Nadezhda Teffi - Humorous stories (collection). Forest child funny sad

05.03.2020

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Teffi
Humorous stories

… For laughter is joy, and therefore in itself is a blessing.

Spinoza. Ethics, part IV.

Position XLV, scholium II.

Curry favor

Lesha's right leg was numb for a long time, but he did not dare to change his position and listened eagerly. It was completely dark in the corridor, and through the narrow crack of the half-open door, only a brightly lit piece of the wall above the stove was visible. On the wall, a large, dark circle, surmounted by two horns, hovered. Leshka guessed that this circle was nothing more than a shadow from the head of his aunt with the ends of the scarf sticking up.

The aunt came to visit Leshka, whom she had only a week ago assigned to the "boys for room services", and was now conducting serious negotiations with the cook, who favored her. The negotiations were unpleasantly disturbing, the aunt was very worried, and the horns on the wall rose and fell steeply, as if some unprecedented animal butted its invisible opponents.

It was assumed that Leshka washes in the front galoshes. But, as you know, man proposes, but God disposes, and Leshka with a rag in his hands eavesdropped outside the door.

- I understood from the very beginning that he was a muddler, - the cook sang in a rich voice. - How many times I say to him: if you, guy, are not a fool, stay in front of your eyes. Don't do hellish things, but keep in front of your eyes. Because - Dunyashka wipes it off. And he does not lead with his ear. Just now the lady was screaming again - he didn’t interfere in the stove and closed it with a firebrand.

The horns on the wall flutter, and the aunt groans like an aeolian harp:

- Where am I going with him? Mavra Semyonovna! I bought him boots, no pitot, no food, I gave five rubles. For a jacket for a tailor's alteration, no pitot, no food, six hryvnia ripped off ...

- Not otherwise how to send home.

- Darling! The road is not pitot, not eaten, four rubles, dear!

Leshka, forgetting all precautions, sighs outside the door. He doesn't want to go home. His father promised that he would take seven skins off him, and Leshka knows from experience how unpleasant it is.

“It's too early to howl,” the cook sings again. - So far, no one drives him. The lady only threatened ... And the tenant, Pyotr Dmitrich, very much intercedes. Straight up the mountain behind Leshka. Marya Vasilyevna says you are full, he says he is not a fool, Leshka. He, he says, is a uniform adeot, and there is nothing to scold him. Downright mountain behind Leshka.

- Well, God forbid ...

- And with us, what the tenant says is sacred. Because he is a well-read person, he pays accurately ...

- And Dunyashka is good! - twirled the aunt with her horns. - I don’t understand such a people - to let the boy sneak in ...

- Truly! Truly. Just now I say to her: "Go open the door, Dunyasha," affectionately, as if kindly. So she snorts me in the face: "I, grit, you are not a doorman, open it yourself!" And I drank it all to her. How to open a door, so you, I say, are not a doorman, but how to kiss with a janitor on the stairs, so you are all a doorman ...

- Lord have mercy! From these years to everything spying. The girl is young, to live and live. One salary, no pito, no ...

- Me, what? I told her bluntly: how to open the door, you are not the doorman. She, you see, is not a doorman! And how to receive gifts from the janitor, she is the doorman. Yes, tenant lipstick ...

Trrrr ... - the electric bell crackled.

- Leshka! Leshka! Cried the cook. - Oh, you fail! Dunyasha was sent away, but he does not lead with his ear.

Leshka held his breath, pressed himself against the wall and stood quietly until, angrily rattling his starched skirts, the angry cook swam past him.

“No, pipes,” thought Leshka, “I won't go to the village. I'm not a fool guy, I want to, so quickly curry favor. You will not burn me out, not like that. "

And, having waited for the return of the cook, he set off with decisive steps into the rooms.

“Be, grit, before our eyes. And what kind of eyes will I be when no one is ever at home. "

He went into the hallway. Hey! The coat is hanging - the tenant of the house.

He rushed into the kitchen and, snatching the poker from the dumbfounded cook, rushed back into the rooms, quickly opened the door to the tenant's room and went to stir in the stove.

The tenant was not alone. With him was a young lady, in a jacket and under a veil. Both shuddered and straightened up when Leshka entered.

“I'm not a fool guy,” thought Leshka, jabbing a poker into the burning wood. - I'll numb those eyes. I’m not a parasite - I’m all in business, all in business! .. "

The wood crackled, the poker thundered, sparks flew in all directions. The tenant and the lady were tensely silent. Finally Leshka went to the exit, but at the very door he stopped and began to look anxiously at the damp spot on the floor, then turned his eyes to the guests' legs and, seeing galoshes on them, shook his head reproachfully.

“Here,” he said reproachfully, “we have inherited it! And then the hostess will scold me.

The guest flushed and looked at the tenant in confusion.

- Okay, okay, go, - he reassured him embarrassedly.

And Leshka left, but not for long. He found a rag and went back to mop the floor.

He found the lodger with the guest silently bowed over the table and immersed in contemplation of the tablecloth.

“Look, we’re staring,” thought Leshka, “they must have noticed the stain. They think I don't understand! Found a fool! I understand. I work like a horse! "

And, going up to the thoughtful couple, he diligently wiped the tablecloth under the very nose of the tenant.

- What are you doing? - he was frightened.

- How what? I can't live without my own eye. Dunyashka, slash, only knows the sneak, and she is not a doorman to look after order ... The janitor on the stairs ...

- Go away! Moron!

But the young lady, frightened, grabbed the tenant by the hand and spoke in a whisper.

- Will understand ... - Leshka heard, - the servant ... gossip ...

The lady had tears of embarrassment in her eyes, and she said in a trembling voice to Leshka:

- Nothing, nothing, boy ... You can not close the doors when you go ...

The tenant chuckled contemptuously and shrugged.

Leshka left, but when he reached the hall, he remembered that the lady had asked not to lock the doors, and when he returned, he opened it.

The tenant bounced off his lady like a bullet.

