An excerpt for living classics from contemporary prose. Selection of texts for the competition `Living Classics` (prose)

Having emptied the pot, Vanya wiped it dry with a crust. With the same crust, he wiped off the spoon, ate the crust, got up, bowed sedately to the giants and said, dropping his eyelashes:

Thank you very much. Pleased with you.

Maybe you want more?

No, it's full.

Otherwise we can put you one more pot, ”said Gorbunov, winking not without boasting. - For us it does not amount to anything. Oh, shepherd boy?

It won't creep into me anymore, '' Vanya said shyly, and his blue eyes suddenly threw a quick, mischievous look from under his eyelashes.

If you do not want - as 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 all people to admire the life of the scouts, said:

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

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

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

I will, - the boy said cheerfully.

That's right, and you won't be lost. We will wash you in the bathhouse. We'll cut the patly for you. We'll fix some kind of uniform so that you have the proper military appearance.

Will you take me for reconnaissance, uncle?

Eve we will take you reconnaissance. Let's make a famous scout out of you.

I, uncle, little. I will crawl everywhere, - Vanya said with joyful readiness. - I know every bush around here.

It 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 only have to shoot once, uncle, ”Vanya said, glancing greedily at the machine guns swinging in their belts from the incessant cannon fire.

You shoot. Do not be afraid. Behind this will not. We will teach you all military science. The first duty, of course, is to enroll you in all types of allowances.

How is it, uncle?

This, brother, is very simple. Sergeant Yegorov will report to the lieutenant about you

Sedykh. Lieutenant Sedykh will report to the battery commander, Captain Yenakiev, Captain Yenakiev orders to give in the order for your enrollment. From that, it means that all types of allowance will go to you: clothing, welding, money. Do you understand?

I see, uncle.

This is how it is done by us, the scouts ... Wait! Where are you going?

Wash the dishes, uncle. Our mother always ordered us to wash the dishes after herself, and then put them in the closet.

I ordered it correctly, ”Gorbunov said sternly. - The same is for military service.

There are no doormen in the military service, ”the fair Bidenko remarked edifyingly.

However, wait a minute to wash the dishes, we’ll drink tea now, ”Gorbunov said smugly. - Do you respect drinking tea?

I respect, - said Vanya.

Well, you're doing the right thing. We, the scouts, are supposed to: as we eat, so now drink tea. It is forbidden! - said Bidenko. “We drink, of course, on the sidelines,” he added indifferently. - We do not reckon with 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 reckon with sugar. Silent Bidenko untied his duffel bag and put a huge handful of refined sugar on the "Suvorov Onslaught". Before Vanya had time to blink an eye, Gorbunov poured two large breasts of sugar into his mug, however, noticing an expression of delight on the boy's face, he poured out a third breast. Know, they say, us scouts!

Vanya grabbed a tin mug with both hands. He even closed his eyes with delight. He felt as if in an extraordinary, fairy-tale world. Everything around was fabulous. And this tent, as if illuminated by the sun in the middle of a cloudy day, and the roar of a close battle, and kind giants throwing handfuls of refined sugar, and the mysterious "all kinds of allowances" promised to him - clothing, welding, cash, - and even the words "pork stew", printed on the mug in big black letters.

Like? - asked Gorbunov, proudly admiring the pleasure with which the boy pulled the tea gently outstretched lips.

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

All the words were mixed in his head. He only nodded his head gratefully, raised his eyebrows high and rolled his eyes, expressing by this 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 do not study well. 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 am not lazy. I sit for three hours on tasks.

For example, now I am sitting and I want to solve the problem with all my might. And she does not dare. I tell my mom:

Mom, my problem is not working.

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

She leaves on business. And I take my head with both hands and say to her:

Think head. Think well ... "From point A to point B two pedestrians came out ..." Head, why don't you think? Well, head, well, think, please! Well what do you need!

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

Head, what are you thinking ?! Aren `t you ashamed!!! “From point A to point B two pedestrians left ...” Lyuska, probably, also left. She is already walking. If she came to me first, I would, of course, forgive her. But does she fit, such a mischief ?!

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

"... From point A to point B two pedestrians came out ..." And what will I do? .. And then I will call Kolya, Petka and Pavlik to play rounders. And what will she do? Yeah, she's putting on the Three Fat Men. Yes, so loud 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 will take it and fill it with something directly into her window. Glass - ding! - and scatter. Let him know.

So. I'm tired of thinking. Think not think - the task does not work. It's just awful what a difficult task! I’ll take a little walk and start thinking again.

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

Earring! Vitka! - Lyuska shouted at once. - Let's go play rounders!

The Karmanov brothers looked out the window.

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

Lena! - Lyuska shouted. - Linen! Come out!

Instead of Lena, her grandmother looked out and shook her finger at Lyuska.

Pavlik! - Lyuska shouted.

No one appeared in the window.

Pe-et-ka-ah! - Lyuska sat down.

Girl, what are you yelling at ?! - someone's head stuck 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.

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

Lucy, let's go to the classics.

Come on, I said.

We jumped into the classics, 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 over her for two hours already! It's just awful what it is! They ask the children some kind of puzzles! .. Come on, show your problem! Maybe I can do it? I still graduated from the institute. So. “Two pedestrians left point A to point B ...” Wait, wait, this task is something familiar to me! Listen, but you and dad decided it the last time! I remember perfectly!

How? - I was surprised. - Really? Oh, really, because this is the forty-fifth problem, and we were asked the forty-sixth.

Then my mother was terribly angry.

It's outrageous! - said my mother. - This is unheard of! This mess! Where is your head ?! What is she only thinking about ?!

(Irina Pivovarova "What my head thinks about")

Irina Pivovarova. Spring rain

I didn't want to learn my lessons yesterday. There was such sun on the street! Such a warm yellow sun! Such branches swayed outside the window! .. I wanted to reach out and touch each 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 were hurrying over it somewhere, and sparrows were chirping terribly loudly in the trees, and a big fluffy cat was basking on the bench, and it was so good that it was spring!

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

The morning was dark, so dark that I didn't want to get up at all. This is always the case. If it's sunny, I immediately jump up. I dress quickly, quickly. And coffee is delicious, and mom does not grumble, and dad jokes. And when the morning is like today, I barely dress, my mother urges me on and gets angry. And when I eat breakfast, dad makes me comments that I am sitting crookedly at the table.

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

Vera Yevstigneevna came in. The lesson began. They will call me now.

Sinitsyna, to the blackboard!

I shuddered. Why should I go to the blackboard?

I haven't learned, ”I said.

Vera Evstigneevna was surprised and gave me a bad mark.

Why is my life so bad in the world ?! I'd rather take it and die. Then Vera Evstigneevna will regret giving me a bad mark. And mom and dad will cry and say to everyone:

"Oh, why did we go to the theater ourselves, but we left her all alone!"

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

“Lucy!

Do not despair !!!

Deuce is nothing !!!

You will fix the deuce!

I will help you! Let's be friends with you! Only this is a secret! Not a word to anyone !!!

Yalo-kvo-kyl ".

It was as if something warm was poured into me right away. I was so happy that I even laughed. Lyuska 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's Lyuska? But on the back there was: LYUSE SINITSYNOY.

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

I read twenty times again:

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

Well, of course! Of course, let's be friends! Let's be friends with you !! Please! Very happy! I love it terribly when they want to be friends with me! ..

But who writes this? Some kind of YALO-KVO-KYL. An incomprehensible word. I wonder what it means? And why does this YALO-KVO-KYL want to be friends with me? .. Maybe I'm still beautiful?

I looked at my desk. There was nothing beautiful.

Probably, he wanted to be friends with me, because I am good. What, am I bad, or what? Of course it's good! After all, no one wants to be friends with a bad person!

To celebrate, I nudged Lyuska with my elbow.

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

Who? - immediately asked Lyuska.

I don’t know who. It is somehow incomprehensibly written here.

Show me, I'll sort it out.

Honestly, won't you tell anyone?

Honestly!

Lyuska read the note and curled her lips:

Some fool wrote! Couldn't tell my real name.

Or maybe he is shy?

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

Or maybe it was Yurka Seliverstov who wrote it? .. 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 good if this YALO-KVO-KYL made friends with me right now!

Pavlik Ivanov left the classroom and immediately went to me.

So Pavlik wrote this? Only this was not enough!

Pavlik ran up to me and said:

Sinitsyna, give me ten kopecks.

I gave him ten kopecks to get him off the hook as soon as possible. Pavlik immediately ran to the sideboard, and I remained at the window. But no one else came up.

Suddenly Burakov began to walk past me. It seemed to me that he was looking at me in a strange way. He stopped beside him and began to look out the window. So Burakov wrote the note ?! Then I'd better leave right away. I can't stand this Burakov!

The weather is awful, - said Burakov.

I didn't have time to leave.

Yes, the weather is bad, ”I said.

The weather cannot be worse, ”said Burakov.

Terrible weather, ”I said.

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

Burakov, give me a bite, - I could not resist.

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

No, he didn't write the note. And thank God! You will not find the second such greedy person in the whole world!

I looked after him contemptuously and went into class. I walked in and was stunned. On the blackboard was written in huge letters:

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

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

I grabbed a rag and rushed to dry the board.

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

I wrote this note for you.

You're lying, not you!

Then Pavlik laughed like a fool and shouted to the whole class:

Oh, hilarious! Why be friends with you ?! All freckled like a cuttlefish! Stupid 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. Pavlik howled:

Ah well! I'll tell everyone! I'll tell everyone, everyone, everyone about her, how she gets the notes! And I'll tell everyone about you! You sent her a note! - And he ran out of the class with a stupid cry: - Yalo-kvo-kyl! Yalo-kvokyl!

The lessons are over. Nobody came up to me. Everyone quickly collected their textbooks, and the class was empty. We were alone with Kolya Lykov. Kolya still could not tie the lace on his boot.

The door creaked. Yurka Seliverstov stuck his head into the classroom, looked at me, then at Kolya and, without saying anything, left.

But what if? What if Kolya wrote it all the same? Is it really Kolya ?! What happiness if Kolya! My throat immediately went dry.

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

I didn’t finish, because I suddenly saw Colina’s ears and neck become flushed.

Oh you! - said Kolya, not looking at me. - I thought you ... And you ...

Kolya! I shouted. - So I ...

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

Kolya finally coped with the lace, got up and left the classroom. And I sat down in my place.

I'm not going anywhere. It's raining so badly outside the window. And my fate is so bad, so bad, that it could not be worse! So I will sit here until the night. And I will sit at night. One in a dark classroom, one in the whole dark school. Serves me right.

Aunt Nyura came in with a bucket.

Go home, dear, ”said Aunt Nyura. - At home, the mother was tired of waiting.

Nobody was waiting for me at home, Aunt Nyura, - I said and trudged out of the class.

Bad fate of mine! Lyuska is no longer my friend. Vera Evstigneevna gave me a bad mark. Kolya Lykov ... I didn't even want to remember 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 on the street !!!

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

And on the porch, right in the rain, was 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 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 passing through Russian soil. But from where the front was, refugees came through Nechayevo. They dragged a sled with bundles, hunched over 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, basked in the huts and moved on.
Once at dusk, when the shadow of the old birch extended to the very granary, they knocked on the Shalikhin's hut.
The reddish agile girl Taiska rushed to the side window, buried her nose in the thawed patch, and both her pigtails cheerfully lifted up.
- Two aunties! She screamed. - One young woman, wearing a scarf! And the other one is quite old, with a stick! And yet ... look - a girl!
Pear, Taiskin's older sister, put down the stocking she was knitting and also went to the window.
- Really a girl. In a blue bonnet ...
“So go open it,” said the mother. - What are you waiting for?
Pear pushed Taiska:
- Go, what are you! Should all the elders?
Taiska ran to open the door. The people entered, and the hut smelled of snow and frost.
While the mother was talking with the women, while she asked where they were from, where they were going, and 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 grabbed her bag, she doesn't even unclench her fingers. What does she have there?
- And you ask.
- And you yourself ask.
At this time came from the street Romanok. Frost kicked his cheeks. Red as a tomato, he stopped in front of the strange girl and goggled at her. I even forgot to sweep my legs.
And the girl in the blue bonnet sat motionless on the edge of the bench.
Right hand she was clutching a yellow handbag that slung over her shoulder to her chest. She silently looked somewhere at the wall and as if she saw nothing and did not hear anything.
Mother poured hot stew for the refugees and cut off a piece of bread.
- Oh, and the wretches too! She sighed. - And it is not easy ourselves, and the child toils ... Is this your daughter?
“No,” the woman replied, “a stranger.
“We lived on the same street,” the old woman added.
Mother was surprised:
- 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 has 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, probably, was blowing through the wind, at her torn stockings, at her thin neck, plaintively whitening from under the blue hood ...
Killed. All killed! And the girl is alive. And she is the only one in the whole world!
The mother went up to the girl.
- What is your name, daughter? She asked affectionately.
- Valya, - the girl answered indifferently.
- Valya ... Valentina ... - Mother repeated thoughtfully. - Valentine's ...
Seeing that the women took up their knapsacks, she stopped them:
- Stay, you sleep tonight. It's already late in the yard, and the drizzle has started - look how it is sweeping! And go in the morning.
The women stayed. Mother made beds for tired people. She made a bed for the girl on a warm couch - let her warm herself well. The girl undressed, took off her blue hood, pushed into the pillow, and sleep immediately overpowered her. So, when grandfather came home in the evening, his usual place on the couch was taken, and that night he had to lie down on the chest.
After supper, everyone calmed down very soon. Only the mother was tossing and turning on her bed and could not sleep in any way.
At night, she got up, lit a small blue light, and quietly walked over to the couch. The faint light of the lamp illuminated the girl's delicate, slightly flared face, large fluffy eyelashes, dark brown hair that was scattered on the colorful pillow.
- You poor orphan! - sighed the mother. - I just opened my eyes to the light, and how much grief fell upon you! To such and such a small one! ..
For a long time the mother stood near the girl and kept thinking about something. She took her boots from the floor, looked - skinny, soaked. Tomorrow this little girl will put them on and again go somewhere ... But where?
Early, early, when a little dawned in the windows, my mother got up and lit the stove. Grandfather got up too: he did not like to lie 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, my mother spoke quietly to my grandfather.
“Let's get the girl, father,” she said. - I really feel sorry for her!
The grandfather put down his felt boot, which he was repairing, raised his head and looked thoughtfully at his mother.
- Take the girl? .. Will it be okay? He replied. - We are countrymen, and she is from the city.
- And what does it matter, 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 ...
The grandfather came up and looked at the girl:
- Well ... Look. You know better. Let's take it at least. Just be careful not to cry with her later!
- Eh! .. Maybe I won't pay.
Soon the refugees got up and began to get ready for the journey. But when they wanted to wake the girl up, her mother stopped them:
- Wait, don't wake me up. Leave the Valentine with me! If any relatives are found, tell me: he lives in Nechaev, at Daria Shalikhina's. And I had three guys - well, there will be four. Perhaps we will live!
The women thanked the hostess and left. And the girl stayed.
- Here I have one more daughter, - said Daria Shalikhina thoughtfully, - daughter Valentinka ... Well, we will live.
So a new person appeared in the village of Nechaev.

(Lyubov Voronkova "Girl from the City")

Not remembering how she left home, Assol fled to the sea, caught up in an irresistible

blown by the event; at the first corner she stopped almost exhausted; her legs were giving way,

breath was lost and extinguished, consciousness was kept by a thread. Overwhelmed with fear of losing

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

Scarlet Sails; then, fearing if they had disappeared like a simple ghost, she hurried

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

take a breath.

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

general unrest, which will not yield to the effect of the famous earthquakes. Never before

the large ship did not approach this shore; the ship had the same sails, name

which sounded like a mockery; they were now clearly and irrefutably glowing 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 echoed

courtyard to courtyard, bouncing at each other, screaming and falling; soon the water formed

crowd, and Assol rushed into this crowd.

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

spiteful fright. The men spoke more; strangled, serpentine hiss

the dumbfounded women sobbed, but if it was already starting to crack, poison

climbed into the head. As soon as Assol appeared, everyone was silent, everyone moved away from

her, and she was left alone in 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 high

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

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 - error, misunderstanding, mysterious and harmful interference, -

she ran up to her waist into the warm rippling waves, shouting: “I am here, I am 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 a full, triumphant chorus. From excitement, movement of clouds and waves, glitter

water and gave the girl almost could not already 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 arms

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

smiled at his beaming face and, out of breath, said:

Absolutely like that.

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

Here I come. Did you recognize me?

She nodded, holding on to his belt, with a new soul and anxiously 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, whirling, like the play of sunbeams on

flowing rays of the wall. Not remembering how, she climbed the ladder in Gray's strong arms.

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

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

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

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

watch. Gray took her hands, and, knowing now where it was safe to go, she hid

face wet with tears on the chest of a friend who came so magically. Gently, but with a laugh,

himself shocked and surprised that an inexpressible, inaccessible to anyone has come

precious minute, Gray lifted this long-long dreamed

the girl's face and eyes finally opened clearly. They had everything best 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")

Towards 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 this makes my head so dizzy that it is difficult to stay on my feet.

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

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

Write, - said the father, - it costs you nothing.

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

VILISAPET

PISTAL-PISTOL

SAMALET

VIRTALET

HAKEY

Then he thought about it and decided to write "ice cream", went to the window, looked at the sign opposite and added:

ICE CREAM

The father read it and says:

I'll buy you ice cream for now, and we'll 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 spin like a carousel, it makes you dizzy, and the words are not on their feet.

As if words have legs!

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

(Victor Galyavkin "Carousel in the head")

The Rose.

The last days of August ... Autumn was already approaching.
The sun was setting. A sudden gusty downpour, without thunder and without lightning, has just swept over our wide plain.
The garden in front of the house was burning and smoking, all bathed in the fire of the dawn and the deluge of rain.
She sat at the table in the drawing-room and gazed with persistent thoughtfulness 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 up to a feeling with which she could no longer cope.
Suddenly she got up, quickly went out into the garden and disappeared.
The hour has struck ... another has struck; she did not come back.
Then I got up and, leaving the house, went along the alley, along which - I had no doubt about it - she went too.
Everything went dark around; the night has already fallen. But on the damp sand of the path, brightly scarlet even through the poured mist, a roundish object could be seen.
I bent down ... It was a young, slightly blossoming rose. Two hours ago I saw this very rose on her breast.
I carefully picked up the flower that had fallen into the mud and, returning to the living room, laid it on the table in front of her chair.
So she returned at last - and, easy steps going through the whole room, she sat down at the table.
Her face both turned pale and came to life; quickly, with cheerful embarrassment, lowered, like diminished eyes ran to the sides.
She saw the rose, grabbed it, looked at its crumpled, stained petals, looked at me - and her eyes, suddenly stopping, shone with tears.
- What are you crying about? I asked.
- Yes, that's about this rose. Look what happened to her.
Then I decided to show profound thought.
“Your tears will wash away this dirt,” I said with significant expression.
“Tears do not wash, tears burn,” she answered, and, turning to the fireplace, threw the flower into the dying flame.
“The fire will burn even better than tears,” she exclaimed, not without daring, “and the crossed eyes, still glistening with tears, laughed insolently and happily.
I realized that she was also burned. (I.S.Turgenev "ROSE")

I SEE YOU PEOPLE!

- Hello, Bezhana! Yes, it's me, Sosoya ... It's been a long time since I visited you, my Bezhana! Excuse me! .. Now I will put everything in order here: I will clear the grass, fix 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 little, I'll pull out this weed and tell you everything in order ...

