Texts for learning by heart for the competition “Living Classics-2017”

V. Rozov “Wild Duck” from the series “Touching War”)

The food was bad, I was always hungry. Sometimes food was given once a day, and then in the evening. Oh, how I wanted to eat! And so on one of these days, when dusk was already approaching, and there was not yet a crumb in our mouths, we, about eight soldiers, sat on the high grassy bank of a quiet river and almost whined. Suddenly we see him without his gymnast. Holding something in his hands. Another of our comrades is running towards us. He ran up. Radiant face. The package is his tunic, and something is wrapped in it.

Look! – Boris exclaims triumphantly. He unfolds the tunic, and in it... is a live wild duck.

I see: sitting, hiding behind a bush. I took off my shirt and - hop! There is food! Let's fry it.

The duck was weak and young. Turning her head from side to side, she looked at us with amazed beady eyes. She simply could not understand what kind of strange, cute creatures surrounded her and looked at her with such admiration. She did not struggle, did not quack, did not strain her neck to slip out of the hands that held her. No, she looked around gracefully and curiously. Beautiful duck! And we are rough, uncleanly shaven, hungry. Everyone admired the beauty. And a miracle happened, as in good fairy tale. Somehow he simply said:

Let's go!

Several logical remarks were thrown, like: “What’s the point, there are eight of us, and she’s so small,” “More messing around!”, “Borya, bring her back.” And, no longer covering it with anything, Boris carefully carried the duck back. Returning, he said:

I let her into the water. She dove. I didn’t see where she surfaced. I waited and waited to look, but I didn’t see it. It's already getting dark.

When life gets me down, when you start cursing everyone and everything, you lose faith in people and you want to scream, like I once heard the cry of one very famous person: “I don’t want to be with people, I want with dogs!” - in these moments of disbelief and despair, I remember the wild duck and think: no, no, you can believe in people. This will all pass, everything will be fine.

They may tell me; “Well, yes, it was you, intellectuals, artists, everything can be expected about you.” No, during the war everything got mixed up and turned into one whole - single and invisible. At least, the one where I served. There were two thieves in our group who had just been released from prison. One proudly told how he managed to steal a crane. Apparently he was talented. But he also said: “Let go!”

Parable about life - Life values

Once, one sage, standing in front of his students, did the following. He took a large glass vessel and filled it to the brim with large stones. Having done this, he asked the disciples if the vessel was full. Everyone confirmed that it was full.

Then the sage took a box of small pebbles, poured it into a vessel and gently shook it several times. The pebbles rolled into the gaps between the large stones and filled them. After this, he again asked the disciples if the vessel was now full. They again confirmed the fact - it is full.

And finally, the sage took a box of sand from the table and poured it into the vessel. Sand, of course, filled the last gaps in the vessel.

Now,” the sage addressed the students, “I would like you to be able to recognize your life in this vessel!”

Large stones represent important things in life: your family, your loved one, your health, your children - those things that, even without everything else, can still fill your life. Small pebbles represent less important things, such as your job, your apartment, your house or your car. Sand symbolizes the little things in life, the hustle and bustle of everyday life. If you fill your vessel with sand first, there will be no room left for larger stones.

It’s the same in life - if you spend all your energy on small things, then there will be nothing left for big things.

Therefore, pay attention first of all to important things - find time for your children and loved ones, take care of your health. You will still have enough time for work, for home, for celebrations and everything else. Watch your big stones - only they have a price, everything else is just sand.

A. Green. Scarlet Sails

She sat with her legs tucked up and her arms around her knees. Attentively leaning towards the sea, she looked at the horizon with large eyes in which there was nothing adult left - the eyes of a child. Everything she had been waiting for so long and passionately was happening there - at the end of the world. She saw an underwater hill in the land of distant abysses; climbing plants flowed upward from its surface; Among their round leaves, pierced at the edge by a stem, fanciful flowers shone. The upper leaves glittered on the surface of the ocean; those who knew nothing, as Assol knew, saw only awe and brilliance.

A ship rose from the thicket; he surfaced and stopped in the very middle of dawn. From this distance he was visible as clear as clouds. Scattering joy, he burned like wine, rose, blood, lips, scarlet velvet and crimson fire. The ship went straight to Assol. The wings of foam fluttered under the powerful pressure of its keel; Already, having stood up, the girl pressed her hands to her chest, when a wonderful play of light turned into a swell; the sun rose, and the bright fullness of the morning tore the covers off everything that was still basking, stretching on the sleepy earth.

The girl sighed and looked around. The music fell silent, but Assol was still in the power of its sonorous choir. This impression gradually weakened, then became a memory and, finally, just fatigue. She lay down on the grass, yawned and, blissfully closing her eyes, fell asleep - truly, soundly, like a young nut, sleep, without worries and dreams.

She was awakened by a fly wandering over her bare foot. Restlessly turning her leg, Assol woke up; sitting, she pinned up her disheveled hair, so Gray's ring reminded her of herself, but considering it nothing more than a stem stuck between her fingers, she straightened them; Since the obstacle did not disappear, she impatiently raised her hand to her eyes and straightened up, instantly jumping up with the force of a spraying fountain.

Gray's radiant ring shone on her finger, as if on someone else's - she could not recognize it as hers at that moment, she did not feel her finger. - “Whose thing is this? Whose joke? - she quickly cried. - Am I dreaming? Maybe I found it and forgot?” Grasping the right hand with her left hand, on which there was a ring, she looked around in amazement, torturing the sea and green thickets with her gaze; but no one moved, no one hid in the bushes, and in the blue, far-illuminated sea there was no sign, and a blush covered Assol, and the voices of the heart said a prophetic “yes.” There were no explanations for what had happened, but without words or thoughts she found them in her strange feeling, and the ring already became close to her. Trembling, she pulled it off her finger; holding it in a handful like water, she examined it with all her soul, all her heart, all the jubilation and clear superstition of her youth, then, hiding it behind her bodice, Assol buried her face in her palms, from under which a smile burst uncontrollably, and, lowering her head, slowly I went the opposite way.

So, by chance, as people who can read and write say, Gray and Assol found each other in the morning summer day, full of inevitability.

"Note". Tatyana Petrosyan

The note looked most harmless.

According to all gentlemanly laws, it should have revealed an inky face and a friendly explanation: “Sidorov is a goat.”

So Sidorov, without suspecting anything bad, instantly unfolded the message... and was dumbfounded.

Inside, in large, beautiful handwriting, it was written: “Sidorov, I love you!”

Sidorov felt mockery in the roundness of the handwriting. Who wrote this to him?

Squinting, he looked around the class. The author of the note was bound to reveal himself. But for some reason Sidorov’s main enemies did not grin maliciously this time.

(As usual they grinned. But this time they didn’t.)

But Sidorov immediately noticed that Vorobyova was looking at him without blinking. It doesn’t just look like that, but with meaning!

There was no doubt: she wrote the note. But then it turns out that Vorobyova loves him?!

And then Sidorov’s thought reached a dead end and fluttered helplessly, like a fly in a glass. WHAT DOES LOVES MEAN??? What consequences will this entail and what should Sidorov do now?..

“Let’s think logically,” Sidorov reasoned logically. “What, for example, do I love? Pears! I love it, which means I always want to eat it...”

At that moment, Vorobyova turned to him again and licked her bloodthirsty lips. Sidorov went numb. What caught his eye were her long uncut... well, yes, real claws! For some reason I remembered how in the buffet Vorobyov greedily gnawed at a bony chicken leg...

“You need to pull yourself together,” Sidorov pulled himself together. (My hands turned out to be dirty. But Sidorov ignored the little things.) “I love not only pears, but also my parents. However, there is no question of eating them. Mom bakes sweet pies. Dad often carries me around his neck. And I love them for that..."

Then Vorobyova turned around again, and Sidorov thought with sadness that he would now have to bake sweet pies for her all day long and carry her to school around his neck in order to justify such a sudden and crazy love. He took a closer look and discovered that Vorobyova was not thin and would probably not be easy to wear.

“All is not lost yet,” Sidorov did not give up. “I also love our dog Bobik. Especially when I train him or take him out for a walk...” Then Sidorov felt stuffy at the thought that Vorobyov could make him jump for every pie, and then he will take you for a walk, holding the leash tightly and not allowing you to deviate either to the right or to the left...

“...I love the cat Murka, especially when you blow right into her ear...” Sidorov thought in despair, “no, that’s not it... I like to catch flies and put them in a glass... but this is too much... I love toys that you can break and see what's inside..."

The last thought made Sidorov feel unwell. There was only one salvation. He hastily tore a piece of paper out of the notebook, pursed his lips resolutely and in firm handwriting wrote the menacing words: “Vorobyova, I love you too.” Let her be scared.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Ch. Aitmatov. “And the day lasts longer than a century”

In this confrontation of feelings, she suddenly saw, having crossed over a gentle ridge, a large herd of camels, freely grazing along a wide valley. Naiman-Ana hit her Akmaya, set off as fast as she could and at first simply choked with joy that she had finally found the herd, then I was scared, I got chills, I became so scared that I would now see my son turned into a mankurt. Then she was happy again and no longer really understood what was happening to her.

Here it is, a herd, grazing, but where is the shepherd? Must be here somewhere. And I saw a man on the other edge of the valley. From a distance it was impossible to discern who he was. The shepherd stood with a long staff, holding a riding camel with luggage on the reins behind him, and calmly looked from under his pulled-down hat at her approach.

And when she approached, when she recognized her son, Naiman-Ana did not remember how she rolled off the camel’s back. It seemed to her that she had fallen, but that was it!

My son, dear! And I'm looking for you all around! “She rushed towards him as if through a thicket that separated them. - I'm your mother!

And immediately she understood everything and began to sob, trampling the ground with her feet, bitterly and fearfully, curling her convulsively jumping lips, trying to stop and unable to control herself. To stay on her feet, she tenaciously grabbed the shoulder of her indifferent son and cried and cried, deafened by the grief that had been hanging for a long time and now collapsed, crushing and burying her. And, crying, she peered through the tears, through the sticky strands of gray wet hair, through the shaking fingers with which she smeared the road dirt on her face, at the familiar features of her son and still tried to catch his gaze, still waiting, hoping that he would recognize her, because this It’s so easy to recognize your own mother!

But her appearance did not have any effect on him, as if she had been here constantly and visited him every day in the steppe. He didn't even ask who she was or why she was crying. At some point, the shepherd took her hand off his shoulder and walked, dragging the inseparable riding camel with its luggage, to the other side of the herd to see if the young animals who had started playing had run too far.

Naiman-Ana remained in place, squatted down, sobbing, clutching her face with her hands, and sat there without raising her head. Then she gathered her strength and went to her son, trying to remain calm. The Mankurt son, as if nothing had happened, senselessly and indifferently looked at her from under his tightly pulled cap, and something like a weak smile slid across his emaciated, blackly weathered, roughened face. But the eyes, expressing a dense lack of interest in anything in the world, remained as detached as before.

Sit down, let’s talk,” Naiman-Ana said with a heavy sigh.

And they sat down on the ground.

Do you recognize me? - asked the mother.

Mankurt shook his head negatively.

What's your name?

Mankurt,” he answered.

This is your name now. Do you remember your previous name? Remember your real name.

Mankurt was silent. His mother saw that he was trying to remember; large drops of sweat appeared on the bridge of his nose from tension and his eyes were clouded with a trembling fog. But a blank, impenetrable wall must have appeared in front of him, and he could not overcome it.

What was your father's name? Who are you, where are you from? Do you even know where you were born?

No, he didn’t remember anything and didn’t know anything.

What did they do to you! - the mother whispered, and again her lips began to jump against her will, and, choking with resentment, anger and grief, she began to sob again, trying in vain to calm herself down. The mother’s sorrows did not affect the mankurt in any way.

YOU CAN TAKE AWAY LAND, YOU CAN TAKE AWAY WEALTH, YOU CAN TAKE AWAY LIFE, SHE SPOKE OUT LOUD, “BUT WHO THOUGHT UP WITH WHO DARES TO ENSURE THE MEMORY OF A MAN?!” OH LORD, IF YOU EXIST, HOW DID YOU INSPIRE THIS INTO PEOPLE? IS THERE NOTHING EVIL ON EARTH WITHOUT THIS?

And then lamentations burst out of her soul, long inconsolable cries among the silent endless Sarozeks...

But nothing touched her son, Mankurt.

At this time, a man riding a camel was seen in the distance. He was heading towards them.

Who is this? - asked Naiman-Ana.

“He’s bringing me food,” the son answered.

Naiman-Ana became worried. It was necessary to quickly hide before the Ruanzhuan, who showed up inopportunely, saw her. She brought her camel to the ground and climbed into the saddle.

Don't say anything. “I’ll come soon,” Naiman-Ana said.

The son did not answer. He didn't care.

This was one of the enemies who captured the Sarozeks, drove many people into slavery and caused so much misfortune to her family. But what could she, an unarmed woman, do against the fierce Ruanzhuang warrior? BUT SHE WAS THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT LIFE, WHAT EVENTS LEADED THESE PEOPLE TO SUCH CRUELTY, savagery - TO ERASE THE MEMORY OF A SLAVE...

After scouring back and forth, the Ruanzhuan soon retreated back to the herd.

It was already evening. The sun had set, but the glow lingered over the steppe for a long time. Then it got dark all at once. And the dead of night came.

And she came to the decision not to leave her son in slavery, to try to take him with her. Even if he is a mankurt, even if he doesn’t understand what’s what, it’s better for him to be at home, among his own people, than among the shepherds of the Ruanzhuans in deserted Sarozeks. That's what her mother's soul told her. She could not come to terms with what others were coming to terms with. She could not leave her blood in slavery. What if, in his native place, his sanity returns, he suddenly remembers his childhood...

She did not know, however, that upon returning, the embittered Ruanzhuans began to beat the mankurt. But what is the demand for him? He only answered:

She said she was my mother.

She is not your mother! You don't have a mother! Do you know why she came? You know? She wants to rip off your hat and steam your head! - they intimidated the unfortunate mankurt.

At these words, the mankurt turned pale, his black face became grey-gray. He pulled his neck into his shoulders and, grabbing his hat, began to look around like an animal.

Don't be afraid! Here you go! - The elder Ruanzhuang put a bow and arrows in his hands.

Well, take aim! - The younger Ruanzhuan threw his hat high into the air. The arrow pierced the hat. - Look! - the owner of the hat was surprised. - The memory remains in my hand!

We drove away side by side without looking back. Naiman-Ana did not take her eyes off them for a long time and, when they disappeared into the distance, she decided to return to her son. Now she wanted to take him with her at all costs. Whatever he is

It is not his fault that fate turned out so that his enemies mocked him, but his mother will not leave him in slavery. And let the Naimans, seeing how the invaders mutilate the captured horsemen, how they humiliate and deprive them of their reason, let them become indignant and take up arms. It's not about the land. There would be enough land for everyone. However, Zhuanzhuan evil is intolerable even for an alienated neighborhood...

With these thoughts, Naiman-Ana returned to her son and kept thinking about how to convince him, persuade him to run away that very night.

Zholaman! My son, Zholaman, where are you? - began to call Naiman-Ana.

No one showed up or responded.

Zholaman! Where are you? It's me, your mother! Where are you?

And, looking around in concern, she did not notice that her son, mankurt, hiding in the shadow of a camel, was already ready from his knees, aiming with an arrow stretched on a bowstring. The glare of the sun disturbed him, and he waited for the right moment to shoot.

Zholaman! My son! - Naiman-Ana called, afraid that something had happened to him. She turned in the saddle. - Don't shoot! - she managed to scream and just urged the white camel Akmaya to turn around, but the arrow whistled briefly, piercing her left side under her arm.

It was a fatal blow. Naiman-Ana bent down and began to slowly fall, clinging to the camel’s neck. But first, her white scarf fell from her head, which turned into a bird in the air and flew away shouting: “Remember, whose are you? What is your name? Your father Donenbai! Donenbai! Donenbai!”

Since then, they say, the bird Donenbai began to fly in saroseks at night. Having met a traveler, the Donenbai bird flies nearby with the exclamation: “Remember, whose are you? Whose are you? What is your name? Name? Your father Donenbai! Donenbai, Donenbai, Donenbai, Donenbai!..”

The place where Naiman-Ana was buried began to be called in the Sarozeks the Ana-Beyit cemetery - the Mother's rest...

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Marina Druzhinina. Cure for the test

It was a great day! Lessons ended early and the weather was great. We just ran out of school! They started throwing snowballs, jumping in the snowdrifts and laughing! I could have fun like this my whole life!

Suddenly Vladik Gusev realized:

- Brothers! Tomorrow is a math test! You need to get ready! - and, shaking off the snow, hurried to the house.

- Just think, counterfeit! - Vovka threw a snowball after Vladik and collapsed in the snow. - I suggest letting her go!

- How is this? - I didn’t understand.

- And so! - Vovka stuffed snow into his mouth and gestured around the snowdrifts with a broad gesture. - Look how much anti-control there is! The drug is certified! A slight cold during the test is guaranteed! If we're sick tomorrow, we won't go to school! Great?

- Great! - I approved and also took anti-control medication.

Then we jumped in the snowdrifts, made a snowman in the shape of our head teacher Mikhail Yakovlevich, ate an extra portion of anti-control food - just to be sure - and went home.

This morning I woke up and didn’t recognize myself. One cheek became three times thicker than the other, and at the same time the tooth ached terribly. Wow, a mild cold for one day!

- Oh, what a flux! - Grandma clasped her hands when she saw me. - See a doctor immediately! School is cancelled! I'll call the teacher.

In general, the anti-control agent worked flawlessly. This, of course, made me happy. But not quite the way we would like. Anyone who has ever had a toothache or been in the hands of a dentist will understand me. And the doctor also “comforted” him one last time:

- The tooth will hurt for a couple more days. So be patient and don't forget to rinse.

In the evening I call Vovka:

- How are you?

There was some hissing in the receiver. I could hardly make out that it was Vovka who was answering:

The conversation didn't work out.

The next day, Saturday, the tooth, as promised, continued to ache. Every hour my grandmother gave me medicine, and I diligently rinsed my mouth. Being sick on Sunday was not part of my plans either: my mother and I were going to go to the circus.

On Sunday, I jumped up just before dawn so as not to be late, but my mother immediately spoiled my mood:

- No circus! Stay at home and rinse so that you get better by Monday. Don't miss classes again - it's the end of the quarter!

I’ll quickly go to the phone and call Vovka:

- Your anti-controllin, it turns out, is also anti-circolin! The circus was canceled because of him! We need to warn you!

- He is also an antikinol! - Vovka picked up hoarsely. - Because of him, they didn’t let me into the cinema! Who knew there would be so many side effects!

- You have to think! - I was indignant.

- The fool himself! - he snapped!

In short, we completely quarreled and went to gargle: I - the tooth, Vovka - the throat.

On Monday I approach the school and see: Vovka! It also means he was healed.

- How's life? - I ask.

- Great! - Vovka patted me on the shoulder. - The main thing is that they got sick!

We laughed and went to class. The first lesson is mathematics.

- Ruchkin and Semechkin! Recovered! - Alevtina Vasilievna was delighted. - Very good! Hurry up, sit down and take out clean leaves. Now you will write the test that you missed on Friday. In the meantime, let's check your homework.

That's the number! Anticontrollin turned out to be a complete idiot!

Or maybe it's not him?

______________________________________________________________________________________

I.S. Turgenev
Prose poem “Alms”
Up close big city, an old, sick man was walking along a wide road.
He staggered as he walked; his emaciated legs, tangling, dragging and stumbling, walked heavily and weakly, as if they were strangers; his clothes hung in rags; his bare head fell onto his chest... He was exhausted.
He sat down on a roadside stone, leaned forward, leaned on his elbows, covered his face with both hands - and through his crooked fingers, tears dripped onto the dry, gray dust.
He recalled...
He remembered how he, too, had once been healthy and rich - and how he had spent his health, and distributed his wealth to others, friends and enemies... And now he does not have a piece of bread - and everyone has abandoned him, friends even before enemies... Should he really stoop to beg for alms? And he felt bitter and ashamed in his heart.
And the tears kept dripping and dripping, dappling the gray dust.
Suddenly he heard someone calling his name; he raised his tired head and saw a stranger in front of him.
The face is calm and important, but not stern; the eyes are not radiant, but light; the gaze is piercing, but not evil.
“You gave away all your wealth,” an even voice was heard... “But you don’t regret doing good?”
“I don’t regret it,” the old man answered with a sigh, “only now I’m dying.”
“And if there were no beggars in the world who stretched out their hands to you,” the stranger continued, “there would be no one for you to show your virtue over; could you not practice it?”
The old man did not answer anything and became thoughtful.
“So don’t be proud now, poor man,” the stranger spoke again, “go, extend your hand, give other good people the opportunity to show in practice that they are kind.”
The old man started, raised his eyes... but the stranger had already disappeared; and in the distance a passer-by appeared on the road.
The old man approached him and extended his hand. This passerby turned away with a stern expression and did not give anything.
But another followed him - and he gave the old man a small alms.
And the old man bought himself some bread with the given pennies - and the piece he asked for seemed sweet to him - and there was no shame in his heart, but on the contrary: a quiet joy dawned on him.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Week of enlightenment. Mikhail Bulgakov

Our military commissar comes to our company in the evening and says to me:

- Sidorov!

And I told him:

- I!

He looked at me piercingly and asked:

- “You,” he says, “what?

- “I,” I say, “nothing...

- “Are you,” he says, “illiterate?”

I tell him, of course:

- That's right, comrade military commissar, illiterate.

Then he looked at me again and said:

- Well, if you are illiterate, then I’ll send you tonight to La Traviata [an opera by G. Verdi (1813–1901), written by him in 1853]!

- Have mercy, - I say, - for what? The fact that I am illiterate is not our reason. They didn’t teach us under the old regime.

And he answers:

- Fool! What were you afraid of? This is not for your punishment, but for your benefit. There they will educate you, you will watch the performance, that’s your pleasure.

And Panteleev and I from our company were aiming to go to the circus that evening.

I say:

- Is it possible, comrade military commissar, for me to retire to the circus instead of the theater?

And he narrowed his eye and asked:

- To the circus?.. Why is this?

- Yes, - I say, - it’s very interesting... They will bring out a learned elephant, and again, redheads, French wrestling...

He waved his finger.

- “I’ll show you,” he says, “an elephant!” Ignorant element! Redheads... redheads! You yourself are a red-haired hillbilly! Elephants are scientists, but you, my grief, are unscientists! What benefit do you get from the circus? A? And in the theater they will educate you... Nice, good... Well, in a word, I don’t have time to talk to you for a long time... Get a ticket and go!

There is nothing to do - I took a ticket. Panteleev, who is also illiterate, received a ticket, and we set off. We bought three glasses of sunflower seeds and came to the First Soviet Theater.

We see that at the fence where people are allowed in there is Babylonian pandemonium. They pour into the theater in droves. And among our illiterate people there are also literate ones, and more and more young ladies. There was one and she poked her head up to the controller, showed her the ticket, and he asked her:

- Excuse me, he says, comrade madam, are you literate?

And she was foolishly offended:

- Strange question! Of course, competent. I studied at the gymnasium!

- “Oh,” says the controller, “at the gymnasium.” Very nice. In that case, let me wish you goodbye!

And he took the ticket from her.

- On what basis, - the young lady shouts, - how can this be?

- “And this way,” he says, “it’s very simple, that’s why we only let in the illiterate.

- But I also want to listen to an opera or a concert.

- Well, if you want, he says, then come to the Kavsoyuz. All your literate people were gathered there - doctors there, doctors there, professors. They sit and drink tea with molasses, because they are not given sugar, and Comrade Kulikovsky sings romances to them.

And so the young lady left.

Well, Panteleev and I were let through unhindered and taken straight to the stalls and seated in the second row.

We are sitting.

The performance had not yet begun, and therefore, out of boredom, they chewed a glass of sunflower seeds. We sat like that for an hour and a half, and finally it got dark in the theater.

I look, someone is climbing into the main place, which is fenced off. In a seal cap and a coat. A mustache, a beard with gray hair, and such a stern appearance. He climbed in, sat down, and first of all put on his pince-nez.

I ask Panteleev (even though he is illiterate, he knows everything):

- Who will this be?

And he answers:

- This is deri, he says, zher. He is the most important one here. Serious sir!

- Well, I ask, why is he being put behind a fence for show?

- “And because,” he answers, “he is the most literate in opera here.” This is why they put him on display for us as an example.

- So why did they put him with his back to us?

- “Oh,” he says, “it’s more convenient for him to dance with an orchestra!”

And this same conductor unfolded some book in front of him, looked into it and waved a white twig, and immediately the violins started playing under the floor. It’s pitiful, thin, and I just want to cry.

Well, this conductor really turned out to be not the last person to read and write, so he does two things at once - he reads a book and waves a rod. And the orchestra is heating up. Further - more! Behind the violins there are pipes, and behind the pipes there is a drum. Thunder rang throughout the theater. And then he barks with right side... I looked into the orchestra and shouted:

- Panteleev, but this, God forbid, is a Lombard [B. A. Lombard (1878–1960), famous trombonist], who is on rations in our regiment!

And he also looked in and said:

- He is the one! Apart from him, there is no one else who can play the trombone so well!

Well, I was delighted and shouted:

- Bravo, encore, Lombard!

But out of nowhere, a policeman, and now to me:

- I ask you, comrade, not to disturb the silence!

Well, we fell silent.

Meanwhile, the curtain parted, and we see on stage - smoke like a rocker! Some are gentlemen in jackets, and some are ladies in dresses, dancing and singing. Well, of course, the drinks are right there, and the same thing at nine.

In a word, the old regime!

Well, that means Alfred is among the others. Tozke drinks and eats.

And it turns out, my brother, he is in love with this very Traviata. But he doesn’t explain this only in words, but everything by singing, everything by singing. Well, and she answered him the same.

And it turns out that he cannot avoid marrying her, but it turns out that this same Alfred has a father named Lyubchenko. And suddenly, out of nowhere, in the second act he strode onto the stage.

He is small in stature, but so respectable, his hair is gray, and his voice is strong, thick - beryvton.

And right away he sang to Alfred:

- Well, so and so, have you forgotten your dear land?