“A freak,” Leshka thought as he left. - It's light in the room, but he is scared! "

Leshka went into the hallway, looked in the mirror, tried on the tenant's hat. Then he went into the dark dining room and scratched the sideboard door with his nails.

- Look, the devil is unsalted! You are here all day, like a horse, work, and she only knows that she locks the cabinet.

I decided to go again to interfere in the stove. The door to the tenant's room was closed again. Leshka was surprised, but entered.

The tenant sat quietly next to the lady, but his tie was on one side, and he looked at Leshka with such a look that he just clicked his tongue:

“What are you looking at! I myself know that I’m not a parasite, I don’t sit with folded hands ”.

The coals are stirred, and Leshka leaves, threatening that he will soon return to close the stove. A quiet half-moan, half-sigh was his answer.

Leshka went and was homesick: you can't think of any more work. He looked into the lady's bedroom. It was quiet there. The lamp glowed in front of the image. It smelled like perfume. Leshka climbed into a chair, examined the faceted pink icon for a long time, fervently crossed himself, then dipped his finger into it and oiled his hair over his forehead. Then he went to the dressing table and smelled all the bottles in turn.

- Eh, what is it! No matter how much you work, if not in front of your eyes, they do not consider anything. Break your forehead at least.

He walked sadly into the hallway. In the dim living room, something squeaked under his feet, then a curtain swayed from below, another behind it ...

"Cat! - he realized. - Look-oh, again to the tenant in the room, again the lady will be enraged, as the other day. You are naughty! .. "

Joyful and lively, he ran into the cherished room.

- I am the damned! I'll show you to wander! I'll twist those muzzles onto the tail! ..

There was no face on the tenant.

“You’re out of your mind, you wretched idiot! He shouted. - Who are you scolding?

- She, vile, just give me some indulgence, you won't survive afterwards, - Leshka tried. - She must not be allowed into the rooms! From her only scandal! ..

The lady, with trembling hands, straightened the hat that had slid to the back of her head.

“He’s kind of crazy, this boy,” she whispered, frightened and embarrassed.

- Scatter, damned! - and Leshka finally, to everyone's comfort, dragged the cat out from under the sofa.

- Lord, - the tenant begged, - will you leave here at last?

- Look, damn, it is scratching! She cannot be kept in rooms. She was in the living room yesterday under the curtain ...

And Leshka long and detailed, not hiding a single trifle, not sparing fire and colors, described to the amazed listeners all the dishonest behavior of the terrible cat.

His story was listened to in silence. The lady bent down and all the time looked for something under the table, and the tenant, somehow strangely pressing Leshkino's shoulder, pushed the narrator out of the room and closed the door.

- I'm a smart guy, - whispered Leshka, letting the cat out onto the back stairs. - Smart and hard worker. Now I'm going to close the stove.

This time the tenant did not hear Leshkin's steps: he was kneeling in front of the lady and, bowing his head low and low to her legs, froze without moving. And the lady closed her eyes and shrank her whole face, as if she was looking at the sun ...

"What is he doing there? - Leshka was surprised. - Like chewing on a button on her shoe! Not ... apparently, dropped something. I'll go look ... "

He walked over and bent down so quickly that the suddenly aroused tenant painfully banged his forehead right in the eyebrow.

The lady jumped up, confused. Leshka crawled under the chair, rummaged under the table and stood up, spreading his arms.

- There's nothing there.

- What are you looking for? What do you finally want from us? - shouted the tenant in an unnaturally thin voice and blushed all over.

- I thought they dropped something ... Again it will disappear again, like a brooch from that lady, from the little black girl who comes to you for tea ... The day before yesterday, as I left, I, grit, Lesha, lost the brooch, - he turned directly to the lady , who suddenly began to listen to him very attentively, even opened her mouth, and her eyes became completely round.

- Well, I went behind the screen on the table and found it. And yesterday I forgot the brooch again, but it was not I who cleaned it up, but Dunyashka - that's the end of the brooch, therefore ...

- By God, it's true, - Leshka reassured her. - Dunya stole, slash. If it weren't for me, she would have ruined everything. I clean everything like a horse ... by God, like a dog ...

But they didn’t listen to him. The lady soon, soon ran into the hall, the tenant followed her, and both disappeared through the front door.

Leshka went into the kitchen, where, going to bed in an old chest without a top, he said to the cook with a mysterious look:

- Tomorrow slash cover.

- Well! - she was happily surprised. - Just what did they say?

“If I’m talking, it’s now, I know.”

The next day Leshka was kicked out.

Agility of hands

On the doors of a small wooden booth, where local youth danced and staged charity shows on Sundays, there was a long red billboard:

“Specially in transit, at the request of the public, a session of the most grandiose fakir of black and white magic.

The most amazing tricks, such as: burning a handkerchief in front of our eyes, getting a silver ruble from the nose of the most respectable public, and so on, contrary to nature. "

A sad head peeped out of the side window and sold tickets.

It had been raining since morning. The trees of the garden around the booth were wet, swollen, and were drenched in a gray, fine rain obediently, without shaking themselves off.

At the very entrance, a large puddle was bubbling and gurgling. Tickets were sold for only three rubles.

It began to get dark.

The sad head sighed, disappeared, and a little shabby gentleman of indeterminate age crawled out of the door.

Holding his coat against the collar with both hands, he lifted his head and scanned the sky from all sides.

- Not a single hole! Everything is gray! Burnout in Timashev, burnout in Shchigra, burnout in Dmitriev ... burnout in Oboyan, burnout in Kursk ... But where is not burnout? Where, I ask, is not burnout? The judge sent the honorary card, sent the head, sent the police chief ... sent everyone. I'm going to fill up the lamps.

He glanced at the poster and could not tear himself away.

- What else do they want? An abscess in your head or what?

By eight o'clock they began to gather.

Either no one came to places of honor, or a servant was sent. Some drunk people came to the standing places and immediately began to threaten that they would demand the money back.

By half past nine it became clear that no one else would come. And those who were sitting were cursing so loudly and definitely that it became dangerous to delay it longer.

The magician put on a long frock coat, which grew wider with each tour, sighed, crossed himself, took a box with mysterious accessories and went on stage.

