Semyon Ivanov was appointed the new watchman of the railway. He previously served as an orderly for an officer, and when the war ended, he still could not find work. They were pleased with his service, so when Semyon once ran into his former boss, he, out of old memory, helped the former orderly get a job as a watchman. So Ivanov began to live in the booth. There was some arable land nearby, a vegetable garden, and the work was not difficult. The watchman learned the rules by heart and all his possessions were in perfect order.
A couple of months later, Semyon began to get acquainted with his neighbors. One was a very old man, he sat in the booth all the time and did not go on rounds. But the second one turned out to be taciturn, and his wife also did not want to make friends with the new people.
But they still met. The neighbor's name was Vasily. Often the watchmen met on their rounds, smoked silently, and then engaged in a simple conversation.
Vasily considered people to blame for all troubles and for their own misfortunes. And Semyon was happy with what he had. He said that everything that happens comes from God. Vasily did not agree; it was not in his spirit to endure in silence. The neighbors quarreled, separated, and then met again and had conversations.
Once Vasily quarreled with a drunken road foreman over a vegetable garden. He didn’t restrain himself and they ended up fighting, and the master himself harbored a grudge. He reported to the station manager about the watchman's dishonesty, and eventually an inspector arrived. Semyon had no problem - he had prepared in advance, but Vasily was reprimanded for a complaint filed from behind the garden. The boss hit the watchman in the face and drove away, but he harbored a grudge.
One day Semyon went to the forest to buy branches for homemade pipes, the sale of which brought in some money. The sound of blows was heard from the railway embankment. The watchman crept up to the man, thinking that he was stealing nuts. But it was Vasily. He used a crowbar to pry up the rail and throw it aside.
Semyon was frightened - a train was about to pass soon and an accident was inevitable. He rushed after Vasily, wailing so that he would not take sin on his soul, but the neighbor went into the forest.
Semyon ran to his booth to get a crowbar to fix the rail, but he realized that he wouldn’t have time. You could already hear the train approaching, but there was nothing to signal a danger, no red flag.
Then the watchman took out a paper handkerchief and a knife, crossed himself, and stabbed himself in the hand. He put a handkerchief soaked in blood on a stick and began to wave it.
Semyon was seriously injured and fell unconscious on the rails. Someone's hand raised the flag and began to wave. The train stopped. Vasily stood next to the lying Semyon, clutching a flag in his hands. Having admitted what he had done, he demanded to be arrested.
This is how internal bitterness leads to destructive thoughts and actions.
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In the story “The Signal” (1887) no love story, but the noted motive manifests itself even more sharply in it. The heroes of the story do not paint pictures, do not discuss philosophical problems and cannot determine the fate of humanity. They are small people who live by small interests: a patch of cabbage, a salary, oppression from their superiors - their interests do not go further. But in their conversations about these subjects, Semyon and Vasily pose the same question as Gelfreich, who created his painting about Ilya Muromets. In his youth, Semyon was at war, served as an orderly and could not perform any remarkable feats that could determine the outcome of the battle due to his position. But for Garshin, Semyon is a man of great soul, and his feat lies in the fact that he did not become embittered towards life and people, although he had every reason for this. True, passivity and fatalism are clearly noticeable in his attitude to life. These are the traits that irritate his interlocutor Vasily. “It’s not talent-fate,” Vasily objects to Semyon, “that is eating away at you and me forever, but people. There is no beast in the world more predatory and meaner than a man" Vasily’s position is that of a person who does not want to submit to fate and therefore enters into a struggle with people and circumstances. But for Garshin, the laws of struggle have their own harsh dialectics: an embittered person who has lost faith in people, even in his just anger against the perpetrators of evil, can cause the death of innocent people. Here Semyon and Vasily change places. Semyon actively takes part in the fight against evil, saving a train with people unaware of the danger that threatens them, and Vasily recognizes his rightness and the unrighteousness of the path he has taken. But Semyon’s activity is of a special kind. It is based on self-sacrifice, and if he raises a red flag, then this flag is soaked in his own blood. For Garshin, morality has always been simple, but the question of why this simple morality cannot be realized in people’s lives was endlessly complex. In each of his stories, Garshin posed with painful acuteness the question of truth and untruth, about the various manifestations and forms of modern evil, and therefore his small stories were filled with large and deep content. Gleb Uspensky rightly wrote: “...in his small stories and fairy tales, sometimes several pages long, the entire content of our life is positively exhausted, under the conditions in which both Garshin and all his readers had to live. When I say “the entire content of our life,” I am not using some pompous and thoughtless phrase here, no, precisely everything that our life gave the most important to his mind and heart (ours does not mean only Russian, but the life of people of our time in general), everything down to the last detail was experienced, felt by him with the most burning feeling, and that is why it could only be expressed in two, and even such small, books.” The same idea was expressed by another contemporary of Garshin, P.F. Yakubovich. Both the revolutionary poet and the greatest prose writer and essayist-sociologist essentially recognized a fact that was unusual both for the literature of the 80s and for previous Russian literature. Short stories reflected the main content of the era. Later, thanks to Korolenko, Chekhov, Bunin, this idea will no longer be perceived as a paradox. Garshin managed to open up new possibilities for the small genre. He combined the strict objectivity of the narrative with lyrical emotion and a clearly formulated author's point of view.
