Evgeny Nosov Live flame read fully story. Mendening: "Live flame" - (nosov E.)

Live flame

Aunt Olya looked into my room, again caught behind the papers and, raising his voice, said Madly:

- Will writing something! Saws to steal, the flowerub help to enter. - Aunt Olya took from Chulana Beresian box. While I am pleased to knead my back, whipping a wet land with rakes, she, squeezed to Zavaling and pouring her sickness to her knees and nodules with flower seeds, laid them down in varieties.

"Olga Petrovna, and what it is," I notice, "don't you at the flower beds?"

- Well, which poppy color! She repurrently replied. - This is a vegetable. His beds along with onions and cucumbers sow.

- What do you! - I laughed. - In some old song, it sinks:

And her forehead, for sure marble, Bel, and the cheeks are burning, as if poppies color.

- He is only two days old in color, "Olga Petrovna persisted. - For the flower beds, it does not fit in any way, drank - and immediately burned down. And then all summer sticks out this very beater, only the species spoils.

But I still poured a taper pinch pin to the very middle of the flower beds. A few days later she grieved.

- Did you sow makov? - Aunt Olya approached me. - Ah mischievous you are sorting! So be, Troika left, you regretted. The rest are all fault.

Suddenly I went on business and returned only in two weeks. After the hot, the tedious road was nice to enter the quiet old house of Aunt Oli. From the freshly made floor pulled the cool. Rounded under the window Jasmine bush dropped on a writing table lace shadow.

- Pour kvaas? - she suggested, sympathetically loyaded me, sweaty and tired. - Alyosha loved Kvass very much. It happened, the bottle himself plunted and seal.

When I shot this room, Olga Petrovna, lifting my eyes on the portrait of a young man in flight form, which hangs over the desk, asked:

- Does not interfere?

- What do you!

- This is my son Alexey. And the room was it. Well, you are sible, live on health ...

Feeding me a heavy copper mug with kvass, Aunt Olya said:

- And your maki climbed, the buds have already thrown away.

I went out to look at the flowers. Flowerba became unrecognizable. At the very edge, the rug was spread, which his thick cover with scattered flowers was very reminded by a real carpet. Then the flowerbed of the tape of Mattiol - modest night flowers, attracting not brightness, and a gentle bitter aroma, similar to the smell of Vanilla. The nurse of the yellow-violet pansies, swinging on thin legs Purple-velvet caps of Parisian beauties. There were a lot of other acquaintances and unfamiliar colors. And in the center of the flower beds, my poppies rose over all this floral motley, throwing three tougy, heavy buds to meet the sun towards the sun. They dismissed the next day.

Aunt Olya came out to water the flower leaf, but immediately returned, raging with an empty watering can.

- Well, go, look bloomed.

Macs were published on burning torches with alive, having fun flames in the wind. The light wind slightly breakdown, and the sun was permanently translucent, translucent scarlet petals, why poppies were blocked by a bright fire, they poured a dense bugger. It seemed that it was only to touch - they will immediately appear!

Maki was blinded with their mischievous, burning brightness, and there were alarm with them, sweat all these Parisian beauties, lion zea and other floral aristocracy.

Two days of buoyan plazy of poppies. And on the outcome of the second day, suddenly sat down and went out. And immediately on the lush flower bed, it became empty. I raised from the ground to completely fresh, in the dew droplets, petals and dealt with his palm.

"That's all," I said loudly, with a feeling of still uncomfortable admiration.

- Yes, burned down ... - sighed, as if by a living being, aunt Olya. - And I somehow earlier without attention to Maku. His short life. But without regardless, in full strength live. And people have it ...

Aunt Olya, somehow having bored, suddenly hurried to the house.

I already talked about her son. Alexey died, spicking on his tiny "hawk" on the back of a heavy fascist bomber.

I now live in the other end of the city and occasionally I am going to Tete Ole. I recently visited her again. We sat for the summer table, drank tea, shared news. And near the flower bed, a big bonfire of poppies was hung. Some sat down, dropping into the land of petals, exactly sparks, others only revealed their fiery languages. And from the bottom, from the wet, full of life of the Earth, all new and new tight rolled buds have risen, so as not to give out living fire.