For several seconds he stood in silence and thought:

“Gathering four rubles, kerosene six hryvnias - that's nothing, but a room for eight rubles, so that's what! Golovin's son in a place of honor - let him. But how will I leave and what will I eat, I'm asking you.

And why is it empty? I would have flocked to such a program myself. "

- Bravo! One of the drunks yelled.

The magician woke up. I lit a candle on the table and said:

- Dear audience! Let me preface you with a preface. What you will see here is not something miraculous or witchcraft, which is contrary to our Orthodox religion and is even prohibited by the police. This does not even happen in the world at all. No! Far from it! What you will see here is nothing more than dexterity and dexterity of hands. I give you my word of honor that there will be no mysterious witchcraft here. Now you will see the extraordinary appearance of a tough egg in a completely empty scarf.

He rummaged in the box and pulled out a motley handkerchief folded into a ball. His hands were shaking slightly.

“Let me see for yourself that the handkerchief is completely empty. So I shake it out.

He shook out his handkerchief and stretched it out with his hands.

“In the morning, one penny bun and tea without sugar,” he thought. - And tomorrow what?

“You can make sure,” he repeated, “that there is no egg here.

The audience stirred and whispered. Someone snorted. And suddenly one of the drunks began to hum:

- You're lying! Here is the egg.

- Where? What? - the magician was confused.

- And tied it to a handkerchief on a string.

The embarrassed magician turned over the handkerchief. Indeed, there was an egg hanging from a string.

- Oh you! - Someone already spoke friendly. - You should go behind a candle, so it would be imperceptible. And you climbed forward! So, brother, you can't.

The magician was pale and smiled wryly.

“It really is,” he said. - I, however, warned that this is not witchcraft, but exclusively the dexterity of the hands. Excuse me, gentlemen ... - his voice trembled and stopped.

- Okay! Okay!

- Now let's proceed to the next amazing phenomenon, which will seem even more amazing to you. Let one of the most respectable public lend his handkerchief.

The audience was shy.

Many had already taken it out, but after looking carefully, they hurried to put it in their pocket.

Then the magician went up to the head son and held out his trembling hand.

“I could, of course, have my own handkerchief, since it’s completely safe, but you might think that I changed something.

Golovin's son gave him his handkerchief, and the magician unfolded it, shook it and stretched it out.

- Please be sure! A completely whole shawl.

Golovin's son proudly looked at the audience.

- Now look. This scarf has become magical. So I roll it up in a tube, now I bring it to the candle and light it. Is burning. The whole corner burned out. See?

The audience stretched their necks.

- Right! The drunk shouted. - Smells singed.

- And now I will count to three and - the scarf will again be one-piece.

- Once! Two! Three!! Take a look!

He proudly and deftly straightened the handkerchief.

- A-ah! - gasped and the audience.

There was a huge burned hole in the middle of the handkerchief.

- But! - said Golovin's son and sniffled.

The magician pressed his handkerchief to his chest and suddenly burst into tears.

- Gentlemen! Most respectable poo ... No collection! .. Rain in the morning ... did not eat ... did not eat - a penny for a roll!

- Why, we are nothing! God is with you! - shouted the audience.

- Kill us beasts! The Lord is with you.

But the magician sobbed and wiped his nose with a magic handkerchief.

- Four rubles to the collection ... room - eight rubles ... in-oh-oh-eight ... in-oh-oh-oh ...

A woman sobbed.

- Yes, you are full! Oh my God! I turned my soul out! - shouted around.

A head in an oilcloth hood stuck through the door.

- This is what? Go home!

Everyone stood up anyway. Came out. They splashed through the puddles, were silent, sighed.

“What can I tell you, brothers,” one of the drunks suddenly said clearly and loudly.

Everyone even stopped.

- And what can I tell you! After all, the scoundrel people went noncha. He will rip off the money from you, he will turn your soul out of you. A?

- Blow up! - someone hooted in the gloom.

- Exactly what to inflate. Ayda! Who is with us? One, two ... Well, march! People without any conscience ... I also paid money not stolen ... Well, we'll show those! Alive.

Penitent

An old nanny living in retirement in a general's family came from confession.

I sat for a minute in my corner and was offended: the gentlemen were having dinner, it smelled of something delicious, and there was the rapid stomp of the maid serving on the table.

- Ugh! Passionate not Passionate, they don't care. If only to nourish your womb. Reluctantly you sin, God forgive me!

I got out, chewed, thought, and went into the passage room. She sat on the chest.

The maid passed by, surprised.

- And what are you, nanny, sitting here? Exactly a doll! By God - exactly a doll!

- Think what you say! Snapped the nanny. - These are the days, and she's afraid. Is it shown to swear on such days. There was a man at confession, but, looking at you, you will have time to defile before communion.

The maid was frightened.

- I'm sorry, nanny! I congratulate you on confessing.

- "Congratulations!" Today is it really congratulations! Nowadays they strive, as it were, to offend and reproach a person. Just now their liquor spilled. Who knows what she spilled. You will not be smarter than God either. And the little lady says: "It is true that the nanny spilled it!" From such years and such words.

- Surprising even, nanny! Such little ones already know everything!

- Nonesh children, mother, are worse than obstetricians! Here they are, nonesh children. Me, what! I am not judging. I was over there at confession, now I won't swallow poppy dewdrops until tomorrow, let alone ... And you say - congratulate. There the old lady was fasting in the fourth week; I say to Sonechka: "Congratulate the woman." And she snorts: “Here's another! very necessary!" And I say: “Baba must be respected! Baba will die, she can deprive her of her inheritance. " Yes, if I had some kind of woman, I would have found something to congratulate every day. Good morning, grandma! Yes, with good weather! Yes, with the coming holiday! Yes, with callous name-days! Happily bite off! Me, what! I am not judging. I am going to communion tomorrow, I only say that it is not good and rather ashamed.

- You should have a rest, nanny! - the maid fawned.

