Question No. 25
Read the text and complete tasks 21 - 26
(1) Steam poured out of the samovar like from a steam locomotive - even the glass in the lamp became a little foggy: the steam was coming out so strongly. (2) And the cups were the same, blue on the outside and white on the inside, very beautiful cups that were given to us at the wedding. (3) My wife’s sister gave it to her - she is very nice and kind woman.
- (4) Did everyone really survive? — I asked incredulously, stirring the sugar in a glass with a clean silver spoon.
“(5) One broke,” the wife answered absentmindedly: at that time she was holding the tap turned off, and hot water flowed beautifully and easily from there.
(6) I laughed.
- (7) What are you doing? - asked the brother.
- (8) Yes. (9) Well, take me to the office one more time. (10) Work hard for the hero! (11) You’ve been idle without me, now that’s it, I’ll pull you up, - and I jokingly, of course, sang: “We bravely rush to the enemies, to the battle, friends, in a hurry...”
(12) They understood the joke and also smiled, only the wife did not raise her face: she was rubbing the cups with a clean embroidered towel. (13) In the office I again saw blue wallpaper, a lamp with a green cap and a table on which stood a decanter of water. (14) And it was a little dusty.
“(15) Pour me some water from here,” I ordered cheerfully.
- (16) You were drinking tea just now.
- (17) Nothing, nothing, pour it. (18) And you,” I said to my wife, “take your little son and sit for a while in that room. (19) Please.
(20) And I drank the water in small sips, enjoying it, but my wife and son were sitting in the next room, and I didn’t see them.
- (21) So, good. (22) Now come here. (23) But why doesn’t he go to bed so late?
- (24) He’s glad you’re back. (25) Darling, go to your father.
(26) But the child began to cry and hid at his mother’s feet.
- (27) Why is he crying? — I asked in bewilderment and looked around. —
(28) Why are you all so pale and silent and follow me like shadows?
(29) The brother laughed loudly and said:
- We are not silent.
(30) And the sister repeated:
- (31) We talk all the time.
“(32) I’ll take care of dinner,” said the mother and hurriedly left.
“(33) Yes, you are silent,” I repeated with unexpected confidence. - (34) Since the very morning I haven’t heard a word from you, I’m just chatting, laughing, rejoicing. (35) Aren't you glad to see me? (36) And why do you all avoid looking at me, have I changed so much? (37) Yes, he has changed. (38) I don’t even see mirrors. (39) Did you remove them? (40) Give me a mirror here.
“(41) I’ll bring it now,” the wife answered and did not return for a long time, and the maid brought the mirror. (42) I looked into it, and - I already saw myself in the carriage, at the station - it was the same face, a little older, but very ordinary. (43) And for some reason they seemed to expect that I would scream and faint - they were so happy when I calmly asked:
- What’s unusual here?
(44) Laughing louder and louder, the sister hurriedly left, and the brother said confidently and calmly:
- Yes. (45) You haven't changed much. (46) Got a little bald.
“(47) Thank you for leaving your head,” I answered indifferently. - (48) But where do they all run away: first one, then the other. (49) Take me around the rooms some more. (50)What comfortable armchair, completely silent. (51) How much did you pay? (52) And I won’t spare the money: I’ll buy myself such legs, better... (53) A bicycle!
(54) It was hanging on the wall, still completely new, only with the tires falling off without air. (55) A piece of dirt has dried on the rear wheel tire - from last time when I was riding. (56) The brother was silent and did not move his chair, and I understood this silence and this indecision.
“(57) There are only four officers left alive in our regiment,” I said gloomily. - (58) I’m very happy... (59) Take it for yourself, take it tomorrow.
“(60) Okay, I’ll take it,” the brother obediently agreed. - (61) Yes, you are happy. (62) Half of our city is in mourning. (63) And the legs are, really...
- (64) Of course. (65) I'm not a postman.
(66) The brother suddenly stopped and asked:
- Why is your head shaking?
- (67) Nonsense. (68) It will pass, the doctor said!
- (69) And hands too?
- (70) Yes, yes. (71) And hands. (72) Everything will pass. (73) Please take me, I’m tired of standing.
(74) They upset me, these dissatisfied people, but joy returned to me again when they began to prepare a bed for me - a real bed, on a beautiful bed, on the bed that I bought before the wedding, four years ago. (75) They laid out a clean sheet, then fluffed up the pillows, wrapped the blanket - and I looked at this solemn ceremony, and there were tears of laughter in my eyes.
“(76) Now undress me and put me down,” I told my wife. - (77) How good!
- (78) Now, honey.
- (79) Hurry!
- (80) Now, honey.
- (81) What are you doing?
- (82) Now, honey.
(83) She stood behind me, and I turned my head in vain to see her. (84) And suddenly she screamed, screamed as they scream only in war:
- What is this! - (85) And she rushed to me, hugged me, fell next to me, hiding her head at the cut off legs, moving away from them in horror and falling down again, kissing these scraps and crying.
- (86) What a person you were! (87) After all, you are only thirty years old. (88) He was young and handsome. (89) What is this! (90) How cruel people are. (91) Why is this? (92) Who needed this? (93) You, my meek, my pitiful, my dear, dear...
(94) And then they all came running to the cry, mother, sister, and nanny, and they all cried, said something, lay at my feet and cried. (95) And on the threshold stood the brother, pale, completely white, with a shaking jaw, and shouted shrilly:
- I'm going crazy with you here. (96) I'll go crazy!