Well, I sang and sang to him and upset all this Alfredian machination, to hell. Alfred got drunk out of grief in the third act, and he, my brothers, created a huge scandal - with this Traviata of his.

He cursed her out loud, in front of everyone.

Sings:

- “You,” he says, “are this and that, and in general,” he says, “I don’t want to have anything to do with you anymore.”

Well, of course, there are tears, noise, scandal!

And she fell ill with consumption from grief in the fourth act. They sent for a doctor, of course.

The doctor arrives.

Well, I see, even though he is in a frock coat, by all indications our brother is a proletarian. The hair is long and the voice is as healthy as a barrel.

He went up to La Traviata and sang:

- Be calm, he says, your illness is dangerous, and you will certainly die!

And he didn’t even write any prescription, but simply said goodbye and left.

Well, Traviata sees, there is nothing to do - he must die.

Well, then Alfred and Lyubchenko came, asking her not to die. Lyubchenko already gives his consent to the wedding. But nothing works!

- Sorry,” says Traviata, “I can’t, I have to die.”

And indeed, the three of them sang again, and La Traviata died.

And the conductor closed the book, took off his pince-nez and left. And everyone left. That's all.

Well, I think: thank God, we have been enlightened, and that will be ours! Boring story!

And I say to Panteleev:

- Well, Panteleev, let's go to the circus tomorrow!

I went to bed and kept dreaming that La Traviata was singing and Lombard was quacking on his trombone.

Well, the next day I come to the military commissar and say:

- Allow me, comrade military commissar, to leave for the circus this evening...

And how he growls:

- Still, he says, you have elephants on your mind! No circuses! No, brother, you will go to the Council of Trade Unions for a concert today. There, he says, Comrade Bloch and his orchestra will play the Second Rhapsody! [Most likely, Bulgakov means the Second hungarian rhapsody F. Liszt, which the writer loved and often performed on the piano.]

So I sat down, thinking: “Here are the elephants for you!”

- So, I ask, will Lombard play the trombone again?

- Definitely, he says.

Occasion, God forgive me, where I go, he goes with his trombone!

I looked and asked:

- Well, what about tomorrow?

- And tomorrow, he says, it’s impossible. Tomorrow I will send you all to the drama.

- Well, what about the day after tomorrow?

- And the day after tomorrow back to the opera!

And in general, he says, it’s enough for you to hang around circuses. The week of enlightenment has arrived.

I went crazy from his words! I think: this way you will disappear completely. And I ask:

- So, are they going to drive our entire company like this?

- Why, - he says, - everyone! They won't be literate. Competent and without the Second Rhapsody is good! It's just you, illiterate devils. And let the literate one go in all four directions!

I left him and thought about it. I see it's tobacco! Since you are illiterate, it turns out that you should be deprived of all pleasure...

I thought and thought and came up with an idea.

I went to the military commander and said:

- Let me declare!

- Declare it!

- Let me, I say, go to literacy school.

The military commissar smiled and said:

- Well done! - and enrolled me in school.

Well, I tried it, and what do you think, you learned it!

And now the devil is not my brother, because I’m literate!

___________________________________________________________________________________

Anatoly Aleksin. Division of property

When I was in ninth grade, my literature teacher came up with an unusual topic home essay: “The main person in my life.”

I wrote about my grandmother.

And then I went to the cinema with Fedka... It was Sunday, and a line lined up at the box office, pressing against the wall. Fedka’s face, in my opinion and in the opinion of my grandmother, was beautiful, but always so tense, as if Fedka was ready to jump from a tower into the water. Seeing the tail near the cash register, he squinted, which foreshadowed his readiness for emergency actions. “I’ll find you by any trace,” he said when he was a boy. The desire to achieve your goals immediately and at any cost remains dangerous sign Fedka's character.

Fedka could not stand in line: it humiliated him, because it immediately assigned him a certain serial number, and, of course, not the first.

Fedka rushed to the cash register. But I stopped him:

– Let's go to the park instead. This is the weather!..

– Are you sure you want it? – he was delighted: there was no need to stand in line.

– “Don’t ever kiss me in the yard again,” I said. - Mom doesn't like it.

– Am I...

– Right under the windows!

– Exactly?

– Have you forgotten?

– Then I have every right... - Fedka prepared to jump. – Once it was, that means that’s it! There's a chain reaction...

I turned towards the house, because Fedka carried out his intentions at any cost and did not put it off for a long time.

– Where are you going? I was joking... That's for sure. I was joking.

If people who are not used to humiliating themselves have to do this, one feels sorry for them. And yet I loved it when Fedka Sled, the thunderstorm at home, fussed around me: let everyone see what I am like nowfull-fledged !

Fedka begged me to go to the park, even promised that he would never kiss me again in his life, which I did not demand from him at all.

– Home! – I said proudly. And she repeated: “Only home...

But she repeated it in confusion, because at that moment she remembered with horror that she had left the essay “The Main Man in My Life” on the table, although she could have easily put it in a drawer or briefcase. What if mom reads it?

Mom has already read it.

– Who am I in your life? – without waiting for me to take off my coat, she asked in a voice that, as if from a cliff, was about to break into a scream. - Who am I? Not the main person... This is undeniable. But stillWhich ?!

I just stood there in my coat. And she continued:

– I can't do it anymore, Vera! An incompatibility has occurred. And I propose to separate... This is indisputable.

– You and me?

– Us?! Would you mind?

– And with whom then? – I sincerely didn’t understand.

Always impeccably self-possessed, my mother, having lost control of herself, burst into tears. The tears of a frequently crying person do not shock us. And I saw my mother’s tears for the first time in my life. And she began to console her.

No literary work probably made such a strong impression on my mother as mine did. She could not calm down until the evening.

When I was in the bathroom getting ready for bed, my grandmother came. Mom didn’t let her take off her coat either. In a voice that returned to the edge of the cliff, not trying to hide anything from me, she began to speak haltingly, as I had once said:

– Vera wrote... And I accidentally read it. “The main person in my life”... School essay. Everyone in their class will dedicate it to their mothers. This is undeniable! And she wrote about you... If your son was a child... Eh? We need to leave! This is undeniable. I can't do it anymore. My mother doesn’t live with us... And she’s not trying to win my daughter away from me!

I could go out into the corridor and explain that before winning me back, my mother’s mother would have to win back my health, my life, just like my grandmother did. And it would hardly have been possible to do this over the phone. But mom started crying again. And I hid and became quiet.

– You and I must leave. “This is undeniable,” my mother said through tears, but already firmly. – We will do everything according to the law, in fairness...

– How can I live without Verochka? - Grandma didn’t understand.

– What about us all... under one roof? I'll write a statement. To court! There they will understand that they need to save the family. That mother and daughter are practically separated... I will write! When Vera finishes the school year... so that she doesn't have a nervous breakdown.

Even then I stayed in the bathroom, not taking the threats about the trial seriously.

…In the struggle for existence, one often does not choose means... When I entered the tenth grade, my mother, no longer afraid of my nervous breakdown, fulfilled her promise. She wrote that my grandmother and I should be separated. Separate... And about the division of property “in accordance with existing judicial laws.”

– Understand, I don’t want anything extra! – the man squeezed out of the tube continued to prove.

– Suing your mother is the mostsuperfluous business on earth. And you say: there’s no need for unnecessary things...” she said in an impassive, non-appealable tone.

“You need someone who is needed. Needed when needed... Needed while needed!” – I mentally repeated the words that, like poems etched in my memory, were always on my mind.

When I left home in the morning, I left a letter on the kitchen table, or rather, a note addressed to mom and dad: “I will be the part of the property that, according to the court, will go to my grandmother.”

Someone touched me from behind. I turned around and saw dad.

– Let's go home. We won't do anything! Let's go home. Let’s go...” he repeated frantically, looking around so that no one would hear.

Grandmother was not at home.

– Where is she? – I asked quietly.

– “Nothing happened,” dad answered. - She went to the village. You see, on your piece of paper at the bottom it is written: “I left for the village. Don't worry: it's okay."

– To Aunt Mana?

– Why to Aunt Mana? She’s been gone for a long time... She just went to the village. To your home village!

– To Aunt Mana? – I repeated. - To that oak tree?..

The mother, petrified on the sofa, jumped up:

– To which oak tree? You can't worry! What oak?

– She just left... No big deal! - Dad exhorted. - It's OK!

He dared to reassure me with my grandmother’s words.

– It's OK? Has she gone to Aunt Mana? To Aunt Mana? To Aunt Mana, right?! - I screamed, feeling that the ground, as it happened before, was disappearing from under my feet.

The best. Nikolay Teleshov

One day the shepherd Demyan was wandering across the lawn with a long whip on his shoulder. He had nothing to do, and the day was hot, and Demyan decided to swim in the river.

He undressed and just got into the water, he looked - at the bottom under his feet something glittered. The place was shallow; he dove in and pulled out from the sand a small light horseshoe, the size of a human ear. He turns it over in his hands and doesn’t understand what it can be good for.

- “Is it really possible to shoe a goat,” Demyan laughs to himself, “otherwise, what good is such a little thing?”

He took the horseshoe with both hands by both ends and was just about to try to straighten it or break it, when a woman appeared on the shore, all in white silver clothes. Demyan even became embarrassed and went into the water up to his neck. Demyanov’s head alone looks out from the river and listens as a woman congratulates him:

- Your happiness, Demyanushka: you have found such a treasure, which has no equal in the whole wide world.

- What should I do with it? - Demyan asks from the water and looks first at the white woman, then at the horseshoe.

- Go quickly, unlock the doors, enter the underground palace and take from there everything you want, whatever you like.

Take as much as you want. But just remember one thing: don’t leave the best there.

- What's the best thing about it?

- “Lean the horseshoe against this stone,” the woman pointed with her hand. And she repeated again: “Take as much as you want until you are satisfied.” But when you go back, don’t forget to take the best with you.

And the white woman disappeared.

Demyan doesn't understand anything. He looked around: he saw in front of him on the shore big stone, lies right next to the water. He stepped towards him and leaned the horseshoe against him, as the woman said.

And suddenly the stone broke in two, the iron doors opened behind it, opened wide by themselves, and in front of Demyan was a luxurious palace. As soon as he holds out his horseshoe, as soon as he leans it against something, all the shutters in front of him dissolve, all the locks are unlocked, and Demyan goes, like a master, wherever he pleases.

Wherever you enter, untold riches lie.

In one place there is a huge mountain of oats, and what a heavy, golden one! In another place there is rye, in a third there is wheat; Demyan had never seen such white grain in his dreams.

“Well, that’s it! - he thinks. “It’s not just that you can feed yourself, but there’s enough for a whole city for a hundred years, and there’s still some left over!”

“Well, well! - Demyan rejoices. “I got myself wealth!”

The only trouble is that he came up here straight from the river, as if he were naked. No pockets, no shirt, no hat - nothing; nothing to put it in.

There is a great abundance of all sorts of good things around him, but there is nothing to pour into, or wrap in, or carry away with. But you can’t put a lot into two handfuls.

“We should run home, haul the sacks and bring the horse and cart to the shore!”

Demyan goes further - the room is full of silver; further - rooms are full of gold; even further - precious stones - green, red, blue, white - all sparkle, glow with semi-precious rays. Eyes run wide; you don’t know what to look at, what to want, what to take. And what’s best here is something Demyan doesn’t understand; he can’t figure it out in a hurry.

“We must quickly run for the bags,” - only one thing is clear to him. Moreover, it’s a shame that there’s nothing to put even a little bit into right now.

“Why, you fool, didn’t I put on my hat just now! At least into it!”

So as not to make a mistake and not forget to take the best, Demyan grabbed both handfuls of precious stones of all sorts and quickly went to the exit.

He walks, and handfuls of stones fall out! It’s a pity that your hands are small: if only each handful was as big as a pot!

He walks past gold and thinks: what if it is the best? We must take him too. But there is nothing to take and nothing to take: the handfuls are full, but there are no pockets.

I had to throw off the extra stones and take at least a little bit of golden sand.

While Demyan was hastily exchanging stones for gold, all his thoughts scattered. He doesn’t know what to take, what to leave. It’s a pity to leave every little thing, but there’s no way to take it away: a naked man has nothing but two handfuls for this. If he applies more, it falls out of his hands. Again we have to pick and place. Demyan finally became exhausted and resolutely walked towards the exit.

So he crawled out onto the shore, onto the lawn. He saw his clothes, hat, whip - and was happy.

“I’ll return to the palace now, pour the loot into my shirt and tie it with a whip, and the first bag is ready!” And then I run to get the cart!”

He laid out handfuls of his jewels in his hat and rejoiced, looking at them, how they sparkled and played in the sun.

He quickly got dressed, hung the whip on his shoulder and wanted to go again to the underground palace for wealth, but there were no doors in front of him anymore, and the large gray stone still lay on the shore.

- My fathers! - Demyan shouted, and even his voice squealed. - Where is my little horseshoe?

He forgot it in the underground palace, when he hastily exchanged stones for gold, looking for the best.

Only now he realized that he had left the best things there, where now you would never, ever enter without horseshoes.

- Here's a horseshoe for you!

In despair, he rushed to his hat, to his jewelry, with his last hope: wasn’t “the best” lying among them?

But now there was only a handful in the hat river sand and a handful of small field stones, which the entire shore is full of.

Demyan lowered his hands and head:

- Here's the best for you!..

______________________________________________________________________________________

The candle was burning. Mike Gelprin

The bell rang when Andrei Petrovich had already lost all hope.

- Hello, I'm following an ad. Do you give literature lessons?

Andrei Petrovich peered at the videophone screen. A man in his late thirties. Strictly dressed - suit, tie. He smiles, but his eyes are serious. Andrei Petrovich’s heart sank; he posted the ad online only out of habit. There were six calls in ten years. Three got the wrong number, two more turned out to be insurance agents working the old fashioned way, and one confused literature with a ligature.

- “I give lessons,” Andrei Petrovich said, stuttering with excitement. - N-at home. Are you interested in literature?

“Interested,” the interlocutor nodded. - My name is Maxim. Let me know what the conditions are.

“For nothing!” - Andrei Petrovich almost burst out.

- “Pay is hourly,” he forced himself to say. - By agreement. When would you like to start?

- I, actually... - the interlocutor hesitated.

- The first lesson is free,” Andrei Petrovich hastily added. - If you don’t like it, then...

- Let’s do it tomorrow,” Maxim said decisively. - Will ten in the morning suit you? I take the kids to school by nine and then I'm free until two.

- “It will work,” Andrei Petrovich was delighted. - Write down the address.

- Tell me, I'll remember.

That night Andrei Petrovich did not sleep, walked around the tiny room, almost a cell, not knowing what to do with his hands shaking from anxiety. For twelve years now he had been living on a beggar's allowance. From the very day he was fired.

- “You are too narrow a specialist,” the director of the lyceum for children with humanitarian inclinations said then, hiding his eyes. - We value you as an experienced teacher, but unfortunately this is your subject. Tell me, do you want to retrain? The lyceum could partially pay the cost of training. Virtual ethics, the basics of virtual law, the history of robotics - you could very well teach this. Even cinema is still quite popular. Of course, he doesn’t have much time left, but for your lifetime... What do you think?

Andrei Petrovich refused, which he later regretted. New job it was not possible to find, literature remained in a few educational institutions, the last libraries were closed, philologists, one after another, retrained in all sorts of different ways. For a couple of years he visited the thresholds of gymnasiums, lyceums and special schools. Then he stopped. I spent six months taking retraining courses. When his wife left, he left them too.

The savings quickly ran out, and Andrei Petrovich had to tighten his belt. Then sell the aircar, old but reliable. An antique set left over from my mother, with things behind it. And then... Andrei Petrovich felt sick every time he remembered this - then it was the turn of the books. Ancient, thick, paper ones, also from my mother. Collectors gave good money for rarities, so Count Tolstoy fed him for a whole month. Dostoevsky - two weeks. Bunin - one and a half.

As a result, Andrei Petrovich was left with fifty books - his favorite ones, re-read a dozen times, those that he could not part with. Remarque, Hemingway, Marquez, Bulgakov, Brodsky, Pasternak... The books stood on a bookcase, occupying four shelves, Andrei Petrovich wiped dust from the spines every day.

“If this guy, Maxim,” Andrei Petrovich thought randomly, nervously pacing from wall to wall, “if he... Then, perhaps, it will be possible to buy Balmont back. Or Murakami. Or Amadou."

It’s nothing, Andrei Petrovich suddenly realized. It doesn't matter whether you can buy it back. He can convey, this is it, this is the only important thing. Hand over! To convey to others what he knows, what he has.

Maxim rang the doorbell at exactly ten o'clock, every minute.

- Come in,” Andrei Petrovich began to fuss. - Take a seat. Here, actually... Where would you like to start?

Maxim hesitated and carefully sat down on the edge of the chair.

- Whatever you think is necessary. You see, I'm a layman. Full. They didn't teach me anything.

- Yes, yes, of course,” Andrei Petrovich nodded. - Like everyone else. Literature has not been taught in secondary schools for almost a hundred years. And now they no longer teach in special schools.

- Nowhere? - Maxim asked quietly.

- I'm afraid not anywhere anymore. You see, at the end of the twentieth century a crisis began. There was no time to read. First for children, then the children grew up, and their children no longer had time to read. Even more time than parents. Other pleasures have appeared - mostly virtual. Games. All sorts of tests, quests... - Andrei Petrovich waved his hand. - Well, and of course, technology. Technical disciplines began to supplant the humanities. Cybernetics, quantum mechanics and electrodynamics, physics high energies. And literature, history, geography faded into the background. Especially literature. Are you following, Maxim?

- Yes, please continue.

- In the twenty-first century, books were no longer printed; paper was replaced by electronics. But even in the electronic version, the demand for literature fell rapidly, several times in each new generation compared to the previous one. As a result, the number of writers decreased, then there were none at all - people stopped writing. Philologists lasted a hundred years longer - due to what was written in the previous twenty centuries.

Andrei Petrovich fell silent and wiped his suddenly sweaty forehead with his hand.

- It’s not easy for me to talk about this,” he finally said. - I realize that the process is natural. Literature died because it did not get along with progress. But here are the children, you understand... Children! Literature was what shaped minds. Especially poetry. That which determined a person’s inner world, his spirituality. Children grow up soulless, that’s what’s scary, that’s what’s terrible, Maxim!

- I came to this conclusion myself, Andrei Petrovich. And that is why I turned to you.

- Do you have children?

- Yes,” Maxim hesitated. - Two. Pavlik and Anechka are the same age. Andrey Petrovich, I just need the basics. I will find literature on the Internet and read it. I just need to know what. And what to focus on. Will you teach me?

- Yes,” Andrei Petrovich said firmly. - I’ll teach you.

He stood up, crossed his arms over his chest, and concentrated.

- Pasternak,” he said solemnly. - Chalk, chalk all over the earth, to all limits. The candle was burning on the table, the candle was burning...

- Will you come tomorrow, Maxim? - Andrei Petrovich asked, trying to calm the trembling in his voice.

- Definitely. Only now... You know, I work as a manager for a wealthy married couple. I manage the household, business, and balance the bills. My salary is low. But I,” Maxim looked around the room, “can bring food.” Some things, perhaps household appliances. On account of payment. Will it suit you?

Andrei Petrovich involuntarily blushed. He would be happy with it for nothing.

- Of course, Maxim,” he said. - Thank you. I'm waiting for you tomorrow.

- “Literature is not only what is written about,” said Andrei Petrovich, walking around the room. - This is also how it is written. Language, Maxim, is the very tool that great writers and poets used. Listen here.

Maxim listened intently. It seemed that he was trying to remember, to learn the teacher’s speech by heart.

- Pushkin,” said Andrei Petrovich and began to recite.

"Tavrida", "Anchar", "Eugene Onegin".

Lermontov "Mtsyri".

Baratynsky, Yesenin, Mayakovsky, Blok, Balmont, Akhmatova, Gumilyov, Mandelstam, Vysotsky...

Maxim listened.

- Aren't you tired? - asked Andrei Petrovich.

- No, no, what are you talking about? Please continue.

The day gave way to a new one. Andrei Petrovich perked up, awakened to life, in which meaning suddenly appeared. Poetry was replaced by prose, which took much more time, but Maxim turned out to be a grateful student. He caught it on the fly. Andrei Petrovich never ceased to be amazed at how Maxim, who at first was deaf to the word, not perceiving, not feeling the harmony embedded in the language, comprehended it every day and knew it better, deeper than the previous one.

Balzac, Hugo, Maupassant, Dostoevsky, Turgenev, Bunin, Kuprin.

Bulgakov, Hemingway, Babel, Remarque, Marquez, Nabokov.

Eighteenth century, nineteenth, twentieth.

Classics, fiction, fantasy, detective.

Stevenson, Twain, Conan Doyle, Sheckley, Strugatsky, Weiner, Japriseau.

One day, on Wednesday, Maxim did not come. Andrei Petrovich spent the whole morning waiting, convincing himself that he could get sick. I couldn’t, whispered an inner voice, persistent and absurd. Scrupulous, pedantic Maxim could not. He has never been a minute late in a year and a half. And then he didn’t even call. By evening, Andrei Petrovich could no longer find a place for himself, and at night he never slept a wink. By ten in the morning he was completely exhausted, and when it became clear that Maxim would not come again, he wandered to the videophone.

- The number has been disconnected from service,” said a mechanical voice.

The next few days passed like one bad dream. Even my favorite books did not save me from acute melancholy and a newly emerging sense of worthlessness, which Andrei Petrovich did not remember for a year and a half. To call hospitals, morgues, there was an obsessive buzzing in my temple. So what should I ask? Or about whom? Didn’t a certain Maxim, about thirty years old, excuse me, I don’t know his last name?

Andrei Petrovich got out of the house when it became unbearable to be within four walls anymore.

- Ah, Petrovich! - old man Nefyodov, a neighbor from below, greeted. - Long time no see. Why don’t you go out? Are you ashamed or something? So it seems like you have nothing to do with it.

- In what sense am I ashamed? - Andrei Petrovich was dumbfounded.

- Well, what is this, yours,” Nefyodov ran the edge of his hand across his throat. - Who came to see you. I kept wondering why Petrovich, in his old age, got involved with this public.

- What are you talking about? - Andrei Petrovich felt cold inside. - With what audience?

- It is known which one. I see these little darlings right away. I think I worked with them for thirty years.

- With whom with them? - Andrei Petrovich begged. -What are you even talking about?

- Don't you really know? - Nefyodov was alarmed. - Look at the news, they are talking about it everywhere.

Andrei Petrovich did not remember how he got to the elevator. He went up to the fourteenth and with shaking hands fumbled for the key in his pocket. On the fifth attempt, I opened it, trotted over to the computer, connected to the network, and scrolled through the news feed. My heart suddenly sank with pain. Maxim looked from the photo, the lines of italics under the photo blurred before his eyes.

“Caught by the owners,” Andrei Petrovich read from the screen with difficulty focusing his vision, “of stealing food, clothing and household appliances. Home robot tutor, DRG-439K series. Control program defect. He stated that he independently came to the conclusion about childhood lack of spirituality, which he decided to fight. Unauthorizedly taught children subjects outside the school curriculum. He hid his activities from his owners. Withdrawn from circulation... In fact, disposed of.... The public is concerned about the manifestation... The issuing company is ready to bear... A specially created committee decided...".

Andrei Petrovich stood up. On stiff legs he walked to the kitchen. He opened the cupboard and on the bottom shelf stood an open bottle of cognac that Maxim had brought as payment for his tuition fees. Andrei Petrovich tore off the cork and looked around in search of a glass. I couldn’t find it and tore it out of my throat. He coughed, dropped the bottle, and staggered back against the wall. His knees gave way and Andrei Petrovich sank heavily to the floor.

Down the drain, came the final thought. It's all down the drain. All this time he trained the robot.

A soulless, defective piece of hardware. I put everything I have into it. Everything that makes life worth living. Everything he lived for.

Andrei Petrovich, overcoming the pain that grabbed his heart, stood up. He dragged himself to the window and closed the transom tightly. Now a gas stove. Open the burners and wait half an hour. That's all.

The doorbell rang and caught him halfway to the stove. Andrei Petrovich, gritting his teeth, moved to open it. Two children stood on the threshold. A boy of about ten years old. And the girl is a year or two younger.

- Do you give literature lessons? - the girl asked, looking from under her bangs falling into her eyes.

- What? - Andrei Petrovich was taken aback. - Who are you?

- “I’m Pavlik,” the boy took a step forward. - This is Anya, my sister. We are from Max.

- From... From whom?!

- From Max,” the boy repeated stubbornly. - He told me to convey it. Before he... what's his name...

- Chalk, chalk all over the earth to all limits! - the girl suddenly shouted loudly.

Andrei Petrovich grabbed his heart, swallowing convulsively, stuffed it, pushed it back into his chest.

- Are you kidding? - he said quietly, barely audible.

- The candle was burning on the table, the candle was burning,” the boy said firmly. - He told me to convey this, Max. Will you teach us?

Andrei Petrovich, clinging to the door frame, stepped back.