Well, my dear Bezhana: the war is over! Do not recognize our village now! 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 the Tadpole returned, and the father of Otia. True, he is without one leg, but what does it matter? Just think, leg! .. But our Kukuri, Lukayin Kukuri, did not return. Mashiko's son Malkhaz also did not return ... Many did not return, Bezhana, and yet we have a holiday in the village! Salt, corn appeared ... After you ten weddings were played, and at each I was among the guests of honor and drank great! Do you remember Georgy Tsertsvadze? Yes, yes, father of eleven children! So, George also returned, and his wife Taliko gave birth to the twelfth boy, Shukriya. That was fun, Bezhana! Taliko was in a tree picking plums when she started giving birth! Do you hear, Bezhana? Almost resolved in the tree! I still managed to go down! The child was named Shukriya, but I call him Slivovich. Great, isn't it, Bezhana? Slivovich! Why is Georgievich worse? In total, after you thirteen children were born ... And one more piece of news, Bezhana, - I know it will make you happy. Father took Khatia to Batumi. She will have an operation and she will see! Later? Then ... You know, Bezhana, how much I love Khatia? So I'll marry her! Of course! Celebrate a wedding, a big wedding! And we will have children! .. What? What if she doesn't see the light? Yes, my aunt also asks me about this ... I will marry anyway, Bezhana! She cannot live without me ... And I cannot live without Khatia ... Did you love some 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 whether she comes back - sighted, blind. What if she doesn't like me? What do you think, Bezhana? True, my aunt says that I have matured, that I have grown prettier, that it is difficult even to recognize me, but ... what the devil is not joking! .. However, no, it cannot be that Khatia does not like me! She knows what I am like, she sees me, she herself spoke about it more than once ... I finished ten grades, Bezhana! I am thinking of going to college. I will become a doctor, and if Khatia is not helped now in Batumi, I will cure her myself. So, Bezhana?

- Our Sosoya has completely collapsed? Who are you chatting with?

- 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.

My breath caught.

- So how?!

- Run, run, son, meet ... - I didn’t let Gerasim finish, I jumped off the spot and rushed down the slope.

Faster, Sosoya, faster! .. So far, shorten the road along this girder! Jump! .. Hurry, Sosoya! .. I run as I have never run in my life! .. My ears are ringing, my heart is ready to jump out of my chest, my knees are giving way ... Do not try to stop, Sosoya! .. Run! If you jump over this ditch, it means that everything is in order with Khatia ... Jumped over! .. If you reach that tree without breathing, it means that everything is in order with Khatia ... fifty without catching his breath means that everything is all right with Khatia ... One, two, three ... ten, eleven, twelve ... Forty-five, forty-six ... Oh, how difficult it is ...

- Khatia-ah! ..

Gasping, I ran up to them and stopped. More I could not utter a word.

- Soso! - said Khatia quietly.

I looked at her. Khatia's face was 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.

- Khatia!

- The doctors said that it is not yet possible to perform the operation. They ordered me to 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? - repeated Khatia.

- Well ... Don't be afraid, Khatia ... They'll have an operation in the spring, won't they? - I stroked Khatia's face.

She narrowed her eyes and became so beautiful, such that the Mother of God herself would have envied her ...

- In the spring, Sosoya ...

- Don't be afraid, Khatia!

- And I'm not afraid, Sosoya!

- And if they cannot help you, I will, Khatia, I swear to you!

- I know, Sosoya!

- Even if not ... So what? Can you see me?

- I see, Sosoya!

- What else do you want?

- Nothing more, Sosoya!

Where are you going, road, and where are you taking my village? Do you remember? One June day, you took away everything that was dear to me in the world. I asked you, dear, and you returned to me everything that you could return. I thank you, dear! Now our turn has come. You will take us, me and Khatia, and lead you to where your end should be. But we don't want you to have an end. We will walk hand in hand with you to infinity. You will never again have to deliver news about us to our village in triangular letters and envelopes with printed addresses. We will return ourselves, dear! We will face the east, 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! ..."

An old, sick man was walking along a wide carriageway near a big city.

He staggered as he walked; his emaciated legs, tangled, dragging and stumbling, walked heavily and weakly, as if

strangers; clothes hung on him in rags; his bare head fell on his chest ... He was exhausted.

He sat down on a roadside stone, leaned forward, leaned his elbows, covered his face with both hands - and through twisted fingers, tears dripped onto the dry, gray dust.

He recalled ...

He recalled how he was once healthy and rich - and how he spent his health, and distributed his wealth to others, friends and foes ... And now he does not have a piece of bread - and everyone left him, friends even before enemies ... Can he really humble himself to beg for alms? And he was bitter in his heart and ashamed.

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

Suddenly he heard someone calling his name; he raised his tired head - and saw a stranger in front of him.

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

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

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

And there would be no beggars in the world who stretched out their hand to you, - the stranger continued, - there would be no one for you to show your virtue, could you exercise in it?

The old man didn’t answer - and thought.

So now, do not be proud, poor man, - the stranger spoke again, - go, reach out, give other good people the opportunity to show in practice that they are kind.

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

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

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

And the old man bought himself for these pennies of bread - and the piece he had asked for seemed sweet to him - and there was no shame in his heart, but on the contrary: a quiet joy overshadowed 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.
We ran for a long time after dinner along the long hall, caught up with each other, squealed and fell. Now we are tired and quiet.
We stand nearby, looking out the window at the dull spring twilight street.
Spring twilight is always anxious and always sad.
And we are silent. We listen to how the lenses of the candelabra tremble from the carts passing along the street.
If we were big, we would think about human malice, about offenses, about our love, which we have offended, and about the love that we have offended ourselves, and about happiness that does not exist.
But we are children and we don't know anything. We are only silent. We are terrified to turn around. It seems to us that the hall has already completely darkened and the whole large, echoing 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 my sister's frightened, round eye. She looks at me - should she cry or not?
And then I remember my daytime impression, 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 show jumping today!
I cannot tell her everything about the immensely joyful impression that the horse tram has made on me.
The horses were white and ran soon, soon; the carriage itself was red or yellow, beautiful, there were a lot of people in it, all strangers, so they could get to know each other and even play some quiet game. And on the back, on the step, stood the conductor, all in gold - or maybe not all, but only a little, with buttons - and blowing a golden trumpet:
- Rram-rra-ra!
The sun itself rang in this tube and flew out of it in golden-sounding spray.
How can you tell it all! One can only say:
- Lena! I saw show jumping!
And you don't need anything else. In my voice, in 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 ringing of the solar tube?
- 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 not even allowed to press our nose against the glass.
But when we are big and rich, we will only ride the horse-drawn carriage. We will be, we will be, we will be happy!

(Teffi. "Happy")

Petrushevskaya Lyudmila

Kitten of the lord god

And the boys, the guardian angel rejoiced, standing behind his right shoulder, because everyone knows that the kitten was equipped by the Lord himself, as he equips all of us, his children. And if the white light accepts 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 him and gently hug him. And behind his left elbow stood a demon, who was also very interested in the kitten and the mass of possibilities associated with this particular kitten.

The guardian angel got worried and began to draw magic pictures: here the cat is sleeping on the boy's pillow, here is playing with a piece of paper, here is going for a walk like a dog, at the foot ... And the devil pushed the boy under his 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 brought by the devil into the hot head of the expelled boy, while he was walking home with the kitten in his arms.

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

But the devil was already opening the garden gate with the words "he will see but not come out" and laughed at the angel.

And the grandmother, lying in bed, suddenly noticed the kitten, which climbed into the window to her, jumped onto the bed and turned on his motor, rubbing himself in the grandmother's frozen legs.

The grandmother was glad to him, her own cat was poisoned, apparently, by rat poison from neighbors in the garbage.

The kitten purred, rubbed its head on 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 maternal letter, which came with a great delay, he did not begin to answer, no longer hoping for the post office, but demanded a vacation, took his family and set off on a journey along the route bus - station - train - bus - bus - an hour walk across two rivers, in the forest yes by the field, and finally arrived.

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

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

The demon fled through the fence, the angel covered himself with his sleeve and began to cry, but the kitten ardently stood up for the child, and the angel helped to compose that the boy did not climb into the raspberries, but after his kitten, who had run away. Or it was the devil who composed it, standing behind the fence and talking his tongue, the boy did not understand.

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

As for the grandmother, fate left her to live: in the evening she got up to meet the cattle, and in the morning she made jam, worried 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 tie mittens to 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 and milk from his grandmother for some unknown reason, and his mother read him a fairy tale for the night, and the guardian angel was immensely happy and settled down in the head of the sleeping man 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 did not come, did not answer the letter, so grandmother prepared to die, let the cattle go to the herd, put a can of clean water by the bed, put a piece of bread under the pillow, put the filthy bucket closer and lay down to read prayers, and the guardian angel stood by in her heads.

And a boy with his mother came to this village.

They were doing well, their own grandmother functioned, kept a garden-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 ripened for supplies for the winter, for jam and pickles for the same grandson, and if necessary, grandmother will give it herself.

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 boys, the guardian angel rejoiced, standing behind his right shoulder, because everyone knows that the kitten was equipped by the Lord himself, as he equips all of us, his children.

And if the white light accepts another creature sent by God, then this white light continues to live.

And every living creation 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 him and gently hug him.

And behind his left elbow stood a demon, who was also very interested in the kitten and the mass of possibilities associated with this particular kitten.

The guardian angel became worried and began to draw magical pictures: here the cat sleeps on the boy's pillow, here it plays with a piece of paper, here it goes for a walk like a dog at the foot ...

And the demon pushed the boy under the left elbow and suggested: it would be nice to tie a tin can to 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 brought by the demon into the hot head of the expelled boy, while he was walking home with the kitten in his arms.

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

The boy walked with the kitten and threw him over all the fences, and the kitten jovled merrily towards him after a few steps and again jumped and played with him.

So the boy reached the fence of that grandmother, who was going to die with a supply of water, and again the kitten was abandoned, but then he immediately disappeared.

And again the devil pushed the boy under the elbow and pointed out to him a nice strange garden, where ripe raspberries and black currants hung, where gooseberries were golden.

The demon reminded the boy that the local grandmother was ill, the whole village knew about it, the grandmother was already bad, and the demon told the boy that no one would stop 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 wept that theft would not lead to good, that thieves all over the earth are despised and put in cages like pigs, and that a person is ashamed to take someone else's - but it was all in vain!

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

But the devil was already opening the garden gate with the words "he will see but not come out" and laughed at the angel.

The grandmother was fat, broad, with a soft, melodious voice. "She filled the whole apartment with herself! .." - Borkin's father grumbled. And his mother timidly objected to him: “ an old man... Where can she go? " "I got caught up in the world ..." sighed my father. “She has a place in the invalid home - that's where!”

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

The grandmother slept on the trunk. 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! Drink something hot on the track ... "

She approached Borka: "Get up, my dear, it's time to go to school!" "Why?" - 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 blanket: "You go, grandma ..."

In the entryway, my father shuffled with a broom. “Where did you, mother, put your galoshes? Every time you poke at all corners because of them! "

Grandma was in a hurry to help him. “Yes, here they are, Petrusha, in plain sight. Yesterday they were very dirty, I washed them and put them on. "

Borka came from school, threw a coat and a hat on his grandmother's hands, threw a bag with books on the table and shouted: "Grandma, eat!"

The grandmother hid her knitting, hastily set the table and, crossing her arms on her stomach, watched Borka eat. During these hours, somehow unwittingly, Borka felt his grandmother as his close friend. He willingly told her about his lessons, comrades. Grandma listened to him lovingly, with great attention, saying: “Everything is good, Boryushka: both good and bad are good. A bad person makes him stronger, a good soul blooms in him. "

After eating, Borka pushed the plate away from him: “Delicious jelly today! Did you eat, grandma? " “I ate, ate,” the grandmother nodded. “Don't worry about me, Boryushka, thank you, I'm well fed and healthy.”

A comrade came to Borka. The comrade said: "Hello, grandmother!" Borka cheerfully nudged him with his elbow: “Come on, let's go! You don't have to say hello to her. She is an old woman with us. " The grandmother tugged at her jacket, straightened her handkerchief and quietly moved her lips: "To offend - what to hit, to caress - you need to look for words."

And in the next room, a friend said to Borka: “And they always greet our grandmother. Both ours and others. She is our main one. " "How is it - the main one?" - Borka got interested. “Well, the old one ... raised everyone. She must not be offended. And what are you with yours? Look, father will be warmed up for this. " “It won't get warm! - Borka frowned. - He himself does not greet her ... "

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

The grandmother, smiling softly, shook her head: “You fools, you should be happy. For you, the son is growing! 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 grandma's face. There were various wrinkles on this face: deep, fine, thin, like threads, and wide, dug over the years. “Why are you so painted? Very old? " He asked. The grandmother thought about it. “By wrinkles, my dear, human life, like a book, can be read. Grief and need have signed here. She buried her children, cried - wrinkles lay on her face. I endured need, struggled - again wrinkles. My husband was killed in the war - there were many tears, many wrinkles remained. Big rain and that digs holes in the ground. "

Borka listened and looked with fear in the mirror: how little he roared in his life - could the whole face be tightened with such threads? “You go, grandma! He grumbled. - You always talk nonsense ... "

* * *

Recently, the grandmother suddenly hunched over, her back became round, she walked quieter and kept sitting down. “It grows into the ground,” the father joked. “Don't laugh at the old man,” the mother was offended. And she said to my grandmother in the kitchen: “What is it, you, mother, moving around the room like a turtle? You will send you for something and you will not wait back. "

My grandmother died before the May holiday. She died alone, sitting in a chair 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 grandmother was buried the next day.

Returning from the yard, Borka found his mother sitting in front of an open chest. Junk was piled on the floor. It smelled of stale things. The mother took out the crumpled red shoe and gently smoothed it out with her fingers. “Mine is still,” she said, and bent low over the chest. - My..."

At the very bottom of the chest, a box rattled - the same treasured one into which Borka always wanted to look. The box was opened. The father took out a tight package: 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 packet in large block letters. Father turned it over in his hands, screwed up his eyes and read out loud: "To my grandson Boryushka."

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

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

(V.Oseeva "Grandma")

Nikolay Gogol. "Adventures of Chichikov, or Dead Souls". Moscow, 1846 University typography

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

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

- What lovely children, - said Chichikov, looking at them, - and which year?

“The eldest is the 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 was tied in a napkin by a lackey.

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

- Themistoclus, tell me which 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 we have? Manilov asked again.

The teacher adjusted his attention again.

- Petersburg, - answered Themistoclus.

- And what else?

- Moscow, - answered Themistoclus.

- Clever, darling! Chichikov said to this. “Tell me, however ...” he continued, addressing the Manilovs with a certain look of amazement, “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 a lot of wit. Here is the little one, Alcides, he is not so fast, and this one now, if he meets anything, a bug, a booger, so his eyes suddenly run in; will run after her and immediately pay attention. I am reading him on the diplomatic side. Themistoclus, - he continued, turning to him again, - do you want to be a messenger?

- I want, - answered Themistoclus, chewing bread and dangling his head to the right and to the left.

At this time, the footman standing behind wiped the messenger's nose, and did very well, otherwise a decent foreign drop would have sunk into the soup. "

2 Fyodor Dostoevsky. "Demons"

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

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

“The stage opens with a chorus of women, then a chorus of men, then some forces, and at the end of all 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 "Festival of Life" begins, at which even insects sing, a turtle appears with some Latin sacramental words, and even, if I recall, one mineral sang about something - that is, the object is already completely inanimate. In general, everyone sings incessantly, and if they talk, they scold somehow vaguely, but again with a tinge of higher significance. Finally the scene changes again, and a wild place appears, and a civilized young man wanders between the cliffs, picking and sucking some herbs, and the fairy's question: why does he suck these herbs? responds that he, feeling the excess of life in himself, 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 (a desire, perhaps, is superfluous). Then suddenly a young man of indescribable beauty rides in on a black horse, followed by an awful multitude of all nations. The young man portrays death, and all the peoples yearn for it. And, finally, already in the very last scene, the Tower of Babel suddenly appears, and some athletes finally finish building it with a song of new hope, and when they are already completing it to the very top, then the owner, let's say Olympus, runs away in a comic form, and the guessed humanity taking possession of his place, immediately begins new life with a new penetration of things. "

3 Anton Chekhov. "Drama"

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

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

“- Don't you think this monologue is somewhat lengthy? - suddenly asked Murashkina, raising her eyes.

Pavel Vasilyevich did not hear the monologue. He was embarrassed and said in such a guilty tone, as if not a lady, but he himself had written this monologue:

- No, no, not at all ... Very nice ...

Murashkina beamed with happiness and continued to read:

— „Anna... Analysis stuck to you. You stopped living with your heart too early and trusted your mind. - Valentine... What is a heart? This concept is anatomical. As a conventional term for what is called feelings, I do not recognize it. - Anna(embarrassed). And love? Is it really the product of the association of ideas? Tell me frankly: have you ever loved? - Valentine(bitterly). Let's not touch the old, not yet healed wounds (pause). What are you thinking about? - Anna... It seems to me that you are unhappy. "

During the 16th apparition, Pavel Vasilyevich yawned and inadvertently 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.

“The XVII apparition ... When is the end? He thought. - Oh my goodness! If this torment continues for another ten minutes, then I will shout out the guard ... Unbearable! "

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

- „Second action. The scene represents a rural street. School to the right, hospital to the left. Villagers and villagers sit on the steps of the latter. "

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

“Five,” replied Murashkina and immediately, as if afraid that the listener would leave, she quickly continued: “Valentin is looking out of the school window. At the back of the stage, the villagers can be seen carrying their belongings to the tavern.

4 Mikhail Zoshchenko. "In the days of Pushkin"

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

At a literary evening timed to coincide with the centenary of the poet's death, the Soviet manager delivers a solemn speech about Pushkin:

“Of course, dear comrades, I am not a literary historian. I will allow myself to come up to great date just, as they say, humanly.

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

So, a hundred years separate us from him! Time really flies by unheard of!

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 only about forty years apart.

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

Of course, it is unlikely that Pushkin could nurse her, especially since she lived in Kaluga, and Pushkin, it seems, has never been there, but nevertheless this exciting opportunity can be admitted, especially since he could, it seems, come to Kaluga to see his acquaintances.

My father, again, was born in 1850. But then, unfortunately, Pushkin was not there, otherwise he, perhaps, could even nurse my father.

But he probably could already take my great-grandmother on the pens. Imagine she was born in 1763, so 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 sixty years old, so, frankly, I don't even know how they had it there and how they got along with it ... Maybe she even nursed him ... But what is shrouded in the darkness of obscurity for us was probably not difficult for them, and they knew perfectly well who to babysit and who to download whom. And if the old woman was really about six or ten years old by that time, then, of course, it’s ridiculous even to think that someone would nurse her there. So she was the one who nursed someone herself.

And, perhaps, shaking and singing lyric songs to him, she, without knowing it, awakened 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?"

Daniil Kharms. Collection of short stories "The Old Woman". Moscow, 1991 Publishing house "Yunona"

“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 hesitated at Tikakeev's door and was about to write a note, suddenly looks, Tikakeev himself is walking 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!

“It’s not true,” says Tikakeev, “I’m just twenty-five minutes from home.

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

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

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

- I think ... - Tikakeev began, but Koratygin interrupted him:

- If you think ... - he said, but then Tikakeev interrupted Koratygin and said:

- You yourself are good!

These words infuriated Koratygin so much that he pinched one nostril with his finger, and blew his nose into Tikakeev with the other. Then Tikakeev grabbed the largest cucumber from his wallet and hit Koratygin on the head with it. Koratygin grabbed his head with his hands, fell and died.

These are the big cucumbers on sale now in stores! "

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

Ilya Ilf and Evgeny Petrov. "Knowing of limits". Moscow, 1935 Ogonyok Publishing House

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

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

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

a) push in the chest;
b) call them scoundrels;
c) push at full speed from the tram platform under the wheels of an oncoming truck;
d) they cannot be equated with malicious hooligans, bandits and embezzlers;
e) in no case can 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 novel"

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

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

“Along with the approaching twilight, a catastrophe came. I read:

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

PETROV. What are you doing?!

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

- This is in vain! - Ivan Vasilievich exclaimed. - Why is that? This must be crossed out, not hesitating for a second. Have mercy! Why shoot?