(97) And the mother crawled near the chair and no longer screamed, but only wheezed and banged her head on the wheels. (98) And clean, with fluffed pillows, with a wrapped blanket, there was a bed, the same one that I bought four years ago - before the wedding...
(According to L.N. Andreev)
25. “Excerpt from the story “Red Laughter,” written at the height of Russo-Japanese War, conveys the spirit of that time. When describing life, so familiar to the hero of the text of the war participant, the author Special attention pays attention to details. The feeling of enjoying the sight of familiar things is conveyed through the use of various means of expressiveness, among which the trope is (A)___ ("like from a steam locomotive" in sentence 1), the lexical device is (B)___ ("cups" in sentence 2, "little blue" in sentence 13). The feelings of the hero’s relatives are expressed primarily through their remarks: thus, in the words of the wife there are syntactic means - (B) ___ (in sentences 78, 80, 82, 93), (D) ___ (sentences 91, 92).” .
List of terms:
1) personification
2) appeals
3) metonymy
4) colloquial vocabulary
5) comparison
6) antithesis
7) words with diminutive suffixes
8) gradation
9) interrogative sentences
Lexical means (tropes)
Trails - words or figures of speech used in a figurative, allegorical meaning.
1. Epithet - an adjective that has a figurative and emotional meaning (can be a noun, adverb, verb).
Golden Grove. Cheerful birds began to sing. The azure of heaven laughs. The petrel soars proudly. The poet is the echo of the world.
2. Metaphor - one thing is replaced by another in a figurative meaning (hidden comparison).
Burn on the ground. The chintz of the sky is blue.
3. Personification - phenomena or objects endowed with the properties of living beings.
Time is running out. Gloomy forest.
4. Metonymy - replacing the containing with the content; thing - material.
I ate three plates. Crystal and bronze on the table.
5. Synecdoche - replacement plural unique, the use of the whole instead of the part (and vice versa).
All flags will visit us (meaning: states).
6. Allegory - allegory, depiction of a specific concept in artistic images(in fairy tales, fables, proverbs, epics).
Cunning is in the image of a fox, courage and strength are in the image of Ilya Muromets, beauty is in the image of Apollo.
7. Hyperbole - exaggeration of properties, qualities.
I've said it a hundred times. My love, wide as the sea, cannot be contained by the shores of life.
8. Litota - understatement of properties, qualities.
Two steps from here.
9. Paraphrase - a retelling, a descriptive phrase containing an assessment (the object is not directly named, properties or similar values indicating the object are called).
White Stone Capital (Moscow). It's a sad time! The charm of the eyes, (autumn).
10. Pun - a play on words, a humorous use of multiple meanings of words or homonymy.
Spring will drive anyone crazy. The ice - and it began to move; The director held a conference... And journalists...
11. Irony - the use of a word in a sense opposite to the literal one; the goal is subtle or hidden ridicule; highest degree irony - sarcasm.
We are minds, and you are alas; just between you and me, this engineer human souls, turned out to be an extremely insolvent and limited subject.
12. Paradox - an unexpected conclusion that diverges from logic or conventional opinion.
13. Comparison - comparison of similar elements in the text + comparative conjunctions (as if, as if, exactly, as, etc.).
...like gold, ...as if cut out with a jigsaw.
Lexical means (not tropes)
Lexical means based on the meaning of words.
1.Phraseologism - a stable expression used figuratively.
Jump on your hind legs.
2. Lexical repetition - repetition of a word or phrase in a sentence or text.
Wind, wind all over the world.
3. Synonyms - words of the same part of speech, identical or similar in their lexical meaning
Guess, conjecture, hypothesis.
4. Contextual (or contextual) synonyms - words that are synonyms only in this text.
Lomonosov is a genius - the beloved child of nature. (V. Belinsky)
5. Antonyms - words of the same part of speech that are opposite in their lexical meaning
Black - white, hot - cold, high - low.
6. Homonyms - words that sound the same but have different lexical meanings
Club(smoke), club (hunters and fishermen), club (night).
7. Professional vocabulary - words characteristic of professional dialects; professional words used by groups of people united by common occupations or occupations
Where is the compass? architect, palette And cutter
Your learned whim was obeyed
Syntactic means
Syntactic means - figures of speech used to enhance the expressiveness (expressiveness) of a statement (not based on a figurative meaning)
1. Comparative turnover - there is something that is compared, something with which it is compared + comparative conjunctions (as if, as if, exactly, as, etc.).
He's like a bull in a china shop.
2. Ellipsis - omission of one of the members of a sentence that is easily restored in meaning (most often a predicate). This achieves dynamism and conciseness of speech and conveys a tense change of action.
We sat down in ashes, cities in dust,
Swords include sickles and plows.
3. Oxymoron - a combination of logically incompatible concepts.
Resonant silence hot Snow, terribly funny, terribly funny.
4. Question-and-answer form of presentation - the text is presented in the form of rhetorical questions and answers to them.
And again a metaphor: “Live under minute houses...”. What does this mean? Nothing lasts forever, everything is subject to decay and destruction
5. Rows homogeneous members offers - enumeration of homogeneous concepts.
A long, serious illness and retirement from sports awaited him.