Aunt Olya looked into my room, again caught behind the papers and, raising his voice, said Madly:
- Will writing something! Saws to steal, the flowerub help to enter. Aunt Olya took from Chulana Beresian box. While I am pleased to knead my back, whipping a wet land with rakes, she, squeezed to Zavaling and pouring her sickness to her knees and nodules with flower seeds, laid them down in varieties.
"Olga Petrovna, and what it is," I notice, "don't you at the flower beds?"
- Well, which of the poppies color! She repurrently replied. - This is a vegetable. His beds along with onions and cucumbers sow.
- What do you! - I laughed. - In some old song, it sinks:
And his forehead, for sure marble, Bel. And the cheeks are burning like poppies color.
- He is only two days old in color, "Olga Petrovna persisted. - For the flower beds, it does not fit in any way, burned and immediately burned down. And then all summer sticks out this very beater and only spoils.
But I still poured a taper pinch pin to the very middle of the flower beds. A few days later she grieved.
- Did you sow makov? - Aunt Olya approached me. - Ah mischievous you are sorting! So be the top three, you regretted you. And the rest is everything.
Suddenly I went on business and returned only in two weeks. After the hot, the tedious road was nice to enter the quiet old house of Aunt Oli. From the freshly made floor pulled the cool. Rounded under the window Jasmine bush dropped on a writing table lace shadow.
- Pour kvaas? - she suggested, sympathetically loyaded me, sweaty and tired. - Aleshka loved Kvass very much. Happened, spilled on the bottle and seal
When I shot this room, Olga Petrovna, lifting my eyes on the portrait of a young man in flight form, which hangs over the desk, asked:
- Not prevent?
- What do you!
- This is my son Alexey. And the room was it. Well, you are sible, live on health.
Feeding me a heavy copper mug with kvass, Aunt Olya said:
- And your maki climbed, the buds have already thrown away. I went to look at the flowers. Flowerbed stood unrecognizable. At the very edge, the rug was spread, which his thick cover with scattered flowers was very reminded by a real carpet. Then the flowerbed of the tape of Mattiol - modest night flowers, attracting not brightness, and a gentle bitter aroma, similar to the smell of Vanilla. The nurse of the yellow-violet pansies, swinging on thin legs Purple-velvet caps of Parisian beauties. There were a lot of other acquaintances and unfamiliar colors. And in the center of the flower beds, my poppies rose over all this floral motley, throwing three tougy, heavy buds to meet the sun towards the sun.
They dismissed the next day.
Aunt Olya came out to water the flower leaf, but immediately returned, raging with an empty watering can.
- Well, go look bloomed.
Macs were published on burning torches with alive, having fun in the wind of flames of flame light wind slightly broken, the sun was permanent translucent scarlet petals, why Maki flared up with a bright fire, then poured a dense bugger. It seemed that, it was only to touch - it would be pledged immediately!
Maki was blinded with their mischievous, burning brightness, and there were alarm with them, sweat all these Parisian beauties, lion zea and other floral aristocracy.
Two days of buoyan plazy of poppies. And on the outcome of the second day, suddenly sat down and went out. And immediately on the lush flower bed, it became empty.
I raised from the ground to completely fresh, in the dew droplets, petals and dealt with his palm.
"That's all," I said loudly, with a feeling not yet cooled admiration.
- Yes, burned down ... - sighed, as if by a living being, aunt Olya. - And I somehow earlier without attention to Maku, this is a short life with him. But without regardless, in full strength live. And people have it ...
Aunt Olya, somehow having bored, suddenly hurried to the house.
I already talked about her son. Alexey died, spicking on his tiny "hawk" on the back of a heavy fascist bomber ...
I now live in the other end of the city and occasionally I am going to Tete Ole. I recently visited her again. We sat for the summer table, drank tea, shared news. And next to the flower bed, a large carpet of poppies. Some sat down, dropping into the land of petals, exactly sparks, others only revealed their fiery languages. And from the bottom, from the wet, full of life of the Earth, all new and new tight rolled buds have risen, so as not to give out living fire.

