Nikolay Gogol. "The Adventures of Chichikov, or Dead Souls". Moscow, 1846 university printing house

Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov is introduced to the sons of the landowner Manilov:

“There were already two boys in the dining room, the sons of Manilov, who were of those years when they already put children at the table, but still on high chairs. A teacher stood beside them, bowing politely and with a smile. The hostess sat down to her soup bowl; the guest was seated between the host and the hostess, the servant tied napkins around the children's necks.

"What lovely little children," said Chichikov, looking at them, "and what year is it?"

"The eldest is eighth, and the youngest was only six yesterday," said Manilova.

- Themistoclus! said Manilov, turning to the elder, who was trying to free his chin, which had been tied up in a napkin by the lackey.

Chichikov raised a few eyebrows when he heard such a partly Greek name, to which, for some unknown reason, Manilov gave the ending in "yus", but he tried at the same time to bring his face back to its usual position.

— Themistoclus, tell me, what is the best city in France?

Here the teacher turned all his attention to Themistoclus and seemed to want to jump into his eyes, but at last he completely calmed down and nodded his head when Themistoclus said: "Paris."

What is the best city in our country? Manilov asked again.

The teacher turned his attention back.

"Petersburg," replied Themistoclus.

- And what else?

“Moscow,” replied Themistoclus.

- Clever, darling! Chichikov said to this. “Tell me, however…” he continued, immediately turning to the Manilovs with a kind of astonishment, “in such years and already such information! I must tell you that this child will have great abilities.

Oh, you don't know him yet! - answered Manilov, - he has an extremely large amount of wit. Here is the smaller one, Alcides, that one is not so fast, but this one now, if he meets something, a bug, a goat, his eyes suddenly start to run; will run after her and immediately pay attention. I'll read it on the diplomatic side. Themistoclus,” he continued, turning to him again, “do you want to be a messenger?

“I want to,” answered Themistoclus, chewing bread and shaking his head right and left.

At this time, the footman who was standing behind wiped the envoy's nose, and he did it very well, otherwise a pretty extraneous drop would have sunk into the soup.

2 Fyodor Dostoyevsky. "Demons"

Fedor Dostoevsky. "Demons". St. Petersburg, 1873 Printing house of K. Zamyslovsky

The chronicler retells the contents of a philosophical poem written in his youth by the now aged liberal Stepan Trofimovich Verkhovensky:

“The scene opens with a chorus of women, then a chorus of men, then some forces, and at the end of everything, a chorus of souls who have not yet lived, but who would very much like to live. All these choirs sing about something very vague, mostly about someone's curse, but with a touch of higher humor. But the scene suddenly changes, and some kind of “Celebration of Life” sets in, at which even insects sing, a tortoise appears with some kind of Latin sacramental words, and even, if I remember, one mineral sang about something - that is, the object is already completely inanimate. In general, everyone sings incessantly, and if they talk, they somehow vaguely scold, but again with a touch of higher significance. Finally, the scene changes again, and a wild place appears, and a civilized young man wanders between the cliffs, who picks and sucks some herbs, and to the question of the fairy: why is he sucking these herbs? he answers that, feeling an excess of life in himself, he seeks oblivion and finds it in the juice of these herbs; but that his main desire is to lose his mind as soon as possible (the desire, perhaps, is superfluous). Then suddenly a young man of indescribable beauty rides in on a black horse, followed by a terrible multitude of all nations. The young man represents death, and all peoples yearn for it. And, finally, already in the very last scene, the Tower of Babel suddenly appears, and some athletes finally complete it with a song of new hope, and when they are already building it to the very top, then the owner, let’s say even Olympus, runs away in a comical form, and guessing humanity , having taken his place, immediately begins a new life with a new penetration of things.

3 Anton Chekhov. "Drama"

Anton Chekhov. Collection "Colorful stories". St. Petersburg, 1897 Edition of A. S. Suvorin

The soft-hearted writer Pavel Vasilyevich is forced to listen to the longest dramatic essay, which is read aloud to him by the graphomaniac writer Murashkina:

"Don't you think this monologue is a bit long? Murashkina suddenly asked, raising her eyes.

Pavel Vasilievich did not hear the monologue. He was embarrassed and said in such a guilty tone, as if not a mistress, but he himself wrote this monologue:

“No, no, not at all… Very nice…”

Murashkina beamed with happiness and continued to read:

— „Anna. You got caught up in the analysis. You stopped living with your heart too early and trusted your mind. — Valentine. What is a heart? This is an anatomical concept. As a conventional term for what is called feelings, I do not recognize it. — Anna(confused). And love? Is it really the product of an association of ideas? Tell me frankly: have you ever loved? — Valentine(with bitterness). Let's not touch the old, not yet healed wounds (pause). What are you thinking about? — Anna. I think you are unhappy."

During the 16th apparition, Pavel Vasilyevich yawned and accidentally made a sound with his teeth, like dogs make when they catch flies. He was frightened by this indecent sound and, in order to disguise it, gave his face an expression of touching attention.

„XVII phenomenon ... When will the end? he thought. - Oh my God! If this torment continues for another ten minutes, then I will call out to the guards… Unbearable!“

Pavel Vasilyevich sighed lightly and was about to get up, but immediately Murashkina turned the page and continued to read:

“Act two. The scene represents a rural street. To the right is the school, to the left is the hospital. On the steps of the latter sit villagers and villagers.

"I'm sorry..." Pavel Vasilyevich interrupted. - How many actions?

“Five,” Murashkina answered, and immediately, as if afraid that the listener would not leave, quickly continued: “Valentine is looking out of the school window. You can see how, in the back of the stage, the villagers carry their belongings to the tavern.

4 Mikhail Zoshchenko. "In Pushkin's Days"

Mikhail Zoshchenko. "Favorites". Petrozavodsk, 1988 Publishing house "Karelia"

On literary evening, timed to coincide with the centenary of the death of the poet, the Soviet building manager makes a solemn speech about Pushkin:

“Of course, dear comrades, I am not a literary historian. I will allow myself to approach the great date simply, as they say, humanly.

Such a sincere approach, I believe, will bring the image of the great poet even closer to us.

So, a hundred years separate us from it! Time really runs incredibly fast!

The German war, as you know, began twenty-three years ago. That is, when it began, it was not a hundred years before Pushkin, but only seventy-seven.

And I was born, imagine, in 1879. Therefore, he was even closer to the great poet. Not that I could see him, but, as they say, we were separated by only about forty years.

My grandmother, even cleaner, was born in 1836. That is, Pushkin could see her and even pick her up. He could nurse her, and she could, what good, cry in her arms, not guessing who took her in his arms.

Of course, it is unlikely that Pushkin could nurse her, especially since she lived in Kaluga, and Pushkin, it seems, did not go there, but still this exciting possibility can be admitted, especially since he could, it seems, stop by Kaluga to see his acquaintances.

My father, again, was born in 1850. But Pushkin, unfortunately, was no longer there, otherwise he, perhaps, could even nurse my father.

But he certainly could already take my great-grandmother in his arms. Imagine, she was born in 1763, so that the great poet could easily come to her parents and demand that they let him hold her and nurse her ... Although, however, in 1837 she was, perhaps, about sixty-odd years old , so, frankly, I don’t even know how it was with them there and how they got along with it ... Maybe even she nursed him ... But what is covered with the darkness of obscurity for us is for them, it was probably no problem, and they knew perfectly well who to babysit and who to rock. And if the old woman really was about six or ten years old by that time, then, of course, it is ridiculous even to think that someone was nursing her there. So, it was she who nursed someone.

And, perhaps, pumping and singing lyrical songs to him, she, without knowing it herself, aroused poetic feelings in him and, perhaps, together with his notorious nanny Arina Rodionovna, inspired him to compose some individual poems.

5 Daniil Kharms. What are they selling in stores now?

Daniel Kharms. Collection of stories "The Old Woman". Moscow, 1991 Yunona Publishing House

“Koratygin came to Tikakeev and did not find him at home.

And Tikakeev at that time was in the store and bought sugar, meat and cucumbers there. Koratygin hovered at Tikakeev's door and was about to write a note, when suddenly he saw Tikakeev himself walking in and carrying an oilcloth purse in his hands. Koratygin saw Tikakeev and shouted to him:

"And I've been waiting for you for an hour!"

“That’s not true,” says Tikakeyev, “I’ve only been out of home for twenty-five minutes.

“Well, I don’t know that,” said Koratygin, “only I’ve been here for an hour already.

- Do not lie! Tikakeev said. - It's embarrassing to lie.

- Most gracious sovereign! Koratygin said. - Take the trouble to choose expressions.

“I think…” Tikakeyev began, but Koratygin interrupted him:

“If you think…” he said, but then Tikakeyev interrupted Koratygin and said:

- You're good yourself!

These words infuriated Koratygin so much that he pinched one nostril with his finger, and blew his nose at Tikakeyev with the other nostril. Then Tikakeyev snatched the biggest cucumber out of his purse and hit Koratygin on the head with it. Koratygin clutched his head with his hands, fell and died.

That's what big cucumbers are now sold in stores!

6 Ilya Ilf and Evgeny Petrov. "Knowing of limits"

Ilya Ilf and Evgeny Petrov. "Knowing of limits". Moscow, 1935 Publishing house "Spark"

A set of hypothetical rules for stupid Soviet bureaucrats (one of them, a certain Basov, is the anti-hero of the feuilleton):

“It is impossible to accompany all orders, instructions and instructions with a thousand reservations so that the Basovs do not do stupid things. Then a modest resolution, say, on the prohibition of the transport of live piglets in tram cars should look like this:

However, when levying a fine, piglet holders should not:

a) push in the chest;
b) call scoundrels;
c) push at full speed from the platform of the tram under the wheels of an oncoming truck;
d) they cannot be equated with malicious hooligans, bandits and embezzlers;
e) in no case should this rule be applied to citizens who bring with them not piglets, but small children under the age of three;
f) it cannot be extended to citizens who do not have piglets at all;
g) as well as schoolchildren singing revolutionary songs in the streets.”

7 Mikhail Bulgakov. "Theatrical Romance"

Michael Bulgakov. "Theatrical Romance" Moscow, 1999 Publishing house "Voice"

The playwright Sergei Leontievich Maksudov reads his play "Black Snow" to the great director Ivan Vasilievich, who hates shooting on the stage. The prototype of Ivan Vasilyevich was Konstantin Stanislavsky, Maksudova - Bulgakov himself:

“Along with the approaching twilight came disaster. I read:

- "Bakhtin (to Petrov). Well, goodbye! Very soon you will come for me ...

P e tr o v. What are you doing?!

Bakhtin (shoots himself in the temple, falls, an accordion is heard in the distance ...) ".

- That's wrong! exclaimed Ivan Vasilyevich. Why is this? This must be crossed out without a second's delay. Have mercy! Why shoot?

“But he must commit suicide,” I answered with a cough.

- And very well! Let him finish and let him be stabbed with a dagger!

But, you see, it's about civil war... Daggers were no longer used ...

- No, they were used, - Ivan Vasilyevich objected, - this one told me ... how he ... forgot ... that they were used ... You cross out this shot! ..

I kept silent, making a sad mistake, and read on:

- "(...monica and individual shots. A man appeared on the bridge with a rifle in his hand. Luna ...)"

- My God! exclaimed Ivan Vasilyevich. - Shots! Again shots! What a disaster! You know what, Leo ... you know what, you delete this scene, it's superfluous.

“I considered,” I said, trying to speak as softly as possible, “this scene is the main one ... Here, you see ...

- Formed delusion! Ivan Vasilyevich snapped. - This scene is not only not the main one, but it is not necessary at all. Why is this? Your this one, how is it?..

— Bakhtin.

- Well, yes ... well, yes, he stabbed himself there far away, - Ivan Vasilyevich waved his hand somewhere very far away, - and another comes home and says to his mother - Bekhteev stabbed himself!

“But there is no mother…” I said, staring dumbfounded at the glass with the lid.

- It is necessary! You write it. It is not hard. At first it seems that it is difficult - there was no mother, and suddenly she is - but this is a delusion, it is very easy. And now the old woman is crying at home, and who brought the news ... Call him Ivanov ...

- But ... after all, Bakhtin is a hero! He has monologues on the bridge... I thought...

- And Ivanov will say all his monologues! .. You have good monologues, they need to be preserved. Ivanov will say - here Petya stabbed himself and before his death he said such and such, such and such ... There will be a very strong scene.

8 Vladimir Voinovich. "The Life and Extraordinary Adventures of the Soldier Ivan Chonkin"

Vladimir Voinovich. "The Life and Extraordinary Adventures of the Soldier Ivan Chonkin". Paris, 1975 Publisher YMCA-Press

Colonel Luzhin is trying to extract information from Nyura Belyashova about a mythical fascist resident named Kurt:

“Well then. Putting his hands behind his back, he walked around the office. — You all the same. Frankly, you don't want to be with me. Well. Mil forcibly. You will not. As the saying goes. We help you. And you don't want us. Yes. By the way, you don't happen to know Kurt, do you?

— Kur something? Nura was surprised.

“Yeah, Kurt.

“Who doesn’t know chickens?” Nura shrugged. “But how is it possible in a village without chickens?”

- It is forbidden? Luzhin asked quickly. - Yes. Certainly. In the village without Kurt. No way. It is forbidden. Impossible. He pulled the desk calendar toward him and picked up a pen. - What's your last name?

"Belyashova," Nyura announced eagerly.

— Belya… No. Not this. I need a surname not yours, but Kurt. What? Luzhin scowled. "And you don't want to say that?"

Nyura looked at Luzhin, not understanding. Her lips were trembling, and tears came back to her eyes.

"I don't understand," she said slowly. - What kind of surnames can chickens have?

- Chickens? Luzhin asked. - What? Chickens? A? He suddenly understood everything and, jumping to the floor, stamped his feet. — Out! Go away".

9 Sergei Dovlatov. "Reserve"

Sergey Dovlatov. "Reserve". Ann Arbor, 1983 Hermitage Publishing House

The autobiographical hero works as a guide in Pushkinskiye Gory:

“A man in a Tyrolean hat approached me shyly:

— Excuse me, can I ask a question?

- I'm hearing you.

- Did they give it?

- That is?

- I'm asking, did they give it? The Tyrolean drew me to the open window.

- In what sense?

- In direct. I would like to know if it was given or not given? If you didn't, say so.

- I don't understand.

The man blushed slightly and began to hurriedly explain:

- I had a postcard ... I am a philocartist ...

— Philokartist. I collect postcards... Philos - love, kartos...

- I have a color postcard - "Pskov Dali". And so I ended up here. I want to ask - is it given?

“In general, they did,” I say.

— Typically Pskov?

- Not without it.

The man, beaming, walked away ... "

10 Yuri Koval. "The lightest boat in the world"

Yuri Koval. "The lightest boat in the world." Moscow, 1984 Publishing house "Young Guard"

A group of friends and acquaintances of the protagonist examines the sculptural composition of the artist Orlov "People in Hats":

“People in hats,” said Clara Courbet, smiling thoughtfully at Orlov. What an interesting idea!

"Everyone is wearing hats," Orlov got excited. - And everyone has his own hat under his hat inner world. See this nosy one? Nosy, he is nosy, but under his hat he still has his own world. What do you think?

The girl Clara Courbet, and behind her the rest, looked intently at the big-nosed member of the sculptural group, wondering what kind of inner world he had.

“It is clear that there is a struggle going on in this man,” Clara said, “but the struggle is not easy.

Everyone stared at the big-nosed one again, wondering what kind of struggle could be going on in him.

“It seems to me that this is a struggle between heaven and earth,” Clara explained.

Everyone froze, and Orlov was taken aback, apparently not expecting such a forceful look from the girl. The policeman, the artist, was clearly dumbfounded. It probably never occurred to him that heaven and earth could fight. Out of the corner of his eye he glanced at the floor, and then at the ceiling.

"That's all right," said Orlov, stuttering a little. - Accurately noted. That is the fight...

“And under that crooked hat,” Clara continued, “under that crooked hat is a struggle of fire and water.

The policeman with the gramophone finally staggered. By the power of her views, the girl Clara Courbet decided to outshine not only the gramophone, but also sculptural group. The policeman-artist was worried. Choosing one of the simpler hats, he pointed his finger at it and said:

- And under this there is a struggle between good and evil.

"Hehe," said Clara Courbet. - Nothing like this.

The policeman shuddered and, closing his mouth, looked at Clara.

Orlov elbowed Petyushka, who was crunching something in his pocket.

Peering into the sculptural group, Clara was silent.

"There's something else going on under that hat," she began slowly. “It’s… fighting fighting fighting!”

two joke test

Images: Petr Sokolov. "Dinner at Manilov's". Around 1899 Auction "Sack"

Reflection of the vanished years

Relief of the yoke of life,

Eternal truths unfading light -

Relentless search is a pledge,

The joy of each new shift,

Indication of future roads -

This is a book. Long live the book!

Pure joys bright source,

Fixing a happy moment

Best friend if you're single

This is a book. Long live the book!

Having emptied the bowler hat, 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:

Much grateful. Much pleased with you.

Maybe you still want?

No, fed up.

Otherwise, we can put you another bowler hat, ”said Gorbunov, winking, not without boasting. - It means nothing to us. What about a shepherd?

It doesn’t fit into me anymore, ”Vanya said shyly, and his blue eyes suddenly shot a quick, mischievous look from under his lashes.

If you don't want it, whatever you want. Your will. We have such a rule: we do not force anyone, - said Bidenko, known for his justice.

But the vain Gorbunov, who liked to have all people admire the life of scouts, said:

Well, Vanya, how did our grub seem to you?

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

Right, good? Gorbunov perked up. - You, brother, will not find such grub in anyone in the division. The famous grub. You, brother, the main thing, hold on to us, to the scouts. You will never get lost with us. Will you hold on to us?

I will, - the boy said cheerfully.

That's right, you won't get lost. We will wash you in the bath. We'll cut your patches. We will fix some uniform so that you have a proper military appearance.

Will you take me on reconnaissance, uncle?

Yves intelligence will take you. Let's make you a famous spy.

I, uncle, am small. I'll crawl through everywhere, - Vanya said with joyful readiness. - I know every bush around here.

This is also expensive.

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

From what. The time will come - we will teach.

I would, uncle, just shoot once, ”Vanya said, looking greedily at the machine guns swaying on their belts from the incessant cannon fire.

Shoot. Don't be afraid. This will not follow. We will teach you all military science. Our first duty, of course, is to credit you for all kinds of allowances.

How is it, uncle?

It's very simple, brother. Sergeant Egorov will report about you to the lieutenant

gray-haired. Lieutenant Sedykh will report to the commander of the battery, Captain Yenakiev, Captain Yenakiev orders you to be enlisted in the order. From that, then, all kinds of allowances will go to you: clothing, welds, money. Do you understand?

Understood, uncle.

This is how it is done with us scouts… Wait a minute! Where are you going to?

Wash the dishes, dude. Mother always ordered us to wash the dishes after herself, and then clean the closet.

You gave the right order,” Gorbunov said sternly. - Same for military service.

There are no porters in the military service, - the fair Bidenko pointed out instructively.

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

I respect, - said Vanya.

Well, you are doing the right thing. Here, among the scouts, this is how it is supposed to be: as we eat, so immediately drink tea. It is forbidden! Bidenko said. “We drink, of course, over the top,” he added indifferently. - We do not consider this.

Soon a large copper kettle appeared in the tent - a subject of special pride for the scouts, it is also the source of the eternal envy of the rest of the batteries.

It turned out that the scouts really did not consider sugar. Silent Bidenko untied his duffel bag and put a huge handful of refined sugar on the Suvorov Onslaught. Before Vanya had even blinked an eye, Gorbunov sloshed two large piles of sugar into his mug, however, noticing an expression of delight on the boy's face, he sloshed a third. Know, they say, us scouts!

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

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

Vanya could not even sensibly answer this question. His lips were busy fighting the tea, hot as fire. His heart was full of stormy joy because he would stay with the scouts, with these wonderful people who promise to cut his hair, equip him, teach him how to shoot from a machine gun.

All the words jumbled in his head. He only nodded his head gratefully, raised his eyebrows high and rolled his eyes, thus expressing the highest degree of pleasure and gratitude.

(In Kataev "Son of the Regiment")

If you think that I am a good student, you are wrong. I study hard. 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'm not lazy. I sit on tasks for three hours.

Here, for example, now I'm sitting and I want to solve the problem with all my might. And she does not dare. I tell my mom

Mom, I can't do it.

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

She's leaving on business. And I take my head with both hands and say to 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 are you worth!

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

Head, what are you thinking? Aren `t you ashamed!!! “Two pedestrians went from point A to point B ...” Luska, probably, also left. She is already walking. If she had approached me first, I would have forgiven her, of course. But is she suitable, such a pest ?!

"...From point A to point B..." No, it won't fit. On the contrary, when I go out into the yard, she will take Lena by the arm and will whisper with her. Then she will say: "Len, come to me, I have something." They will leave, and then they will sit on the windowsill and laugh and gnaw on seeds.

“... Two pedestrians went from point A to point B ...” And what will I do? .. And then I will call Kolya, Petka and Pavlik to play rounders. And what will she do? Yeah, she'll put on a Three Fat Men record. Yes, so loudly that Kolya, Petka and Pavlik will hear and run to ask her to let them listen. They listened a hundred times, everything is 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 shoot something right into her window. Glass - ding! - and shatter. Let him know.

So. I'm tired of thinking. Think do not think - the task does not work. Just awful, what a difficult task! I'll walk around for a bit and start thinking again.

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

Earring! Vitka! Lucy immediately screamed. - Let's go to play bast shoes!

The Karmanov brothers looked out the window.

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

Lena! Lucy screamed. - Linen! Come out!

Instead of Lena, her grandmother looked out and threatened Lyuska with her finger.

Pavlik! Lucy screamed.

Nobody appeared at the window.

Pe-et-ka-ah! Luska perked up.

Girl, what are you yelling at?! Someone's head popped out of the window. - A sick person is not allowed to rest! There is no rest from you! - And the head stuck back into the window.

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

Lucy, let's go to the classics.

Come on, I said.

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

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

Well, what's the problem?

Does not work.

But you've been sitting on it for two hours already! It's just awful what it is! They ask the children some puzzles!.. Well, let's show your task! Maybe I can do it? I did finish college. So. “Two pedestrians went from point A to point B ...” Wait, wait, this task is 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 task, and we were given the forty-sixth.

At this, my mother got very angry.

It's outrageous! Mom said. - It's unheard of! This mess! 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 yesterday. It was so sunny outside! Such a warm yellow sun! Such branches swayed outside the window! .. I wanted to stretch out my hand and touch every sticky green leaf. Oh, how your hands will smell! And the fingers stick together - you can't pull them apart... No, I didn't want to learn my lessons.

I went outside. The sky above me was fast. Clouds hurried along it somewhere, and sparrows chirped terribly loudly in the trees, and a big fluffy cat warmed up on a bench, and it was so good that spring!

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

The morning was dark, so dark that I did not want to get up at all. That's how it always is. If the sun is shining, I immediately jump up. I dress quickly. And coffee is delicious, and mom does not grumble, and dad jokes. And when the morning is like today, I barely get dressed, my mother pushes me and gets angry. And when I have breakfast, dad makes me remarks that I sit crookedly at the table.