6. Quoting - transmission in the text of other people's thoughts and statements indicating the author of these words.
As it is said in the poem by N. Nekrasov: “You have to bow your head below a thin epic…”
7. Anaphora - repetition of the initial words.
I swear by the first day of creation, I swear by its last day
8. Epiphora - repetition of final words.
9. Antithesis - comparison of opposite concepts in meaning in a sentence or text.
A stupid person will judge, but a smart person will judge.
10. Inversion - change correct order words to enhance expressiveness.
The horses were brought out. I didn't like them. Nature was waiting for winter.
11. Parallelisms - similar arrangement of elements, same type of construction.
The coachman whistled, the horses galloped, and the bell rang.
12. Gradation - a “ladder” of words that are close in meaning with an increase or decrease in their semantic significance.
Women cry: streams, lakes, oceans of tears!
13. Parcellation - splitting a sentence into several.
Night. Street. Flashlight
For this issue no explanation
About the same thing different people fairy tales are told differently. This is what I heard from my grandmother... Master Foka, a jack of all trades, had a son. Also called Foka. Fokich took after Fok's father. Nothing escaped his eyes. He gave a job to everyone. I even taught the crow to caw before the rain - to predict the weather.
Foka Fokich is sitting somehow, drinking tea. And thick steam pours out of the samovar through the steam engine. With a whistle. Even the kettle on the burner shudders.
Look, what power is being lost! It wouldn’t be a bad idea to put you to work,” says Foka Fokich and figures out how this can be done.
What is this? - the lazy Samovar puffed and snorted. - It’s enough for me that I boil boiling water, heat the kettle, amuse my darling with a song, and show off on the table.
It is true, says Foka Fokic. - Anyone can sing songs and show off in public. It would be nice if you, Samovar, could use it to thresh bread.
When the Samovar heard this, it boiled and began spitting boiling water. Look, he'll run away. And Foka Fokich scooped it up and took it to the threshing floor and then attached an impeller with a cunning lever to it.
He attached a wheel with a cunning lever and, well, boiled the Samovar at full steam. The Samovar is boiling at full speed, the wheel is turning, it works with a cunning lever, like a hand.
Foka Fokich switched the drive belt from the impeller to the threshing handwheel and:
Eh, hurry up, don’t yawn, untie the sheaves, put them in the thresher.
The Samovar began to thresh bread and was called a steam engine. But the character remained the same. Quarrelsome. Just look, he'll burst from anger and be scalded by the steam.
That's how you are! - says Foka Fokic. - Wait, I’ll think of a better job for you.
I didn't have to think long. Once Foka Fokich’s horse went lame. But you need to go to the city. And Foka Fokich decided to harness the Samovar.
Foka Fokich knocked the Samovar on its side. I bent his pipe so that it would look into the sky. I fitted strong wheels under it. He forged clever connecting rod levers and made their wheels turn. And so that the Samovar would not burst out of anger, he bound it with good iron. Then he attached a tarantass to the Samovar, and a cart to the tarantass, loaded it with what was needed, raised the pairs and:
Eh, hurry up where you need to turn. Give me a couple!
The Samovar began to carry people and luggage - it was called a steam locomotive. And he became even angrier in character.
“Okay,” says Foka Fokic. - I won’t think of such a job for you.
Again we didn't have to wait long. The summer turned out to be windless. The sails on the ships, like grass in a drought, drooped. But you have to go overseas. Bring bread. It was then that Foka Fokich decided to move the Samovar to the ship.
No sooner said than done. I extended the pipe even higher. I put the samovar in the hold. He made ship wheels, and attached connecting rod arms to them:
Hey, don't yawn, have time! Steer the steering wheel - where to steer.
The Samovar began to carry people and goods overseas - it was called a steamship. It was then that he became completely obedient. Compliant. That's how it was. Others may tell a different story. Only my grandmother won't lie. She saw it all herself and told me about it. And I - to you.
Who needed it?
Leonid Andreev
Source: Andreev L. Red laughter. St. Petersburg, 1905. Fragment.
... around the samovar, around a real samovar, from which steam was pouring out, like from a steam locomotive - even the glass in the lamp became a little foggy: the steam was coming out so much. And the cups were the same, blue on the outside and white on the inside, very beautiful cups that were given to us at the wedding. My wife's sister gave it to me - she is a very nice and kind woman.
- Is everyone safe? – I asked incredulously, stirring the sugar in a glass with a clean silver spoon.
“One was broken,” the wife said absentmindedly: at that time she was holding the tap turned off, and hot water was running beautifully and easily from there.
I laughed.
- What are you? - asked the brother.
- So. Well, take me to the office one more time. Work hard for the hero! You’ve been idle without me, now that’s it, I’ll pull you up, - and I jokingly, of course, sang: “We bravely rush to the enemies, to the battle, friends, ...”
They understood the joke and also smiled, only the wife did not raise her face: she was rubbing the cups with a clean embroidered towel. In the office I again saw blue wallpaper, a lamp with a green cap and a table on which stood a decanter of water. And it was a little dusty.
“Pour me some water from here,” I ordered cheerfully.
- You were drinking tea just now.
- Nothing, nothing, pour it. And you,” I told my wife, “take your little son and sit in that room for a while.” Please.
And I drank the water in small sips, enjoying it, but my wife and son were sitting in the next room, and I didn’t see them.
- So good. Now come here. But why does he stay up so late?
- He's glad you're back. Honey, go to your father.
But the child began to cry and hid at his mother’s feet.