- “Oh my God,” he said. - Come in. Come in, children.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Leonid Kaminsky

Composition

Lena sat at the table and did her homework. It was getting dark, but from the snow that lay in drifts in the yard, it was still light in the room.
In front of Lena lay an open notebook, in which only two phrases were written:
How I help my mother.
Composition.
There was no further work. Somewhere at the neighbors' house a tape recorder was playing. Alla Pugacheva could be heard insistently repeating: “I really want summer not to end!..”.
“But it’s true,” Lena thought dreamily, “it would be good if summer didn’t end!.. Sunbathe yourself, swim, and no essays for you!”
She read the headline again: How I Help Mom. “How can I help? And when to help here, if they ask so much for the house!
The light came on in the room: my mother entered.
“Sit, sit, I won’t bother you, I’ll just tidy up the room a little.” “She began wiping the bookshelves with a rag.
Lena began to write:
“I help my mother with the housework. I clean the apartment, wipe the dust off the furniture with a rag.”
- Why did you throw your clothes all over the room? - Mom asked. The question was, of course, rhetorical, because my mother did not expect an answer. She began putting things in the closet.
“I’m putting things in their places,” Lena wrote.
“By the way, your apron needs to be washed,” mom continued talking to herself.
“Washing clothes,” Lena wrote, then thought and added: “And ironing.”
“Mom, a button on my dress came off,” Lena reminded and wrote: “I sew buttons on if necessary.”
Mom sewed on a button, then went out to the kitchen and returned with a bucket and mop.
Pushing the chairs aside, she began to wipe the floor.
“Well, raise your legs,” said mom, deftly wielding a rag.
- Mom, you're bothering me! – Lena grumbled and, without lowering her feet, wrote: “Washing the floors.”
There was something burning coming from the kitchen.
- Oh, I have potatoes on the stove! – Mom shouted and rushed to the kitchen.
“I’m peeling potatoes and cooking dinner,” Lena wrote.
- Lena, have dinner! – Mom called from the kitchen.
- Now! – Lena leaned back in her chair and stretched.
A bell rang in the hallway.
- Lena, this is for you! - Mom shouted.
Olya, Lena’s classmate, entered the room, blushing from the frost.
- I won't be long. Mom sent for bread, and I decided to go to you on the way.
Lena took a pen and wrote: “I’m going to the store for bread and other products.”
- Are you writing an essay? – Olya asked. - Let me see.
Olya looked at the notebook and burst into tears:
- Well, you give it to me! Yes, this is all not true! You made it all up!
– Who said you can’t compose? – Lena was offended. - That’s why it’s called so-chi-ne-nie!

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Green Alexander Fourteen feet

I

- So, she turned you both down? - the owner of the steppe hotel asked goodbye. - What did you say?

Rod silently raised his hat and walked away; Kist did the same. The miners were annoyed with themselves for having chatted last night under the power of wine fumes. Now the owner was trying to make fun of them; at least this last question of his hardly hid his grin.

When the hotel disappeared around the bend, Rod said, smiling awkwardly:

- It was you who wanted vodka. If it weren’t for the vodka, Kat’s cheeks wouldn’t have burned with shame for our conversation, even though the girl was two thousand miles away from us. What does this shark care...

- But what special did the innkeeper learn? - Kist objected gloomily. Well... you loved... I loved... loved one. She doesn’t care... In general, this conversation was about women.

“You don’t understand,” Rod said. “We did something wrong to her: we said her name at... behind the counter.” Well, enough of that.

Despite the fact that the girl was firmly in everyone’s heart, they remained comrades. It is not known what would have happened in the case of preference. Heartbreak even brought them closer; Both of them, mentally, looked at Kat through the telescope, and no one is as close to each other as astronomers. Therefore, their relationship did not break down.

As Keast said, “Cat didn’t care.” But not really. However, she remained silent.

II

"He who loves goes to the end." When both Rod and Kist came to say goodbye, she thought that the strongest and most persistent in his feelings should return and repeat the explanation again. So, perhaps, eighteen-year-old Solomon in a skirt reasoned a little cruelly. Meanwhile, the girl liked both of them. She did not understand how anyone could go further than four miles from her without wanting to return in twenty-four hours. However, the serious appearance of the miners, their tightly packed sacks and those words that are spoken only during real separation, made her a little angry. It was difficult for her mentally, and she took revenge for it.

“Go ahead,” said Kat. - The light is great. Not all of you will be crouching at the same window.

Saying this, she thought at first that soon, very soon, a cheerful, lively Kist would appear. Then a month passed, and the impressiveness of this period turned her thoughts to Rod, with whom she always felt easier. Rod was big-headed, very strong and did not talk much, but he looked at her so good-naturedly that she once said to him: “chick-chick”...

III

The direct path to the Solar Quarries lay through a mixture of rocks - a spur of a chain crossing the forest. There were paths here, the meaning and connection of which the travelers learned at the hotel. They walked almost the entire day, adhering to the right direction, but by evening they began to gradually lose their way. The biggest mistake occurred at the Flat Stone - a piece of rock that was once thrown off by an earthquake. Because of fatigue, their memory of the turns failed them, and they went up when they had to go a mile and a half to the left, and then begin to climb.

At sunset, having emerged from the dense wilds, the miners saw that their path was blocked by a crack. The width of the abyss was significant, but, in general, it seemed accessible to a horse's gallop in suitable places.

Seeing that they were lost, Kist split up with Rod: one went to the right, the other to the left; Kist climbed out to impassable cliffs and returned; Half an hour later Rod also returned - his path led to the division of the crack into beds of streams falling into the abyss.

The travelers came together and stopped in the place where they first saw the crack.

IV

The opposite edge of the abyss stood in front of them so close, so accessible to a short bridge, that Kist stamped his feet in annoyance and scratched the back of his head. The edge separated by the crack was steeply sloping and covered with rubble, however, of all the places they passed in search of a detour, this place was the least wide. Throwing the string with the stone tied to it, Rod measured the annoying distance: it was almost fourteen feet. He looked around: dry, brush-like bushes were crawling along the evening plateau; the sun was setting.

They could have returned, having lost a day or two, but far ahead, below, shone the thin loop of the Ascenda, from the curve of which to the right lay the gold-bearing spur of the Solar Mountains. To overcome the crack meant shortening the journey by no less than five days. Meanwhile, the usual path with a return to their old trail and a journey along the bend of the river constituted a large Roman “S”, which they now had to cross in a straight line.

“There may be a tree,” said Rod, “but this tree does not exist.” There is nothing to throw over and nothing to grab onto with a rope on the other side. All that's left is the jump.

Kist looked around, then nodded. Indeed, the run-up was convenient: he walked slightly slopingly towards the crack.

“You have to think that a black canvas is stretched in front of you,” said Rod, “that’s all.” Imagine that there is no abyss.

“Of course,” Kist said absently. - It’s a little cold... Like swimming.

Rod took the bag off his shoulders and threw it over; Kist did the same. Now they had no choice but to follow their decision.

“So...” Rod began, but Kist, more nervous, less able to bear the anticipation, held out his hand dismissively.

“First me, and then you,” he said. - This is complete nonsense. Nonsense! Look.

Acting in the heat of the moment to prevent an attack of excusable cowardice, he walked away, ran and, successfully giving a kick, flew to his bag, landing flat on his chest. At the zenith of this desperate jump, Rod made an internal effort, as if helping the jumper with his whole being.

Kist stood up. He was a little pale.

“Done,” said Kist. - I'm waiting for you with the first mail.

Rod slowly walked up to the dais, absentmindedly rubbed his hands and, bowing his head, rushed to the cliff. His heavy body seemed to rush with the strength of a bird. When he took a run and then gave in, breaking away into the air, Kist, unexpectedly for himself, imagined him falling into the bottomless depths. It was a vile thought - one of those over which a person has no control. It is possible that it was transmitted to the jumper. Rod, leaving the ground, carelessly glanced at Kist - and this knocked him down.

He fell chest-first onto the edge, immediately raising his hand and clinging to Kist's arm. The entire emptiness of the bottom groaned in him, but Kist held on tightly, managing to grab the falling one at the last hair of time. A little more - Rod's hand would have disappeared into the void. Kist lay down, sliding on the crumbling small stones along the dusty curve. His hand stretched out and died from the weight of Rod’s body, but, scratching the ground with his feet and free hand, he held Rod’s squeezed hand with the fury of a victim, with heavy inspiration of risk.

Rod saw clearly and understood that Kist was crawling down.

- Let go! - Rod said so terribly and coldly that Kist desperately shouted for help, without knowing to whom. - You will fall, I tell you! Rod continued. - Let me go and don’t forget that it was she who looked at you especially.

Thus he revealed his bitter, secret conviction. Kist did not answer. He silently redeemed his thought - the thought of Rod jumping down. Then Rod took a folding knife from his pocket with his free hand, opened it with his teeth and plunged it into Kist's hand.

The hand unclenched...

Kist looked down; then, barely stopping himself from falling, he crawled away and tied his hand with a handkerchief. For some time he sat quietly, holding his heart, in which there was thunder; finally, he lay down and began to quietly shake his whole body, pressing his hand to his face.

In the winter of the following year, a decently dressed man entered the yard of the Carrol farm and did not have time to look back when, slamming several doors inside the house, a young girl with an independent appearance, but with an elongated and tense face, quickly ran out to him, scaring away the chickens.

-Where is Rod? - she asked hastily, as soon as she offered her hand. - Or are you alone, Kist?!

“If you made a choice, you were not mistaken,” thought the newcomer.

“Rod...” Kat repeated. - After all, you were always together...

Kist coughed, looked to the side and told everything.

The magician's revenge. Stephen Leacock

- “And now, ladies and gentlemen,” said the magician, “when you are convinced that there is nothing in this handkerchief, I will take out a jar of goldfish from it.” One, two! Ready.

Everyone in the hall repeated in amazement:

- Simply amazing! How does he do this?

But the Clever gentleman, sitting in the front row, told his neighbors in a loud whisper:

- She... was... on his... sleeve.

And then everyone looked joyfully at the Clever Mr. and said:

- Well, of course. How come we didn’t guess it right away?

And a whisper echoed throughout the hall:

- He had it up his sleeve.

- My next trick, said the magician, is the famous Indian rings. Please note that the rings, as you can see for yourself, are not connected to each other. Look - now they will unite. Boom! Boom! Boom! Ready!

There was an enthusiastic roar of amazement, but the Clever Mr. whispered again:

- Apparently he had other rings up his sleeve.

And everyone whispered again:

- He had other rings up his sleeve.

The magician's eyebrows knitted together angrily.

- Now,” he continued, “I’ll show you the most interesting number.” I will take any number of eggs out of the hat. Would any gentleman be willing to lend me his hat? So! Thank you. Ready!

He pulled seventeen eggs out of the hat, and for thirty-five seconds the audience could not recover from admiration, but Smart leaned over to his neighbors in the first row and whispered:

- He's got chicken up his sleeve.

And everyone whispered to each other:

- He's got a dozen chickens up his sleeve.

The egg trick was a fiasco.

This went on all evening. From the whisper of the Clever Mr. it was clear that, in addition to the rings, chicken and fish, hidden in the magician’s sleeve were several decks of cards, a loaf of bread, a bed for a doll, a living guinea pig, fifty cent coin and rocking chair.

Soon the magician's reputation dropped below zero. Towards the end of the performance he made one last desperate attempt.

- Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. - In conclusion, I will show you a wonderful Japanese trick, recently invented by the natives of Tipperary. Would you like, sir,” he continued, turning to the Clever gentleman, “would you like to give me your gold watch?”

The watch was immediately handed over to him.

- Do you allow me to put them in this mortar and crush them into small pieces? - he asked with a hint of cruelty in his voice.

The smart one nodded his head affirmatively and smiled.

The magician threw the watch into a huge mortar and grabbed a hammer from the table. There was a strange cracking sound.

- “He hid them in his sleeve,” whispered Smart.

- Now, sir,” continued the magician, “let me take your handkerchief and poke holes in it.” Thank you. You see, ladies and gentlemen, there is no deception here, the holes are visible to the naked eye.

Smarty's face shone with delight. This time everything seemed truly mysterious to him, and he was completely fascinated.

- And now, sir, be so kind as to hand me your top hat and let me dance on it. Thank you.

The magician put the cylinder on the floor, performed some steps on it, and after a few seconds the cylinder became flat, like a pancake.

- Now, sir, please take off your celluloid collar and let me burn it on a candle. Thank you, sir. Would you also allow your glasses to be broken with a hammer? Thank you.

This time Smarty's face took on an expression of complete confusion.

- Well, well! - he whispered. “Now I really don’t understand anything.”

There was a roar in the hall. Finally, the magician straightened up to his full height and, casting a devastating glance at the Clever Mr., said:

- Ladies and gentlemen! You had the opportunity to watch how, with the permission of this gentleman, I broke his watch, burned his collar, crushed his glasses and danced the foxtrot on his hat. If he allows me to paint his coat with green paint or tie a knot in his suspenders, I will be happy to continue entertaining you... If not, the show is over.

The victorious sounds of the orchestra rang out, the curtain fell, and the audience dispersed, convinced that there were still tricks to which the magician’s sleeve had nothing to do.

M. Zoshchenko “Nakhodka”

One day Lelya and I took a box of chocolates and put a frog and a spider in it.

Then we wrapped this box in clean paper, tied it with a chic blue ribbon and placed this package on the panel facing our garden. It was as if someone was walking and lost their purchase.

Having placed this package near the cabinet, Lelya and I hid in the bushes of our garden and, choking with laughter, began to wait for what would happen.

And here comes a passerby.

When he sees our package, he, of course, stops, rejoices and even rubs his hands with pleasure. Of course: he found a box of chocolates - this doesn’t happen very often in this world.

With bated breath, Lelya and I watch what will happen next.

The passerby bent down, took the package, quickly untied it and, seeing the beautiful box, became even more happy.

And now the lid is open. And our frog, bored with sitting in the dark, jumps out of the box right onto the hand of a passerby.

He gasps in surprise and throws the box away from him.

Then Lelya and I began to laugh so much that we fell on the grass.

And we laughed so loudly that a passerby turned in our direction and, seeing us behind the fence, immediately understood everything.

In an instant he rushed to the fence, jumped over it in one fell swoop and rushed towards us to teach us a lesson.

Lelya and I set a streak.

We ran screaming across the garden towards the house.

But I tripped over a garden bed and sprawled out on the grass.

And then a passerby tore my ear quite hard.

I screamed loudly. But the passer-by, giving me two more slaps, calmly left the garden.

Our parents came running to the scream and noise.

Holding my reddened ear and sobbing, I went up to my parents and complained to them about what had happened.

My mother wanted to call the janitor so that she and the janitor could catch up with the passerby and arrest him.

And Lelya was about to rush after the janitor. But dad stopped her. And he said to her and mother:

- Don't call the janitor. And there is no need to arrest a passerby. Of course, it’s not the case that he tore Minka’s ears, but if I were a passer-by, I would probably have done the same.

Hearing these words, mom got angry with dad and said to him:

- You are a terrible egoist!

Lelya and I also got angry with dad and didn’t tell him anything. I just rubbed my ear and started crying. And Lelka also whimpered. And then my mother, taking me in her arms, said to my father:

- Instead of standing up for a passerby and bringing children to tears, you would better explain to them what is wrong with what they did. Personally, I don’t see this and regard everything as innocent children’s fun.

And dad couldn’t find what to answer. He just said:

- The children will grow up big and someday they will find out for themselves why this is bad.

And so the years passed. Five years have passed. Then ten years passed. And finally twelve years have passed.

Twelve years passed, and from a little boy I turned into a young student of about eighteen.

Of course, I forgot to even think about this incident. More interesting thoughts came into my head then.

But one day this is what happened.

In the spring, after finishing the exams, I went to the Caucasus. At that time, many students took some kind of job for the summer and went somewhere. And I also took a position for myself - a train controller.

I was a poor student and had no money. And here they gave me a free ticket to the Caucasus and, in addition, paid a salary. And so I took this job. And I went.

I first come to the city of Rostov in order to go to the department and get money, documents and ticket pliers there.

And our train was late. And instead of the morning he came at five o’clock in the evening.

I deposited my suitcase. And I took the tram to the office.

I come there. The doorman tells me:

- Unfortunately, we're late, young man. The office is already closed.

- “How come,” I say, “it’s closed.” I need to get money and ID today.

Doorman says:

- Everyone has already left. Come the day after tomorrow.

- How so, - I say, - the day after tomorrow? Then I’d better come by tomorrow.

Doorman says:

- Tomorrow is a holiday, the office is closed. And the day after tomorrow come and get everything you need.

I went outside. And I stand. I don't know what to do.

There are two days ahead. There is no money in my pocket - only three kopecks left. The city is foreign - no one knows me here. And where I should stay is unknown. And what to eat is unclear.

I ran to the station to take some shirt or towel from my suitcase to sell at the market. But at the station they told me:

- Before you take your suitcase, pay for storage, and then take it and do with it what you want.

I had nothing except three kopecks, and I could not pay for storage. And he went out into the street even more upset.

No, I wouldn’t be so confused now. And then I was terribly confused. I’m walking, wandering down the street, I don’t know where, and I’m grieving.

And so I’m walking down the street and suddenly I see on the panel: what is this? Small red plush wallet. And, apparently, not empty, but tightly packed with money.

For one moment I stopped. Thoughts, each more joyful than the other, flashed through my head. I mentally saw myself in a bakery drinking a glass of coffee. And then in the hotel on the bed, with a bar of chocolate in his hands.

I took a step towards my wallet. And he held out his hand for him. But at that moment the wallet (or it seemed to me) moved a little away from my hand.

I reached out my hand again and was about to grab the wallet. But he moved away from me again, and quite far away.

Without realizing anything, I again rushed to my wallet.

And suddenly, in the garden, behind the fence, children's laughter was heard. And the wallet, tied by a thread, quickly disappeared from the panel.

I approached the fence. Some guys were literally rolling on the ground laughing.

I wanted to rush after them. And he already grabbed the fence with his hand in order to jump over it. But then in an instant I remembered a long-forgotten scene from my childhood life.

And then I blushed terribly. Moved away from the fence. And slowly walking, he wandered on.

Guys! Everything happens in life. These two days have passed.

In the evening, when it got dark, I went outside the city and there, in a field, on the grass, I fell asleep.

In the morning I got up when the sun rose. I bought a pound of bread for three kopecks, ate it and washed it down with some water. And all day, until evening, he wandered around the city uselessly.

And in the evening he came back to the field and spent the night there again. Only this time it’s bad because it started to rain and I got wet like a dog.

Early the next morning I was already standing at the entrance and waiting for the office to open.

And now it is open. I, dirty, disheveled and wet, entered the office.

The officials looked at me incredulously. And at first they didn’t want to give me money and documents. But then they gave me away.

And soon I, happy and radiant, went to the Caucasus.

Green lamp. Alexander Green

I

In London in 1920, in winter, on the corner of Piccadilly and One Lane, two well-dressed middle-aged people stopped. They had just left an expensive restaurant. There they had dinner, drank wine and joked with the artists from the Drurilensky Theater.

Now their attention was drawn to a motionless, poorly dressed man of about twenty-five, around whom a crowd began to gather.

- Stilton cheese! - the fat gentleman said disgustedly to his tall friend, seeing that he had bent down and was peering at the man lying down. - Honestly, you shouldn’t spend so much time on this carrion. He's drunk or dead.

- “I’m hungry... and I’m alive,” muttered the unfortunate man, rising to look at Stilton, who was thinking about something. - It was a faint.

Reimer! - said Stilton. - Here's a chance to make a joke. I came up with an interesting idea. I'm tired of ordinary entertainment, and there's only one way to joke well: making toys out of people.

These words were spoken quietly, so that the man lying and now leaning against the fence did not hear them.

Reimer, who did not care, shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, said goodbye to Stilton and went to while away the night at his club, and Stilton, with the approval of the crowd and with the help of a policeman, put the homeless man into a cab.

The crew headed to one of Gaystreet's taverns. The poor guy's name was John Eve. He came to London from Ireland to seek service or work. Yves was an orphan, raised in the family of a forester. Apart from primary school, he received no education. When Yves was 15 years old, his teacher died, the adult children of the forester left - some to America, some to South Wales, some to Europe, and Yves worked for some time for a farmer. Then he had to experience the work of a coal miner, a sailor, a servant in a tavern, and at the age of 22 he fell ill with pneumonia and, upon leaving the hospital, decided to try his luck in London. But competition and unemployment soon showed him that finding work was not so easy. He spent the night in parks, on wharves, became hungry, grew thin, and was, as we have seen, raised by Stilton, the owner of trading warehouses in the City.

Stilton, at the age of 40, experienced everything that a single person who does not know the worries about lodging and food can experience for money. He owned a fortune of 20 million pounds. What he came up with to do with Yves was complete nonsense, but Stilton was very proud of his invention, since he had the weakness of considering himself a man of great imagination and cunning imagination.

When Yves drank wine, ate well and told Stilton his story, Stilton said:

- I want to make you an offer that will immediately make your eyes sparkle. Listen: I’m giving you ten pounds on the condition that tomorrow you rent a room on one of the central streets, on the second floor, with a window onto the street. Every evening, exactly from five to twelve at night, on the windowsill of one window, always the same, there should be a lit lamp, covered with a green lampshade. While the lamp burns for the designated period of time, you will not leave the house from five to twelve, you will not receive anyone and you will not speak to anyone. In a word, the work is not difficult, and if you agree to do so, I will send you ten pounds every month. I won't tell you my name.

- “If you’re not joking,” answered Yves, terribly amazed at the proposal, “I agree to forget even my own name.” But tell me, please, how long will this prosperity of mine last?

- This is unknown. Maybe a year, maybe a lifetime.

- Even better. But - I dare to ask - why did you need this green illumination?

- Secret! - Stilton replied. - Great secret! The lamp will serve as a signal for people and things about which you will never know anything.

- Understand. That is, I don’t understand anything. Fine; drive the coin and know that tomorrow at the address I provided, John Eve will illuminate the window with a lamp!

Thus a strange deal took place, after which the tramp and the millionaire parted, quite satisfied with each other.

Saying goodbye, Stilton said:

- Write poste restante like this: “3-33-6.” Also keep in mind that who knows when, maybe in a month, maybe in a year, in a word, completely unexpectedly, suddenly you will be visited by people who will make you a wealthy person. Why this is and how - I have no right to explain. But it will happen...

- Damn it! - Yves muttered, looking after the cab that was taking Stilton away, and thoughtfully twirling the ten-pound ticket. - Either this man has gone crazy, or I am a special lucky guy. Promise such a heap of grace just for the fact that I burn half a liter of kerosene a day.

On the evening of the next day, one window of the second floor of the gloomy house No. 52 on River Street shone with a soft green light. The lamp was moved close to the frame.

Two passersby looked for a while at the green window from the sidewalk opposite the house; then Stilton said:

- So, my dear Reimer, when you are bored, come here and smile. There, outside the window, sits a fool. A fool, bought cheaply, in installments, for a long time. He will get drunk from boredom or go crazy... But he will wait, not knowing what. Yes, here he is!

Indeed, a dark figure, leaning his forehead against the glass, looked into the semi-darkness of the street, as if asking: “Who is there?” What should I expect? Who's coming?"

- However, you are also a fool, my dear,” said Reimer, taking his friend by the arm and dragging him towards the car. - What's funny about this joke?

- A toy... a toy made from a living person,” said Stilton, “the sweetest food!”

II

In 1928, a hospital for the poor, located on one of the outskirts of London, was filled with wild screams: an old man who had just been brought in, a dirty, poorly dressed man with an emaciated face, was screaming in terrible pain. He broke his leg when he tripped on the back stairs of a dark den.

The victim was taken to the surgical department. The case turned out to be serious, since a complex bone fracture caused rupture of blood vessels.

Based on the inflammatory process of the tissues that had already begun, the surgeon who examined the poor man concluded that surgery was necessary. It was immediately carried out, after which the weakened old man was laid on a bed, and he soon fell asleep, and when he woke up, he saw that the same surgeon who had deprived him of his right leg was sitting in front of him.

- So this is how we had to meet! - said the doctor, a serious, tall man with a sad look. - Do you recognize me, Mr. Stilton? - I am John Eve, whom you assigned to be on duty every day at the burning green lamp. I recognized you at first sight.

- A thousand devils! - Stilton muttered, peering. - What happened? Is this possible?

- Yes. Tell us what changed your lifestyle so dramatically?

- I went broke... several big losses... panic on the stock exchange... It's been three years since I became a beggar. What about you? You?

- “I lit a lamp for several years,” Yves smiled, “and at first out of boredom, and then with enthusiasm I began to read everything that came to hand. One day I opened an old anatomy that was lying on the shelf of the room where I lived, and I was amazed. A fascinating country of secrets of the human body opened up before me. Like a drunk, I sat all night reading this book, and in the morning I went to the library and asked: “What do you need to study to become a doctor?” The answer was mocking: “Study mathematics, geometry, botany, zoology, morphology, biology, pharmacology, Latin, etc.” But I stubbornly interrogated, and I wrote everything down for myself as a memory.

By that time, I had already been burning a green lamp for two years, and one day, returning in the evening (I did not consider it necessary, as at first, to sit hopelessly at home for 7 hours), I saw a man in a top hat who was looking at my green window, either with annoyance or with contempt. “Yves is a classic fool! - muttered that man, not noticing me. “He is waiting for the wonderful things that were promised... yes, at least he has hope, but I... I’m almost ruined!” It was you. You added: “Stupid joke. Shouldn't have thrown the money away."

I bought enough books to study, study and study, no matter what. I almost hit you on the street then, but I remembered that thanks to your mocking generosity I could become an educated person...

- What next? - Stilton asked quietly.

- Further? Fine. If the desire is strong, then the fulfillment will not slow down. In the same apartment there lived a student who took part in me and helped me, a year and a half later, pass the exams for admission to medical college. As you can see, I found myself capable person…

There was silence.

- “I haven’t come to your window for a long time,” said Yves Stilton, shocked by the story, “for a long time... a very long time.” But now it seems to me that the green lamp is still burning there... a lamp illuminating the darkness of the night. Forgive me.

Yves took out his watch.

- Ten o'clock. It’s time for you to sleep,” he said. - You'll probably be able to leave the hospital in three weeks. Then call me, maybe I’ll give you a job in our outpatient clinic: writing down the names of incoming patients. And when going down the dark stairs, light... at least a match.

July 11, 1930

Reflection of vanished years,

Relief from the yoke of life,

Eternal truths unfading light -

Tireless searching is the guarantee,

The joy of every new shift,

Indication of future roads -

This is a book. Long live the book!

A bright source of pure joys,

Securing a happy moment

Best friend if you're lonely -

This is a book. Long live the book!

Having emptied the pot, Vanya wiped it dry with a crust. He wiped the spoon with the same crust, ate the crust, stood up, bowed sedately to the giants and said, lowering his eyelashes:

Very grateful. I'm very pleased with you.

Maybe you want more?

No, I'm full.

Otherwise, we can put another pot on you,” Gorbunov said, winking, not without boasting. - This means nothing to us. Eh, shepherd boy?

“He doesn’t bother me anymore,” Vanya said shyly, and his blue eyes suddenly flashed a quick, mischievous glance from under his eyelashes.

