luck and did not shout.
Not to the warehouse! - Vadik announced.
I walked up to him and tried to move his foot off the coin, but he pushed me away, quickly grabbed it from the ground and showed me tails. I managed to notice that the coin was on the eagle, otherwise he would not have closed it.
“You turned it over,” I said. - She was on the eagle, I saw.
He stuck his fist under my nose.
Haven't you seen this? Smell what it smells like.
I had to come to terms with it. There was no point in insisting; if a fight starts, no one, not a single soul will stand up for me, not even Tishkin, who was hanging around right there.
Vadik’s angry, narrowed eyes looked at me point-blank. I bent down, quietly hit the nearest coin, turned it over and moved the second one. “The slur will lead to the truth,” I decided. “Anyway, I’ll take them all now.” I again pointed the puck for a shot, but didn’t have time to put it down: someone suddenly gave me a strong knee from behind, and I awkwardly, with my head bowed down, hit the ground. People around laughed.
Bird stood behind me, smiling expectantly. I was taken aback:
What are you doing?!
Who told you it was me? - he unlocked the door. - Did you dream it, or what?
Come here! - Vadik extended his hand for the puck, but I didn’t give it back. The resentment overwhelmed my fear; I was no longer afraid of anything in the world. For what? Why are they doing this to me? What did I do to them?
Come here! - Vadik demanded.
You flipped that coin! - I shouted to him. - I saw that I turned it over. Saw.
Well, repeat it,” he asked, advancing towards me.
“You turned it over,” I said more quietly, knowing well what would follow.
Bird hit me first, again from behind. I flew towards Vadik, he quickly and deftly, without trying to measure himself, put his head in my face, and I fell, blood sprayed from my nose. As soon as I jumped up, Bird pounced on me again. It was still possible to break free and run away, but for some reason I didn’t think about it. I hovered between Vadik and Ptah, almost without defending myself, clutching my nose with my palm, from which blood was gushing, and in despair, adding to their rage, stubbornly shouting the same thing:
Turned it over! Turned it over! Turned it over!
They beat me in turns, one and two, one and two. Someone third, small and angry, kicked my legs, then they were almost completely covered with bruises. I just tried not to fall, not to fall again, even in those moments it seemed to me a shame. But eventually they knocked me to the ground and stopped.
Get out of here while you're alive! - Vadik commanded. - Fast!
I got up and, sobbing, throwing my dead nose, trudged up the mountain.
Just say anything to anyone and we’ll kill you! - Vadik promised after me.
I didn't answer. Everything in me somehow hardened and closed in resentment; I didn’t have the strength to get a word out of me. And as soon as I climbed the mountain, I could not resist and, as if I had gone crazy, I screamed at the top of my lungs - so that the whole village probably heard:
I'll turn it over!
Ptah rushed after me, but immediately returned - apparently Vadik decided that I had had enough and stopped him. For about five minutes I stood and, sobbing, looked at the clearing where the game had begun again, then I went down the other side of the hill to a hollow surrounded by black nettles, fell onto the hard dry grass and, unable to hold back any longer, began to cry bitterly and sobbing.
On that day there was not and could not be in the whole wide world a person more unhappy than me.
In the morning I looked at myself in the mirror with fear: my nose was swollen and swollen, there was a bruise under my left eye, and below it, on my cheek, a fat, bloody abrasion curved. I had no idea how to go to school like this, but I had to go somehow; I didn’t dare skip classes for any reason. Let’s say that people’s noses are naturally cleaner than mine, and if it weren’t for the usual place, you would never guess that it was a nose, but nothing can justify an abrasion and bruise: it’s immediately clear that they are showing off here not of my own free will.
Covering my eye with my hand, I ducked into the classroom, sat down at my desk and lowered my head. The first lesson, as luck would have it, was French. Lidia Mikhailovna, by right of the class teacher, was more interested in us than other teachers, and it was difficult to hide anything from her. She came in and said hello, but before seating the class, she had the habit of carefully examining almost each of us, making supposedly humorous, but obligatory remarks. And, of course, she saw the signs on my face right away, even though I hid them as best I could; I realized this because the guys started turning to look at me.
“Well,” said Lydia Mikhailovna, opening the magazine. There are wounded among us today.
The class laughed, and Lydia Mikhailovna looked up at me again. They looked askance at her and seemed to be passing her by, but by that time we had already learned to recognize where they were looking.
So what happened? - she asked.
“Fell,” I blurted out, for some reason not thinking in advance to come up with even the slightest decent explanation.
Oh, how unfortunate. Did it fall yesterday or today?
Today. No, last night when it was dark.
Hey, fell! - Tishkin shouted, choking with joy. - Vadik from the seventh grade brought this to him. They played for money, and he began to argue and made money, I saw it. And he says he fell.
I was dumbfounded by such betrayal. Does he not understand anything at all, or is he doing this on purpose? For playing for money, we could be kicked out of school in no time. I've finished the game. Everything in my head started to buzz with fear: it’s gone, now it’s gone. Well, Tishkin. That's Tishkin, that's Tishkin. Made me happy. Made it clear - there is nothing to say.
You, Tishkin, I wanted to ask something completely different,” Lydia Mikhailovna stopped him without being surprised and without changing her calm, slightly indifferent tone. - Go to the board, since you are already talking, and get ready to answer. She waited until Tishkin, who was confused and immediately became unhappy, came to the blackboard, and briefly told me: “You’ll stay after class.”
Most of all I was afraid that Lydia Mikhailovna would drag me to the director. This means that, in addition to today’s conversation, tomorrow they will take me out in front of the school line and force me to tell what prompted me to do this dirty business. The director, Vasily Andreevich, asked the offender, no matter what he did, broke a window, fought or smoked in the restroom: “What prompted you to do this dirty business?” He walked in front of the ruler, throwing his hands behind his back, moving his shoulders forward in time with his long steps, so that it seemed as if the tightly buttoned, protruding dark jacket was moving on its own slightly in front of the director, and urged: “Answer, answer. We are waiting. look, the whole school is waiting for you to tell us.” The student began to mutter something in his defense, but the director cut him off: “Answer my question, answer the question. How was the question asked? - “What prompted me?” - “That’s it: what prompted it? We are listening to you." The matter usually ended in tears, only after that the director calmed down, and we left for classes. It was more difficult with high school students who did not want to cry, but also could not answer Vasily Andreevich’s question.
One day, our first lesson started ten minutes late, and all this time the director interrogated one ninth-grader, but, having failed to get anything intelligible from him, he took him to his office.
What, I wonder, should I say? It would be better if they kicked him out immediately. I briefly touched this thought and thought that then I would be able to return home, and then, as if I had been burned, I got scared: no, with such a shame I can’t even go home. It would be a different matter if I dropped out of school myself... But even then you can say about me that I am an unreliable person, since I couldn’t stand what I wanted, and then everyone will completely shun me. No, not like that. I’d be patient here, I’d get used to it, but I can’t go home like that.