- Why is he crying? – I asked in bewilderment and looked around. - Why are you all so pale, and silent, and follow me like shadows?
The brother laughed loudly and said:
- We are not silent.
And the sister repeated:
– We talk all the time.
“I’ll take care of dinner,” said the mother and hurriedly left.
“Yes, you are silent,” I repeated with unexpected confidence. - Since the very morning I haven’t heard a word from you, I’m just chatting, laughing, rejoicing. Aren't you glad to see me? And why do you all avoid looking at me, have I changed so much? Yes, that has changed. I don't even see mirrors. Have you removed them? Give me a mirror here.
“I’ll bring it now,” the wife answered and did not return for a long time, and the maid brought the mirror. I looked into it, and - I already saw myself in the carriage, at the station - it was the same face, a little older, but very ordinary. And for some reason they seemed to expect me to scream and faint - they were so happy when I calmly asked:
– What’s unusual here?
Laughing louder and louder, the sister hurriedly left, and the brother said confidently and calmly:
- Yes. You haven't changed much. Got a little bald.
“Thank you for the fact that you still have your head,” I answered indifferently. – But where do they all run away: first one, then the other. Take me around the rooms some more. What a comfortable chair, completely silent. How much did you pay? And I won’t spare the money: I’ll buy myself these legs, better yet... A bicycle!
It was hanging on the wall, still completely new, only with the tires falling off without air. There was a piece of dirt stuck on the rear tire from the last time I rode. The brother was silent and did not move his chair, and I understood this silence and this indecision.
“There are only four officers left alive in our regiment,” I said gloomily. - I’m very happy... Take it for yourself, take it tomorrow.
“Okay, I’ll take it,” my brother agreed obediently. - Yes, you are happy. We have half the city in mourning. And those are the legs, really...
- Certainly. I'm not a postman.
The brother suddenly stopped and asked:
- Why is your head shaking?
- Nonsense. It will pass, the doctor said!
-And your hands too?
- Yes Yes. And hands. All will pass. Please take me, I'm tired of standing.
They upset me, these dissatisfied people, but joy returned to me again when they began to prepare a bed for me - a real bed, on a beautiful bed, on the bed that I bought before the wedding, four years ago. They laid out a clean sheet, then fluffed up the pillows, wrapped the blanket - and I looked at this solemn ceremony, and there were tears of laughter in my eyes.
“Now undress me and put me down,” I told my wife. - How good!
- Now, honey.
- Hurry up!
- Now, honey.
- What are you doing?
- Now, honey.
She stood behind me, near the toilet, and I turned my head in vain to see her.
And suddenly she screamed, screamed as they scream only in war:
- What is this! - And she rushed to me, hugged me, fell next to me, hiding her head at the cut off legs, moving away from them in horror and falling down again, kissing these scraps and crying.
- What a person you were! After all, you are only thirty years old. He was young and handsome. What is this! How cruel people are. Why is this? Who needed it? You, my meek, my pitiful, my dear, dear...
And then they all came running to the cry, my mother, my sister, my nanny, and they all cried, said something, lay at my feet and cried. And on the threshold stood the brother, pale, completely white, with a shaking jaw, and shouted shrilly:
“I’m going crazy with you here.” I'll go crazy!
And the mother crawled near the chair and no longer screamed, but only wheezed and banged her head on the wheels. And clean, with fluffed pillows, with a wrapped blanket, there was a bed, the same one that I bought four years ago - before the wedding...
Current page: 3 (book has 5 pages in total)
Excerpt seven
...it was godless, it was lawless. The Red Cross is respected by the whole world as a shrine, and they saw that this train was coming not with soldiers, but with harmless wounded, and they should have warned about the mine. Unhappy people, they were already dreaming about home...
Excerpt eight
... around the samovar, around a real samovar, from which steam was pouring out, like from a steam locomotive - even the glass in the lamp became a little foggy: the steam was coming out so much. And the cups were the same, blue on the outside and white on the inside, very beautiful cups that were given to us at the wedding. My wife's sister gave it to me - she is a very nice and kind woman.
- Is everyone safe? – I asked incredulously, stirring the sugar in a glass with a clean silver spoon.
“One was broken,” the wife said absentmindedly: at that time she was holding the tap turned off, and hot water was running beautifully and easily from there.
I laughed.
- What are you? - asked the brother.
- So. Well, take me to the office one more time. Work hard for the hero! You’ve been idle without me, now that’s it, I’ll pull you up, - and I jokingly, of course, sang: “We bravely rush to the enemies, to the battle, friends, ...”
They understood the joke and also smiled, only the wife did not raise her face: she was rubbing the cups with a clean embroidered towel. In the office I again saw blue wallpaper, a lamp with a green cap and a table on which stood a decanter of water. And it was a little dusty.
“Pour me some water from here,” I ordered cheerfully.
- You were drinking tea just now.
- Nothing, nothing, pour it. And you,” I said to my wife, “take your little son and sit in that room for a while.” Please.
And I drank the water in small sips, enjoying it, but my wife and son were sitting in the next room, and I didn’t see them.
- So good. Now come here. But why does he stay up so late?
- He's glad you're back. Honey, go to your father.
But the child began to cry and hid at his mother’s feet.
- Why is he crying? – I asked in bewilderment and looked around. - Why are you all so pale, and silent, and follow me like shadows?
The brother laughed loudly and said:
- We are not silent.
And the sister repeated:
– We talk all the time.