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

Vera Evstigneevna entered. The lesson has begun. Now I will be called.

Sinitsyn, to the blackboard!

I started. Why should I go to the board?

I didn't learn, I said.

Vera Evstigneevna was surprised and gave me a deuce.

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

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

Suddenly they pushed me in the back. I turned around. They put a note in my hand. I unrolled a narrow long paper ribbon and read:

“Lucy!

Don't despair!!!

Two is rubbish!!!

You'll fix two!

I will help you! Let's be friends with you! It's just a secret! Not a word to anyone!!!

Yalo-quo-kyl.

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

Did someone write this to me? Or maybe this note is not for me? Maybe she is Lucy? But on the reverse side was: LYUSA SINITSYNA.

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

I re-read twenty times:

"Let's be friends with you..."

Well, of course! Sure, let's be friends! Let's be friends with you!! Please! I am very happy! I really love it when they want to be friends with me! ..

But who is writing this? Some kind of YALO-QUO-KYL. Incomprehensible word. I wonder what it means? And why does this YALO-QUO-KYL want to be friends with me?.. Maybe I'm beautiful after all?

I looked at the desk. There was nothing pretty.

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

To celebrate, I nudged Luska with my elbow.

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

Who? Lucy immediately asked.

I don't know who. It's kind of unclear here.

Show me, I'll figure it out.

Honestly, won't you tell anyone?

Honestly!

Luska read the note and pursed her lips:

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

Or maybe he's shy?

I looked around the whole class. Who could write the note? Well, who? .. It would be nice, Kolya Lykov! He is the smartest in our class. Everyone wants to be friends with him. But I have so many triplets! No, he is unlikely.

Or maybe Yurka Seliverstov wrote this? .. No, we are already friends with him. He would send me a note for no reason!

At recess, I went out into the corridor. I stood at the window and waited. It would be nice if this YALO-QUO-KYL made friends with me right away!

Pavlik Ivanov came out of the classroom and immediately went to me.

So, it means that Pavlik wrote it? It just wasn't enough!

Pavlik ran up to me and said:

Sinitsyna, give me ten kopecks.

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

Suddenly Burakov began to walk past me. I thought he was looking at me in a strange way. He stood next to her and looked out the window. So, it means that Burakov wrote the note?! Then I'd better leave now. I can't stand this Burakov!

The weather is terrible,” said Burakov.

I didn't have time to leave.

Yes, the weather is bad, I said.

The weather can't be worse, - said Burakov.

Terrible weather, I said.

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

Burakov, give me a bite, - I could not stand it.

And it is bitter, - said Burakov and went down the corridor.

No, he didn't write the note. And thank God! You won't find another one like this in the whole world!

I looked at him contemptuously and went to class. I went in and freaked out. Written on the blackboard was:

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

In the corner, Luska was whispering with the girls. When I entered, they all stared at me and began to giggle.

I grabbed a rag and rushed to wipe the board.

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

I wrote you a note.

You lie, not you!

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

Oh, die! Why be friends with you?! All freckled like a cuttlefish! Silly tit!

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

Ah well! I'll tell everyone! I’ll tell everyone, everyone, everyone about her, how she receives notes! And I'll tell everyone about you! You sent her a note! - And he ran out of the classroom with a stupid cry: - Yalo-quo-kyl! Yalo-quo-kul!

Lessons are over. Nobody approached me. Everyone quickly collected their textbooks, and the class was empty. We were alone with Kolya Lykov. 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 left without saying anything.

But what if? Suddenly it's still Kolya wrote? Is it Kolya? What happiness if Kolya! My throat immediately dried up.

Kohl, please tell me, - I barely squeezed out of myself, - it's not you, by chance ...

I did not finish, because I suddenly saw how Colin's ears and neck were filled with paint.

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

Kolya! I screamed. - So I...

Chatterbox you, that's who, - said Kolya. - Your tongue is like a pomelo. And I don't want to be friends with you anymore. What else was missing!

Kolya finally got through the string, got up and left the classroom. And I sat down in my seat.

I won't go anywhere. Outside the window is such a terrible rain. And my fate is so bad, so bad that it can't get any worse! So I will sit here until the night. And I will sit at night. One in a dark classroom, one in an entire dark school. So I need it.

Aunt Nyura came in with a bucket.

Go home, dear, - said Aunt Nyura. - Mom was tired of waiting at home.

No one was waiting for me at home, Aunt Nyura, - I said and trudged out of the classroom.

Bad fate! Lucy is no longer my friend. Vera Evstigneevna gave me a deuce. Kolya Lykov... I didn't even want to think 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!!!

Cheerful wet passers-by ran along the street with their collars up!!!

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

Come on, he said.

And 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 the guns, did not see how the planes were beating in the sky and how the glow of fires blazed at night where the enemy was crossing Russian soil. But from where the front was, refugees were coming through Nechaevo. They dragged sleighs with bundles, hunched under the weight of bags and sacks. Clinging to the dress of their mothers, the children walked and got stuck in the snow. Homeless people stopped, warmed themselves in the huts and moved on.
Once, at dusk, when the shadow from the old birch stretched all the way to the barn, there was a knock on the door to the Shalihins.
The nimble red-haired girl Taiska rushed to the side window, buried her nose in the thaw, and both of her pigtails lifted up merrily.
- Two aunts! she screamed. - One young, in a scarf! And another very old woman, with a wand! And yet ... look - a girl!
Grusha, Taiska's older sister, put down the stocking she was knitting and also went to the window.
“Really, a girl. In a blue hood...
“Then go open it,” said the mother. – What are you waiting for?
Grusha pushed Thaiska:
- Go, what are you doing! All seniors should?
Thaiska 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, she doesn’t even open her fingers. What does she have there?
- And you ask.
- And you yourself ask.
At this time, he appeared from Romanok Street. The frost hit his cheeks. Red as a tomato, he stopped in front of a strange girl and stared at her. I even forgot to cover my legs.
And the girl in the blue bonnet was sitting motionless on the edge of the bench.
Right hand she clutched a yellow handbag that hung over her shoulder to her chest. She silently looked somewhere at the wall and seemed not to see or hear anything.
The mother poured hot soup for the refugees and cut off pieces of bread.
- Oh, yes, and the unfortunate ones! she sighed. - And it’s not easy on your own, and the child is toiling ... Is this your daughter?
- No, - the woman answered, - a stranger.
“They lived on the same street,” the old woman added.
Mother was surprised:
- Alien? And where are your relatives, girl?
The girl looked at her gloomily and said nothing.
“She has no one,” the woman whispered, “the whole family died: her father is at the front, and her mother and brother are here.

Killed...
The mother looked at the girl and could not come to her senses.
She looked at her light coat, which must have been blown through by the wind, at her torn stockings, at her thin neck, plaintively whitening from under the blue bonnet...
Killed. All killed! But the girl is alive. And she is the only one in the world!
The mother approached the girl.
- What is your name, daughter? she asked kindly.
“Valya,” the girl replied indifferently.
“Valya… Valentina…” the mother repeated thoughtfully. - Valentine...
Seeing that the women took up the knapsacks, she stopped them:
- Stay overnight tonight. It’s already late in the yard, and the snow has gone - look how it sweeps! And leave in the morning.
The women stayed. Mother made beds for tired people. She arranged a bed for the girl on a warm couch - let her warm herself well. The girl undressed, took off her blue bonnet, poked her head into the pillow, and sleep immediately overcame her. So, when 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 soon. Only the mother tossed and turned in her bed and could not sleep.
She got up in the night, turned on a small blue lamp, and quietly walked over to the couch. The weak light of the lamp illuminated the girl's tender, slightly flushed face, large fluffy eyelashes, dark brown hair, scattered over a colorful pillow.
"You poor orphan!" mother sighed. - As soon as you opened your eyes to the light, and how much grief fell on you! For such a small one!
The mother stood near the girl for a long time and kept thinking about something. I took her boots from the floor, looked - thin, wet. Tomorrow this little girl will put them on and go somewhere again... But where?
Early, early, when it was a little light in the windows, the mother got up and lit the stove. Grandfather got up too: he did not like to lie down for a long time. It was quiet in the hut, only sleepy breathing was heard and Romanok was snoring on the stove. In this silence, by the light of a small lamp, mother spoke softly to grandfather.
“Let's take the girl, father,” she said. - I'm so sorry for her!
Grandfather put down the felt boots he was mending, raised his head and looked thoughtfully at his mother.
- Take the girl? .. Will it be okay? he replied. We are rural, and she is from the city.
"Isn't it all the same, father?" There are people in the city and people in the countryside. After all, she is an orphan! Our Taiska will have a girlfriend. Next winter they will go to school together ...
Grandfather came up and looked at the girl:
– Nu that same … Look. You know better. Let's just take it. Just look, don't cry with her later!
- Eh! .. Maybe I won’t cry.
Soon the refugees also got up and began to pack for the journey. But when they wanted to wake the girl, the mother stopped them:
- Wait, you don't have to wake up. Leave Valentine with me! If there are any relatives, tell me: he lives in Nechaev, with Darya Shalikhina. And I had three guys - well, there will be four. Let's 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 will live.
So a new man appeared in the village of Nechaev.

(Lyubov Voronkova "Girl from the City")

Not remembering how she had left the house, Assol was already running to the sea, caught up by an irresistible

wind-blown events; at the first corner she stopped almost exhausted; her legs were wobbly,

breath broke and went out, consciousness was held by a thread. Beside myself with fear of losing

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

Scarlet Sails; then, fearing that they might have vanished like a mere phantom, she hurried

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

take a breath.

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

total confusion, which will not yield to the effect of the famous earthquakes. Never before

the big ship did not approach this shore; the ship had those very sails, the name

which sounded like a mockery; now they clearly and irrefutably burned with

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

women, children in a hurry rushed to the shore, who was in what; residents spoke to

yard to yard, jumping on each other, screaming and falling; soon formed by the water

crowd, and Assol quickly ran into this crowd.

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

vicious fear. Men spoke more; strangled, snake hiss

dumbfounded women sobbed, but if one of them began to crack - poison

got into his head. As soon as Assol appeared, everyone was silent, everyone moved away from

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

A boat full of tanned rowers separated from him; among them stood the one whom, as she

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

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

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

she ran up to her waist into the warm ripple of the waves, shouting: “I'm here, I'm here! It's me!"

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

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

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

boat, - everything moved, circled and fell.

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

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

smiled at his radiant face and breathlessly said:

Absolutely like that.

And you too, my child! - Taking out a wet jewel from the water, Gray said. -

Here I come. Did you recognize me?

She nodded, holding on to his belt, new soul and quivering eyes.

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

the rocking of the boat, the glitter of the waves, approaching, powerfully tossing and turning, the side of the "Secret" -

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

beaming wall. Without remembering how, she climbed up the ladder in Gray's strong arms.

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

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

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

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

look. Gray took her hands, and knowing now 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 a laugh,

himself shocked and surprised that an inexpressible, inaccessible to anyone

precious moment, Gray lifted up by the chin this long-long dreamed

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

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

Yes. - And he kissed her so hard after his iron "yes" that she

laughed.

(A. Green. "Scarlet Sails")

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

I so want to have these things! I said to my father. - They are constantly spinning in my head like a carousel, and from this my head is spinning so much that it is difficult to stay on my feet.

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

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

Write, - said the father, - it doesn't cost you anything.

In general, it costs nothing, - I said, - only an extra hassle. - And I wrote in large letters on the whole sheet:

WILISAPET

GUN-GUN

AIRCRAFT

VIRTALET

HACKEY

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

ICE CREAM

Father read and says:

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

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

Until what time?

Until better times.

Until what?

Until next year ends.

Why?

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

It's like words have legs!

And I've already bought ice cream a hundred times.

(Viktor Galyavkin "Carousel in the head")

Rose.

The last days of August... Autumn was already coming.
The sun was setting. A sudden gusty downpour, without thunder or lightning, has just swept over our wide plain.
The garden in front of the house burned and smoked, all flooded with the fire of the dawn and the deluge of rain.
She was sitting at the table in the drawing-room, and with stubborn thought she looked out into the garden through the half-open door.
I knew what was happening then in her soul; I knew that after a short, albeit painful, struggle, at that very moment she gave herself over to a feeling that she could no longer control.
Suddenly she got up, quickly went out into the garden and disappeared.
An hour has struck... another has struck; she did not 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, brightly alley even through the poured darkness, a roundish object could be seen.
I leaned over... It was a young, slightly blossoming rose. Two hours ago I saw that same rose on her chest.
I carefully picked up the flower that had fallen into the dirt and, returning to the living room, put it on the table in front of her chair.
So she finally returned - and, with light steps, she walked the whole room, sat down at the table.
Her face grew pale and alive; quickly, with cheerful embarrassment, lowered eyes, like reduced ones, ran around.
She saw a rose, grabbed it, looked at its crumpled, soiled 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.
This is where I thought I'd show my wisdom.
“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, she threw the flower into the dying flame.
“Fire will burn even better than tears,” she exclaimed, not without daring, “and cross-eyed eyes, still shining from 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 to 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, a lot of time has passed… And how much news I have for you, Bezhana! I don't know where to start! Wait a bit, I’ll tear out this weed and tell you everything in order ...

Well, my dear Bezhana: the war is over! Do not recognize now our village! The guys have returned from the front, Bezhana! The son of Gerasim returned, the son of Nina returned, Minin Yevgeny returned, and the father of Nodar Tadpole returned, and the father of Otiya. True, he is without one leg, but what does it matter? Just think, a leg! .. But our Kukuri, Lukayin Kukuri, did not return. Mashiko's son Malkhaz didn't come back either... Many didn't come back, Bezhana, and yet we have a holiday in the village! Salt, corn appeared ... Ten weddings were played after you, and at each I was among the guests of honor and drank great! Do you remember Georgy Tsertsvadze? Yes, yes, the father of eleven children! So, George also returned, and his wife Taliko gave birth to the twelfth boy, Shukria. That was fun, Bezhana! Taliko was in a tree picking plums when she went into labor! Do you hear Bejana? Almost resolved on a tree! I managed to get down! The child was named Shukria, but I call him Slivovich. It's great, isn't it, Bezhana? Slivovich! What is worse than Georgievich? In total, thirteen children were born to us after you ... And one more piece of news, Bezhana, - I know it will please you. Father took Khatia to Batumi. She will be operated on and she will see! After? Then... You know, Bezhana, how much I love Khatia? So I'm marrying her! Certainly! I'm doing a wedding, a big wedding! And we will have children!.. What? What if she doesn't wake up? Yes, my aunt also asks me about it... I'm getting married anyway, Bezhana! She can't live without me... And I can't live without Khatia... Didn't you love some kind of Minadora? So I love my Khatia ... And my aunt loves ... him ... Of course, she loves, otherwise she would not ask the postman every day if there is a letter for her ... She is waiting for him! You know who... But you also know that he will not return to her... And I am waiting for my Khatia. It makes no difference to me how she will return - sighted, blind. What if she doesn't like me? What do you think, Bejana? True, my aunt says that I have matured, prettier, that it’s hard to even recognize me, but ... what the hell is not joking! .. However, no, it’s impossible that Khatia doesn’t like me! After all, she knows what I am, she sees me, she herself spoke about this more than once ... I graduated from tenth grade, Bezhana! I'm thinking of going to college. I will become a doctor, and if Khatia is not helped in Batumi now, I will cure her myself. So, Bejana?

- Has our Sosoya completely lost his mind? Who are you talking to?

- Ah, hello, Uncle Gerasim!

- Hello! What are you doing here?

- So, I came to look at the grave of Bezhana ...

- Go to the office ... Vissarion and Khatia returned ... - Gerasim lightly patted my cheek.

I lost my breath.

- So how is it?!

- Run, run, son, meet ... - I did not let Gerasim finish, broke off, and rushed down the slope.

Faster, Sosoya, faster! Jump!.. Hurry, 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 that Khatia is all right... You jumped! fifty without taking a breath - it means that everything is all right with Khatia ... One, two, three ... ten, eleven, twelve ... Forty-five, forty-six ... Oh, how difficult ...

- Hatia-ah-ah! ..

Out of breath, 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.

- Hatia!

The doctors said that it was impossible to do the operation 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? Do you have some new?

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.

- Well ... Don't be afraid, Khatia ... Will they have an operation in the spring? 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 ...

“Don’t be afraid, Hatia!

“But I’m not afraid, Sosoya!”

“And if they can’t help you, I will, 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 else, Sosoya!”

Where are you going, dear, 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 everything you could return to me. I thank you dear! Now it's our turn. You will take us, me and Khatia, and lead you 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 in triangular letters and envelopes with printed addresses to our village. We'll be back, dear! We will face the east, we will 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 big city, an old, sick man was walking along a wide carriageway.

He staggered along; his emaciated legs, tangled, dragging and stumbling, stepped heavily and weakly, as if

strangers; his clothes hung in tatters; his uncovered head fell on 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 twisted fingers tears dripped onto the dry, gray dust.

He remembered...

He recalled how he was once healthy and rich - and how he spent his health, and distributed wealth to others, friends and enemies ... And now he does not have a piece of bread - and everyone has left him, friends even before enemies ... Can he really stoop to the point of begging? And he was bitter at heart and ashamed.

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

Suddenly he heard someone calling his name; he lifted his weary head - and saw a stranger before him.

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

You gave away all your wealth, - an even voice was heard ... - But you don’t regret that you did good?

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

And there wouldn’t be beggars in the world who stretched out their hand to you,” continued the stranger, “you wouldn’t have anyone to show your virtue to, could you practice it?

The old man did not answer - and thought.

So don’t be proud now, poor fellow, ”the stranger spoke again,“ go, stretch out your hand, deliver it to others kind people an opportunity to show in practice that they are kind.

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

The old man came up to him and held out his hand. This passer-by turned away with a stern look and did not give anything.

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

And the old man bought himself a penny of bread for himself - and the begged-for piece 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 have long defined what happiness is, a very long time ago - at the age of six. And when it came to me, I did not immediately recognize it. But I remembered what it should be, 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 dinner along the long hall, catching up with each other, squealing and falling. Now we are tired and quiet.
We stand side by side, look out the window at the muddy-spring twilight street.
Spring twilight is always disturbing and always sad.
And we are silent. We listen to how the lenses of the candelabra tremble from carts passing along the street.
If we were big, we would think about human malice, about insults, about our love that we offended, and about the love that we ourselves offended, and about happiness that does not exist.
But we are children and we don't know anything. We are just silent. We are afraid to turn around. It seems to us that the hall has already completely darkened and the whole big, noisy house in which we live has darkened. Why is he so quiet now? Maybe everyone left him and forgot us, little girls, huddled against the window in a dark huge room?
(* 61) Near my shoulder I see the frightened, round eye of my sister. She looks at me - should she cry or not?
And then I remember my impression of today, so bright, so beautiful that I immediately forget both the dark house and the dull, dreary street.
- Lena! - I say loudly and cheerfully. - Lena! I saw a horse today!
I cannot tell her everything about the immensely joyful impression that the horse-drawn tram made on me.
The horses were white and ran quickly, soon; the car itself was red or yellow, beautiful, there were a lot of people in it, all strangers, so that they could get to know each other and even play some kind of quiet game. And at the back, on the footboard, stood the conductor, all in gold - or maybe not all, but only a little, on buttons - and blew into a golden trumpet:
- Rram-rra-ra!
The sun itself rang in this chimney and flew out of it in golden-sounding sprays.
How do you say it all! One can only say:
- Lena! I saw a horse!
Yes, you don't need anything else. From my voice, from my face, she understood the boundless beauty of this vision.
And can anyone really jump into this chariot of joy and rush to the sound of the solar trumpet?
- Rram-rra-ra!
No, not everyone. Fraulein says you have 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 we are not even allowed to press our noses to the glass.
But when we are big and rich, we will only ride horseback riding. We will, we will, we will be happy!

(Taffy. "Happy")

Petrushevskaya Ludmila

Kitten of the Lord God

And the guardian angel rejoiced over the boys, standing behind his right shoulder, because everyone knows that the Lord himself equipped the kitten into the world, 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 carefully press it to him. And behind his left elbow was a demon, who was also very interested in the kitten and the mass of opportunities associated with this particular kitten.

The guardian angel got 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 walking like a dog at his leg ... And the demon pushed the boy under the left elbow and suggested: it would be nice to tie a tin can on the kitten’s tail! It would be nice to throw him into the pond and watch, dying with laughter, how he will try to swim out! Those bulging eyes! And many other different proposals were made by the demon into the hot head of the expelled 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 were despised all over the earth and put in cages like pigs, and that it was a shame for a person to take someone else's - but it was all in vain!

But the demon was already opening the gate of the garden with the words “he sees, but he will 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 motor, anointing itself in grandmother's frozen feet.

Grandmother was glad for him, her own cat was poisoned, apparently, with rat poison from neighbors in the garbage.

The kitten purred, rubbed its head against the 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 simple, but he was a kitten of the Lord God, and the magic happened at the same moment, they immediately knocked on the window, and the old woman’s son with his wife and child, hung with backpacks and bags, entered the hut: having received a letter from his mother, which arrived very late, he did not answer, no longer hoping for mail, but demanded a vacation, took his family and set off on a journey along the route bus - station - train - bus - bus - an hour on foot through two rivers, through the forest yes field, and finally arrived.

His wife, rolling up her sleeves, began to unpack bags of supplies, prepare dinner, he himself, taking a hammer, set off to repair the gate, their son kissed his grandmother on the nose, picked up a kitten and went into the raspberry garden, where he met a stranger boy, and here the guardian angel of the thief grabbed his head, and the demon retreated, chatting his tongue and smiling impudently, the unfortunate thief behaved in the same way.

The owner boy carefully put the kitten on an overturned bucket, and he gave the kidnapper a neck, and he rushed faster than the wind to the gate, which the grandmother's son had just begun to repair, blocking the whole space with his back.

The demon sneered through the fence, the angel covered himself with his sleeve and cried, but the kitten passionately stood up for the child, and the angel helped to compose that the boy didn’t climb into raspberries, but after his kitten, who supposedly ran away. Or was it the devil who composed it, standing behind the wattle fence and chatting his tongue, the boy did not understand.

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

As for the grandmother, her fate still left her to live: in the evening she got up to meet the cattle, and in the morning she cooked 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.

Here our life is needed - here we live.

And the boy, left without a kitten and without raspberries, walked gloomy, but that evening he received a bowl of strawberries with milk from his grandmother for no reason, and his mother read him a fairy tale for the night, and the guardian angel was immensely glad and settled down in the sleeping man's head like all six year olds.

Kitten of the Lord God

One grandmother in the village fell ill, got bored and gathered for the next world.

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

And a boy with his mother came to this village.

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

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

The kitten strayed to the child, began to rub against his sandals, casting sweet dreams on the boy: how it will be possible to feed the kitten, sleep with him, play.

And the guardian angel rejoiced over the boys, standing behind his right shoulder, because everyone knows that the Lord himself equipped the kitten into the world, 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 creature is a test for those who have already settled: will they accept a new one or not.

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

And behind his left elbow was a demon, who was also very interested in the kitten and the mass of opportunities 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 walking like a dog at his foot ...

And the devil pushed the boy under the left elbow and suggested: it would be nice to tie a tin can on the kitten's tail! It would be nice to throw him into the pond and watch, dying with laughter, how he will try to swim out! Those bulging eyes!