If you don't want it, whatever you want. Your will. We have this rule: we don’t force anyone,” said Bidenko, known for his fairness.

But the vain Gorbunov, who loved for all people to admire the life of the scouts, said:

Well, Vanya, how did you like our grub?

“Good grub,” said the boy, putting a spoon in the pot, handle down, and collecting bread crumbs from the Suvorov Onslaught newspaper, spread out instead of a tablecloth.

Right, good? - Gorbunov perked up. - You, brother, won’t find such food from anyone in the division. Famous grub. You, brother, are the main thing, stick with us, the scouts. You will never be lost with us. Will you stick with us?

“I will,” the boy said cheerfully.

That's right, and you won't get lost. We'll wash you off in the bathhouse. We'll cut your hair. We'll arrange some uniforms so that you have the proper military appearance.

And, uncle, will you take me on a reconnaissance mission?

We'll take you on reconnaissance missions. Let's make you a famous intelligence officer.

I, uncle, am small. “I can climb everywhere,” Vanya said with joyful readiness. - I know every bush around here.

It's also expensive.

Will you teach me how to fire from a machine gun?

Why? The time will come - we will teach.

“I wish I could just shoot once, uncle,” said Vanya, looking greedily at the machine guns swinging on their belts from the incessant cannon fire.

You'll shoot. Don't be afraid. This won't happen. We will teach you all military science. Our first duty, of course, is to enroll you in all types of allowances.

How is it, uncle?

This, brother, is very simple. Sergeant Egorov will report about you to the lieutenant

Sedykh. Lieutenant Sedykh will report to the battery commander, Captain Enakiev, Captain Enakiev will order you to be included in the order. From this, it means that all types of allowance will go to you: clothing, welding, money. Do you understand?

Got it, uncle.

This is how we do it, scouts... Wait a minute! Where are you going?

Wash the dishes, uncle. Our mother always ordered us to wash the dishes after ourselves and then put them in the closet.

“She ordered correctly,” Gorbunov said sternly. - It’s the same in military service.

There are no porters in military service,” the fair Bidenko edifyingly noted.

However, wait a little longer to wash the dishes, we’ll drink tea now,” Gorbunov said smugly. - Do you respect drinking tea?

“I respect you,” said Vanya.

Well, you're doing the right thing. For us, as scouts, this is how it’s supposed to be: as soon as we eat, we immediately drink tea. It is forbidden! - Bidenko said. “We drink extra, of course,” he added indifferently. - We don't take this into account.

Soon a large copper kettle appeared in the tent - an object of special pride for the scouts, and also a source of eternal envy for the rest of the batteries.

It turned out that the scouts really didn’t take sugar into account. The silent Bidenko untied his duffel bag and placed a huge handful of refined sugar on the Suvorov Onslaught. Before Vanya had time to blink an eye, Gorbunov poured two large breasts of sugar into his mug, however, noticing the expression of delight on the boy’s face, he splashed a third breast. Know us, the scouts!

Vanya grabbed the tin mug with both hands. He even closed his eyes with pleasure. He felt as if in an extraordinary fairy tale world. Everything around was fabulous. And this tent, as if illuminated by the sun in the middle of a cloudy day, and the roar of a close battle, and the kind giants throwing handfuls of refined sugar, and the mysterious “all types of allowances” promised to him - clothing, food, money - and even the words “stewed pork” printed in large black letters on the mug.

Like? - asked Gorbunov, proudly admiring the pleasure with which the boy sipped the tea with carefully stretched lips.

Vanya couldn’t even answer this question intelligently. His lips were busy fighting the tea, hot as fire. His heart was full of wild joy that he would stay with the scouts, with these wonderful people who promise to give him a haircut, outfit him, and teach him how to fire a machine gun.

All the words were mixed up in his head. He just nodded his head gratefully, raised his eyebrows high and rolled his eyes, thereby expressing the highest degree of pleasure and gratitude.

(In Kataev “Son of the Regiment”)

If you think that I study well, you are mistaken. I study no matter. For some reason, everyone thinks that I am capable, but lazy. I don't know if I'm capable or not. But only I know for sure that I am not lazy. I spend three hours working on problems.

For example, now I’m sitting and trying with all my might to solve a problem. But she doesn’t dare. I tell my mom:

Mom, I can’t do the problem.

Don’t be lazy, says mom. - Think carefully, and everything will work out. Just think carefully!

She leaves on business. And I take my head with both hands and tell her:

Think, head. Think carefully... “Two pedestrians went from point A to point B...” Head, why don’t you think? Well, head, well, think, please! Well what is it worth to you!

A cloud floats outside the window. It is as light as feathers. There it stopped. No, it floats on.

Head, what are you thinking about?! Shame on you!!! “Two pedestrians went from point A to point B...” Lyuska probably left too. She's already walking. If she had approached me first, I would, of course, forgive her. But will she really fit, such a mischief?!

“...From point A to point B...” No, she won’t do. On the contrary, when I go out into the yard, she will take Lena’s arm and whisper to her. Then she will say: “Len, come to me, I have something.” They will leave, and then sit on the windowsill and laugh and nibble on seeds.

“...Two pedestrians left point A to point B...” And what will I do?.. And then I’ll call Kolya, Petka and Pavlik to play lapta. What will she do? Yeah, she'll play the Three Fat Men record. Yes, so loud that Kolya, Petka and Pavlik will hear and run to ask her to let them listen. They've listened to it a hundred times, but it's not enough for them! And then Lyuska will close the window, and they will all listen to the record there.

“...From point A to point... to point...” And then I’ll take it and fire something right at her window. Glass - ding! - and will fly apart. Let him know.

So. I'm already tired of thinking. Think, don’t think, the task will not work. Just an awfully difficult task! I'll take a walk a little and start thinking again.

I closed the book and looked out the window. Lyuska was walking alone in the yard. She jumped into hopscotch. I went out into the yard and sat down on a bench. Lyuska didn’t even look at me.

Earring! Vitka! - Lyuska immediately screamed. - Let's go play lapta!

The Karmanov brothers looked out the window.

“We have a throat,” both brothers said hoarsely. - They won't let us in.

Lena! - Lyuska screamed. - Len! Come out!

Instead of Lena, her grandmother looked out and shook her finger at Lyuska.

Pavlik! - Lyuska screamed.

No one appeared at the window.

Whoops! - Lyuska pressed herself.

Girl, why are you yelling?! - Someone's head poked out of the window. - A sick person is not allowed to rest! There is no peace for you! - And his head stuck back into the window.

Lyuska looked at me furtively and blushed like a lobster. She tugged at her pigtail. Then she took the thread off her sleeve. Then she looked at the tree and said:

Lucy, let's play hopscotch.

Come on, I said.

We jumped into hopscotch and I went home to solve my problem.

As soon as I sat down at the table, my mother came:

Well, how's the problem?

It doesn't work.

But you’ve been sitting over it for two hours already! This is just terrible! They give the children some puzzles!.. Well, show me your problem! Maybe I can do it? After all, I graduated from college. So. “Two pedestrians went from point A to point B...” Wait, wait, this problem is somehow familiar to me! Listen, you and your dad decided it last time! I remember perfectly!

How? - I was surprised. - Really? Oh, really, this is the forty-fifth problem, and we were given the forty-sixth.

At this point my mother became terribly angry.

This is outrageous! - Mom said. - This is unheard of! This is a disgrace! Where is your head?! What is she thinking about?!

(Irina Pivovarova “What is my head thinking about”)

Irina Pivovarova. Spring rain

I didn't want to study lessons yesterday. It was so sunny outside! Such a warm yellow sun! Such branches were swaying outside the window!.. I wanted to stretch out my hand and touch every sticky green leaf. Oh, how your hands will smell! And your fingers will stick together - you won’t be able to separate them from each other... No, I didn’t want to learn my homework.

I went outside. The sky above me was fast. Clouds were hurrying along it somewhere, and sparrows were chirping terribly loudly in the trees, and a large fluffy cat, and it was so good that it was spring!

I walked in the yard until the evening, and in the evening mom and dad went to the theater, and I, without having done my homework, went to bed.

The morning was dark, so dark that I didn’t want to get up at all. It's always like this. If it's sunny, I jump up immediately. I get dressed quickly. And the coffee is delicious, and mom doesn’t grumble, and dad jokes. And when the morning is like today, I can barely get dressed, my mother urges me on and gets angry. And when I have breakfast, dad makes comments to me that I’m sitting crookedly at the table.

On the way to school, I remembered that I had not done a single lesson, and this made me feel even worse. Without looking at Lyuska, I sat down at my desk and took out my textbooks.

Vera Evstigneevna entered. The lesson has begun. They'll call me now.

Sinitsyna, to the blackboard!

I shuddered. Why should I go to the board?

“I didn’t learn,” I said.

Vera Evstigneevna was surprised and gave me a bad grade.

Why do I have such a bad life in the world?! I'd rather take it and die. Then Vera Evstigneevna will regret that she gave me a bad mark. And mom and dad will cry and tell everyone:

“Oh, why did we go to the theater ourselves, and leave her all alone!”

Suddenly they pushed me in the back. I turned around. A note was thrust into my hands. I unfolded the long narrow paper ribbon and read:

“Lucy!

Don't despair!!!

A deuce is nothing!!!

You will correct the deuce!

I'll help you! Let's be friends with you! Only this is a secret! Not a word to anyone!!!

Yalo-kvo-kyl.”

It was as if something warm was poured into me immediately. I was so happy that I even laughed. Lyuska looked at me, then at the note and proudly turned away.

Did someone really write this to me? Or maybe this note is not for me? Maybe she is Lyuska? But on the reverse side it said: LYUSE SINITSYNA.

What a wonderful note! I have never received such wonderful notes in my life! Well, of course, a deuce is nothing! What are we talking about?! I'll just fix the two!

I re-read it twenty times:

“Let’s be friends with you...”

Well, of course! Of course, let's be friends! Let's be friends with you!! Please! I'm very glad! I really love it when people want to be friends with me!..

But who writes this? Some kind of YALO-KVO-KYL. Confused word. I wonder what it means? And why does this YALO-KVO-KYL want to be friends with me?.. Maybe I’m beautiful after all?

I looked at the desk. There was nothing beautiful.

He probably wanted to be friends with me because I'm good. So, am I bad, or what? Of course it's good! After all, no one wants to be friends with a bad person!

To celebrate, I nudged Lyuska with my elbow.

Lucy, but one person wants to be friends with me!

Who? - Lyuska asked immediately.

I don't know who. The writing here is somehow unclear.

Show me, I'll figure it out.

Honestly, won't you tell anyone?

Honestly!

Lyuska read the note and pursed her lips:

Some fool wrote it! I couldn't say my real name.

Or maybe he's shy?

I looked around the whole class. Who could have written the note? Well, who?.. It would be nice, Kolya Lykov! He is the smartest in our class. Everyone wants to be his friend. But I have so many C’s! No, he probably won't.

Or maybe Yurka Seliverstov wrote this?.. No, he and I are already friends. He would send me a note out of the blue!

During recess I went out into the corridor. I stood by the window and began to wait. It would be nice if this YALO-KVO-KYL made friends with me right now!

Pavlik Ivanov came out of the class and immediately walked towards me.

So, that means Pavlik wrote this? Only this was not enough!

Pavlik ran up to me and said:

Sinitsyna, give me ten kopecks.

I gave him ten kopecks so that he would get rid of it as soon as possible. Pavlik immediately ran to the buffet, and I stayed by the window. But no one else came.

Suddenly Burakov began walking past me. It seemed to me that he was looking at me strangely. He stopped nearby and began to look out the window. So, that means Burakov wrote the note?! Then I'd better leave right away. I can't stand this Burakov!

The weather is terrible,” Burakov said.

I didn't have time to leave.

“Yes, the weather is bad,” I said.

The weather couldn’t be worse,” said Burakov.

Terrible weather,” I said.

Then Burakov took an apple out of his pocket and bit off half with a crunch.

Burakov, let me take a bite,” I couldn’t resist.

“But it’s bitter,” Burakov said and walked down the corridor.

No, he didn't write the note. And thank God! You won’t find another greedy person like him in the whole world!

I looked after him contemptuously and went to class. I walked in and was stunned. On the board it was written in huge letters:

SECRET!!! YALO-KVO-KYL + SINITSYNA = LOVE!!! NOT A WORD TO ANYONE!

Lyuska was whispering with the girls in the corner. When I walked in, they all stared at me and started giggling.

I grabbed a rag and rushed to wipe the board.

Then Pavlik Ivanov jumped up to me and whispered in my ear:

I wrote this note to you.

You're lying, not you!

Then Pavlik laughed like a fool and yelled at the whole class:

Oh, it's hilarious! Why be friends with you?! All covered in freckles, like a cuttlefish! Stupid tit!

And then, before I had time to look back, Yurka Seliverstov jumped up to him and hit this idiot right in the head with a wet rag. Pavlik howled:

Oh, yes! I'll tell everyone! I’ll tell everyone, everyone, everyone about her, how she receives notes! And I’ll tell everyone about you! It was you who sent her the note! - And he ran out of the class with a stupid cry: - Yalo-kvo-kyl! Yalo-quo-kyl!

The lessons are over. Nobody ever approached me. Everyone quickly collected their textbooks, and the classroom was empty. Kolya Lykov and I were left alone. Kolya still couldn’t tie his shoelace.

The door creaked. Yurka Seliverstov stuck his head into the classroom, looked at me, then at Kolya and, without saying anything, left.

What if? What if Kolya wrote this after all? Is it really Kolya?! What happiness if Kolya! My throat immediately went dry.

If, please tell me,” I barely squeezed out, “it’s not you, by chance...

I didn’t finish because I suddenly saw Kolya’s ears and neck turn red.

Eh, you! - Kolya said without looking at me. - I thought you... And you...

Kolya! - I screamed. - Well, I...

You’re a chatterbox, that’s who,” said Kolya. -Your tongue is like a broom. And I don't want to be friends with you anymore. What else was missing!

Kolya finally managed to pull the lace, stood up and left the classroom. And I sat down in my place.

I'm not going anywhere. It's raining so badly outside the window. And my fate is so bad, so bad that it can’t get any worse! I'll sit here until nightfall. And I will sit at night. Alone in a dark classroom, alone in the whole dark school. That's what I need.

Aunt Nyura came in with a bucket.

“Go home, honey,” said Aunt Nyura. - At home, my mother was tired of waiting.

No one was waiting for me at home, Aunt Nyura,” I said and trudged out of class.

My bad fate! Lyuska is no longer my friend. Vera Evstigneevna gave me a bad grade. Kolya Lykov... I didn’t even want to remember about Kolya Lykov.

I slowly put on my coat in the locker room and, barely dragging my feet, went out into the street...

It was wonderful, the best spring rain in the world!!!

Funny, wet passers-by were running down the street with their collars raised!!!

And on the porch, right in the rain, stood Kolya Lykov.

Let’s go,” he said.

And off we went.

(Irina Pivovarova “Spring Rain”)

The front was far from the village of Nechaev. The Nechaev collective farmers did not hear the roar of guns, did not see how planes were fighting in the sky and how the glow of fires blazed at night where the enemy passed through Russian soil. But from where the front was, refugees walked through Nechaevo. They dragged sleds with bundles, hunched over under the weight of bags and sacks. The children walked and got stuck in the snow, clinging to their mothers' dresses. Homeless people stopped, warmed themselves in the huts and moved on.
One day at dusk, when the shadow of the old birch tree stretched all the way to the granary, they knocked on the Shalikhins’ hut.
The reddish, nimble girl Taiska rushed to the side window, buried her nose in the thawed area, and both her pigtails cheerfully lifted up.
- Two aunties! - she screamed. – One is young, wearing a scarf! And the other one is a very old lady, with a stick! And yet... look - a girl!
Pear, Taiska’s eldest sister, put aside the stocking she was knitting and also went to the window.
- She really is a girl. In a blue hood...
“Then go open it,” said the mother. – What are you waiting for?
Pear pushed Taiska:
- Go, what are you doing! Should all elders?
Taiska ran to open the door. People entered, and the hut smelled of snow and frost.
While the mother was talking to the women, while she was asking where they were from, where they were going, where the Germans were and where the front was, Grusha and Taiska looked at the girl.
- Look, in boots!
- And the stocking is torn!
“Look, she’s clutching her bag so tightly, she can’t even loosen her fingers.” What does she have there?
- Just ask.
- Ask yourself.
At this time, Romanok appeared from the street. The frost cut his cheeks. Red as a tomato, he stopped in front of the strange girl and stared at her. I even forgot to wash my feet.
And the girl in the blue hood sat motionless on the edge of the bench.
With her right hand she clutched to her chest a yellow handbag hanging over her shoulder. She silently looked somewhere at the wall and seemed to see and hear nothing.
The mother poured hot stew for the refugees and cut off a piece of bread.
- Oh, and wretches! – she sighed. – It’s not easy for us, and the child is struggling... Is this your daughter?
“No,” the woman answered, “a stranger.”
“They lived on the same street,” added the old woman.
The mother was surprised:
- Alien? Where are your relatives, girl?
The girl looked at her gloomily and did not answer.
“She has no one,” the woman whispered, “the whole family died: her father was at the front, and her mother and brother were here.”

Killed...
The mother looked at the girl and could not come to her senses.
She looked at her light coat, which the wind was probably blowing through, at her torn stockings, at her thin neck, plaintively white from under the blue hood...
Killed. Everyone is killed! But the girl is alive. And she is alone in the whole world!
The mother approached the girl.
- What is your name, daughter? – she asked tenderly.
“Valya,” the girl answered indifferently.
“Valya... Valentina...” the mother repeated thoughtfully. - Valentine...
Seeing that the women took up their knapsacks, she stopped them:
- Stay overnight today. It’s already late in the yard, and the snow has begun to drift – look how it’s sweeping away! And you'll leave in the morning.
The women remained. Mother made beds for tired people. She made a bed for the girl on a warm couch - let her warm up thoroughly. The girl undressed, took off her blue hood, poked her head into the pillow, and sleep immediately overcame her. So, when the grandfather came home in the evening, his usual place on the couch was occupied, and that night he had to lie down on the chest.
After dinner everyone calmed down very quickly. Only the mother tossed and turned on her bed and could not sleep.
At night she got up, lit a small blue lamp and quietly walked over to the bed. The weak light of the lamp illuminated the girl’s gentle, slightly flushed face, large fluffy eyelashes, dark hair with a chestnut tint, scattered across the colorful pillow.
- You poor orphan! – the mother sighed. “You just opened your eyes to the light, and how much grief has fallen upon you!” For such and such a small one!..
The mother stood next to the girl for a long time and kept thinking about something. I took her boots from the floor and looked at them - they were thin and wet. Tomorrow this little girl will put them on and go somewhere again... And where?
Early, when it was just dawning in the windows, the mother got up and lit the stove. Grandfather got up too: he didn’t like to lie down for a long time. It was quiet in the hut, only sleepy breathing could be heard and Romanok snored on the stove. In this silence, by the light of a small lamp, the mother spoke quietly with the grandfather.
“Let's take the girl, father,” she said. - I really feel sorry for her!
The grandfather put aside the felt boots he was mending, raised his head and looked thoughtfully at his mother.
– Take the girl?.. Will it be okay? - he answered. “We are from the countryside, and she is from the city.”
– Does it really matter, father? There are people in the city and people in the village. After all, she is an orphan! Our Taiska will have a girlfriend. Next winter they will go to school together...
The grandfather came up and looked at the girl:
- Well... Look. You know better. Let's at least take it. Just be careful not to cry with her later!
- Eh!.. Maybe I won’t pay.
Soon the refugees also got up and began to get ready to go. But when they wanted to wake up the girl, the mother stopped them:
- Wait, no need to wake me up. Leave your Valentine with me! If you find any relatives, tell me: he lives in Nechaev, with Daria Shalikhina. And I had three guys - well, there will be four. Maybe we'll live!
The women thanked the hostess and left. But the girl remained.
“Here I have another daughter,” said Daria Shalikhina thoughtfully, “daughter Valentinka... Well, we’ll live.”
This is how a new person appeared in the village of Nechaevo.

(Lyubov Voronkova “Girl from the City”)

Not remembering how she left the house, Assol fled to the sea, caught up in an irresistible

by the wind of the event; at the first corner she stopped almost exhausted; her legs were giving way,

breathing was interrupted and extinguished, consciousness was hanging on by a thread. Beside myself with fear of losing

will, she stamped her foot and recovered. At times the roof or the fence hid her from

scarlet sails; then, fearing that they had disappeared like a simple ghost, she hurried

pass the painful obstacle and, seeing the ship again, stopped with relief

take a breath.

Meanwhile, in Kaperna there was such confusion, such excitement, such

general unrest, which will not yield to the effect of famous earthquakes. Never before

the large ship did not approach this shore; the ship had the same sails, the name

which sounded like mockery; now they were clearly and irrefutably blazing with

the innocence of a fact that refutes all the laws of existence and common sense. Men,

women and children rushed to the shore in a hurry, who was wearing what; residents echoed

courtyard to courtyard, they jumped on each other, screamed and fell; soon formed near the water

a crowd, and Assol quickly ran into the crowd.

While she was away, her name flew among the people with nervous and gloomy anxiety, with

with evil fear. The men did most of the talking; muffled, snake hissing

the stunned women sobbed, but if one had already begun to crack - poison

got into my head. As soon as Assol appeared, everyone fell silent, everyone moved away from him in fear.

her, and she was left alone in the middle of the emptiness of the sultry sand, confused, ashamed, happy, with a face no less scarlet than her miracle, helplessly stretching out her hands to the tall

A boat full of tanned oarsmen separated from him; among them stood one whom she thought

It seemed now, she knew, she vaguely remembered from childhood. He looked at her with a smile,

which warmed and hurried. But thousands of last funny fears overcame Assol;

mortally afraid of everything - mistakes, misunderstandings, mysterious and harmful interference -

she ran waist-deep into the warm swaying waves, shouting: “I’m here, I’m here! It's me!"

Then Zimmer waved his bow - and the same melody rang through the nerves of the crowd, but on

this time in full, triumphant chorus. From the excitement, the movement of clouds and waves, the shine

water and distance, the girl could almost no longer distinguish what was moving: she, the ship, or

the boat - everything was moving, spinning and falling.

But the oar splashed sharply near her; she raised her head. Gray bent over, her hands

grabbed his belt. Assol closed her eyes; then, quickly opening his eyes, boldly

smiled at his shining face and, out of breath, said:

Absolutely like that.

And you too, my child! - Gray said, taking the wet jewel out of the water. -

Here I come. Do you recognize me?

She nodded, holding onto his belt, with a new soul and tremblingly closed eyes.

Happiness sat inside her like a fluffy kitten. When Assol decided to open her eyes,

the rocking of the boat, the shine of the waves, the approaching, powerfully tossing board of the "Secret" -

everything was a dream, where the light and water swayed, swirling like a game sunbeams on

beaming wall. Not remembering how, she climbed the ladder in Gray's strong arms.

The deck, covered and hung with carpets, in the scarlet splashes of the sails, was like a heavenly garden.

And soon Assol saw that she was standing in the cabin - in a room that could no longer be better

Then from above, shaking and burying the heart in her triumphant cry, she rushed again

great music. Again Assol closed her eyes, afraid that all this would disappear if she

look. Gray took her hands, and, already knowing where it was safe to go, she hid

a face wet with tears on the chest of a friend who came so magically. Carefully, but with laughter,

himself shocked and surprised that an inexpressible, inaccessible to anyone, had occurred

precious minute, Gray lifted his chin up, this dream that had long, long ago

The girl's face and eyes finally opened clearly. They had all the best of a person.

Will you take my Longren to us? - she said.

Yes. - And he kissed her so hard following his iron “yes” that she

laughed.

(A. Green. “Scarlet Sails”)

By the end of the school year, I asked my father to buy me a two-wheeler, a battery-powered submachine gun, a battery-powered airplane, a flying helicopter, and a table hockey game.

I really want to have these things! - I told my father. “They constantly spin in my head like a carousel, and it makes my head so dizzy that it’s hard to stay on my feet.”

Hold on, - said the father, - don’t fall, and write all these things on a piece of paper for me so that I don’t forget.

But why write, they are already firmly in my head.

Write,” said the father, “it doesn’t cost you anything.”

“In general, it’s worth nothing,” I said, “just extra hassle.” - And I wrote in capital letters on the entire sheet:

VILISAPET

PISTAL GUN

PLANE

VIRTALET

HAKEI

Then I thought about it and decided to write “ice cream”, went to the window, looked at the sign opposite and added:

ICE CREAM

The father read it and said:

I'll buy you some ice cream for now, and we'll wait for the rest.

I thought he had no time now, and I asked:

Until what time?

Until better times.

Until what?

Until the next end of the school year.

Why?

Yes, because the letters in your head are spinning like a carousel, this makes you dizzy, and the words are not on their own feet.

It's as if words have legs!

And they’ve bought me ice cream a hundred times already.

(Victor Galyavkin “Carousel in the head”)

Rose.

The last days of August... Autumn has already arrived.
The sun was setting. A sudden gusty downpour, without thunder and without lightning, had just rushed over our wide plain.
The garden in front of the house was burning and smoking, all flooded with the fire of dawn and the deluge of rain.
She was sitting at the table in the living room and looking into the garden through the half-open door with persistent thoughtfulness.
I knew what was happening in her soul then; I knew that after a short, albeit painful, struggle, at that very moment she surrendered to a feeling with which she could no longer cope.
Suddenly she got up, quickly went out into the garden and disappeared.
An hour has struck... another has struck; she didn't return.
Then I got up and, leaving the house, went along the alley, along which - I had no doubt - she also went.
Everything went dark around; the night has already come. But on the damp sand of the path, shining brightly even through the diffuse darkness, a roundish object could be seen.
I bent down... It was a young, slightly blossoming rose. Two hours ago I saw this very rose on her chest.
I carefully picked up the flower that had fallen into the dirt and, returning to the living room, placed it on the table in front of her chair.
So she came back at last - and, with easy steps Having walked the entire room, she sat down at the table.
Her face turned pale and came to life; the lowered, like diminished eyes ran around quickly, with cheerful embarrassment.
She saw a rose, grabbed it, looked at its crumpled, stained petals, looked at me - and her eyes, suddenly stopping, shone with tears.
-What are you crying about? - I asked.
- Yes, about this rose. Look what happened to her.
Here I decided to show my thoughtfulness.
“Your tears will wash away this dirt,” I said with a significant expression.
“Tears don’t wash, tears burn,” she answered and, turning to the fireplace, threw a flower into the dying flame.
“Fire will burn even better than tears,” she exclaimed, not without boldness, “and the crossed eyes, still sparkling with tears, laughed boldly and happily.
I realized that she too had been burned. (I.S. Turgenev “ROSE”)

I SEE YOU PEOPLE!