Nosov E. I. refers to the number of front-line writers. He went to war to the eighteen young men, participated in large-scale battles, was injured. Until the end of the life, Yevgeny Ivanovich could not forget horrors experienced. "The case in our memory," he wrote years later. He knew very well the price of the victory achieved by the people in the bloody war. And even if he wrote a bit about it, each created work was permeated with pain for those who donated their lives to save their native country, who was orphaned and before the time he knew the terrible reality.

The past and the present connected in a small volume of the narration of oh, it would seem that ordinary garden flowers - Macs, reminiscent of their flowering, as E. nosov emphasizes, a living flame.

The plot of works is simple and at first glance has nothing to do with the war. The writer, he is a narrator, removes the room in the elder already lonely woman, aunt Oli. She lives in a quiet old house, keeping the memory of her son. And the room is preserved in the form, in which it was with the owner.

In the spring, Aunt Olya gathered to sing a flowerbed under the window. Delivered from bags and nodules seeds of color-aristocrats, pleasing the eyes with their beauty throughout the summer. To the question of the writer about why she does not sort Maki, he answered that it was not enough to go from them. It bloom for a short time: will open the buds just a couple of days and then fall. Only "beaters" from them remain, which all the sight spoil. But the narrator still poured secretly with the mistress pinch the poppies in the center of flower beds. So begins the nose "Live Flame". A summary of the story leads the reader to the main storyline, which is a common face of which is the usual "vegetable" - as calls poppy at the beginning of the story of Aunt Olya.

Culmination

Time passed. Seeds sprouted, and soon the flower bed was to bloom with a buoy. The writer had to go for a couple of weeks. After return, he did not recognize the garden. The resulting flowers transformed the flowerbed beyond recognition. It seemed that nothing more beautiful than this painting with mattilas, pansies, lion gods and other overseas guests could not be. And in the center of the flower beds, among lush beauties and solid green rugs, three buds of poppies were thrown out. So continues the story of noses.

"Live flame" appeared on the flower bed next morning, when Maki blurred. This day has become a real discovery for Aunt Oli and her guests. Bright, fresh flower petals eclipsed with their magnificence of all the "noble" neighbors. They blinded the eyes and "burned" for two days, and next evening they fell as quickly as bloated. And everything around immediately orphaned and faded ...

Cutter, but bright life

Surprisingly describes the flowering of Macs E. I. nosov. "Live flame" is a name that is chosen for the story is no coincidence. Bright flowers blooming and swinging makov really resembled a grilled torch. Two days, they broke out at the flower-bright fire flower, then suddenly "poured a dense bugger." It seemed the impression that it was worth touching them, and they would burn her hand. The verbs are incurred by a great semantic load: first the plazy, then crumbled and went out.

The contrast description of the "flower aristocracy" and ordinary poppies helps the author to emphasize the insignificance of the first and strength, the greatness of the latter.

Life is short, "But without lighting up"

Petals Opali - and aunt Olya, who stood at the flower beds, suddenly all had grown up and with the words "and the people have it" immediately hurried to leave. She remembered the son of the victory in the war, the pain of her never left. So brings the reader to the main idea of \u200b\u200bthe work of E. nosov. "Live flame", a brief content of which is not really reduced only to the description of the story with poppies, also talks about the heroic feat of a simple warrior, about readiness to sacrifice themselves for others. So there was a son of heroine, a military pilot Alexei. His life was blown away in the fencing itself, when he fearlessly entered the battle with the opponent's bombard on his tiny haustard. Very short, but heroic life. Such which was many defenders of the Fatherland in the war years.

Final story

Soon the writer came from the apartment. But he often visited Aunt Olya, in the garden of which now every summer ael is a large carpet from poppies. The amazing picture every time opened a guest. All the new buds were raised on the shift flowers, which soon lit their petals, without giving out to this eternal fire. So completes its work Eugene nose. A lively flame of flowers symbolizes in it human memory. For Aunt Oli, this is the memory of her dead son. For all residents of the country, this preservation of the names of millions of people who gave themselves at different times a great goal - victory over the enemy and liberation of their homeland. This is the solid moral basis on which all humanity holds.