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

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

The boy walked with the kitten and threw him over all the fences, and the kitten merrily 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 he immediately disappeared.

And again the demon pushed the boy under 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 local grandmother was sick, the whole village knew about it, the grandmother was already bad, and the demon told the boy that no one would prevent him from eating raspberries and cucumbers.

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

The guardian angel cried that theft would not lead to good, that thieves were despised all over the earth and put in cages like pigs, and that it was a shame for a person to take someone else's - but it was all in vain!

Then the guardian angel finally began to instill fear in the boy that the grandmother would see from the window.

But the demon was already opening the gate of the garden with the words "he sees, but does not come out" and laughed at the angel.

The grandmother was fat, broad, with a soft, melodious voice. “I filled the whole apartment with myself! ..” Borka’s father grumbled. And his mother timidly objected to him: “An old man ... Where can she go?” “Healed in the world ...” father sighed. “She belongs in an orphanage—that’s where!”

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

Grandma slept on a chest. All night she tossed heavily from side to side, 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 road ... "

She approached Borka: “Get up, my father, it’s time for 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 covers: “Go on, grandma ...”

In the passage my father shuffled with a broom. “And where are you, mother, galoshes Delhi? Every time you poke into all the corners because of them!

Grandmother hurried to help him. “Yes, here they are, Petrusha, in plain sight. Yesterday they were very dirty, I washed them and put them on.

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

The grandmother hid her knitting, hurriedly set the table, and, crossing her arms over her stomach, watched Borka eat. During these hours, somehow involuntarily, Borka felt his grandmother as his close friend. He willingly told her about the lessons, comrades. Grandmother listened to him lovingly, with great attention, saying: “Everything is fine, Boryushka: both bad and good are good. From bad man it becomes stronger, from a good soul it blooms.

Having eaten, Borka pushed the plate away from him: “Delicious jelly today! Have you eaten, grandma? “Eat, eat,” 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, grandmother!” Borka cheerfully nudged him with his elbow: “Let's go, let's go! You can't say hello to her. She's an old lady." The grandmother pulled up her jacket, straightened her scarf and quietly moved her lips: “To offend - what to hit, caress - you need to look for words.”

And in the next room, a friend said to Borka: “And they always say hello to our grandmother. Both their own and others. She's our boss." "How is it the main one?" Borka asked. “Well, the old one ... raised everyone. She cannot be offended. And what are you doing with yours? Look, father will warm up for this. "Do not warm up! Borka frowned. “He doesn’t greet her himself…”

After this conversation, Borka often for no reason asked his grandmother: “Do we offend you?” And he told his parents: “Our grandmother is the best, but she lives the worst of all - no one cares about her.” The mother was surprised, and the father was angry: “Who taught you to condemn your parents? Look at me - it's still small!

Grandmother, smiling softly, shook her head: “You fools should be happy. Your son is growing up for you! I have outlived mine in the world, and your old age is ahead. What you kill, you will not return.

* * *

Borka was generally interested in Babkin's face. There were various wrinkles on this face: deep, small, thin, like threads, and wide, dug out over the years. “Why are you so adorable? Very old?" he asked. Grandma thought. “By wrinkles, my dear, a human life, like a book, can be read. Grief and need have signed here. She buried children, cried - wrinkles lay on her face. I endured the need, fought - again wrinkles. My husband was killed in the war - there were many tears, many wrinkles remained. Big rain and that one digs holes in the ground.

He listened to Borka and looked in the mirror with fear: did he not enough cry in his life - is it possible that his whole face will drag on with such threads? "Go on, grandma! he grumbled. "You always talk nonsense..."

* * *

Behind 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 her grandmother in the kitchen: “What is it, you, mother, are you moving around the room like a turtle? Send you for something and you won't get back."

Grandmother died before the May holiday. She died alone, sitting in an armchair 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. There was a ready-made device 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. It smelled of stale things. The mother took out a crumpled red slipper and carefully straightened it with her fingers. “Mine too,” she said, and leaned low over the chest. - My..."

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

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

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

(V. Oseeva "Grandma")

Texts for the competition "Live Classics"

"But what if?" Olga Tikhomirova

It has been raining since morning. Alyoshka jumped over puddles and walked quickly, quickly. No, he wasn't late for school at all. He just noticed Tanya Shibanova's blue cap from a distance.

You can't run: you're out of breath. And she might think that he was running after her all the way.

Nothing, he will catch up with her anyway. He will catch up and say ... But what to say? More than a week, as quarreled. Or maybe take it and say: “Tanya, let’s go to the cinema today?” Or maybe give her a smooth black pebble that he brought from the sea?...

What if Tanya says: “Take away, Vertisheev, your cobblestone. What do I need it for?!”

Alyosha slowed down his pace, but, glancing at the blue cap, he hurried again.

Tanya walked calmly and listened to the wheels of cars rustling along the wet pavement. So she looked back and saw Alyoshka, who was just jumping over a puddle.

She walked more quietly, but did not look back. It would be nice if he caught up with her near the front garden. They would go together, and Tanya would ask: “Do you know, Alyosha, why some maple leaves are red and others are yellow?” Alyoshka will look, look, and... Or maybe he won't look at all, but will only growl: “Read books, Shiba. Then you will know everything." After all, they quarreled ...

There was a school around the corner of the big house, and Tanya thought that Alyoshka would not have time to catch up with her .. We need to stop. But you can't just stand in the middle of the sidewalk.

In the big house there was a clothing store, Tanya went to the window and began to examine the mannequins.

Alyoshka came up and stood next to him ... Tanya looked at him and smiled a little ... "Now she will say something," Alyoshka thought, and in order to get ahead of Tanya, he said:

Ah, it's you, Shiba.. Hello...

Hello, Vertisheev, - she threw.

Shipilov Andrey Mikhailovich "True story"

Vaska Petukhov came up with such a device, you press the button, and everyone around starts telling the truth. Vaska made this device and brought it to school. Here Marya Ivanovna comes into the classroom and says: - Hello guys, I'm very glad to see you! And Vaska on the button - one! “And to tell you the truth,” Marya Ivanovna continues, “then I’m not at all happy, why should I be happy!” I'm tired of you worse than a bitter radish for two quarters! Teach you, teach, put your soul into you - and no gratitude. Tired! I will not stand on ceremony with you anymore. A little bit - just a couple!

And during the break, Kosichkina comes up to Vaska and says: - Vaska, let's be friends with you. - Come on, - says Vaska, and he himself on the button - one! “But I’m not just going to be friends with you,” Kosichkina continues, but with a specific purpose. I know your uncle works at Luzhniki; So, when "Ivanushki-International" or Philip Kirkorov will perform again, then you will take me with you to the concert for free.

Vaska became sad. Walks all day at school, presses a button. As long as the button is not pressed, everything is fine, but once you press it, this begins! ..

And after school - New Year's Eve. Santa Claus comes into the hall and says: - Hello guys, I'm Santa Claus! Vaska on the button - one! “Although,” Santa Claus continues, “in fact, I’m not Santa Claus at all, but Sergey Sergeevich, a school watchman. The school has no money to hire a real artist for the role of Dedmorozov, so the director asked me to speak for time off. One performance - half a day off. Only, I think that I miscalculated, I should have taken not half, but the whole day off. What do you guys think?

Vaska felt very bad at heart. He comes home sad, sad. - What happened, Vaska? - Mom asks, - you don’t have a face at all. - Yes, - says Vaska, - nothing special, I just suffered disappointment in people. “Oh, Vaska,” Mom laughed, “how funny you are; how I love you! - Is it true? - Vaska asks, - and he himself on the button - One! - Is it true! Mom laughs. - True true? - says Vaska, and he presses even harder on the button. - True true! Mom answers. - Well, then, that's what, - says Vaska, - I love you too. Very very!

"Groom from 3 B" Postnikov Valentin

Yesterday afternoon, in math class, I firmly decided it was time for me to get married. And what? I'm already in the third grade, but I still don't have a bride. When, if not now. A couple more years and the train left. Dad often says to me: At your age, people already commanded a regiment. And it is true. But first I have to get married. I told my best friend Petka Amosov about this. He sits at the same desk with me.

– You are absolutely right,” Petka said decisively. - We will choose a bride for you at a big break. From our class.

At recess, the first thing we did was make a list of brides and began to think about which one of them I should marry.

– Marry Svetka Fedulova, says Petka.

– Why on Svetka? I was surprised.

– Freak! She's an excellent student, - says Petka. “You’ll be cheating on her for the rest of your life.

– No, I say. - Svetka is in a bad mood. She also crammed. Will make me teach lessons. He will dart around the apartment like a clockwork and whine in a nasty voice: - Learn your lessons, learn your lessons.

– Crossing out! Petka said decisively.

– Can I marry Soboleva? I ask.

– On Nastya?

– Well, yes. She lives near the school. It’s convenient for me to see her off, I say. - Not like Katka Merkulova - she lives behind the railway. If I marry her, why should I drag myself all my life to such a distance? My mom doesn't let me walk in that area at all.

– That's right, Petya shook his head. - But Nastya's dad doesn't even have a car. But Mashka Kruglova has one. A real Mercedes, you will drive it to the movies.

– But Masha is fat.

– Have you ever seen a Mercedes? Petka asks. - Three Mashas will fit in there.

– That's not the point, I say. - I don't like Masha.

– Then let's marry you to Olga Bublikova. Her grandmother cooks - you will lick your fingers. Remember, Bublikova treated us to grandma's pies? Oh, and delicious. With such a grandmother, you will not be lost. Even in old age.

– Happiness is not in pies, I say.

– And in what? Petka is surprised.

– I would like to marry Varka Koroleva, - I say. - Wow!

– And what about Varka? Petka is surprised. - No fives, no Mercedes, no grandmother. What kind of wife is this?

– That's why she has beautiful eyes.

– Well, you give, - Petka laughed. - The most important thing in a wife is a dowry. This is what the great Russian writer Gogol said, I heard it myself. And what kind of dowry is this - eyes? Laughter, and nothing more.

– You don’t understand anything,” I waved my hand. “The eyes are the dowry. The best!

That was the end of the matter. But I didn't change my mind about getting married. So know!

Viktor Golyavkin. Things are not going my way

One day I come home from school. On this day, I just got a deuce. I walk around the room and sing. I sing and sing so that no one would think that I got a deuce. And then they will ask again: “Why are you gloomy, why are you thoughtful?”

Father says:

- What is he singing like that?

And mom says:

- He must be in a cheerful mood, so he sings.

Father says:

- Probably got an A, that's fun for a man. It's always fun when you do something good.

When I heard this, I sang even louder.

Then the father says:

- Well, Vovka, please your father, show the diary.

At this point, I immediately stopped singing.

- For what? - I ask.

- I see, - says the father, - you really want to show the diary.

He takes my diary, sees a deuce there and says:

- Surprisingly, got a deuce and sings! What, is he crazy? Come on, Vova, come here! Do you happen to have a temperature?

- I don't have, - I say, - no temperature ...

Father spread his hands and says:

- Then you should be punished for this singing...

That's how bad luck I am!

Parable "What you have done will return to you"

At the beginning of the twentieth century, a Scottish farmer was returning home and passing by a swampy area. Suddenly he heard cries for help. The farmer rushed to help and saw a boy who was being sucked into his terrible abyss by the swamp slurry. The boy tried to get out of the terrible mass of the swamp, but his every movement sentenced him to imminent death. The boy screamed. out of desperation and fear.

The farmer quickly cut down a thick bough, carefully

approached and extended a saving branch to the drowning man. The boy got out to safety. He was trembling, he could not stop his tears for a long time, but the main thing is that he was saved!

- Let's go to my house, - the farmer suggested to him. - You need to calm down, dry off and warm up.

- No, no, - the boy shook his head, - my dad is waiting for me. He's probably very worried.

Gratefully looking into the eyes of his savior, the boy ran away ...

In the morning, the farmer saw that a rich carriage pulled up by luxurious thoroughbred horses drove up to his house. A richly dressed gentleman stepped out of the carriage and asked:

- Did you save my son's life yesterday?

- Yes, I am, replied the farmer.

- How much do I owe you?

- Don't hurt me, sir. You don't owe me anything because I did what a normal person should have done.

The class is frozen. Isabella Mikhailovna bent over the magazine and finally said:
- Rogov.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and slammed their books shut. But Rogov went to the blackboard, scratched himself, and for some reason said:
- You look good today, Isabella Mikhailovna!
Isabella Mikhailovna took off her glasses:
- Well, well, Rogov. Get started.
Rogov sniffed and began:
- Your hairstyle is neat! Not what I have.
Isabella Mikhailovna got up and went to the world map:
- Haven't you learned your lesson?
- Yes! Rogov exclaimed with fervor. - I repent! Nothing can be hidden from you! The experience of working with children is great!
Isabella Mikhailovna smiled and said:
- Oh, Rogov, Rogov! Show me where Africa is.
- There, - said Rogov and waved his hand out the window.
“Well, sit down,” Isabella Mikhailovna sighed. - Troika...
At recess, Rogov gave interviews to his comrades:
- The main thing is to start this kikimore about eyes ...
Isabella Mikhailovna was just passing by.
“Ah,” Rogov reassured his comrades. - This deaf grouse can't hear more than two steps.
Isabella Mikhailovna stopped and looked at Rogov in such a way that Rogov realized that the grouse could hear more than two steps away.
The very next day, Isabella Mikhailovna again summoned Rogov to the board.
Rogov turned as white as a sheet and croaked:
- You called me yesterday!
- And I still want, - said Isabella Mikhailovna and narrowed her eyes.
“Oh, such a dazzling smile you have,” Rogov mumbled and fell silent.
- What else? asked Isabella Mikhailovna dryly.
“Your voice is also pleasant,” Rogov squeezed out of himself.
“So,” said Isabella Mikhailovna. - You haven't learned your lesson.
“You see everything, you know everything,” said Rogov languidly. - And for some reason they went to school, ruin your health for people like me. You should go to the sea now, write poetry, meet a good man ...
Bowing her head, Isabella Mikhailovna thoughtfully drew a pencil over the paper. Then she sighed and said softly:
- Well, sit down, Rogov. Troika.

KOTINA KINDNESS Fyodor Abramov

Nikolai K., nicknamed Kitty-glass, had enough dashing in the war. The father is at the front, the mother has died, and they don’t take them to the orphanage: there is an uncle. True, uncle is disabled, but good deed(tailor) - what should he warm an orphan?

The uncle, however, did not warm the orphan, and the sonfront-line soldier often fed from the garbage. Collects potato peels, cooks in a cananke on a bonfire near the river, in which sometimes it will be possible to catch some minnow, and that’s how he lived.

After the war, Kotya served in the army, built a house, started a family, and then took his uncle to him -That by that time he was completely decrepit, in his ninth decade

exceeded.

Uncle Kotya did not refuse anything. What he ate with his family, then in a cup for his uncle. And he didn’t even carry a glass around, if when he himself took communion.

- Eat, drink, uncle! I don’t forget my relatives, ”Kotya would say every time.

- Don't forget, don't forget, Mikolayushko.

- Did not offend in terms of food and drink?

- Didn't offend, didn't offend.

- Adopted, then, a helpless old man?

- Adopted, adopted.

- But how did you not take me into the war? The newspapers write that other people's children were taken in for education, because the war. Folk. Do you remember how they sang in the song? " There's a war going on popular, holy war...” But am I a stranger to you?

- Oh, oh, your truth, Mikolayushko.

- Don't you ooh! Then it was necessary to groan, when I was rummaging through the garbage pit ...

Kotya usually ended the table conversation with a tear:

- Well, uncle, uncle, thank you! The dead father would have bowed to you if he had returned from the war. After all, he thought, the son of Evon, a miserable orphan, under the wing of his uncle, and the crow warmed me with its wing more than my uncle. Do you understand this with your old head? After all, moose and those from the wolves of small moose protect everyone, and you, after all, are not an elk. You are an uncle dear ... Eh! ..

And then the old man began to cry out loud. For exactly two months he brought up Kotya's uncle day after day, and on the third month the uncle hanged himself.

An excerpt from a novel Mark Twain "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn"

I closed the door behind me. Then he turned, I look - here he is, dad! I was always afraid of him - he beat me very well. My father was about fifty years old, and looked no less than that. His hair is long, uncombed and dirty, hanging in tufts, and only his eyes shine through them, as if through bushes. There is not a blood in the face - it is completely pale; but not as pale as other people's, but such that it is terrible and disgusting to look at - like a fish's belly or like a frog. And the clothes are a complete tear, there is nothing to look at. I stood and looked at him, and he looked at me, swaying slightly in his chair. He examined me from head to toe, then says:
- Look at how you dressed up - fu-you well-you! I suppose you think that you are now an important bird - so, or what?
“Maybe I think so, maybe I don’t,” I say.
- Look, don't be too rude! - Got crazy while I was gone! I'll quickly finish off with you, I'll knock you down! He also became educated, they say you know how to read and write. Do you think your father is no match for you now, since he is illiterate? That's all I'll get out of you. Who told you to gain stupid nobility? Tell me who told you to?
- The widow said.
- Widow? That's how it is! And who allowed the widow to poke her nose into other people's business?
- Nobody allowed.
- Okay, I'll show her how to meddle where they don't ask! And you, look, drop your school. Do you hear? I'll show them! They taught the boy to turn up his nose in front of his own father, what importance he let on himself! Well, if I see you hanging around this very school, stay with me! Your mother could neither read nor write, so she died illiterate. And all your relatives died illiterate. I can neither read nor write, and he, look at you, what a dandy he has dressed up! I'm not the type of person to endure this, do you hear? Well, read on, I'll listen.
I took the book and started reading something about General Washington and the war. In less than half a minute, he grabbed the book with his fist, and it flew across the room.
- Right. You know how to read. And I didn't believe you. You look at me, stop wondering, I will not tolerate this! follow
I will be you, such a dandy, and if I only catch near this very
school, I'll skin you! I'll pour you - you won't have time to come to your senses! Good son, nothing to say!
He picked up a blue and yellow picture of a boy with cows and asked:
- What is this?
- This was given to me because I study well. He tore the picture apart and said:
- I'll give you something too: a good belt!
He muttered for a long time and grumbled something under his breath, then said:
- Think what a sissy! And he has a bed, and sheets, and a mirror, and a carpet on the floor - and his own father should wallow in the tannery along with the pigs! Good son, nothing to say! Well, yes, I'll quickly finish with you, I'll beat all the nonsense! Ish let on the importance ...

Before, I didn’t really like studying, but now I decided that
I will certainly go to school, to spite my father.

SWEET WORK Sergey Stepanov

The boys sat at a table in the yard and languished from idleness. It's hot to play football, it's far to go to the river. And so already twice today went.
Dimka came up with a bag of sweets. He gave everyone a piece of candy and said:
- Here you are playing the fool, and I got a job.
- What job?
- A taster at a confectionery factory. I took work home.
- Are you serious? - the boys got excited.
- Well, you see.
- What is your job there?
- I'm trying sweets. How are they made? They pour a bag of granulated sugar, a bag of powdered milk, then a bucket of cocoa, a bucket of nuts into a large vat ... And if someone puts in an extra kilogram of nuts? Or vice versa...
“Quite the opposite,” someone put in.
- It is necessary, in the end, to try what happened, We need a person with good taste. And they can't eat it anymore. Not that there is - they can no longer look at these sweets! Therefore, they have automatic lines everywhere. And the result is brought to us, the tasters. Well, we will try and say: everything is fine, you can take it to the store. Or: but here it would be nice to add raisins and make a new variety called Zyu-Zyu.
- Wow, great! Dimka, and you ask, do they need more tasters?
- I "ll ask.
- I would go to the chocolate candy section. I am well versed in them.
- And I agree with caramel. Dimka, do they pay salaries there?
- No, they only pay with sweets.
- Dimka, let's come up with a new kind of sweets now, and you will offer them tomorrow!
Petrov came up, stood nearby for a while and said:
- Who are you listening to? Has he deceived you? Dimka, confess: you are hanging noodles on your ears!
- Here you are always like this, Petrov. You will come and ruin everything. Do not dream.

Ivan Yakimov "Strange Procession"

In the autumn, on Nastasya the Shepherd, when they fed the shepherds in the yards - they thanked them for saving their livestock, Mitrokha Vanyugin's ram disappeared. I searched, searched for Mitrokh, there is no ram anywhere, for the life of me. He began to walk around houses and yards. He visited five owners, and then directed his steps to Makrida and Epifan. He comes in, and with the whole family they slurp fatty lamb soup, only spoons flash.

Bread and salt, - says Mitrokha, looking askance at the table.

Come in, Mitrofan Kuzmich, you will be a guest. Sit down to sip soup with us, - the owners invite.

Thank you. No, they slaughtered a sheep?

Thank God, they killed him, enough for him to accumulate fat.

And I don’t know where the ram could have disappeared, - Mitrokha sighed and, after a pause, asked: - Didn’t he get to you by chance?

Or maybe he did, you need to look in the barn.

Or maybe he got under the knife? The guest narrowed his eyes.

Maybe he got under the knife, - the owner answers without embarrassment at all.

You don't joke, Epifan Averyanovich, you're not in the dark, tea, slaughtering a ram, you must distinguish your friend from someone else's.

Yes, these rams are all gray as wolves, so who can tell them apart, Macrida said.

Say skin. I recognize my sheep in a row.

The owner carries the skin.

Well, for sure, my ram! - Mitrokh rushed from the bench. - There is a black spot on the back, and on the tail, look, the wool is scorched: Manyokha is blind, she scorched it with a torch when she watered it. - What does it do, rowing in the middle of the day?

Not on purpose, sorry, Kuzmich. He was standing at the very door, cursed, who knew him that he was yours, - the owners shrug their shoulders. - Don't tell anyone, for God's sake. Take our sheep and the matter is over.

No, not the end! Mitrokha jumped. “Your ram is a goner, the lamb is against mine. Spin my sheep!

But how do you get it back if it's half eaten? - the owners are perplexed.

Turn everything that is left, pay money for the rest.

An hour later, a strange procession moved from the house of Makrida and Epifan to the house of Mitrokha in front of the eyes of the whole village . Epifan walked ahead, falling on his right leg, with a mutton skin under his arm, behind him importantly walked Mitrokha with a sack of mutton on his shoulder, and Makrida brought up the rear . She minced with cast iron on outstretched arms- carried half-eaten soup from Mitrokhin's ram. The ram, although disassembled, returned to the owner again.

Bobik visiting Barbos N. Nosov

Bobik saw a scallop on the table and asked:

And what kind of drink do you have?

What a drink! This is a comb.

What is it for?

Oh you! Barbos said. - It is immediately clear that he has lived in a kennel for the whole century. Don't know what a scallop is for? Comb your hair.

How is it to comb?

Barbos took a comb and began to comb the hair on his head:

Here's how to brush your hair. Go to the mirror and comb your hair.

Bobik took the comb, went to the mirror and saw his reflection in it.

Listen, - he shouted, pointing to the mirror, - there is some kind of dog!

Yes, it's you in the mirror! Barbos laughed.

Like me? I'm here, and there's another dog. Barbos also went to the mirror. Bobik saw his reflection and shouted:

Well, now there are two of them!

Not really! - said Barbos. - These are not two of them, but two of us. They are there, in the mirror, lifeless.