“I’ll take care of dinner,” said the mother and hurriedly left.
“Yes, you are silent,” I repeated with unexpected confidence. - Since the very morning I haven’t heard a word from you, I’m just chatting, laughing, rejoicing. Aren't you glad to see me? And why do you all avoid looking at me, have I changed so much? Yes, that has changed. I don't even see mirrors. Have you removed them? Give me a mirror here.
“I’ll bring it now,” the wife answered and did not return for a long time, and the maid brought the mirror. I looked into it, and - I already saw myself in the carriage, at the station - it was the same face, a little older, but very ordinary. And for some reason they seemed to expect me to scream and faint - they were so happy when I calmly asked:
– What’s unusual here?
Laughing louder and louder, the sister hurriedly left, and the brother said confidently and calmly:
- Yes. You haven't changed much. Got a little bald.
“Thank you for the fact that you still have your head,” I answered indifferently. – But where do they all run away: first one, then the other. Take me around the rooms. What a comfortable chair, completely silent. How much did you pay? And I won’t spare the money: I’ll buy myself these legs, better yet... A bicycle!
It was hanging on the wall, still completely new, only with the tires falling off without air. There was a piece of dirt stuck on the rear tire from the last time I rode. The brother was silent and did not move his chair, and I understood this silence and this indecision.
“There are only four officers left alive in our regiment,” I said gloomily. - I’m very happy... Take it for yourself, take it tomorrow.
“Okay, I’ll take it,” my brother agreed obediently. - Yes, you are happy. We have half the city in mourning. And the legs are, really...
- Certainly. I'm not a postman.
The brother suddenly stopped and asked:
- Why is your head shaking?
- Nonsense. It will pass, the doctor said!
-And your hands too?
- Yes Yes. And hands. All will pass. Please take me, I'm tired of standing.
They upset me, these dissatisfied people, but joy returned to me again when they began to prepare a bed for me - a real bed, on a beautiful bed, on the bed that I bought before the wedding, four years ago. They laid out a clean sheet, then fluffed the pillows, wrapped the blanket - and I looked at this solemn ceremony, and there were tears of laughter in my eyes.
“Now undress me and put me down,” I told my wife. - How good!
- Now, honey.
- Hurry up!
- Now, honey!
- What are you doing?
- Now, honey!
She stood behind me, near the toilet, and I turned my head in vain to see her. And suddenly she screamed, screamed as they scream only in war:
- What is this! - And she rushed to me, hugged me, fell next to me, hiding her head at the cut off legs, moving away from them in horror and falling down again, kissing these scraps and crying.
- What a person you were! After all, you are only thirty years old. He was young and handsome. What is this! How cruel people are. Why is this? Who needed it? You are my meek, my pitiful, my dear, my dear...
And then they all came running to the cry, my mother, my sister, my nanny, and they all cried, said something, lay at my feet and cried. And on the threshold stood the brother, pale, completely white, with a shaking jaw, and shouted shrilly:
“I’m going crazy with you here.” I'll go crazy!
And the mother crawled near the chair and no longer screamed, but only wheezed and banged her head on the wheels. And clean, with fluffed pillows, with a wrapped blanket, there was a bed, the same one that I bought four years ago - before the wedding...
Excerpt Nine
...I was sitting in a bathtub with hot water, and my brother was restlessly fidgeting around the small room, sitting down, getting up again, grabbing soap and a sheet, bringing them close to his myopic eyes and putting them back again. Then he stood facing the wall and, picking at the plaster with his finger, continued passionately:
“Judge for yourself: you can’t teach pity, intelligence, logic, or give consciousness for decades and hundreds of years with impunity.” The main thing is consciousness. You can become ruthless, lose sensitivity, get used to the sight of blood, and tears, and suffering - like butchers, or some doctors, or military men; but how is it possible, having learned the truth, to refuse it? In my opinion, this is not possible. Since childhood, I was taught not to torture animals, to be compassionate; All the books I read taught me the same thing, and I am painfully sorry for those who suffer in your damned war. But time passes, and I begin to get used to all this death, suffering, blood; I feel that in everyday life I am less sensitive, less responsive and respond only to the most powerful stimuli - but I cannot get used to the very fact of war, my mind refuses to understand and explain what is fundamentally insane. A million people, gathered in one place and trying to give correctness to their actions, kill each other, and everyone is equally hurt, and everyone is equally unhappy - what is this, because this is madness?
My brother turned around and looked at me questioningly with his short-sighted, slightly naive eyes.
“Red laughter,” I said cheerfully, splashing around.
- And I will tell you the truth. “My brother trustingly put a cold hand on my shoulder, but seemed to be afraid that it was bare and wet, and quickly pulled it away. “I’ll tell you the truth: I’m very afraid of going crazy.” I can't understand what is happening. I can't understand and it's terrible. If anyone could explain it to me, but no one can. You were in the war, you saw it - explain to me.
- Get the hell out! – I answered jokingly, splashing around.
“So are you,” said the brother sadly. - Nobody can help me. It's horrible. And I cease to understand what is possible and what is not, what is reasonable and what is crazy. If now I take you by the throat, first quietly, as if caressing you, and then harder, and choke you - what will that happen!
- You're talking nonsense. Nobody does this.
The brother rubbed his cold hands, smiled quietly and continued:
“When you were still there, there were nights in which I did not sleep, could not fall asleep, and then strange thoughts came to me: take an ax and go kill everyone: my mother, my sister, the servant, our dog.” Of course, these were just thoughts and I would never do it.