Semyon Ivanov serves as a watchman at railway. He is an experienced man, but not very successful. Nine years ago, in 1878, I went to war and fought with the Turks. He was not wounded, but lost his health.
Returned to native village- the farm didn’t work out, their little son died, and he and his wife went to new places to look for happiness. Not found.
Semyon met a former officer of his regiment during his wanderings. He recognized Semyon, sympathized and found him a job at railway station, over which he was in charge.
Semyon received a new hut, as much firewood as you wanted, a vegetable garden, a salary - and he and his wife began to set up housekeeping. The work was not a burden to Semyon, and he kept his entire section of the journey in order.
Semyon also met his neighbor Vasily, who was looking after the adjacent plot. When they met on rounds, they began to talk.
Semyon endures all his troubles and failures stoically: “God did not give him happiness.” Vasily believes that his life is so poor because others profit from his work - rich people and bosses, all of them are bloodsuckers and flayers, and he hates all of them fiercely.
Meanwhile, an important audit arrives from St. Petersburg. Semyon put everything in order in his area ahead of time, and he was praised. But at Vasily’s site everything turned out differently. He had been in a quarrel with the road foreman for a long time. According to the rules, it was necessary to ask this master for permission to plant a vegetable garden, but Vasily neglected it and planted cabbage without permission - he ordered it to be dug up. Vasily got angry and decided to complain about the master to the big boss. Not only did he not accept the complaint, but he yelled at Vasily and hit him in the face.
Vasily threw the booth at his wife - and went to Moscow to seek justice, now against this boss. Yes, apparently I didn’t find it. Four days passed, Semyon met Vasily’s wife on a round, her face was swollen from tears, and she did not want to talk to Semyon.
Just at this time, Semyon went into the forest to cut the willow grass: he made pipes out of it for sale. While returning, near the railway embankment I heard strange sounds - as if iron was clanking on iron. He crept closer and saw: Vasily had tampered with the rail with a crowbar and had torn up the track. I saw Semyon and ran away.
Semyon stands over the torn rail and doesn’t know what to do. You can't put it in place with your bare hands. Vasily has the key and crowbar - but no matter how much Semyon called him to come back, he didn’t come back. A passenger train should be leaving soon.
“It’s at this curve that he’ll get off the rail,” Semyon thinks, “and the embankment is high, eleven fathoms, the carriages will fall down, and there will be small children...” Semyon started to run to the hut for the tool, but realized that he wouldn’t have time . I ran back - I could already hear the distant whistle - the train was coming soon.
Then a light seemed to illuminate his head. Semyon took off his hat, took out a scarf from it, crossed himself, hit himself right hand with a knife above the elbow, a stream of blood sprayed out. He soaked his handkerchief in it, put it on a stick (the waistcoat that he brought from the forest came in handy) - and raised a red flag - a signal to the driver that he needed to stop the train.