How inanimate? Bobby shouted. - They're moving!

Here's the weirdo! - answered Barbos. - We are moving. You see, there is one dog that looks like me! - That's right, it looks like it! Bobby rejoiced. Exactly like you!

And the other dog looks like you.

What you! Bob replied. - There's some kind of nasty dog, and her paws are crooked.

The same paws as yours.

No, you're lying to me! I put some two dogs there and you think I'll believe you, - said Bobik.

He began combing his hair in front of the mirror, then suddenly burst out laughing:

Look, this eccentric in the mirror is combing his hair too! Here is a scream!

watchdogonlysnorted and stepped aside.

Viktor Dragunsky "Top-down"

Once I sat and sat, and for no reason at all suddenly thought up such a thing that I was even surprised myself. I thought how nice it would be if everything around the world was arranged the other way around. Well, for example, for children to be in charge in all matters and adults should have to obey them in everything, in everything. In general, adults should be like children, and children like adults. That would be great, it would be very interesting.

Firstly, I imagine how my mother would “like” such a story that I go and command her as I want, and dad would probably “like” it too, but there’s nothing to say about my grandmother. Needless to say, I would remember them all! For example, my mother would be sitting at dinner, and I would say to her:

“Why did you start a fashion without bread? Here's more news! Look at yourself in the mirror, who do you look like? Poured Koschey! Eat now, they tell you! - And she would eat with her head down, and I would only give the command: - Faster! Don't hold your cheek! Thinking again? Are you solving the world's problems? Chew properly! And don't rock in your chair!"

And then dad would come in after work, and he wouldn’t even have time to undress, and I would have already shouted:

"Yeah, he showed up! You always have to wait! My hands now! As it should, as it should be mine, there is nothing to smear the dirt. After you, the towel is scary to look at. Brush three and spare no soap. Come on, show me your nails! It's horror, not nails. It's just claws! Where are the scissors? Don't move! I do not cut with any meat, but I cut it very carefully. Don't sniff, you're not a girl... That's right. Now sit down at the table."

He would sit down and quietly say to his mother:

"Well, how are you?"

And she would also say quietly:

"Nothing, thanks!"

And I would immediately:

“Table talkers! When I eat, I am deaf and dumb! Remember this for the rest of your life. Golden Rule! Dad! Put down the newspaper now, you are my punishment!”

And they would sit with me like silk, and when my grandmother came, I would squint, clasp my hands and wail:

"Dad! Mother! Take a look at our grandma! What a view! The coat is open, the hat is on the back of the head! Cheeks are red, the whole neck is wet! Okay, nothing to say. Admit it, I played hockey again! What is that dirty stick? Why did you bring her into the house? What? It's a stick! Get her out of my sight right now—to the back door!”

Then I would walk around the room and say to all three of them:

“After dinner, everyone sit down for lessons, and I’ll go to the cinema!”

Of course, they would immediately whine and whimper:

“And we are with you! And we also want to go to the cinema!”

And I would them:

“Nothing, nothing! Yesterday we went to a birthday party, on Sunday I took you to the circus! Look! I enjoyed having fun every day. Sit at home! Here you have thirty kopecks for ice cream, and that’s it!”

Then the grandmother would pray:

“Take me at least! After all, each child can bring one adult with him for free!”

But I would shirk, I would say:

“And people over seventy years old are not allowed to enter this picture. Stay at home, gulena!”

And I would walk past them, deliberately tapping my heels loudly, as if I didn’t notice that their eyes were all wet, and I would start getting dressed, and I would turn around in front of the mirror for a long time, and sing, and they would be even worse from this. were tormented, and I would open the door to the stairs and say ...

But I did not have time to think of what I would say, because at that time my mother came in, the real one, alive, and said:

- You are still sitting. Eat now, look who you look like? Poured Koschey!

Gianni Rodari

Questions inside out

Once upon a time there was a boy who all day long did nothing but pester everyone with questions. There is nothing wrong with this, of course; on the contrary, curiosity is a laudable thing. But the trouble is that no one could answer the questions of this boy.
For example, he comes one day and asks:
- Why do the boxes have a table?
Of course, people only opened their eyes in surprise or, just in case, answered:
- Boxes are used to put something in them. Well, let's say dinnerware.
- I know why the boxes. Why do boxes have tables?
People shook their heads and hurried to leave. Another time he asked:
- Why does the tail have a fish?
Or more:
- Why does the mustache have a cat?
People shrugged their shoulders and hurried to leave, because everyone had their own business.
The boy grew up, but still remained a little why, and not a simple one, but an inside-out why. Even as an adult, he went around and pestered everyone with questions. It goes without saying that no one, not a single person, could answer them. Completely despairing, why the little one went inside out to the top of the mountain, built himself a hut and thought up more and more new questions there in freedom. He invented, wrote them down in a notebook, and then racked his brains, trying to find the answer. However, never in his life did he answer any of his questions.
Yes, and how was he to answer if in his notebook it was written: "Why does the shadow have a pine tree?" "Why don't clouds write letters?" "Why don't postage stamps drink beer?" The tension gave him headaches, but he paid no attention to it and kept making up and making up his endless questions. Little by little he grew a long beard, but he did not even think about trimming it. Instead, he came up with a new question: "Why does a beard have a face?"
In a word, it was an eccentric, of which there are few. When he died, a scientist began to investigate his life and made an amazing scientific discovery. It turned out that this little boy had been used to wearing stockings inside out since childhood and had been wearing them like that all his life. He never managed to put them on properly. That is why he could not learn to ask the right questions until his death.
Look at your stockings, did you put them on right?

SENSITIVE COLONEL O. Henry

The sun is shining brightly and the birds are singing merrily on the branches. Peace and harmony are poured throughout nature. At the entrance to a small suburban hotel, a visitor sits quietly smoking a pipe while waiting for a train.

But then a tall man in boots and a wide-brimmed hat comes out of the hotel with a six-shot revolver in his hand and shoots. The man on the bench rolls down with a loud yell. The bullet grazed his ear. He jumps to his feet in amazement and rage and yells:
- Why are you shooting at me?
A tall man approaches with a wide-brimmed hat in his hand, bows and says:
- I'm sorry, seh. I'm Colonel Jay, seh, I thought you were "fucking me, seh", but I see that I was mistaken. Very "hell that didn't kill you, sah."
- I insult you - with what? - breaks out from the visitor. - I didn't say a single word.
- You banged on the bench, sah, as if you wanted to say that you were a woodpecker,
se", and I - p" belong to the d "ugo" ode. I see now that you are
knocked out the ashes from your t "ubki, se." P "I ask you to p" forgiveness, sah, "and also that you go and de" zeros with me for a glass, sah, "to show that you have no sediment on your soul p" against the gentleman who "th" "Ines my apologies to you, sah."

"A MONUMENT OF SWEET CHILDHOOD" O. Henry

He was old and weak, and the sand in the hours of his life had almost run out. He
moved with unsteady steps along one of the most fashionable streets in Houston.

He left the city twenty years ago, when the latter was little more than a village eking out a semi-impoverished existence, and now, tired of wandering around the world and filled with an agonizing desire to look once again at the places where his childhood had passed, he returned and found that the noisy business city had grown on the site of his ancestral home.

He searched in vain for some familiar object that might remind him of bygone days. Everything has changed. There,
where his father's hut stood, the walls of a slender skyscraper rose; the wasteland where he played as a child was lined with modern buildings. Splendid lawns stretched out on either side, running up to sumptuous mansions.

Suddenly, with a cry of joy, he rushed forward with redoubled energy. He saw in front of him - untouched by the hand of man and unchangeable by time - an old familiar object, around which he ran and played as a child.

He stretched out his arms and rushed towards him with a deep sigh of contentment.
Later he was found sleeping with a quiet smile on his face on an old garbage heap in the middle of the street - the only monument of his sweet childhood!

Eduard Uspensky "Spring in Prostokvashino"

Once, a package arrived for Uncle Fyodor in Prostokvashino, and in it was a letter:

“Dear Uncle Fedor! Your beloved aunt Tamara, a former colonel in the Red Army, is writing to you. It's time for you to take up agriculture - both for education and for the harvest.

Carrots should be planted at attention. Cabbage - in a row through one.

Pumpkin - on command "at ease". Preferably near an old dump. The pumpkin will “suck out” the entire garbage dump and become huge. The sunflower grows well away from the fence so that the neighbors do not eat it. Tomatoes should be planted leaning against sticks. Cucumbers and garlic require constant fertilization.

I read all this in the charter of the agricultural service.

I bought seeds in glasses at the market and poured everything into one bag. But you'll figure it out on the spot.

Don't get carried away by gigantism. Remember the tragic fate of Comrade Michurin, who died after falling from a cucumber.

All. We kiss you with the whole family.

From such a package, Uncle Fyodor was horrified.

He selected a few seeds for himself, which he knew well. He planted sunflower seeds in a sunny place. I planted pumpkin seeds near the garbage dump. And that's it. Soon everything grew delicious, fresh, like in a textbook.

Marina Druzhinina. CALL, YOU WILL BE SINGED!

On Sunday we drank tea with jam and listened to the radio. As always at this time, radio listeners in live congratulated their friends, relatives, bosses on their birthday, wedding day or something else significant; they told how wonderful they were, and asked them to perform good songs for these wonderful people.

- One more call! - once again jubilantly proclaimed the announcer. - Hello! We are listening to you! Who will we congratulate?

And then... I couldn't believe my ears! The voice of my classmate Vladka rang out:

- This is Vladislav Nikolaevich Gusev speaking! Congratulations to Vladimir Petrovich Ruchkin, sixth grade student "B"! He got an A in math! First this quarter! And in general the first! Give him the best song!

- Great congratulations! - the announcer was delighted. - We join these warm words and wish dear Vladimir Petrovich, so that the aforementioned five were not the last in his life! And now - "Twice two - four"!

The music started playing and I almost choked on my tea. It's no joke - they sing a song in honor of me! After all, Ruchkin is me! Yes, and Vladimir! Yes, and Petrovich! And in general, I study in the sixth "B"! Everything matches! Everything but five. I didn't get any fives. Never. And in my diary I flaunted something exactly the opposite.

- Vovka! Did you get a five? - Mom jumped out from behind the table and rushed to hug and kiss me. - Finally! I dreamed about it so much! Why were you silent? How modest! And Vladik something - a true friend! How happy for you! I even congratulated you on the radio! Five must be celebrated! I'll bake something delicious! - Mom immediately kneaded the dough and began to sculpt pies, singing cheerfully: "Twice two - four, twice two - four."

I wanted to shout that Vladik is not a friend, but a reptile! Everything lies! There was no five! But the language did not turn at all. No matter how hard I tried. Mom was very happy. I never thought that my mother's joy had such an effect on my tongue!

- Well done son! Dad waved the newspaper. - Show five!

- We collected diaries, - I lied. - Maybe tomorrow they will distribute it, or the day after tomorrow ...

- OK! When they give it out, then we'll love it! Let's go to the circus! And now I'm running for ice cream for all of us! - Dad rushed off like a whirlwind, and I rushed into the room, to the phone.

Vladik picked up the phone.

- Hello! - giggles. - Did you listen to the radio?

- Are you completely crazy? I hissed. - Parents here lost their heads because of your stupid jokes! And me to disentangle! Where can I get them five?

- How is it where? Vlad replied seriously. - Tomorrow at school. Come to me right now to do the lessons.

Gritting my teeth, I went to Vladik. What else was left for me?

In general, for two whole hours we were solving examples, tasks ... And all this instead of my favorite thriller "Cannibal Watermelons"! Nightmare! Well, Vladka, wait!

The next day, at a mathematics lesson, Alevtina Vasilievna asked:

- Who wants to take apart homework at the blackboard?

Vlad poked me in the side. I gasped and raised my hand.

First time in life.

- Ruchkin? - Alevtina Vasilievna was surprised. - Well, you are welcome!

And then... Then a miracle happened. I figured everything out and explained it right. And in my diary the proud five blushed! Honestly, I did not even imagine that getting fives is so nice! Who does not believe, let him try ...

On Sunday we, as always, drank tea and listened to

the program "Call, they will sing to you." Suddenly the radio receiver again chattered in Vladka's voice:

- Congratulations to Vladimir Petrovich Ruchkin from the sixth "B" with the top five in the Russian language! Please give him the best song!

What-o-o-o?! Only the Russian language was not enough for me! I shuddered and looked at my mother with desperate hope - maybe I didn’t catch it. But her eyes were shining.

- What a smart guy you are! - Mom exclaimed, smiling happily.

Marina Druzhinina story "Horoscope"

The teacher sighed and opened the magazine.

Well, "be of good cheer now"! Or rather, Ruchkin! List the birds, please, that live on the edges of the forest, in open places.

That's the number! I did not expect this at all! Why me? I shouldn't be called today! The horoscope promised "to all Sagittarius, and therefore to me, incredible luck, unbridled fun and a meteoric rise through the ranks."

Maybe Maria Nikolaevna will change her mind, but she looked at me expectantly. I had to get up.

Only here's what to say - I had no idea, because I did not teach the lessons - I believed the horoscope.

Oatmeal! Redkin whispered in my back.

Oatmeal! I repeated automatically, not trusting Petka too much.

Right! - the teacher was delighted. - There is such a bird! Come on!

"Well done Redkin! Correctly suggested! Anyway, I have a lucky day today! The horoscope did not disappoint! - joyfully flashed through my head, and without any doubt, in one breath, I blurted out after Petka's saving whisper:

Millet! Manka! Buckwheat! Pearl barley!

An explosion of laughter drowned out the barley. And Maria Nikolaevna shook her head reproachfully:

Ruchkin, you must be very fond of porridge. But what about the birds? Get in! "Two"!

I literally seethed with indignation. I showed

Redkin's fist and began to think how to take revenge on him. But retribution immediately overtook the villain without my participation.

Redkin, to the blackboard! - commanded Maria Nikolaevna. - You, it seems, whispered something to Ruchkin about dumplings, okroshka. Are these birds of the open, too, in your opinion?

No! - Petka grinned. - I was joking.

It is wrong to suggest - vilely! This is much worse than not learning the lesson! the teacher was outraged. - I'll have to talk to your mom. Now name the birds - relatives of the crow.

There was silence. Redkin was clearly not in the know.

Vladik Gusev felt sorry for Petka, and he whispered:

Rook, jackdaw, magpie, jay ...

But Redkin, apparently, decided that Vladik was taking revenge on him for his friend, that is, for me, and prompted incorrectly. After all, everyone judges by himself - I read about it in the newspaper ... In general, Redkin waved his hand to Vladik: they say, shut up, and announced:

The crow, like any other bird, has a large family. This is mom, dad, grandmother - an old crow - grandfather ...

Here we just howled with laughter and fell under the desks. Needless to say, unbridled fun was a success! Even the deuce did not spoil the mood!

This is all?! Maria Nikolaevna asked menacingly.

No, not everything! - Petka did not let up. - The crow also has aunts, uncles, sisters, brothers, nephews ...

Enough! the teacher shouted. “Two.” And so that all your relatives come to school tomorrow! Oh, what am I saying!... Parents!

(Martynov Alyosha)

1. Viktor Golyavkin. How I sat under the desk (Volikov Zakhar)

Only the teacher turned away to the blackboard, and I once - and under the desk. When the teacher notices that I have disappeared, he will be terribly surprised, probably.

I wonder what he'll think? He will start asking everyone where I have gone - that will be laughter! Half a lesson has already passed, and I'm still sitting. "When, - I think, - will he see that I'm not in the class?" And it's hard to sit under the desk. My back even hurt. Try to sit like this! I coughed - no attention. I can't sit anymore. Moreover, Seryozhka pokes me in the back with his foot all the time. I couldn't stand it. Didn't make it to the end of the lesson. I get out and say: - Sorry, Pyotr Petrovich ...

The teacher asks:

- What's the matter? Do you want to board?

- No, excuse me, I was sitting under the desk...

- Well, how is it comfortable to sit there, under the desk? You were very quiet today. That's the way it's always been in class.

3. The story "Nakhodka" M. Zoshchenko

One day, Lelya and I took a candy box 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 put this package on the panel opposite our garden. As if someone was walking and lost their purchase.

Putting 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 the passer-by.

When he sees our package, he, of course, stops, rejoices and even rubs his hands with pleasure. Still: he found a box of chocolates - this is not so often the case in this world.

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

The passer-by bent down, took the package, quickly untied it, and, seeing the beautiful box, was even more delighted.

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

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

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

And we laughed so loudly that a passer-by 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 to us to teach us a lesson.

Lelya and I asked a strekach.

We ran screaming across the garden towards the house.

But I stumbled over the garden bed and stretched out on the grass.

And then a passer-by tore my ear pretty hard.

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

Our parents came running to the screaming and noise.

Holding on to 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 to catch up with the janitor and arrest him.

And Lelya was already rushing for the janitor. But her father stopped her. And he said to her and her mother:

- Don't call the janitor. And do not arrest a passerby. Of course, it's not the case that he tore off Minka by the ears, but if I were a passerby, I would probably do the same.

Hearing these words, mother became angry with father and said to him:

- You are a terrible egoist!

And Lelya and I were also angry with dad and didn’t say anything to him. I just rubbed my ear and cried. 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 the children to tears, you would rather explain to them that there is something wrong with what they did. Personally, I do not see this and regard everything as innocent childish fun.

And dad did not find what to answer. He only said:

- Here the children will grow up big and someday they will know why this is bad.

4.

BOTTLE

Just now, on the street, a young boy broke a bottle.

He was carrying something. I don't know. Kerosene or gasoline. Or maybe lemonade. In a word, some kind of soft drink. The time is hot. I want to drink.

So, this kid walked, gape and slammed the bottle on the sidewalk.

And such, you know, dullness. There is no way to shake off the fragments from the sidewalk with your foot. No! Broke it, damn it, and moved on. And other passers-by, so, and walk on these fragments. Very nice.

Then I deliberately sat down on the chimney at the gate, looking to see what would happen next.

I see people walking on glass. Cursing, but walking. And such, you know, dullness. Not a single person is found to fulfill a public duty.

Well, what is it worth? Well, I would take it and stop for a couple of seconds and shake off the fragments from the sidewalk with the same cap. No, they're passing by.

“No, I think, dear! We still do not understand social tasks. Let's hit the glass."

And then, I see some guys stopped.

- Oh, they say, it's a pity that there are few barefoot people today. And then, they say, it would be great to run into it.

And suddenly a man comes along.

A completely simple, proletarian-looking person.

This person stops around this broken bottle. Shakes her pretty head. Grunting, he bends down and sweeps the fragments aside with a newspaper.

“I think it's great! I grieved in vain. The consciousness of the masses has not yet cooled down.”

And suddenly comes up to this gray common man policeman scolds him:

- What are you, he says, a chicken head? I ordered you to carry away the fragments, and you pour aside? Since you are the janitor of this house, you must free your area from your extra glasses.

The janitor, muttering something under his breath, went into the yard, and a minute later reappeared with a broom and a tin shovel. And he started picking up.

And for a long time, until they drove me away, I sat on the pedestal and thought about all sorts of nonsense.

And you know, perhaps the most surprising thing in this story is that the policeman ordered to clean up the windows.

I was walking along the street... I was stopped by a beggar, decrepit old man.

Inflamed, tearful eyes, blue lips, rough tatters, unclean wounds... Oh, how ugly poverty gnawed at this unfortunate creature!

He held out his red, swollen, dirty hand to me... He groaned, he bellowed for help.

I began to fumble in all my pockets... Not a purse, not a watch, not even a handkerchief... I took nothing with me.

And the beggar waited... and his outstretched hand swayed weakly and shuddered.

Lost, embarrassed, I firmly shook that dirty, trembling hand...

- Do not seek, brother; I have nothing brother.

The beggar fixed his inflamed eyes on me; his blue lips smiled - and he, in turn, squeezed my cold fingers.

- Well, brother, - he muttered, - and thanks for that. That's also an alms, brother.

I realized that I also received alms from my brother.

12. The story "Goat" Twark Man

We left early in the morning. Fofan and I were put in the back seat and we began to look out the window.

Dad drove carefully, did not overtake anyone, and told Fofan and me about the rules of the road. Not about how and where you have to cross the road so that you are not run over. And about how you need to go so that you don’t run over anyone yourself.

You see, the tram has stopped, dad said. - And we have to stop to let the passengers through. And now, when they have passed, you can get under way. But this sign says that the road will narrow and instead of three lanes there will be only two. Let's look to the right, to the left, and if there is no one, we will rebuild.

Fofan and I listened, looked out the window, and I felt my legs and arms move by themselves. As if it was me, and not dad, was driving.

Pa! - I said. - Will you teach Fofan and me to drive a car?

Papa was silent for a bit.

In fact, this is an adult thing, he said. “Grow up a little, and then you’ll have to.

We began to drive up to the turn.

But this yellow square gives us the right to pass first. - said dad. - Main road. There is no traffic light. Therefore, we show the turn and ...

He didn't manage to get out all the way. From the left there was a roar of the engine and a black "ten" swept past our car. She swerved back and forth twice, screeched her brakes, blocked our path and stopped. A young guy in a blue uniform jumped out of it and quickly walked towards us.

Have you broken something? Mom got scared. Are you going to be fined now?

Yellow square - dad said in confusion. - Main road. I didn't break anything! Maybe he wants to ask something?

Dad lowered the glass, and the guy almost ran to the door at a run. He leaned over and I saw that his face was angry. Or no, not even evil. He looked at us as if we were the biggest enemies in his life.

What are you doing, goat!? he yelled so loudly that Fofan and I flinched. - You kicked me out! Well goat! Who taught you to ride like that? Who, I ask? They will put, damn it, goats behind the wheel! It's a pity, I'm not in the service today, I would write you out! What are you staring at?

All four of us silently looked at him, and he kept yelling and yelling through the word, repeating "goat." Then he spat on the wheel of our car and went to his "top ten". DPS was written on his back in yellow letters.

The black "ten" screeched its wheels, took off like a rocket and sped away.

We sat in silence for a while.

Who is it? Mom asked. - Why is he so nervous?

Fool Because Absolutely - I answered. - DPS. And he was nervous because he was driving fast and almost crashed into us. He himself is to blame. We were on the right track.

My brother was also yelled at last week, Fofan said. - A DPS is a road patrol service.

Is he to blame and yelled at us? Mom said. - Then it's not DPS. This is HAM.

And how is it translated? I asked.

No, Mom replied. - Ham, he is a boor.

Dad touched the car and we drove on.

Got upset? Mom asked. - No need. Did you drive correctly?

Yes, dad replied.

Well, forget it, my mother said. - There are few boors in the world. Though in the form, though without the form. Well, parents saved on his upbringing. So that's their problem. He probably yells at them too.

Yes, dad replied.

Then he fell silent and did not say another word all the way to the dacha.

13.B. Suslov "POCK"

A sixth grader stepped on an eighth grader's foot.

Accidentally.

In the dining room for pies without a queue climbed - and stepped on.

And got a slap.

The sixth grader jumped back to a safe distance and expressed himself:

- Dylda!

The sixth grader got upset. And I forgot about the pies. Walked out of the dining room.

I met a fifth grader in the hallway. I gave him a slap on the back of the head - it became easier. Because if they gave you a slap on the back of the head, and you can’t give it to anyone, then it’s very insulting.