“I hope so,” I smiled, splashing around.
“I’m also afraid of knives, anything sharp or shiny: it seems to me that if I pick up a knife, I’ll certainly stab someone.” It’s true, why not stab him if the knife is sharp?
- The reason is sufficient. What an eccentric you are, brother! Let me have some more hot water.
The brother turned off the tap, let the water in and continued:
“I’m also afraid of crowds, of people, when a lot of them gather.” When in the evening I hear a noise on the street, a loud scream, I shudder and think that this has already begun... a massacre. When several people are standing opposite each other and I can’t hear what they are talking about, it begins to seem to me that now they will scream, rush at one another and the murder will begin. And you know,” he leaned mysteriously towards my ear, “the newspapers are full of reports of murders, of some strange murders. It is a nonsense that there are many people and many minds - humanity has one mind, and it begins to become clouded. Try my head, how hot it is. There's fire in her. And sometimes it becomes cold, and everything in it freezes, becomes numb, turns into terrible dead ice. I must go crazy, don’t laugh, brother: I must go crazy... It’s already a quarter of an hour - it’s time for you to get out of the bath.
- A little more. Just a minute.
It felt so good to sit in the bathtub, as before, and listen to a familiar voice, without thinking about the words, and see everything familiar, simple, ordinary: a copper, slightly green faucet, walls with a familiar pattern, photographic accessories, neatly laid out on the shelves . I will take up photography again, take pictures of simple and quiet views of my son: how he walks, how he laughs and plays pranks. This can be done without legs. And I will write again - about smart books, about new successes of human thought, about beauty and peace.
- Go Go go! – I rumbled, splashing.
- What do you mean? – the brother was frightened and turned pale.
- So. It's fun that I'm home.
He smiled at me, like a child, like a younger one, although I was three years older than him, and thought - like an adult, like an old man, who has big, heavy and old thoughts.
-Where should I go? – he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Every day, at about one o’clock, the newspapers short-circuit the current, and all of humanity trembles. This simultaneity of sensations, thoughts, suffering and horror deprives me of support, and I am like a sliver on a wave, like a speck of dust in a whirlwind. I am violently torn away from the ordinary, and every morning there is one terrible moment when I hang in the air above the black abyss of madness. And I will fall into it, I must fall into it. You don't know everything yet, brother. You don’t read newspapers, they hide a lot from you - you don’t know everything yet, brother.
And what he said, I considered it a bit of a dark joke - this was the fate of all those who, in their madness, become close to the madness of war and warned us. I considered it a joke - as if I had forgotten at that moment, splashing in the hot water, everything that I had seen there.
“Well, let them hide it for themselves, but I need to get out of the bath,” I said frivolously, and my brother smiled and called the servant, and together they took me out and dressed me. Then I drank fragrant tea from my ribbed glass and thought that I could live without legs, and then they took me to the office to my desk, and I got ready to work.
Before the war, I was a reviewer for a magazine. foreign literature, and now next to me, at arm’s length, lay a pile of these cute ones, wonderful books in yellow, blue, brown covers. My joy was so great, the pleasure so deep that I did not dare to start reading and only sorted through the books, gently caressing them with my hand. I felt a smile spreading across my face, probably a very stupid smile, but I could not hold it back, admiring the fonts, vignettes, and the strict and beautiful simplicity of the design. There is so much intelligence and sense of beauty in all this! How many people had to work, search, how much talent and taste had to be invested in order to create even this letter, so simple and elegant, so smart, so harmonious and eloquent in its intertwined lines.
“Now we have to work,” I said seriously, with respect for work.
And I took the pen to write the title, and, like a frog tied on a thread, my hand slapped across the paper. The pen poked at the paper, creaked, twitched, slid uncontrollably to the side and drew ugly lines, torn, crooked, meaningless. And I didn’t scream, and I didn’t move - I grew cold and froze in the consciousness of the approaching terrible truth; and the hand jumped on the brightly lit paper, and each finger in it shook in such a hopeless, living, insane horror, as if they, these fingers, were still there, at war, and saw the glow and blood, and heard groans and screams of unspeakable pain. They separated from me, they lived, they became ears and eyes, these insanely trembling fingers; and, growing cold, not having the strength to scream or move, I followed their wild dance across a clean, bright white sheet.
And it was quiet. They thought I was working and closed all the doors so as not to disturb me with the sound - alone, unable to move, I sat in the room and obediently watched my hands tremble.
“It’s nothing,” I said loudly, and in the silence and loneliness of the office my voice sounded hoarse and bad, like the voice of a madman. - It's nothing. I will dictate. After all, Milton was blind when he wrote his Paradise Regained. I can think - that's the main thing, that's all.
And I began to compose a long, clever phrase about blind Milton, but the words got confused, fell out as if from a bad set, and when I came to the end of the phrase, I had already forgotten its beginning. I wanted to remember then how it began, why I was composing this strange, meaningless phrase about some Milton, but I could not.
“Paradise returned,” “Paradise returned,” I repeated and did not understand what it meant.
And then I realized that I generally forget a lot, that I have become terribly absent-minded and confuse familiar faces, that even in a simple conversation I lose words, and sometimes, even knowing a word, I cannot understand its meaning. I clearly imagined my current day: some strange, short, chopped off, like my legs, with empty, mysterious places– long hours of loss of consciousness or insensibility, about which I cannot remember anything.