After classes, frozen with fear, I waited for Lydia Mikhailovna in the corridor. She came out of the teacher's room and, nodding, led me into the classroom. As always, she sat down at the table, I wanted to sit at the third desk, away from her, but Lydia Mikhailovna showed me to the first one, right in front of me.
Is it true that you are playing for money? - she began immediately. She asked too loudly, it seemed to me that at school this should only be discussed in a whisper, and I was even more scared. But there was no point in locking myself away; Tishkin managed to sell me whole. I mumbled:
So how do you win or lose? I hesitated, not knowing what was best.
Let's tell it like it is. You're probably losing?
You... I'm winning.
Okay, at least that's it. You win, that is. And what do you do with the money?
At first, at school, it took me a long time to get used to Lydia Mikhailovna’s voice; it confused me. In our village they spoke, tucking their voice deep into their guts, and therefore it sounded to their heart’s content, but with Lydia Mikhailovna it was somehow small and light, so you had to listen to it, and not out of impotence at all - she could sometimes say to her heart’s content , but as if from concealment and unnecessary savings. I was ready to blame everything on the French language: of course, while I was studying, while I was adapting to someone else’s speech, my voice sank without freedom, weakened, like a bird’s in a cage, now wait until it opens up and gets stronger again. And now Lidia Mikhailovna asked as if she was busy with something else, more important, but she still couldn’t escape her questions.
So what do you do with the money you win? Are you buying candy? Or books? Or are you saving up for something? After all, you probably have a lot of them now?
No, not much. I only win a ruble.
And you don't play anymore?
What about the ruble? Why ruble? What are you doing with it?
I buy milk.
She sat in front of me, neat, all smart and beautiful, beautiful in her clothes, and in her feminine youth, which I vaguely felt, the smell of perfume from her reached me, which I took for her very breath; Moreover, she was not a teacher of some kind of arithmetic, not of history, but of the mysterious French language, from which something special, fabulous, beyond the control of anyone, like me, for example, emanated. Not daring to raise my eyes to her, I did not dare to deceive her. And why, in the end, did I have to deceive?
She paused, examining me, and I felt on my skin how, at the glance of her squinting, attentive eyes, all my troubles and absurdities were literally swelling and filling with their evil power. Of course, there was something to look at: in front of her, crouching on the desk was a skinny, wild boy with a broken face, unkempt, without a mother and alone, in an old, washed-out jacket on his drooping shoulders, which fit well on his chest, but from which his arms protruded far; in stained light green trousers, altered from his father's breeches and tucked into teal, with traces of yesterday's fight. Even earlier I noticed with what curiosity Lidia Mikhailovna was looking at my shoes. Of the entire class, I was the only one wearing teal. Only the next fall, when I flatly refused to go to school in them, did my mother sell the sewing machine, our only asset, and buy me tarpaulin boots.
“Still, there’s no need to play for money,” Lidia Mikhailovna said thoughtfully. - You could manage somehow without this. Can we get by?
Not daring to believe in my salvation, I easily promised:
I spoke sincerely, but what can you do if our sincerity cannot be tied with ropes.
To be fair, I must say that in those days I had a very bad time. In the dry autumn, our collective farm paid off its grain supply early, and Uncle Vanya never came again. I knew that my mother couldn’t find a place for herself at home, worrying about me, but that didn’t make it any easier for me. A bag of potatoes brought to last time Uncle Vanya, evaporated so quickly, as if they were feeding it, at least to livestock. It’s good that, having come to my senses, I thought of hiding a little in an abandoned shed standing in the yard, and now I lived only in this hiding place. After school, sneaking like a thief, I would sneak into the shed, put a few potatoes in my pocket and run outside into the hills to make a fire somewhere in a convenient and hidden low spot. I was hungry all the time, even in my sleep I felt convulsive waves rolling through my stomach.
Hoping to stumble upon new company players, I began to slowly explore the neighboring streets, wandered through vacant lots, and watched the guys who were carried into the hills. It was all in vain, the season was over, the cold October winds blew. And only in our clearing the guys continued to gather. I circled nearby, saw the puck glinting in the sun, Vadik commanding, waving his arms, and familiar figures leaning over the cash register.
In the end I couldn’t stand it anymore and went down to them. I knew that I was going to be humiliated, but no less humiliating was to once and for all come to terms with the fact that I was beaten and kicked out. I was itching to see how Vadik and Ptah would react to my appearance and how I could behave. But what drove me most was hunger. I needed a ruble - not for milk, but for bread. I didn't know any other way to get it.
I walked up, and the game paused by itself, everyone was staring at me. The bird was wearing a hat with the ears turned up, sitting, like everyone else on him, carefree and boldly, in a checkered, untucked shirt with short sleeves; Vadik forsil in a beautiful thick jacket with a zipper. Nearby, piled in one heap, lay sweatshirts and coats; on them, huddled in the wind, sat a small boy, about five or six years old.
Bird met me first:
What did you come for? Have you been beaten for a long time?
“I came to play,” I answered as calmly as possible, looking at Vadik.
“Who told you what’s wrong with you,” Bird swore, “will they play here?”
What, Vadik, are we going to hit right away or wait a little?
Why are you pestering the man, Bird? - Vadik said, squinting at me. - I understand, the man came to play. Maybe he wants to win ten rubles from you and me?
You don’t have ten rubles, just so as not to seem like a coward, I said.
We have more than you dreamed of. Bet, don't talk until Bird gets angry. Otherwise he is a hot man.
Should I give it to him, Vadik?
No need, let him play. - Vadik winked at the guys. - He plays great, we are no match for him.
Now I was a scientist and understood what it was - Vadik’s kindness. He was apparently tired of the boring, uninteresting game, so in order to tickle his nerves and get a taste real game, he decided to let me into it. But as soon as I touch his pride, I will be in trouble again. He will find something to complain about, Bird is next to him.
I decided to play it safe and not get caught up in the cash. Like everyone else, in order not to stand out, I rolled the puck, afraid of accidentally hitting the money, then I quietly tapped the coins and looked around to see if Bird had come up behind me. In the first days I did not allow myself to dream about the ruble; Twenty or thirty kopecks for a piece of bread, that’s good, and give it here.
But what was supposed to happen sooner or later, of course, happened. On the fourth day, when, having won a ruble, I was about to leave, they beat me again. True, this time it was easier, but one mark remained: my lip was very swollen. At school I had to bite it all the time. But no matter how I hid it, no matter how I bit it, Lydia Mikhailovna saw it. She deliberately called me to the blackboard and made me read the French text. I couldn’t pronounce it correctly with ten healthy lips, and there’s nothing to say about one.