- Strong, right? the fifth grader scoffed. And in the other direction along the corridor stomped.

I passed by a ninth grader. Past the seventh grader proceeded. I met a boy from the fourth grade.

And gave him a slap. For the same reason.

Further, as you already guess, according to the ancient proverb “there is power - you don’t need mind”, a third-grader received a slap on the back of the head. And he also did not keep it with him - he weighed the second grader.

And why does a second grader need a slap on the back of the head? To nothing at all. He sniffed and ran to look for the first grader. Who else? Do not give cuffs to the elders!

I feel sorry for the first grader. He has a hopeless situation: do not run away from school to kindergarten fight!

The first grader became thoughtful from the slap on the back of the head.

His father met him at home.

Asks:

- Well, what did our first grader get today?

- Yes, - he answers, - he got a slap on the back of the head. And they didn't mark it.

(Krasavin)

Anton Pavlovich ChekhovCOTTAGE RESIDENTS
A couple of recently married couples walked back and forth on the dacha platform. He held her by the waist, and she clung to him, and both were happy. From behind the cloudy fragments the moon looked at them and frowned: she was probably envious and annoyed at her boring, useless virginity. The still air was thickly saturated with the smell of lilac and bird cherry. Somewhere, on the other side of the rails, a corncrake was screaming...
- How good, Sasha, how good! - said the wife. - Really, one might think that all this is a dream. Look how cozy and affectionate this forest looks! How lovely are these solid, silent telegraph poles! They, Sasha, enliven the landscape and say that there, somewhere, there are people ... civilization ... But don't you like it when the wind faintly brings the noise of a moving train to your ears?
- Yes... What, however, you have hot hands! It's because you're worried, Varya... What did we cook for dinner today?
- Okroshka and a chicken ... We have enough chicken for two. They brought you sardines and salmon from the city.
The moon, as if sniffing tobacco, hid behind a cloud. Human happiness reminded her of her loneliness, her lonely bed beyond the forests and valleys...
“The train is coming!” Varya said. - How good!
Three appeared in the distance fiery eyes. The head of the station stepped out onto the platform. Beacons flickered here and there on the tracks.
- Let's see the train and go home, - Sasha said and yawned. - We live well with you, Varya, so well that it's even unbelievable!
The dark monster silently crept up to the platform and stopped. Sleepy faces, hats, shoulders flashed in the half-lit carriage windows...
- Ah! Oh! - I heard from one car. - Varya and her husband came out to meet us! Here they are! Varenka!.. Varenka! Oh!
Two girls jumped out of the car and hung on Varya's neck. Behind them appeared a stout, elderly lady and a tall, skinny gentleman with gray sideburns, then two high school students laden with luggage, behind the high school students a governess, behind the governess a grandmother.
- And here we are, and here we are, my friend! - began the gentleman with sideburns, shaking Sasha's hand. - Tea, waiting! I suppose he scolded his uncle for not going! Kolya, Kostya, Nina, Fifa... children! Kiss cousin Sasha! All to you, all the brood, and for three, four days. I hope we don't hesitate? You, please, no ceremony.
Seeing the uncle with the family, the spouses were horrified. While the uncle was talking and kissing, a picture flashed through Sasha's imagination: he and his wife give guests their three rooms, pillows, blankets; salmon, sardines and okroshka are eaten in one second, cousins ​​pick flowers, spill ink, make noise, auntie talks all day about her illness (tapeworm and pain in the pit of the stomach) and that she was born Baroness von Fintich ...
And Sasha already looked with hatred at his young wife and whispered to her:
- They came to you ... damn them!
- No, to you! - she answered, pale, also with hatred and malice. - These are not mine, but your relatives!
And turning to the guests, she said with a friendly smile:
- Welcome!
The moon came out from behind the cloud again. She seemed to be smiling; she seemed pleased that she had no relatives. And Sasha turned away to hide his angry, desperate face from the guests, and said, giving his voice a joyful, benevolent expression: - You are welcome! You are welcome, dear guests!

An excerpt from the story
Chapter II

My mommy

I had a mother, affectionate, kind, sweet. We lived with my mother in a small house on the banks of the Volga. The house was so clean and bright, and from the windows of our apartment one could see the wide, beautiful Volga, and huge two-story steamships, and barges, and a pier on the shore, and crowds of strollers who went out to this pier at certain hours to meet the incoming steamers ... And my mother and I went there, only rarely, very rarely: mother 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 up the Volga from our Rybinsk all the way to Astrakhan! That's when we'll have fun.
I rejoiced and waited for spring.
By the spring, mommy saved up a little money, and we decided to fulfill our idea with the very first warm days.
- That's as soon as the Volga is cleared of ice, we will ride with you! Mom said, gently stroking my head.
But when the ice broke, she caught a cold and began to cough. The ice passed, the Volga cleared up, and Mom kept coughing and coughing endlessly. She suddenly became thin and transparent, like wax, and kept sitting by the window, looking at the Volga and repeating:
- Here the cough will pass, I will get better a little, and we will ride with you 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 at 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 to her and said:
- Listen, Lenusha. Your mother will soon leave you forever... But don't worry, dear. I will always look at you from the sky and rejoice in the good deeds of my girl, but ...
I did not let her finish and wept bitterly. And Mommy also cried, and her eyes became sad, sad, exactly the same as those of the angel whom I saw on the big image in our church.
After calming down a little, Mom spoke again:
- I feel that the Lord will soon take me to Himself, and may His holy will be done! Be smart 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 take in an orphan...
Something painfully painful at the word "orphan" squeezed my throat ...
I sobbed and wept and huddled around my mother's bed. Maryushka (a cook who had lived with us for nine whole years, from the very year of my birth, and who loved mother and me without memory) came and took me to her, saying that "mother needs peace."
I fell asleep all in tears that night on Maryushka's bed, and in the morning ... Oh, what a morning! ..
I woke up very early, it seems at six o'clock, and I wanted to run straight to my mother.
At that moment Maryushka came in and said:
- Pray to God, Lenochka: God took your mother to him. Your mom has died.
- Mom's dead! 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 chairs - everything turned upside down and swirled in my eyes, and I no longer remember what happened to me after that. I think I fell to 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 recited prayers, the choristers sang, and Maryushka prayed at the threshold of the bedroom. Some old women came and also prayed, then looked at me with pity, shook their heads and mumbled something with their toothless mouths...
- Orphan! Round orphan! said Maryushka, also shaking her head and looking at me pitifully, and weeping. Old women were crying...
On the third day, Maryushka took me to the white box in which Mama was lying and told me to kiss Mama's hand. Then the priest blessed mother, the singers sang something very sad; some men came up, closed the white box and carried it out of our house...
I cried out loud. But then the old women I already knew arrived in time, saying that they were carrying my mother to be buried and that there was no need to cry, but to pray.
The white box was brought to the church, we defended 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, where Mom's coffin was lowered. Then they covered the hole with earth, put a white cross over it, and Maryushka took 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 Petersburg to 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 she was ashamed to speak like that to the big girl, that her mother heard it and that she was hurt by my words.
Then I quieted down and began to remember my uncle's face.
I never saw my St. Petersburg uncle, but there was his portrait in my mother's album. He was depicted on it in a golden embroidered uniform, with many orders and with a star on his chest. He had a very important look, 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 to drink, and took me to the station.

Lydia Charskaya
NOTES OF A LITTLE GIRL STUDENT

An excerpt from the story
Chapter XXI
To the sound of the wind and the whistle of a blizzard

The wind whistled, squealed, grunted and hummed in different ways. Now in a plaintive thin voice, now in a rough bass rumble, he sang his battle song. The lanterns flickered almost imperceptibly through the huge white flakes of snow that fell in abundance on the sidewalks, on the street, on carriages, horses and passers-by. And I went on and on, on and on...
Nyurochka told me:
“We must first go through a long big street, on which there are such tall houses and luxurious shops, then turn right, then left, then right again and left again, and there everything is straight, right to the very end - to our house. You will immediately recognize him. It is near the cemetery itself, there is also a white church ... such a beautiful one.
I did so. Everything went straight, as it seemed to me, along a long and wide street, but I did not see any tall houses or luxurious shops. Everything was obscured from my eyes by a living, loose wall of noiselessly falling huge flakes of snow, white as a shroud. I turned to the right, then to the left, then to the right again, doing everything exactly as Nyurochka told me, and everything went on and on and on without end.
The wind ruthlessly ruffled the floors of my burnusik, piercing me with cold through and through. Snow flakes hit my face. Now I was not going as fast as before. My legs felt like lead from fatigue, my whole body shivered from the cold, my hands froze, and I could hardly move my fingers. Having turned almost for the fifth time to the right and to the left, I now went on a straight path. Quietly, barely perceptibly flickering lights of lanterns came across to me less and less often ... The noise from the horse-drawn carriages and carriages on the streets subsided considerably, and the path along which I was walking seemed to me deaf and deserted.
At last the snow began to thin; huge flakes did not fall so often now. The distance cleared up a little, but instead it was such a thick twilight around me that I could barely see the road.
Now neither the noise of the ride, nor the voices, nor the exclamations of the coachmen could be heard around me.
What silence! What dead silence!
But what is it?
My eyes, already accustomed to the semi-darkness, now distinguish the surroundings. Lord, where am I?
No houses, no streets, no carriages, no pedestrians. In front of me is an endless, vast expanse of snow... Some forgotten buildings along the edges of the road... Some kind of fences, and in front of me is something huge black. It must be a park or a forest, I don't know.
I turned around... Lights flicker behind me... lights... lights... How many of them! Without end... without counting!
- Oh my God, this is a city! City, of course! I exclaim. - And I went to the outskirts ...
Nyurochka said that they lived on the outskirts. Yes of course! What is darkening in the distance, this is the cemetery! There is a church, and, not reaching, their house! Everything, everything happened as she said. And I got scared! That's stupid!
And with joyful animation, I again cheerfully walked forward.
But it was not there!
My legs now barely obeyed me. I could barely move them from exhaustion. The incredible cold made me tremble from head to toe, my teeth chattered, my head was noisy, and something hit my temples with all its might. To all this, some strange drowsiness was added. I was so sleepy, so terribly sleepy!
"Well, well, a little more - and you will be with your friends, you will see Nikifor Matveevich, Nyura, their mother, Seryozha!" I mentally cheered myself up as best I could.
But that didn't help either.
My legs could hardly move, now I could hardly pull them out, first one, then the other, out of the deep snow. But they move more and more slowly, everything ... quieter ... And the noise in the head becomes more and more audible, and more and more strongly something hits the temples ...
Finally, I can’t stand it and sink into a snowdrift that has formed on the edge of the road.
Ah, how good! What a sweet way to relax! Now I don't feel any fatigue or pain... Some kind of pleasant warmth spreads all over my body... Oh, how good! So I would sit here and not go anywhere from here! And if it were not 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 moon emerged from behind the clouds.
Oh, it would be better if the moon did not shine and I would not know at least the sad reality!
No cemetery, no church, no houses - there is nothing ahead! .. Only the forest turns black as a huge black spot far away, and a white dead field spreads around me with an endless veil ...
Horror gripped me.
Now I just realized that I was lost.

Lev Tolstoy

Swans

Swans flew in herds from the cold side to the warm lands. They flew across the sea. They flew day and night, and another day and another night they flew over the water without rest. There was a full moon in the sky, and far below the swans saw blue water. All the swans are tired, flapping their wings; but they did not stop and flew on. Old, strong swans flew in front, those that were younger and weaker flew behind. One young swan flew behind everyone. His strength has weakened. He flapped his wings and could not fly further. Then he, spreading his wings, went down. He descended closer and closer to the water; and his comrades further and further whitened in the moonlight. The swan descended into the water and folded its wings. The sea stirred under him and rocked him. A flock of swans was barely visible as a white line in the bright sky. And it was barely audible in the silence how their wings rang. When they were completely out of sight, the swan bent his neck back and closed his eyes. He did not move, and only the sea, rising and falling in a wide strip, raised and lowered him. Before dawn, a light breeze began to stir the sea. And the water splashed into the white chest of the swan. The swan opened his eyes. In the east the dawn was reddening, and the moon and the stars became paler. The swan sighed, stretched out his neck and flapped his wings, rose and flew, catching his wings on the water. He climbed 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 for forty days through the desert and,
Finally, he came to a beautiful castle that stood on top of a mountain. There lived the sage he was looking for. However, instead of the expected meeting with a wise man, our hero ended up in a hall where everything was seething: merchants entered and left, people were talking in the corner, a small orchestra played sweet melodies and there was a table laden with the most delicious dishes of the area. The wise man spoke to different people, and the young man had to wait about two hours for his turn.
The sage listened attentively 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 back in two hours.
“However, I want to ask for one favor,” added the sage, holding out a small spoon to the young man, into which he dropped two drops of oil. - Throughout the walk, hold this spoon in your hand so that the oil does not spill out.
The young man began to go up and down the palace stairs, keeping his eyes on the spoon. After two hours 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 has been creating for ten years? Have you noticed the beautiful parchments in my library?
The young man, embarrassed, had to confess that he had not seen anything. His only concern was not to spill the drops of oil that the sage had entrusted to him.
“Well, come back and get acquainted with the wonders of my Universe,” the sage told him. You can't trust a man if you don't know the house he lives in.
Calmed down, the young man took a 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 delicacy with which each piece of art was placed exactly where it needed to be.
Returning to the sage, he described in detail everything he saw.
“Where are those two drops of oil that I entrusted to you?” the Sage asked.
And the young man, looking at the spoon, found that all the oil had spilled out.
“That 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 two drops of oil in your spoon.

Leonardo da Vinci
Parable "NEVOD"

And once again the net brought a rich catch. The fishermen's baskets were filled to the brim with heads, carps, tenches, pikes, eels and many other victuals. Whole fish families
with children and household members, were taken to the market stalls and were preparing to end their existence, writhing in agony in hot pans and boiling cauldrons.
The fish remaining in the river, confused and seized with fear, not daring even to swim, dug deeper into the silt. How to live on? One cannot cope with the seine alone. It is thrown daily in the most unexpected places. He mercilessly kills the fish, and in the end the whole river will be devastated.
- We must think about the fate of our children. No one, except us, will take care of them and save them from a terrible delusion, - the minnows, who had gathered for advice under a large snag, reasoned.
- But what can we do? - Tench asked timidly, listening to the speeches of the daredevils.
- Destroy the net! - minnows answered in unison. On the same day, omniscient nimble eels spread the message along the river
about 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 sailed to the appointed place to declare war on the seine.
- Listen carefully! - said the carp, which more than once managed to gnaw through the nets and escape from captivity. - A net as wide as our river. To keep it upright under water, lead sinkers are attached to its lower knots. I order all the fish to divide into two flocks. The first must lift the sinkers from the bottom to the surface, and the second flock will firmly hold the upper nodes of the network. Pike are instructed to gnaw through the ropes with which the seine is attached to both banks.
With bated breath, the fish listened to every word of the leader.
- I order the eels to immediately go on reconnaissance! - continued the carp. - They should establish where the seine is thrown.
The eels went on a mission, and the fish schools huddled along the shore in agonizing expectation. Minnows, meanwhile, 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 now a huge armada of fish flocks swam to the goal, led by a wise carp.
- Swim carefully! - warned the leader. - Look at both, so that the current does not drag in the net. Work with might and main fins and slow down in time!
A seine appeared ahead, gray and ominous. Seized with a fit of anger, the fish boldly rushed to the attack.
Soon the net was raised 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 pounce on the hated enemy. Grasping the crippled leaky seine 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 boil.
The fishermen argued for a long time, scratching their heads, about mysterious disappearance seine, 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. Fluffy chicks slept peacefully, not knowing anything. The snake crawled close to them. Her eyes flashed with an ominous gleam - and the massacre began.
Having received a fatal bite, the peacefully sleeping chicks did not wake up.
Satisfied with what she had done, the villainess crawled into the shelter in order to enjoy the grief of the bird from there.
Soon the pelican returned from hunting. At the sight of the brutal massacre inflicted on the chicks, he burst into loud sobs, and all the inhabitants of the forest fell silent, shocked by unheard-of cruelty.
- Without you there is no life for me now! - the unfortunate father lamented, looking at the dead children. - Let me die with you!
And he began to tear his chest with his beak at the very heart. Hot blood gushed from the open wound in streams, sprinkling the lifeless chicks.
Losing his last strength, the dying pelican cast a farewell glance at the nest with the dead chicks and suddenly shuddered in surprise.
O miracle! His spilled blood and parental love brought dear chicks back to life, snatching them from the clutches of death. And then, happy, he expired.

lucky
Sergey Silin

Antoshka ran down the street, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jacket, stumbled and, falling, had time to think: “I’ll break my nose!” But he didn't have time to get 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 peasant 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 you are lucky.
- Does every person have a lucky one? - asked Antoshka.
“No, there aren’t many of us,” the man replied. - We just go from one to another. From today I will be with you.
- I'm starting to get lucky! Antoshka rejoiced.
- Exactly! - Lucky nodded.
- And when will you leave me for another?
- When required. I remember that I served a merchant for several years. And one pedestrian was helped for only two seconds.
- Yeah! thought Antoshka. - So I need
anything to wish?
- No no! The man raised his hands in protest. - I'm not a wish maker! I only help a little smart and hardworking. I just stay close and make sure that a person is lucky. Where did my invisibility cap go?
He fumbled around with his hands, felt for the invisibility cap, put it on, and disappeared.
- Are you here? - just in case Antoshka asked.
“Here, here,” said Lucky. - Don't look at
me attention. Antoshka put his hands in his pockets and ran home. And wow, lucky: I had time to the beginning of the cartoon to the minute!
Mom came home from work an hour later.
- And I got an award! she said with a smile. -
Let's go shopping!
And she went to the kitchen for the packages.
- Mom also got lucky? Antoshka asked his assistant in a whisper.
- No. She's lucky because we're close.
- Mom, I'm with you! shouted Antoshka.
Two hours later they returned home with a mountain of purchases.
- Just a streak of luck! Mom wondered, her eyes sparkling. All my life I have dreamed of such a blouse!
- And I'm talking about such a cake! - Antoshka cheerfully responded from the bathroom.
The next day at school, he received three fives, two fours, found two rubles and reconciled with Vasya Potereshkin.
And when, whistling, he returned home, he discovered that he had lost the keys to the apartment.
- Lucky, where are you? he called.
A tiny, unkempt woman peeked out from under the stairs. Her hair was disheveled, her nose, her dirty sleeve was torn, her shoes were asking for porridge.
- You didn't have to whistle! - she smiled and added: - I'm unlucky! What, upset, huh? ..
Don't worry, don't worry! The time will come, I will be called away from you!
- Clearly, - Antoshka became despondent. - The streak of bad luck begins ...
- That's for sure! - Unlucky nodded happily and, stepping into the wall, disappeared.
In the evening, Antoshka got a scolding from dad for the lost key, accidentally broke his mother's favorite cup, forgot what was asked in Russian, and could not finish reading the book of fairy tales, because he left it at school.
And 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 didn't take offense at the "traitor".
- One old woman. Guess she's been unlucky all her life! So my boss sent me to her.
Tomorrow I will help her win a million rubles in the lottery, and I will return to you!
- Is it true? Antoshka rejoiced.
- True, true, - Lucky answered and hung up.
At night Antoshka had a dream. As if he and Lucky were dragging four string bags of Antoshkin's favorite tangerines from the store, and from the window of the house opposite, a lonely old woman who was lucky for the first time in her life was smiling at them.

Charskaya Lidia Alekseevna

Lucina 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 lianas, stood a high rock. a palace, behind which was laid out a wonderful garden, fragrant with fragrance, a very special garden, which can only be found in fairy tales alone.

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

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

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

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 entreaties of her little captives.

But their plaintive voices touched the hearts of people passing by the garden. And they looked into the mysterious garden of the princess. Ah, it was not for 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 the cliff

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

Even now I still cannot understand how such a tale, so terrible in essence, such a gloomy and heavy tale, came into the head of my pretty cheerful aunt! The heroine of this tale, Princess Miguel, of course, was an invention of a sweet, a little windy, but very kind Aunt Musya. Ah, it doesn’t matter, let everyone think that this fairy tale is an invention, an invention and the very princess Miguel, but she, my marvelous princess, has firmly settled in my impressionable heart ... Whether she ever existed or not, what was it to me in essence it was when I loved her, my beautiful cruel Miguel! I saw her in a dream and more than once, I saw her golden hair the color of a ripe ear, her deep green eyes, like a pool of forest.

That year I was six years old. I was already sorting out the warehouses and with the help of Aunt Musya I wrote clumsy, awry and awry letters instead of sticks. And I already understood the beauty. The fabulous beauty of nature: the sun, forests, flowers. And my eyes lit up with delight at the sight of a beautiful picture or an elegant illustration on the page of a magazine.

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

Look, Lusenka, what a beautiful sunset! You see how wonderfully the crimson sun sinks into the pond! Look, look, now the water has become quite 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!

Y. Yakovlev Girls from Vasilyevsky Island

I am Valya Zaitseva from Vasilievsky Island.

A hamster lives under my bed. He will fill his full cheeks, in reserve, sit on his hind legs and look with black buttons ... Yesterday I thrashed one boy. She gave him a good bream. We, Vasileostrovsky girls, know how to stand up for ourselves when necessary ...

It's always windy here on Vasilievsky. It's raining. Wet snow falls. 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 girlfriend - Tanya Savicheva. We are neighbors with her. 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 born, the first floor always smelled of kerosene. I was told.

Tanya Savicheva was the same age as I am now. She could have grown up a long time ago, become a teacher, but she remained a girl forever ... When my grandmother sent Tanya for kerosene, I was not there. And she went to the Rumyantsev Garden with another girlfriend. But I know everything about her. I was told.

She was a singer. Always sang. She wanted to recite poetry, but she stumbled on words: she would stumble, and everyone thought that she had forgotten the right word. My girlfriend sang because when you sing, you don't stutter. She could not stutter, she was going to become a teacher, like Linda Avgustovna.

She has always played teacher. He puts on a large grandmother's scarf on his shoulders, folds his hands with a lock and walks from corner to corner. “Children, today we will do a repetition 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 this. We, Vasileostrovsky 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 starvation... Doesn't matter why 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 in the blockade. 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 onto it.

Did he also come with his district?

He came with his brother.

You can with your brother. It is possible with the region. 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 so special about it? We are the same age. Both are from Vasilyevsky Island.

But she's not...

What stupid people, and still adults! What does "no" mean if we're friends? I told them to understand

- We have everything in common. Both street and school. We have a hamster. He will fill his cheeks ...

I noticed that they did not believe me. And to make them believe, she blurted out:

We even have the same handwriting!

— Handwriting? They were even more surprised.

- And what? Handwriting!

Suddenly they cheered up, from the handwriting:

- This is very good! This is a real find. Let's go 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. Give?

You will write on concrete. Do not write on concrete with a pencil.

I have never painted on concrete. I wrote on the walls, on the pavement, but they brought me to a concrete plant and gave Tanya a 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 got cold. I wanted to give them the book and leave.

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

- Get your concrete. I will write.

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

- Do not rush.

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

I didn't do well.

- Do not rush. 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 to fast from morning to evening. Endured. Hunger - when day after day your head, hands, heart - everything that you have is starving. First starving, then dying.