- Now I’ll stretch my legs, lie down in the coffin. I am resting. You will have time to rejoice. It would have been a long time since the world had been killed, but here I am not given to you. The young bone on the teeth crunches, and the old one becomes across the throat. Do not gobble it up.

- And what are you, nanny! And all of you are just looking at how to respect.

- No, don't tell me about the respectful. These are your dear ones, but no one respected me even when I was young, so it’s too late for me to be ashamed of old age. You better than the coachman, go ask where he drove the lady the other day ... Here's what you ask.

- Oh, what are you, nanny! - whispered the maid and even squatted down in front of the old woman. - Where did he take it? I swear to God, no one ...

- Don't be afraid. God is a sin! For God, you know how God will punish! And he drove to such a place where they show men stirring. They move and sing. They spread the sheet, and they move along it. The little lady told me. Itself, you see, it is not enough, so she and the girl were lucky. I would have found out myself, I would have taken a good twig and drove along along Zakharyevskaya! There is no one to say. Does the current people understand the sneak. Nowadays, everyone only cares about themselves. Ugh! Whatever you remember, you will sin! Lord forgive me!

- The master is a busy man, of course, it is difficult for them to overlook everything, - the maid sang modestly, lowering her eyes. - They are pretty people.

- I know your master! I know from childhood! If I didn't go to communion tomorrow, I would tell you about your master! Since childhood! People are going to mass - ours has not yet snuffed out. People from the church are coming - our tea and coffee are drinking. And as soon as he, a lazy person, a parasite, the Holy Mother held out to the general - I will not put my mind to it! It seems to me: he stole this rank for himself! Wherever there is, but stole! There is no one to try to find out! And I've been realizing for a long time that I stole. They think: the nanny is an old fool, so everything is possible with her! A fool, maybe a fool. Yes, not everyone should be smart, someone needs to be stupid.

The maid looked around at the door in dismay.

- Our business, nanny, service. God be with him! Let it go! It's not for us to disassemble. Will you go to church early in the morning?

- I may not go to bed at all. I want to come to church before everyone else. So that any rubbish does not climb ahead of people. Every cricket know your six.

- Who is it that climbs?

- Yes, the old woman is here alone. Freezing, in which the soul is kept. First of all, God forgive me, the scoundrel will come to the church, and later all will leave. Everybody will stop everybody once. And hosh would sit down for a minute! All of us old women are surprised. No matter how strong you are, while the clock is reading, you will sit down a little. And this echida is only on purpose. Is it sufficient to survive! One old woman almost lit her handkerchief with a candle. And it’s a pity that she didn’t burn. Don't stare! Why stare! Is it indicated to stare. I’ll come back tomorrow before everyone else, and stop her, so I suppose he’ll reduce the force. I can't see her! I'm on my knees today, and I myself keep looking at her. Yechida, I think you are a yechida! So that you burst with a water bubble! It’s a sin — and nothing can be done about it.

- Nothing, nanny, now, having confessed, all the sins of the priest have been released. Now your darling is pure and innocent.

- Yes, hell with two! Let go! This is a sin, but I must say: this priest confessed me badly. When I went to the monastery with my aunt and princess, we can say that I confessed. So he tortured me, tortured me, reproached me, reproached me, imposed three penances! I asked everything. He asked if the princess was thinking of renting out the meadows. Well, I repented, I said I didn't know. And the entot is alive soon. What is sinful? Why, I say, sir, what sins I have. The most old ladies. I love coffee and quarrel with the servants. "Are there any special ones," he says? " And what are the special ones? To a person every sin is special. That's what. And instead of trying and shaming, he took and read the vacation. That's all for you! I suppose he took the money. I suppose I didn’t give change, that I don’t have any special ones! Ugh, God forgive me! Remember, you will sin! Save and have mercy. Why are you sitting here? I would have walked better and thought: "How is it that I live this way, and everything is not good?" Girl you are young! She curled the crow's nest on her head! Have you thought what the days are. On such days, let yourself be admitted. And nowhere from you, shameless, there is no passage! Having come to confession, let me - I thought - I will sit quietly. Tomorrow, after all, go to communion. No. And then it was ripe. She came and played with all sorts of dirty tricks, no matter what is worse. Damn sponge, god forgive me. Look, go with what force! Not long, mother! I know everything! Give time, I'll drink everything to the lady! - Sing to rest. Forgive God, who else will get attached!

Exam

Three days were given to prepare for the exam in geography. Manichka spent two of them trying on a new corset with a real tablet. On the third day in the evening I sat down to study.

I opened the book, unfolded the map and - immediately realized that she knew absolutely nothing. No rivers, no mountains, no cities, no seas, no bays, no coves, no lips, no isthmuses - absolutely nothing.

And there were many of them, and each piece was famous for something.

The Indian Sea was famous for typhoon, Vyazma for gingerbread, Pampas for forests, Llanos for steppes, Venice for canals, China for respect for ancestors.

Everything was famous!

A good Slavushka sits at home, while thin, she runs around the world - and even the Pinsk swamps were famous for fevers.

Perhaps, Manichka would have managed to jot down the names, but she could never cope with fame.

Lord, let your servant Mary pass the exam in geography!

And she wrote on the margins of the map: "Lord, give! Lord, give! Lord, give!"

Three times.

Then I wondered: I'll write twelve times "Lord, give me", then I will pass the exam.

She wrote it twelve times, but, already finishing the last word, she caught herself:

Aha! I'm glad I wrote to the end. No, mother! If you want to pass the exam, write twelve more times, and better all twenty.

She took out a notebook, since there was not enough space on the margins of the map, and sat down to write. She wrote and said:

Do you imagine that you write twenty times and you will pass the exam? No, my dear, write fifty times! Maybe then something will come out. Fifty? I was glad that you will get off soon! A? A hundred times, and not a word less ...

The feather cracks and blobs.

Manichka refuses dinner and tea. She has no time. Her cheeks are burning, she is shaking all over from haste, feverish work.

At three o'clock in the morning, having filled up two notebooks and a blot of paper, she fell asleep over the table.

Dull and sleepy, she entered the classroom.