But, apparently, Semyon wounded his hand too deeply - the blood is gushing without stopping, his eyes are getting dark and there is only one thought in his head: “Help, Lord, send a shift.”
Semyon could not stand it and lost consciousness, fell to the ground, but the flag did not fall - his other hand grabbed it and raised it high towards the train. The driver manages to brake, people jump out onto the embankment and see a man covered in blood, lying unconscious, and next to another, with a bloody rag in his hand...
This is Vasily. He looks around at those gathered and says: “Tie me up, I turned away the rail.”
There is no love story in the story “The Signal” (1887), but the noted motif appears even more sharply in it. The heroes of the story do not paint pictures, do not discuss philosophical problems and cannot determine the fate of humanity. They are small people who live by small interests: a cabbage patch, a salary, oppression from their superiors - their interests do not go further. But in their conversations about these subjects, Semyon and Vasily pose the same question as Gelfreich, who created his painting about Ilya Muromets.
In his youth, Semyon was at war, served as an orderly and could not perform any remarkable feats that could determine the outcome of the battle due to his position. But for Garshin, Semyon is a man of great soul, and his feat lies in the fact that he did not become embittered towards life and people, although he had every reason for this.
True, passivity and fatalism are clearly noticeable in his attitude to life. These are the traits that irritate his interlocutor Vasily. “It’s not talent-fate,” Vasily objects to Semyon, “that is eating away at you and me forever, but people. There is no beast in the world more predatory and evil than man.” Vasily’s position is that of a person who does not want to submit to fate and therefore enters into a struggle with people and circumstances. But for Garshin, the laws of struggle have their own harsh dialectics: an embittered person who has lost faith in people, even in his just anger against the perpetrators of evil, can cause the death of innocent people. Here Semyon and Vasily change places. Semyon actively takes part in the fight against evil, saving a train with people unaware of the danger that threatens them, and Vasily recognizes his rightness and the unrighteousness of the path he has taken. But Semyon’s activity is of a special kind. It is based on self-sacrifice, and if he raises a red flag, then this flag is soaked in his own blood.
The question of what is good and evil is posed in this story somewhat simplified and unambiguous, in the spirit of Tolstoy’s morality of non-resistance to evil through violence, but thanks to the simplicity of the plot and the noble heroic sacrifice of its protagonist, the story produces a strong emotional impact. It was precisely this goal that Garshin strove for, since he intended it for the people.
For Garshin, morality has always been simple, but the question of why this simple morality cannot be realized in people’s lives was endlessly complex. In each of his stories, Garshin posed with painful acuteness the question of truth and untruth, about the various manifestations and forms of modern evil, and therefore his small stories were filled with large and deep content.
Gleb Uspensky rightly wrote: “...in his small stories and fairy tales, sometimes several pages long, the entire content of our life is positively exhausted, under the conditions in which both Garshin and all his readers had to live.
When I say “the entire content of our life,” I am not using some pompous and thoughtless phrase here, no, precisely everything that our life gave the most important to his mind and heart (ours does not mean only Russian, but the life of people of our time in general), everything down to the last detail was experienced, felt by him with the most burning feeling, and that is why it could only be expressed in two, and even such small, books.” The same idea was expressed by another contemporary of Garshin, P. F. Yakubovich.
Both the revolutionary poet and the greatest prose writer and essayist-sociologist essentially recognized a fact that was unusual both for the literature of the 80s and for previous Russian literature. Short stories reflected the main content of the era.
Later, thanks to Korolenko, Chekhov, Bunin, this idea will no longer be perceived as a paradox. Garshin managed to open up new possibilities for the small genre. He combined the strict objectivity of the narrative with lyrical emotion and a clearly formulated author's point of view.
In subjective lyrical experiences he discovered social basis. He combined the realism of descriptions with a romantic transformation of life, specific images with allegorical and symbolic generalizations, everyday sketches with philosophical understanding reality.
Garshin contrasted the gloomy pessimism and rosy optimism, not uncommon in the literature of the 80s, with his doubts, questions, wise skepticism and at the same time the pathos of asceticism. In the usual course of everyday life, he was able to see the tragedy, and in tragic fate extraordinary heroes are features of the new morality.