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, wearing spectacles, and kept creaking with his drawing pen. I was told.

Where did he die? Probably, in the kitchen, where the “potbelly stove” smoked with a small, weak engine, where they slept, ate bread once a day. A small piece, 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 over 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 the diary, Tanya Savicheva was getting worse. She stopped singing a long time ago and did not notice that she stuttered. She no longer played teacher. But she did not give up - she lived. I was told... Spring has come. Trees turned green. We have a lot of trees on Vasilyevsky. Tanya dried up, froze, became thin and light. Her hands trembled 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 the page with the letter "M". On this page, Tanya's hand wrote: “Mom on May 13 at 7.30 am.

morning of 1942. Tanya did not write the word "died". She didn't have the strength to write that word.

I gripped my wand tightly and touched the concrete. I did not look into the diary, but wrote by heart. Good thing we have the same handwriting.

I wrote with all my might. The concrete became thick, almost frozen. He no longer crawled on the letters.

- Can you write more?

“I’ll finish writing,” I answered and turned away so that my eyes could not see. After all, Tanya Savicheva is my ... girlfriend.

Tanya and I are of the same age, we Vasileostrovsky girls know how to stand up for ourselves when necessary. If she had not been from Vasileostrovsky, from Leningrad, she would not have lasted so long. But she lived - so she did not give up!

Opened page "C". There were two words: "The Savichevs are dead."

She opened the page "U" - "Everyone died." The last page of Tanya Savicheva's diary was with the letter "O" - "There is only Tanya left."

And I imagined that it was me, Valya Zaitseva, left alone: ​​without mom, without dad, without sister Lyulka. Hungry. Under fire.

In an empty apartment on the second line. I wanted to cross out that last page, but the concrete hardened and the wand broke.

And suddenly I asked Tanya Savicheva to myself: “Why alone?

And I? You have a girlfriend - Valya Zaitseva, your neighbor from Vasilyevsky Island. We will go with you to the Rumyantsev Garden, we will run, and when we get bored, I will bring my grandmother's scarf from home, and we will play teacher Linda Augustovna. A hamster lives under my bed. I'll give it to you for your birthday. Do you hear, Tanya Savicheva?

Someone put a hand on my shoulder and said:

- Let's go, Valya Zaitseva. You've done what it takes. Thank you.

I don't understand why they say "thank you" to me. I said:

- I'll come tomorrow ... without my district. Can?

“Come without a district,” they told me. — Come.

My friend Tanya Savicheva did not shoot at the Nazis and was not a partisan scout. She just lived in hometown at the most difficult time. But, perhaps, the Nazis did not enter Leningrad because Tanya Savicheva lived in it and many other girls and boys lived there, who remained forever in their time. And today's guys are friends with them, as I am friends with Tanya.

And they only make friends with the living.

Vladimir Zheleznyakov "Scarecrow"

A circle of their faces flashed before me, and I rushed about in it, like a squirrel in a wheel.

I should stop and leave.

The boys jumped on me.

"For her legs! shouted Valka. - For the legs! .. "

They threw me down and grabbed my legs and arms. I kicked and jerked with all my might, but they tied me up and dragged me into the garden.

Iron Button and Shmakova dragged out the effigy mounted on a long stick. Dimka followed them and stood aside. The scarecrow was in my dress, with my eyes, with my mouth up to my ears. The legs were made of stockings stuffed with straw, tow and some kind of feathers stuck out instead of hair. On my neck, that is, on the scarecrow, a plaque dangled with the words: "Scarecrow is a traitor."

Lenka fell silent and somehow all 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,” Lenka said. - They jumped and laughed:

"Wow, our beauty-ah-ah!"

"I waited!"

“I figured it out! I came up with! Shmakova jumped for joy. “Let Dimka set fire to the fire!”

After these words of Shmakova, I completely ceased to be afraid. I thought: if Dimka sets fire, then maybe I'll just die.

And Valka at this time - he was the first to succeed everywhere - stuck the stuffed animal into the ground and poured brushwood around it.

“I don’t have any matches,” Dimka said quietly.

“But I have!” Shaggy put the matches into Dimka's hand and pushed him towards the effigy.

Dimka stood near the effigy, his head bowed low.

I froze - waiting for the last time! Well, I thought he would now 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 could not stand it and screamed:

"Dimka! No need, Dimka-ah-ah-ah! .. "

And he was still standing near the stuffed animal - I could see his back, he stooped and seemed somehow small. Maybe because the scarecrow was on a long stick. Only he was small and fragile.

"Well, Somov! said 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 away.

They pulled me close to the fire. I kept my eyes on the flames of the fire. Grandfather! I felt then how this fire seized me, how it burns, bakes and bites, 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 scatter it with my feet, grabbed the burning branches with my hands - I did not want the stuffed animal to burn. For some reason, I really didn't want to!

Dimka was the first to come to his senses.

“What, are you crazy? He grabbed my arm and tried to pull me away from the fire. - It's a joke! Don't you understand jokes?"

I became strong, easily defeated him. She pushed so hard that he flew upside down - only his heels flashed towards the sky. And she pulled out a scarecrow from the fire and began to wave it over her head, stepping on everyone. The scarecrow was already caught in the fire, sparks flew from it in different directions, and they all shied away from these sparks in fright.

They fled.

And I was spinning so fast, dispersing them, that I could not stop until I fell. There was a scarecrow next to me. It was scorched, trembling in the wind and from this as if alive.

At first, I lay with my eyes closed. Then she felt that she smelled of burning, opened her eyes - the scarecrow's dress was smoking. I patted the smoldering hem with my hand and leaned back on the grass.

There was a crunch of branches, receding footsteps, and silence fell.

"Anne of Green Gables" by Lucy Maud Montgomery

It was already quite light when Anya woke up and sat up in bed, looking in confusion at the window through which a stream of joyful sunlight poured and behind which something white and fluffy swayed against 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 came. It was Green Gables, but they did not want to leave her here, because she is not a boy!

But it was morning, and there was a cherry tree outside the window, all in bloom. Anya jumped out of bed and with one jump was at the window. Then she pushed open the window frame—the frame creaked as if it hadn't been opened in a long time, which it really was—and knelt down, peering out into the June morning. Her eyes sparkled with delight. Oh, isn't that wonderful? Isn't this a lovely place? If only she could stay here! She imagines what remains. 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 stretched large gardens, on one side - apple, on the other - cherry, all in bloom. The grass under the trees looked yellow with blooming dandelions. Some distance away in the garden, lilac bushes were visible, all in clusters of bright purple flowers, and the morning breeze carried their dizzyingly sweet aroma to Anya's window.

Beyond the garden, green meadows covered with lush clover descended to a valley where a stream ran and many white birch trees grew, their slender trunks rising above an undergrowth that suggested a wonderful rest among ferns, mosses and forest grasses. Beyond the valley was a hill, green and fluffy with firs and firs. There was a small gap among them, and through it peeped the gray mezzanine of the house that Anne had seen the day before from the other side of the Lake of Glittering Waters.

To the left were large barns and other outbuildings, and behind 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 everything in the world except the beauty that surrounded her, until she shuddered as she felt a hand on her shoulder. The little dreamer did not hear Marilla come in.

"It's time to get dressed," said Marilla curtly.

Marilla simply did not know how to talk to this child, and this ignorance, which she herself disliked, made her harsh and resolute against her will.

Anya stood up with a deep sigh.

— Ah. isn't that wonderful? she asked, pointing with her hand at the beautiful world outside the window.

- Yes it a big tree," said Marilla, "and 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 is 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 brook 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 if you don't want to leave me here? But it's not. It will always please me to remember that there is a stream near Green Gables, even if I never see it again. If there weren't a stream here, I would always have an unpleasant feeling that it should have been here. This morning I am not in the midst of grief. I'm never in the midst of grief in the morning. Isn't it wonderful that there is a 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 it. 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. - Breakfast is waiting. Wash your face and comb your hair. Leave the window open and turn the bed around to let it air out. And hurry, please.

Anya, obviously, could act quickly when it was required, because after ten minutes she came downstairs, neatly dressed, her hair combed and braided, her face washed; 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 pointed out to her. “The world no longer seems to be such a gloomy desert as it was last night. I'm so glad the morning is sunny. However, I love rainy mornings too. Every morning is interesting, isn't it? It is not known what awaits us on this day, and there is so much room for imagination. But I am glad that today there is no rain, because it is easier not to lose heart and 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 could heroically overcome them, but it's not so easy when you 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, Anne was completely silent, so obediently that her continued silence began to irritate Marilla somewhat, as something not quite natural. Matthew was also silent - but that was natural at least - so breakfast passed in complete silence.

As it neared its end, Anya became more and more distracted. She ate mechanically, and her large eyes gazed steadily, unseeingly at the sky outside the window. This annoyed Marilla even more. She had an unpleasant feeling that while the body of this strange child was at the table, his spirit soared 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 had last night, and that he was going to want it more. It was his usual manner to get some fad into his head and cling to it with an astonishing silent persistence—an persistence ten times more powerful and effective through 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. I'm actually better at babysitting. I have a lot of experience in this business. Too bad you don't have kids here for me to take care of.

“But I don’t want to have more children here than at the moment. You alone are enough trouble. I have no idea what to do with you. Matthew is so funny.

“He seemed very nice to me,” Anya said reproachfully. - He is very friendly and did not mind at all, no matter how much I said - he seemed to like it. I felt a kindred spirit in him as soon as I saw him.

"You're both weirdos, if that's what you mean by kindred spirits," snorted Marilla. - Okay, you can wash the dishes. Do not spare hot water and dry thoroughly. I've got a lot of work to do this morning because I have to go to White Sands in the 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.

Anne washed the dishes rather quickly and carefully, which did not go unnoticed by Marilla. Then she made the bed, but with less success, because she had never learned the art of wrestling with 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 on the very threshold, she suddenly stopped, turned sharply back and sat down near the table, the expression of delight vanished from her face, as if it had been blown away by the wind.

"Well, what else happened?" asked Marilla.

“I don’t dare to go out,” Anya said in the tone of a martyr who renounces 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 a garden, and a stream, I can not help but love them. It's already hard on my soul, and I don't want it to get even harder. I so 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. You shouldn't fall in love with something from which you will be cut off forever, right? And it's so hard to resist and not fall in love, right? That's why I was so glad when I thought I'd stay here. I thought there was so much to love here and nothing would stop me. But that brief dream was over. Now I've come to terms with my fate, so I'd better not 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?

- It's a geranium.

— Oh, I don't mean that name. I mean the name you gave her. Did you give her a name? Then can I do it? May I call her… oh, let me think… Darling will do… may I call her Darling while I'm here? Oh, let me call her that!

“For God's sake, I don't care. But what is the point of naming a geranium?

— Oh, I love things to have names, even if it's just geraniums. This makes them more human-like. How do you know you're not hurting a geranium's feelings when you just call it "geranium" and nothing else? You wouldn't like it if you were always called just a woman. Yes, I'll call her Honey. I gave a name this morning to this cherry under my bedroom window. I called her Snow Queen because she's so white. Of course, it won't always be in bloom, but you can always imagine that, right?

"I've never seen or heard anything like it in my life," Marilla muttered as she fled to the cellar for potatoes. “She's really interesting, as Matthew says. I can already feel myself interested in what else she will say. She casts a spell on me too. And she's already unleashed them on Matthew. This look, which he gave me when he left, again expressed everything that he spoke about and alluded to yesterday. It would be better if he was like other men and spoke openly about everything. Then it would be possible to answer and convince him. But what do you do with a man who only looks?

When Marilla returned from her pilgrimage to the cellar, she found Anne again in 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.

“May I take the mare and convertible after dinner, 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 sort this out. I'll take Anya with me so Mrs. Spencer can send her back to Nova Scotia right away. I'll leave you some tea on the stove and get home in time for the milking.

Again, Matthew said nothing. Marilla felt she was wasting her words. Nothing is more annoying than a man who doesn't answer... except for a woman who doesn't answer.

At the appointed time, Matthew hitched up the bay, and Marilla and Anne got into the cabriolet. Matthew opened the gates of the yard for them, and as they drove slowly past, he said aloud, to no one, it seemed, addressing:

“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 sorrel with such force that the fat mare, unaccustomed to such treatment, galloped indignantly. As the cabriolet was rolling along the high road, Marilla turned and saw that the insufferable Matthew was leaning against the gate, looking mournfully after them.

Sergei Kutsko

WOLVES

That's the way it's set up country life that if you don’t go out into the forest before noon, don’t take a walk through the familiar mushroom and berry places, then by evening there’s nothing to run, everything will hide.

So did one girl. The sun has just risen to the tops of the fir trees, and in the hands is already a full basket, wandered far, but what mushrooms! With gratitude, she looked around and was just about to leave, when the distant bushes suddenly shuddered and a beast came out into the clearing, its eyes tenaciously followed the figure of the girl.

— Oh, dog! - she said.

Cows were grazing somewhere nearby, and their acquaintance in the forest with a shepherd's dog was not a big surprise to them. But meeting with a few more pairs of animal eyes put me in a daze...

“Wolves,” a thought flashed, “the road is not far, to run ...” Yes, the forces disappeared, the basket involuntarily fell out of my hands, my legs became wadded and naughty.

- Mother! - this sudden cry stopped the flock, which had already reached the middle of the clearing. - People, help! - three times swept 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. It happens with these animals - the she-wolf becomes the head of the pack. Only her eyes were not so ferocious as they were inquisitive. They seemed to ask: “Well, man? What will you do now, when there are no weapons in your hands, and your relatives are not around?”

The girl fell to her knees, covered her eyes with her hands and wept. 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. Signing herself with the sign of the cross, she asked the Mother of God, like her mother, in the last hope of intercession and salvation.

When she opened her eyes, the wolves, bypassing the bushes, went into the forest. Slowly ahead, with her head down, walked a she-wolf.

Boris Ganago

LETTER TO GOD

This happened at the end of the 19th century.

Petersburg. Christmas Eve. A cold, piercing wind blows from the bay. Throws fine prickly snow. The hooves of horses clatter along the cobblestone pavement, the doors of shops slam - the last purchases before the holiday are being made. Everyone is in a hurry to get home as soon as possible.

Only a small boy slowly wanders along the snow-covered street. Every now and then he takes out his cold, reddened hands from the pockets of his shabby 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 door of the store swung open, letting out another customer, and the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted out of it. The boy swallowed convulsively, stamped his feet and wandered on.

Twilight falls imperceptibly. There are fewer and fewer passers-by. The boy pauses at the building, in the windows of which the light is on, and, rising on tiptoe, tries to look inside. Slowly, he opens the door.

The old clerk was late at work today. He has nowhere to hurry. He has been living alone for a long time and on holidays he feels his loneliness especially acutely. The clerk sat and thought bitterly 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 have to write a letter!" the boy spoke quickly.

— Do you have any money? the clerk asked sternly.

The boy, fiddling with his hat, took a step back. And then the lone clerk remembered that today was Christmas Eve and that he so wanted to give someone a present. He took out a blank sheet of paper, dipped his pen in ink and wrote: “Petersburg. 6th January. Sir...”

- What is the lord's name?

"That's not the lord," the boy muttered, still not fully believing his luck.

Oh, is that a lady? asked the clerk, smiling.

No no! the boy spoke quickly.

So who do you want to write a letter to? the old man was surprised

— Jesus.

How dare you make fun of an old man? - the clerk was indignant and wanted to show the boy to the door. But then I saw tears in the eyes of the child and remembered that today is Christmas Eve. He felt ashamed of his anger, and in a warm voice he asked:

What do you want to write to Jesus?

— My mother always taught me to ask God for help when it is difficult. She said that God's name is Jesus Christ. The boy went closer to the clerk and continued: “But 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 desk.

- I kissed her.

- Is she breathing?

- What are you, uncle, do they breathe in a dream?

“Jesus Christ has already received your letter,” said the old man, embracing the boy by the shoulders. “He told me to take care of you, and he took your mother to Himself.

The old clerk thought: “My mother, leaving for another world, you told me to be a good person and a pious Christian. I forgot your order, but now you will not be ashamed of me.”

Boris Ganago

THE SPOKEN WORD

On the outskirts of the big city stood an old house with a garden. They were guarded by a reliable watchman - the smart dog Uranus. He never barked at anyone in vain, vigilantly watched strangers, 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 a shepherd? As a watchman, they no longer needed Uranus, becoming only a burden. For several days there were fierce disputes about the dog's fate. Through the open window from the house to the sentry kennel, the plaintive sobs of the grandson and the menacing shouts of the grandfather often flew.

What did Uranus understand from the words he heard? Who knows...

Only the daughter-in-law and grandson, who brought 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 he was persuaded. He no longer wagged his tail when approached, and even looked away, as if he no longer wanted to look at the people who betrayed him.

The daughter-in-law, who was expecting an heir or heiress, suggested:

- Isn't Uranus sick? The owner in his hearts threw:

“It would be better if the dog died on its own.” Then you wouldn't have to shoot.

The bride 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, only thoughtfully said:

“Maybe he yearned for something... Uranus soon died, until his death, slightly moving his tail only to his daughter-in-law and grandson, who visited him.

And the owner at night often remembered the look of Uranus, who had faithfully served him for so many years. The old man already regretted the cruel words that had killed the dog.

But is it possible to return what was said?

And who knows how the sounded evil hurt the grandson, tied to his four-legged friend?

And who knows how it, spreading around the world like a radio wave, will affect the souls of unborn children, future generations?

Words live, words don't die...

In an old book it was told: one girl's father died. The girl missed him. He was always kind to her. She lacked this warmth.

Once dad dreamed about her and said: now you be affectionate with people. Every kind word serves eternity.

Boris Ganago

MASHENKA

Christmas story

Once, many years ago, the girl Masha was mistaken for an Angel. It happened like this.

One poor family had three children. Their father died, their mother worked where she could, and then fell ill. There was not a crumb left in the house, but there was so much to eat. What to do?

Mom went out into the street and began to beg, but people, not noticing her, passed by. Christmas night was approaching, and the words of the woman: “I ask not for myself, for my children ... for Christ's sake! ” drowned in the pre-holiday bustle.

In desperation, she entered the church and began to ask Christ Himself for help. Who else was there to ask?

Here, at the icon of the Savior, Masha saw a woman kneeling. Her face was filled with tears. The girl had never seen such suffering before.

Masha had an amazing heart. When they were happy nearby, and she wanted to jump for happiness. But if someone was hurt, she could not pass by and asked:

What happened to you? Why are you crying? And someone else's pain penetrated into her heart. And now she leaned towards the woman:

Do you have grief?

And when she shared her misfortune with her, Masha, who had never experienced a feeling of hunger in her life, imagined three lonely babies 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 house? - Masha asked in parting. She was surprised to learn that a poor family lives in a nearby basement. The girl did not understand how it was possible to live in the basement, but she firmly knew what she needed to do this Christmas evening.

Happy mother, as if on wings, flew home. She bought food at a nearby store, and the children happily greeted her.

Soon the stove blazed and the samovar boiled. The children warmed up, sated and quieted down. A table set with food was an unexpected holiday for them, almost a miracle.

But then Nadia, the smallest, asked:

Mom, is it true that on Christmas Day God sends an Angel to the children, and he brings them many, many gifts?

Mom knew perfectly well that they had no one to expect gifts from. Thank God for what He has already given them: everyone is fed and warm. But babies are babies. They so wanted to have a tree for the Christmas holiday, the same as that of 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 hearts.

And I believe in God with all my heart and pray to Him with all my heart, - Nadia did not retreat. - May he send us His Angel.

Mom didn't know what to say. Silence settled in the room, only the logs crackled in the stove. And suddenly there was a knock. The children shuddered, and mother crossed herself and opened the door with a trembling hand.

On the threshold stood a little fair-haired girl Masha, and behind her - a bearded man with a Christmas tree in his hands.

Merry Christmas! - Masha happily congratulated the owners. The children froze.

While the bearded man was setting up the Christmas tree, the Nanny Car 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 mother suspected that the girl had given them her Christmas tree and her gifts.

And when the unexpected guests left, Nadia asked:

This girl was an angel?

Boris Ganago

BACK TO LIFE

Based on the story by A. Dobrovolsky "Seryozha"

Usually the brothers' beds were side by side. But when Seryozha fell ill with pneumonia, Sasha was moved to another room and was forbidden to disturb the baby. They only asked to pray for the little brother, who was getting worse and worse.

One evening Sasha looked into the sick room. Seryozha lay with open, seeing nothing, and hardly breathed. Frightened, the boy rushed to the office, from which the voices of his parents could be heard. The door was ajar, and Sasha heard his mother, crying, say that Seryozha was dying. Pa-pa answered with pain in his voice:

- Why cry now? He can no longer be saved ...

In horror, Sasha rushed into the room of his sister. There was no one there, and with sobs, he fell to his knees in front of the icon of the Mother of God, which hung on the wall. Through the sobs, the words broke through:

- Lord, Lord, make sure that Seryozha does not die!

Sasha's face was filled with tears. Everything around was 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 is gone.

- Lord, You can do anything, save Serezha!

It's already quite dark. Exhausted, Sasha stood up with the corpse and lit the table lamp. The gospel lay before her. The boy turned over several pages, and suddenly his eyes fell on the line: “Go, and as you believed, let it be for you ...”

As if having heard an order, he went to Se-rezha. At the bedside of her beloved brother, mother sat silently. She gave a sign: "Don't make noise, Seryozha fell asleep."

No words were spoken, but this sign was like a ray of hope. He fell asleep - it means he is alive, so he will live!

Three days later, Seryozha could already sit up in bed, and the children were allowed to visit him. They brought brother's favorite toys, a fortress and houses, which he cut and glued before his illness - everything that could please the baby. The little sister with a big doll stood near Seryozha, and Sasha, rejoicing, photographed them.

These were moments of true happiness.

Boris Ganago

YOUR CHILD

A chick fell out of the nest - very small, helpless, even the wings have not yet grown. He can’t do anything, he only squeaks and opens his beak - he asks for food.

The guys took it and brought it into the house. They built a nest for him out of grass and twigs. Vova fed the baby, and Ira gave water to drink and took out in the sun.

Soon the chick got stronger, and instead of a fluff, feathers began to grow in it. The guys found an old birdcage in the attic and, for reliability, put their pet in it - the cat began to look at him very expressively. He was on duty at the door all day long, waiting for the right moment. And no matter how much his children drove, he did not take his eyes off the chick.

Summer has flown by. The chick in front of the children grew up and began to fly around the cage. And soon he became cramped in it. When the cage was taken out into the street, he fought against the bars and asked to be released. So the guys decided to release their pet. Of course, it was a pity for them 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 out onto the grass and looked back at his friends.

At that moment, a 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. For every soul the enemy hunts, wants to catch. After all, at first the human soul, just like a fledgling chick, is helpless, unable to fly. How can we preserve it, how can we grow it so that it does not break on sharp stones, does not fall into the net of a catcher?

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 knows there such a bright joy that she is not afraid of any earthly nets.

Boris Ganago

MIRROR

Dot, dot, comma,

Minus, the face is crooked.

Stick, stick, cucumber -

Here comes the man.

With this rhyme, Nadia finished the drawing. Then, fearing that they would not understand her, she signed under it: "It's me." She carefully examined her creation and decided that something was missing from it.

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?