- Hello, Bezhana! Yes, it’s me, Sosoya... I haven’t been with you for a long time, my Bezhana! Excuse me!.. Now I’ll put everything in order here: I’ll clear the grass, straighten the cross, repaint the bench... Look, the rose has already faded... Yes, quite a bit of time has passed... And how much news I have for you, Bezhana! I don't know where to start! Wait a little, I’ll pull out this weed and tell you everything in order...

Well, my dear Bezhana: the war is over! Our village is unrecognizable now! The guys have returned from the front, Bezhana! Gerasim's son returned, Nina's son returned, Minin Evgeniy returned, and Nodar Tadpole's father returned, and Otia's father. True, he is missing one leg, but what does that matter? Just think, a leg!.. But our Kukuri, Lukain Kukuri, did not return. Mashiko's son Malkhaz also did not return... Many did not return, Bezhana, and yet we have a holiday in the village! Salt and corn appeared... After you, ten weddings took place, and at each I was among the guests of honor and drank great! Do you remember Giorgi Tsertsvadze? Yes, yes, the father of eleven children! So, George also returned, and his wife Taliko gave birth to a twelfth boy, Shukria. That was some fun, Bejana! Taliko was in a tree picking plums when she went into labor! Do you hear, Bejana? I almost died on a tree! I still managed to get downstairs! The child was named Shukriya, but I call him Slivovich. Great, isn't it, Bejana? Slivovich! What's worse than Georgievich? In total, after you, we had thirteen children... Yes, one more news, Bezhana, I know it will make you happy. Khatia's father took her to Batumi. She will have surgery and she will see! After? Then... You know, Bezhana, how much I love Khatia? So I'll marry her! Certainly! I'll celebrate a wedding, a big wedding! And we will have children!.. What? What if she doesn’t see the light? Yes, my aunt also asks me about this... I’m getting married anyway, Bezhana! She can’t live without me... And I can’t live without Khatia... Didn’t you love some Minadora? So I love my Khatia... And my aunt loves... him... Of course she loves, otherwise she wouldn’t ask the postman every day if there is a letter for her... She’s waiting for him! You know who... But you also know that he will not return to her... And I’m waiting for my Khatia. It makes no difference to me whether she returns as sighted or blind. What if she doesn't like me? What do you think, Bejana? True, my aunt says that I have matured, become prettier, that it is difficult to even recognize me, but... who the hell is not joking!.. However, no, it cannot be that Khatia doesn’t like me! She knows what I am like, she sees me, she herself has spoken about this more than once... I graduated from ten classes, Bezhana! I'm thinking of going to college. I’ll become a doctor, and if Khatia doesn’t get help in Batumi now, I’ll cure her myself. Right, Bejana?

– Has our Sosoya gone completely crazy? Who are you talking to?

- Ah, hello, Uncle Gerasim!

- Hello! What are you doing here?

- So, I came to look at Bezhana’s grave...

- Go to the office... Vissarion and Khatia have returned... - Gerasim lightly patted me on the cheek.

My breath was taken away.

- So how?!

“Run, run, son, meet me...” I didn’t let Gerasim finish, I took off from my place and rushed down the slope.

Faster, Sosoya, faster!.. So far, shorten the road along this beam! Jump!.. Faster, Sosoya!.. I'm running like I've never run in my life!.. My ears are ringing, my heart is ready to jump out of my chest, my knees are giving way... Don't you dare stop, Sosoya!.. Run! If you jump over this ditch, it means everything is fine with Khatia... You jumped over!.. If you run to that tree without breathing, it means everything is fine with Khatia... So... A little more... Two more steps... You made it!.. If you count to fifty without taking a breath - that means everything is fine with Khatia... One, two, three... ten, eleven, twelve... Forty-five, forty-six... Oh, how difficult...

- Khatiya-ah!..

Gasping, I ran up to them and stopped. I couldn't say another word.

- Soso! – Khatia said quietly.

I looked at her. Khatia's face was as white as chalk. She looked with her huge, beautiful eyes somewhere into the distance, past me, and smiled.

- Uncle Vissarion!

Vissarion stood with his head bowed and was silent.

- Well, Uncle Vissarion? Vissarion did not answer.

- Khatia!

“The doctors said that it is not possible to have surgery yet. They told me to definitely come next spring...” Khatia said calmly.

My God, why didn't I count to fifty?! My throat tickled. I covered my face with my hands.

- How are you, Sosoya? What's new with you?

I hugged Khatia and kissed her on the cheek. Uncle Vissarion took out a handkerchief, wiped his dry eyes, coughed and left.

- How are you, Sosoya? - Khatia repeated.

- Okay... Don't be afraid, Khatia... They'll have surgery in the spring, won't they? – I stroked Khatia’s face.

She narrowed her eyes and became so beautiful, such that the Mother of God herself would envy her...

- In the spring, Sosoya...

– Just don’t be afraid, Khatia!

– I’m not afraid, Sosoya!

– And if they cannot help you, I will do it, Khatia, I swear to you!

- I know, Sosoya!

– Even if not... So what? Do you see me?

- I see, Sosoya!

– What else do you need?

– Nothing more, Sosoya!

Where are you going, road, and where are you leading my village? Do you remember? One day in June you took away everything that was dear to me in the world. I asked you, dear, and you returned to me everything that you could return. I thank you, dear! Now it's our turn. You will take us, me and Khatia, and lead us to where your end should be. But we don't want you to end. Hand in hand we will walk with you to infinity. You will never again have to deliver news about us to our village in triangular letters and envelopes with printed addresses. We'll be back ourselves, dear! We will face the east, see the golden sun rise, and then Khatia will say to the whole world:

- People, it’s me, Khatia! I see you people!

(Nodar Dumbadze “I see you, people!..."

Near a large city, an old, sick man was walking along a wide road.

He staggered as he walked; his emaciated legs, tangling, dragging and stumbling, walked heavily and weakly, as if

strangers; his clothes hung in rags; his bare head fell onto his chest... He was exhausted.

He sat down on a roadside stone, leaned forward, leaned on his elbows, covered his face with both hands - and through his crooked fingers, tears dripped onto the dry, gray dust.

He recalled...

He remembered how he, too, had once been healthy and rich - and how he had spent his health, and distributed his wealth to others, friends and enemies... And now he does not have a piece of bread - and everyone has abandoned him, friends even before enemies... Should he really stoop to beg for alms? And he felt bitter and ashamed in his heart.

And the tears kept dripping and dripping, dappling the gray dust.

Suddenly he heard someone calling his name; he raised his tired head and saw a stranger in front of him.

The face is calm and important, but not stern; the eyes are not radiant, but light; the gaze is piercing, but not evil.

“You gave away all your wealth,” an even voice was heard... “But you don’t regret doing good?”

“I don’t regret it,” the old man answered with a sigh, “only now I’m dying.”

“And if there were no beggars in the world who extended their hand to you,” the stranger continued, “there would be no one for you to show your virtue over; could you not practice it?

The old man did not answer anything and became thoughtful.

“So don’t be proud now, poor man,” the stranger spoke again, “go, extend your hand, give other good people the opportunity to show in practice that they are kind.”

The old man started, raised his eyes... but the stranger had already disappeared; and in the distance a passer-by appeared on the road.

The old man approached him and extended his hand. This passerby turned away with a stern expression and did not give anything.

But another followed him - and he gave the old man a small alms.

And the old man bought himself some bread with the given pennies - and the piece he asked for seemed sweet to him - and there was no shame in his heart, but on the contrary: a quiet joy dawned on him.

(I.S. Turgenev “Alms”)

Happy

Yes, I was happy once.
I long ago defined what happiness is, a very long time ago - at the age of six. And when it came to me, I didn’t recognize it right away. But I remembered what it should be like, and then I realized that I was happy.
* * *
I remember: I am six years old, my sister is four.
We ran for a long time after lunch along the long hall, caught up with each other, screamed and fell. Now we are tired and quiet.
We stand nearby, looking out the window at the muddy spring twilight street.
Spring twilight is always alarming and always sad.
And we are silent. We listen to the crystals of the candelabra tremble as carts pass along the street.
If we were big, we would think about people's anger, about insults, about our love that we insulted, and about the love that we insulted ourselves, and about happiness that does not exist.
But we are children and we don't know anything. We just remain silent. We are terrified to turn around. It seems to us that the hall has already become completely dark and that this whole large, echoing house in which we live has darkened. Why is he so quiet now? Maybe everyone left it and forgot us, little girls, pressed against the window in a dark huge room?
(*61)Near my shoulder I see my sister’s frightened, round eye. She looks at me - should she cry or not?
And then I remember my impressions of today, so vivid, so beautiful, that I immediately forget and dark house, and a dim, dreary street.
- Lena! - I say loudly and cheerfully. - Lena! I saw a horse-drawn horse today!
I cannot tell her everything about the immensely joyful impression that the horse-drawn horse made on me.
The horses were white and ran quickly; the carriage itself was red or yellow, beautiful, there were a lot of people sitting in it, all strangers, so they could get to know each other and even play some quiet game. And behind on the step stood a conductor, all in gold - or maybe not all of it, but just a little, with buttons - and blew into a golden trumpet:
- Rram-rra-ra!
The sun itself rang in this pipe and flew out of it in golden-sounding splashes.
How can you tell it all? One can only say:
- Lena! I saw a horse-drawn horse!
And you don't need anything else. From my voice, from my face, she understood all the boundless beauty of this vision.
And really, everyone can jump into this chariot of joy and rush to the sound of the sun trumpet?
- Rram-rra-ra!
No, not everyone. Fraulein says that you need to pay for it. That's why they don't take us there. We are locked in a boring, musty carriage with a rattling window, smelling of morocco and patchouli, and are not even allowed to press our nose to the glass.
But when we are big and rich, we will only ride horse-drawn horses. We will, we will, we will be happy!

(Taffy. “Happy”)

Petrushevskaya Lyudmila

Kitten of the Lord God

And the boys’ guardian angel rejoiced, standing behind his right shoulder, because everyone knows that the Lord himself equipped the kitten into the world, just as he equips all of us, his children. And if the white light receives another creature sent by God, then this white light continues to live.

So, the boy grabbed the kitten in his arms and began to stroke it and gently press it to himself. And behind his left elbow stood a demon, who was also very interested in the kitten and the many possibilities associated with this particular kitten.

The guardian angel became worried and began to draw magical pictures: here the cat is sleeping on the boy’s pillow, here he is playing with a piece of paper, here he is going for a walk like a dog at his feet... And the demon pushed the boy under his left elbow and suggested: it would be nice to tie a tin can to the kitten’s tail! It would be nice to throw him into a pond and watch, dying of laughter, as he tries to swim out! Those bulging eyes! And many others different offers The devil brought the demon into the hot head of the kicked out boy while he was walking home with a kitten in his arms.

The Guardian Angel cried that theft would not lead to good, that thieves throughout the entire earth were despised and put in cages like pigs, and that it was a shame for a person to take someone else’s property - but it was all in vain!

But the demon was already opening the garden gate with the words “he will see and not come out” and laughed at the angel.

And the grandmother, lying in bed, suddenly noticed a kitten that climbed into her window, jumped onto the bed and turned on its little motor, smearing itself on the grandmother’s frozen feet.

The grandmother was glad to see him; her own cat was poisoned, apparently, by rat poison at her neighbors' dump.

The kitten purred, rubbed its head against its grandmother’s legs, received a piece of black bread from her, ate it and immediately fell asleep.

And we have already said that the kitten was not an ordinary one, but he was the kitten of the Lord God, and the magic happened at that very moment, there was a knock on the window, and the old woman’s son with his wife and child, hung with backpacks and bags, entered the hut: Having received his mother’s letter, which arrived very late, he did not answer, no longer hoping for mail, but demanded leave, grabbed his family and set off on a journey along the route bus - station - train - bus - bus - an hour’s walk through two rivers, through the forest and the field, and finally arrived.

His wife, rolling up her sleeves, began to sort out bags of supplies, prepare dinner, he himself, taking a hammer, moved to repair the gate, their son kissed his grandmother on the nose, took the kitten in his arms and went into the garden through the raspberries, where he met a stranger, and here the thief’s guardian angel grabbed his head, and the demon retreated, chattering his tongue and smiling impudently, and the unfortunate thief behaved in the same way.

The owner boy carefully placed the kitten on an overturned bucket, and he hit the kidnapper in the neck, and he rushed faster than the wind to the gate, which the grandmother’s son had just begun to repair, blocking the entire space with his back.

The demon slinked through the fence, the angel covered himself with his sleeve and began to cry, but the kitten warmly stood up for the child, and the angel helped to invent that the boy had not climbed into the raspberries, but after his kitten, which supposedly had run away. Or maybe the demon made it up, standing behind the fence and wagging his tongue, the boy did not understand.

In short, the boy was released, but the adult did not give him a kitten and told him to come with his parents.

As for the grandmother, fate still left her to live: in the evening she got up to meet the cattle, and the next morning she made jam, worrying that they would eat everything and there would be nothing to give her son to the city, and at noon she sheared a sheep and a ram in order to have time to knit mittens for the whole family and socks.

This is where our life is needed - this is how we live.

And the boy, left without a kitten and without raspberries, walked around gloomy, but that same evening he received a bowl of strawberries with milk from his grandmother for an unknown reason, and his mother read him a bedtime story, and his guardian angel was immensely happy and settled down in the sleeper’s head , like all six-year-old children.

Kitten of the Lord God

One grandmother in the village got sick, got bored and got ready for the next world.

Her son still did not come, did not answer the letter, so the grandmother prepared to die, released the cattle into the herd, put a can of clean water by the bed, put a piece of bread under the pillow, placed a filthy bucket closer and lay down to read prayers, and the guardian angel stood by in her heads.

And a boy and his mother came to this village.

Everything was fine with them, their own grandmother functioned, kept a vegetable garden, goats and chickens, but this grandmother did not particularly welcome it when her grandson picked berries and cucumbers in the garden: all this was ripe and ripe for supplies for the winter, for jam and pickles to the same grandson, and if necessary, the grandmother herself will give it.

This expelled grandson was walking around the village and noticed a kitten, small, big-headed and pot-bellied, gray and fluffy.

The kitten strayed towards the child and began to rub against his sandals, inspiring sweet dreams in the boy: how he would be able to feed the kitten, sleep with him, and play.

And the boys’ guardian angel rejoiced, standing behind his right shoulder, because everyone knows that the Lord himself equipped the kitten into the world, just as he equips all of us, his children.

And if the white light receives another creature sent by God, then this white light continues to live.

And every living creation is a test for those who have already settled in: will they accept the new one or not.

So, the boy grabbed the kitten in his arms and began to stroke it and gently press it to himself.

And behind his left elbow stood a demon, who was also very interested in the kitten and the many possibilities associated with this particular kitten.

The guardian angel became worried and began to draw magical pictures: here the cat is sleeping on the boy’s pillow, here he is playing with a piece of paper, here he is going for a walk like a dog, at his feet...

And the demon pushed the boy under his left elbow and suggested: it would be nice to tie a tin can to the kitten’s tail! It would be nice to throw him into a pond and watch, dying of laughter, as he tries to swim out! Those bulging eyes!

And many other different proposals were introduced by the demon into the hot head of the kicked out boy while he was walking home with a kitten in his arms.

And at home, the grandmother immediately scolded him, why was he carrying the flea into the kitchen, there was a cat sitting in the hut, and the boy objected that he would take it with him to the city, but then the mother entered into a conversation, and it was all over, the kitten was ordered take it away from where you got it and throw it over the fence there.

The boy walked with the kitten and threw it over all the fences, and the kitten cheerfully jumped out to meet him after a few steps and again jumped and played with him.

So the boy reached the fence of that grandmother, who was about to die with a supply of water, and again the kitten was abandoned, but then it immediately disappeared.

And again the demon pushed the boy by the elbow and pointed him to someone else’s good garden, where ripe raspberries and black currants hung, where gooseberries were golden.

The demon reminded the boy that the grandmother here was sick, the whole village knew about it, the grandmother was already bad, and the demon told the boy that no one would stop him from eating raspberries and cucumbers.

The guardian angel began to persuade the boy not to do this, but the raspberries turned so red in the rays of the setting sun!

The Guardian Angel cried that theft would not lead to good, that thieves throughout the entire earth were despised and put in cages like pigs, and that it was a shame for a person to take someone else’s property - but it was all in vain!

Then the guardian angel finally began to make the boy afraid that the grandmother would see from the window.

But the demon was already opening the garden gate with the words “he will see and not come out” and laughed at the angel.

The grandmother was plump, broad, with a soft, melodious voice. “I filled the whole apartment with myself!..” Borkin’s father grumbled. And his mother timidly objected to him: “ old man...Where can she go?” “I’ve lived in the world...” sighed the father. “She belongs in a nursing home—that’s where she belongs!”

Everyone in the house, not excluding Borka, looked at the grandmother as if she were a completely unnecessary person.

The grandmother was sleeping on the chest. All night she tossed and turned heavily, and in the morning she got up before everyone else and rattled dishes in the kitchen. Then she woke up her son-in-law and daughter: “The samovar is ripe. Get up! Have a hot drink on the way..."

She approached Borka: “Get up, my father, it’s time to go to school!” "For what?" – Borka asked in a sleepy voice. “Why go to school? The dark man is deaf and dumb - that’s why!”

Borka hid his head under the blanket: “Go, grandma...”

In the hallway, father shuffled with a broom. “Where did you put your galoshes, mother? Every time you poke into all corners because of them!”

The grandmother hurried to his aid. “Yes, here they are, Petrusha, in plain sight. Yesterday they were very dirty, I washed them and put them down.”

Borka would come home from school, throw his coat and hat into his grandmother’s arms, throw his bag of books on the table and shout: “Grandma, eat!”

The grandmother hid her knitting, hurriedly set the table and, crossing her arms on her stomach, watched Borka eat. During these hours, Borka somehow involuntarily felt his grandmother as one of his close friends. He willingly told her about his lessons and comrades. The grandmother listened to him lovingly, with great attention, saying: “Everything is fine, Boryushka: both bad and good are good. Bad things make a person stronger, good things make his soul bloom.”

Having eaten, Borka pushed the plate away from him: “Delicious jelly today! Have you eaten, grandma? “I ate, I ate,” the grandmother nodded her head. “Don’t worry about me, Boryushka, thank you, I’m well-fed and healthy.”

A friend came to Borka. The comrade said: “Hello, grandma!” Borka cheerfully nudged him with his elbow: “Let's go, let's go!” You don't have to say hello to her. She’s our old lady.” The grandmother pulled down her jacket, straightened her scarf and quietly moved her lips: “To offend - to hit, to caress - you have to look for words.”

And in the next room, a friend said to Borka: “And they always say hello to our grandmother. Both our own and others. She is our main one." “How is this the main one?” – Borka became interested. “Well, the old one... raised everyone. She cannot be offended. What's wrong with yours? Look, father will be angry for this.” “It won’t warm up! – Borka frowned. “He doesn’t greet her himself...”

After this conversation, Borka often asked his grandmother out of nowhere: “Are we offending you?” And he told his parents: “Our grandmother is the best of all, but lives the worst of all - no one cares about her.” The mother was surprised, and the father was angry: “Who taught your parents to condemn you? Look at me - I’m still small!”

The grandmother, smiling softly, shook her head: “You stupid people should be happy. Your son is growing up for you! I have outlived my time in the world, and your old age is ahead. What you kill, you won’t get back.”

* * *

Borka was generally interested in grandma’s face. There were different wrinkles on this face: deep, small, thin, like threads, and wide, dug out over the years. “Why are you so painted? Very old? - he asked. Grandma was thinking. “You can read a person’s life by its wrinkles, my dear, as if from a book. Grief and need are at play here. She buried her children, cried, and wrinkles appeared on her face. She endured the need, she struggled, and again there were wrinkles. My husband was killed in the war - there were many tears, but many wrinkles remained. A big rain even digs holes in the ground.”

I listened to Borka and looked in the mirror with fear: he had never cried enough in his life - would his whole face be covered with such threads? “Go away, grandma! - he grumbled. “You always say stupid things...”

* * *

For lately the grandmother suddenly hunched over, her back became round, she walked more quietly and kept sitting down. “It grows into the ground,” my father joked. “Don’t laugh at the old man,” the mother was offended. And she said to the grandmother in the kitchen: “What is it, mom, moving around the room like a turtle? Send you for something and you won’t come back.”

My grandmother died before the May holiday. She died alone, sitting in a chair with knitting in her hands: an unfinished sock lay on her knees, a ball of thread on the floor. Apparently she was waiting for Borka. The finished device stood on the table.

The next day the grandmother was buried.

Returning from the yard, Borka found his mother sitting in front of an open chest. All sorts of junk was piled on the floor. There was a smell of stale things. The mother took out the crumpled red shoe and carefully straightened it with her fingers. “It’s still mine,” she said and bent low over the chest. - My..."

At the very bottom of the chest, a box rattled - the same treasured one that Borka had always wanted to look into. The box was opened. The father took out a tight package: it contained warm mittens for Borka, socks for his son-in-law and a sleeveless vest for his daughter. They were followed by an embroidered shirt made of antique faded silk - also for Borka. In the very corner lay a bag of candy, tied with a red ribbon. There was something written on the bag in large block letters. The father turned it over in his hands, squinted and read loudly: “To my grandson Boryushka.”

Borka suddenly turned pale, snatched the package from him and ran out into the street. There, sitting down at someone else’s gate, he peered for a long time at the grandmother’s scribbles: “To my grandson Boryushka.” The letter "sh" had four sticks. “I didn’t learn!” – Borka thought. How many times did he explain to her that the letter “w” has three sticks... And suddenly, as if alive, the grandmother stood in front of him - quiet, guilty, having not learned her lesson. Borka looked back at his house in confusion and, holding the bag in his hand, wandered down the street along someone else’s long fence...

He came home late in the evening; his eyes were swollen from tears, fresh clay stuck to his knees. He put Grandma’s bag under his pillow and, covering his head with the blanket, thought: “Grandma won’t come in the morning!”

(V. Oseeva “Grandma”)

Excerpt from the story
Chapter II

My mommy

I had a mother, affectionate, kind, sweet. My mother and I lived in a small house on the banks of the Volga. The house was so clean and bright, and from the windows of our apartment we could see the wide, beautiful Volga, and huge two-story steamships, and barges, and a pier on the shore, and crowds of people walking who came out to this pier at certain hours to meet the arriving ships... And mommy and I went there, only rarely, very rarely: mommy gave lessons in our city, and she was not allowed to walk with me as often as I would like. Mommy said:

Wait, Lenusha, I’ll save up some money and take you along the Volga from our Rybinsk all the way to Astrakhan! Then we'll have a good time.
I was happy and waiting for spring.
By spring, mommy had saved up some money, and we decided to carry out our idea on the first warm days.
- As soon as the Volga is cleared of ice, you and I will go for a ride! - Mommy said, affectionately stroking my head.
But when the ice broke, she caught a cold and began to cough. The ice passed, the Volga cleared, but mommy kept coughing and coughing endlessly. She suddenly became thin and transparent, like wax, and she kept sitting by the window, looking at the Volga and repeating:
“The cough will go away, I’ll get better a little, and you and I will ride to Astrakhan, Lenusha!”
But the cough and cold did not go away; The summer was damp and cold this year, and every day mommy became thinner, paler and more transparent.
Autumn has come. September has arrived. Long lines of cranes stretched over the Volga, flying to warm countries. Mommy no longer sat by the window in the living room, but lay on the bed and shivered all the time from the cold, while she herself was hot as fire.
Once she called me over and said:
- Listen, Lenusha. Your mother will soon leave you forever... But don’t worry, dear. I will always look at you from heaven and will rejoice at the good deeds of my girl, and...
I didn’t let her finish and cried bitterly. And mommy started crying too, and her eyes became sad, sad, just like those of the angel I saw on the big icon in our church.
Having calmed down a little, mommy spoke again:
- I feel that the Lord will soon take me to Himself, and may His holy will be done! Be a smart girl without a mother, pray to God and remember me... You will go to live with your uncle, my brother, who lives in St. Petersburg... I wrote to him about you and asked him to shelter an orphan...
Something painfully painful when hearing the word “orphan” squeezed my throat...
I began to sob, cry and huddle by my mother’s bed. Maryushka (the cook who lived with us for nine years, from the very year I was born, and who loved mommy and me madly) came and took me to her place, saying that “mama needs peace.”
I fell asleep in tears that night on Maryushka’s bed, and in the morning... Oh, what happened in the morning!..
I woke up very early, I think around six o’clock, and wanted to run straight to mommy.
At that moment Maryushka came in and said:
- Pray to God, Lenochka: God took your mother to him. Your mom died.
- Mommy died! - I repeated like an echo.
And suddenly I felt so cold, cold! Then there was a noise in my head, and the whole room, and Maryushka, and the ceiling, and the table, and the chairs - everything turned over and began to spin before my eyes, and I no longer remember what happened to me after this. I think I fell on the floor unconscious...
I woke up when my mother was already lying in a large white box, in a white dress, with a white wreath on her head. An old, gray-haired priest read prayers, the singers sang, and Maryushka prayed at the threshold of the bedroom. Some old women came and also prayed, then looked at me with regret, shook their heads and mumbled something with their toothless mouths...
- Orphan! Orphan! - Also shaking her head and looking at me pitifully, Maryushka said and cried. The old women also cried...
On the third day, Maryushka took me to the white box in which Mommy was lying and told me to kiss Mommy’s hand. Then the priest blessed mommy, the singers sang something very sad; some men came up, closed the white box and carried it out of our house...
I cried loudly. But then old women I already knew arrived, saying that they were going to bury my mother and that there was no need to cry, but to pray.
The white box was brought to the church, we held mass, and then some people came up again, picked up the box and carried it to the cemetery. A deep black hole had already been dug there, into which mother’s coffin was lowered. Then they covered the hole with earth, placed a white cross over it, and Maryushka led me home.
On the way, she told me that in the evening she would take me to the station, put me on a train and send me to St. Petersburg to see my uncle.
“I don’t want to go to my uncle,” I said gloomily, “I don’t know any uncle and I’m afraid to go to him!”
But Maryushka said that it was a shame to tell the big girl like that, that mommy heard it and that my words hurt her.
Then I became quiet and began to remember my uncle’s face.
I never saw my St. Petersburg uncle, but there was a portrait of him in my mother’s album. He was depicted on it in a gold embroidered uniform, with many orders and with a star on his chest. He looked very important, and I was involuntarily afraid of him.
After dinner, which I barely touched, Maryushka packed all my dresses and underwear into an old suitcase, gave me tea and took me to the station.