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

- And very good! Let him finish and let him stab with a dagger!

- But, you see, it takes place in the civil war ... Daggers were no longer used ...

- No, they were used, - Ivan Vasilyevich objected, - this one told me ... how he ... forgot ... what they were used ... you delete this shot! ..

I remained 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! - Ivan Vasilievich exclaimed. - Shots! More shots! What a disaster this is! You know what, Leo ... you know what, you delete this scene, it is superfluous.

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

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

- Bakhtin.

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

“But the mother is gone…” I said, stunned looking at the glass with the lid.

- Necessarily! 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 said this, this and that ... There will be a very strong scene. "

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

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

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

“- Well then. - Hands behind his back, he walked around the office. - You all the same. Frankly, you don’t want to be with me. Well. Mil by force. You will not. As they say. We will help you. And you don't want us. Yes. By the way, you don't know Kurt, do you?

- Chicken? - Nyura was surprised.

- Yeah, Kurt.

- Who doesn't know chickens? - Nyura shrugged her shoulders. - But how is it possible in a village without chickens?

- It is forbidden? Luzhin asked quickly. - Yes. Of course. In a village without Kurt. No way. It is forbidden. Impossible. He pulled the desk calendar close to him and picked up a pen. - What is the last name?

“Belyashova,” Nyura said willingly.

- Belya ... no. Not this. I want not your last name, but Kurt's. What? Luzhin frowned. “You don’t want to say that?”

Nyura looked at Luzhin, not understanding. Her lips trembled, tears appeared again in her eyes.

“I don’t understand,” she said slowly. - What surnames can chickens have?

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

9 Sergey Dovlatov. "Reserve"

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

The autobiographical hero works as a tour guide in Pushkinskie Gory:

“A man in a Tyrolean hat shyly approached me:

- Excuse me, may I ask a question?

- Listen to you.

- They gave it?

- That is?

- I ask, was it given? - The Tyrolean led me to the open window.

- In what sense?

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

- I do not understand.

The man blushed slightly and began to hastily explain:

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

- Philokartist. Collecting postcards ... Philos - love, kartos ...

- I have a color postcard - "Pskov gave." And so I ended up here. I would like to ask - was it given?

- In general, they gave it, - 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 to Courbet, smiling thoughtfully at Orlov. - What an interesting idea!

“Everyone is wearing hats,” said Orlov. - And everyone has their own under the hat inner world... See this big-nosed one? He is well-nosed, but under his hat he still has his own world. What do you think?

The girl Clara Courbet, and behind her and the others, looked closely at the nosy member of the sculptural group, wondering what his inner world was.

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

Everyone again stared at the nosy, wondering what kind of struggle such a struggle could take place 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 strong gaze 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.

“All this is correct,” said Orlov, stammering a little. - Exactly noticed. Precisely - the struggle ...

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

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

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

“Heh heh,” Clara Courbet replied. - Nothing like this.

The policeman shivered and, closing his mouth, looked at Klara.

Orlov nudged Petyushka with his elbow, who was crunching with something in his pocket.

Peering into the sculptural group, Clara was silent.

“There’s something different going on under this hat,” she began slowly. "It's ... fight fight fight!"

Selection of texts for the competition of reciters "Living Classics"

A. Fadeev "Young Guard" (novel)
Monologue by Oleg Koshevoy.

"... Mom, Mom! I remember your hands from the moment I became aware of myself in the world. Over the summer they were always covered with a tan, he did not leave in winter, - he was so gentle, even, just a little darker on the veins. Or maybe they were rougher, your hands, - after all, they had so much work in life - but they always seemed so tender to me, and I so loved to kiss them right in the dark veins. Yes, from that very moments when I became conscious of myself, and before last minute When you are exhausted, quietly for the last time, you laid your head on my chest, escorting me to the difficult path of life, I always remember your hands at work. I remember how they scurried about in the soap suds, washing my sheets, when these sheets were still so small that they looked like diapers, and I remember how you in a sheepskin coat, in winter, carried buckets on a yoke, putting a small handle in a mitten on the front of the yoke , itself so small and fluffy, like a mitten. I see your fingers with slightly thickened joints on the primer, and I repeat after you: "ba-a-ba, ba-ba." I see how with your strong hand you bring the sickle under the grain, broken by the grist of the other hand, directly onto the sickle, I see the imperceptible sparkling of the sickle and then this instant smooth, such feminine movement of the arms and sickle, throwing back the ears in a bundle so as not to break the compressed stems. I remember your hands, unbending, red, chilled from the icy water in the ice-hole, where you rinsed the linen, when we lived alone - it seemed completely alone in the world - and I remember how imperceptibly your hands could take a splinter out of your son's finger and how they instantly threaded a needle, when you sewed and sang - sang only for yourself and for me. Because there is nothing in the world that your hands would not be able to do, that would be beyond their power, why they would abhor! I saw how they kneaded clay with cow droppings to smear the hut, and I saw your hand peeking out of silk, with a ring on your finger, when you raised a glass of red Moldovan wine. And with what submissive tenderness your hand, full and white above the elbow, wrapped around your stepfather's neck, when, playing with you, he raised you in his arms - the stepfather whom you taught to love me and whom I honored as a dear one, for one thing, that you loved him. But most of all, forever and ever, I remembered how tenderly they stroked your hands, a little rough and so warm and cool, how they stroked my hair, and neck, and chest, when I was half-conscious in bed. And whenever I opened my eyes, you were always by my side, and the night light burned in the room, and you looked at me with your sunken eyes, as if from darkness, all quiet and bright, as if in vestments. I kiss your pure, holy hands! You sent your sons to the war - if not you, then another, the same as you - you will never wait for others, and if this cup passed you, then it did not pass another one, the same as you. But if in the days of war people have a piece of bread and there are clothes on their bodies, and if there are stacks in the field, and trains run along the rails, and cherries are blooming in the garden, and the flame is raging in the blast furnace, and someone's invisible power raises the warrior from the ground or from bed, when he was sick or wounded - all this was done by the hands of my mother - mine, and him, and him. Look around you too, young man, my friend, look around like me, and tell me who you hurt in life more than your mother - is it not from me, not from you, not from him, not from our failures, mistakes and are not our mothers turning gray because of our grief? But the hour will come when all this will turn into a painful reproach to the heart at the mother's grave. Mother Mother!. Forgive me, because you are alone, only you alone in the world can forgive, put your hands on your head, as in childhood, and forgive ... "

Vasily Grossman "Life and Fate" (novel)

Last letter to a Jewish mother

“Vitenka… This letter is not easy to cut off, it is my last conversation with you, and having forwarded the letter, I finally leave you, you will never know about my last hours. This is our very last parting. What will I say to you, saying goodbye, before eternal separation? These days, like all my life, you were my joy. At night I remembered you, your children's clothes, your first books, I recalled your first letter, your first school day. I remembered everything, everything from the first days of your life to the last news from you, the telegram received on June 30. I closed my eyes, and it seemed to me - you shielded me from the impending horror, my friend. And when I remembered what was happening around, I was glad that you were not near me - let the terrible fate blow you away. Vitya, I've always been lonely. On sleepless nights, I cried with longing. After all, no one knew this. My consolation was the thought that I would tell you about my life. I'll tell you why your dad and I parted ways, why I lived alone for so many years. And I often thought how Vitya would be surprised to learn that his mother made mistakes, was mad, jealous that they were jealous of her, she was like all young people. But my destiny is to end my life lonely without sharing with you. Sometimes it seemed to me that I should not live away from you, I loved you too much. I thought that love gives me the right to be with you in old age. Sometimes it seemed to me that I should not live with you, I loved you too much. Well, enfin ... Be always happy with those whom you love, who surround you, who have become closer to your mother. Forgive me. From the street you can hear the crying of women, the abuse of the police, and I look at these pages, and it seems to me that I am protected from a terrible world full of suffering. How do I finish my letter? Where to get strength, son? Are there human words that can express my love for you? I kiss you, your eyes, your forehead, your hair. Remember that always in the days of happiness and in the day of grief, motherly love is with you, no one can kill her. Vitenka ... This is the last line of my mother's last letter to you. Live, live, live forever ... Mom.

Yuri Krasavin
"Russian Snows" (story)

It was a strange snowfall: a blurry spot was shining in the sky, where the sun should be. Is it really there, high above, a clear sky? Where, then, does the snow come from? White darkness all around. Both the road and the lying tree disappeared behind a blanket of snow, barely a dozen steps away from them. The dirt road going away from the highway, from the village of Ergushovo, could hardly be guessed under the snow, which covered her with a thick layer, and what was on the right and left, and the roadside bushes were outlandish figures, some of them had a frightening appearance. Now Katya walked, not lagging behind: she was afraid to get lost. - What are you, like a dog on a leash? He said over his shoulder. - Go next. She answered him: - The dog always runs ahead of the owner. “You’re rude,” he remarked and increased his pace, walked so quickly that she was already whining pitifully: “Well, Dementius, don’t be angry… That way I will leave behind and get lost. And you are responsible for me before God and people. Hear, Dementius! “Ivan Tsarevich,” he corrected and slowed down. At times it seemed to him that a human figure, covered with snow, or even two, loomed ahead. Every now and then indistinct voices flew, but it was impossible to understand who was talking and what they were saying. The presence of these travelers in front was a little reassuring: it means that he guesses the road correctly. However, voices could be heard from somewhere on the side, and even from above - did the snow, perhaps, tear someone's conversation apart and spread it around? - Somewhere nearby fellow travelers, - said Katya warily. - These are demons, - explained Vanya. - They are always at this time ... they have the best flight now. - Why now? - See, what to hush up! And here we are with you ... Don't feed them with bread, just let us lead people around to get lost, make fun of us and even destroy us. - Oh, come on! What are you scaring! - Demons are racing, demons are hovering, the moon is invisible ... - We don't even have a moon. In complete silence, snowflakes fell and fell, each the size of a dandelion's head. The snow was so weightless that it rose even from the movement of the air that was produced by the walking legs of two travelers - it rose like fluff, and, swirling, spread on the sides. The weightlessness of the snow inspired the deceptive impression that everything had lost its weight - both the ground under your feet and yourself. Behind there were not tracks, but a furrow, like behind a plow, but it closed quickly too. Strange snow, very strange. The wind, if it arose, was not even a wind, but a slight breeze, which from time to time arranged a fuss around, which made the world around it diminished so much that it became even crowded. The impression is as if they are enclosed in a huge egg, in its empty shell, filled with diffused light from the outside - this light in clots, flakes fell and rose, circled this way and that ...

Lydia Charskaya
"Notes of a Little Schoolgirl" (story)

In the corner there was a round stove, which was constantly heated at this time; the stove door was now wide open, and one could see a small red book blazing brightly in the fire, gradually curling up into tubes with its blackened and charred sheets. My God! Red Book of Japanese women! I immediately recognized her. - Julie! Julie! I whispered in horror. - What have you done, Julie! But Julie was gone. - Julie! Julie! I called desperately to my cousin. - Where are you? Ah, Julie! - What? What happened? What are you shouting like a street boy! - Suddenly appearing on the threshold, the Japanese woman said sternly. - How can you shout like that! What were you doing here in class alone? Answer this very minute! Why are you here? But I stood there as if knocked down, not knowing what to answer her. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes stubbornly stared at the floor. Suddenly the loud cry of the Japanese woman made me raise my head at once, wake up ... She was standing by the stove, attracted, probably, by the open door, and stretching out her hands to its opening, she moaned loudly: - My red book, my poor book! Late Sister Sophie's Gift! Oh, what a grief! What a terrible grief! And, kneeling in front of the door, she sobbed, clutching her head with both hands. I was infinitely sorry for the poor Japanese woman. I myself was ready to cry with her. With quiet, careful steps I went up to her and, lightly touching her hand with mine, whispered: - If you knew how sorry I am, Mademoiselle, that ... that ... I am so sorry ... I wanted to finish my sentence and say how sorry I am that I didn’t run after Julie and stop her, but I didn’t have time to utter it, because at that very moment the Japanese woman, like a wounded animal, jumped off the floor and, grabbing me by the shoulders, began to shake with all her might. Aha, you are sorry! Now you regret it, yeah! And what have you done yourself? Burn my book! My innocent book, the only memory of my dear Sophie! She probably would have hit me if at that moment the girls had not rushed into the classroom and surrounded us from all sides, asking what was the matter. The Japanese woman roughly grabbed my hand, pulled me into the middle of the class and, shaking her finger threateningly over my head, shouted at the top of her voice: “She stole from me a little red book, which my late sister gave me and from which I used to do German dictations for you. She must be punished! She's a thief! My God! What is it? Over the black apron, between the collar and the waist, a large white sheet of paper dangles across my chest, pinned down. And on the sheet is written in a clear large handwriting: / "She is a thief! Avoid her! "This was too much for the already suffering little orphan to bear! To say this very minute that it was not me, but Julie, who was to blame for the death of the red book! Julie alone! Yes, yes, right now, no matter what. it became! And my gaze found a hunchback in the crowd of other girls. She looked at me. And what kind of eyes she had at that moment! Complaining, begging, begging! .. Sad eyes. What longing and horror looked out of them! "No! No! You can calm down, Julie! I said in my mind. - I will not betray you. After all, you have a mother who will be sad and painful for your act, and I have my mother in heaven and she perfectly sees that I am not guilty of anything. Here, on earth, no one will take my deed as close to their heart as they will accept yours! No, no, I will not betray you, no way, no way! "

Veniamin Kaverin
"Two Captains" (novel)

“On the chest, in a side pocket, there was a letter from Captain Tatarinov. - Listen, Katya,” I said resolutely, “I want to tell you a story. A mail bag appears on the shore. Of course, it does not fall from the sky, but carries it out with water. The postman drowned! And this bag falls into the hands of a woman who loves to read. And among her neighbors there is a boy, about eight years old, who loves to listen. And then one day she reads him such a letter: "Dear Maria Vasilievna ..." Katya shuddered and looked at me in amazement - "... I hasten to inform you that Ivan Lvovich is alive and well," I continued quickly. "Four months ago I, according to his instructions ... "And I, without catching my breath, read the navigator's letter by heart. I did not stop, although Katya several times took me by the sleeve with some horror and surprise." Have you seen this letter? "she asked and turned pale. Is he writing about his father? ”She asked again, as if there could be some doubt about it. - Yes. But that is not all! And I told her how Aunt Dasha once came across another letter, which spoke about the life of a ship covered in ice and slowly moving north. - "My friend, my dear, dear Mashenka ..." - I began by heart and stopped. Goosebumps ran down my spine, my throat caught, and I suddenly saw in front of me, as in a dream, the gloomy, aged face of Marya Vasilyevna, with gloomy, sullen eyes. She was like Katya when he wrote this letter to her, and Katya was a little girl who was still waiting for "a letter from dad." Finally! “In a word, here,” I said, and took out the letters in compressed paper from my side pocket. - Sit down and read, and I'll go. I'll be back when you read. Of course, I haven't gone anywhere. I stood under the tower of Elder Martyn and looked at Katya all the time she read. I felt very sorry for her, and my chest kept getting warm when I thought about her - and cold when I thought how scared she was to read these letters. I saw how, with an unconscious movement, she straightened her hair that prevented her from reading, and how she got up from the bench, as if in order to make out a difficult word. I didn’t know before - grief or joy to receive such a letter. But now, looking at her, I realized that this was a terrible grief! I realized that she never lost hope! Thirteen years ago, her father went missing in the polar ice, where nothing could be easier than to die of hunger and cold. But for her, he died just now!

Yuri Bondarev "Youth of Commanders" (novel)

They walked slowly down the street. Snow flew in the light of lonely lanterns, fell from the rooftops; fresh snowdrifts poured near the dark porches. The whole block was white and white, and there was not a single passer-by around, as in the dead of a winter night. And it was already morning. It was five o'clock in the morning of the new, born year. But it seemed to both of them that yesterday evening with its lights, thick snow on collars, traffic and hustle and bustle at tram stops had not yet ended. Just now, on the deserted streets of the sleeping city of chalk, last year's blizzard was knocking on fences and shutters. It began in the old year and did not end in the new one. And they walked and walked past the steaming snowdrifts, past the swept entrances. Time has lost its meaning. It stopped yesterday. And suddenly a tram appeared in the back of the street. This car, empty, lonely, quietly crawled, making its way through the snowy haze. The tram reminded of the time. It has moved. - Wait, where did we come from? Oh yes, Oktyabrskaya! Look, we have reached Oktyabrskaya. Enough. I'm going to fall into the snow from fatigue. Valya resolutely stopped, her chin in the fur of her collar, and looked thoughtfully at the lights of the tram, dim in the blizzard. From the breath, the fur near her lips froze, the tips of her eyelashes froze, and Alexei saw: they were frozen. He said: - It seems morning ... - And the tram is so dull, tired, like you and me, - said Valya and laughed. - After the holiday, it is always a pity for something. For some reason, you also have a sad face. He replied, looking at the lights approaching from the blizzard: “I haven’t been on a tram for four years. I would like to recall how this is done. Honestly. Indeed, during his two weeks at an artillery school in the rear city, Alexei had little accustomed to a peaceful life, he was amazed at the silence, he was overwhelmed by it. He was touched by the distant tram calls, the light in the windows, the snowy silence winter evenings, the janitors at the gates (just like before the war), the barking of dogs - everything that has long been half-forgotten. When he walked alone along the street, he involuntarily thought: "Over there, on the corner, there is a good anti-tank position, an intersection is visible, there may be a machine-gun point in that house with a tower, the street is being shot through." All this habitually and firmly still lived in him. Valya picked up her coat around her legs, said: - Of course, we will not pay for tickets. Let's go "hares". Moreover, the conductor sees New Year's dreams! Alone in this empty tram, they sat opposite each other. Valya sighed, rubbed the creaky frost of the window with her glove, and breathed. She rubbed the "peephole": the dull spots of lanterns rarely floated through it. Then she brushed off her glove on her knees and, straightening up, raised her close eyes, asked seriously: - Do you remember anything now? - What did I remember? - said Alexey, meeting her gaze point-blank. One reconnaissance. And the New Year near Zhitomir, or rather - under the Makarov farm. We, two artillerymen, were then taken in search ... The tram was rolling through the streets, the wheels squealed coldly; Valya leaned over to the worn "eye", which had already become thickly filled with cold blue: either it was dawning, or the snow had stopped, and the moon shone over the city.

Boris Vasiliev "The Dawns Here Are Quiet" (story)

Rita knew that her wound was fatal and that she would have to die long and hard. While there was almost no pain, only the heat in my stomach was getting stronger and I was thirsty. But it was impossible to drink, and Rita simply soaked a rag in a puddle and applied it to her lips. Vaskov hid it under a spruce twist, threw it with branches and left. At that time there was still shooting, but soon everything suddenly calmed down, and Rita began to cry. She cried soundlessly, without sighs, just tears flowed down her face, she realized that Zhenya was no longer there. And then the tears disappeared. They retreated in front of that huge that was now in front of her, with which it was necessary to understand, for which it was necessary to prepare. The cold black abyss swung open at her feet, and Rita looked into her with courage and sternness. Soon Vaskov returned, scattered branches, silently sat down beside him, clasping his wounded arm and swaying.

- Zhenya died?

He nodded. Then he said:

- There are no our bags. No bags, no rifles. Either they took it with them, or hid it somewhere.

- Zhenya ... died right away?

“Right away,” he said, and she felt that he was not telling the truth. - They're gone. Per

explosives, apparently ... - He caught her dull, understanding look, suddenly shouted: - They did not defeat us, you understand? I am still alive, I still need to be knocked down! ..

He paused, gritting his teeth. He swayed, cradling his wounded arm.

- It hurts here, - he poked in the chest. - It's itching here, Rita. So itching! .. I put you down, I put all five of you down, but for what? For a dozen Fritzes?

- Well, why so ... Still, it is clear, the war.