All were already assembled and shared their excitement with each other.

Every minute my heart stops for half an hour! - said the first student, rolling her eyes.

The tickets were already on the table. The most inexperienced eye could instantly divide them into four types: tickets bent with a tube, a boat, corners up and corners down.

But the dark figures from the last benches, concocting this cunning thing, found that it was still not enough, and turned around the table, adjusting tickets so that it was more visible.

Manya Kuksina! they shouted. - What tickets have you memorized? A? Here, notice how you should: with a boat - these are the first five numbers, and with a tube - the next five, and with corners ...

But Manichka did not listen to the end. With longing she thought that all this learned technique was not created for her, who had not memorized a single ticket, and she said proudly:

It's a shame to cheat so! You need to learn for yourself, not for grades.

The teacher entered, sat down, indifferently collected all the tickets and, carefully straightening them, shuffled them. A soft groan passed through the classroom. They were agitated and swayed like rye in the wind.

Mrs. Kuksina! Come here.

Manichka took the ticket and read it. "Climate of Germany. Nature of America. Cities of North America" ...

Please, Mrs. Kuksina. What do you know about the climate in Germany?

Manichka looked at him with such a look, as if she wanted to say: "Why are you torturing animals?" - and, breathlessly, babbled:

The climate of Germany is famous for the fact that there is no big difference between the climate of the north and the climate of the south, because Germany, the further south, the further north ...

The teacher raised an eyebrow and looked closely at Manichkin's mouth.

I thought and added:

You don't know anything about the climate in Germany, Mrs. Kuksina. What do you know about the nature of America?

Manichka, as if crushed by the teacher's unfair attitude towards her knowledge, lowered her head and meekly replied:

America is famous for the pampas.

The teacher was silent, and Manichka, after waiting a minute, added, barely audibly:

And the pampas are llanos.

The teacher sighed noisily, as if he had woken up, and said with feeling:

Sit down, Mrs. Kuksina.

The next exam was in history.

The class lady warned sternly:

Look, Kuksina! You won't be given two re-exams. Prepare properly according to history, otherwise you will stay for the second year! What a disgrace!

The next day Manichka was depressed. I wanted to have fun and bought ten portions of pistachio from an ice cream maker, and in the evening, against my will, I took castor oil.

But the next day - the last one before the exams - I lay on the couch reading Marlitt's "Second Wife" to rest my head overworked by geography.

In the evening she sat down at Ilovaisky and timidly wrote ten times in a row: "Lord, let me ..."

She smiled bitterly and said:

Ten times! God really needs it ten times! If I could write one and a half hundred times, it would be another matter!

At six o'clock in the morning, an aunt from the next room heard Manichka talking to herself in two tones. One tone groaned:

I can’t take it anymore! Wow, I can't!

Another sarcastically:

Aha! Can not! One thousand six hundred times you cannot write "Lord, give me", and pass the exam - that's how you want it! So give it to you! For this write two hundred thousand times! Nothing! Nothing!

The frightened aunt drove Manichka to sleep.

Can not be so. Cramming is also necessary in moderation. If you are overworked, you will not figure out anything to say tomorrow.

There is an old picture in the classroom.

Frightened whisper and excitement, and the heart of the first student, stopping every minute for three hours, and tickets walking around the table on four legs, and indifferently shuffling their teacher.

Manichka sits and, waiting for his fate, writes on the cover of an old notebook: "Lord, give me."

If only she had time to write exactly six hundred times, and she would stand up brilliantly!

Mrs. Kuksina Maria!

No, I didn't have time!

The teacher gets angry, sneers, asks everyone not for tickets, but at random.

What do you know about the wars of Anna Ioannovna, Mrs. Kuksina, and their consequences?

Something dawned in Manichka's tired head:

Anna Ioannovna's life was fraught ... Anna Ioannovna was fraught with ... Anna Ioannovna's wars were fraught ...

She paused, gasping for breath, and said more, as though at last remembering what was needed:

The consequences for Anna Ioannovna were fraught ...

And she fell silent.

The teacher took the beard into his palm and pressed it to his nose.

Manichka watched this operation with all her heart, and her eyes said: "Why are you torturing animals?"

Could you tell us now, Madame Kuksina, ”the teacher asked insinuatingly,“ why the Maid of Orleans was nicknamed the Orleans?

Manichka felt that this was the last question, entailing huge, most "fraught consequences." He carried the correct answer with him: the bicycle, promised by his aunt for the transition to the next class, and eternal friendship with Liza Bekina, from whom, having failed, he would have to be parted. Liza has already withstood and will move on safely.

Well? - hurried the teacher, who was apparently out of curiosity to hear Manichkin's answer. - Why did they call her Orleans?

Manichka mentally made a vow never to eat sweets or be rude. She looked at the icon, cleared her throat and answered firmly, looking the teacher straight in the eyes:

Because there was a girl.

Arabian tales

Autumn is mushroom time.

Spring is dental.

In autumn they go to the forest to pick mushrooms.

In the spring - to the dentist for teeth.

Why this is so - I do not know, but it is true.

That is, I don't know about teeth, I know about mushrooms. But why every spring you see tied up cheeks on people who are completely unsuitable for this species: among cabbies, among officers, among cafe singers, among tram conductors, among athletic wrestlers, among racehorses, among tenors and babies?

Is it because, as the poet aptly put it, "the first frame is exposed" and blows from everywhere?

In any case, this is not such a trifle as it seems, and recently I became convinced what a strong impression this dental time leaves in a person and how acutely the very recollection of it is felt.

Once I went to see good old friends for a light. I found the whole family at the table, obviously having just had breakfast. (I used the expression "light" here, because I understood long ago what it means - simply, without an invitation, you can go to "the light" at ten o'clock in the morning, and at night, when all the lamps are extinguished.)

All were assembled. A mother, a married daughter, a son with a wife, a girl-daughter, a student in love, a granddaughter of Bonn, a grammar school student and a dacha friend.

I have never seen this calm bourgeois family in such a strange state. Everyone's eyes were burning with a kind of painful excitement, their faces were blotchy.