Enough, oh, enough! - Lidia Mikhailovna got scared and waved at me as if I were evil spirits, hands. - What is this?! No, I'll have to study with you separately. There is no other way out.
Thus began painful and awkward days for me. From the very morning I waited with fear for the hour when I would have to be alone with Lydia Mikhailovna, and, breaking my tongue, repeat after her words that were inconvenient for pronunciation, invented only for punishment. Well, why else, if not for mockery, should three vowels be merged into one thick, viscous sound, the same “o”, for example, in the word “veaisoir” (a lot), which can be choked on? Why make sounds through the nose with some kind of groan, when from time immemorial it has served a person for a completely different need? For what? There must be limits to what is reasonable. I was covered in sweat, blushed and out of breath, and Lydia Mikhailovna, without respite and without pity, made me calluse my poor tongue. And why me alone? There were any number of kids at school who spoke French no better than I did, but they walked freely, did whatever they wanted, and I, like hell, took the rap for everyone.
It turned out that this was not the worst thing. Lidia Mikhailovna suddenly decided that we had little time left at school before the second shift, and told me to come to her apartment in the evenings. She lived next to the school, in the teachers' houses. The director himself lived on the other, larger half of Lydia Mikhailovna’s house. I went there as if it were torture. Already naturally timid and shy, lost at every trifle, in this clean, tidy apartment of the teacher, at first I literally turned to stone and was afraid to breathe. I had to be told to undress, go into the room, sit down - they had to move me around like a thing, and almost force words out of me. This did not contribute to my success in French. But, strangely, we studied less here than at school, where the second shift seemed to interfere with us. Moreover, Lidia Mikhailovna, while fussing around the apartment, asked me questions or told me about herself. I suspect that she deliberately made it up for me, as if she went to the French department only because at school this language was also not given to her and she decided to prove to herself that she could master it no worse than others.
Huddled in a corner, I listened, not expecting to be allowed to go home. There were many books in the room, on the bedside table by the window there was a large beautiful radio; with a player - a rare miracle at that time, and for me a completely unprecedented miracle. Lydia Mikhailovna played records, and the dexterous male voice again taught French. One way or another, there was no escape from him. Lidia Mikhailovna, in a simple house dress and soft felt shoes, walked around the room, making me shudder and freeze when she approached me. I couldn’t believe that I was sitting in her house, everything here was too unexpected and unusual for me, even the air, saturated with the light and unfamiliar smells of a life other than what I knew. I couldn’t help but feel as if I was spying on this life from the outside, and out of shame and embarrassment for myself, I snuggled even deeper into my short jacket.
Lydia Mikhailovna was then probably twenty-five years old or so; I remember it well and therefore not too living face with eyes narrowed to hide the braid; a tight, rarely fully revealed smile and completely black, short-cropped hair. But with all this, there was no rigidity visible in her face, which, as I later noticed, over the years becomes almost a professional sign of teachers, even the kindest and gentlest by nature, but there was some kind of cautious, cunning, bewilderment regarding to herself and seemed to say: I wonder how I ended up here and what I’m doing here? Now I think that by that time she had managed to be married; in her voice, in her gait - soft, but confident, free, in her entire behavior one could feel courage and experience in her. And besides, I have always been of the opinion that girls who study French or Spanish, become women earlier than their peers who study, say, Russian or German.
It’s a shame to remember now how frightened and confused I was when Lidia Mikhailovna, having finished our lesson, called me to dinner. If I were hungry a thousand times, all appetite would immediately jump out of me like a bullet. Sit down at the same table with Lydia Mikhailovna! No no! I better go to tomorrow I’ll learn all the French by heart so that I never come here again. A piece of bread would probably actually get stuck in my throat. It seems that before that I did not suspect that Lydia Mikhailovna, too, like the rest of us, eats the most ordinary food, and not some kind of manna from heaven, so she seemed to me an extraordinary person, unlike everyone else.
I jumped up and, muttering that I was full and that I didn’t want it, backed along the wall towards the exit. Lidia Mikhailovna looked at me with surprise and resentment, but it was impossible to stop me by any means. I was running away. This was repeated several times, then Lidia Mikhailovna, in despair, stopped inviting me to the table. I breathed more freely.
One day they told me that downstairs in the locker room there was a package for me that some guy had brought to school. Uncle Vanya, of course, is our driver - what a guy! Probably, our house was closed, and Uncle Vanya couldn’t wait for me from class, so he left me in the locker room.
I could hardly wait until the end of class and rushed downstairs. Aunt Vera, the school cleaner, showed me a white plywood box in the corner, the kind they use to store mail packages. I was surprised: why in the box? - Mother usually sent food in an ordinary bag. Maybe this is not for me at all? No, my class and my last name were written on the lid. Apparently, Uncle Vanya has already written it here - so that they don’t get confused about who it’s for. What did this mother come up with to stuff groceries into a drawer?! Look how intelligent she has become!
I couldn’t carry the package home without finding out what was in it: I didn’t have the patience. It is clear that there are no potatoes there. The container for bread is also perhaps too small and inconvenient. Besides, they sent me bread recently; I still had it. Then what's there? Right there, at school, I climbed under the stairs, where I remembered the ax lay, and, having found it, tore off the lid. It was dark under the stairs, I crawled back out and, looking around furtively, put the box on the nearby windowsill.
Looking into the parcel, I was stunned: on top, neatly covered with a large white sheet of paper, lay pasta. Wow! Long yellow tubes, laid one next to the other in even rows, flashed in the light with such wealth, more expensive than which nothing existed for me. Now it’s clear why my mother packed the box: so that the pasta wouldn’t break or crumble, and would arrive to me safe and sound. I carefully took out one tube, looked at it, blew into it, and, unable to restrain myself any longer, began to snort greedily. Then, in the same way, I took on the second, and the third, thinking about where I could hide the drawer so that the pasta would not get to the overly voracious mice in my mistress’s pantry. That’s not why my mother bought them, she spent her last money. No, I won’t let go of pasta that easily. These are not just any potatoes.
And suddenly I choked. Pasta... Really, where did the mother get the pasta? We haven’t had them in our village for a long time; you can’t buy them there for any price. What happens then? Hastily, in despair and hope, I cleared away the pasta and found at the bottom of the box several large pieces of sugar and two slabs of hematogen. Hematogen confirmed: it was not the mother who sent the parcel. In this case, who is who? I looked at the lid again: my class, my last name - for me. Interesting, very interesting.
I pressed the nails of the lid into place and, leaving the box on the windowsill, went up to the second floor and knocked on the staff room. Lidia Mikhailovna has already left. It’s okay, we’ll find it, we know where he lives, we’ve been there. So, here’s how: if you don’t want to sit down at the table, get food delivered to your home. So, yes. It won't work. There is no one else. This is not the mother: she would not have forgotten to include a note, she would have told where such wealth came from, from what mines.