He created new type a hero - a man of sensitive conscience and exposed nerves, who felt personal responsibility for public untruths, a hero who will become one of the main ones in democratic literature late XIX V.
History of Russian literature: in 4 volumes / Edited by N.I. Prutskov and others - L., 1980-1983.
Semyon Ivanov served as a watchman on the railway. From his booth it was twelve miles to one station, ten miles to another. A large spinning mill was opened about four versts away last year; Because of the forest, its tall chimney turned black, and closer, except for the neighboring booths, there was no housing.
Semyon Ivanov was a sick and broken man. Nine years ago he went to war: he served as an orderly for an officer and did a whole campaign with him. He was hungry, and cold, and roasted in the sun, and made marches of forty and fifty miles in heat and cold; It happened that I was under bullets, but, thank God, none of them hit me. Once the regiment stood in the first line; For a whole week there was a shootout with the Turks: our chain lay, and across the hollow there was a Turkish one, and they were shooting from morning to evening. Semyonov’s officer was also in chains; Every day three times Semyon brought him from the regimental kitchens, from the ravine, a hot samovar and lunch. He walks with a samovar through an open place, bullets whistle and click into stones; Semyon is scared, he cries, but he walks away. The gentlemen officers were very pleased with him: they always had hot tea. He returned from the hike intact, only his arms and legs began to ache. Since then he has had to experience a lot of grief. He came home - his old father had died; little son was fourth year- He also died, he had a sore throat; Semyon and his wife remained as friends. They were not successful in farming either, and it was difficult to plow the land with chubby arms and legs. They had a hard time in their village; Let's go to new places to look for happiness. Semyon and his wife visited the Line, and in Kherson, and in the Donshchina; I couldn’t find happiness anywhere. His wife went to work as a servant, but Semyon still wanders around. He had to drive around in the car once; At one station he sees that the boss seems to be an acquaintance. Semyon looks at him, and the boss also peers into Semyon’s face. They recognized each other: he was an officer of his regiment.
-Are you Ivanov? - speaks.
“That’s right, your honor, that’s exactly what I am.”
- How did you get here?
Semyon told him: so, so, so.
-Where are you going now?
- I can’t know, your honor.
- How come, you fool, you can’t know?
“That’s right, your honor, that’s why there’s nowhere to go.” What kind of work, your honor, should you look for?
The station chief looked at him, thought and said:
- That's it, brother, stay at the station for now. You seem to be married? Where is your wife?
- That's right, your honor, married; his wife is in the city of Kursk, in the service of a merchant.
- Well, then write to your wife to go. I'll get a free ticket. Here our traffic booth will be cleared; I’ll ask the head of the course for you.
“Thank you a lot, your honor,” answered Semyon.
He remained at the station. I helped the boss in the kitchen, chopped wood, chalked the yard, chalked the platform. Two weeks later his wife arrived, and Semyon rode in a handcart to his hut. The booth is new, warm, as much wood as you want; a small vegetable garden remained from the previous caretakers, and there was about half a tenth of arable land on the sides of the canvas. Semyon was delighted; I began to think about how he would start his own farm, buy a cow, a horse.
They gave him all the necessary supplies: a green flag, a red flag, lanterns, a horn, a hammer, a key to tighten the nuts, a crowbar, a shovel, brooms, bolts, crutches; They gave us two books with rules and a train schedule. At first, Semyon did not sleep at night, repeating the entire schedule; the train will leave in another two hours, and he will go around his section, sit on a bench at the booth and keep looking and listening to see if the rails are shaking, if the train is making noise. He memorized the rules; Even though I didn’t read it well, it was wordy, but I still got it right.
It was summer; The work is not hard, there is no need to shovel snow, and there are rarely trains on that road. Semyon will walk around his mile twice a day, try to tighten some nuts here and there, straighten the gravel, look at the water pipes, and go home to set up his household. In the household, he was the only one who had a problem: whatever he decided to do, ask the road foreman about everything, and he would report to the head of the distance; By the time the request returns, time has passed. Semyon and his wife even began to feel bored.