- While the war, of course. And then when will the world be? It will be clear why you die

had to? Why did I not let these Fritzes go any further, why did I make such a decision? What to answer when asked why you, men, could not protect our mothers from bullets? Why did you marry them with death, and yourself whole? Did they take care of the Kirovskaya road and the White Sea Canal? Yes, there, too, come on, there are guards, there are much more people than five girls and a foreman with a revolver ...

“Don't,” she said quietly. - Homeland does not begin with channels. Not at all from there. And we defended her. First her, and only pogom - the channel.

- Yes ... - Vaskov sighed heavily, paused. - You lie down as long as I look around. And then they will stumble - and the ends are for us. - He took out a revolver, for some reason carefully wiped it off with his sleeve. - Take it. Two cartridges, however, remained, but still calmer with him. - Wait a minute. - Rita looked somewhere past his face, into the sky covered with branches. - Do you remember when I ran into the Germans at the junction? I then ran to my mother in the city. My son is there, three years old. Alik's name is Albert. Mom is very sick, she will not live long, and my father is missing.

“Don't worry, Rita. I understood everything.

- Thank you. She smiled with colorless lips. - My last request

will you do it?

“No,” he said.

“It’s pointless, I’ll die anyway.” I'm just suffering.

- I will do the reconnaissance and come back. By nightfall, we'll get there.

“Kiss me,” she said suddenly.

He bent awkwardly, clumsily pressed his lips into his forehead.

- Thorny ... - she sighed barely audibly, closing her eyes. - Go. Cover me with branches and go. Tears were slowly creeping down her gray, sunken cheeks. Fedot Evgrafych quietly got up, carefully covered Rita with spruce paws and walked quickly towards the river. Towards the Germans ...

Yuri Yakovlev "Heart of the Earth" (story)

Children never remember a young, beautiful mother, because the understanding of beauty comes later, when the mother's beauty has time to fade. I remember my mother gray-haired and tired, and they say she was beautiful. Large pensive eyes, in which the light of the heart appeared. Smooth dark eyebrows, long eyelashes. Smoky hair fell over his high forehead. I still hear her quiet voice, unhurried steps, feel the gentle touch of her hands, the rough warmth of her dress on her shoulder. It has nothing to do with age, it is eternal. Children never tell their mother about their love for her. They don't even know the name of the feeling that binds them more and more to their mother. In their understanding, this is not a feeling at all, but something natural and obligatory, like breathing, quenching one's thirst. But there are golden days in a child's love for a mother. I experienced them at an early age, when I first realized that the most necessary person in the world - mom. My memory has not retained almost any details of those distant days, but I know about this feeling of mine, because it still glimmers in me, has not dispersed around the world. And I cherish it, because without love for my mother, there is a cold emptiness in my heart. I never called my mother mother, mother. I had another word for her - mommy. Even when I became big, I could not change this word. My mustache grew, I got a bass. I was ashamed of this word and pronounced it barely audibly in public. The last time I pronounced it on a platform wet from the rain, near a red soldier's teplushka, in a crush, to the sounds of the alarming whistle of a steam locomotive, to a loud command "on the cars!" I didn't know that I was saying goodbye to my mother forever. I whispered "mommy" in her ear and, so that no one would see my man's tears, wiped them on her hair ... But when the teplushka started to move, I could not resist, I forgot that I was a man, a soldier, I forgot that there were people around, a lot of people, and through the roar of the wheels, through the blowing wind in the eyes, he shouted: - Mom! And then there were letters. And the letters from home had one extraordinary property that everyone discovered for himself and did not admit to anyone in his discovery. In the most difficult minutes when it seemed that everything was over or would end in the next instant and there was not a single clue for life, we found an inviolable reserve of life in letters from home. When a letter came from my mother, there was no paper, no envelope with the field mail number, no lines. There was only my mother’s voice, which I heard even in the roar of the guns, and the smoke of the dugout touched my cheeks like the smoke of my home. On New Year's Eve, my mother told in detail in a letter about the tree. It turns out that Christmas-tree candles were accidentally found in the closet, short, multi-colored, similar to sharpened colored pencils. They were lit, and from the spruce branches the incomparable aroma of stearin and pine needles spilled over the room. It was dark in the room, and only the merry wandering lights died away and flared up, and gilded walnuts flickered dimly. Then it turned out that all this was a legend that my dying mother had composed for me in an ice house, where all the windows were broken by a blast wave, and the stoves were dead, and people were dying of hunger, cold and shrapnel. And she wrote, from the icy blockade city, sending me the last drops of her warmth, the last blood. And I believed the legend. He held on to her - to his emergency supply, to his reserve life. Too young to read between the lines. I read the lines themselves, not noticing that the letters are crooked, because they were drawn by a hand, devoid of strength, for which the pen was as heavy as an ax. Mother wrote these letters while her heart was beating ...

Zheleznikov "Dogs Are Not Wrong" (story)

Yura Khlopotov had the largest and most interesting stamp collection in the class. Because of this collection, Valery Snegirev went to visit his classmate. When Yura began to pull out huge and for some reason dusty albums from the massive writing table, a drawn-out and plaintive howl was heard right over the heads of the boys ...- Do not pay attention! - Yurka waved his hand, intently turning over the albums. - The neighbor's dog!- Why is she howling?- How do I know. She howls every day. Until five o'clock.
At five it stops. My dad says: if you don’t know how to look after, don’t start dogs ... Glancing at his watch and waving his hand to Yura, Valera hastily wound a scarf in the hallway and put on his coat. Running out into the street, took a breath and found windows on the facade of Yurkina's house. Three windows on the ninth floor above the Khlopotovs' apartment were uncomfortably dark. Valerka, leaning his shoulder against the cold concrete of the lamppost, decided to wait as long as necessary. And then the outermost window glowed dimly: they turned on the light, apparently in the hallway ... The door opened immediately, but Valera did not even have time to see who was standing on the threshold, because from somewhere suddenly a small brown ball jumped out and, shrieking joyfully, rushed under legs. Valerka felt the wet touch of a warm dog's tongue on his face: a very tiny dog, but it jumped so high! (He stretched out his arms, grabbed the dog, and it buried itself in his neck, breathing fast and faithfully.- Wonders! - came a thick, immediately filling the entire space staircase voice. The voice belonged to a puny, short man.- You to me? Strange, you know, business ... Yanka with strangers ... is not particularly kind. And to you - look how! Come on in.- I'll be on business for a minute. The man immediately became serious.- On business? I'm listening. - Your dog ... Yana ... Howls all day. The man became sad.- So ... It interferes, then. Did your parents send you?- I just wanted to know why she howls. She's bad, isn't she?- You're right, she's bad. Yanka is used to walking during the day, and I'm at work. My wife will come and everything will be all right. But you can't explain it to a dog!- I come home from school at two o'clock ... I could walk with her after school! The owner of the apartment looked strangely at the uninvited guest, then suddenly went to the dusty shelf, stretched out his hand and took out the key.- Here you go. It's time to marvel at Valerka.- Do you trust any stranger with the key to the apartment?- Oh, I'm sorry, please. ”The man held out his hand. - Let's get acquainted! Molchanov Valery Alekseevich, engineer.- Snegirev Valery, student of the 6th "B", - the boy answered with dignity.- Very nice! Is it okay now? The dog Yana did not want to go down to the floor, and then she ran after Valerka to the very door.- Dogs are not mistaken, they are not mistaken ... - engineer Molchanov muttered under his breath.

Nikolay Garin-Mikhailovsky "The Theme and the Bug" (story)

Nanny, where is Bug? - asks Tyoma. “Some Herod threw a bug into an old well,” the nanny replies. - All day, they say, she squealed, heart ... The boy listens with horror to the words of the nanny, and thoughts are crowded in his head. He has a lot of plans flickering on how to save the Beetle, he goes from one incredible project to another and falls asleep unnoticed for himself. He wakes up from some kind of jolt in the midst of an interrupted dream, in which he kept pulling out the Beetle, but she broke off and again fell to the bottom of the well. Deciding to immediately go to save his pet, Tyoma tiptoes up to glass door and quietly, so as not to make noise, it opens onto the terrace. It's dawning in the yard. Running to the opening of the well, he calls in an undertone: - Bug, Bug! The bug, recognizing the voice of the owner, squeals joyfully and pitifully. - I'll get you out now! he shouts, as if the dog understands him. The lantern and two poles with a crossbar at the bottom, on which a noose lay, began to slowly descend into the well. But this well-thought-out plan suddenly burst: as soon as the device reached the bottom, the dog made an attempt to grab it, but, losing balance, fell into the mud. The thought that he worsened the situation, that the Beetle could still be saved and now he himself is to blame for the fact that she will die, makes Tyoma decide to fulfill the second part of the dream - to go down the well himself. He ties a rope to one of the posts supporting the crossbar and climbs into the well. He is aware of only one thing: there is no time to waste. For a moment, fear creeps into the soul, as if not to suffocate, but he recalls that the Bug has been sitting there for a whole day. This calms him down, and he goes down further. The bug, again seated in its original place, calmed down and with a cheerful squeak expresses sympathy for the insane enterprise. This calmness and firm confidence of the Bugs are transferred to the boy, and he safely reaches the bottom. Wasting no time, Tyoma ties the dog with reins, then hurriedly climbs up. But going up is more difficult than going down! We need air, we need strength, and Tyoma has not enough of both. Fear grips him, but he encourages himself in a voice trembling with horror: - Don't be afraid, don't be afraid! It's a shame to be afraid! Cowards are only afraid! Whoever does wrong is afraid, but I don’t do wrong, I’m pulling out the Bug, my mom and dad will praise me for it. Tyoma smiles and calmly waits for a surge of strength again. Thus, imperceptibly, his head finally protrudes above the upper frame of the well. Making a last effort, he gets out himself and pulls out the Bug. But now that the deed is done, his strength quickly leaves him, and he faints.

Vladimir Zheleznikov "Three branches of mimosa" (story)

In the morning, in a crystal vase on the table, Vitya saw a huge bouquet of mimosa. The flowers were as yellow and fresh as the first warm day! “Dad gave it to me,” Mom said. - After all, today is the Eighth of March. Indeed, today is the Eighth of March, and he completely forgot about it. He immediately ran to his room, grabbed a briefcase, pulled out a postcard that read: “Dear Mom, I congratulate you on March 8 and I promise to always obey you,” and solemnly handed it to my mother. And when he was already leaving for school, my mother suddenly suggested: - Take a few sprigs of mimosa and give it to Lena Popova. Lena Popova was his deskmate. - Why? he asked gloomily. “And then it's March Eighth, and I'm sure all your boys will give the girls something. He took three sprigs of mimosa and went to school. On the way, it seemed to him that everyone was looking back at him. But at the school itself he was lucky: he met Lena Popova. Running up to her, he held out the mimosa. - This is for you. - To me? Oh, how beautiful! Many thanks, Vitya! She seemed ready to thank him for another hour, but he turned and ran away. And during the first break, it turned out that none of the boys in their class had given the girls anything. No one. Only in front of Lena Popova were tender sprigs of mimosa. - Where did you get the flowers? - asked the teacher. “Vitya gave it to me,” Lena said calmly. All at once whispered, looking at Vitya, and Vitya lowered his head. And at break, when Vitya, as if nothing had happened, approached the guys, although he already felt unkindness, Valerka began to grimace, looking at him. - And here the groom has come! Hello, young groom! The guys laughed. And then high school students passed by, and everyone looked at him and asked whose fiancé he was. Barely sitting out to the end of the lessons, as soon as the bell rang, he rushed home with all his might, so that there, at home, to thwart his annoyance and resentment. When his mother opened the door for him, he shouted: - It's you, it's your fault, it's all because of you! Vitya ran into the room, grabbed the mimosa twigs and threw them on the floor. - I hate these flowers, I hate! He began to trample the mimosa branches with his feet, and the tender yellow flowers burst and died under the rough soles of his boots. And Lena Popova carried home three tender sprigs of mimosa in a wet cloth so that they would not wither. She carried them in front of her, and it seemed to her that the sun was reflected in them, that they were so beautiful, so special ...

Vladimir Zheleznikov "Scarecrow" (story)

And Dimka, meanwhile, realized that everyone had forgotten about him, slipped along the wall behind the guys' backs to the door, took hold of its handle, gently pressed it to open it without a squeak and run away ... Oh, how he wanted to disappear right now, until Lenka left, and then, when she leaves, when he will not see her judging eyes, he will come up with something, he will definitely come up with ... At the last moment he looked around, faced Lenka with his eyes and froze.He stood alone against the wall, eyes downcast. - Look at him! - said the Iron Button to Lenka. Her voice trembled with indignation. - Even the eye cannot raise! - Yes, an unenviable picture, - said Vasiliev. - Climbed a little.Lenka slowly approached Dimka.The Iron Button walked next to Lenka, told her: - I understand it's hard for you ... You believed him ... but now you saw his true face! Lenka came close to Dimka - as soon as she reached out her hand, and she would have touched his shoulder. - Hit him in the face! - Shouted Shaggy.Dimka sharply turned his back to Lenka. - I spoke, I spoke! -Iron Button was delighted. Her voice sounded triumphant. - The hour of reckoning will not escape anyone! .. Justice has triumphed! Long live justice! She jumped on the desk: - Guys! Somov - the most brutal boycott! And everyone shouted: - Boycott! Somov - boycott! Iron Button raised her hand: - Who is for the boycott? And all the guys raised their hands for her - a whole forest of hands hovered over their heads. And many were so eager for justice that they raised two hands at once. "That's all, - thought Lenka, - that's Dimka and waited for his end." And the guys pulled their hands, pulled, and surrounded Dimka, and tore him off the wall, and just about he had to disappear for Lenka in the ring impenetrable forest hands, her own horror and her triumph and victory.Everyone was in favor of the boycott! Only one Lenka did not raise her hands.- And you? - Iron Button was surprised. - And I - no, - Lenka said simply and guiltily, as before, smiled. - Have you forgiven him? - Asked the shocked Vasiliev. - Here's a fool, - said Shmakova. - He betrayed you!Lenka stood at the board, pressing her cropped back of her head to its black cold surface. The wind of the past whipped her across the face: "Chu-che-lo-oh-oh, pre-yes-tel! .. Burn at the stake-ee!" - But why, why are you against ?! - Iron Button wanted to understand what prevented this Bessoltseva from declaring a boycott to Dimka. -It's you who are against. You can never be understood ... Explain! - I was at the stake, - Lenka answered. - And they drove me down the street. And I will never persecute anyone ... And I will never persecute anyone. At least kill!

Ilya Turchin
Extreme case

And so Ivan reached Berlin, carrying freedom on his mighty shoulders. In his hands was an inseparable friend - an automatic machine. In the bosom - the edge of the mother's bread. So he saved the edge to Berlin. On May 9, 1945, the defeated Nazi Germany surrendered. The guns fell silent. The tanks stopped. The air raid signals went off. It became quiet on the ground. And people heard the wind rustling, grass growing, birds singing. At this hour, Ivan got to one of the Berlin squares, where a house set on fire by the Nazis was still burning down.The square was empty.And suddenly a little girl came out of the basement of the burning house. She had thin legs and a face darkened from grief and hunger. Stepping unsteadily on the sun-drenched asphalt, helplessly stretching out her hands as if she were blind, the girl went to meet Ivan. And so small and helpless she seemed to Ivan on a huge empty, as if extinct, square that he stopped, and his heart was gripped by pity.Ivan took out a precious edge from his bosom, squatted down and handed the girl some bread. The edge has never been so warm. So fresh. I had never smelled so much of rye flour, fresh milk, kind mother's hands.The girl smiled, and her slender fingers clutched at the hem.Ivan carefully lifted the girl from the scorched earth.And at that moment the terrible, overgrown Fritz - the Red Fox - looked out from around the corner. What was it to him that the war was over! Only one thought was spinning in his dim fascist head: "Find and kill Ivan!"And here he is, Ivan, in the square, here is his broad back.Fritz - The Red Fox pulled out a filthy pistol with a crooked muzzle from under his jacket and fired treacherously from around the corner.The bullet hit Ivan in the heart.Ivan shuddered. He staggered. But he did not fall - he was afraid to drop the girl. I just felt my legs pouring with heavy metal. Boots, cloak, face became bronze. Bronze - a girl in his arms. Bronze - a formidable machine gun behind mighty shoulders.A tear rolled from the girl's bronze cheek, hit the ground and turned into a glittering sword. The bronze Ivan took hold of its handle.Shouted Fritz - Red Fox from horror and fear. The burnt wall trembled with a scream, collapsed and buried him underneath ...And at the same moment the edge that remained with the mother also became bronze. The mother understood that she was in trouble with her son. She rushed into the street, ran where her heart led.People ask her:

Where are you in a hurry?

To my son. My son is in trouble!

And they brought her up in cars and on trains, on steamships and on airplanes. Mother quickly got to Berlin. She went out to the square. I saw the bronze son - her legs gave way. Mother fell to her knees, and she froze in her eternal grief.Bronze Ivan with a bronze girl in his arms still stands in the city of Berlin - he is visible to the whole world. And if you look closely, you will notice a bronze edge of the mother's bread between the girl and Ivan's broad chest.And if enemies attack our homeland, Ivan will come to life, carefully put the girl on the ground, raise his formidable machine gun and - woe to the enemies!

Elena Ponomarenko
LENOCHKA

Spring filled with warmth and hubbub of rooks. It seemed that the war would end today. For four years now I have been at the front. Almost no one was left alive from the battalion's medical instructors. My childhood somehow immediately passed into adulthood. In between battles, I often recalled school, waltz ... And the next morning, the war. The whole class decided to go to the front. But the girls were left at the hospital to take monthly courses of medical instructors. When I arrived at the division, I had already seen the wounded. They said that these guys did not even have weapons: they were mined in battle. The first feeling of helplessness and fear I experienced in August 1941 ... - Who are the guys alive? - making my way through the trenches, I asked, carefully peering into every meter of the ground. - Guys, who needs help? I turned over the dead bodies, they all looked at me, but no one asked for help, because they no longer heard. The artillery attack destroyed everyone ... - Well, this cannot be, at least someone has to stay alive ?! Petya, Igor, Ivan, Alyoshka! - I crawled to the machine gun and saw Ivan. - Vanya! Ivan! - she screamed at the top of her lungs, but her body was already cold, only her blue eyes gazed motionlessly at the sky. Going down to the second trench, I heard a groan. - Is there anyone alive? People, answer at least someone! I shouted again. The groan was repeated, indistinct, dull. She ran at a run past the dead bodies, looking for him, the survivor. - Darling! I'm here! I'm here! And again she began to turn over everyone who got in the way. - No! No! No! I will definitely find you! Just wait for me! Do not die! - and jumped into another trench. Upward, a rocket took off, illuminating it. The groan was repeated somewhere very close. “I’ll never forgive myself for not finding you,” I shouted and ordered myself: “Come on. Come on, listen! You will find it, you can! A little more - and the end of the trench. God, how scary! Faster Faster! "Lord, if you exist, help me find him!" - and I knelt down. I, a Komsomol member, asked the Lord for help ... Was it a miracle, but the groan was repeated. Yes, he is at the very end of the trench! - Hold on! - I shouted as best I could and literally burst into the dugout, covered with a raincoat-tent. - Dear, alive! - hands worked quickly, realizing that he was no longer a tenant: a severe wound in the stomach. He held his insides with his hands.“You have to deliver the package,” he whispered softly, dying. I closed his eyes. Before me lay a very young lieutenant. - But how is that ?! Which package? Where to? You didn't say where? You didn't say where! - Examining everything around, I suddenly saw a package sticking out in a boot. “Urgent,” said the inscription, underlined in red pencil. - Field mail of division headquarters. Sitting with him, a young lieutenant, she said goodbye, and tears rolled down one after another. Taking his documents, I walked along the trench, staggering, I felt nauseous when I closed the eyes of the dead soldiers on the way. I delivered the package to the headquarters. And the information there really turned out to be very important. Only now the medal that was presented to me, my first military award, I never wore, because it belonged to that lieutenant, Ostankov Ivan Ivanovich.... After the end of the war, I handed this medal to the lieutenant's mother and told how he died.In the meantime, there were battles ... The fourth year of the war. During this time, I completely turned gray: my red hair became completely white. Spring was approaching with warmth and rooks hubbub ...