When I sidled through the door with the parcel, Lidia Mikhailovna pretended that she didn’t understand anything. She looked at the box that I placed on the floor in front of her and asked in surprise:
What is this? What did you bring? For what?
“You did it,” I said in a trembling, breaking voice.
What have I done? What are you talking about?
You sent this package to the school. I know you.
I noticed that Lydia Mikhailovna blushed and was embarrassed. This was obviously the only time when I was not afraid to look her straight in the eyes. I didn’t care if she was a teacher or my second cousin. Here I asked, not she, and asked not in French, but in Russian, without any articles. Let him answer.
Why did you decide it was me?
Because we don't have any pasta there. And there is no hematogen.
How! Doesn't happen at all?! - She was so sincerely amazed that she gave herself away completely.
Doesn't happen at all. I had to know.
Lidia Mikhailovna suddenly laughed and tried to hug me, but I pulled away. from her.
Really, you should have known. How can I do this?! - She thought for a minute. - But it was difficult to guess - honestly! I'm a city person. You say it doesn’t happen at all? What happens to you then?
Peas happen. Radish happens.
Peas... radishes... And we have apples in Kuban. Oh, how many apples there are now. Today I wanted to go to Kuban, but for some reason I came here. - Lydia Mikhailovna sighed and looked sideways at me. - Don't be angry. I wanted the best. Who knew you could get caught eating pasta? It's okay, now I'll be smarter. And take this pasta...
“I won’t take it,” I interrupted her.
Well, why are you doing this? I know you're starving. And I live alone, I have a lot of money. I can buy whatever I want, but I’m the only one... I eat little, I’m afraid of gaining weight.
I'm not hungry at all.
Please don't argue with me, I know. I spoke to your owner. What's wrong if you take this pasta now and cook yourself a nice lunch today? Why can't I help you for the only time in my life? I promise not to slip any more parcels. But please take this one. You must definitely eat your fill in order to study. There are so many well-fed loafers in our school who don’t understand anything and probably never will, but you’re a capable boy, you can’t leave school.
Her voice began to have a sleepy effect on me; I was afraid that she would persuade me, and, angry with myself for understanding that Lydia Mikhailovna was right, and for the fact that I was going to still not understand her, I, shaking my head and muttering something, ran out the door.
Our lessons did not stop there; I continued to go to Lydia Mikhailovna. But now she really took charge of me. She apparently decided: well, French is French. True, this did some good, and gradually I began to pronounce quite tolerably French words, they no longer broke off at my feet like heavy cobblestones, but, ringing, tried to fly somewhere.
“Okay,” Lidia Mikhailovna encouraged me. - You won’t get an A in this quarter, but in the next quarter it’s a must.
We didn’t remember about the parcel, but I kept my guard up just in case. Who knows what else Lidia Mikhailovna will come up with? I knew from myself: when something doesn’t work out, you will do everything to make it work, you won’t give up so easily. It seemed to me that Lydia Mikhailovna was always looking at me expectantly, and as she looked closer, she laughed at my wildness - I was angry, but this anger, oddly enough, helped me to remain more confident. I was no longer that unrequited and helpless boy who was afraid to take a step here; little by little I got used to Lydia Mikhailovna and her apartment. I was still, of course, shy, huddled in a corner, hiding my teals under a chair, but the previous stiffness and depression receded, now I myself dared to ask Lydia Mikhailovna questions and even enter into arguments with her.
She made another attempt to seat me at the table - in vain. Here I was adamant, I had enough stubbornness for ten.
Probably, it was already possible to stop these classes at home, I learned the most important thing, my tongue softened and began to move, the rest would have been added over time in school lessons. There are years and years ahead. What will I do next if I learn everything from beginning to end at once? But I did not dare to tell Lydia Mikhailovna about this, and she, apparently, did not at all consider our program completed, and I continued to pull my French strap. However, is it a strap? Somehow, involuntarily and imperceptibly, without expecting it myself, I felt a taste for language and in my free moments, without any prodding, I looked into the dictionary and looked into the texts further away in the textbook. Punishment turned into pleasure. I was also spurred on by my pride: if it didn’t work out, it would work out, and it would work out - no worse than the best. Am I cut from a different cloth, or what? If only I didn’t have to go to Lydia Mikhailovna... I would do it myself, myself...
One day, about two weeks after the parcel story, Lydia Mikhailovna, smiling, asked:
Well, don’t you play for money anymore? Or do you gather somewhere on the sidelines and play?
How to play now?! - I was surprised, pointing with my gaze outside the window where the snow lay.
What kind of game was this? What is it?
Why do you need it? - I became wary.
Interesting. When we were children, we also played once, so I want to know whether this is the right game or not. Tell me, tell me, don't be afraid.
I told him, keeping silent, of course, about Vadik, about Ptah, and about my little tricks that I used in the game.
No,” Lydia Mikhailovna shook her head. - We played "wall". Do you know what this is?
Look here. “She easily jumped out from behind the table where she was sitting, found coins in her purse and pushed the chair away from the wall. Come here, look. I hit a coin against the wall. - Lydia Mikhailovna struck lightly, and the coin, ringing, flew off in an arc to the floor. Now, - Lydia Mikhailovna put the second coin in my hand, you hit. But keep in mind: you need to hit so that your coin is as close to mine as possible. To measure them, reach them with the fingers of one hand. The game is called differently: measurements. If you get it, it means you win. Hit.
I hit - my coin hit the edge and rolled into the corner.
“Oh,” Lidia Mikhailovna waved her hand. - Far. Now you are starting. Keep in mind: if my coin touches yours, even just a little, with the edge, I win double. Understand?
What's unclear here?
Shall we play?
I couldn't believe my ears:
How can I play with you?
What is it?
You are a teacher!
So what? A teacher is a different person, or what? Sometimes you get tired of being just a teacher, teaching and teaching endlessly. Constantly checking yourself: this is impossible, this is impossible,” Lydia Mikhailovna narrowed her eyes more than usual and looked out the window thoughtfully, distantly. “Sometimes it’s good to forget that you’re a teacher, otherwise you’ll become so mean and boorish that living people will become bored with you.” For a teacher, perhaps the most important thing is not to take himself seriously, to understand that he can teach very little. - She shook herself and immediately became cheerful. - And as a child, I was a desperate girl, my parents had a lot of trouble with me. Even now I still often want to jump, gallop, rush somewhere, do something not according to the program, not according to the schedule, but according to desire. Sometimes I jump and jump here. A person ages not when he reaches old age, but when he ceases to be a child. I would love to jump every day, but Vasily Andreevich lives behind the wall. He is a very serious person. Under no circumstances should he let him know that we are playing “measuring games.”