I wanted to call my wife, I forgot what her name was - this no longer surprised or frightened me. Quietly I whispered:
The awkward, unusual word sounded quietly and died away, not eliciting a response. And it was quiet. They were afraid to interfere with my work with a careless sound, and it was quiet - a real scientist’s office, cozy, quiet, conducive to contemplation and creativity. “Dear ones, how they take care of me!” – I thought, touched.
...And inspiration, holy inspiration dawned on me. The sun lit up in my head, and its hot creative rays splashed across the whole world, dropping flowers and songs. And all night I wrote, not knowing fatigue, freely soaring on the wings of powerful, holy inspiration. I wrote great things, I wrote immortal things - flowers and songs. Flowers and songs...
Part II
Excerpt ten
...fortunately he died last week on Friday. I repeat, this is a great happiness for my brother. A legless cripple, shaking all over, with a broken soul, in his insane ecstasy of creativity he was terrible and pitiful. From that very night, for two whole months he wrote without getting up from his chair, refusing food, crying and swearing when we a short time They took him away from the table. With extraordinary speed he moved a dry pen over the paper, throwing away the sheets one after another, and wrote and wrote. He lost sleep, and only twice did we manage to put him to bed for several hours, thanks to the strong drug intake, and then the anesthesia was not able to overcome his creative crazy ecstasy. At his request, the windows were curtained all day and the lamp was on, creating the illusion of night, and he smoked cigarette after cigarette and wrote. Apparently he was happy, and I have never seen such an inspired face on healthy people - the face of a prophet or a great poet. He became very thin, to the point of the waxy transparency of a corpse or an ascetic, and turned completely grey; and he began his crazy work while still relatively young, and finished it as an old man. Sometimes he was in a hurry to write more than usual, the pen would poke into the paper and break, but he did not notice it; at such moments it was impossible to touch him, since at the slightest touch he would go into fits, tears, and laughter; for minutes, very rarely, he rested blissfully and talked favorably with me, each time asking the same questions: who am I, what is my name and how long have I been involved in literature.
And then he condescendingly told, always in the same words, how he was ridiculously afraid that he had lost his memory and could not work, and how he brilliantly immediately refuted this crazy assumption, starting his great, immortal work on flowers and songs.
“Of course, I don’t count on recognition from my contemporaries,” he said proudly and at the same time modestly, placing a trembling hand on a pile of empty sheets of paper, “but the future, but the future will understand my idea.”
He never thought about the war and never once thought about his wife and son; the ghostly, endless work absorbed his attention so completely that he was hardly aware of anything other than it. In his presence one could walk, talk, and he did not notice it, and not for a moment did his face lose the expression of terrible tension and inspiration. In the silence of the nights, when everyone was asleep and he alone tirelessly wove an endless thread of madness, he seemed terrible, and only I and my mother dared to approach him. One day I tried to give him a pencil instead of a dry pen, thinking that perhaps he was really writing something, but on the paper there were only ugly lines, torn, crooked, meaningless.
And he died at night, at work. I knew my brother well, and his madness did not come as a surprise to me: the passionate dream of work, which was evident in his letters from the war, which formed the content of his entire life upon his return, was inevitably bound to collide with the impotence of his tired, exhausted brain and cause a catastrophe. And I think that I quite accurately managed to restore the entire sequence of sensations that led to his end on that fateful night. In general, everything that I wrote down here about the war was taken from the words of my late brother, often very confused and incoherent; only some individual pictures were so indelibly and deeply etched into his brain that I could quote them almost verbatim as he told them.
I loved him, and his death lies on me like a stone, crushing my brain with its meaninglessness. To the incomprehensible thing that envelops my head like a cobweb, she added another loop and tightened it tightly. Our whole family went to the village, to visit relatives, and I was alone in the whole house - in this mansion, which my brother loved so much. The servants were paid off, sometimes the janitor from the neighboring house comes in the morning to light the stoves, and the rest of the time I am alone, and I look like a fly that has been slammed between two window frames - I rush about and hit myself against some transparent but insurmountable barrier. And I feel, I know that I cannot leave this house. Now that I am alone, the war reigns supreme over me and stands like an incomprehensible riddle, like a terrible spirit that I cannot clothe with flesh. I give her all sorts of images: a headless skeleton on a horse, some formless shadow born in the clouds and silently hugging the earth, but not a single image gives me an answer or exhausts the cold, constant, dull horror that possesses me.
I don’t understand the war and I should go crazy, like my brother, like the hundreds of people who are brought from there. And it doesn't scare me. Losing my mind seems honorable to me, like the death of a sentry at his post. But the waiting, but this slow and steady approach of madness, this instant feeling of something huge falling into the abyss, this unbearable pain of a tormented thought... My heart is numb, it has died, and there is no new life for it, but the thought is still alive, still fighting , once strong, like Samson, and now defenseless and weak, like a child - I feel sorry for her, my poor thought. Minutes later I stop enduring the torture of these iron hoops squeezing my brain; I want to uncontrollably run out into the street, into the square, where there are people, and shout:
- Stop the war now, or...
But what “or”? Are there words that could bring them back to reason, words for which there would not be other equally loud and deceitful words? Or kneel in front of them and cry? But hundreds of thousands fill the world with tears, but does this really give anything? Or kill yourself in front of their eyes? Kill! Thousands die every day - and does this really do anything?