Boris Ganago
"Letter to God"

NS what happened at the end 19th century... Petersburg. Christmas Eve. A cold, piercing wind blows from the bay. Pours fine prickly snow. The hooves of horses clatter on the cobblestone pavement, the doors of shops slam - the last purchases are made before the holiday. Everyone is in a hurry to quickly get home.
T only little boy slowly wanders along the snowy street. O and every now and then he pulls out cold, reddened hands from the pockets of his shabby coat and tries to warm them with his breath. Then he shoves them deeper into his pockets again and moves on. He stops at the bakery window and looks at the pretzels and bagels displayed behind the glass. D Believe the store swung open, releasing another customer, and the aroma of freshly baked bread pulled out of it. The boy convulsively swallowed saliva, stomped on the spot and wandered on.
H Dusk falls imperceptibly. There are fewer and fewer passers-by. The boy pauses in front of the building, in the windows of which the lights are on, and, standing on tiptoe, tries to look inside. After a moment's hesitation, he opens the door.
WITH the old clerk was late at the service today. He has nowhere to rush. For a long time he has been living alone and on holidays he feels his loneliness especially sharply. The clerk sat and thought with bitterness 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 said quickly.
- Do you have money? the clerk asked sternly.
M Alchik, fiddling with his hat, took a step back. And then the lone clerk remembered that it was Christmas Eve and that he was so anxious to give someone a present. He took out a blank sheet of paper, dipped his pen in ink and wrote: “Petersburg. 6th January. Mister ... "
- What is the name of the gentleman?
“This is not the master,” the boy muttered, not yet fully believing his luck.
- Oh, is that a lady? the clerk asked, smiling.
- No no! the boy said quickly.
- So who do you want to write a letter to? - the old man was surprised.
- Jesus.
- How dare you taunt 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 an already warmer 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 is called Jesus Christ, - the boy came closer to the scribe and continued. - And yesterday she fell asleep, and I can not wake her up in any way. There is not even bread at home, I am so hungry, ”he wiped the tears that had come over his eyes with his palm.
- How did you wake her up? the old man asked, rising from his table.
- I kissed her.
- Does she breathe?
- What are you, uncle, do they breathe in a dream?
“Jesus Christ has already received your letter,” said the old man, hugging the boy by the shoulders. - He told me to take care of you, and he took your mother to him.
WITH The old clerk thought: “My mother, leaving for another world, you told me to be a kind person and a pious Christian. I forgot your order, but now you will not be ashamed of me. "

B. Ekimov. "Talk, mom, talk ..."

My mobile phone was ringing in the morning. The black box came to life:
the light came on in her, cheerful music sang and the voice of her daughter was announced, as if she was next to her:
- Mom, hello! Are you okay? Well done! Questions and wishes? Wonderful! Then kiss. Be-be!
The box was rotten, fell silent. Old Katerina marveled at her, could not get used to it. It's kind of a little - Matchbox... No wires. Lies, lies - and suddenly it will play, shine, and the voice of the daughter:
- Mom, hello! Are you okay? Have you decided to go? Look ... No questions? Kiss. Be-be!
But to the city where the daughter lives, one and a half hundred miles. And not always easy, especially in bad weather.
But this autumn turned out to be long and warm this year. Near the farm, on the surrounding mounds, the grass turned red, and the poplar and willow hay near the Don stood green, and pears and cherries were green in the courtyards like summer, although it was high time for them to burn off with a red and crimson quiet fire.
The bird flight was delayed. The goose was slowly leaving to the south, calling somewhere in the foggy, rainy sky a quiet ong-ong ... on-ong ...
But what about the bird, if grandmother Katerina, withered, hunchbacked from age, but still nimble old woman, could not get herself ready to leave.
- I throw it wisely, I won't throw it ... - she complained to a neighbor. - Go, do not go? .. Or maybe it will stay warm? They are talking on the radio: the weather is completely broken. Now the fast has begun, but the magpies have not nailed to the court. Warm-melting. Tudy-syudy ... Christmas and Epiphany. And then it's time to think about seedlings. Why go in vain and breed tights.
The neighbor just sighed: until spring, before the seedlings, it was still oh so far away.
But old Katerina, rather convincing herself, took out another argument from her bosom - a mobile phone.
- Mobile! - proudly she repeated the words of the city's grandson. - One word - mobile. He pressed the button, and at once - Maria. He pressed the other - Kolya. Who do you want to be sorry for. And why should we not live? She asked. - Why leave? Throw a hut, farm ...
This was not the first conversation. I talked with children, with a neighbor, but more often with herself.
In recent years, she left to spend the winter with her daughter in the city. Age is one thing: it is difficult to heat the stove and carry water from the well every day. Through mud and ice. You will fall, you will hurt yourself. And who will raise?
The farm, which was recently crowded, with the death of the collective farm dispersed, parted, died out. There were only old people and drunk people left. And they don't carry bread, not to mention the rest. It's hard for an old man to spend the winter. So she went to her own.
But it is not easy to part with a farm, with a nest. What to do with small animals: Tuzik, cat and chickens? Shove people around? .. And my soul hurts about the hut. The drunks will crawl in, the last pans will be upset.
And it doesn’t hurt to live in new corners in old age. Although they are native children, the walls are alien and a completely different life. Guest and look around.
So I thought: to go, not to go? .. And then the phone was brought to the rescue - "mobile". They spent a long time explaining about the buttons: which ones to press and which ones not to touch. Usually my daughter called from the city in the morning.
The cheerful music will sing, the light will flash in the box. At first it seemed to old Katerina that there, as if in a small TV, the face of her daughter would appear. Only a voice was announced, distant and briefly:
- Mom, hello! Are you okay? Well done. Any questions? That's good. Kiss. Be-be.
Before you have time to come to your senses, and already the light has gone out, the box has ceased.
In the early days, old Katerina was only amazed at such a miracle. Previously, the farm had a telephone in a collective farm office. Everything is familiar there: wires, a big black tube, you can talk for a long time. But that phone sailed away with the collective farm. Now there is “mobile”. And then thank God.
- Mama! Do you hear me?! Alive and healthy? Well done. Kiss.
You won't have time to open your mouth, and the box is already extinguished.
“What kind of passion is this…” the old woman grumbled. - Not a telephone, waxwing. He croaked: be-be ... So be it for you. And here…
And here, that is, in the life of the farm, the old man, there was a lot of things that I wanted to tell about.
- Mom, can you hear me?
- I hear, I hear ... Is that you, docha? And it’s like it’s not your voice, it’s kind of hoarse. Are you not sick? Look, dress warmly. And then you are urban - fashionable, tie a downy shawl. And let them look. Health is more expensive. And now I saw a dream, such a bad one. Why would? It seems that there is a cattle in our courtyard. Alive. Right on the doorstep. She has a horse's tail, horns on her head, and a goat's muzzle. What is this passion? And why would that be?
- Mom, - came from the phone stern. - Talk about the case, not about the goat's muzzles. We explained to you: the tariff.
“Forgive me for Christ’s sake,” the old woman recalled. She was really preempted when the phone was brought, that it was expensive and it was necessary to speak briefly, about the most important thing.
But what is the main thing in life? Especially among old people ... And in fact, such a passion dreamed at night: a horse's tail and a terrible goat's face.
So think, what is it for? Probably not good.
The day passed again, followed by another. An old woman's life went on as usual: get up, clean up, release chickens; feed and water your small animals and bite the most. And then he will go to cling business to business. It is not for nothing that they say: although the house is small, it does not order to sit.
A spacious courtyard, which once fed a large family: a vegetable garden, a potato, a levada. Sheds, zakuta, chicken coop. Summer kitchen-hut, cellar with an exit. Wicker fence, fence. The earth that needs to be dug little by little, while it is warm. And to cut the woods, wide with a hand saw on the foreign land. Coal has become expensive now, you can't buy it.
Little by little, the day wore on, cloudy and warm. Ong-ong ... on-ong ... - was heard from time to time. This goose went south, flock after flock. We flew away to return in the spring. And on the ground, on the farm, it was like a cemetery quiet. Leaving, people did not return here either in spring or summer. And therefore, the rare houses and farmsteads seemed to creep apart like a crustacean, shying away from each other.
Another day passed. And in the morning it froze slightly. Trees, bushes and dry grasses stood in a light kurzhak - white fluffy frost. Old Katerina, going out into the courtyard, looked around at this beauty, rejoicing, but she ought to look down at her feet. She walked, stumbled, fell, hitting the rhizome painfully.
The day began awkwardly, and it did not go well.
As always in the morning, the mobile phone lit up and began to sing.
- Hello, my daughter, hello. Only one title, that - alive. This is how I got it, ”she complained. - Not that the leg played along, or maybe a slimy. Where, where ... - she was vexed. - In the yard. Vorotza went to open it since the night. And tama, near the gate, there is a black pear-tree. Do you love her. She is sweet. I'll cook compote out of it. Otherwise, I would have eliminated it long ago. Carrying this pear ...
“Mom,” a distant voice rang out on the phone, “tell me more specifically what happened, and not about the sweet pear.
- And I'm talking to you about what. Tama the root of the earth crawled out like a snake. And I didn’t look. Yes, there is also a stupid-faced cat poking around under his feet. This root ... Letos Volodya asked how many times: take it away for Christ's sake. He's on the move. Chernomyaska ...
- Mom, please be more specific. About myself, not about the black man. Do not forget that this is a mobile phone, a tariff. What hurts? Didn't you break anything?
- It seems to be not broken, - the old woman understood everything. - I'm putting on the cabbage leaf.
That was the end of the conversation with my daughter. I had to finish the rest to myself: “What hurts, does not hurt ... Everything hurts me, every bone. Such a life is behind ... "
And, driving away the bitter thoughts, the old woman went about her usual activities in the yard and in the house. But I tried to push more under the roof so as not to fall. And then she sat down by the spinning wheel. A fluffy tow, a woolen thread, the measured rotation of the wheel of an old self-spinner. And thoughts, like a thread, stretch and stretch. And outside the window - an autumn day, like twilight. And it seems chilly. It would be necessary to heat it, but firewood is vnatyag. Suddenly and really have to spend the winter.
At one time, she turned on the radio, waiting for words about the weather. But after a short silence, the soft, gentle voice of a young woman came from the loudspeaker:
- Do your bones hurt? ..
So fit and to the place were these sincere words, which answered by itself:
- They hurt, my daughter ...
- Hands and feet ache? .. - as if guessing and knowing fate, asked a kind voice.
- I will not save ... They were young, they did not smell. In milkmaids and pigsties. And no shoes. And then we climbed into rubber boots, in winter and summer in them. So they are annoying ...
- Your back hurts ... - softly cooed, as if bewitching, a woman's voice.
- Sick, my daughter ... Century dragged on the hump chuvaly and waved with straw. How not to get sick ... Such a life ...
Life was really not easy: war, orphanhood, hard collective farm work.
A gentle voice from the loudspeaker broadcast and broadcast, and then fell silent.
The old woman even burst into tears, scolding herself: "You stupid sheep ... Why are you crying? .." But she cried. And the tears seem to have become easier.
And then, quite unexpectedly, at an inopportune lunch hour, music began to play and, when he woke up, his mobile phone lit up. The old woman got scared:
- Daughter, daughter ... What happened? Who is not sick? And I got flustered: you are not calling on time. You do not hold a grudge against me, daughter. I know that an expensive phone, money is big. But I didn't really kill myself. Tama, drinking this dulinka ... - She came to her senses: - Lord, again I'm talking about this dulinka, forgive me, my daughter ...
From afar, after many kilometers, the daughter's voice came:
- Speak, mother, speak ...
- So I'm gutar. Now some kind of slime. And then there's this cat ... Yes, this root crawls under your feet, from a pear tree. For us, the old ones, nowadays everything interferes. I would completely eliminate this pear, but you love it. Steam it and dry it, as if it happened ... Again, I am not weaving ... Sorry, my daughter. Can you hear me?..
In a distant city, her daughter heard her and even saw, covering her eyes, her old mother: small, bent over, in a white kerchief. I saw it, but I suddenly sensed how shaky and unreliable it all was: telephone communication, vision.
- Speak, mother ... - she asked and was afraid of only one thing: suddenly this voice and this life would break off and, perhaps, forever. - Speak, mother, speak ...

Vladimir Tendryakov.

Bread for a dog

One evening my father and I were sitting at home on the porch.

Lately, my father had a kind of dark face, red eyelids, in some way he reminded me of the station chief, who walked along the station square in a red hat.

Suddenly below, under the porch, as if a dog had sprung up from the ground. She had deserted, dull, yellow eyes of some kind, and fur, abnormally disheveled on the sides, on the back, with gray tufts. For a minute or two she gazed at us with her vacant gaze and disappeared as instantly as she appeared.

- Why is her fur growing like that? I asked.

The father was silent, reluctantly explained:

- Drops out ... from hunger. Its owner himself is probably bald with hunger.

And it was as if I was doused with bath steam. I seem to have found the most unfortunate creature in the village. There are no elephants and shkilets, but someone will regret it, even if secretly, ashamed, inwardly, no, no, and there will be a fool like me who will give them a loaf of bread. And the dog ... Even the father now felt sorry not for the dog, but for its unknown owner - "he is bald with hunger." The dog will die, and not even Abram will be found to clean it up.

The next day, in the morning I was sitting on the porch with my pockets full of pieces of bread. He sat and waited patiently - if that one would appear ...

She appeared, as yesterday, suddenly, silently, staring at me with empty, unwashed eyes. I moved to take out the bread, and she shied away ... But out of the corner of her eye she managed to see the bread taken out, froze, stared from afar at my hands - empty, without expression.

- Go ... Yes, go. Do not be afraid.

She looked and did not move, ready to disappear at any second. She did not believe either the gentle voice, or the ingratiating smiles, or bread in her hand. No matter how much I begged, I didn’t come up, but it didn’t disappear either.

After a half-hour struggle, I finally gave up the bread. Without taking off my empty, not letting eyes, she sideways, sideways approached the piece. Jump - and ... not a piece, not a dog.

The next morning - a new meeting, with the same desolate glances, with the same unbending distrust of the caress in his voice, of the benevolently extended bread. The piece was captured only when it was thrown to the ground. I couldn't give her the second piece.

The same thing on the third morning, and on the fourth ... We did not miss a single day, so as not to meet, but did not become closer to each other. I have never been able to teach her to take bread out of my hands. I have never seen any expression in her yellow, empty, shallow eyes - not even a dog's fear, not to mention a dog's affection and friendly disposition.

It seems that I was faced with a victim of time here too. I knew that some of the exiles ate dogs, lured, killed, butchered. Probably, and my friend fell into their hands. They could not kill her, but they killed her credulity towards a person forever. And it seems that she did not particularly trust me. Raised by a hungry street, could she imagine such a fool who is ready to give food just like that, demanding nothing in return ... even gratitude.

Yes, even thanks. This is a kind of payment, but it was quite enough for me that I was feeding someone, supporting someone's life, which means that I myself have the right to eat and live.

I didn’t feed the dog shabby from hunger with pieces of bread, but my conscience.

I will not say that my conscience really liked this suspicious food. My conscience continued to inflame, but not so much, not life-threatening.

That month, the station chief was shot dead, who, on duty, had to walk in a red hat along the station square. He did not think to find an unfortunate dog for himself to feed every day, tearing bread from himself.

Vitaly Zakrutkin. Mother of man

On this September night, the sky shook, beat in frequent tremors, glowed crimson, reflecting the fires blazing below, and there was no moon or stars visible on it. Near and distant cannon salvos thundered over the dully humming ground. Everything around was flooded with an unfaithful, dull copper-red light, an ominous rumbling was heard from everywhere, and indistinct, frightening noises crept from all directions ...

Cuddling to the ground, Mary lay in a deep furrow. Above her, barely discernible in the dim twilight, a thick thicket of corn rustled and swayed with dried panicles. Biting her lips with fear, covering her ears with her hands, Maria stretched out in the hollow of the furrow. She wanted to squeeze into the hardened, grassy plowing, to hide in the earth, so as not to see and hear what was happening now on the farm.

She lay down on her stomach, buried her face in the dry grass. But it was painful and uncomfortable for her to lie there for a long time - the pregnancy was making itself felt. Inhaling the bitter smell of grass, she turned on her side, lay down for a while, then lay down on her back. Above, leaving a trail of fire, buzzing and whistling, rockets rushed, tracer bullets pierced the sky with green and red arrows. Below, from the farm, a sickening, suffocating smell of smoke and burning lingered.

Lord, - sobbing, Maria whispered, - send me death, Lord ... I have no more strength ... I can not ... send me death, please, God ...

She got up, knelt, listened. Come what may, she thought in despair, it is better to die there, with everyone. After waiting a little, looking around like a hunted she-wolf, and seeing nothing in the crimson, stirring darkness, Maria crawled to the edge of the cornfield. From here, from the top of a sloping, almost inconspicuous hill, the farm was clearly visible. It was about a kilometer and a half away, no more, and what Maria saw pierced her with mortal cold.

All thirty houses of the farm were on fire. Swinging slanting tongues of flame broke through the black puffs of smoke and raised thick scattering of fiery sparks to the disturbed sky. On the only street in the farm, lit by the glow of the fire, German soldiers walked leisurely with long flaming torches in their hands. They held out torches to the thatched and reed roofs of houses, sheds, chicken coops, not missing anything on their way, not even the most overwhelming coil or dog kennel, and after them new masses of fire flared up, and reddish sparks flew and flew towards the sky.

Two powerful explosions rocked the air. They followed one after another on the western side of the farm, and Maria realized that the Germans had blown up a new brick barn built by the collective farm just before the war.

All the surviving farmers - there were about a hundred of them, along with women and children - the Germans drove out of their homes and gathered in an open place, behind the farm, where there was a collective farm current in the summer. A kerosene lantern was swinging on the current, suspended on a high pole. Its faint, blinking light seemed to be a faint point. Maria knew this place well. A year ago, shortly after the outbreak of the war, she, together with women from her brigade, was stirring up grain on the current. Many cried, remembering their husbands, brothers and children who had gone to the front. But the war seemed distant to them, and they did not know then that its bloody shaft would come to their inconspicuous, small farm, lost in the hilly steppe. And on this terrible September night, their home farm was burning down before their eyes, and they themselves, surrounded by machine gunners, stood on the current, like a flock of dumb sheep on the back, and did not know what awaited them ...

Mary's heart was pounding, her hands were trembling. She jumped up, wanted to rush there, on the current, but fear stopped her. Backing up, she again crouched to the ground, dug her teeth into her hands to drown out the heart-rending cry bursting from her chest. So Maria lay for a long time, childishly sobbing, gasping for breath from the acrid smoke creeping up the hill.

The farm was burning down. The volleys of guns began to subside. In the darkened sky, the steady hum of heavy bombers flying somewhere was heard. From the side of the current, Maria heard a hysterical woman's cry and short, angry cries of the Germans. Accompanied by submachine gun soldiers, a discordant crowd of farmers slowly moved along the country road. The road ran along the cornfield very close, about forty meters.