But we don’t play any “measuring games”. You just showed it to me.
We can play it as simply as they say, make-believe. But still, don’t hand me over to Vasily Andreevich.
Lord, what is going on in this world! How long have I been scared to death that Lidia Mikhailovna would drag me to the director for gambling for money, and now she asks me not to betray her. The end of the world is no different. I looked around, frightened by who knows what, and blinked my eyes in confusion.
Well, shall we try? If you don't like it, we'll quit.
Let’s do it,” I hesitantly agreed.
Get started.
We took up the coins. It was obvious that Lidia Mikhailovna had actually played once, and I was just trying out the game; I had not yet figured out for myself how to hit a coin against a wall, edgewise or flat, at what height and with what force, when it was better to throw. My blows were blind; If they had kept score, I would have lost quite a lot in the first minutes, although there was nothing tricky in these “measurements.” Most of all, of course, what embarrassed and depressed me, what kept me from getting used to it was the fact that I was playing with Lidia Mikhailovna. Not a single dream could have dreamed such a thing, not a single bad thought think about it. I didn’t come to my senses right away or easily, but when I came to my senses and began to take a closer look at the game, Lidia Mikhailovna stopped it.
No, that’s not interesting,” she said, straightening up and brushing the hair that had fallen over her eyes. - Playing is so real, and the fact is that you and I are like three-year-old kids.
But then it will be a game for money,” I timidly reminded.
Certainly. What are we holding in our hands? Playing for money cannot be replaced by anything else. This makes her good and bad at the same time. We can agree on a very small rate, but there will still be interest.
I was silent, not knowing what to do or what to do.
Are you really afraid? - Lydia Mikhailovna egged me on.
Here's more! I'm not afraid of anything.
I had some small items with me. I gave the coin to Lydia Mikhailovna and took mine out of my pocket. Well, let's play for real, Lidia Mikhailovna, if you want. Something for me - I wasn’t the first to start. At first, Vadik also paid zero attention to me, but then he came to his senses and started attacking with his fists. I learned there, I will learn here too. This is not French, but I’ll soon get to grips with French too.
I had to accept one condition: since Lydia Mikhailovna has a larger hand and longer fingers, she will measure with her thumb and middle finger, and I, as expected, with my thumb and little finger. It was fair and I agreed.
The game started again. We moved from the room to the hallway, where it was freer, and hit a smooth board fence. They beat, dropped to their knees, crawled on the floor, touching each other, stretched their fingers, measuring coins, then rose to their feet again, and Lydia Mikhailovna announced the score. She played noisily: she screamed, clapped her hands, teased me - in a word, she behaved like an ordinary girl, and not a teacher, I even wanted to shout at times. But nevertheless she won, and I lost. I didn’t have time to come to my senses when eighty kopecks ran up on me, with great difficulty I managed to knock this debt down to thirty, but Lydia Mikhailovna hit mine from afar with her coin, and the count immediately jumped to fifty. I started to worry. We agreed to pay at the end of the game, but if things continue like this, my money will very soon not be enough, I have a little more than a ruble. This means that you can’t pass the ruble for a ruble - otherwise it’s a disgrace, disgrace and shame for the rest of your life.
And then I suddenly noticed that Lidia Mikhailovna was not trying to win against me at all. When taking measurements, her fingers hunched over, not extending to their full length - where she supposedly could not reach the coin, I reached without any effort. This offended me, and I stood up.
No,” I said, “that’s not how I play.” Why are you playing along with me? This is unfair.
But I really can’t get them,” she began to refuse. - My fingers are kind of wooden.
Okay, okay, I'll try.
I don’t know about mathematics, but in life the best proof is by contradiction. When the next day I saw that Lydia Mikhailovna, in order to touch the coin, was secretly pushing it towards her finger, I was stunned. Looking at me and for some reason not noticing that I see her perfectly clean water fraud, she continued to move the coin as if nothing had happened.
What are you doing? - I was indignant.
I? What am I doing?
Why did you move it?
No, she was lying here, - in the most shameless way, with some kind of joy, Lidia Mikhailovna opened the door, no worse than Vadik or Ptah.
Wow! It's called a teacher! With my own eyes, at a distance of twenty centimeters, I saw that she was touching the coin, but she assures me that she did not touch it, and even laughs at me. Is she taking me for a blind man? For the little one? She teaches French, it's called. I immediately completely forgot that just yesterday Lydia Mikhailovna tried to play along with me, and I only made sure that she did not deceive me. Well, well! Lidia Mikhailovna, it's called.
On this day we studied French for fifteen to twenty minutes, and then even less. We have a different interest. Lidia Mikhailovna made me read the passage, made comments, listened to the comments again, and we immediately moved on to the game. After two small losses, I began to win. I quickly got used to the “measurements”, understood all the secrets, knew how and where to hit, what to do as a point guard so as not to expose my coin to the measurement.
And again I had money. Again I ran to the market and bought milk - now in frozen mugs. I carefully cut the flow of cream from the mug, popped the crumbling ice slices into my mouth and, feeling their satisfying sweetness throughout my body, closed my eyes in pleasure. Then he turned the circle upside down and hammered out the sweetish milky sediment with a knife. He allowed the rest to melt and drank it, eating it with a piece of black bread.
It was okay, it was possible to live, and in the near future, once the wounds of the war were healed, a happy time was promised for everyone.
Of course, accepting money from Lydia Mikhailovna, I felt awkward, but every time I calmed down that it was an honest win. I never asked for a game; Lidia Mikhailovna offered it herself. I didn't dare refuse. It seemed to me that the game gave her pleasure, she was having fun, laughing, and bothering me.
If only we knew how it would all end...
...Kneeling opposite each other, we argued about the score. Before that, too, it seems they were arguing about something.
Understand, you garden-variety fool,” Lydia Mikhailovna argued, crawling on me and waving her arms, “why should I deceive you?” I'm keeping score, not you, I know better. I lost three times in a row, and before that I was a chick.
- “Chika” is not readable.
Why doesn't it read?
We were shouting, interrupting each other, when a surprised, if not shocked, but firm, ringing voice reached us:
Lidia Mikhailovna!
We froze. Vasily Andreevich stood at the door.
Lidia Mikhailovna, what’s wrong with you? What's going on here?
Lydia Mikhailovna slowly, very slowly rose from her knees, flushed and disheveled, and, smoothing her hair, said:
I, Vasily Andreevich, hoped that you would knock before entering here.
I knocked. Nobody answered me. What's going on here? please explain. I have the right to know as a director.
“We’re playing wall games,” Lidia Mikhailovna answered calmly.
Are you playing for money with this?.. - Vasily Andreevich pointed his finger at me, and out of fear I crawled behind the partition to hide in the room. - Playing with a student?! Did I understand you correctly?
Right.