Nadia loved to dress up and spin in front of a large mirror, tried different hairstyles. This time the girl tried on her mother's hat with a veil.

She wanted to look mysterious and romantic, like long-legged girls showing fashion on TV. Nadia introduced 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 pretty, and when she stopped abruptly, the hat slid down her nose.

Good thing no one saw her at that moment. That would be a laugh! In general, she did not like being a fashion model at all.

The girl took off her hat, and then her eyes fell on her grandmother's hat. Unable to resist, she tried it on. And she froze, making an amazing discovery: like two peas in a pod, she looked like her grandmother. She didn't have any wrinkles yet. Bye.

Now Nadia knew what she would become in many years. True, this future seemed to her very far away ...

It became clear to Nadia why her grandmother loves her so much, why she watches her pranks with tender sadness and sighs furtively.

There were steps. Nadya hurriedly put her cap back on 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.

Nadenka hugged her future self and quietly asked:

Grandma, is it true that you were me as a child?

Grandmother was silent for a moment, then smiled mysteriously and took an old album from the shelf. Turning over a few pages, she showed a photograph of a little girl who looked very much like Nadia.

That's what I was.

Oh, you really look like me! - the granddaughter exclaimed in delight.

Or maybe you look like me? - slyly narrowed her eyes, asked the grandmother.

It doesn't matter who looks like who. The main thing is similar, - the baby did not concede.

Isn't it important? And look what I looked like...

And the grandmother began to leaf through the album. There were just no faces. And what faces! And each was beautiful in its own way. Peace, dignity and warmth, radiated by them, attracted the eye. Nadia noticed that all of them - small children and gray-haired old men, young ladies and smart military men - were somewhat similar to each other ... And to her.

Tell me about them, the girl asked.

Grandmother pressed her blood to herself, and a story about their family, coming from ancient centuries, began to flow.

The time for cartoons had already come, but the girl did not want to watch them. She was discovering something amazing that was long ago, but lives in 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 wandered around the house. All games are boring. Then my mother gave an order to go to the store and also suggested:

Our neighbor, Maria Nikolaevna, broke her leg. She has no one to buy bread. Barely moves around the room. Let me call and see if she needs something to buy.

Aunt Masha was delighted with 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 an empty cage in which a parrot had recently lived. It was her friend. Aunt Masha looked after him, shared her thoughts, and he took it and flew away. Now she has no one to say a word to, no one to take care of. What is life if there is no one to take care of?

Petya looked at the empty cage, at the crutches, imagined how Aunt Mania was hobbling around the empty apartment, and an unexpected thought came into his head. The fact is that he had long saved up the money that was given to him for toys. Didn't find anything suitable. And now this strange thought - to buy a parrot for Aunt Masha.

Saying goodbye, Petya ran out into the street. He wanted to go to the pet store, where he had once seen various parrots. But now he looked at them through the eyes of Aunt Masha. Which one would she be friends with? Maybe this one suits 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 pressed 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 woken up… Thank God!”

What is a soul? the boy was worried.

This is the ability to love.

The mother looked at her son questioningly.

Maybe call yourself?

Petya was embarrassed. Mom picked up the phone: Maria Nikolaevna, sorry, Petya has a question for you. I'll hand him the phone now.

There was nowhere to go, and Petya muttered in embarrassment:

Aunt Masha, can you buy something?

What happened at the other end of the wire, Petya did not understand, only the neighbor answered in some unusual voice. She thanked him and asked to bring milk if he went to the store. She doesn't need anything else. Thanks again.

When Petya called her apartment, he heard the hasty clatter of crutches. Aunt Masha did not 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 about the color and behavior ...

There were several parrots of this color in the pet store. Petya chose for a long time. When he brought his gift to Aunt Masha, then ... I do not undertake to describe what happened next.