I immediately realized that something had happened. Otherwise, why were everyone assembled, why the son and wife, who usually came only for a minute, sit and worry.

True, some kind of family scandal, and I didn't ask.

They sat me down, hastily splashed my tea, and all eyes were fixed on the master's son.

Well, I’m going on, ”he said.

A brown face with a fluffy wart peeped out from behind the door: it was the old nanny who was listening too.

Well, so, he applied the forceps a second time. Hellish sickness! I roar like a beluga, kick my legs, and he pulls. In a word, everything is as it should. Finally, you see, I pulled out ...

I'll tell you after you, ”the young lady suddenly interrupts.

And I would like to ... A few words, - says the enamored student.

Wait, you can't all at once, - the mother stops.

The son waited a minute with dignity and continued:

He pulled it out, looked at the tooth, bowed his head and said: "Pardon, this is not the same again!" And climbs back into the mouth for the third tooth! No, think about it! I say: "Dear sir! If you" ...

Lord have mercy! - the nanny outside the door groans. - Just give them free rein ...

And the dentist says to me: “What are you afraid of?” A dacha friend suddenly snapped. But I was not at a loss and said: "Excuse me, why so many? It must have been not a patient, but a cow!" Ha ha!

And there are no cows, - the schoolboy stuck his head around. - A cow is a mammal. Now I will tell you. In our class…

Shh! Shh! - hissed around. - Do not interrupt. It's your turn later.

He was offended, - the narrator continued, - and now I think that he removed ten teeth to the patient, and the patient removed the rest himself! .. Ha-ha!

Now I! - shouted the schoolboy. - Why am I certainly later than everyone else?

This is just a thug of dentistry! - triumphant dacha friend, pleased with his story.

And last year I asked the dentist if his filling would last long, - the young lady was worried, - and he says: "About five years, but we don't need our teeth to worry about us." I say: "Am I really going to die in five years?" I was terribly surprised. And he pouted: "This question is not directly related to my specialty."

Give them only freedom! - the nanny provoked outside the door.

The maid enters, collects the dishes, but cannot leave. Stops spellbound with a tray in her hands. Blushes and turns pale. It can be seen that she also has a lot to tell, but she does not dare.

A friend of mine pulled out a tooth. It hurt terribly! - said the student in love.

Found something to tell! - and the schoolboy jumped up. - Very, you think, interesting! Now I! In our cl ...

My brother wanted to pull out a tooth, ”Bonn began. - He is advised that opposite, on the stairs, the dentist lives. He went and called. Mister dentist himself opened the door for him. He sees that the gentleman is very nice, so it's not even scary to pull your teeth. Says to the master: "Please, I beg you, pull out my tooth." He says: "Well, I would love to, but only I have nothing. Does it hurt a lot?" The brother says, "It hurts a lot; tear straight out with the forceps." - "Well, maybe with tongs." I went, looked, brought some tongs, large. My brother opened his mouth, and the forceps did not fit. The brother got angry: "What kind of dentist are you," he says, when you don't even have instruments? " And he was so surprised. "Yes, I am," he says, "and not a dentist at all! I am an engineer." - "So how do you try to pull a tooth if you are an engineer?" - "Yes, I," he says, "and do not climb. You yourself came to me. I thought - you know that I am an engineer, and just like a human being ask for help. And I am kind, well ..."

And he tore me up, '' the nurse suddenly exclaimed with inspiration. - He was such a scoundrel! He grabbed it with a forceps in one minute and pulled it out. I didn't even have time to breathe. "Serve," he says, "an old woman, fifty kopecks." Turned once - and fifty dollars. "Dexterously, - I say. - I didn't even have time to breathe!" And he answered me: “Well,” he says, “you want me to drag you across the floor for four hours by the tooth for four hours for your fifty-kopeck piece?

Honestly, really! - suddenly squealed the maid, who found that the transition from nanny to her was not too offensive for the gentlemen. - By God, all this is the truth. They are flayers! My brother went to pull out a tooth, and the doctor said to him: "You have four roots on this tooth, all are intertwined and have grown to the eye. I cannot take less than three rubles for this tooth." And where do we pay three rubles? We are poor people! So my brother thought and said: “I don’t have that kind of money with me, but stretch this tooth for me today for one and a half rubles. In a month I’ll get the payment from the owner, then you’ll make it to the end.” But no! I didn’t agree. Give him everything at once!

Scandal! - suddenly caught himself, glancing at his watch, a dacha friend. - Three hours! I'm late for service!

Three? My God, and we go to Tsarskoe! - the son and wife jumped up.

Oh! I didn't feed Baby! - the daughter fussed.

And they all parted, flushed, pleasantly tired.

But I was going home very unhappy. The fact is that I myself really wanted to tell a dental story. They didn't even offer me.

“They are sitting,” I think, “in their tight, close-knit bourgeois circle, like Arabs at a fire, telling their tales. their sides. "

Of course I don't care. But nevertheless, I still want to tell ...

It was in a remote provincial town, where there was no mention of dentists. I had a toothache, and they referred me to a private doctor, who, according to rumors, understood something in his teeth.

Has come. The doctor was dull, lop-eared and so thin that he could only be seen in profile.

Tooth? This is terrible! Well, show me!

I showed.

Does it really hurt? How strange! Such a beautiful tooth! So it hurts? Well, this is awful! Such a tooth! Straight awesome!

He walked businesslike to the table, found some long pin - probably from a woman's hat.

Open your mouth!

He quickly bent down and poked me in the tongue with a pin. Then he carefully wiped the pin and examined it as a valuable tool that may come in handy more than once, so as not to spoil.

Sorry madam, that's all I can do for you.

I looked at him in silence and felt how round my eyes had become. He raised his eyebrows dejectedly.

I'm sorry I'm not an expert! I do what I can! ..

So I told you!

My first Tolstoy

I'm nine years old.

I read Tolstoy's Childhood and Adolescence. I read and reread.

Everything in this book is dear to me.