Well, you know... - The director was choking, he didn’t have enough air. - I’m at a loss to immediately name your action. This is a crime. Molestation. Seduction. And again, again... I’ve been working at school for twenty years, I’ve seen all sorts of things, but this...
And he raised his hands above his head.
Three days later Lydia Mikhailovna left. The day before, she met me after school and walked me home.
“I’ll go to my place in Kuban,” she said, saying goodbye. - And you study calmly, no one will touch you for this stupid incident. It's my fault. Learn,” she patted me on the head and left.
And I never saw her again.
In the middle of winter, after the January holidays, I received a package by mail at school. When I opened it, taking the ax out from under the stairs again, there were tubes of pasta lying in neat, dense rows. And below, in a thick cotton wrapper, I found three red apples.
Previously, I had only seen apples in pictures, but I guessed that this was them.
Notes
Kopylova A.P. - mother of playwright A. Vampilov (Editor's note).
Life lessons in the story of V. G. Rasputin
"French Lessons"
Lesson objectives: educational:
1) introduce the life and work of the writer V. G. Rasputin and his story “French Lessons”.
2) analyze the problems of the story and find out what lessons it carries; reveal the spiritual values, moral laws by which V. Rasputin’s heroes live.
developing:
1) develop the ability to analyze text work of art.
2) learn to concisely present a narrative text
3) develop communication skills and stage skills of students, their creative abilities.
4) continue work on developing the speech culture of schoolchildren, work on students’ expressive reading
educational:
1) lead students to a deeper understanding of the concepts of kindness, humanism, responsiveness, nobility, courage, selflessness.
2) to cultivate in students these character qualities and ethical standards of behavior and relationships.
Equipment: computer, multimedia projector, book exhibition,
notes on the board, task cards.
Lesson type: integrated (Russian language, literature, music, history),
using computer technology.
Lesson form: lesson - reflection
Lesson methods: 1) verbal (teacher’s word, children’s messages).
2) reproductive (retelling what was read, conversation based on the story)
3) visually - illustrative (computer presentation slides, book exhibition, staging, artistic reading children).
4) partially – search (finding episodes in the text).
5) research ( creative works– student essays).
6) practical (reading text, working with a dictionary, tasks on cards).
I wrote this story in the hope that the lessons taught to me at one time
will fall on the soul like a little one,
as well as the adult reader.
V. G. Rasputin
Lesson progress
1. Organizational moment.
Hello guys, sit down.
2. Speech warm-up.
Teacher: I propose to start our literature lesson today by reading a poem, because it reflects the theme and goals of our lesson.
So, pay attention to the screen and read, observing intonation, expressively the poem by S. Bondarenko.
In every paragraph, in every story,
In a fairy tale and a song, even in a phrase -
Here lies the most important idea.
It doesn't always open right away.
Line by line, phrase by phrase -
Just think about it, just look closely -
The most important idea will be revealed.
(S. Bondarenko).
What is this poem about? (Each statement has main idea).
3. Studying new material.
Opening remarks teachers.
1) Introduction to the topic and objectives of the lesson.
Guys, it was no coincidence that I started our lesson by reading this poem. It perfectly reflects the topic and goals of our lesson. And the topic sounds like this: “Life lessons in the story by V. G. Rasputin “French Lessons” ( slide), (record the date and topic of the lesson).
And the goals of our lesson are as follows: we must not only get acquainted with the life and work of the writer Rasputin, his story “French Lessons,” but also find out what lessons he conveys; to reveal spiritual values, moral laws by which Rasputin’s heroes live in order to cultivate such character qualities as kindness, humanism, responsiveness, nobility, courage, ethical standards of behavior and relationships.
This means, guys, that today we will learn to live. Learn from V. Rasputin using the example of his main character. Working with the text of the story, we will look in every line, in every phrase for the main idea that the author wanted to express in his work.
2) Getting to know the epigraph.
The writer hopes that those life lessons, which fate has prepared for him, will help each of us understand ourselves, think about our future. Write down the words of V. G. Rasputin, which will become the epigraph to our lesson (slide),(write in notebook).
3) Introducing the types of work in the lesson.
Guys, today in class I suggest you work as “literary scholars”, “bibliographers”, “actors”. To do this, you must divide into three groups. Each group on the table has its own emblem: “bibliographers” - goose feather with an inkwell, “literary scholars” - an emblem with an image of a book, “actors” - an emblem with a mask in their hand, symbolizing the theater.
2. Conversation on issues.
1) Guys, today we will talk about ethics, morality, mercy, humanism.
Let's remember the meaning of these words, because they are already familiar to you (students explain the meaning of the words).
Work in creative group"literary scholars" (from explanatory dictionary) (slide).
2) Now let's look into the explanatory dictionary and find the meaning of these words.
(Ethics – 1) philosophical doctrine about morality, its development, norms and role in society. 2) a set of norms of behavior.
Morality is the rules that determine behavior and qualities necessary for a person in society.
Humanism - humanity in relation to people, philanthropy).
3) Guys, in what works did you come across these concepts, consider the ethics of relationships between children, and talk about morality?
(This is a fairy tale - true story by M. M. Prishvin “Pantry of the Sun”, stories by Yu. M. Nagibin “My first friend, my priceless friend”, V. P. Astafiev “Horse with pink mane”, D. Zheleznikova “Scarecrow”, “Eccentric from 6b”, Y. Yakovleva “Knight Vasya” and others).
4. Implementation of homework.
1). The teacher's word on the topic of the lesson.
Guys, today we continue the conversation about these concepts. The work of V. G. Rasputin attracts readers because, next to the everyday, everyday things, the writer’s works always contain spiritual values, moral laws, unique characters, and the complex, sometimes contradictory inner world of the heroes. The author's reflections about life, about man, about nature not only help the young reader discover inexhaustible reserves of goodness and beauty in himself and in the world around him, but also warn: the life of man and nature is fragile, it must be protected. Today we will try to discover such inclinations of courage, kindness and beauty not only in the hero of V. Rasputin’s story, but also in ourselves.
2). Work in a creative group of “bibliographers”.
And now the guys from the creative group of “bibliographers” are starting to work, who will introduce us to the life and work of the writer V. G. Rasputin ( short messages about the life and work of V. Rasputin) (slide).
1). Valentin Grigorievich Rasputin was born on March 15, 1937 in the village of Ust-Uda Irkutsk region. The writer had a difficult childhood. It coincided with the years of V.O. and difficult post-war years. After graduating from the philological department of Irkutsk University in 1959, he worked for several years as a journalist in youth newspapers in Irkutsk and Krasnoyarsk, traveled a lot to construction sites, and often visited villages. The first story “I forgot to ask Leshka” was written in the anthology “Angara” in 1961 (slide).