About two months passed; Semyon began to get acquainted with the neighboring watchmen. One was an ancient old man; Everyone was going to replace him: he could barely get out of the booth. His wife did his rounds for him. The other guard, who was closer to the station, was a young man, thin and wiry. They met Semyon for the first time on the canvas, in the middle between the booths, on the round; Semyon took off his hat and bowed.
“Good day,” he says, “health, neighbor.” The neighbor looked at him from the side.
“Hello,” he says.
He turned and walked away. The women met each other afterwards. Arina Semenova greeted her neighbor; She also didn’t talk much and left. Semyon saw her once.
“What is it,” he says, “you, young lady, have a taciturn husband?” The woman was silent for a while, then said:
- What should he talk to you about? Everyone has their own...Go with God.
However, about a month passed before we met. Semyon and Vasily will meet on the canvas, sit on the edge, smoke pipes and talk about their lives. Vasily kept silent more and more, but Semyon talked about his village and the campaign.
“I have suffered a lot,” he says, “in my lifetime, but God knows how many in my lifetime.” God did not give me happiness. The Lord will give what kind of talent-destiny to whomever, that’s how it is. That's it, brother, Vasily Stepanych.
And Vasily Stepanych knocked his pipe out on the rail, stood up and said:
“It’s not talent-fate that plagues you and me forever, but people.” There is no beast in the world more predatory and evil than man. A wolf does not eat a wolf, but a man eats a man alive.
- Well, brother, the wolf eats the wolf, don’t say that.
- By the way, I had to, and I said it. Still, there is no creature more cruel. If it weren’t for human anger and greed, it would be possible to live. Everyone tries to grab you alive, bite you off, and devour you.
Semyon thought.
“I don’t know,” he says, “brother.” Maybe it is so, and if it is so, then there is a provision from God for that.
“If that’s the case,” says Vasily, “there’s no point in talking to you.” If you blame every bad thing on God, but sit and endure it yourself, then, brother, that is not to be a man, but to be a beast. Here's my story for you.
He turned and walked away without saying goodbye. Semyon also stood up.
“Neighbor,” he shouts, “why are you fighting?”
The neighbor didn’t turn around and walked away. Semyon looked at him for a long time, until at the notch at the turn Vasily was no longer visible. He returned home and said to his wife:
- Well, Arina, our neighbor is a potion, not a person. However, they did not quarrel; We met again and started talking as before, and all about the same things.
“Eh, brother, if it weren’t for people... you and I wouldn’t be sitting in these booths,” says Vasily.
- Well, in the booth... it’s okay, you can live.
- You can live, you can live... Oh, you! He lived a lot, made a little money, looked a lot, saw a little.
For a poor person, in a booth there or wherever, what a life! These flayers are eating you. They squeeze out all the juice, and when you get old, they throw it away like some kind of cake to feed the pigs. How much salary do you receive?
- Yes, not enough, Vasily Stepanovich. Twelve rubles.
- And I’m thirteen and a half. Let me ask you why? According to the rule, everyone is entitled to one thing from the board: fifteen rubles a month, heating, lighting. Who decided that you and I are twelve or thirteen and a half? Whose belly is for the lard, in whose pocket are the remaining three rubles or one and a half going? Let me ask you?.. And you say, you can live! You understand, we are not talking about one and a half or three rubles. If only all fifteen paid. I was at the station last month; the director was passing by, so I saw him. I had such an honor. He travels in a separate carriage; He walked out onto the platform, stood there, with a golden chain loosened over his stomach, his cheeks red, as if they were full... He drank our blood. Oh, if only there was strength and power!.. May I not stay here long; I'll go wherever my eyes lead me.
“Where are you going, Stepanych?” They do not seek good from good. Here you have a home, warmth, and a little land. Your wife is a worker...
- Earthlings! You should look at my little land. There is not a rod on it. I planted cabbages in the spring, and then the road foreman came. “This, he says, what is it? Why no report? Why without permission? Dig it up so it won’t even exist.” He was drunk. Another time I wouldn’t have said anything, but then it got in my head... “Three rubles fine!..”
Vasily paused, pulled the pipes and said quietly:
- A little more, I would have beaten him to death.