Lydia Charskaya
NOTES OF A LITTLE GYMNASIUM STUDENT

Excerpt from the story
Chapter XXI
To the sound of the wind and the whistle of a snowstorm

The wind whistled, screeched, groaned and hummed in different ways. Either in a plaintive thin voice, or in a rough bass rumble, he sang his battle song. The lanterns flickered barely noticeably through the huge white flakes of snow that fell abundantly on the sidewalks, on the street, on carriages, horses and passers-by. And I kept walking and walking, forward and forward...
Nyurochka told me:
“You first have to go through a long, big street, where there are such tall houses and luxurious shops, then turn right, then left, then right again and left again, and then everything is straight, straight to the very end - to our house. You will recognize it right away. It’s right next to the cemetery, there’s also a white church... so beautiful.”
That's what I did. I walked straight, as it seemed to me, along a long and wide street, but I didn’t see any tall houses or luxury shops. Everything was obscured from my eyes by a white, shroud-like, living, loose wall of silently falling huge flakes of snow. I turned right, then left, then right again, doing everything with precision, as Nyurochka told me - and I kept walking, walking, walking endlessly.
The wind mercilessly ruffled the flaps of my burnusik, piercing me through and through with cold. Snow flakes hit my face. Now I was no longer walking as fast as before. My legs felt like they were filled with lead from fatigue, my whole body was shaking from the cold, my hands were numb, and I could barely move my fingers. Having turned right and left almost for the fifth time, I now went along the straight path. The quiet, barely noticeable flickering lights of lanterns came across me less and less often... The noise from the riding of horse-drawn horses and carriages in the streets died down significantly, and the path along which I walked seemed dull and deserted to me.
Finally the snow began to thin out; huge flakes did not fall so often now. The distance cleared up a little, but instead there was such a thick twilight all around me that I could barely make out the road.
Now neither the noise of driving, nor voices, nor the coachman's exclamations could be heard around me.
What silence! What dead silence!..
But what is it?
My eyes, already accustomed to the semi-darkness, now discern the surroundings. Lord, where am I?
No houses, no streets, no carriages, no pedestrians. In front of me is an endless, huge expanse of snow... Some forgotten buildings along the edges of the road... Some fences, and in front of me is something black, huge. It must be a park or a forest - I don’t know.
I turned back... Lights were flashing behind me... lights... lights... There were so many of them! Without end... without counting!
- Lord, this is a city! The city, of course! - I exclaim. - And I went to the outskirts...
Nyurochka said that they live on the outskirts. Well yes, of course! What darkens in the distance is the cemetery! There is a church there, and, just a short distance away, their house! Everything, everything turned out just as she said. But I was scared! What a stupid thing!
And with joyful inspiration I again walked forward vigorously.
But that was not the case!
My legs could hardly obey me now. I could barely move them from fatigue. The incredible cold made me tremble from head to toe, my teeth chattered, there was a noise in my head, and something hit my temples with all its might. To all this was added some strange drowsiness. I wanted to sleep so badly, I wanted to sleep so badly!
“Well, well, a little more - and you will be with your friends, you will see Nikifor Matveevich, Nyura, their mother, Seryozha!” - I mentally encouraged myself as best I could...
But this didn’t help either.
My legs could barely move, and now I had difficulty pulling them, first one, then the other, out of the deep snow. But they move more and more slowly, more and more quietly... And the noise in my head becomes more and more audible, and something hits my temples stronger and stronger...
Finally, I can’t stand it and fall onto a snowdrift that has formed on the edge of the road.
Oh, how good! How sweet it is to relax like this! Now I don’t feel tired or pain... Some kind of pleasant warmth spreads throughout my whole body... Oh, how good! I could just sit here and never leave! And if it weren’t for the desire to find out what happened to Nikifor Matveyevich, and to visit him, healthy or sick, I would certainly fall asleep here for an hour or two... I fell asleep soundly! Moreover, the cemetery is not far away... You can see it there. A mile or two, no more...
The snow stopped falling, the blizzard subsided a little, and the month emerged from behind the clouds.
Oh, it would be better if the moon didn’t shine and at least I wouldn’t know the sad reality!
No cemetery, no church, no houses - there is nothing ahead!.. Only the forest turns black like a huge black spot there in the distance, and the white dead field spreads around me like an endless veil...
Horror overwhelmed me.
Now I just realized that I was lost.

Leo Tolstoy

Swans

The swans flew in a herd from the cold side to the warm lands. They flew across the sea. They flew day and night, and another day and another night, without resting, they flew over the water. There was a full month in the sky, and the swans saw blue water far below them. All the swans were exhausted, flapping their wings; but they did not stop and flew on. Old, strong swans flew in front, and those who were younger and weaker flew behind. One young swan flew behind everyone. His strength weakened. He flapped his wings and could not fly any further. Then he, spreading his wings, went down. He descended closer and closer to the water; and his comrades further and further became whiter in the monthly light. The swan descended onto the water and folded its wings. The sea rose beneath him and rocked him. A flock of swans was barely visible as a white line on bright sky. And in the silence you could barely hear the sound of their wings ringing. When they were completely out of sight, the swan bent its neck back and closed its eyes. He did not move, and only the sea, rising and falling in a wide strip, lifted and lowered him. Before dawn, a light breeze began to sway the sea. And the water splashed into the white chest of the swan. The swan opened his eyes. The dawn reddened in the east, and the moon and stars became paler. The swan sighed, stretched out its neck and flapped its wings, rose up and flew, clinging to the water with its wings. He rose higher and higher and flew alone over the dark, rippling waves.

Paulo Coelho
Parable "The Secret of Happiness"

One merchant sent his son to learn the Secret of Happiness from the wisest of all people. The young man walked forty days through the desert and
Finally, he came to a beautiful castle that stood on the top of the mountain. There lived the sage whom he was looking for. However, instead of the expected meeting with a wise man, our hero found himself in a hall where everything was seething: merchants were coming in and out, people were talking in the corner, a small orchestra was playing sweet melodies and there was a table laden with the most exquisite dishes of the area. The sage talked with different people, and the young man had to wait about two hours for his turn.
The sage listened carefully to the young man's explanations about the purpose of his visit, but said in response that he did not have time to reveal to him the Secret of Happiness. And he invited him to take a walk around the palace and come again in two hours.
“However, I want to ask for one favor,” the sage added, handing the young man a small spoon into which he dropped two drops of oil. — Keep this spoon in your hand the entire time you walk so that the oil does not spill out.
The young man began to go up and down the palace stairs, not taking his eyes off the spoon. Two hours later he returned to the sage.
“Well,” he asked, “have you seen the Persian carpets that are in my dining room?” Have you seen the park that the head gardener took ten years to create? Have you noticed the beautiful parchments in my library?
The young man, embarrassed, had to admit that he did not see anything. His only concern was not to spill the drops of oil that the sage entrusted to him.
“Well, come back and get acquainted with the wonders of my Universe,” the sage told him. “You can’t trust a person if you don’t know the house in which he lives.”
Reassured, the young man took the spoon and again went for a walk around the palace; this time, paying attention to all the works of art hanging on the walls and ceilings of the palace. He saw gardens surrounded by mountains, the most delicate flowers, the sophistication with which each piece of art was placed exactly where it was needed.
Returning to the sage, he described in detail everything he saw.
- Where are the two drops of oil that I entrusted to you? - asked the Sage.
And the young man, looking at the spoon, discovered that all the oil had poured out.
- This is the only advice I can give you: The secret of Happiness is to look at all the wonders of the world, while never forgetting about two drops of oil in your spoon.

Leonardo da Vinci
Parable "NEVOD"

And once again the seine brought a rich catch. The fishermen's baskets were filled to the brim with chubs, carp, tench, pike, eels and a variety of other food items. Whole fish families
with their children and household members, were taken to market stalls and prepared to end their existence, writhing in agony on hot frying pans and in boiling cauldrons.
The remaining fish in the river, confused and gripped by fear, not even daring to swim, buried themselves deeper in the mud. How to live further? You can't handle the net alone. He is abandoned every day in the most unexpected places. He mercilessly destroys the fish, and eventually the entire river will be devastated.
- We must think about the fate of our children. No one but us will take care of them and deliver them from this terrible obsession,” reasoned the minnows who had gathered for a council under a large snag.
“But what can we do?” the tench asked timidly, listening to the speeches of the daredevils.
- Destroy the seine! - the minnows responded in unison. On the same day, the all-knowing nimble eels spread the news along the river
about making a bold decision. All fish, young and old, were invited to gather tomorrow at dawn in a deep, quiet pool, protected by spreading willows.
Thousands of fish of all colors and ages swam to the appointed place to declare war on the net.
- Listen carefully, everyone! - said the carp, which more than once managed to gnaw through the nets and escape from captivity. “The net is as wide as our river.” To keep it upright under water, lead weights are attached to its lower nodes. I order all the fish to split into two schools. The first should lift the sinkers from the bottom to the surface, and the second flock will firmly hold the upper nodes of the net. The pikes are tasked with chewing through the ropes with which the net is attached to both banks.
With bated breath, the fish listened to every word of their leader.
- I order the eels to immediately go on reconnaissance! - continued the carp. - They must establish where the net is thrown.
The eels went on a mission, and schools of fish huddled near the shore in agonizing anticipation. Meanwhile, the minnows tried to encourage the most timid and advised not to panic, even if someone fell into the net: after all, the fishermen would still not be able to pull him ashore.
Finally the eels returned and reported that the net had already been abandoned about a mile down the river.
And so, in a huge armada, schools of fish swam to the goal, led by the wise carp.
“Swim carefully!” the leader warned. “Keep your eyes open so that the current doesn’t drag you into the net.” Use your fins as hard as you can and brake on time!
A seine appeared ahead, gray and ominous. Seized by a fit of anger, the fish boldly rushed to attack.
Soon the seine was lifted from the bottom, the ropes holding it were cut by sharp pike teeth, and the knots were torn. But the angry fish did not calm down and continued to attack the hated enemy. Grasping the crippled, leaky net with their teeth and working hard with their fins and tails, they dragged it in different directions and tore it into small pieces. The water in the river seemed to be boiling.
The fishermen spent a long time scratching their heads about the mysterious disappearance of the net, and the fish still proudly tell this story to their children.

Leonardo da Vinci
Parable "PELICAN"
As soon as the pelican went in search of food, the viper sitting in ambush immediately crawled, stealthily, to its nest. The fluffy chicks slept peacefully, not knowing anything. The snake crawled close to them. Her eyes sparkled with an ominous gleam - and the reprisal began.
Having received a fatal bite each, the serenely sleeping chicks never woke up.
Satisfied with what she had done, the villainess crawled into hiding to enjoy the bird’s grief to the fullest.
Soon the pelican returned from hunting. At the sight of the brutal massacre committed against the chicks, he burst into loud sobs, and all the inhabitants of the forest fell silent, shocked by the unheard-of cruelty.
“Without you, I have no life now!” lamented the unhappy father, looking at the dead children. “Let me die with you!”
And he began to tear his chest with his beak, right to the heart. Hot blood streams gushed from the open wound, sprinkling the lifeless chicks.
Losing last strength, the dying pelican cast a farewell glance at the nest with the dead chicks and suddenly shuddered in surprise.
Oh miracle! His shed blood and parental love brought the dear chicks back to life, snatching them from the clutches of death. And then, happy, he gave up the ghost.

Lucky
Sergey Silin

Antoshka was running down the street, with his hands in his jacket pockets, tripped and, falling, managed to think: “I’ll break my nose!” But he didn’t have time to take his hands out of his pockets.
And suddenly, right in front of him, out of nowhere, a small, strong man the size of a cat appeared.
The man stretched out his arms and took Antoshka on them, softening the blow.
Antoshka rolled onto his side, got up on one knee and looked at the peasant in surprise:
- Who are you?
- Lucky.
-Who-who?
- Lucky. I will make sure that you are lucky.
- Does every person have a lucky person? - Antoshka asked.
“No, there aren’t that many of us,” the man answered. “We just go from one to the other.” From today I will be with you.
- I'm starting to get lucky! - Antoshka was happy.
- Exactly! - Lucky nodded.
- When will you leave me for someone else?
- When necessary. I remember I served one merchant for several years. And one pedestrian was helped for only two seconds.
- Yeah! - Antoshka thought. - So I need
anything to wish?
- No no! - The man raised his hands in protest. - I am not a wish-fulfiller! I just give a little help to the smart and hardworking. I just stay nearby and make sure the person is lucky. Where did my invisibility cap go?
He groped around with his hands, felt for the invisibility cap, put it on and disappeared.
-Are you here? - Antoshka asked, just in case.
“Here, here,” responded Lucky. - Don't mind
me attention. Antoshka put his hands in his pockets and ran home. And wow, I was lucky: I was in time for the start of the cartoon minute by minute!
An hour later my mother returned from work.
- And I received a prize! - she said with a smile. -
I'll go shopping!
And she went into the kitchen to get some bags.
- Mom got Lucky too? - Antoshka asked his assistant in a whisper.
- No. She's lucky because we're close.
- Mom, I'm with you! - Antoshka shouted.
Two hours later they returned home with a whole mountain of purchases.
- Just a streak of luck! - Mom was surprised, her eyes sparkling. - All my life I dreamed of such a blouse!
- And I’m talking about such a cake! - Antoshka responded cheerfully from the bathroom.
The next day at school he received three A's, two B's, found two rubles and made peace with Vasya Poteryashkin.
And when he returned home whistling, he discovered that he had lost the keys to the apartment.
- Lucky, where are you? - he called.
A tiny, scruffy woman peeked out from under the stairs. Her hair was disheveled, her nose, her dirty sleeve was torn, her shoes were asking for porridge.
- There was no need to whistle! - she smiled and added: “I’m unlucky!” What, you're upset, right?..
Don't worry, don't worry! The time will come, they will call me away from you!
“I see,” Antoshka said sadly. - A streak of bad luck begins...
- That's for sure! - Bad luck nodded joyfully and, stepping into the wall, disappeared.
In the evening, Antoshka received a scolding from his dad for losing his key, accidentally broke his mother’s favorite cup, forgot what he was assigned in Russian, and couldn’t finish reading a book of fairy tales because he left it at school.
And just in front of the window the phone rang:
- Antoshka, is that you? It's me, Lucky!
- Hello, traitor! - Antoshka muttered. - And who are you helping now?
But Lucky wasn’t the least bit offended by the “traitor.”
- To an old lady. Can you imagine, she had bad luck all her life! So my boss sent me to her.
Soon I will help her win a million rubles in the lottery, and I will return to you!
- Is it true? - Antoshka was happy.
“True, true,” answered Lucky and hung up.
That night Antoshka had a dream. It’s as if she and Lucky are dragging four string bags of Antoshka’s favorite tangerines from the store, and from the window of the house opposite, a lonely old woman smiles at them, lucky for the first time in her life.

Charskaya Lidiya Alekseevna

Lucina's life

Princess Miguel

“Far, far away, at the very end of the world, there was a large, beautiful blue lake, similar in color to a huge sapphire. In the middle of this lake, on a green emerald island, among myrtle and wisteria, intertwined with green ivy and flexible vines, stood a high rock. On it stood a marble a palace, behind which there was a wonderful garden, fragrant with fragrance. It was a very special garden, which can only be found in fairy tales.

The owner of the island and the lands adjacent to it was the powerful king Ovar. And the king had a daughter, the beautiful Miguel, a princess, growing up in the palace...

A fairy tale floats and unfolds like a motley ribbon. A series of beautiful, fantastic pictures swirl before my spiritual gaze. Aunt Musya’s usually ringing voice is now reduced to a whisper. Mysterious and cozy in the green ivy gazebo. The lacy shadow of the trees and bushes surrounding her cast moving spots on the pretty face of the young storyteller. This fairy tale is my favorite. Since the day my dear nanny Fenya, who knew how to tell me so well about the girl Thumbelina, left us, I have listened with pleasure to the only fairy tale about Princess Miguel. I love my princess dearly, despite all her cruelty. Is it her fault, this green-eyed, soft pink and golden-haired princess, that when she was born, the fairies, instead of a heart, put a piece of diamond in her small childish breast? And that the direct consequence of this was the complete absence of pity in the princess’s soul. But how beautiful she was! She was beautiful even in those moments when, with the movement of her tiny white hand, she sent people to a cruel death. Those people who accidentally ended up in the princess’s mysterious garden.

In that garden, among the roses and lilies, there were small children. Motionless pretty elves chained with silver chains to golden pegs, they guarded that garden, and at the same time they plaintively rang with their bell-like voices.

Let us go free! Let go, beautiful princess Miguel! Let us go! - Their complaints sounded like music. And this music had a pleasant effect on the princess, and she often laughed at the pleas of her little captives.

But their plaintive voices touched the hearts of people passing by the garden. And they looked into the princess’s mysterious garden. Ah, it was no joy that they appeared here! With each such appearance of an uninvited guest, the guards ran out, grabbed the visitor and, on the orders of the princess, threw him into the lake from a cliff

And Princess Miguel laughed only in response to the desperate cries and groans of the drowning...

Even now I still cannot understand how my pretty, cheerful aunt came up with a fairy tale so terrible in essence, so gloomy and heavy! The heroine of this fairy tale, Princess Miguel, was, of course, an invention of the sweet, slightly flighty, but very kind Aunt Musya. Oh, it doesn’t matter, let everyone think that this fairy tale is a fiction, princess Miguel herself is a fiction, but she, my wondrous princess, is firmly entrenched in my impressionable heart... Whether she ever existed or not, what do I really care about? there was a time when I loved her, my beautiful cruel Miguel! I saw her in a dream more than once, I saw her golden hair the color of a ripe ear, her green, like a forest pool, deep eyes.

That year I turned six years old. I was already dismantling warehouses and, with the help of Aunt Musya, instead of sticks, I wrote clumsy, lopsided letters. And I already understood beauty. The fabulous beauty of nature: sun, forest, flowers. And my eyes lit up with delight when I saw a beautiful picture or an elegant illustration on a magazine page.

Aunt Musya, dad and grandmother tried from my very early age to develop aesthetic taste in me, drawing my attention to what for other children passed without a trace.

Look, Lyusenka, what a beautiful sunset! You see how wonderfully the crimson sun sinks in the pond! Look, look, now the water has turned completely scarlet. And the surrounding trees seem to be on fire.

I look and seethe with delight. Indeed, scarlet water, scarlet trees and scarlet sun. What a beauty!

Yu.Yakovlev Girls from Vasilyevsky Island

I'm Valya Zaitseva from Vasilyevsky Island.

There is a hamster living under my bed. He will stuff his cheeks full, in reserve, sit on his hind legs and look with black buttons... Yesterday I beat one boy. I gave him a good bream. We, Vasileostrovsk girls, know how to stand up for ourselves when necessary...

It’s always windy here on Vasilyevsky. The rain is falling. Wet snow is falling. Floods happen. And our island floats like a ship: on the left is the Neva, on the right is the Nevka, in front is the open sea.

I have a friend - Tanya Savicheva. We are neighbors. She is from the Second Line, building 13. Four windows on the first floor. There is a bakery nearby, a kerosene shop in the basement... Now there is no shop, but in Tanino, when I was not yet alive, there was always a smell of kerosene on the ground floor. They told me.

Tanya Savicheva was the same age as I am now. She could have grown up long ago and become a teacher, but she would forever remain a girl... When my grandmother sent Tanya to get kerosene, I was not there. And she went to the Rumyantsevsky Garden with another friend. But I know everything about her. They told me.

She was a songbird. She always sang. She wanted to recite poetry, but she stumbled over her words: she would stumble, and everyone would think that she had forgotten the right word. My friend sang because when you sing, you don't stutter. She couldn’t stutter, she was going to become a teacher, like Linda Augustovna.

She always played teacher. He will put a large grandmother’s scarf on his shoulders, clasp his hands and walk from corner to corner. “Children, today we will review with you...” And then he stumbles on a word, blushes and turns to the wall, although there is no one in the room.

They say there are doctors who treat stuttering. I would find one like that. We, Vasileostrovsk girls, will find anyone you want! But now the doctor is no longer needed. She stayed there... my friend Tanya Savicheva. She was taken from besieged Leningrad to the mainland, and the road, called the Road of Life, could not give Tanya life.

The girl died of hunger... Does it matter whether you die from hunger or from a bullet? Maybe hunger hurts even more...

I decided to find the Road of Life. I went to Rzhevka, where this road begins. I walked two and a half kilometers - there the guys were building a monument to the children who died during the siege. I also wanted to build.

Some adults asked me:

- Who are you?

— I’m Valya Zaitseva from Vasilyevsky Island. I also want to build.

I was told:

- It is forbidden! Come with your area.

I didn't leave. I looked around and saw a baby, a tadpole. I grabbed it:

— Did he also come with his region?

- He came with his brother.

You can do it with your brother. With the region it is possible. But what about being alone?

I told them:

- You see, I don’t just want to build. I want to build for my friend... Tanya Savicheva.

They rolled their eyes. They didn't believe it. They asked again:

— Is Tanya Savicheva your friend?

-What's special here? We are the same age. Both are from Vasilyevsky Island.

- But she’s not there...

Until what stupid people, and also adults! What does “no” mean if we are friends? I told them to understand:

- We have everything in common. Both the street and the school. We have a hamster. He'll stuff his cheeks...

I noticed that they didn't believe me. And so that they would believe, she blurted out:

“We even have the same handwriting!”

- Handwriting? - They were even more surprised.

- And what? Handwriting!

Suddenly they became cheerful because of the handwriting:

- This is very good! This is a real find. Come with us.

- I'm not going anywhere. I want to build...

- You will build! You will write for the monument in Tanya’s handwriting.

“I can,” I agreed. - Only I don’t have a pencil. Will you give it?

- You will write on concrete. You don't write on concrete with a pencil.

I've never written on concrete. I wrote on the walls, on the asphalt, but they brought me to the concrete plant and gave me Tanya’s diary - a notebook with the alphabet: a, b, c... I have the same book. For forty kopecks.

I picked up Tanya’s diary and opened the page. It was written there:

I felt cold. I wanted to give them the book and leave.

But I am Vasileostrovskaya. And if a friend’s older sister died, I should stay with her and not run away.

- Give me your concrete. I will write.

The crane lowered a huge frame of thick gray dough to my feet. I took a stick, squatted down and began to write. The concrete was cold. It was difficult to write. And they told me:

- Take your time.

I made mistakes, smoothed the concrete with my palm and wrote again.

I didn't do well.

- Take your time. Write calmly.

While I was writing about Zhenya, my grandmother died.

If you just want to eat, it’s not hunger - eat an hour later.

I tried fasting from morning to evening. I endured it. Hunger - when day after day your head, hands, heart - everything you have goes hungry. First he starves, then he dies.

Leka had his own corner, fenced off with cabinets, where he drew.

He earned money by drawing and studied. He was quiet and short-sighted, wore glasses, and kept creaking his pen. They told me.

Where did he die? Probably in the kitchen, where the potbelly stove smoked like a small weak locomotive, where they slept and ate bread once a day. A small piece is like a cure for death. Leka didn't have enough medicine...

“Write,” they told me quietly.

In the new frame, the concrete was liquid, it crawled onto the letters. And the word “died” disappeared. I didn't want to write it again. But they told me:

- Write, Valya Zaitseva, write.

And I wrote again - “died.”

I am very tired of writing the word “died”. I knew that with each page of Tanya Savicheva’s diary it was getting worse. She stopped singing a long time ago and did not notice that she stuttered. She no longer played teacher. But she didn’t give up - she lived. They told me... Spring has come. The trees have turned green. We have a lot of trees on Vasilyevsky. Tanya dried out, froze, became thin and light. Her hands were shaking and her eyes hurt from the sun. The Nazis killed half of Tanya Savicheva, and maybe more than half. But her mother was with her, and Tanya held on.

- Why don’t you write? - they told me quietly. - Write, Valya Zaitseva, otherwise the concrete will harden.

For a long time I did not dare to open a page with the letter “M”. On this page Tanya’s hand wrote: “Mom May 13 at 7.30 o’clock.

morning 1942." Tanya did not write the word “died”. She didn't have the strength to write the word.

I gripped the wand tightly and touched the concrete. I didn’t look in my diary, but wrote it by heart. It's good that we have the same handwriting.

I wrote with all my might. The concrete became thick, almost frozen. He no longer crawled onto the letters.

-Can you still write?

“I’ll finish writing,” I answered and turned away so that my eyes could not see. After all, Tanya Savicheva is my... friend.

Tanya and I are the same age, we, Vasileostrovsky girls, know how to stand up for ourselves when necessary. If she had not been from Vasileostrovsk, from Leningrad, she would not have lasted so long. But she lived, which means she didn’t give up!

I opened page “C”. There were two words: “The Savichevs died.”

I opened the page “U” - “Everyone died.” The last page of Tanya Savicheva’s diary began with the letter “O” - “There is only Tanya left.”

And I imagined that it was me, Valya Zaitseva, who was left alone: ​​without mom, without dad, without my sister Lyulka. Hungry. Under fire.

In an empty apartment on the Second Line. I wanted to cross out this last page, but the concrete hardened and the stick broke.

And suddenly I asked Tanya Savicheva to myself: “Why alone?