2). In 1965 in Chita at a meeting of young writers of Siberia and Far East Rasputin's stories were highly praised and were published a separate book in Krasnoyarsk under the title “A Man from This World”. The writer's first great success came with the story “Money for Maria” (1967). Rasputin’s other works also received wide public recognition: the stories “ Deadline"(1970), "Live and Remember" (1974), "Farewell to Matera" (1976). For the story “Live and Remember,” V. Rasputin was awarded the USSR State Prize (1977 ).
3). Teacher's word.
"For great contribution to the development Russian literature"The famous Russian writer Valentin Rasputin, recognized as a classic during his lifetime, was awarded the Order of Merit for the Fatherland, 4th degree. The decree on the award was signed by Russian President V. Putin on March 7, 2007 (slide).
5. Creative history"French Lessons" story.
Teacher's word (slide).
In 1973 V. Rasputin writes one of his best stories - “French Lessons”. “I didn’t have to invent anything there,” said Rasputin. - All this happened to me. I didn't have to go far to get the prototype. I needed to return to people the good that they did for me in their time.”
Discussion of articles by V. Rasputin “Lessons of Kindness” and “From the history of the creation of the story “French Lessons” (slide).
Guys at home, you have read V. Rasputin’s article “Lessons of Kindness,” which tells the story of the creation of this story and reveals some facts about the writer’s biography.
Conversation based on the text of the article.
1) What made Rasputin write the story?
2) How does this characterize the writer himself?
3) What is spiritual memory and spiritual experience of a person?
4) Why in “French Lessons” V. G. Rasputin talks about his teacher Lydia Mikhailovna, and the dedication is addressed to another person - Anastasia Prokopyevna? Who is Anastasia Prokopyevna? (slide).
(Dedicated to the mother of the talented playwright Alexander Vampilov, A.P. Kopylova. In their youth, Rasputin and Vampilov were friends).
(reading by a student from the creative group of “literary scholars” of the writer’s memoirs “From the history of the creation of the story “French Lessons.”)
6. Conversation on the story “French Lessons”(slide).
1) What does the title of the story say?
(About school, lessons, peers).
2) Who is the introduction addressed to? (reading the introduction). (To yourself and the reader, teachers).
Teacher reading the first paragraph of the story.
3) On whose behalf is the story being told? Why?
4) Who is the main character of the story?
(11-year-old boy, 5th grade student. The author does not mention his first or last name).
5) When and where do the actions described in the story take place?
(3 years after graduating from V.O. century in 1948 in the distant Siberian village).
6) Name the signs of difficult times.
(The story describes the difficult post-war period: the rationing system of food supply, famine, government loans obligatory for the population, the hardships of collective farm labor. The setting is Siberia, the writer’s homeland, a remote Siberian village in which there are not even gardens, since the trees freeze out in winter).
7) How did the boy live in his parents’ house? At what age did the hero begin to live independently? Find passages in the work and read them (read on pp. 121 - 122 from the words “So, at the age of 11, my independent life began” to the words “I didn’t properly understand what was ahead of me, what trials awaited me, my dear, in a new place").
8) What kind of tests are these? (didn’t go well with French: reading on pp. 122 – 123 “I studied well here too” to the words “It was all in vain”).
9) What other tests? (homesickness: reading on page 123 from the words “But the worst thing began when I came home from school” to the words “I wanted only one thing, I dreamed of one thing - home and home”).
10) The hero was not doing well with French, he really missed his mother, was homesick, but there were other problems (hunger, food theft: read on page 124 from the words “But I lost weight not only because of homesickness” to the words “It won’t make things easier for the mother if she hears the truth”).
11) Not only constant hunger, suffering from loneliness, separation from home, from mother, but also an acute feeling of injustice, the bitterness of deception was experienced by the hero. Can any child withstand this?
12) Why doesn’t our hero complain to adults?
Why doesn't he keep track of who steals from him?
(reading on p. 123 from the words “I lost a lot of weight: my mother, who arrived at the end of September, was afraid for me” to the words “I came to my senses and ran away”).
13) Was it easy for a mother to teach her son in the regional center? Was the son grateful to his mother?
(Life teaches the hero cruel lessons and confronts him with the need to choose: remain silent, resign himself, or upset his mother. Bitter thoughts about his mother and his responsibility to her force the hero to grow up early).
14) Guys, in what meaning is the word lesson used here? Let's look up the meaning of this word in the explanatory dictionary (“literary scholars”).
Working with the Explanatory Dictionary:
Lesson:1. academic hour devoted to some subject 2.trans. something instructive from which we can draw conclusions for the future.
7. Consolidation of what has been learned.
Let's write down the first lesson of Rasputin's story in our notebook: “A real mother takes care of her children all her life, and the children should be grateful to her for this.” (slide).
15) How does the fragment with missing food characterize the boy?
16) Why didn’t our hero go home?
17) How did the boy study? Why did he always prepare for his lessons?
18) What attracts you to the boy, to his character? (Thirst for knowledge, willpower, honesty, kindness, nobility, dedication, perseverance in achieving goals) (slide).
Work in a creative group of “literary scholars” (work with an explanatory dictionary, finding out the meanings of words: nobility - high morality, combined with dedication and honesty; selflessness - sacrificing one’s interests for the sake of others) (slide).
19) Why did the boy get involved in the game for money?
(Necessity forced the hero to play gambling. He had no other opportunity to earn money. He did not wait for anyone’s mercy or handouts).
Let’s write down Rasputin’s second lesson: “Be independent and proud. Take care of yourself, don’t rely on others.” (slide).
20) Describe the “chiku” players (Tishkin, Ptah, Vadik).
(work in the creative group of “actors” (slide): reading by role of the dialogue on page 125 from the words “Once, back in September” to the words “Here again! - I was offended)
21) What game was it? Why did our hero have to “come to terms”?
(“actors”: reading on page 130 from the words “Not to the warehouse!” Vadik announced” to the words “It was pointless to insist on one’s own: if a fight breaks out, no one, not a single soul will intercede, not even Tishkin, who was hovering right there) .
Let’s write down Rasputin’s third lesson: “Don’t get excited, give in to those to whom you can’t prove anything anyway.” (slide).
22) Why do Vadik and Ptah beat the boy? How does the boy behave during the beating?
(Let's read the passage on page 132 from the words: “First, again from behind, Ptah hit me” to the words on page 133 “I’ll turn it over - at - st!”).
Let's write down Rasputin's fourth lesson: “Be principled. Don't grovel." (slide).
23). Why did the boy trust the teacher with his secret? Can any teacher be trusted?
(reading passages on page 136 from the words “She was sitting in front of me” to the words “And why, in the end, did I have to deceive?”).
24). Lydia Mikhailovna decided to teach the boy French at home? Why?
(She wants to protect the boy from playing with the guys.)
25). How does the image of Lydia Mikhailovna appear on the pages of the story? ( slide).