Volodya, Nikolenka, Lyubochka - they all live with me, they are all so similar to me, to my sisters and brothers. And their house in Moscow with my grandmother is our Moscow home, and when I read about the living room, sofa or classroom, I don't even need to imagine anything - these are all our rooms.

Natalya Savvishna - I know her well too - this is our old woman Avdotya Matveyevna, a former serf of my grandmother. She also has a chest with pictures pasted on the lid. Only she is not as kind as Natalia Savvishna. She's a grumbler. The elder brother even recited about her: "And he did not want to bless anything in all nature."

But all the same, the similarity is so great that, reading the lines about Natalya Savvishna, all the time I clearly see the figure of Avdotya Matveyevna.

All their own, all relatives.

And even the grandmother, looking with questioning stern eyes from under the ruffle of her cap, and the bottle of cologne on the table by her chair - it's all the same, everything is dear.

The only stranger is the tutor of St-Jerome, and I hate him along with Nikolenka. How I hate! Longer and stronger, it seems, than he himself, because in the end he made peace and forgave, and I went on like this all my life. "Childhood" and "Adolescence" entered my childhood and adolescence and merged with it organically, as if I had not read, but simply lived them.

But another work of Tolstoy - "War and Peace" was pierced into the history of my soul, in its first flowering as a red arrow.

I'm thirteen.

Every evening, to the detriment of the assigned lessons, I read and reread all the same book - "War and Peace".

I am in love with Prince Andrei Bolkonsky. I hate Natasha, firstly, because I am jealous, and secondly, because she cheated on him.

You know, - I say to my sister, - Tolstoy, in my opinion, wrote about her incorrectly. Nobody could like her. Judge for yourself - her braid was "thin and short", her lips were swollen. No, in my opinion, she could not be liked at all. And he was going to marry her simply out of pity.

Then I also didn’t like why Prince Andrey squealed when he was angry. I thought that Tolstoy also wrote this incorrectly. I knew for certain that the prince did not squeal.

I read War and Peace every night.

Those hours when I approached the death of Prince Andrey were agonizing.

It seems to me that I always hoped a little for a miracle. I must have hoped, because every time the same despair overcame me when he died.

At night, lying in bed, I saved him. I made him throw himself to the ground with the others when a grenade exploded. Why couldn't a single soldier have guessed to push him? I would have guessed I would have pushed.

Then she sent all the best modern doctors and surgeons to him.

Every week I read how he was dying, and I hoped and believed a miracle that maybe this time he would not die.

No. Died! Died!

A living person dies once, and this one is eternal, eternal.

And my heart groaned, and I could not prepare lessons. And in the morning ... You yourself know what happens in the morning with a person who has not prepared a lesson!

And finally I thought of it. I decided to go to Tolstoy, ask him to save Prince Andrey. Even if he marries him to Natasha, even this I go, even this! - if only he did not die!

I consulted with my sister. She said that it was imperative to go to the writer with his card and ask him to sign, otherwise he would not talk, and in general they did not talk to minors.

It was very creepy.

Little by little I learned where Tolstoy lived. They said different things - that it was in Khamovniki, that it was as if he had left Moscow, that it was leaving the other day.

I bought a portrait. I began to think about what I would say. I was afraid not to cry. She hid her intention from her family - they would ridicule.

Finally I made up my mind. Some relatives arrived, a bustle arose in the house - a convenient time. I told the old nanny to accompany me "to a friend for lessons" and went.

Tolstoy was at home. The few minutes that I had to wait in the hall were too short for me to get away, and it was awkward in front of the nanny.

I remember a plump young lady walking past me, humming something. This finally confused me. It goes so easily, and even sings and is not afraid. I thought that everyone in Tolstoy's house walked on tiptoe and spoke in a whisper.

Finally - he. He was shorter than I expected. He looked at the nanny, at me. I held out the card and, pronouncing "l" instead of "r" out of fear, babbled:

Here, we plan to sign a photograph.

He immediately took it from me and went into another room.

Then I realized that I could not ask for anything, I dare not tell anything, and that I had been so disgraced, had perished forever in his eyes, with my "float" and "photoglaphia" that only God would have given me a good time to get out.

He returned, gave the card. I made a curtsy.

And you, old woman, what? he asked the nanny.

Nothing, I'm with the young lady.

That's all.

I remembered "float" and "photographia" in bed and cried into the pillow.

In the class I had a rival, Yulenka Arsheva. She, too, was in love with Prince Andrew, but so violently that the whole class knew about it. She also scolded Natasha Rostova and also did not believe that the prince screamed.

I carefully concealed my feelings, and when Arsheva began to rage, I tried to stay away and not listen, so as not to betray myself.

And once after a lesson in literature, sorting out some literary types, the teacher mentioned Prince Bolkonsky. The whole class, as one person, turned to Arsheva. She sat there, red, smiling tensely, and her ears were so bloodshot that they even swelled up.

Their names were connected, their romance was marked by ridicule, curiosity, condemnation, interest - all the attitude that society always reacts to each novel.

And I, lonely, with my secret "illegal" feeling, alone did not smile, did not greet and did not even dare to look at Arsheva.

I read it with longing and suffering, but did not grumble. She lowered her head obediently, kissed the book and closed it.

There was life, it has become obsolete and ended.

..................................................
Copyright: Hope Teffi

We have recently dedicated an essay to the very colorful figure of A.V. Rumanov.

About 30 years ago he “shocked” the Petersburg salons with “filigree Christ”.

Later, Rumanov in the same salons dropped his soft, almost baritone rumbling:

Teffi is meek ... She is meek, - Teffi ...

And he said to her:

Teffi, you are meek.

In the northern skies of the Neva capital, the star of the talented poetess, feuilletonist and - now it will be a revelation for many - the author of charming, gentle and completely original songs, was already shining.

Teffi herself performed them in a small but pleasant voice to the accompaniment of her own guitar.

So you see her - Teffi ...

Smelling herself into a warm, fur-lined dressing gown, her legs tucked up snugly, she sits with a guitar on her knees in a deep armchair by the fireplace, casting warm, quivering reflections ...