What about me? You have a friend - Valya Zaitseva, your neighbor from Vasilyevsky Island. You and I will go to the Rumyantsevsky Garden, run around, and when you get tired, I’ll bring my grandmother’s scarf from home and we’ll play teacher Linda Augustovna. There is a hamster living under my bed. I'll give it to you for your birthday. Do you hear, Tanya Savicheva?”

Someone put his hand on my shoulder and said:

- Let's go, Valya Zaitseva. You did everything you needed to do. Thank you.

I didn’t understand why they were saying “thank you” to me. I said:

- I’ll come tomorrow... without my area. Can?

“Come without a district,” they told me. - Come.

My friend Tanya Savicheva did not shoot at the Nazis and was not a scout for the partisans. She just lived in hometown at the most difficult time. But perhaps the reason the Nazis did not enter Leningrad was because Tanya Savicheva lived there and there were many other girls and boys who remained forever in their time. And today’s guys are friends with them, just as I am friends with Tanya.

But they are only friends with the living.

Vladimir Zheleznyakov “Scarecrow”

A circle of their faces flashed in front of me, and I rushed around in it, like a squirrel in a wheel.

I should stop and leave.

The boys attacked me.

“For her legs! - Valka yelled. - For your legs!..”

They knocked me down and grabbed me by the legs and arms. I kicked and kicked as hard as I could, but they grabbed me and dragged me into the garden.

Iron Button and Shmakova dragged out a scarecrow mounted on a long stick. Dimka came out after them and stood to the side. The stuffed animal was in my dress, with my eyes, with my mouth from ear to ear. The legs were made of stockings stuffed with straw; instead of hair, there was tow and some feathers sticking out. On my neck, that is, the scarecrow, dangled a plaque with the words: “SCACHERY IS A TRAITOR.”

Lenka fell silent and somehow completely faded away.

Nikolai Nikolaevich realized that the limit of her story and the limit of her strength had come.

“And they were having fun around the stuffed animal,” said Lenka. - They jumped and laughed:

“Wow, our beauty-ah!”

“I waited!”

“I came up with an idea! I came up with an idea! - Shmakova jumped for joy. “Let Dimka light the fire!”

After these words from Shmakova, I completely stopped being afraid. I thought: if Dimka sets it on fire, then maybe I’ll just die.

And at this time Valka - he was the first to succeed everywhere - stuck the scarecrow into the ground and sprinkled brushwood around it.

“I don’t have matches,” Dimka said quietly.

“But I have it!” - Shaggy put matches in Dimka’s hand and pushed him towards the scarecrow.

Dimka stood near the scarecrow, his head bowed low.

I froze - I was waiting for the last time! Well, I thought he would look back and say: “Guys, Lenka is not to blame for anything... It’s all me!”

“Set it on fire!” - ordered the Iron Button.

I couldn’t stand it and screamed:

“Dimka! No need, Dimka-ah-ah!..”

And he was still standing near the scarecrow - I could see his back, he was hunched over and seemed somehow small. Maybe because the scarecrow was on a long stick. Only he was small and weak.

“Well, Somov! - said the Iron Button. “Finally, go to the end!”

Dimka fell to his knees and lowered his head so low that only his shoulders stuck out, and his head was not visible at all. It turned out to be some kind of headless arsonist. He struck a match and a flame of fire grew over his shoulders. Then he jumped up and hurriedly ran to the side.

They dragged me close to the fire. Without looking away, I looked at the flames of the fire. Grandfather! I felt then how this fire engulfed me, how it burned, baked and bited, although only waves of its heat reached me.

I screamed, I screamed so much that they let me out of surprise.

When they released me, I rushed to the fire and began to kick it around with my feet, grabbing the burning branches with my hands - I didn’t want the scarecrow to burn. For some reason I really didn’t want this!

Dimka was the first to come to his senses.

“Are you crazy? “He grabbed my hand and tried to pull me away from the fire. - This is a joke! Don’t you understand jokes?”

I became strong and easily defeated him. She pushed him so hard that he flew upside down - only his heels sparkled towards the sky. And she pulled the scarecrow out of the fire and began waving it over her head, stepping on everyone. The scarecrow had already caught fire, sparks were flying from it in different directions, and they all shied away in fear from these sparks.

They ran away.

And I got so dizzy, driving them away, that I couldn’t stop until I fell. There was a stuffed animal lying next to me. It was scorched, fluttering in the wind and that made it look like it was alive.

At first I lay with my eyes closed. Then she felt that she smelled something burning and opened her eyes - the scarecrow’s dress was smoking. I slammed my hand down on the smoldering hem and leaned back onto the grass.

There was a crunch of branches, retreating footsteps, and then there was silence.

"Anne of Green Gables" by Lucy Maud Montgomery

It was already quite light when Anya woke up and sat up in bed, looking confusedly out the window through which a stream of joyful sunlight was pouring and behind which something white and fluffy was swaying against the background of the bright blue sky.

At first, she couldn't remember where she was. At first she felt a delightful thrill, as if something very pleasant had happened, then a terrible memory appeared. It was Green Gables, but they didn’t want to leave her here because she was not a boy!

But it was morning, and outside the window stood a cherry tree, all in bloom. Anya jumped out of bed and in one leap found herself at the window. Then she pushed the window frame - the frame gave way with a creak, as if it had not been opened for a long time, which, however, was in fact - and sank to her knees, peering into the June morning. Her eyes sparkled with delight. Ah, isn't this wonderful? Isn't this a lovely place? If only she could stay here! She will imagine herself staying. There is room for imagination here.

A huge cherry tree grew so close to the window that its branches touched the house. It was so densely strewn with flowers that not a single leaf was visible. On both sides of the house there were large gardens, on one side an apple tree, on the other a cherry tree, all in bloom. The grass under the trees seemed yellow from the blooming dandelions. A little further away in the garden one could see lilac bushes, all in clusters of bright purple flowers, and the morning breeze carried their dizzyingly sweet aroma to Anya’s window.

Further beyond the garden, green meadows covered with lush clover descended to a valley where a stream ran and many white birch trees grew, the slender trunks of which rose above the undergrowth, suggesting a wonderful holiday among ferns, mosses and forest grasses. Beyond the valley was a hill, green and fluffy with spruce and fir trees. Among them there was a small gap, and through it one could see the gray mezzanine of the house that Anya had seen the day before from the other side of the Lake of Sparkling Waters.

To the left were large barns and other outbuildings, and beyond them green fields sloped down to the sparkling blue sea.

Anya's eyes, receptive to beauty, slowly moved from one picture to another, greedily absorbing everything that was in front of her. The poor thing has seen so many ugly places in her life. But what was revealed to her now exceeded her wildest dreams.

She knelt, forgetting about everything in the world except the beauty that surrounded her, until she shuddered, feeling someone's hand on her shoulder. The little dreamer did not hear Marilla enter.

“It’s time to get dressed,” said Marilla shortly.

Marilla simply did not know how to talk to this child, and this unfamiliarity, which was unpleasant to her, made her harsh and decisive against her will.

Anya stood up with a deep sigh.

- Ah. isn't it wonderful? - she asked, pointing her hand at the beautiful world outside the window.

“Yes, it’s a big tree,” said Marilla, “and it blooms profusely, but the cherries themselves are no good—small and wormy.”

- Oh, I'm not just talking about the tree; of course, it is beautiful... yes, it is dazzlingly beautiful... it blooms as if it were extremely important for itself... But I meant everything: the garden, and the trees, and the stream, and the forests - the whole big beautiful world. Don't you feel like you love the whole world on a morning like this? Even here I can hear the stream laughing in the distance. Have you ever noticed what joyful creatures these streams are? They always laugh. Even in winter I can hear their laughter from under the ice. I'm so glad there's a stream here near Green Gables. Maybe you think it doesn't matter to me since you don't want to leave me here? But that's not true. I will always be pleased to remember that there is a stream near Green Gables, even if I never see it again. If there had not been a stream here, I would always have been haunted by the unpleasant feeling that it should have been here. This morning I am not in the depths of grief. I am never in the depths of grief in the morning. Isn't it wonderful that there is morning? But I'm very sad. I just imagined that you still need me and that I will stay here forever, forever. It was a great comfort to imagine this. But the most unpleasant thing about imagining things is that there comes a moment when you have to stop imagining, and this is very painful.

“Better get dressed, go downstairs, and don’t think about your imaginary things,” said Marilla, as soon as she managed to get a word in edgewise. - Breakfast is waiting. Wash your face and comb your hair. Leave the window open and turn the bed around to air it out. And hurry up, please.

Anya obviously could act quickly when required, because within ten minutes she came downstairs, neatly dressed, with her hair combed and braided, her face washed; At the same time, her soul was filled with the pleasant consciousness that she had fulfilled all of Marilla’s demands. However, in fairness, it should be noted that she still forgot to open the bed for airing.

“I’m very hungry today,” she announced, slipping into the chair Marilla had indicated to her. “The world no longer seems as dark a desert as it did last night.” I'm so glad it's a sunny morning. However, I love rainy mornings too. Every morning is interesting, right? There is no telling what awaits us on this day, and there is so much left to the imagination. But I’m glad that it’s not raining today, because it’s easier not to be discouraged and to endure the vicissitudes of fate on a sunny day. I feel like I have a lot to endure today. It's very easy to read about other people's misfortunes and imagine that we too could heroically overcome them, but it's not so easy when we actually have to face them, right?

“For God's sake, hold your tongue,” said Marilla. “A little girl shouldn’t talk so much.”

After this remark, Anya fell completely silent, so obediently that her continued silence began to irritate Marilla somewhat, as if it were something not entirely natural. Matthew was also silent - but at least that was natural - so breakfast passed in complete silence.

As he neared the end, Anya became more and more distracted. She ate mechanically, and her large eyes constantly, unseeingly looked at the sky outside the window. This irritated Marilla even more. She had an unpleasant feeling that while the body of this strange child was at the table, his spirit was soaring on the wings of fantasy in some transcendental land. Who would want to have such a child in the house?

And yet, what was most incomprehensible, Matthew wanted to leave her! Marilla felt that he wanted it this morning as much as he did last night, and that he intended to continue to want it. It was his usual way to get some whim into his head and cling to it with amazing silent tenacity - ten times more powerful and effective thanks to silence than if he talked about his desire from morning to evening.

When breakfast was over, Anya came out of her reverie and offered to wash the dishes.

— Do you know how to wash dishes properly? asked Marilla incredulously.

- Pretty good. True, I am better at babysitting children. I have a lot of experience in this matter. It's a pity that you don't have children here for me to take care of.

“But I wouldn’t want there to be any more children here than there are at the moment.” You alone are enough trouble. I can't imagine what to do with you. Matthew is so funny.

“He seemed very nice to me,” said Anya reproachfully. “He’s very friendly and didn’t mind at all, no matter how much I said it—he seemed to like it.” I felt a kindred spirit in him as soon as I saw him.

“You're both eccentrics, if that's what you mean when you talk about kindred spirits,” Marilla snorted. - Okay, you can wash the dishes. Use hot water and dry thoroughly. I already have a lot of work to do this morning, because I have to go to White Sands this afternoon to see Mrs. Spencer. You will come with me, and there we will decide what to do with you. When you're done with the dishes, go upstairs and make the bed.

Anya washed the dishes quite quickly and thoroughly, which did not go unnoticed by Marilla. Then she made the bed, though with less success, because she had never learned the art of fighting feather beds. But still the bed was made, and Marilla, in order to get rid of the girl for a while, said that she would allow her to go into the garden and play there until dinner.

Anya rushed to the door, with a lively face and shining eyes. But right at the threshold she suddenly stopped, turned sharply back and sat down near the table, the expression of delight disappearing from her face, as if it had been blown away by the wind.

- Well, what else happened? asked Marilla.

“I don’t dare go out,” said Anya in the tone of a martyr renouncing all earthly joys. “If I can’t stay here, I shouldn’t fall in love with Green Gables.” And if I go out and get acquainted with all these trees, flowers, and garden, and stream, I cannot help but fall in love with them. My soul is already heavy, and I don’t want it to become even heavier. I really want to go out - everything seems to be calling me: “Anya, Anya, come out to us! Anya, Anya, we want to play with you!” - but it's better not to do this. You shouldn't fall in love with something you'll be torn away from forever, right? And it’s so hard to resist and not fall in love, isn’t it? That's why I was so happy when I thought I'd stay here. I thought there was so much to love here and nothing would get in my way. But this brief dream passed. Now I have come to terms with my fate, so it’s better for me not to go out. Otherwise, I'm afraid I won't be able to reconcile with him again. What is the name of this flower in a pot on the windowsill, please tell me?

- This is a geranium.

- Oh, I don't mean that name. I mean the name you gave her. You didn't give her a name? Then can I do it? Can I call her... oh, let me think... Darling will do... can I call her Darling while I'm here? Oh, let me call her that!

- For God's sake, I don't care. But what's the point in naming geraniums?

- Oh, I like things to have names, even if it's just geraniums. This makes them more like people. How do you know you're not hurting geranium's feelings when you just call it "geranium" and nothing more? After all, you wouldn’t like it if you were always called just a woman. Yes, I will call her Darling. I gave a name to this cherry tree under my bedroom window this morning. I named her the Snow Queen because she is so white. Of course, it won’t always be in bloom, but you can always imagine it, right?

“I’ve never seen or heard anything like this in my life,” Marilla muttered, fleeing to the basement for potatoes. “She's really interesting, as Matthew says.” I can already feel myself wondering what else she will say. She casts a spell on me too. And she’s already unleashed them on Matthew. That look he gave me as he left again expressed everything he had said and hinted at yesterday. It would be better if he were like other men and talked about everything openly. Then it would be possible to answer and convince him. But what can you do with a man who only watches?

When Marilla returned from her pilgrimage to the basement, she found Anne again falling into a reverie. The girl sat with her chin resting on her hands and her gaze fixed on the sky. So Marilla left her until dinner appeared on the table.

“Can I take the mare and the gig after lunch, Matthew?” asked Marilla.

Matthew nodded and looked sadly at Anya. Marilla caught this glance and said dryly:

“I’m going to go to White Sands and resolve this issue.” I'll take Anya with me so Mrs. Spencer can send her back to Nova Scotia right away. I'll leave some tea for you on the stove and come home in time for milking.

Again Matthew said nothing. Marilla felt that she was wasting her words. Nothing is more annoying than a man who doesn't respond...except a woman who doesn't respond.

In due course, Matthew harnessed the bay horse, and Marilla and Anya got into the convertible. Matthew opened the courtyard gate for them and, as they slowly drove past, he said loudly, apparently not addressing anyone:

“There was this guy here this morning, Jerry Buot from Creek, and I told him I'd hire him for the summer.

Marilla did not answer, but whipped the unfortunate bay with such force that the fat mare, unaccustomed to such treatment, broke into a gallop indignantly. When the convertible was already rolling along the high road, Marilla turned around and saw that the obnoxious Matthew was leaning against the gate, sadly looking after them.

Sergey Kutsko

WOLVES

The way village life is structured is that if you don’t go out into the forest before noon and take a walk through familiar mushroom and berry places, then by evening there’s nothing to run for, everything will be hidden.

One girl thought so too. The sun has just risen to the tops of the fir trees, and already there is a full basket in my hands, I have wandered far, but what mushrooms! She looked around with gratitude and was just about to leave when the distant bushes suddenly trembled and an animal came out into the clearing, its eyes tenaciously following the girl’s figure.

- Oh, dog! - she said.

Cows were grazing somewhere nearby, and meeting a shepherd dog in the forest was not a big surprise to them. But the meeting with several more pairs of animal eyes put me in a daze...

“Wolves,” a thought flashed, “the road is not far, run...” Yes, my strength disappeared, the basket involuntarily fell out of my hands, my legs became weak and unruly.

- Mother! - this sudden cry stopped the flock, which had already reached the middle of the clearing. - People, help! - flashed three times over the forest.

As the shepherds later said: “We heard screams, we thought the children were playing around...” This is five kilometers from the village, in the forest!

The wolves slowly approached, the she-wolf walked ahead. This happens with these animals - the she-wolf becomes the head of the pack. Only her eyes were not as fierce as they were searching. They seemed to ask: “Well, man? What will you do now, when there are no weapons in your hands, and your relatives are not nearby?

The girl fell to her knees, covered her eyes with her hands and began to cry. Suddenly the thought of prayer came to her, as if something stirred in her soul, as if the words of her grandmother, remembered from childhood, were resurrected: “Ask the Mother of God! ”

The girl did not remember the words of the prayer. Making the sign of the cross, she asked the Mother of God, as if she were her mother, in the last hope of intercession and salvation.

When she opened her eyes, the wolves, passing the bushes, went into the forest. A she-wolf walked slowly ahead, head down.

Boris Ganago

LETTER TO GOD

This happened in late XIX centuries.

Petersburg. Christmas Eve. A cold, piercing wind blows from the bay. Fine prickly snow is falling. Horses' hooves clatter on the cobblestone streets, shop doors slam - the last purchases are made before the holiday. Everyone is in a hurry to get home quickly.

Only a little boy slowly wanders along a snowy street. Every now and then he takes his cold, red hands out of the pockets of his old coat and tries to warm them with his breath. Then he stuffs them deeper into his pockets again and moves on. Here he stops at the bakery window and looks at the pretzels and bagels displayed behind the glass.

The store door swung open, letting out another customer, and the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted out. The boy swallowed his saliva convulsively, stomped on the spot and wandered on.

Dusk is falling imperceptibly. There are fewer and fewer passers-by. The boy pauses near a building with lights burning in the windows, and, rising on tiptoe, tries to look inside. After a moment's hesitation, he opens the door.

The old clerk was late at work today. He's in no hurry. He has been living alone for a long time and on holidays he feels his loneliness especially acutely. The clerk sat and thought with bitterness that he had no one to celebrate Christmas with, no one to give gifts to. At this time the door opened. The old man looked up and saw the boy.

- Uncle, uncle, I need to write a letter! - the boy said quickly.

- Do you have money? - the clerk asked sternly.

The boy, fiddling with his hat in his hands, took a step back. And then the lonely clerk remembered that today was Christmas Eve and that he really wanted to give someone a gift. He took out a blank sheet of paper, dipped his pen in ink and wrote: “Petersburg. January 6. Mr...”

- What is the gentleman's last name?

“This is not sir,” muttered the boy, not yet fully believing his luck.

- Oh, is this a lady? — the clerk asked, smiling.

No no! - the boy said quickly.

So who do you want to write a letter to? - the old man was surprised,

- To Jesus.

“How dare you make fun of an elderly man?” — the clerk was indignant and wanted to show the boy to the door. But then I saw tears in the child’s eyes and remembered that today was Christmas Eve. He felt ashamed of his anger, and in a warmer voice he asked:

-What do you want to write to Jesus?

— My mother always taught me to ask God for help when it’s difficult. She said God's name is Jesus Christ. “The boy came closer to the clerk and continued: “And yesterday she fell asleep, and I can’t wake her up.” There’s not even bread at home, I’m so hungry,” he wiped the tears that had come to his eyes with his palm.

- How did you wake her up? - asked the old man, rising from his table.

- I kissed her.

- Is she breathing?

- What are you saying, uncle, do people breathe in their sleep?

“Jesus Christ has already received your letter,” said the old man, hugging the boy by the shoulders. “He told me to take care of you, and took your mother to Himself.”

The old clerk thought: “My mother, when you left for another world, you told me to be a good person and a pious Christian. I forgot your order, but now you won’t be ashamed of me.”

Boris Ganago

THE SPOKEN WORD

On the outskirts of a big city stood an old house with a garden. They were guarded by a reliable guard - the smart dog Uranus. He never barked at anyone in vain, kept a vigilant eye on strangers, and rejoiced at his owners.

But this house was demolished. Its inhabitants were offered a comfortable apartment, and then the question arose - what to do with the shepherd? As a watchman, Uranus was no longer needed by them, becoming only a burden. There were fierce debates about the dog's fate for several days. Through the open window from the house to the guard kennel, the plaintive sobs of the grandson and the menacing shouts of the grandfather often reached.

What did Uranus understand from the words he heard? Who knows...

Only his daughter-in-law and grandson, who were bringing him food, noticed that the dog’s bowl remained untouched for more than a day. Uranus did not eat in the following days, no matter how much he was persuaded. He no longer wagged his tail when people approached him, and even looked away, as if no longer wanting to look at the people who had betrayed him.

The daughter-in-law, expecting an heir or heiress, suggested:

— Isn’t Uranus sick? The owner said in anger:

“It would be better if the dog died on its own.” There would be no need to shoot then.

The daughter-in-law shuddered.

Uranus looked at the speaker with a look that the owner could not forget for a long time.

The grandson persuaded the neighbor's veterinarian to look at his pet. But the veterinarian did not find any disease, he only said thoughtfully:

- Maybe he was sad about something... Uranus soon died, until his death he barely moved his tail only to his daughter-in-law and grandson, who visited him.

And at night the owner often remembered the look of Uranus, who had faithfully served him for so many years. The old man already regretted the cruel words that killed the dog.

But is it possible to return what was said?

And who knows how the voiced evil hurt the grandson, attached to his four-legged friend?

And who knows how it, scattering around the world like a radio wave, will affect the souls of unborn children, future generations?

Words live, words never die...

An old book told the story: one girl’s father died. The girl missed him. He was always kind to her. She missed this warmth.

One day her dad dreamed of her and said: now be kind to people. Each kind word serves Eternity.

Boris Ganago

MASHENKA

Yule story

Once, many years ago, a girl Masha was mistaken for an Angel. It happened like this.

One poor family had three children. Their dad died, their mom worked where she could, and then got sick. There wasn’t a crumb left in the house, but I was so hungry. What to do?

Mom went out into the street and began to beg, but people passed by without noticing her. Christmas night was approaching, and the woman’s words: “I’m not asking for myself, but for my children... For Christ’s sake! “were drowning in the pre-holiday bustle.

In desperation, she entered the church and began to ask Christ Himself for help. Who else was left to ask?

It was here, at the icon of the Savior, that Masha saw a woman kneeling. Her face was flooded with tears. The girl had never seen such suffering before.

Masha had an amazing heart. When people were happy nearby, and she wanted to jump with happiness. But if someone was in pain, she could not pass by and asked:

What's wrong with you? Why are you crying? And someone else's pain penetrated her heart. And now she leaned towards the woman:

Are you in grief?

And when she shared her misfortune with her, Masha, who had never felt hungry in her life, imagined three lonely children who had not seen food for a long time. Without thinking, she handed the woman five rubles. It was all her money.

At that time, this was a significant amount, and the woman’s face lit up.

Where is your home? - Masha asked goodbye. She was surprised to learn that a poor family lived in the next basement. The girl did not understand how she could live in a basement, but she knew exactly what she needed to do on this Christmas evening.

The happy mother flew home as if on wings. She bought food at a nearby store, and the children greeted her joyfully.

Soon the stove was blazing and the samovar was boiling. The children warmed up, satiated and became quiet. The table laden with food was an unexpected holiday for them, almost a miracle.

But then Nadya, the smallest one, asked:

Mom, is it true that at Christmas time God sends an Angel to children, and he brings them many, many gifts?

Mom knew very well that they had no one to expect gifts from. Glory to God for what He has already given them: everyone is fed and warm. But kids are kids. They so wanted to have a Christmas tree, the same as all the other children. What could she, poor thing, tell them? Destroy a child's faith?

The children looked at her warily, waiting for an answer. And my mother confirmed:

This is true. But the Angel comes only to those who believe in God with all their hearts and pray to Him with all their souls.

“But I believe in God with all my heart and pray to Him with all my heart,” Nadya did not back down. - Let him send us His Angel.

Mom didn't know what to say. There was silence in the room, only the logs crackled in the stove. And suddenly there was a knock. The children shuddered, and the mother crossed herself and opened the door with a trembling hand.

On the threshold stood a little fair-haired girl Masha, and behind her was a bearded man with a Christmas tree in his hands.

Merry Christmas! - Mashenka joyfully congratulated the owners. The children froze.

While the bearded man was setting up the Christmas tree, Nanny Machine entered the room with a large basket, from which gifts immediately began to appear. The kids couldn't believe their eyes. But neither they nor the mother suspected that the girl had given them her Christmas tree and her gifts.

And when the unexpected guests left, Nadya asked:

Was this girl an Angel?

Boris Ganago

RETURN TO LIFE

Based on the story “Seryozha” by A. Dobrovolsky

Usually the brothers' beds were next to each other. But when Seryozha fell ill with pneumonia, Sasha was moved to another room and was forbidden to disturb the baby. They just asked me to pray for my brother, who was getting worse and worse.

One evening Sasha looked into the patient’s room. Seryozha lay with his eyes open, seeing nothing, and barely breathing. Frightened, the boy rushed to the office, from which the voices of his parents could be heard. The door was ajar, and Sasha heard mom, crying, say that Seryozha was dying. Dad answered with pain in his voice:

- Why cry now? There's no way to save him...

In horror, Sasha rushed to his sister’s room. There was no one there, and he fell to his knees, sobbing, in front of the icon of the Mother of God hanging on the wall. Through the sobs the words broke through:

- Lord, Lord, make sure that Seryozha doesn’t die!

Sasha's face was flooded with tears. Everything around blurred as if in a fog. The boy saw in front of him only the face of the Mother of God. The sense of time disappeared.

- Lord, You can do anything, save Seryozha!

It was already completely dark. Exhausted, Sasha stood up with the corpse and lit the table lamp. The Gospel lay before her. The boy turned over a few pages, and suddenly his gaze fell on the line: “Go, and as you believed, so be it for you...”

As if he had heard an order, he went to Seryozha. My mother sat silently at the bedside of her beloved brother. She gave a sign: “Don’t make noise, Seryozha fell asleep.”

Words were not spoken, but this sign was like a ray of hope. He fell asleep - that means he’s alive, that means he will live!

Three days later, Seryozha could already sit in bed, and the children were allowed to visit him. They brought their brother’s favorite toys, a fortress and houses that he had cut out and glued before his illness - everything that could please the baby. The little sister with the big doll stood next to Seryozha, and Sasha, jubilantly, took a photograph of them.

These were moments of real happiness.