Maria held her breath, pressed her chest to the ground. “Where are they driving them?” A feverish thought beat in her fevered brain. “Really they will shoot? There are also small children, innocent women ...” Opening her eyes wide, she looked at the road. A crowd of farmers wandered past her. Three women carried babies in their arms. Mary recognized them. These were two of her neighbors, young soldiers, whose husbands went to the front just before the arrival of the Germans, and the third was an evacuated teacher, she gave birth to a daughter already here on the farm. The older children waddled along the road, holding on to the hem of their mother's skirts, and Maria recognized both mothers and children ... Uncle Roots walked awkwardly on his homemade crutches, his leg was taken away in that German war. Supporting each other, there were two decrepit old widowers, grandfather Kuzma and grandfather Nikita. Every summer they guarded the collective farm melon and more than once treated Maria to juicy, cool watermelons. The farmers walked quietly, and as soon as one of the women began to cry loudly, sobbing, a German in a helmet immediately approached her, knocking her down with the blows of a machine gun. The crowd stopped. Grabbing the fallen woman by the collar, the German lifted her up, quickly and angrily muttered something, pointing forward with his hand ...

Peering into the strange glowing twilight, Maria recognized almost all the farmers. They walked with baskets, buckets, sacks over their shoulders, they walked, obeying the short shouts of the submachine gunners. None of them spoke a word, only the crying of children was heard in the crowd. And only at the top of the hill, when the column for some reason lingered, there was a heartbreaking cry:

Bastards! Pala-a-chi! Fascist geeks! I don’t want your Germany! I won't be your farm hand, you bastards!

Maria recognized the voice. Shouted fifteen-year-old Sanya Zimenkova, Komsomol member, daughter of a farm tractor driver who had gone to the front. Before the war, Sanya studied in the seventh grade, lived in a boarding school in a distant regional center, but the school had not worked for a year, Sanya came to her mother and stayed on the farm.

Sanya, what are you doing? Shut up, daughter! - the mother lamented. Please shut up! They will kill you, my dear!

I will not be silent! - Sanya shouted even louder. - Let them kill, damned bandits!

Maria heard a short burst of automatic weapons. The women voiced hoarsely. The Germans croaked in barking voices. The crowd of farmers began to move away and disappeared behind the top of the hill.

A sticky, cold fear fell on Maria. “It was Sanya who was killed,” a terrible guess burned her with lightning. She waited a little, listened. Human voices were nowhere to be heard, only machine guns were dully tapping somewhere in the distance. Behind the copse, the eastern farm, flares flashed here and there. They hung in the air, illuminating the mutilated earth with a dead yellowish light, and after two or three minutes, flowing out in fiery drops, they extinguished. In the east, three kilometers from the farm, was the leading edge of the German defense. Together with other farmers, Maria was there: the Germans drove the inhabitants to dig trenches and communication trenches. They wound in a sinuous line up the eastern slope of the hill. For many months, fearing the dark, the Germans had illuminated their line of defense with missiles at night in order to spot the lines of attacking Soviet soldiers in time. And the Soviet machine gunners - Maria more than once saw this with tracer bullets fired at enemy missiles, cut them, and they, fading away, fell to the ground. So it was now: machine guns crackled from the direction of the Soviet trenches, and green lines of bullets rushed to one rocket, to the second, to the third and extinguished them ...

"Maybe Sanya is alive? - Maria thought. Maybe she was just wounded and she, poor thing, is lying on the road, bleeding?" Coming out of the corn thickets, Maria looked around. There was no one around. An empty, haunted lane ran up the hill. The farm was almost burnt out, only in some places flames still flared up, and sparks flickered over the ashes. Cuddling up to the boundary at the edge of the cornfield, Maria crawled to the place from where, as she thought, she heard Sanya's scream and shots. It was painful and difficult to crawl. On the border, the hard tumbleweed bushes driven by the winds knocked down, they pricked the knees and elbows, and Maria was barefoot, in one old chintz dress. So, undressed, last morning, at dawn, she ran away from the farm and now cursed herself for not taking a coat, a scarf, and not wearing stockings and shoes.

She crawled slowly, half dying with fear. She often stopped, listened to the muffled, uterine sounds of long-range shooting and crawled again. It seemed to her that everything around was buzzing: both heaven and earth, and that somewhere in the most inaccessible depths of the earth, this heavy, mortal buzz did not stop either.

She found Sanya where she thought. The girl lay stretched out in a ditch, her thin arms outstretched and her bare left leg uncomfortably bent under her. Barely discerning her body in the shaky darkness, Maria pressed against her, her cheek felt the sticky moisture on the warm shoulder, put her ear to her small, sharp chest. The girl's heart beat unevenly: it stopped, then pounded in impetuous jerks. "Alive!" - thought Maria.

Looking around, she got up, took Sanya in her arms and ran to the saving corn. The short journey seemed endless to her. She stumbled, breathed hoarsely, fearing that she would drop Sanya right now, fall and never get up again. Seeing nothing, not realizing that dry corn stalks were rustling around her like a tinny rustle, Maria knelt down and lost consciousness ...

She woke up from the hysterical groan of Sanya. The girl lay beneath her, choking on the blood that filled her mouth. Blood flooded Maria's face. She jumped up, rubbed her eyes with the hem of her dress, lay down next to Sanya, clung to her with her whole body.

Sanya, my child, - Maria whispered, choking with tears, - open your eyes, my poor child, my little orphan ... Open your little eyes, say at least one word ...

With trembling hands, Maria tore off a piece of her dress, raised Sanin's head, began to wipe the girl's mouth and face with a piece of washed-out chintz. She touched her gently, kissed her salty forehead with blood, warm cheeks, thin fingers of submissive, lifeless hands.

Sanya's chest was wheezing, squelching, bubbling. Stroking the girl's legs with angular columns with her palm, Maria felt with horror how Sanya's narrow feet were getting cold under her hand.

Throw in, child, - she began to pray to Sanya. - Come on, darling ... Don't die, Sanya ... Don't leave me alone ... It's me with you, Aunt Maria. Do you hear, baby? You and I, only two stayed, only two ...

Corn rustled monotonously above them. Cannon volleys died down. The sky darkened, only somewhere far away, behind the forest, the reddish reflections of the flame still shuddered. The early morning hour has come when thousands of people killing each other - both those who, like a gray tornado, rushed to the east, and those who with their breasts held back the movement of the tornado, were starved, tired of crushing the earth with mines and shells and, stupefied by the roar, smoke and soot, stopped their terrible work in order to catch their breath in the trenches, rest a little and start again the difficult, bloody harvest ...

Sanya died at dawn. No matter how hard Maria tried to warm the mortally wounded girl with her body, no matter how she pressed her hot chest against her, no matter how she hugged her, nothing helped. Sania's arms and legs grew cold, the hoarse bubbling in his throat ceased, and she began to freeze.

Maria closed her slightly parted eyelids, folded her stiff hands, scratched with traces of blood and purple ink on her fingers, and silently sat down next to the dead girl. Now, in these minutes, the grievous, inconsolable grief of Mary - the death of her husband and little son, two days ago hanged by the Germans on an old farm apple tree - seemed to float away, clouded with fog, wilted in the face of this new death, and Mary, pierced by a sharp sudden thought , I realized that her grief was only a drop invisible to the world in that terrible, wide river of human grief, black, lit by fires, which, flooding, crumbling the banks, spread wider and wider and than she lived in this world for all her short twenty-nine years ...

Sergey Kutsko

WOLVES

So it is arranged country life that if you do not go out into the forest before noon, do not walk through the familiar mushroom and berry places, then in the evening there is nothing to run, everything will be hidden.

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

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

- Mama! - 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 indulging ...” It is five kilometers from the village, in the forest!

The wolves approached slowly, a she-wolf walked in front. It happens so with these animals - the she-wolf becomes the head of the pack. Only her eyes were not as ferocious as they were studying. They seemed to be asking: “Well, man? What will you do now, when there are no weapons in your hands, and your relatives are not nearby? "

The girl fell to her knees, covered her eyes with her hands and began to cry. 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. Overshadowing herself with the sign of the Cross, she asked the Mother of God, like her mother, in last hope for intercession and salvation.

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

Ch.Aitmatov

Chordon, pressed against the railing of the platform, looked over the sea of heads at the red cars of an infinitely long train.

Sultan, Sultan, my son, I am here! Can you hear me?! he shouted, raising his hands over the fence.

But where was there to shout! The railwayman, who was standing next to the fence, asked him:

Do you have a mine?

Yes, Chordon replied.

Do you know where the marshalling yard is?

I know, in that direction.

Then this is what, daddy, get on the mine and ride there. You will have time, five kilometers, no more. The train will stop there for a minute, and there you will say goodbye to your son, just jump faster, don't stop!

Chordon darted about the square until he found his horse, and remembered only how he jerked the knot of the chumbura, how he put his foot in the stirrup, how he burned the horse's side with quill and how, bending down, he rushed down the street along the railway. Along the deserted, echoing street, frightening rare passers-by and passers-by, he rushed like a ferocious nomad.

"If only to be in time, if only to be in time, there is so much to say to my son!" - he thought and, without opening his clenched teeth, uttered the prayer and incantations of the galloping horseman: “Help me, spirits of ancestors! Help me, patron of the Kambar-ata mines, don't let the horse stumble! Give him the wings of a falcon, give him an iron heart, give him the legs of a deer! "

Passing the street, Chordon jumped out onto the path under the iron-road embankment and again set off his horse. It was already close to the marshalling yard when the noise of the train began to overtake him from behind. The heavy, hot rumble of two steam locomotives paired in a train, like a mountain collapse, fell on his bent broad shoulders.

The echelon overtook the galloping Chordon. The horse is already tired. But he hoped to be in time, if only the train stopped, it was not so far to the marshalling yard. And fear, anxiety that the train might not suddenly stop, made him remember God: “Great God, if you are on earth, stop this train! Please, stop, stop the train! "

The train was already at the marshalling yard when Chordon caught up with the tail cars. And the son ran along the train - towards his father. Seeing him, Chordon jumped off his horse. They silently threw themselves into each other's arms and froze, forgetting about everything in the world.

Father, forgive me, I am leaving as a volunteer, - said the Sultan.

I know, son.

I offended the sisters, father. Let them forget the offense if they can.

They have forgiven you. Do not be offended by them, do not forget them, write to them, hear. And don't forget your mother.

Okay, father.

At the station the bell rang lonely, it was necessary to leave. For the last time, the father looked into the face of his son and saw in him for a moment his features, himself, still young, at the dawn of his youth: he pressed him tightly to his chest. And at that moment, with all his being, he wanted to convey to his son his father's love. Kissing him, Chordon said the same thing:

Be human, my son! Wherever you are, be human! Always remain human!

The carriages wavered.

Chordonov, let's go! the commander shouted to him.

And when the Sultan was dragged into the carriage on the move, Chordon lowered his hands, then turned and, falling to the sweaty, hot mane, was digging, sobbed. He cried, hugging the horse's neck, and shuddered so violently that under the weight of his grief, the horse's hooves shifted from place to place.

The railroad workers passed by in silence. They knew why people cried in those days. And only the station boys, suddenly subdued, stood and looked at this big, old, crying man with curiosity and childish compassion.

The sun rose two poplars high above the mountains, when Chordon, passing the Small Gorge, drove out into a wide expanse of hilly valley, going under the snowiest mountains. Got his breath away from Chordon. His son lived on this land ...

(excerpt from the story "Date with my son")

An excerpt from the story
Chapter II

My mommy

I had a mommy, affectionate, kind, sweet. Mom and I lived in a small house on the banks of the Volga. The house was so clean and light, and from the windows of our apartment one could see the wide, beautiful Volga, and huge two-story steamers, and barges, and a pier on the shore, and crowds of walking people who went out to this pier at certain hours to meet the arriving steamers ... And Mom and I went there, only rarely, very rarely: Mom gave lessons in our city, and she was not allowed to walk with me as often as I would like. Mom said:

Wait, Lenusha, I'll save up some money and transfer you along the Volga from our Rybinsk all the way to Astrakhan! Then we'll walk up to our heart's content.
I was happy and waited for spring.
By the spring, Mom had saved up a little money, and we decided to fulfill our idea with the very first warm days.
- As soon as the Volga is cleared of ice, we will roll 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 mommy kept coughing and coughing endlessly. She became somehow thin and transparent, like wax, and she kept sitting by the window, looking at the Volga and repeating:
- Here the cough will pass, I will recover 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 mom was getting thinner, paler and more transparent every day.
Autumn has come. September came up. Long lines of cranes stretched over the Volga, flying to warm countries. Mom no longer sat by the window in the living room, but lay on the bed and shivered from the cold all the time, while she herself was hot as fire.
Once she called me over and said:
- Listen, Lenusha. Your mom will soon leave you forever ... But do not grieve, darling. I will always look at you from the sky and rejoice at the good deeds of my girl, and ...
I did not let her finish and cried bitterly. And mummy also began to cry, and her eyes became sad, sad, the same exactly like that of the angel whom I saw on the big image in our church.
Having calmed down a little, Mom spoke again:
- I feel that the Lord will soon take me to Himself, and His holy will be done! Be a clever girl 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 shelter an orphan ...
Something hurt, hurt at the word "orphan" squeezed my throat ...
I sobbed, cried and huddled at my mother's bed. Maryushka came (the cook, who lived with us for nine whole years, from the very year of my birth, and who loved my mother and me without memory) and took me to her place, saying that "mother needs peace."
All in tears I fell asleep that night on Maryushka's bed, and in the morning ... Oh, what happened in the morning! ..
I woke up very early, it seems, at six o'clock, and wanted to run straight to my mother.
At that moment Maryushka entered and said:
- Pray to God, Lenochka: God took your mother to him. Your mom died.
- Mom died! I echoed.
And suddenly I felt so cold, cold! Then my head began to rustle, and the whole room, and Maryushka, and the ceiling, and the table, and chairs - everything turned upside down and began to spin in my eyes, and I no longer remember what became of 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 priest read prayers, the singers sang, and Maryushka prayed at the threshold of the bedroom. Some old women came and also prayed, then they looked at me with regret, shook their heads and mumbled something with their toothless mouths ...
- Orphan! Round orphan! - also shaking her head and looking at me pityingly, Maryushka said and cried. The old ladies also cried ...
On the third day Maryushka took me to the white box in which Mom was lying and told me to kiss Mom’s hand. Then the priest blessed Mom, 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 Mommy to be buried and that there was no need to cry, but to pray.
The white box was brought to the church, we defended the mass, and then some people came up again, lifted the box and carried it to the cemetery. A deep black hole had already been dug there, and Mom's coffin had been lowered into it. Then they threw earth at the pit, 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 see 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 tell the big girl so much that Mom hears it and that my words hurt her.
Then I became quiet and began to recall my uncle's face.
I have never seen my St. Petersburg uncle, but there was a portrait of him in my mom's album. He was depicted on it in a gold embroidered uniform, with many orders and with a star on his chest. He looked very important, and I was involuntarily afraid of him.
After dinner, which I barely touched, Maryushka put all my dresses and underwear in an old suitcase, gave me tea and took me to the station.

Lydia Charskaya
NOTES OF A LITTLE GYMNASIST

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

The wind whistled, squealed, groaned and hummed in different ways. Now in a pitiful thin voice, now in a rough bass roll he sang his battle song. The lanterns flickered faintly through the huge white flakes of snow that poured abundantly on the sidewalks, on the street, on carriages, horses and passers-by. And I kept walking and walking, everything forward and forward ...
Nyurochka told me:
“You first have to 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 then everything goes 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 ... so beautiful. "
I did so. Everything went straight, as it seemed to me, along a long and wide street, but I did not see either high buildings or luxurious shops. Everything was obscured from my eyes by a living, loose wall of silently falling huge flakes of snow, white as a shroud. I turned right, then left, then right again, doing everything with precision, as Nyurochka told me - and kept walking, walking, walking endlessly.
The wind mercilessly ruffled the floors of my burnusik, piercing me through and through with cold. Flakes of snow hit the face. Now I was not walking as fast as before. My legs were like lead filled with fatigue, my whole body was trembling with cold, my hands were numb, and I could hardly move my fingers. Having turned right and left for almost the fifth time, I now followed a straight path. Quietly, faintly flickering lights of lanterns came across to me less and less ... The noise from the ride of horses and carriages in the streets subsided considerably, and the path along which I walked seemed to me deaf and deserted.
Finally the snow began to thin; the huge flakes didn't fall so often now. The distance cleared up a little, but instead it was such a dense twilight all around me that I could barely make out the road.
Now no driving noise, no voices, no coachman's exclamations could be heard around me.
What silence! What a dead silence! ..
But what is it?
My eyes, already accustomed to the semi-darkness, now distinguish their surroundings. Lord, where am I?
No houses, no streets, no carriages, no pedestrians. In front of me is an endless, huge snowy space ... Some forgotten buildings along the edges of the road ... Some fences, and in front there is something huge, black. It must be a park or a forest - I don't know.
I turned back ... Lights flicker behind me ... lights ... lights ... How many of them! Endlessly ... without counting!
- Lord, this is a city! The city, of course! I exclaim. - And I went to the outskirts ...
Nyurochka said that they live on the outskirts. Yes of course! That which is getting dark in the distance is the cemetery! There is a church, and, before reaching, their house! Everything, everything turned out as she said. And I was scared! That's silly!
And with joyful animation I again walked briskly forward.
But it was not there!
My feet now hardly obeyed me. I could hardly move them out of fatigue. 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. Added to all this was a strange drowsiness. I was so sleepy, so sleepy!
"Well, well, a little more - and you will be with your friends, you will see Nikifor Matveyevich, Nyura, their mother, Seryozha!" - I mentally encouraged myself as best I could ...
But that didn't help either.
My legs barely moved, I now with difficulty pulled them, now one, then the other, out of the deep snow. But they move more and more slowly, more and more ... quieter ... And the noise in my head becomes more and more audible, and more and more something hits my temples ...
Finally, I can't stand it and sink into a snowdrift that has formed at the edge of the road.
Oh, how good! How sweet it is to rest so! Now I do not feel any fatigue or pain ... Some kind of pleasant warmth spreads throughout my body ... Oh, how good it is! I would have sat here and not gone anywhere from here! And if it had not been for the desire to find out what happened to Nikifor Matveyevich, and to visit him, healthy or sick, I would certainly have fallen asleep here for an hour or two ... I fell asleep soundly! Moreover, the cemetery is not far ... You can see it there. A mile or two, no more ...
The snow stopped falling, the blizzard subsided a little, and the month swam out from behind the clouds.
Oh, it would be better if the month 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 with a huge black spot far away, but a white dead field spreads around me in an endless veil ...
Horror gripped me.
Now I just realized that I was lost.

Lev Tolstoy

Swans

Swans flew in a herd from the cold side to the warm lands. They flew across the sea. They flew day and night, and on another day and another night they flew without resting over the water. It was a full month in the sky, and the swans, far below them, saw the blue water. All the swans were starving, 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 weakened. He flapped his wings and could not fly further. Then, spreading his wings, he went down. He descended closer and closer to the water; and his companions farther and farther gleamed in the monthly light. The swan went down to the water and folded its wings. The sea stirred under him and shook him. The herd of swans was slightly visible as a white line in the bright sky. And you could barely hear in the silence how their wings rang. When they were completely out of sight, the swan bent back its neck and closed its 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 sway the sea. And the water splashed into the white chest of the swan. The swan opened his eyes. In the east, the dawn turned red, and the moon and the stars became paler. The swan sighed, stretched out his neck and flapped his wings, got up and flew, catching his wings on the water. He climbed higher and higher and flew alone over the dark undulating 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 the beautiful castle, which stood on the top of the mountain. There also lived the sage he was looking for. However, instead of the expected meeting with a wise man, our hero found himself in a hall where everything was seething: merchants entered and exited, people were talking in the corner, a small orchestra played sweet melodies and there was a table laden with the most exquisite dishes of this area. The sage talked with different people, and the young man had to wait for his turn for about two hours.
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 the Secret of Happiness to him. And he invited him to take a walk around the palace and come back two hours later.
“However, I want to ask you for one favor,” added the sage, holding out a small spoonful to the young man, into which he dropped two drops of oil. - All the time you walk, hold this spoon in your hand so that the oil does not spill out.
The young man began to climb and descend the palace stairs, not taking his eyes off the spoon. Two hours later, 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 embarrassed young man had to admit 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 see the wonders of my universe,” the sage told him. - You cannot trust a person if you are not familiar with the house in which he lives.
Reassured, 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 hung on the walls and ceilings of the palace. He saw gardens surrounded by mountains, the most delicate flowers, the refinement with which each of the works of art was placed exactly where it was needed.
Returning to the sage, he described in detail everything that he saw.
- And where are those two drops of oil that I entrusted you? The Sage asked.
And the young man, looking at the spoon, found that all the oil had poured out.
- This is the only advice that I can give you: The Secret of Happiness is to look at all the wonders of the world, while never forgetting about two drops of oil in your spoon.