- Well, neighbor, you are hot, I’ll tell you.
“I’m not hot, but I speak and reflect in the truth.” Yes, he will wait for me, red face! I will complain to the head of the distance himself. Let's see!
And he definitely complained.
Once the head of the course passed by to inspect the path. Three days after that, important gentlemen from St. Petersburg were supposed to pass along the road: they were doing an inspection, so before their passage everything had to be put in order. Ballast was added, leveled, sleepers were revised, crutches were pinned, nuts were tightened, poles were tinted, and yellow sand was ordered to be added at crossings. The neighbor's watchman and her old man took her out to pick the grass. Semyon worked for a whole week; He got everything in order and repaired his caftan, cleaned it, and polished the copper plaque with a brick until it shined. Vasily also worked. The head of the course arrived on a handcar; four workers turn the handle; the gears whir; the cart rushes twenty miles an hour, only the wheels howl. He flew up to Semyon's booth; Semyon jumped up and reported like a soldier. Everything turned out to be in good order.
- How long have you been here? - asks the boss.
- From the second of May, your honor.
- OK. Thank you. Who's in issue one hundred and sixty-four?
The road foreman (who was riding with him on the handcar) replied:
— Vasily Spiridov.
- Spiridov, Spiridov... Oh, is this the same one that you noticed last year?
- He is the one, sir.
- Well, okay, let's see Vasily Spiridov. Touch it. The workers leaned on the handles; the trolley began to move. Semyon looks at her and thinks: “Well, he and his neighbor will have a game.”
About two hours later he went around. He sees someone walking along the canvas from the recess, with something white visible on his head. Semyon began to take a closer look - Vasily; there is a stick in his hand, a small bundle behind his shoulders, a scarf tied on his cheek.
- Neighbor, where are you going? - Semyon shouts. Vasily came very close: there was no face on him,
white as chalk, wild eyes; started to speak - the voice breaks off.
“To the city,” he says, “to Moscow... to the board.”
- To the board... That's it! So, are you going to complain? Come on, Vasily Stepanych, forget it...
- No, brother, I won’t forget. It's too late to forget. You see, he hit me in the face and made me bleed. As long as I’m alive, I won’t forget, I won’t leave it like that. We need to teach them, bloodsuckers...
Semyon took him by the hand:
- Leave it, Stepanych, I’m telling you right: you can’t do better.
- What's better there! I know myself that I won’t do better; You spoke the truth about talent-fate. I won’t do anything better for myself, but you have to stand for the truth, brother.
- Tell me, where did it all start?
- Why... I looked around, got off the trolley, and looked into the booth. I already knew that I would ask strictly; everything was fixed properly. I really wanted to go, but I complained. He's screaming now. “Here,” he says, “there is a government audit, this and that, and you file complaints about the garden!” Here, he says, are the Privy Councilors, and you are meddling with the cabbage!” I couldn’t stand it, I said a word, not that much, but it seemed so offensive to him. How will he give me... Our damned patience! It should be here... but I stand there as if this is how it should be. They left, I came to my senses, so I washed my face and went.
- What about the booth?
- My wife stayed. Doesn't miss; Yes, well, they are absolutely and with their dear ones!
Vasily stood up and got ready.
- Goodbye, Ivanovich. I don’t know if I’ll find control for myself.
- Are you really going to go on foot?
- At the station I’ll ask for freight: tomorrow I’ll be in Moscow.
The neighbors said goodbye; Vasily left and was gone for a long time. His wife worked for him, did not sleep day and night; I was completely exhausted, waiting for my husband. On the third day the inspection passed: a steam locomotive, a baggage car and two first class ones, but Vasily was still missing. On the fourth day, Semyon saw his owner: her face was plump from tears, her eyes were red.
- Has your husband returned? - asks.
The woman waved her hand, said nothing and walked in her direction.