Boris Ganago

YOUR CHICKEN

A chick fell out of the nest - very small, helpless, even its wings had not yet grown. He can’t do anything, he just squeaks and opens his beak - asking for food.

The guys took him and brought him into the house. They built him a nest from grass and twigs. Vova fed the baby, and Ira gave him water and took him out into the sun.

Soon the chick grew stronger, and feathers began to grow instead of fluff. The guys found an old birdcage in the attic and, to be safe, they put their pet in it - the cat began to look at him very expressively. All day long he was on duty at the door, waiting for the right moment. And no matter how much his children chased him, he did not take his eyes off the chick.

Summer flew by unnoticed. The chick grew up in front of the children and began to fly around the cage. And soon he felt cramped in it. When the cage was taken outside, he hit the bars and asked to be released. So the guys decided to release their pet. Of course, they were sorry to part with him, but they could not deprive the freedom of someone who was created for flight.

One sunny morning the children said goodbye to their pet, took the cage out into the yard and opened it. The chick jumped onto the grass and looked back at his friends.

At that moment the cat appeared. Hiding in the bushes, he prepared to jump, rushed, but... The chick flew high, high...

The holy elder John of Kronstadt compared our soul to a bird. The enemy is hunting for every soul and wants to catch it. After all, at first the human soul, just like a fledgling chick, is helpless and does not know how to fly. How can we preserve it, how can we grow it so that it does not break on sharp stones or fall into the net of a fisherman?

The Lord created a saving fence behind which our soul grows and strengthens - the house of God, the Holy Church. In it the soul learns to fly high, high, to the very sky. And she will know such a bright joy there that no earthly nets are afraid of her.

Boris Ganago

MIRROR

Dot, dot, comma,

Minus, the face is crooked.

Stick, stick, cucumber -

So the little man came out.

With this poem Nadya finished the drawing. Then, fearing that she would not be understood, she signed under it: “It’s me.” She carefully examined her creation and decided that it was missing something.

The young artist went to the mirror and began to look at herself: what else needs to be completed so that anyone can understand who is depicted in the portrait?

Nadya loved to dress up and twirl in front of a large mirror, and tried different hairstyles. This time the girl tried on her mother’s hat with a veil.

She wanted to look mysterious and romantic, like the long-legged girls showing fashion on TV. Nadya imagined herself as an adult, cast a languid glance in the mirror and tried to walk with the gait of a fashion model. It didn't turn out very nicely, and when she stopped abruptly, the hat slid down onto her nose.

It’s good that no one saw her at that moment. If only we could laugh! In general, she didn’t like being a fashion model at all.

The girl took off her hat, and then her gaze fell on her grandmother’s hat. Unable to resist, she tried it on. And she froze, making an amazing discovery: she looked exactly like her grandmother. She just didn't have any wrinkles yet. Bye.

Now Nadya knew what she would become in many years. True, this future seemed very distant to her...

It became clear to Nadya why her grandmother loved her so much, why she watched her pranks with tender sadness and secretly sighed.

There were footsteps. Nadya hastily put her hat back in place and ran to the door. On the threshold she met... herself, only not so frisky. But the eyes were exactly the same: childishly surprised and joyful.

Nadya hugged her future self and quietly asked:

Grandma, is it true that you were me as a child?

Grandma paused, then smiled mysteriously and took out an old album from the shelf. After flipping through a few pages, she showed a photograph of a little girl who looked very much like Nadya.

That's what I was like.

Oh, really, you look like me! - the granddaughter exclaimed in delight.

Or maybe you are like me? - Grandma asked, squinting slyly.

It doesn't matter who looks like whom. The main thing is that they are similar,” the little girl insisted.

Isn't it important? And look who I looked like...

And the grandmother began to leaf through the album. There were all sorts of faces there. And what faces! And each was beautiful in its own way. The peace, dignity and warmth that radiated from them attracted the eye. Nadya noticed that all of them - small children and gray-haired old men, young ladies and fit military men - were somewhat similar to each other... And to her.

Tell me about them,” the girl asked.

The grandmother hugged her little blood to herself, and a story flowed about their family, coming from ancient centuries.

The time for cartoons had already come, but the girl didn’t want to watch them. She was discovering something amazing, something that had been there for a long time, but living inside her.

Do you know the history of your grandfathers, great-grandfathers, the history of your family? Maybe this story is your mirror?

Boris Ganago

PARROT

Petya was wandering around the house. I'm tired of all the games. Then my mother gave instructions to go to the store and also suggested:

Our neighbor, Maria Nikolaevna, broke her leg. There is no one to buy her bread. He can barely move around the room. Come on, I'll call and find out if she needs to buy anything.

Aunt Masha was happy about the call. And when the boy brought her a whole bag of groceries, she didn’t know how to thank him. For some reason, she showed Petya the empty cage in which the parrot had recently lived. It was her friend. Aunt Masha looked after him, shared her thoughts, and he took off and flew away. Now she has no one to say a word to, no one to care about. What kind of life is this if there is no one to take care of?

Petya looked at the empty cage, at the crutches, imagined Aunt Mania hobbling around the empty apartment, and an unexpected thought came to his mind. The fact is that he had long been saving the money that he was given for toys. I still couldn't find anything suitable. And now this strange thought is to buy a parrot for Aunt Masha.

Having said goodbye, Petya ran out into the street. He wanted to go to a pet store, where he had once seen various parrots. But now he looked at them through the eyes of Aunt Masha. Which one could she become friends with? Maybe this one will suit her, maybe this one?

Petya decided to ask his neighbor about the fugitive. The next day he told his mother:

Call Aunt Masha... Maybe she needs something?

Mom even froze, then hugged her son to her and whispered:

So you become a man... Petya was offended:

Wasn’t I a human before?

There was, of course there was,” my mother smiled. - Only now your soul has also awakened... Thank God!

What is the soul? — the boy became wary.

This is the ability to love.

The mother looked searchingly at her son:

Maybe you can call yourself?

Petya was embarrassed. Mom answered the phone: Maria Nikolaevna, excuse me, Petya has a question for you. I'll give him the phone now.

There was nowhere to go, and Petya muttered embarrassedly:

Aunt Masha, maybe I should buy you something?

Petya didn’t understand what happened at the other end of the line, only the neighbor answered in some way. in an unusual voice. She thanked him and asked him to bring milk if he went to the store. She doesn't need anything else. She thanked me again.

When Petya called her apartment, he heard the hasty clatter of crutches. Aunt Masha didn’t want to make him wait extra seconds.

While the neighbor was looking for money, the boy, as if by chance, began to ask her about the missing parrot. Aunt Masha willingly told us about the color and behavior...

There were several parrots of this color in the pet store. Petya took a long time to choose. When he brought his gift to Aunt Masha, then... I don’t undertake to describe what happened next.

List of works to learn by heart and definition of the genre of the work the teacher carries out independently according to the author's program.

An excerpt of a work (poetic) for grades 5-11 must be a complete semantic text of at least 30 lines; prose text – 10-15 lines (grades 5-8), 15-20 lines (grades 9-11). Texts for memorizing from a dramatic work are determined by the form of the monologue.

1. A.S. Pushkin. “The Bronze Horseman” (excerpt “I love you, Peter’s creation...”)

2. I.S. Turgenev. "Fathers and Sons" (excerpt)

3. I.S.Goncharov. "Oblomov" (excerpt)

4. A.N. Ostrovsky. “Thunderstorm” (excerpt: one of the monologues)

5. F.I.Tyutchev. "Oh, how murderously we love..."

6. N.A. Nekrasov. “The Poet and the Citizen” (excerpt “The son cannot look calmly...”); “You and I are stupid people...”, “Who can live well in Rus'?” (excerpt)

7. A.A.Fet. “Distant friend, understand my sobs...”

8. A.K. Tolstoy. “In the midst of a noisy ball, by chance...”

9. L.N. Tolstoy. "War and Peace" (excerpt)

10. A. Rimbaud. "Closet"

Alexander Pushkin.“I love you, Peter’s creation” (from the poem “The Bronze Horseman”)

I love you, Petra's creation,

I love your strict, slender appearance,

Neva sovereign current,

Its coastal granite,

Your fences have a cast iron pattern,

of your thoughtful nights

Transparent twilight, moonless shine,

When I'm in my room

I write, I read without a lamp,

And the sleeping communities are clear

Deserted streets and light

Admiralty needle,

And, not letting the darkness of the night

To golden skies

One dawn gives way to another

He hurries, giving the night half an hour.

I love your cruel winter

Still air and frost,

Sleigh running along the wide Neva,

Girls' faces are brighter than roses,

And the shine, and the noise, and the talk of balls,

And at the time of the feast the bachelor

The hiss of foamy glasses

And the punch flame is blue.

I love the warlike liveliness

Amusing Fields of Mars,

Infantry troops and horses

Uniform beauty

In their harmoniously unsteady system

The shreds of these victorious banners,

The shine of these copper caps,

Shot through and through in battle.

I love you, military capital,

Your stronghold is smoke and thunder,

When the queen is full

Gives a son to the royal house,

Or victory over the enemy

Russia triumphs again

Or, breaking your blue ice,

The Neva carries him to the seas

And, sensing the days of spring, he rejoices.

Show off, city Petrov, and stand

Unshakable like Russia,

May he make peace with you

And the defeated element;

Enmity and ancient captivity

Let the Finnish waves forget

And they will not be vain malice

Disturb Peter's eternal sleep!

I.S. Turgenev. "Fathers and Sons" (excerpt)

And now I repeat to you at parting... because there is no point in deceiving yourself: we are saying goodbye forever, and you yourself feel it... you acted smartly; you were not created for our bitter, tart, bean* life. You have neither insolence nor anger, but only youthful courage and youthful enthusiasm; This is not suitable for our business. Your brother, a nobleman, cannot go further than noble humility or noble ebullience, and this is nothing. For example, you don’t fight - and you already imagine yourself to be great - but we want to fight. What! Our dust will eat into your eyes, our dirt will stain you, and you haven’t grown up to us, you involuntarily admire yourself, you enjoy scolding yourself; But it’s boring for us - give us others! We need to break others! You are a nice fellow; but you are still a soft, liberal barich - e volatu, as my parent puts it.

Are you saying goodbye to me forever, Evgeniy? - Arkady said sadly, - and you have no other words for me?

Bazarov scratched the back of his head.

Yes, Arkady, I have other words, but I won’t express them, because this is romanticism - it means: get drunk *. And you should get married as soon as possible; Yes, get your own nest, and have more children. They will be smart just because they will be born on time, not like you and me.

NOTES:

* BOBYL- unmarried, bachelor, celibate, single, wifeless, familyless.

*GET EXCITED and fall apart, fall apart, fall apart - become soft, fall into a sentimental mood.

I.S. Goncharov."Oblomov" (excerpt)

No,” Olga interrupted, raising her head and trying to look at him through her tears. “I just found out recently that I loved what I wanted in you, what Stolz showed me, what we came up with with him.” I loved the future Oblomov! You are meek and honest, Ilya; you are gentle... dove; you hide your head under your wing - and don’t want anything more; you are ready to coo under the roof all your life... but I’m not like that: this is not enough for me, I need something else, but I don’t know what! Can you teach me, tell me what it is, what I lack, give it all so that I... And tenderness... where it is not!

Oblomov’s legs gave way; he sat down in a chair and wiped his hands and forehead with a handkerchief.

The word was cruel; it deeply stung Oblomov: inside it seemed to burn him, outside it blew cold on him. In response, he smiled somehow pitifully, painfully bashful, like a beggar who was reproached for his nakedness. He sat with this smile of powerlessness, weakened from excitement and resentment; his dull gaze clearly said: “Yes, I am meager, pitiful, poor... beat me, beat me!..”

Who cursed you, Ilya? What have you done? You are kind, smart, gentle, noble... and... you are dying! What ruined you? There is no name for this evil...

“Yes,” he said, barely audible.

She looked at him questioningly, her eyes full of tears.

Oblomovism! - he whispered, then took her hand, wanted to kiss it, but couldn’t, he just pressed it tightly to his lips, and hot tears dripped onto her fingers.

Without raising his head, without showing her his face, he turned around and walked away.

A.N. Ostrovsky.“Thunderstorm” (excerpt: one of the monologues)

Monologue of Katerina.

I say, why don’t people fly like birds? You know, sometimes I feel like I'm a bird. When you stand on a mountain, you feel the urge to fly. That's how I would run up, raise my hands and fly...

How playful I was! I'm completely withered...

Was that what I was like? I lived, didn’t worry about anything, like a bird in the wild. Mama doted on me, dressed me up like a doll, and didn’t force me to work; I used to do whatever I want. Do you know how I lived with girls? I'll tell you now. I used to get up early; If it’s summer, I’ll go to the spring, wash myself, bring some water with me and that’s it, I’ll water all the flowers in the house. I had many, many flowers. Then we’ll go to church with Mama, all the pilgrims—our house was full of pilgrims; yes praying mantis. And we’ll come home from church, sit down to do some kind of work, more like gold velvet, and the wandering women will begin to tell us: where they were, what they saw, different lives, or sing poetry. So time will pass until lunch. Here the old women go to sleep, and I walk around the garden. Then to Vespers, and in the evening again stories and singing. It was so good!

Monologue of Kuligin.

Cruel morals, sir, in our city, cruel! In philistinism, sir, you will see nothing but rudeness and stark poverty. And we, sir, will never escape this crust! Because honest work will never earn us more than our daily bread. And whoever has money, sir, tries to enslave the poor so that his labors will be free more money make money Do you know what your uncle, Savel Prokofich, answered to the mayor? The peasants came to the mayor to complain that he would not disrespect any of them. The mayor began to tell him: “Listen,” he says, Savel Prokofich, pay the men well! Every day they come to me with complaints!” Your uncle patted the mayor on the shoulder and said: “Is it worth it, your honor, for us to talk about such trifles! I have a lot of people every year; You understand: I won’t pay them a penny per person, but I make thousands out of this, so that’s good for me!” That's it, sir!

F.I. Tyutchev."Oh, how murderously we love..."

Oh, how murderously we love,

We are most likely to destroy,

What is dear to our hearts!

How long ago, proud of my victory,

You said: she is mine...

A year has not passed - ask and find out,

What was left of her?

Where did the roses go?

The smile of the lips and the sparkle of the eyes?

Everything was scorched, tears burned out

With its hot moisture.

Do you remember, when you met,

At the first fatal meeting,

Her eyes and speeches are magical

And baby-like laughter?

So what now? And where is all this?

And how long was the dream?

Alas, like northern summer,

He was a passing guest!

Fate's terrible sentence

Your love was for her

And undeserved shame

She laid down her life!

A life of renunciation, a life of suffering!

In her spiritual depths

She was left with memories...

But they changed them too.

And on earth she felt wild,

The charm is gone...

The crowd surged and trampled into the mud

What bloomed in her soul.

And what about the long torment?

How did she manage to save the ashes?

Evil pain, bitter pain,

Pain without joy and without tears!

Oh, how murderously we love!

As in the violent blindness of passions

We are most likely to destroy,

What is dearer to our hearts!..

N.A. Nekrasov.“The Poet and the Citizen” (excerpt “The son cannot look calmly...”)

The son cannot look calmly

On my dear mother's grief,

There will be no worthy citizen

I have a cold heart for my homeland,

There is no worse reproach for him...

Go into the fire for the honor of your fatherland,

For conviction, for love...

Go and die blamelessly.

You will not die in vain, the matter is strong,

When the blood flows underneath...

And you, poet! chosen one of heaven,

Herald of age-old truths,

Do not believe that he who does not have bread

Not worth your prophetic strings!

Don’t believe that people will fall altogether;

God has not died in the souls of people,

And a cry from a believing chest

Will always be available to her!

Be a citizen! serving art,

Live for the good of your neighbor,

Subordinating your genius to feeling

All-embracing Love;

And if you are rich in gifts,

Don’t bother exhibiting them:

They themselves will shine in your work

Their life-giving rays.

Look: solid stone in fragments

The poor worker crushes

And from under the hammer it flies

And the flame splashes out on its own!

N.A. Nekrasov.“You and I are stupid people...”

You and I are stupid people:

In just a minute, the flash is ready!

Relief for a troubled chest

An unreasonable, harsh word.

Speak up when you're angry

Everything that excites and torments the soul!

Let us, my friend, be openly angry:

The world is easier and more likely to get boring.

If prose in love is inevitable,

So let's take a share of happiness from her:

After a quarrel, so full, so tender

Return of love and participation.

N.A. Nekrasov.“Who can live well in Rus'?” (excerpt)

You're miserable too

You are also abundant

You are mighty

You are also powerless

Mother Rus'!

Saved in slavery

Free heart -

Gold, gold

People's heart!

People's power

Mighty force -

Conscience is calm,

The truth is alive!

Strength with untruth

Doesn't get along

Sacrifice by untruth

Not called

Rus' does not move,

Rus' is like dead!

And she caught fire

Hidden spark

They stood up - unwounded,

They came out - uninvited,

Live by the grain

The mountains have been destroyed!

The army is rising

Countless!

The strength in her will affect

Indestructible!

You're miserable too

You are also abundant

You're downtrodden

You are omnipotent

Mother Rus'!

A.A.Fet.“Distant friend, understand my sobs...” (“A. L. Brzeskoy”)

Distant friend, understand my sobs,

Forgive me for my painful cry.

Memories bloom in my soul with you,

And I haven’t lost the habit of cherishing you.

Who will tell us that we did not know how to live,

Soulless and idle minds,

That kindness and tenderness did not burn in us

And we didn’t sacrifice beauty?

Where is all this? The soul is still burning

Still ready to embrace the world.

Vain heat! Nobody answers

Sounds will resurrect and die again.

Only you are alone! High excitement

There is blood on the cheeks and inspiration in the heart. -

Get away from this dream - there are too many tears in it!

It’s not a pity for life with languid breathing,

What is life and death? What a pity about that fire

That shone over the whole universe,

And he goes into the night and cries as he leaves.

A.K. Tolstoy.“In the midst of a noisy ball, by chance...”

In the middle of a noisy ball, by chance,

In the anxiety of worldly vanity,

I saw you, but it's a mystery

Your features are covered.

Like the sound of a distant pipe,

Like a playing shaft of the sea.

I liked your thin figure

And your whole thoughtful look,

And your laughter, both sad and ringing,

Since then it has been ringing in my heart.

In the lonely hours of the night

I love, tired, to lie down -

I see sad eyes,

I hear cheerful speech;

And sadly I fall asleep like that,

And I sleep in unknown dreams...

Do I love you - I don't know

But it seems to me that I love it!

L.N. Tolstoy. "War and Peace" (excerpt)

In captivity, in a booth, Pierre learned not with his mind, but with his whole being, life, that man was created for happiness, that happiness is in himself, in the satisfaction of natural human needs, and that all unhappiness comes not from lack, but from excess; but now, in these last three weeks of the campaign, he learned another new, comforting truth - he learned that there is nothing terrible in the world. He learned that since there is no situation in which a person would be happy and completely free, there is also no situation in which he would be unhappy and not free. He learned that there is a limit to suffering and a limit to freedom, and that this limit is very close; that the man who suffered because one leaf was wrapped in his pink bed suffered in the same way as he suffered now, falling asleep on the bare, damp earth, cooling one side and warming the other; that when he used to put on his narrow ballroom shoes, he suffered in exactly the same way as now, when he walked completely barefoot (his shoes had long since become disheveled), with feet covered with sores. He learned that when he, as it seemed to him, of his own free will, married his wife, he was no more free than now, when he was locked in the stable at night. Of all the things that he later called suffering, but which he hardly felt then, the main thing was his bare, worn, scabby feet.

A. Rimbaud."Closet"

Here is an old carved cabinet, whose oak has dark streaks

I began to look like kind old men a long time ago;

The closet is thrown open, and darkness comes from all the secluded corners

The enticing smell flows like old wine.

Full of everything: a pile of junk,

Pleasant-smelling yellow underwear,

Grandmother's scarf, where there is an image

Griffin, lace, and ribbons, and rags;

Here you will find medallions and portraits,

Strand white hair and a strand of a different color,

Children's clothes, dried flowers...

O closet of bygone days! Lots of stories

And you keep many fairy tales safely

Behind this door, blackened and creaky.

A touching excerpt from the prose of Russian classics and received the best answer

Answer from Yo-Min[guru]
I approached the coffin. My son lies in it and is not mine. Mine is always a smiling, narrow-shouldered boy, with a sharp Adam’s apple on his thin neck, and here lies a young, broad-shouldered, handsome man, his eyes half-closed, as if he is looking somewhere past me, into a distant distance unknown to me. Only in the corners of his lips did the laughter of the old son remain forever, the only one I once knew... I kissed him and stepped aside. The lieutenant colonel made a speech. My Anatoly’s comrades and friends are wiping away their tears, and my unshed tears, apparently, have dried up in my heart. Maybe that's why it hurts so much? .
I buried my last joy and hope in a foreign, German land, my son’s battery struck, seeing off his commander on a long journey, and it was as if something in me had snapped... I arrived at my unit not being myself. But then I was soon demobilized. Where to go? Is it really in Voronezh? No way! I remembered that my friend lived in Uryupinsk, demobilized in the winter due to injury - he once invited me to his place - I remembered and went to Uryupinsk.
My friend and his wife were childless and lived in their own house on the edge of the city. Although he had a disability, he worked as a driver at a car dealership, and I got a job there too. I stayed with a friend and they gave me shelter. We transported various cargoes to the regions, and in the fall we switched to exporting bread. It was at this time that I met my new son, this one who plays in the sand.
From a flight, it used to be that when you returned to the city, of course, the first thing you did was go to the teahouse: grab something, and, of course, drink a hundred grams from your drink. I must say, I’m already quite addicted to this harmful business... And then one time I see this guy near the tea shop, the next day I see him again. Such a little ragged guy: his face is covered in watermelon juice, covered with dust, dirty as dust, unkempt, and his eyes are like stars at night after the rain! And I fell in love with him so much that, miraculously, I already began to miss him, and I’m in a hurry to get off the flight to see him as soon as possible. He fed himself near the teahouse - whoever would give him what.
On the fourth day, straight from the state farm, loaded with bread, I turned up to the teahouse. My boy is sitting there on the porch, dangling his little legs and, apparently, hungry. I leaned out the window and shouted to him: “Hey, Vanyushka! Get in the car quickly, I’ll take you to the elevator, and from there we’ll come back here and have lunch.” He shuddered at my shout, jumped off the porch, climbed onto the step and quietly said: “How do you know, uncle, that my name is Vanya?” And he opened his eyes wide, waiting for me to answer him. Well, I tell him that I am an experienced person and know everything. He came in from the right side, I opened the door, sat him next to me, and off we went. Such a smart guy, and suddenly he became quiet for some reason, thought about it, and no, no, and looked at me from under his long, upward-curved eyelashes, and sighed. Such a small bird, but he has already learned to sigh. Is it his business? I ask: “Where is your father, Vanya?” He whispers: “He died at the front.” - “And mom?” - “Mom was killed by a bomb on the train while we were traveling.” - “Where were you coming from?” - “I don’t know, I don’t remember...” - “And you don’t have anyone relatives here?” - “Nobody.” - “Where are you spending the night?” - “Where will you have to?”
A burning tear began to boil inside me, and I immediately decided: “It’s impossible for us to disappear separately! I’ll take him as my child.” And immediately my soul felt light and somehow light. I leaned over to him and quietly asked: “Vanyushka, do you know who I am?” He asked and exhaled: “Who?” I told him just as quietly. "I am your father."
My God, what happened here! He rushed to my neck, kissed me on the cheeks, on the lips, on the forehead, and he, like a waxwing, screamed so loudly and thinly that even in the booth it was muffled: “Dear dad! I knew! I knew that you would find me! You’ll find me anyway! I’ve been waiting for you to find me for so long!” He pressed himself close to me and trembles all over, like a blade of grass in the wind. And there’s a fog in my eyes, and I’m also trembling all over, and my hands are shaking... How I didn’t lose the steering wheel then, you can wonder! But he still accidentally drove into a ditch and turned off the engine.
Source: Mikhail Sholokhov. "The Fate of Man"

Reply from Anna Bobrysheva[newbie]
Nina's monologue from "The Seagull" by A.P. Chekhov. At the university we staged a play based on Chekhov, we recorded this monologue and played the recording... it sounds at the same time touching and creepy, heartbreaking.
People, lions, eagles and partridges, horned deer, geese, spiders, silent fish that lived in the water, starfish and those that could not be seen with the eye - in a word, all lives, all lives, all lives, having completed a sad circle, faded away ...For thousands of centuries the earth has not carried a single living creature, and this poor moon lights its lantern in vain. Cranes no longer wake up screaming in the meadow, and cockchafers are no longer heard in the linden groves. Cold, cold, cold. Empty, empty, empty. Scary, scary, scary.
Pause.
The bodies of living beings disappeared into dust, and eternal matter turned them into stones, into water, into clouds, and the souls of them all merged into one. General world soul- this is me... I... I have the soul of Alexander the Great, and Caesar, and Shakespeare, and Napoleon, and the last leech. In me, the consciousness of people has merged with the instincts of animals, and I understand everything, everything, and I experience every life in myself again.

Reply from Anna Alekberova[guru]
Nina's monologue from "The Seagull" by A.P. Chekhov. At the university we staged a play based on Chekhov, we recorded this monologue and started recording it... It sounds both touching and eerie, heartbreaking.
People, lions, eagles and partridges, horned deer, geese, spiders, silent fish that lived in the water, starfish and those that could not be seen with the eye - in a word, all lives, all lives, all lives, having completed a sad circle, faded away .. . For thousands of centuries the earth has not carried a single living creature, and this poor moon lights its lantern in vain. Cranes no longer wake up screaming in the meadow, and cockchafers are no longer heard in the linden groves. Cold, cold, cold. Empty, empty, empty. Scary, scary, scary.
Pause.
The bodies of living beings disappeared into dust, and eternal matter turned them into stones, into water, into clouds, and the souls of them all merged into one. The common world soul is me... I.. . I have the soul of Alexander the Great, and Caesar, and Shakespeare, and Napoleon, and the last leech. In me, the consciousness of people has merged with the instincts of animals, and I understand everything, everything, and I experience every life in myself again.