Leonardo da Vinci
Parable "NEVOD"

And again, once again, the net brought a rich catch. The fishermen's baskets were filled to the brim with chubs, carp, tench, pike, eel and a host of other foods. Whole fish families
with children and households, were taken to market stalls and were preparing to end their existence, writhing in agony in hot pans and boiling boilers.
The fish remaining in the river, confused and overwhelmed by fear, not daring to even swim, buried deeper into the silt. How to live on? You cannot cope with the seine alone. It is thrown in the most unexpected places every day. He mercilessly kills fish, and in the end the whole river will be devastated.
- We must think about the fate of our children. Nobody, except us, will take care of them and will not relieve them of the terrible obsession, - reasoned the minnows, who had gathered for the council under a large snag.
“But what can we do?” Asked the tench timidly, listening to the speeches of the daredevils.
- Destroy the seine! - the minnows answered in a single impulse. On the same day, the omniscient nimble eels spread the news along the river
about the bold decision taken. All fish, young and old, were asked to gather at dawn tomorrow in a deep, quiet backwater protected by branchy willows.
Thousands of fish of all stripes and ages sailed to the appointed place to declare war on the net.
- Listen carefully! - said the carp, which more than once managed to gnaw through the nets and escape from captivity. - The seine is as wide as our river. To keep it upright under water, lead weights are attached to its lower nodes. I order all fish to split into two schools. The first should lift the sinkers from the bottom to the surface, and the second flock will firmly hold the upper nodes of the net. Pikes 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 go on reconnaissance at once! - continued the carp - they have to establish where the net is thrown.
Eels went on a mission, and schools of fish huddled along the shore in agonizing anticipation. The minnows, meanwhile, tried to cheer up the most timid and advised not to panic, even if someone fell into the seine: after all, the fishermen still would not be able to pull him ashore.
Finally the eels returned and reported that the seine had already been cast about one mile down the river.
And so a huge armada of fish swam towards the goal, led by a wise carp.
“Swim carefully!” The leader warned. Work your fins with might and main and brake in time!
A seine appeared ahead, gray and ominous. Seized by a fit of anger, the fish boldly rushed to the attack.
Soon the net was raised from the bottom, the ropes that held it were cut by sharp pike teeth, and the knots were torn. But the angry fish did not calm down on this and continued to pounce on the hated enemy. Grasping the crippled, leaky net with their teeth and working hard with their fins and tails, they dragged it in different directions and tore it to small pieces. The river seemed to boil.
The fishermen talked for a long time, scratching their heads, about the mysterious disappearance of the 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 his nest. Fluffy chicks slept peacefully, unaware of anything. The snake crawled close to them. Her eyes flashed with an ominous gleam - and the massacre began.
Having received a fatal bite, the serenely sleeping chicks did not wake up.
Satisfied with what she had done, the villain crawled into shelter to enjoy the bird's grief to her fullest.
Soon the pelican returned from hunting. At the sight of the brutal massacre perpetrated on the chicks, he burst into loud sobs, and all the inhabitants of the forest fell silent, shocked by the unheard of cruelty.
“Without you I have no life now!” The unfortunate father lamented, looking at the dead children. “May I die with you!
And he began to tear his chest at the very heart with his beak. Hot blood streams gushed from the open wound, sprinkling lifeless chicks.
Losing last strength, the dying pelican cast a farewell glance at the nest with the dead chicks and suddenly shuddered from surprise.
About a miracle! His shed blood and parental love brought the dear chicks back to life, snatching them from the clutches of death. And then, happy, he gave up his ghost.

Lucky
Sergey Silin

Antoshka was running 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, unknown from there, appeared a small strong peasant the size of a cat.
The peasant stretched out his hands 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 that you are lucky.
- Does every person have a lucky one? - asked Antoshka.
- No, there are not so many of us, - answered the peasant. - We just go from one to the other. From today I will be with you.
- I'm starting to get lucky! - Antoshka was delighted.
- Exactly! - Lucky nodded.
- And when will you leave me for another?
- When required. I remember that I served one merchant for several years. And one pedestrian was helped for only two seconds.
- Aha! - Antoshka wondered. - So I need
anything to wish for?
- No no! - the peasant raised his hands in protest. - I'm not a wish-doer! I only help the quick-witted and hardworking a little. I just stay close and do it so that the person is lucky. Where is my invisibility cap gone?
He fumbled around him with his hands, felt for the invisibility cap, put it on and disappeared.
- Are you here? - just in case, asked Antoshka.
- Here, here - said Lucky. - Do not pay on
attention me. Antoshka put his hands in his pockets and ran home. And wow, I was lucky: I managed to start the cartoon minute by minute!
Mom came home from work an hour later.
- And I got the prize! she said with a smile. -
Go shopping!
And she went into the kitchen for the bags.
- Did your mother also have a Lucky one? - Antoshka asked his assistant in a whisper.
- No. She is lucky because we are close.
- Mom, I'm with you! - shouted Antoshka.
They returned home two hours later with a heap of purchases.
- Just a streak of luck! - Mom was surprised, eyes shining. - All my life I dreamed of such a blouse!
- And I mean such a cake! - Antoshka answered cheerfully from the bathroom.
The next day at school, he received three A's, two A's, found two rubles and made up with Vasya Poteryashkin.
And when, whistling, he returned home, he found that he had lost the keys to the apartment.
- Lucky, where are you? he called.
A tiny, scruffy woman peeked out from under the stairs. Her hair was disheveled, her nose was torn, her dirty sleeve was torn, her shoes were begging for porridge.
- And there was no need to whistle! - she smiled and added: - I'm bad luck! What, upset, huh? ..
Don't worry, don't worry! The time will come, they will call me away from you!
- I see, - Antoshka was depressed. - A streak of bad luck begins ...
- That's for sure! - Nevezuha nodded happily and, stepping into the wall, disappeared.
In the evening, Antoshka received a scolding from his 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 right in front of the window a phone call rang out:
- Antoshka, is that you? It's me, Lucky!
- Hello, traitor! - Antoshka muttered. - And who are you helping now?
But Lucky did not take offense at the "traitor".
- One old lady. Imagine, she was unlucky all her life! So my boss sent me to her.
Tomorrow I'll help her win a million rubles in the lottery, and I'll come back to you!
- Truth? - Antoshka was delighted.
- True, true, - answered Lucky and hung up.
At night Antoshka had a dream. As if she and Lucky were dragging four string bags of Antoshka's favorite tangerines from the store, and a lonely old woman who was lucky for the first time in her life smiles at them from the window of the house opposite.

Charskaya Lidia Alekseevna

Lusin's 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, entwined with green ivy and flexible vines, stood a high rock. the palace behind which was laid out a wonderful garden, fragrant with aroma, it was a very special garden, which can be found only in fairy tales.

The owner of the island and the surrounding lands was the powerful king Ovar. And the king's daughter grew up in the palace, the beautiful Miguel - princess "...

A fairy tale floats and unfolds like a colorful ribbon. A number of beautiful, fantastic pictures swirl before my spiritual gaze. Aunt Musi's usually ringing voice is now reduced to a whisper. Mysterious and cozy in a green ivy gazebo. The lacy shadow of the trees and bushes surrounding her cast moving spots on the pretty face of the young storyteller. This tale is my favorite. Since the day my dear nanny Fenya left us, who knew so well to tell me about the little girl Thumbelina, I have listened with pleasure to the only fairy tale about Princess Miguel. I love my princess dearly, despite all her cruelty. Is it her fault, this green-eyed, soft pink and golden-haired princess, that when she was born into the world of God, the fairies instead of a heart put a piece of diamond in her baby's small breast? And that a direct consequence of this was the complete absence of pity in the soul of the princess. But how beautiful she was! It is beautiful even in those minutes 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.

There were little children in that garden among roses and lilies. Immobile, pretty elves, chained to gold pegs with silver chains, watched over that garden, and at the same time pitifully rang their bells voices.

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 prayers 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, they did not appear here for joy! At each such appearance of an uninvited guest, the guards ran out, grabbed the visitor and, at the order of the princess, threw him into the lake from a cliff

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

Even now, I still cannot understand how my pretty, cheerful aunt came up with such a terrible in essence, such a gloomy and difficult fairy tale! The heroine of this fairy tale - Princess Miguel, of course, was an invention of a sweet, slightly windy, but very kind aunt Musya. Ah, all the same, let everyone think that this is a fairy tale, an invention and the princess Miguel herself, but she, my marvelous princess, has firmly settled in my impressionable heart ... it was the case 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 green, like a forest pool, deep eyes.

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

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

Look, Lyusenka, what a beautiful sunset! You see how wonderfully the crimson sun sinks in the pond! Look, look, now the water is completely scarlet. And the surrounding trees seem to be on fire.

I look and all boil with delight. Indeed, scarlet water, scarlet trees and scarlet sun. What's the beautiful!

Y. Yakovlev Girls from Vasilievsky Island

I am Valya Zaitseva from Vasilievsky Island.

I have a hamster under my bed. He will fill his full cheeks, in reserve, sit on his hind legs and look with black buttons ... Yesterday I kicked one boy off. Weighed him a good bream. We, Vasileostrovsk girls, know how to stand up for ourselves when necessary ...

It's always windy here on Vasilievsky. The rain is falling. Pours wet snow. 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, house 13. Four windows on the first floor. Nearby there is a bakery, in the basement there is a kerosene shop ... Now there is no shop, but in Tanino, when I was not yet in the world, the first floor always smelled of kerosene. They told me.

Tanya Savicheva was the same age as I am now. She could have grown up long ago, become a teacher, but she has remained a girl forever ... When my grandmother sent Tanya for kerosene, I was gone. And she went to Rumyantsevsky Garden with another friend. But I know all about her. They told me.

She was a songstress. She always sang. She wanted to recite poetry, but she stumbled in words: she will stumble, and everyone thinks that she has 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 always played teacher. He puts a big grandmother's scarf on his shoulders, folds his hands in a lock and walks from corner to corner. "Children, today we will do the repetition with you ..." And then he stumbles over 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 one. We, Vasileostrovsky girls, will find whoever you want! But now a 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 hunger ... Does it really matter why she dies - from hunger or from a bullet. Maybe hunger hurts even more ...

I decided to find the Way of Life. I went to Rzhevka, where this road begins. She 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 am Valya Zaitseva from Vasilievsky Island. I also want to build.

I was told:

- It is forbidden! Come with your neighborhood.

I didn't leave. I looked around and saw a baby, a tadpole. I grabbed onto it:

- He also came with his area?

- He came with his brother.

With my brother, you can. With the area you can. 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:

- Tanya Savicheva is your friend?

- And what is so special here? We are of the same age. Both are from Vasilievsky Island.

- But she's not there ...

How stupid people, and even adults! What do you mean "no" if we are friends? I told them to understand:

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

I noticed that they do not believe me. And so that they would 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:

- It is very good! This is just a find. Come with us.

- I'm not going anywhere. I want to build ...

- You will build! You will write in Tanya's handwriting for the monument.

“I can,” I agreed. “Only I don’t have a pencil. Will you give?

- You will write on concrete. They don't write on concrete with a pencil.

I never wrote on concrete. I wrote on the walls, on the asphalt, but they brought me to the concrete plant and gave Tanya's 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 said:

I felt cold. I wanted to give them the book and leave.

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

- Let's get your concrete. I will write.

The crane lowered a huge frame of thick gray dough at my feet. I took my wand, squatted down and began to write. The concrete smelled 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 was bad at it.

- Do not rush. Write calmly.

While I was writing about Zhenya, my grandmother died.

If you just want to eat, this is not hunger - you eat an hour later.

I tried to starve from morning to evening. Endured. Hunger - when your head, hands, heart are hungry day after day - everything you have is starving. First he starves, then dies.

Leka had his own corner, fenced off by cupboards, he drew there.

He earned money by drawing and studied. He was quiet and short-sighted, wearing glasses, and all squeaked in his ruling pen. They told me.

Where did he die? Probably in the kitchen, where the "potbelly stove" smoked with a small weak engine, where they slept, they ate bread once a day. A small piece, like a cure for death. Leka did not 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 I was told:

- 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 long ago and did not notice that she was stuttering. She no longer played teacher. But she did not give up - she lived. They told me ... Spring has come. The trees turned green. We have a lot of trees on Vasilievsky. Tanya dried up, froze, became thin and light. Her hands were trembling and her eyes ached 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.

- What are you not writing? - they told me quietly. - Write, Valya Zaitseva, otherwise the concrete will harden.

For a long time I did not dare to open a page with the letter "M". On this page, Tanya wrote in her hand: “Mom on May 13 at 7.30 o'clock.

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

I gripped the wand tightly and touched the concrete. I did not look into the diary, but wrote by heart. It's good that our handwriting is the same.

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

- Can you write more?

- I will add, - I answered and turned away so as not to see my eyes. After all, Tanya Savicheva is my ... friend.

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

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

Opened the page "U" - "All died." The last page of Tanya Savicheva's diary was marked with the letter "O" - "Tanya is the only one left."

And I imagined that it was me, Valya Zaitseva, who was left alone: without a mother, without a father, without a sister, Lyulka. Hungry. Under fire.

V empty apartment on the second line. I wanted to cross out this last page, but the concrete hardened and the stick broke.

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

And I? You also have a friend - Valya Zaitseva, your neighbor from Vasilievsky Island. We will go with you to the Rumyantsevsky Garden, we will run, and when we get tired, I will bring my grandmother's handkerchief from the house, and we will play the teacher Linda Avgustovna. I have a hamster 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:

- Come on, Valya Zaitseva. You've done everything that needs to be done. Thanks.

I did not understand why they were saying "thank you" to me. I said:

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

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

My girlfriend Tanya Savicheva did not shoot at the Nazis and was not a scout among the partisans. She just lived in her hometown during 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 after all, they are friends only with the living.

Vladimir Zheleznyakov "Scarecrow"

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

I should stop and leave.

The boys pounced on me.

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

They knocked me down and grabbed me by the legs and arms. I kicked and jerked with all my strength, but they twisted me and dragged me into the garden.

Iron Button and Shmakova dragged out a scarecrow 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, a scarecrow, dangled a plaque with the words: "SCARE 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 had fun around the stuffed animal, - said Lenka. - They jumped and laughed:

"Wow, our beauty-ah!"

"Wait!"

“I made it up! I came up with it! - Shmakova jumped for joy. - Let Dimka light 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 do everything everywhere - stuck the scarecrow into the ground and poured brushwood around it.

“I have no matches,” Dimka said quietly.

"But I have!" - Shaggy stuck matches into Dimke's hand and pushed him towards the stuffed animal.

Dimka stood near the stuffed animal, his head lowered.

I froze - waited for the last time! Well, I thought he would now look around and say: "Guys, Lenka is not to blame for anything ... All of me!"

"Set it on fire!" - ordered the Iron Button.

I broke down and shouted:

“Dimka! Don't, Dimka-ah-ah! .. "

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

“Well, Somov! - said the Iron Button. - Go, finally, to the end! "

Dimka fell to his knees and dropped his head so low that only his shoulders protruded, 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 rose over his shoulders. Then he jumped up and hurriedly ran to the side.

They dragged me close to the fire. I, without looking up, looked at the flame of the fire. Granddad! I felt then how this fire engulfed me, how it burns, bakes and bites, although only waves of its heat reached me.

I screamed, I screamed so that they let me go 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 did not want this terribly!

Dimka was the first to come to his senses.

“Are you crazy? He grabbed my hand and tried to pull me away from the fire. - This is a joke! Don't you understand the jokes? "

I became strong, easily defeated him. I pushed him so hard that he flew upside down - only his heels flashed to the sky. And she herself pulled a scarecrow out of the fire and began to swing it over her head, stepping on everyone. The scarecrow had already caught fire, sparks flew from it in different directions, and all of them scared away from these sparks.

They scattered.

And I was so spinning, accelerating them, that I could not stop until I fell. A scarecrow lay next to me. It was scorched, fluttering in the wind, and from this it felt as if it were alive.

At first I lay with my eyes closed. Then I felt that it smelled like burnt, opened my eyes - the dress of the scarecrow was smoking. I swatted the smoldering hem with my hand and lay back on the grass.

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

"Anya of Green Gables" by Lucy Maud Montgomery

It was already quite light when Anya woke up and sat up in bed, looking in perplexity out the window through which a stream of joyful sunlight was pouring and behind which something white and fluffy swayed against the background of a bright blue sky.

For the first moment, she could not remember where she was. At first she felt a delightful thrill, as if something very pleasant had happened, then a terrible memory appeared. It was Green Gables, but they did not want to leave her here, because she is not a boy!

But it was morning, and outside the window stood a cherry, all in bloom. Anya jumped out of bed and in one leap found herself at the window. Then she pushed open the window frame - the frame gave a creak, as if it had not been opened for a long time, which, however, it really was - and knelt down, peering into the June morning. Her eyes glittered with delight. Ah, isn't that wonderful? Isn't this a lovely place? If she could stay here! She will imagine what remains. There is room for imagination here.

The huge cherry grew so close to the window that its branches touched the house. It was so densely covered with flowers that not a single leaf could be seen. 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 dandelions in bloom. A little further away in the garden were lilac bushes, all in clusters of bright purple flowers, and the morning breeze carried their dizzyingly sweet scent to Anya's window.

Beyond the garden, green meadows covered with succulent clover sloped down to a valley where a stream ran and a multitude of white birches grew, slender trunks of which rose above the undergrowth, suggesting a wonderful rest among ferns, mosses and forest grasses. Beyond the valley was a hill, green and fluffy with firs and spruces. Among them was a small gap, and through it peeped out the gray mezzanine of the house that Anya had seen on the other side of the Lake of Sparkling Waters the day before.

On the left were large barns and other outbuildings and behind them, green fields descended down to the sparkling blue sea.

Anya's eyes, receptive to beauty, slowly passed from one picture to another, eagerly absorbing everything that was in front of her. The poor woman has seen so many ugly places in her life. But what opened before her now surpassed her wildest dreams.

She knelt, forgetting about everything except the beauty that surrounded her, until she shuddered when she felt a hand on her shoulder. The little dreamer did not hear Marilla enter.

“It's time to get dressed,” said Marilla shortly.

Marilla simply did not know how to talk to this child, and this unpleasantness of her own ignorance made her harsh and decisive against her will.

Anya got up with a deep sigh.

- Ah. isn't it wonderful? She asked, pointing to the beautiful world outside the window.

“Yes, it’s a big tree,” said Marilla, “and it 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 him ... But I meant everything: the garden, and the trees, and the stream, and the forests - the whole big beautiful world. On a morning like this, don't you feel like you love the whole world? Even here I can hear the stream laughing in the distance. Have you ever noticed how joyful these streams are? They are always laughing. Even in winter I can hear them laughing from under the ice. I’m so glad there’s a stream here by the Green Gables. Maybe you think it doesn't matter to me if you don't want to leave me here? But this is not the case. I will always be pleased to remember that there is a stream near the Green Gables, even if I never see it again. If there was no brook here, I would always have the unpleasant feeling that he should have been here. I'm not in the midst of grief this morning. I am never in the abyss of grief in the morning. Isn't it wonderful that it is 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 that. 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.

“You better get dressed, go downstairs and don’t think about your imaginary things,” Marilla remarked, 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 unfold the bed to ventilate. And hurry up, please.