And when I feel so powerless, rage takes over me - the rage of war, which I hate. I want, like that doctor, to burn their houses, with their treasures, with their wives and children, to poison the water they drink; raise all the dead from their graves and throw the corpses into their unclean homes, on their beds. Let them sleep with them as with their wives, as with their mistresses!
Oh, if I were the devil! I would transfer all the horror that hell breathes to their land; I would become the ruler of their dreams, and when, falling asleep with a smile, they would baptize their children, I would stand in front of them, black...
Yes, I should go crazy, but I just wish I could. If only it were sooner...
... around the samovar, around a real samovar, from which steam was pouring out, like from a steam locomotive - even the glass in the lamp became a little foggy: the steam was coming out so strongly. And the cups were the same, blue on the outside and white on the inside, very beautiful cups that were given to us at the wedding. My wife's sister gave it to me - she is a very nice and kind woman.
Is everyone safe? - I asked incredulously, stirring the sugar in a glass with a clean silver spoon.
“One was broken,” the wife said absentmindedly: at that time she was holding the tap turned off, and hot water was running beautifully and easily from there.
I laughed.
What are you? - asked the brother.
So. Well, take me to the office one more time. Work hard for the hero! You’ve been idle without me, now that’s it, I’ll pull you up, - and I jokingly, of course, sang: “We bravely rush to the enemies, to the battle, friends, ...”
They understood the joke and also smiled, only the wife did not raise her face: she was rubbing the cups with a clean embroidered towel. In the office I again saw blue wallpaper, a lamp with a green cap and a table on which stood a decanter of water. And it was a little dusty.
“Pour me some water from here,” I ordered cheerfully.
You were drinking tea now.
Nothing, nothing, pour it. And you, I told my wife, take your son and sit in that room for a while. Please.
And I drank the water in small sips, enjoying it, but my wife and son were sitting in the next room, and I didn’t see them.
So good. Now come here. But why does he stay up so late?
He's glad you're back. Honey, go to your father.
But the child began to cry and hid at his mother’s feet.
Why is he crying? - I asked in bewilderment and looked around. - Why are you all so pale, and silent, and follow me like shadows?
The brother laughed loudly and said:
We are not silent.
And the sister repeated:
We talk all the time.
“I’ll take care of dinner,” said the mother and hurriedly left.
Yes, you are silent,” I repeated with unexpected confidence. - Since the very morning I haven’t heard a word from you, I’m just chatting, laughing, rejoicing. Aren't you glad to see me? And why do you all avoid looking at me, have I changed so much? Yes, that has changed. I don't even see mirrors. Have you removed them? Give me a mirror here.
“I’ll bring it now,” the wife answered and did not return for a long time, and the maid brought the mirror. I looked into it, and - I already saw myself in the carriage, at the station - it was the same face, a little older, but very ordinary. And for some reason they seemed to expect me to scream and faint - they were so happy when I calmly asked:
What's unusual here?
Laughing louder and louder, the sister hurriedly left, and the brother said confidently and calmly:
Yes. You haven't changed much. Got a little bald.
Thank you for the fact that you still have your head,” I answered indifferently. - But where do they all run away: first one, then the other. Take me around the rooms some more. What a comfortable chair, completely silent. How much did you pay? And I won’t spare the money: I’ll buy myself these legs, better yet... A bicycle!
It was hanging on the wall, still completely new, only with the tires falling off without air. There was a piece of dirt stuck to the rear tire from the last time I rode. The brother was silent and did not move his chair, and I understood this silence and this indecision.
There are only four officers left alive in our regiment,” I said gloomily. - I’m very happy... Take it for yourself, take it tomorrow.
“Okay, I’ll take it,” the brother obediently agreed. - Yes, you are happy. We have half the city in mourning. And those are the legs, really...
Certainly. I'm not a postman.
The brother suddenly stopped and asked:
Why is your head shaking?
Nothing. It will pass, the doctor said!
And your hands too?
Yes Yes. And hands. All will pass. Please take me, I'm tired of standing.
They upset me, these dissatisfied people, but joy returned to me again when they began to prepare a bed for me - a real bed, on a beautiful bed, on the bed that I bought before the wedding, four years ago. They laid out a clean sheet, then fluffed the pillows, wrapped the blanket - and I looked at this solemn ceremony, and there were tears of laughter in my eyes.
“Now undress me and put me down,” I told my wife. - How good!
Now, honey.
Hurry up!
Now, honey.
What are you doing?
Now, honey.
She stood behind me, near the toilet, and I turned my head in vain to see her. And suddenly she screamed, screamed as they scream only in war:
What is this! - And she rushed to me, hugged me, fell next to me, hiding her head at the cut off legs, moving away from them in horror and falling down again, kissing these scraps and crying.
What a person you were! After all, you are only thirty years old. He was young and handsome. What is this! How cruel people are. Why is this? Who needed it? You, my meek, my pitiful, my dear, dear...
And then they all came running to the cry, my mother, my sister, my nanny, and they all cried, said something, lay at my feet and cried. And on the threshold stood the brother, pale, completely white, with a shaking jaw, and shouted shrilly:
I'm going crazy with you here. I'll go crazy!
And the mother crawled near the chair and no longer screamed, but only wheezed and banged her head on the wheels. And clean, with fluffed pillows, with a wrapped blanket, there was a bed, the same one that I bought four years ago - before the wedding...