(The young teacher is a man of great soul. She was able to see in the boy real human pride and unchildish courage. She proved to the boy: you are not alone in this world, with your hunger, bruises, abrasions, they will help you. And she helped. She had a gift empathy. She saved the boy with her kindness. The teacher taught her student lessons of kindness and courage).
Let's write down the fifth lesson of Rasputin: “Be kind and sympathetic, love people.” (slide).
Guys, how do you understand the meaning of the statements? (slide):
“The smarter and kinder a person is, the more he notices goodness in people” (L.N. Tolstoy).
“When someone does a good deed for another, rejoice: two people become happy at once” (K. Pepper).
“Kindness is a language that the dumb can speak and that the deaf can hear.” (K. Bovey).
Guys, how do you answer the question: what is kindness (reading mini-essays to students).
Work in groups using cards.
And now I offer you guys tasks with different situations. Each of the three groups receives a card: “ your behavior in the current situation."
1). Sasha was walking home from school. He sees a blind man walking down the street and feeling the sidewalk with a stick. I approached an intersection and stopped. “He’s waiting out the movement,” Sasha guessed and went his way. What would you do in his place?
2). Arriving at school, you noticed that your neighbor's desk Bad mood. Your actions.
3). While leaving school, you noticed how several high school students were beating up your friend, extorting money. What actions will you take?
8. Generalization of the material:
Guys, why is the story called “French Lessons”?
Which main lesson taught by the teacher?
What lessons did V. Rasputin teach us? What is interesting about his story? (referring to the epigraph).
“French Lessons” - lessons of life, courage, kindness.
The writer talks about the courage of a boy who retained the purity of his soul, the inviolability of his moral laws, fearlessly and courageously, like a soldier, bearing his duties and his bruises. The boy is attracted by his clarity, integrity, and fearlessness of soul. Joining the boy’s difficult fate, we empathize with him, think about good and evil, and experience “good feelings.”
Reading the poem "Kindness".
It's not easy to be kind
Kindness does not depend on height,
Kindness does not depend on color,
Kindness is not a carrot, not a candy.
You just have to, you just have to be kind
And in times of trouble, do not forget each other.
And the earth will spin faster,
If we are kinder to you.
It’s not at all easy to be kind,
Kindness does not depend on height,
Kindness brings people joy
And in return it does not require a reward.
Kindness does not age over the years,
Kindness will warm you from the cold.
If kindness shines like the sun,
Adults and children rejoice.
9. Lesson summary.
10. Homework:
Guys, I think you will be interested to know how the fates of the heroes of the story will develop: the boy and his teacher. Read the story to the end. Write a mini-essay about whether you have met in your life such people as Rasputin’s heroes, courageous, honest, kind. Tell us about them.
I say the lesson is over, but I hope that you will continue it in your soul, in your heart!
Mubarakshina Gulnara Rashitovna
All works of Valentin Rasputin are connected with the destinies of his fellow countrymen, their sorrows, hopes, joys and experiences. His heroes are characterized by honesty, kindness, and perseverance in achieving goals. Another story by Valentin Rasputin, French Lessons, is a shining example human kindness, understanding and responsiveness. For this work, we will write a summary, having examined the portrait of the hero, and supporting our thoughts with arguments from literature.
French essay lessons
Rasputin's story French Lessons is not just a work about a school teacher, it is real example lessons of kindness that each of us should follow. This work Rasputin is biographical, where the author shows the role of the wise teacher in her life.
From the work we learn about the fate of a teenager whose mother sends him to study in the regional center. In the cold and hungry post-war years the mother has to give everything she has to teach her son. Everything would be fine, but only the aunt was stealing from her nephew, eating his food. The boy had to starve, and in order to somehow survive, he plays for money with school boys.
Portrait of a hero
At the time of the story, the main character of French Lessons was about eleven years old. The boy had to wear old clothes, from which he had already outgrown, and live from hand to mouth. Shy, silent, but at the same time, observant and capable child tries with all his might to achieve his goals. Due to anemia, he has to drink milk, but there is always not enough money for it. Realizing that his mother already lives from hand to mouth, he does not ask her for money, but decides to earn money by playing on his own.
Being an honest boy by nature, he could not remain silent when he saw the cheating in the game, for which he was constantly beaten. This is what the teacher noticed. Having figured everything out, she decides to help the child, but the boy refuses to eat. He's too proud. And Lydia Mikhailovna uses a trick and invites him home under the pretext of improving his knowledge of the French language. Neither a parcel of food nor Lidia Mikhailovna’s attempts to feed a hungry child during French lessons change the situation. The boy refuses help, and the teacher has to resort to a trick, inviting the student to play with her for money. Thus, the boy was able to earn some money and buy milk for himself. This lasted until the school principal caught them doing this activity. For her action, the teacher was fired, after which Lydia leaves for her homeland and even there does not forget about her ward, sending him a parcel with large apples, which the boy had previously seen only in pictures.
Using the example of a teacher, Valentin Rasputin showed selflessness, dedication, and a desire to help people in difficult times. Lessons of kindness helped the student survive in difficult times, and not lose himself and his human qualities.
Arguments from literature
However, French lessons are not the only example of kindness and how the teacher influenced the future fate of his students. This issue has been raised by many writers, and to prove this we will give other arguments from the literature.
So in Aitmanov’s work The First Teacher we see a teacher who saves an orphan and sends the girl to study in the city. In the future, the heroine becomes a doctor of science, and the school she built will be named after her first teacher.
The story “French Lessons” is a lesson in kindness, courage, and life.
The main character of the story, Volodya, was lucky - he class teacher turned out to be an intelligent and sympathetic person, Lydia Mikhailovna. Observing the poor situation the boy is in and at the same time his abilities and desire to learn, she constantly tries to help him. Then the teacher invites him to her home for additional classes in his subject, and then wants to seat him at the table so that the boy can eat his fill, then he sends him parcels of food.
But all her efforts and tricks lead to nothing, since the protagonist’s pride and self-esteem do not allow him to talk about his difficulties, but also to accept help. Volodya refuses to eat. Lidia Mikhailovna, in turn, does not insist on her own, but is still constantly looking for new ways to help the boy.
In the end, the teacher decides to cheat. She invites her student to play “wall” - a game for money. Volodya considered this an honest win.
But this act of Lydia Mikhailovna is revealed, the school director catches them playing, and Lydia Mikhailovna is fired from school. She has to leave for Kuban, her homeland. And yet, that attitude, the sacrifice that the teacher made in order to help the boy will never be forgotten by him and will remain in his memory for the rest of his life.
Teacher Lidia Mikhailovna was the one who was endowed with the most beautiful spiritual qualities– sympathy, kindness, love, that is, all this is what a person’s spiritual values consist of.
Updated: 2018-02-25
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