————
Semyon once learned, when he was still a boy, to make pipes from wool. It will burn out the heart of a tall stick, drill holes where necessary, make a squeak at the end and set it up so nicely that you can play anything. In his spare time he made a lot of pipes and sent them to the city market with a freight conductor he knew; They gave him two kopecks a piece there. On the third day after the inspection, he left his wife at home to meet the evening six o'clock train, and he took a knife and went into the forest to cut some sticks for himself. He reached the end of his section - at this point the path turned sharply - he descended from the embankment and walked downhill through the forest. Half a mile away there was a large swamp, and near it the most excellent bushes for his pipes grew. He cut a whole bunch of sticks and went home. Walking through the forest; the sun was already low; The silence is dead, you can only hear the birds chirping and the dead wood crunching under your feet. Semyon walked a little further, soon the canvas; and it seems to him that he can still hear something: as if somewhere iron is clanking on iron.
Semyon went quickly. There were no renovations on their site at that time. “What would that mean?” - thinks. He comes out to the edge of the forest - the railway embankment rises in front of him; at the top, on the canvas, a man is squatting, doing something; Semyon began to slowly rise towards him: he thought someone had come to steal the nuts. He looked and the man stood up, holding a crowbar in his hands; He used a crowbar to pry up the rail as soon as he moved it to the side. Semyon's vision grew dark; wants to shout, but cannot. He sees Vasily, runs, and he with a crowbar and a key rolls head over heels from the other side of the embankment.
- Vasily Stepanych! Dear father, my dear, come back! Give me a crowbar! Let's install the rail, no one will know. Go back, save your soul from sin.
Vasily did not turn around and went into the forest.
Semyon is standing over the open rail, dropping his sticks. The train is not a freight train, it is a passenger train. And you can’t stop him with anything: there is no flag. You can't put the rail in place; You can't beat crutches with your bare hands. You have to run, definitely run to the hut for some supplies. Lord help me!
Semyon runs to his booth, gasping for breath. He runs and is about to fall. He ran out of the forest - to the booth, “no more than a few fathoms left, he heard a buzzer at the factory. Six o'clock. And at two minutes past seven the train will pass. God! Save innocent souls! So Semyon sees in front of him: the locomotive will hit the rail stub with its left wheel, it will tremble, tilt, start tearing the sleepers and smashing them to pieces, and then there is a curve, a curve, and an embankment, and it will fall down eleven fathoms, and there, in the third class, The place is jam-packed with people, small children... Now they all sit, not thinking about anything. Lord, give me some sense!.. No, you won’t be able to run to the booth and get back in time...
Semyon did not reach the booth, turned back, and ran faster than before. Runs almost without memory; he doesn’t know what else will happen. He reached the open rail: his sticks lay in a heap. He bent down, grabbed one, without understanding why, and ran on. It seems to him that the train is already coming. He hears a distant whistle, he hears, the rails began to tremble steadily and slowly. I have no strength to run further; He stopped a hundred yards from the terrible place: here it was as if light had illuminated his head. He took off his hat and took out a paper handkerchief; he pulled out a knife from his boot; crossed himself, God bless!
Stabbed himself with a knife left hand above the elbow, blood splashed out, pouring out in a hot stream; He soaked his handkerchief in it, straightened it, stretched it, tied it on a stick and displayed his red flag.
He stands there, waving his flag, and the train is already visible. The driver doesn’t see him, he’ll come close, but at a hundred fathoms he won’t be able to stop the heavy train!
And the blood keeps pouring and pouring; presses the wound to his side, wants to squeeze it, but the blood does not stop; Apparently, he deeply wounded his hand. His head was spinning, black flies were flying in his eyes; then it got completely dark; There is a ringing of bells in my ears. He doesn’t see the train and doesn’t hear the noise: one thought in his head: “I can’t stand, I’ll fall, I’ll drop the flag; a train will pass through me... God help me, let's go shift..."
And it became black in his eyes and empty in his soul, and he dropped the flag. But the bloody banner did not fall to the ground: someone’s hand caught it and raised it high towards the approaching train.
The driver saw him, closed the regulator and gave counter steam. The train stopped.
People jumped out of the carriages and gathered in a crowd. They see: a man lies covered in blood, without memory; another stands next to him with a bloody rag on a stick.
Vasily looked around everyone, lowered his head:
“Tie me up,” he says, “I turned away the rail.”