Clever gray cat eyes look without blinking into the blazing fire of the fireplace and the guitar is ringing:

Angry cats gnaw

Have wicked people in their hearts

My legs are dancing

On red heels ...

Teffi loved red shoes.

It has already been published. They talked about her. They were looking for her cooperation.

Again Rumanov, trimmed with a beaver hedgehog.

On the Caucasian mineral waters, he created a large resort newspaper and attracted the best Petersburg "forces".

One of the first visits - to her, "meek Teffi".

I invite you to Essentuki for two or three months. How many?

And without waiting for an answer, Rumanov somehow imperceptibly and deftly fanned out several brand new credit cards with portraits of Catherine the Great.

This is an advance! ..

Take it away! I love the rainbow in the sky, not on my desk - was the answer.

Rumanov was not taken aback. Like a magician, he instantly took out a heavy suede bag from somewhere and poured a ringing, sparkling stream of gold coins onto the table.

Nadezhda Alexandrovna thoughtfully poured these coins through her fingers, like a child playing with sand.

A few days later she left for Essentuki and there immediately increased the circulation of the resort newspaper.

It was a long time ago, a very long time ago, but still it was ...

Time puts a stamp - they say.

Both time and press are extremely condescending to Teffi. Here in Paris, she is almost the same as she was with a guitar by the fireplace in red shoes and a fur-trimmed robe.

And the clever eyes with cat-gray yellowness and in a cat-frame are exactly the same.

Talking about current politics:

What do you say, Nadezhda Aleksandrovna, about the League of the Nation, about its acceptance of Soviet Russia, or rather the Soviet government, into its fold?

First a smile, then two dimples near the corners of the mouth. The familiar dimples that resurrected St. Petersburg ...

What can I say? I am not a politician, but a humorist. Only one thing: The attitude towards the League of the Nation is painfully ironic for everyone, and consequently, what is the price, whether it recognizes someone, or does not recognize it. And, really, nothing has changed and will not change from the fact that she decorated Litvinov's bald spot with her laurels with his, Litvinov, not quite a "Roman profile". Farce, albeit tragicomic, but still a farce ...

Having put an end to the League of the Nation and Litvinov, we pass to the amnesty announced by the Bolsheviks.

Precisely, is it declared by them? - Teffi wondered? - The Bolsheviks, at least, remain silent on this subject. I think this amnesty is like a mirage in the desert. Yes, yes, the perverted, exhausted emigration, perhaps, itself invented this amnesty and grabs it ... The Muslims say: “a drowning man is ready to grab hold of a snake”.

What can you say about modern Germany?

But what I will say: I had a story "Demonic Woman". He got lucky. A collection of my things came out in Poland under this general title. The Demon Woman was also printed in German. And now I find out: take some cheeky young German and put this story under your own name. I'm used to being reprinted without a fee, but I'm not used to being put under someone else's name. Friends advised to call the young, promising plagiarist to order. They also advised to contact prof. Luther ... It seems that at the University of Leipzig he occupies a department ... A department - now I will tell you why. Yes, Slavic literature. I wrote to him more to calm my friends.

To great surprise, Professor Luther responded. But how! With what fervor! A whole case arose. I found a promising young man, washed his head well, threatened him: something else like that, and within Germany no one will ever print a single line of him. The Demon Woman fee was awarded in my favor. The young man wrote me a letter of repentance spanning several pages. Not only that, the venerable Professor Luther himself also apologized to me for him. The corporation of German writers and journalists apologized. In the end, I felt ashamed of myself, why did you make this mess? ...

And now, ending with Germany. two words about reprints, in general. A large Russian newspaper in New York got into the habit of “decorating” its cellars with my feuilletons from the Renaissance. I applied to the Canadian Society of Russian Journalists to protect my copyright. Thanks to them for taking care of me, but there's no sense in it! In response to threats to prosecute, the newspaper in question continues to use my feuilletons and the number of stories reprinted has reached an impressive 33. Alas, my handsome Canadian colleagues do not have the authority of the most touching and all-powerful Professor Luther.

I knew it! No "real" interview is complete without this. What am I working on? Frankly, without hiding, I am writing an emigre novel, where, although under pseudonyms, but very transparently, I bring out a whole phalanx of living people, pillars of emigration of the most diverse professions and social positions. Will I spare my friends? Maybe yes, maybe no. Do not know. Something similar happened once between me and Chateaubriand. He also announced the publication of the same portrait novel. The alarmed friends immediately organized themselves into a society whose purpose was to create a Chateaubriand monetary fund. Something like a propitious sacrifice to a formidable, punishing deity ... I would have nothing against, - adds Teffi with a smile - and I - absolutely nothing - against such a friendly fund in favor of me, a sinner. However, isn't it time to end? I am afraid that I will take my special one a lot of space in the magazine "For You"!

It will turn out, something good, not "For you", but "For me." So what else? Beginning authors overwhelm me. Everywhere they send their works with a request to print. And in order for the request to be valid, they devote all their stories to me. They think that Teffi, delighted with such attention, will immediately rush to the appropriate editions and, with Browning in hand, force young authors to publish, at least in anticipation of the publication of flattering dedications. Taking this opportunity, I notify all my ardent correspondents that I, well, I'm not at all vain! True, I come across not bad stories, but more often than not my young people write about what they do not know. And what he knows is silent about that. For example, an author from Morocco sent me a story ... Who would you think of? About the Eskimos! In the Eskimo life, though I am not particularly sore, however, I immediately sensed that something was wrong.

From aspiring writers to our Parisian professionals.

Tell me - I ask - Nadezhda Aleksandrovna, how to explain such a squabble among our brother? Seemingly equally disadvantaged? Why?

Angry cats gnaw

In evil people, in their hearts ...

What a memory you have! - Teffi was amazed and sparks flashed in the cat's eyes. - Why? Everyone is exhausted, there is no more strength to endure ...

Humorous stories

… For laughter is joy, and therefore in itself is a blessing.

Spinoza. Ethics, part IV. Position XLV, scholium II.