Image of war in the story

In the work of noses E. I. does not give descriptions of fighting, bombing and other heroic scenes. However, several proposals saying about Alexey is enough to understand the feelings of the mother experiencing simultaneously bitterness from the loss of the sole son and pride for it.

Live with benefit for others. Do not be afraid of difficulties and boldly go ahead. Make your own life to do not become for others just a faceless existence. This makes you think about the reader E. nosov ("Living Flame").

Aunt Olya looked into my room, again caught behind the papers and, raising his voice, said Madly:
- Will writing something! Saws to steal, the flowerub help to enter. Aunt Olya took from Chulana Beresian box. While I am pleased to knead my back, whipping a wet land with rakes, she, squeezed to Zavaling and pouring her sickness to her knees and nodules with flower seeds, laid them down in varieties.
"Olga Petrovna, and what it is," I notice, "don't you at the flower beds?"
- Well, which of the poppies color! She repurrently replied. - This is a vegetable. His beds along with onions and cucumbers sow.
- What do you! - I laughed. - In some old song, it sinks:
And his forehead, for sure marble, Bel. And the cheeks are burning like poppies color.
- He is only two days old in color, "Olga Petrovna persisted. - For the flower beds, it does not fit in any way, burned and immediately burned down. And then all summer sticks out this very beater and only spoils.
But I still poured a taper pinch pin to the very middle of the flower beds. A few days later she grieved.
- Did you sow makov? - Aunt Olya approached me. - Ah mischievous you are sorting! So be the top three, you regretted you. And the rest is everything.
Suddenly I went on business and returned only in two weeks. After the hot, the tedious road was nice to enter the quiet old house of Aunt Oli. From the freshly made floor pulled the cool. Rounded under the window Jasmine bush dropped on a writing table lace shadow.
- Pour kvaas? - she suggested, sympathetically loyaded me, sweaty and tired. - Aleshka loved Kvass very much. Happened, spilled on the bottle and seal
When I shot this room, Olga Petrovna, lifting my eyes on the portrait of a young man in flight form, which hangs over the desk, asked:
- Not prevent?
- What do you!
- This is my son Alexey. And the room was it. Well, you are sible, live on health.
Feeding me a heavy copper mug with kvass, Aunt Olya said:
- And your maki climbed, the buds have already thrown away. I went to look at the flowers. Flowerbed stood unrecognizable. At the very edge, the rug was spread, which his thick cover with scattered flowers was very reminded by a real carpet. Then the flowerbed of the tape of Mattiol - modest night flowers, attracting not brightness, and a gentle bitter aroma, similar to the smell of Vanilla. The nurse of the yellow-violet pansies, swinging on thin legs Purple-velvet caps of Parisian beauties. There were a lot of other acquaintances and unfamiliar colors. And in the center of the flower beds, my poppies rose over all this floral motley, throwing three tougy, heavy buds to meet the sun towards the sun.
They dismissed the next day.
Aunt Olya came out to water the flower leaf, but immediately returned, raging with an empty watering can.
- Well, go look bloomed.
Macs were published on burning torches with alive, having fun in the wind of flames of flame light wind slightly broken, the sun was permanent translucent scarlet petals, why Maki flared up with a bright fire, then poured a dense bugger. It seemed that, it was only to touch - it would be pledged immediately!
Maki was blinded with their mischievous, burning brightness, and there were alarm with them, sweat all these Parisian beauties, lion zea and other floral aristocracy.
Two days of buoyan plazy of poppies. And on the outcome of the second day, suddenly sat down and went out. And immediately on the lush flower bed, it became empty.
I raised from the ground to completely fresh, in the dew droplets, petals and dealt with his palm.
"That's all," I said loudly, with a feeling not yet cooled admiration.
- Yes, burned. . . - sighed, as if by a living being, aunt Olya. - And I somehow earlier without attention to Maku, this is a short life with him. But without regardless, in full strength live.