SELECTED PASSAGES FOR READING BY MEMORY
Having emptied the bowler hat, 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:
- Thank you very much. Much pleased with you.
- Maybe you want some more?
- No, full.
"Otherwise we can put you another bowler hat," said Gorbunov, winking, not without boasting. - It means nothing to us. What about a shepherd?
“It doesn’t fit into me anymore,” Vanya said shyly, and his blue eyes suddenly shot a quick, mischievous look from under his lashes.
- If you don't want it, whatever you want. Your will. We have such a rule: we do not force anyone, - said Bidenko, known for his justice.
But the vain Gorbunov, who liked to have all people admire the life of scouts, said:
- Well, Vanya, how did our grub seem to you?
“Good grub,” said the boy, putting a spoon into the pot with the handle down and collecting bread crumbs from the Suvorov Onslaught newspaper, spread out instead of a tablecloth.
- Right, good? Gorbunov perked up. - You, brother, will not find such grub in anyone in the division. The famous grub. You, brother, the main thing, hold on to us, to the scouts. You will never get lost with us. Will you hold on to us?
“I will,” the boy said cheerfully.
That's right, you won't get lost. We will wash you in the bath. We'll cut your patches. We will fix some uniform so that you have a proper military appearance.
- Will you take me for reconnaissance, uncle?
- Yves intelligence will take you. Let's make you a famous spy.
- I, uncle, am small. I'll crawl through everywhere, - Vanya said with joyful readiness. - I know every bush around here.
- It's expensive.
- Will you teach me how to shoot from a machine gun?
- From what. The time will come - we will teach.
- I would, uncle, just shoot once, - said Vanya, looking greedily at the machine guns, swaying on their belts from the incessant cannon fire.
- Shoot. Don't be afraid. This will not follow. We will teach you all military science. Our first duty, of course, is to credit you for all kinds of allowances.
- How is it, uncle?
- This, brother, is very simple. Sergeant Egorov will report about you to the lieutenant
gray-haired. Lieutenant Sedykh will report to the commander of the battery, Captain Yenakiev, Captain Yenakiev orders you to be enlisted in the order. From that, then, all kinds of allowances will go to you: clothing, welds, money. Do you understand?
- Understood, uncle.
- This is how it is done with us scouts ... Wait a minute! Where are you going to?
- Wash the dishes, uncle. Mother always ordered us to wash the dishes after herself, and then clean the closet.
"You gave the right order," Gorbunov said sternly. “The same is true in military service.
“There are no porters in the military service,” the just Bidenko pointed out instructively.
- However, wait a little longer to wash the dishes, we will drink tea now, - said Gorbunov smugly. - Do you respect drinking tea?
- I respect, - said Vanya.
- Well, you're doing the right thing. Here, among the scouts, this is how it is supposed to be: as we eat, so immediately drink tea. It is forbidden! Bidenko said. “We drink, of course, over the top,” he added indifferently. - We do not consider this.
Soon a large copper kettle appeared in the tent - a subject of special pride for the scouts, it is also the source of the eternal envy of the rest of the batteries.
It turned out that the scouts really did not consider sugar. Silent Bidenko untied his duffel bag and put a huge handful of refined sugar on the Suvorov Onslaught. Before Vanya had even blinked an eye, Gorbunov sloshed two large piles of sugar into his mug, however, noticing an expression of delight on the boy's face, he sloshed a third. Know, they say, us scouts!
Vanya grabbed a tin mug with both hands. He even closed his eyes in pleasure. He felt like he was in an extraordinary, fairy-tale world. Everything around was fabulous. And this tent, as if illuminated by the sun on a cloudy day, and the roar of a close battle, and good giants throwing handfuls of refined sugar, and the mysterious “all kinds of allowances” promised to him - clothing, welding, money, - and even the words “pork stew”, printed in large black letters on the mug. - Do you like it? asked Gorbunov, proudly admiring the pleasure with which the boy sipped the tea with carefully outstretched lips.
Vanya could not even sensibly answer this question. His lips were busy fighting the tea, hot as fire. His heart was full of stormy joy because he would stay with the scouts, with these wonderful people who promise to cut his hair, equip him, teach him how to shoot from a machine gun.
All the words jumbled in his head. He only nodded his head gratefully, raised his eyebrows high and rolled his eyes, thus expressing the highest degree of pleasure and gratitude.
(In Kataev "Son of the Regiment")
If you think that I am a good student, you are wrong. I study hard. 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'm not lazy. I sit on tasks for three hours.
Here, for example, now I'm sitting and I want to solve the problem with all my might. And she does not dare. I tell my mom
“Mom, I can’t do my job.
“Don’t be lazy,” Mom says. - Think carefully, and everything will work out. Just think carefully!
She's leaving on business. And I take my head with both hands and say to 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 are you worth!
A cloud floats outside the window. It is as light as fluff. Here it stopped. No, it floats on.
Head, what are you thinking? Aren `t you ashamed!!! “Two pedestrians went from point A to point B ...” Luska, probably, also left. She is already walking. If she had approached me first, I would have forgiven her, of course. But is she suitable, such a pest ?!
"...From point A to point B..." No, it won't fit. On the contrary, when I go out into the yard, she will take Lena by the arm and will whisper with her. Then she will say: "Len, come to me, I have something." They will leave, and then they will sit on the windowsill and laugh and gnaw on seeds.
“... Two pedestrians went from point A to point B ...” And what will I do? .. And then I will call Kolya, Petka and Pavlik to play rounders. And what will she do? Yeah, she'll put on a Three Fat Men record. Yes, so loudly that Kolya, Petka and Pavlik will hear and run to ask her to let them listen. They listened a hundred times, everything is 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 shoot something right into her window. Glass - ding! - and shatter. Let him know.
So. I'm tired of thinking. Think do not think - the task does not work. Just awful, what a difficult task! I'll walk around for a bit and start thinking again.
I closed my book and looked out the window. Lyuska alone was walking in the yard. She jumped into hopscotch. I went outside and sat down on a bench. Lucy didn't even look at me.
- Earring! Vitka! Lucy immediately screamed. - Let's go to play bast shoes!
The Karmanov brothers looked out the window.
“We have a throat,” both brothers said hoarsely. - They won't let us in.
- Lena! Lucy screamed. - Linen! Come out!
Instead of Lena, her grandmother looked out and threatened Lyuska with her finger.
- Peacock! Lucy screamed.
Nobody appeared at the window.
- Pe-et-ka-ah! Luska perked up.
- Girl, what are you yelling at? Someone's head popped out of the window. - A sick person is not allowed to rest! There is no rest from you! - And the head stuck back into the window.
Luska furtively looked at me and blushed like a cancer. She tugged at her pigtail. Then she took the thread off her sleeve. Then she looked at the tree and said:
- Lucy, let's go to the classics.
“Come on,” I said.
We jumped into the 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?
- Does not work.
- But you've been sitting on it for two hours already! It's just awful what it is! They ask the children some puzzles!.. Well, let's show your task! Maybe I can do it? I did finish college. So. “Two pedestrians went from point A to point B ...” Wait, wait, this task is 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 task, and we were given the forty-sixth.
At this, my mother got very angry.
- It's outrageous! Mom said. - It's unheard of! This mess! 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 yesterday. It was so sunny outside! Such a warm yellow sun! Such branches swayed outside the window! .. I wanted to stretch out my hand and touch every sticky green leaf. Oh, how your hands will smell! And the fingers stick together - you can't pull them apart... No, I didn't want to learn my lessons.
I went outside. The sky above me was fast. Clouds hurried along it somewhere, and sparrows chirped terribly loudly in the trees, and a big fluffy cat warmed up on a bench, and it was so good that spring!
I walked in the yard until the evening, and in the evening mom and dad went to the theater, and I went to bed without doing my homework.
The morning was dark, so dark that I did not want to get up at all. That's how it always is. If the sun is shining, I immediately jump up. I dress quickly. And coffee is delicious, and mom does not grumble, and dad jokes. And when the morning is like today, I barely get dressed, my mother pushes me and gets angry. And when I have breakfast, dad makes me remarks that I sit crookedly at the table.
On the way to school, I remembered that I had not done a single lesson, and this made me even worse. Without looking at Lyuska, I sat down at my desk and took out my textbooks.
Vera Evstigneevna entered. The lesson has begun. Now I will be called.
- Sinitsyna, to the blackboard!
I started. Why should I go to the board?
“I didn’t learn,” I said.
Vera Evstigneevna was surprised and gave me a deuce.
Why do I feel so bad in the world?! I'd rather take it and die. Then Vera Evstigneevna will regret that she gave me a deuce. And mom and dad will cry and tell everyone:
“Oh, why did we ourselves go to the theater, and they left her all alone!”
Suddenly they pushed me in the back. I turned around. They put a note in my hand. I unrolled a narrow long paper ribbon and read:
“Lucy!
Don't despair!!!
Two is rubbish!!!
You'll fix two!
I will help you! Let's be friends with you! It's just a secret! Not a word to anyone!!!
Yalo-quo-kyl.
It was as if something warm had been poured into me. I was so happy that I even laughed. Luska looked at me, then at the note and proudly turned away.
Did someone write this to me? Or maybe this note is not for me? Maybe she is Lucy? But on the reverse side was: LYUSA SINITSYNA.
What a wonderful note! I have never received such wonderful notes in my life! Well, of course, a deuce is nothing! What are you talking about?! I'll just fix the two!
I re-read twenty times:
"Let's be friends with you..."
Well, of course! Sure, let's be friends! Let's be friends with you!! Please! I am very happy! I really love it when they want to be friends with me! ..
But who is writing this? Some kind of YALO-QUO-KYL. Incomprehensible word. I wonder what it means? And why does this YALO-QUO-KYL want to be friends with me?.. Maybe I'm beautiful after all?
I looked at the desk. There was nothing pretty.
He probably wanted to be friends with me because I'm good. What, I'm bad, right? Of course it's good! After all, no one wants to be friends with a bad person!
To celebrate, I nudged Luska with my elbow.
- Lus, and with me one person wants to be friends!
- Who? Lucy immediately asked.
- I don't know who. It's kind of unclear here.
- Show me, I'll figure it out.
"Honestly, you won't tell anyone?"
- Honestly!
Luska read the note and pursed her lips:
- Some fool wrote! I couldn't say my real name.
Maybe he's shy?
I looked around the whole class. Who could write the note? Well, who? .. It would be nice, Kolya Lykov! He is the smartest in our class. Everyone wants to be friends with him. But I have so many triplets! No, he is unlikely.
Or maybe Yurka Seliverstov wrote this? .. No, we are already friends with him. He would have sent me a note for no reason! At recess, I went out into the corridor. I stood at the window and waited. It would be nice if this YALO-QUO-KYL made friends with me right away!
Pavlik Ivanov came out of the classroom and immediately went to me.
So, it means that Pavlik wrote it? It just wasn't enough!
Pavlik ran up to me and said:
- Sinitsyna, give me ten kopecks.
I gave him ten kopecks to get rid of it as soon as possible. Pavlik immediately ran to the buffet, and I stayed at the window. But no one else came up.
Suddenly Burakov began to walk past me. I thought he was looking at me in a strange way. He stood next to her and looked out the window. So, it means that Burakov wrote the note?! Then I'd better leave now. I can't stand this Burakov!
“The weather is terrible,” said Burakov.
I didn't have time to leave.
“Yes, the weather is bad,” I said.
“The weather doesn’t get worse,” said Burakov.
“Terrible weather,” I said.
Here Burakov took an apple out of his pocket and bit off half with a crunch.
- Burakov, give me a bite, - I could not stand it.
- And it is bitter, - said Burakov and went down the corridor.
No, he didn't write the note. And thank God! You won't find another one like this in the whole world!
I looked at him contemptuously and went to class. I went in and freaked out. Written on the blackboard was:
SECRET!!! YALO-QUO-KYL + SINITSYNA = LOVE!!! NOT A WORD TO ANYONE!
In the corner, Luska was whispering with the girls. When I entered, they all stared at me and began to giggle.
I grabbed a rag and rushed to wipe the board.
Then Pavlik Ivanov jumped up to me and whispered in my ear:
- I wrote you a note.
- You're lying, not you!
Then Pavlik laughed like a fool and yelled at the whole class:
- Oh, sick! Why be friends with you?! All freckled like a cuttlefish! Silly tit!
And then, before I had time to look back, Yurka Seliverstov jumped up to him and hit this blockhead with a wet rag right on the head. Peacock howled:
- Ah well! I'll tell everyone! I’ll tell everyone, everyone, everyone about her, how she receives notes! And I'll tell everyone about you! You sent her a note! - And he ran out of the classroom with a stupid cry: - Yalo-quo-kyl! Yalo-quo-kul!
Lessons are over. Nobody approached me. Everyone quickly collected their textbooks, and the class was empty. We were alone with Kolya Lykov. 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 left without saying anything.
But what if? Suddenly it's still Kolya wrote? Is it Kolya? What happiness if Kolya! My throat immediately dried up.
- Kohl, please tell me, - I barely squeezed out of myself, - it's not you, by chance ...
I did not finish, because I suddenly saw how Colin's ears and neck were filled with paint.
- Oh you! Kolya said without looking at me. - I thought you... And you...
- Kolya! I screamed. - So I...
- Chatterbox you, that's who - said Kolya. - Your tongue is like a pomelo. And I don't want to be friends with you anymore. What else was missing!
Kolya finally got through the string, got up and left the classroom. And I sat down in my seat.
I won't go anywhere. Outside the window is such a terrible rain. And my fate is so bad, so bad that it can't get any worse! So I will sit here until the night. And I will sit at night. One in a dark classroom, one in an entire dark school. So I need it.
Aunt Nyura came in with a bucket.
“Go home, dear,” said Aunt Nyura. - Mom was tired of waiting at home.
“No one was waiting for me at home, Aunt Nyura,” I said and trudged out of the classroom.
Bad fate! Lucy is no longer my friend. Vera Evstigneevna gave me a deuce. Kolya Lykov... I didn't even want to think 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!!!
Cheerful wet passers-by ran along the street with their collars up!!!
And on the porch, right in the rain, stood Kolya Lykov.
“Come on,” he said.
And 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 the guns, did not see how the planes were beating in the sky and how the glow of fires blazed at night where the enemy was crossing Russian soil. But from where the front was, refugees were coming through Nechaevo. They dragged sleighs with bundles, hunched under the weight of bags and sacks. Clinging to the dress of their mothers, the children walked and got stuck in the snow. Homeless people stopped, warmed themselves in the huts and moved on. Once, at dusk, when the shadow from the old birch stretched all the way to the barn, there was a knock on the door to the Shalihins. The nimble red-haired girl Taiska rushed to the side window, buried her nose in the thaw, and both of her pigtails lifted up merrily. - Two aunts! she screamed. - One young, in a scarf! And another very old woman, with a wand! And yet ... look - a girl! Grusha, Taiska's older sister, put down the stocking she was knitting and also went to the window. “Really, a girl. In a blue hood ... - So go open it, - said the mother. – What are you waiting for? Grusha pushed Thaiska: - Go, what are you doing! All seniors should? Thaiska 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, she doesn’t even open her fingers. What does she have there? - And you ask. - And you yourself ask. At this time, he appeared from Romanok Street. The frost hit his cheeks. Red as a tomato, he stopped in front of a strange girl and stared at her. I even forgot to cover my legs. And the girl in the blue bonnet was sitting motionless on the edge of the bench. With her right hand, she clutched a yellow handbag that hung over her shoulder to her chest. She silently looked somewhere at the wall and seemed not to see or hear anything. The mother poured hot soup for the refugees and cut off pieces of bread. - Oh, yes, and the unfortunate ones! she sighed. - And it’s not easy on your own, and the child is toiling ... Is this your daughter? - No, - the woman answered, - a stranger. “They lived on the same street,” the old woman added. The mother was surprised: - A stranger? And where are your relatives, girl? The girl looked at her gloomily and said nothing. “She has no one,” the woman whispered, “the whole family died: her father is at the front, and her mother and brother are here.
Killed ... The mother looked at the girl and could not come to her senses. She looked at her light coat, which must have been blown through by the wind, at her torn stockings, at her thin neck, plaintively whitening from under a blue bonnet... Killed. All killed! But the girl is alive. And she is the only one in the world! The mother approached the girl. - What is your name, daughter? she asked kindly. “Valya,” the girl replied indifferently. “Valya… Valentina…” the mother repeated thoughtfully. - Valentine ... Seeing that the women took up the knapsacks, she stopped them: - Stay over tonight. It’s already late in the yard, and the snow has gone - look how it sweeps! And leave in the morning. The women stayed. Mother made beds for tired people. She arranged a bed for the girl on a warm couch - let her warm herself well. The girl undressed, took off her blue bonnet, poked her head into the pillow, and sleep immediately overcame her. So, when 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 soon. Only the mother tossed and turned in her bed and could not sleep. She got up in the night, turned on a small blue lamp, and quietly walked over to the couch. The weak light of the lamp illuminated the girl's tender, slightly flushed face, large fluffy eyelashes, dark brown hair, scattered over a colorful pillow. "You poor orphan!" mother sighed. - As soon as you opened your eyes to the light, and how much grief fell on you! For such and such a small one! .. For a long time the mother stood near the girl and kept thinking about something. I took her boots from the floor, looked - thin, wet. Tomorrow this little girl will put them on and go somewhere again... But where? Early, early, when it was a little light in the windows, the mother got up and lit the stove. Grandfather got up too: he did not like to lie down for a long time. It was quiet in the hut, only sleepy breathing was heard and Romanok was snoring on the stove. In this silence, by the light of a small lamp, mother spoke softly to grandfather. “Let's take the girl, father,” she said. - I'm so sorry for her! Grandfather put down the felt boots he was mending, raised his head and looked thoughtfully at his mother. - Take the girl? .. Will it be okay? he replied. We are rural, and she is from the city. "Isn't it all the same, father?" There are people in the city and people in the countryside. After all, she is an orphan! Our Taiska will have a girlfriend. They will go to school together next winter... Grandfather came up and looked at the girl: - Well... Look. You know better. Let's just take it. Just look, don't cry with her later! - Eh! .. Maybe I won’t cry. Soon the refugees also got up and began to pack for the journey. But when they wanted to wake the girl, the mother stopped them: “Wait, you don’t have to wake her up. Leave Valentine with me! If there are any relatives, tell me: he lives in Nechaev, with Darya Shalikhina. And I had three guys - well, there will be four. Let's 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 will live. So a new man appeared in the village of Nechaev.
(Lyubov Voronkova "Girl from the City")
Not remembering how she had left the house, Assol was already running to the sea, caught up by an irresistible
wind-blown events; at the first corner she stopped almost exhausted; her legs were wobbly,
breath broke and went out, consciousness was held by a thread. Beside myself with fear of losing
will, she stamped her foot and recovered. At times, either the roof or the fence was hidden from her
Scarlet Sails; then, fearing that they might have vanished like a mere phantom, she hurried
overcome the painful obstacle and, seeing the ship again, stopped with relief
take a breath.
Meanwhile, in Kapern there was such confusion, such excitement, such general unrest, which would not yield to the effect of the famous earthquakes. Never before
the big ship did not approach this shore; the ship had those very sails, the name
which sounded like a mockery; now they clearly and irrefutably burned with
the innocence of a fact that refutes all the laws of being and common sense. Men,
women, children in a hurry rushed to the shore, who was in what; residents spoke to
yard to yard, jumping on each other, screaming and falling; soon formed by the water
crowd, and Assol quickly ran into this crowd.
While she was gone, her name flew among the people with nervous and gloomy anxiety, with malicious fright. Men spoke more; strangled, snake hiss
dumbfounded women sobbed, but if one of them began to crack - poison
got into his head. As soon as Assol appeared, everyone fell silent, everyone moved away from her with fear, 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 ship.
A boat full of tanned rowers separated from him; among them stood the one whom, as she
it seemed now, she knew, vaguely remembered from childhood. He looked at her with a smile
which warmed and hurried. But thousands of the last ridiculous fears overcame Assol;
mortally afraid of everything - mistakes, misunderstandings, mysterious and harmful interference, -
she ran up to her waist into the warm ripple of the waves, shouting: “I'm here, I'm here! It's me!"
Then Zimmer waved his bow - and the same melody burst through the nerves of the crowd, but this time in a full, triumphant chorus. From excitement, movement of clouds and waves, shine
water and gave the girl almost could no longer distinguish what was moving: she, the ship or
boat, - everything moved, circled and fell.
But the oar splashed sharply near her; she raised her head. Gray bent down, her hands
grabbed his belt. Assol closed her eyes; then, quickly opening your eyes, boldly
smiled at his radiant face and breathlessly said:
- Absolutely like that.
And you too, my child! - Taking out a wet jewel from the water, Gray said. -
Here I come. Did you recognize me?
She nodded, holding on to his belt, with a new soul and quivering closed eyes.
Happiness sat in her like a fluffy kitten. When Assol decided to open her eyes,
the rocking of the boat, the glitter of the waves, approaching, powerfully tossing and turning, the side of the "Secret" -
everything was a dream, where light and water swayed, swirling, like the play of sunbeams on a wall streaming with rays. Without remembering how, she climbed up the ladder in Gray's strong arms.
The deck, covered and hung with carpets, in scarlet splashes of sails, was like a heavenly garden.
And soon Assol saw that she was standing in a cabin - in a room that could no longer be better.
be.
Then from above, shaking and burying her heart in her triumphant cry, again rushed
great music. Again Assol closed her eyes, fearing that all this would disappear if she
look. Gray took her hands, and knowing now 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 a laugh,
himself shocked and surprised that an inexpressible, inaccessible to anyone
precious moment, Gray lifted up by the chin this long-long dreamed
face, and the girl's eyes finally opened clearly. They had all the best of a man.
- Will you take my Longren to us? - she said.
- Yes. - And he kissed her so hard after 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-wheeled bicycle, a battery-powered submachine gun, a battery-powered airplane, a flying helicopter, and table hockey.
- I so want to have these things! I said to my father. - They are constantly spinning in my head like a carousel, and from this my head is spinning so much that it is difficult 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.”
- Yes, why write, they already sit firmly in my head.
“Write,” said the father, “it doesn’t cost you anything.”
- In general, it costs nothing, - I said, - just an extra hassle. - And I wrote in large letters on the whole sheet:
WILISAPET
GUN-GUN
AIRCRAFT
VIRTALET
HACKEY
Then I thought about it and decided to write “ice cream” again, went to the window, looked at the sign opposite and added:
ICE CREAM
Father read and says:
- I'll buy you ice cream for now, and wait for the rest.
I thought he had no time now, and I ask:
- 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 feet.
It's like words have legs!
And I've already bought ice cream a hundred times.
(Viktor Galyavkin "Carousel in the head")
Rose.
The last days of August... Autumn was already setting in. The sun was setting. A sudden gusty downpour, without thunder or 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 the dawn and the flood of rain. She was sitting at the table in the living room and with stubborn thought looked into the garden through the half-open door. I knew what was happening then in her soul; I knew that after a short, albeit painful, struggle, at that very moment she gave herself over to a feeling that she could no longer control. Suddenly she got up, quickly went out into the garden and disappeared. An hour struck ... another struck; she did not return. Then I got up and, leaving the house, went along the alley, along which - I did not doubt it - she also went. Everything darkened around; the night has already come. But on the damp sand of the path, brightly alley even through the poured darkness, I could see a roundish object. I leaned over ... 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 mud and, returning to the living room, put it on the table in front of her chair. So she returned at last - and, walking lightly through the whole room, sat down at the table. Her face both turned pale and came to life; quickly, with cheerful embarrassment, her downcast eyes, like diminished ones, ran around. She saw a rose, grabbed it, looked at its crumpled, soiled petals, glanced 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 profound thought. “Your tears will wash away this dirt,” I said with a significant expression. “Tears do not wash, tears burn,” she answered and, turning to the fireplace, threw the flower into the dying flame. “Fire will burn even better than tears,” she exclaimed, not without daring, “and cross-eyed eyes, still shining from 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 to 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, a lot of time has passed… And how much news I have for you, Bezhana! I don't know where to start! Wait a bit, I’ll tear out this weed and tell you everything in order ...
Well, my dear Bezhana: the war is over! Do not recognize now our village! The guys have returned from the front, Bezhana! The son of Gerasim returned, the son of Nina returned, Minin Yevgeny returned, and the father of Nodar Tadpole returned, and the father of Otiya. True, he is without one leg, but what does it matter? Just think, a leg! .. But our Kukuri, Lukayin Kukuri, did not return. Mashiko's son Malkhaz didn't come back either... Many didn't come back, Bezhana, and yet we have a holiday in the village! Salt, corn appeared ... Ten weddings were played after you, and at each I was among the guests of honor and drank great! Do you remember Georgy Tsertsvadze? Yes, yes, the father of eleven children! So, George also returned, and his wife Taliko gave birth to the twelfth boy, Shukria. That was fun, Bezhana! Taliko was in a tree picking plums when she went into labor! Do you hear Bejana? Almost resolved on a tree! I managed to get down! The child was named Shukria, but I call him Slivovich. It's great, isn't it, Bezhana? Slivovich! What is worse than Georgievich? In total, thirteen children were born to us after you ... And one more piece of news, Bezhana, - I know it will please you. Father took Khatia to Batumi. She will be operated on and she will see! After? Then... You know, Bezhana, how much I love Khatia? So I'm marrying her! Certainly! I'm doing a wedding, a big wedding! And we will have children!.. What? What if she doesn't wake up? Yes, my aunt also asks me about it... I'm getting married anyway, Bezhana! She can't live without me... And I can't live without Khatia... Didn't you love some kind of Minadora? So I love my Khatia ... And my aunt loves ... him ... Of course, she loves, otherwise she would not ask the postman every day if there is a letter for her ... She is waiting for him! You know who... But you also know that he will not return to her... And I am waiting for my Khatia. It makes no difference to me how she will return - sighted, blind. What if she doesn't like me? What do you think, Bejana? True, my aunt says that I have matured, prettier, that it’s hard to even recognize me, but ... what the hell is not joking! .. However, no, it’s impossible that Khatia doesn’t like me! After all, she knows what I am, she sees me, she herself spoke about this more than once ... I graduated from tenth grade, Bezhana! I'm thinking of going to college. I will become a doctor, and if Khatia is not helped in Batumi now, I will cure her myself. So, Bejana?
- Has our Sosoya completely lost his mind? Who are you talking to?
- Ah, hello, Uncle Gerasim!
- Hello! What are you doing here?
- So, I came to look at the grave of Bezhana ...
- Go to the office ... Vissarion and Khatia returned ... - Gerasim lightly patted my cheek.
I lost my breath.
- So how is it?!
- Run, run, son, meet ... - I did not let Gerasim finish, broke off, and rushed down the slope.
Faster, Sosoya, faster! Jump!.. Hurry, 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 that Khatia is all right... You jumped! fifty without taking a breath - it means that everything is all right with Khatia ... One, two, three ... ten, eleven, twelve ... Forty-five, forty-six ... Oh, how difficult ...
- Hatia-ah-ah! ..
Out of breath, 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.
- Hatia!
The doctors said that it was impossible to do the operation 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? Do you have some new?
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.
- Well ... Don't be afraid, Khatia ... Will they have an operation in the spring? 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 ...
“Don’t be afraid, Hatia!
“But I’m not afraid, Sosoya!”
“And if they can’t help you, I will, 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 else, Sosoya!”
Where are you going, dear, 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 everything you could return to me. I thank you dear! Now it's our turn. You will take us, me and Khatia, and lead you 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 in triangular letters and envelopes with printed addresses to our village. We'll be back, dear! We will face the east, we will 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 big city, an old, sick man was walking along a wide carriageway.
He staggered along; his emaciated legs, tangled, dragging and stumbling, stepped heavily and weakly, as if
149
strangers; his clothes hung in tatters; his uncovered head fell on 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 twisted fingers tears dripped onto the dry, gray dust.
He remembered...
He recalled how he was once healthy and rich - and how he spent his health, and distributed wealth to others, friends and enemies ... And now he does not have a piece of bread - and everyone has left him, friends even before enemies ... Can he really stoop to the point of begging? And he was bitter at heart and ashamed.
And the tears kept dripping and dripping, mottling the gray dust.
Suddenly he heard someone calling his name; he lifted his weary head - and saw a stranger before him.
The face is calm and important, but not severe; eyes are not radiant, but light; eyes piercing, but not evil.
- You gave away all your wealth, - an even voice was heard ... - But you don’t regret that you did good?
“I don’t regret it,” the old man replied with a sigh, “only now I’m dying.”
“And there wouldn’t be beggars in the world who stretched out their hand to you,” continued the stranger, “there would be no one for you to show your virtue, could you practice it?
The old man did not answer - and thought.
“So don’t be proud now, poor fellow,” the stranger spoke again, “go, stretch out your hand, give other good people the opportunity to show in practice that they are good.
The old man started up, looked up... but the stranger had already disappeared; and in the distance a passer-by appeared on the road.
The old man came up to him and held out his hand. This passer-by turned away with a stern look and did not give anything.
But behind him was another - and he gave the old man a small alms.
And the old man bought himself a penny of bread for himself - and the begged-for piece 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, once I was happy. I have long defined what happiness is, a very long time ago - at the age of six. And when it came to me, I did not immediately recognize it. But I remembered what it should be, and then I realized that I was happy. * * * I remember: I am six years old, my sister is four. Now we are tired and quiet. We stand side by side, looking out the window at the muddy spring twilight street. Spring twilight is always disturbing and always sad. And we are silent. We listen to how the lenses of the candelabra tremble from carts passing along the street. If we were big, we would think about human malice, about insults, about our love that we insulted, and about the love that we insulted ourselves, and about the happiness that No. But we are children and we don't know anything. We are just silent. We are afraid to turn around. It seems to us that the hall has already completely darkened and the whole big, noisy house in which we live has darkened. Why is he so quiet now? Maybe everyone left it and forgot us, little girls huddled up against the window in a huge dark room? (*61) Near my shoulder I see my sister's frightened, round eye. She looks at me – should she cry or not? - I say loudly and cheerfully. - Lena! Today I saw a horse-drawn carriage! I cannot tell her everything about the immensely joyful impression that the horse-drawn carriage made on me. The horses were white and ran quickly, soon; the car itself was red or yellow, beautiful, there were a lot of people in it, all strangers, so that they could get to know each other and even play some kind of quiet game. And behind on the footboard stood the conductor, all in gold - or maybe not all, but only a little, on buttons - and blew into a golden trumpet: - Rram-rra-ra! The sun itself rang in this pipe and flew out of her with golden-voiced splashes. How can you tell it all! You can only say: - Lena! I saw the horse-tram! Yes, and nothing else is needed. From my voice, from my face, she understood all the boundless beauty of this vision. And can anyone really jump into this chariot of joy and rush to the sound of the solar trumpet? - Rram-rra-ra! No, not everyone. Fraulein says you have 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 we are not even allowed to press our noses to the glass. But when we are big and rich, we will only ride a horse. We will, we will, we will be happy!
(Taffy. "Happy")
Petrushevskaya Lyudmila Kitten of the Lord God
One grandmother in the village fell ill, got bored and gathered for the next world.
Her son still didn’t come, didn’t answer the letter, so the grandmother prepared to die, let the cattle go into the herd, put a can of clean water by the bed, put a piece of bread under the pillow, placed the filthy bucket closer and lay down to read prayers, and the guardian angel stood by in her mind.
And a boy with his mother came to this village.
Everything was not bad with them, their own grandmother functioned, kept a vegetable garden, goats and chickens, but this grandmother did not particularly welcome when her grandson tore berries and cucumbers in the garden: all this was ripe and ripe for stocks for the winter, for jam and pickles the same grandson, and if necessary, the grandmother herself will give.
This expelled grandson was walking around the village and noticed a kitten, small, big-headed and pot-bellied, gray and fluffy.
The kitten strayed to the child, began to rub against his sandals, casting sweet dreams on the boy: how it will be possible to feed the kitten, sleep with him, play.
And the guardian angel rejoiced over the boys, standing behind his right shoulder, because everyone knows that the Lord himself equipped the kitten into the world, 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 creature is a test for those who have already settled: will they accept a new one or not.
So, the boy grabbed the kitten in his arms and began to stroke it and carefully press it to him. And behind his left elbow was a demon, who was also very interested in the kitten and the mass of opportunities associated with this particular kitten.
The guardian angel got 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 walking like a dog at his leg ... And the demon pushed the boy under the left elbow and suggested: it would be nice to tie a tin can on the kitten’s tail! It would be nice to throw him into the pond and watch, dying with laughter, how he will try to swim out! Those bulging eyes! And many other different proposals were made by the demon into the hot head of the expelled boy, while he was walking home with a kitten in his arms.
And at home, the grandmother immediately scolded him, why did he carry the flea to the kitchen, his cat was sitting in the hut, and the boy objected that he would take him to the city with him, but then the mother entered into a conversation, and it was all over, the kitten was ordered carry away from where he took it and throw it over the fence.
The boy walked with the kitten and threw him over all the fences, and the kitten merrily 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 he immediately disappeared.
And again the demon pushed the boy under 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 local grandmother was sick, the whole village knew about it, the grandmother was already bad, and the demon told the boy that no one would prevent him from eating raspberries and cucumbers.
The guardian angel began to persuade the boy not to do this, but the raspberries were so red in the rays of the setting sun!
The guardian angel cried that theft would not lead to good, that thieves were despised all over the earth and put in cages like pigs, and that it was a shame for a person to take someone else's - but it was all in vain!
Then the guardian angel finally began to instill fear in the boy that the grandmother would see from the window.
But the demon was already opening the gate of the garden with the words “he sees, but he will 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 motor, anointing itself in grandmother's frozen feet.
Grandmother was glad for him, her own cat was poisoned, apparently, with rat poison from neighbors in the garbage.
The kitten purred, rubbed its head against the 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 simple, but he was a kitten of the Lord God, and the magic happened at the same moment, they immediately knocked on the window, and the old woman’s son with his wife and child, hung with backpacks and bags, entered the hut: having received a letter from his mother, which arrived very late, he did not answer, no longer hoping for mail, but demanded a vacation, took his family and set off on a journey along the route bus - station - train - bus - bus - an hour on foot through two rivers, through the forest yes field, and finally arrived.
His wife, rolling up her sleeves, began to unpack bags of supplies, prepare dinner, he himself, taking a hammer, set off to repair the gate, their son kissed his grandmother on the nose, picked up a kitten and went into the raspberry garden, where he met a stranger boy, and here the guardian angel of the thief grabbed his head, and the demon retreated, chatting his tongue and smiling impudently, the unfortunate thief behaved in the same way.
The owner boy carefully put the kitten on an overturned bucket, and he gave the kidnapper a neck, and he rushed faster than the wind to the gate, which the grandmother's son had just begun to repair, blocking the whole space with his back.
The demon sneered through the fence, the angel covered himself with his sleeve and cried, but the kitten passionately stood up for the child, and the angel helped to compose that the boy didn’t climb into raspberries, but after his kitten, who supposedly ran away. Or was it the devil who composed it, standing behind the wattle fence and chatting his tongue, the boy did not understand.
In short, the boy was released, but the adult did not give him a kitten, he ordered him to come with his parents.
As for the grandmother, her fate still left her to live: in the evening she got up to meet the cattle, and in the morning she cooked 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.
Here our life is needed - here we live.
And the boy, left without a kitten and without raspberries, walked gloomy, but that evening he received a bowl of strawberries with milk from his grandmother for no reason, and his mother read him a fairy tale for the night, and the guardian angel was immensely glad and settled down in the sleeping man's head , like all six-year-old children. Kitten of the Lord God One grandmother in the village fell ill, got bored and gathered for the next world. Her son still didn’t come, didn’t answer the letter, so the grandmother prepared to die, let the cattle go into the herd, put a can of clean water by the bed, put a piece of bread under the pillow, placed the filthy bucket closer and lay down to read prayers, and the guardian angel stood by in her mind. And a boy with his mother came to this village. Everything was not bad with them, their own grandmother functioned, kept a vegetable garden, goats and chickens, but this grandmother did not particularly welcome when her grandson tore berries and cucumbers in the garden: all this was ripe and ripe for stocks for the winter, for jam and pickles the same grandson, and if necessary, the grandmother herself will give. This expelled grandson was walking around the village and noticed a kitten, small, big-headed and pot-bellied, gray and fluffy. The kitten strayed to the child, began to rub against his sandals, casting sweet dreams on the boy: how it will be possible to feed the kitten, sleep with him, play. And the guardian angel rejoiced over the boys, standing behind his right shoulder, because everyone knows that the Lord himself equipped the kitten into the world, 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 creature is a test for those who have already settled: will they accept a new one or not. So, the boy grabbed the kitten in his arms and began to stroke it and carefully press it to him. And behind his left elbow was a demon, who was also very interested in the kitten and the mass of opportunities 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 walking like a dog at his leg ... And the demon pushed the boy under the left elbow and suggested: it would be nice to tie a canning tin to the kitten’s tail jar! It would be nice to throw him into the pond and watch, dying with laughter, how he will try to swim out! Those bulging eyes! And many other different proposals were made by the demon into the hot head of the expelled boy, while he was walking home with a kitten in his arms. And at home, the grandmother immediately scolded him, why did he carry the flea to the kitchen, his cat was sitting in the hut, and the boy objected that he would take him to the city with him, but then the mother entered into a conversation, and it was all over, the kitten was ordered carry away from where he took it and throw it over the fence. The boy walked with the kitten and threw him over all the fences, and the kitten merrily 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 he immediately disappeared. And again the demon pushed the boy under 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 local grandmother was sick, the whole village knew about it, the grandmother was already bad, and the demon told the boy that no one would prevent him from eating raspberries and cucumbers. The guardian angel began to persuade the boy not to do this, but the raspberries were so red in the rays of the setting sun! The guardian angel cried that theft would not lead to good, that thieves were despised all over the earth and put in cages like pigs, and that it was a shame for a person to take someone else's - but it was all in vain! Then the guardian angel finally began to instill fear in the boy that the grandmother would see from the window. But the demon was already opening the gate of the garden with the words "he sees, but does not come out" and laughed at the angel.
The grandmother was fat, broad, with a soft, melodious voice. “I filled the whole apartment with myself! ..” Borka’s father grumbled. And his mother timidly objected to him: “An old man ... Where can she go?” “Healed in the world ...” father sighed. “She belongs in an orphanage—that’s where!”
Everyone in the house, not excluding Borka, looked at the grandmother as if she were a completely superfluous person. The grandmother slept on the chest. All night she tossed heavily from side to side, 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 road ... "
She approached Borka: “Get up, my father, it’s time for 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 covers: “Go on, grandma ...”
In the passage my father shuffled with a broom. “And where are you, mother, galoshes Delhi? Every time you poke into all the corners because of them!
Grandmother hurried to help him. “Yes, here they are, Petrusha, in plain sight. Yesterday they were very dirty, I washed them and put them on.
... He came from Borka's school, threw his coat and hat into his grandmother's hands, threw a bag of books on the table and shouted: “Grandma, eat!”
The grandmother hid her knitting, hurriedly set the table, and, crossing her arms over her stomach, watched Borka eat. During these hours, somehow involuntarily, Borka felt his grandmother as his close friend. He willingly told her about the lessons, comrades. Grandmother listened to him lovingly, with great attention, saying: “Everything is fine, Boryushka: both bad and good are good. From a bad person, a person becomes stronger, from a good soul, his soul blooms. ” Having eaten, Borka pushed the plate away from him: “Delicious jelly today! Have you eaten, grandma? “Eat, eat,” 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, grandmother!” Borka cheerfully nudged him with his elbow: “Let's go, let's go! You can't say hello to her. She's an old lady." The grandmother pulled up her jacket, straightened her scarf and quietly moved her lips: “To offend - what to hit, caress - you need to look for words.”
And in the next room, a friend said to Borka: “And they always say hello to our grandmother. Both their own and others. She's our boss." "How is it the main one?" Borka asked. “Well, the old one ... raised everyone. She cannot be offended. And what are you doing with yours? Look, father will warm up for this. "Do not warm up! Borka frowned. “He doesn’t greet her himself…”
After this conversation, Borka often for no reason asked his grandmother: “Do we offend you?” And he told his parents: “Our grandmother is the best, but she lives the worst of all - no one cares about her.” The mother was surprised, and the father was angry: “Who taught you to condemn your parents? Look at me - it's still small!
Grandmother, smiling softly, shook her head: “You fools should be happy. Your son is growing up for you! I have outlived mine in the world, and your old age is ahead. What you kill, you will not return.
* * *
Borka was generally interested in Babkin's face. There were various wrinkles on this face: deep, small, thin, like threads, and wide, dug out over the years. “Why are you so adorable? Very old?" he asked. Grandma thought. “By wrinkles, my dear, a human life, like a book, can be read. Grief and need have signed here. She buried children, cried - wrinkles lay on her face. I endured the need, fought - again wrinkles. My husband was killed in the war - there were many tears, many wrinkles remained. Big rain and that one digs holes in the ground.
He listened to Borka and looked in the mirror with fear: did he not enough cry in his life - is it possible that his whole face will drag on with such threads? "Go on, grandma! he grumbled. "You always talk nonsense..."
* * *
Recently, 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 her grandmother in the kitchen: “What is it, you, mother, are you moving around the room like a turtle? Send you for something and you won't get back."
Grandmother died before the May holiday. She died alone, sitting in an armchair 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. There was a ready-made device 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. It smelled of stale things. The mother took out a crumpled red slipper and carefully straightened it with her fingers. “Mine too,” she said, and leaned low over the chest. - My..."
At the very bottom of the chest, a box rattled - the same cherished one that Borka always wanted to look into. The box was opened. Father took out a tight bundle: it contained warm mittens for Borka, socks for his son-in-law, and a sleeveless jacket for his daughter. They were followed by an embroidered shirt made of old faded silk - also for Borka. In the very corner lay a bag of candy tied with a red ribbon. Something was written on the bag in big block letters. The father turned it over in his hands, squinted and read aloud: “To my grandson Boryushka.”
Borka suddenly turned pale, snatched the package from him and ran out into the street. There, crouching at someone else's gate, he peered for a long time at grandmother's scribbles: "To my grandson Boryushka." There were four sticks in the letter "sh". "I didn't learn!" thought Borka. How many times did he explain to her that there were three sticks in the letter "w" ... And suddenly, as if alive, the grandmother stood in front of him - quiet, guilty, who had not learned her lesson. Borka looked around in confusion at his house and, clutching the bag in his hand, wandered down the street along the long fence of someone else ...
He came home late in the evening; his eyes were swollen with tears, fresh clay stuck to his knees. He put Babkin’s bag under his pillow and, covering himself with a blanket, thought: “Grandma won’t come in the morning!”
(V. Oseeva "Grandma")