Anya, obviously, could act quickly when it was required, because after ten minutes she came downstairs, neatly dressed, with her hair combed and braided in braids, and a washed face; at the same time her soul was filled with a pleasant consciousness that she had fulfilled all 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 had pointed out to her. “The world no longer seems such a gloomy desert as it did last night. I'm so glad the morning is sunny. However, I love rainy mornings too. Any 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 steadfastly endure the vicissitudes of fate on a sunny day. I feel like I have a lot to go through 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 we really have to face them, right?

“For God's sake, hold your tongue,” said Marilla. “The little girl shouldn't talk so much.

After this remark, Anne completely fell silent, so obediently that her continued silence began to irritate Marilla somewhat, as something not entirely natural. Matthew was silent too — but that was at least natural — so breakfast was passed in complete silence.

As it drew to a close, Anya became more and more distracted. She ate mechanically, and her big eyes gazed unseenly at the sky outside the window. This annoyed Marilla even more. She had the unpleasant feeling that while the body of this strange child was at the table, his spirit was floating on the wings of fantasy in some transcendental country. Who would want to have such a child in the house?

And yet, most incomprehensible, Matthew wanted to leave her! Marilla felt that he wanted it this morning as badly as he had last night, and was going to want it more. It was his usual way of hammering a quirk into his head and clinging to it with astonishing tacit tenacity - ten times more powerful and effective through silence than if he spoke of his desire from morning to night.

When breakfast was over, Anya got out of her reverie and offered to wash the dishes.

- Do you know how to wash dishes properly? Asked Marilla incredulously.

- Pretty good. True, I am better at babysitting. I have a lot of experience in this business. It's a shame that you don't have children here that I could take care of.

- But I would not at all want to have more children here than at the moment. With you alone is enough trouble. I don't know what to do with you. Matthew is so funny.

“He seemed very sweet to me,” said Anya 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 are both eccentric, if you mean that when you talk about kinship,” snorted Marilla. - Okay, you can wash the dishes. Do not spare hot water and dry properly. I’ve got a lot of work to do this morning because I’ll have to go to White Sands this afternoon to see Mrs. Spencer. You will go 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 quickly and thoroughly washed the dishes, which Marilla did not miss. Then she made the bed, albeit with less success, because she had never learned the art of wrestling with a feather bed. Nevertheless, the bed was made, and Marilla, in order to get rid of the girl for a while, said that she would let her go into the garden and play there until dinnertime.

Anne 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 by the table, the expression of delight disappeared from her face, as if it had been blown away by the wind.

- Well, what else happened? Asked Marilla.

“I dare not go out,” said Anya in the tone of a martyr, renouncing 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 to know all these trees, flowers, and a garden, and a stream, I cannot help but love them. My heart is already heavy, 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 best not to. You shouldn't fall in love with something from which you have to be torn off forever, right? And it's so hard to resist and not fall in love, isn't it? That's why I was so happy when I thought I was staying here. I thought there was so much to love here that nothing would stop me. But this brief dream was over. Now I am reconciled to my rock, so I 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 geranium.

- Oh, I don't mean that title. I mean the name you gave her. Didn't you give her a name? Then can I do it? May I call her ... oh let me think ... Sweetheart will do ... can I call her Sweetheart while I'm here? Oh, let me call her that!

- Yes, for God's sake, I don't care. But what is the point in naming geraniums?

“Oh, I like things to have names, even if it's only geranium. This makes them look more like people. How do you know you don’t hurt the feelings of a geranium when you just call it “geranium” and nothing else? After all, you would not like it if you were always called just a woman. Yes, I will call her Sweetheart. I gave a name this morning to this cherry under my bedroom window. I named her the Snow Queen because she is so white. Of course, she will not always be in bloom, but you can always imagine that, right?

“Never in my life have I seen or heard anything like it,” muttered Marilla, fleeing to the basement for potatoes. “She's really interesting, as Matthew says. I can already feel how I am interested in what else she has to say. She puts a spell on me too. And she's already let them in on Matthew. This look, which he threw at me when he left, again expressed everything that he said and what he hinted at 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 can you do with a man who only looks?

When Marilla returned from her pilgrimage to the basement, she found Anya again falling into reverie. The girl sat with her chin in her hands and gazed at the sky. So Marilla left her until dinner appeared on the table.

“Can I borrow a mare and a convertible in the afternoon, Matthew? Asked Marilla.

Matthew nodded and looked sadly at Anya. Marilla caught that glance and said dryly:

“I'm going to go to White Sands and settle the matter. 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 milking.

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

In due time Matthew harnessed the bay, and Marilla and Anne got into the convertible. Matthew opened the courtyard gates for them, and as they passed slowly, he said loudly, to no one, it seemed, addressing:

“There was a kid here this morning, Jerry Buot from the Creek, and I told him I’d hire him for the summer.

Marilla did not answer, but whipped the unfortunate bay one with such force that the fat mare, not accustomed to such treatment, galloped indignantly. As the convertible was already rolling down the high road, Marilla turned and saw that the insufferable Matthew was leaning against the gate, looking sadly after them.

Sergey Kutsko

WOLVES

This is how village life is arranged, that if you don't go out into the forest before noon, don't walk through familiar mushroom and berry places, then by the evening there is nothing to run, everything will be hidden.

- 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 into a daze ...

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

- Mama! - 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 indulging ...” It is five kilometers from the village, in the forest!

The girl did not remember the words of the prayer. Overshadowing 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. Ahead, slowly, with her head down, a she-wolf walked.

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. Pours fine prickly snow. The horses' hooves clatter on the cobblestone pavement, shop doors slam - the last purchases are made before the holiday. Everyone is in a hurry to quickly get home.

Only a little boy wanders slowly along the snowy street. Every now and then he pulls cold, reddened hands from the pockets of his shabby coat and tries to warm them with his breath. Then he shoves them deeper into his pockets again and moves on. He stops at the bakery window and looks at the pretzels and bagels displayed behind the glass.

The store door swung open, letting out another customer, and a scent of freshly baked bread smelled out of it. The boy convulsively swallowed saliva, stomped on the spot and wandered on.

Dusk falls imperceptibly. There are fewer and fewer passers-by. The boy pauses in front of the building, in the windows of which the lights are on, and, standing on tiptoe, tries to look inside. After a moment's hesitation, he opens the door.

The old clerk was late at work today. He has nowhere to rush. For a long time he has been living alone and on holidays he feels his loneliness especially sharply. The clerk sat and thought with bitterness 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 said quickly.

- Do you have money? The clerk asked sternly.

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

- What is the name of the gentleman?

“This is not the master,” the boy muttered, not yet fully believing his luck.

- Oh, is that a lady? The clerk asked, smiling.

No no! The boy said quickly.

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

- Jesus.

- How dare you taunt 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 an already warmer 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 is called Jesus Christ. - The boy came closer to the clerk and continued: - And yesterday she fell asleep, and I can not wake her up. There is not even bread at home, I am so hungry, ”he wiped away the tears that had come over his eyes with his palm.

- How did you wake her up? The old man asked, rising from his table.

- I kissed her.

- Does she breathe?

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

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

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

Boris Ganago

SAID WORD

On the outskirts of a big city there was an old house with a garden. They were guarded by a reliable watchman - the clever dog Uranus. He never barked at anyone in vain, watched strangers vigilantly, rejoiced at the owners.

But this house was demolished. Its inhabitants were offered a comfortable apartment, and then the question arose - what to do with the shepherd dog? As a watchman, they no longer needed Uranus, becoming only a burden. For several days there was a fierce debate about the fate of the dog. The plaintive sobbing of his grandson and the menacing shouts of his grandfather often flew through the open window from the house to the guardhouse.

What did Uranus understand from the words that came through? 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 persuaded he was. He no longer wagged his tail when they approached him, and even averted his gaze to the side, as if not wanting to look at the people who betrayed him anymore.

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

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

- It would be better if the dog itself died. You wouldn't have had to shoot then.

The daughter-in-law shuddered.

Uranus looked at the speaker with a look that the owner could not forget for a long time.

The grandson persuaded the veterinarian's neighbor to see his pet. But the veterinarian did not find any disease, only thoughtfully said:

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

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

But is it possible to return what was said?

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

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

Words live, words do not die ...

An old book said: a girl's dad died. The girl missed him. He was always kind to her. This warmth she lacked.

Once daddy dreamed of her and said: now you be affectionate with people. Every good 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 dad died, mom worked where she could, and then she got sick. There was not a crumb left in the house, but I was so hungry. 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 woman's words: “I do not ask myself, my children ... for Christ's sake! ”Were drowning in the pre-holiday bustle.

In despair, 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 on her knees. Her face was flooded with tears. The girl had never seen such suffering before.

Masha had an amazing heart. When they were happy next to her, and she wanted to jump with happiness. But if someone was hurt, she could not walk past and asked:

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

Are you in grief?

And when she shared her misfortune with her, Masha, who had never experienced a feeling of hunger in her life, imagined three lonely kids who had not seen food for a long time. Without hesitation, she handed the woman five rubles. It was all her money.

At that time, it was a significant amount, and the woman's face shone.

Where is your home? - 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 on this Christmas evening.

The happy mother flew home as if on wings. She bought food from a nearby store, and the children greeted her with joy.

Soon the stove burned and the samovar began to boil. The children warmed up, had their fill and quieted down. The table, laden 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 presents. Thank God for what He has already given them: everyone is full and warm. But babies are babies. They so much wanted to have a Christmas tree on Christmas, the same as that of all the other children. What could she, poor woman, tell them? Destroy a child's faith?

The children looked at her warily, waiting for an answer. And mom 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 with all my heart I pray to Him, - Nadya did not back down. - Let him 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 my mother crossed herself and opened the door with a trembling hand.

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

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

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

And when the unexpected guests left, Nadia asked:

Was this girl an Angel?

Boris Ganago

BACK TO LIFE

Based on the story of 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 forbidden to disturb the baby. They only asked me to pray for my little brother, who was getting worse and worse.

One evening Sasha looked into the patient's room. Seryozha was lying with his eyes open, not seeing anything, and could barely breathe. Frightened, the boy rushed to the office, from which the voices of his parents could be heard. The door was ajar, and Sasha heard ma-ma, crying, said that Seryozha was dying. Pa-pa answered with pain in his voice:

- Why cry now? He is no longer spas ...

In horror, Sasha rushed to his sister's room. There was no one there, and with sobs he fell to his knees in front of the icon. Mother of God hanging on the wall. The words broke through the sobbing:

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

Sasha's face was flooded 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 has disappeared.

- Lord, you can do anything, save Seryozha!

It was already completely dark. Exhausted, Sasha got up with the corpse and lit a table lamp. The Gospel lay before her. The boy turned over several pages, and suddenly his gaze fell on the line: "Go, and how you believed, let it be for you ..."

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

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

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

These were moments of real happiness.

Boris Ganago

YOUR BIRTHDAY

A chick fell out of the nest - very small, helpless, even the wings have not yet grown. Can't do anything, only squeaks and opens its beak - it asks for food.

The guys took it and brought it into the house. They built a nest for him from grass and twigs. Vova fed the baby, and Ira watered and carried it out into the sun.

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

Summer passed quickly. The chick grew up in front of the children and began to fly around the cage. And soon he felt cramped in her. When the cage was taken out into the street, he beat 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 imprison the one who was created for flight.

One sunny morning the children said goodbye to their pet, carried the cage into the yard and opened it. The chick jumped onto the grass and looked back at his friends.

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

The Lord created a saving fence, behind which our soul grows and grows stronger - 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 networks.

Boris Ganago

MIRROR

Dot, dot, comma,

Minus, mug curve.

Stick, stick, cucumber -

So the little man came out.

With this rhyme, Nadia finished drawing. Then, fearing that she would not be understood, she signed under it: "This is me." She carefully examined her creation and decided that he was missing something.

The young artist went to the mirror and began to examine herself: what else needs to be completed so that anyone can understand who is depicted in the portrait?

Nadia was very fond of dressing up and spinning 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 presented herself as an adult, threw a languid look in the mirror and tried to walk with the gait of a fashion model. It didn't turn out very nicely, and when she stopped abruptly, the hat slid down on her nose.

It's good that no one saw her at that moment. That would have laughed! In general, she didn't like being a fashion model at all.

The girl took off her hat, and then her gaze fell on her grandmother's hat. Unable to resist, she tried it on. And she froze, having made an amazing discovery: she looked like two drops of water like her grandma. Only she didn't have wrinkles yet. Bye.

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

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

Footsteps rang out. Nadia hastily put her hat back and ran to the door. On the threshold she met ... herself, but not so playful. 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, then smiled mysteriously and took out an old album from the shelf. Turning a few pages, she showed a photograph of a little girl very much like Nadia.

That's what I was.

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

Or maybe you are like me? - Slyly, squinting, asked the grandmother.

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

Isn't it important? Look at who I looked like ...

And the grandmother began to leaf through the album. There were so many faces there. And what kind of faces! And each was beautiful in its own way. The peace, dignity and warmth radiated by them attracted the eye. Nadya 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.

The grandmother hugged her blood to her, and a story began to flow about their family, coming from ancient times.

The time has come for cartoons, but the girl did not want to watch them. She was discovering something amazing, which was a long time ago, but living in her.

Do you know the history of your grandfathers, great-grandfathers, the history of a kind? Maybe this story is your mirror?

Boris Ganago

Parrot

Petya wandered around the house. I'm tired of all the games. Then my mother gave the order to go to the store and also suggested:

Our neighbor, Maria Nikolaevna, broke her leg. She has no one to buy bread. Barely moving around the room. Come on, I'll call and find out if she needs to buy something.

Aunt Masha was delighted with the call. And when the boy brought her a whole bag of groceries, she did not know how to thank him. For some reason, I 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, no one to care about. And what kind of life is this if there is no one to take care of?

Petya looked at the empty cage, at the crutches, imagined Aunt Mania hobbling around the empty apartment, and an unexpected thought occurred to him. The fact is that he had been saving money for a long time, which was given to him for toys. I couldn't find anything suitable. And now this strange thought - to buy a parrot for Aunt Masha.

Having said goodbye, Petya jumped out into the street. He wanted to go to a pet store, where he had once seen different parrots. But now he looked at them through the eyes of Aunt Masha. Which one could she befriend? Maybe this one will suit her, maybe this one?

Petya decided to ask his neighbor about the fugitive. The next day he told his mother:

Call your aunt Masha ... Maybe she needs something?

Mom even froze, then hugged her son to her and whispered:

So you are becoming a man ... Petya was offended:

Wasn't I a man before?

There was, of course there was, - my mother smiled. - Only now your soul has also woken up ... Thank God!

And what is the soul? - the boy was alerted.

It is the ability to love.

Mom looked at her son inquiringly:

Maybe you can call yourself?

Petya was embarrassed. Mom answered the phone: Maria Nikolaevna, excuse me, Petya has a question for you. I'll hand him over to him now.

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

Aunt Masha, can I buy you something?

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

When Petya called her apartment, he heard a hurried knock 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 talked about both color and behavior ...

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

Victor DRAGUNSKY
Glory to Ivan Kozlovsky

I have only fives in my report card. Only a four in calligraphy. Because of the blots. I don't really know what to do! Blots always come off my pen. I already dip only the very tip of the pen into ink, but the blots still fall off. Just some miracles! Once I wrote a whole page cleanly, it’s expensive to watch a real five page. In the morning he showed it to Raisa Ivanovna, and there, in the very middle of the blot! Where did it come from? She was not there yesterday! Maybe it leaked from some other page? Do not know...
And so I have only fives. Only by singing a troika. This is how it happened. We had a singing lesson. At first we all sang in chorus "There was a birch tree in the field." It came out very beautifully, but Boris Sergeevich frowned all the time and shouted:
Pull vowels, friends, pull vowels! ..
Then we began to draw vowels, but Boris Sergeevich clapped his hands and said:
A real cat concert! Let's deal with each individually.
This means with each separately.
And Boris Sergeevich called Mishka.
Mishka went up to the piano and whispered something to Boris Sergeevich.
Then Boris Sergeevich began to play, and Mishka quietly sang:

As on thin ice
White snow fell ...

Well, Mishka squeaked funny! This is how our kitten Murzik squeaks. Is that how they sing! Almost nothing is heard. I just couldn't stand it and laughed.
Then Boris Sergeevich gave Mishka an A and looked at me.
He said:
Come on, laughing gull, come out!
I quickly ran to the piano.
Well, what will you perform? Boris Sergeevich asked politely.
I said:
Song of the Civil War "Lead Well, Budyonny, we are bolder into battle".
Boris Sergeevich shook his head and began to play, but I immediately stopped him:
Please play louder! I said.
Boris Sergeevich said:
You won't be heard.
But I said:
Will. And how!
Boris Sergeevich began to play, and I took in more air and how to sing:

High in the clear sky
The scarlet banner is twisting ...

I really like this song.
So I can see the blue-blue sky, it's hot, the horses are clattering their hooves, they have beautiful purple eyes, and a scarlet banner is hovering in the sky.
Then I even closed my eyes with delight and shouted as best I could:

We ride horses there,
Where the enemy is visible!
And in a ravishing battle ...
I sang well, probably even heard on another street:

A rapid avalanche! We are rushing forward! .. Hurray! ..
The Reds always win! Retreat, enemies! Give !!!

I pressed my fists on my stomach, it came out even louder, and I almost burst:

We crashed into the Crimea!

Then I stopped because I was all sweaty and my knees were shaking.
And Boris Sergeevich, although he was playing, somehow leaned towards the piano, and his shoulders were shaking too ...
I said:
How is it?
Monstrous! praised Boris Sergeevich.
Nice song, isn't it? I asked.
Good, said Boris Sergeevich and closed his eyes with a handkerchief.
It's just a pity that you played very quietly, Boris Sergeevich, I said, it could be even louder.
Okay, I'll take it into account, said Boris Sergeevich. And you didn’t notice that I played one thing, and you sang a little differently!
No, I said, I didn't notice it! It doesn't matter. I just had to play louder.
Well, said Boris Sergeevich, since you haven't noticed anything, we'll give you a three for now. For diligence.
How is the top three? I was even taken aback. How can this be? Three is very small! The bear sang softly and then got an A ... I said:
Boris Sergeevich, when I have a little rest, I can even louder, you do not think. I had a bad breakfast today. Otherwise I can sing in such a way that it will put everyone's ears on the line. I know one more song. When I sing it at home, all the neighbors come running and ask what happened.
What is this? asked Boris Sergeevich.
Pitying, I said and started:

I loved you...
Love still, maybe ...

But Boris Sergeevich hastily said:
Okay, okay, we'll discuss all this next time.
And then the bell rang.
Mom met me in the locker room. When we were about to leave, Boris Sergeevich came up to us.
Well, he said, smiling, maybe your boy will be Lobachevsky, maybe Mendeleev. He can become Surikov or Koltsov, I will not be surprised if he becomes known to the country as his comrade Nikolai Mamai or some boxer is known, but one thing I can assure you absolutely firmly: he will not achieve the glory of Ivan Kozlovsky. Never!
Mom blushed terribly and said:
Well, we'll see that later!
And when we walked home, I kept thinking:
"Is Kozlovsky singing louder than me?"

"HE IS ALIVE AND LIGHTING ..."

One evening I was sitting in the yard, near the sand, and was waiting for my mother. She probably stayed late at the institute, or in the store, or, perhaps, stood for a long time at the bus stop. Do not know. Only all the parents of our yard had already come, and all the guys went home with them and probably already drank tea with bagels and feta cheese, but my mother was still not there ...
And now the lights began to light up in the windows, and the radio began to play music, and dark clouds were moving in the sky - they looked like bearded old men ...
And I felt hungry, but my mother was not there, and I thought that if I knew that my mother was hungry and was waiting for me somewhere at the end of the world, I would immediately run to her, and not be late and not made her sit on the sand and be bored.
And at that time Mishka came out into the yard. He said:
- Great!
And I said:
- Great!
Mishka sat down with me and picked up a dump truck.
- Wow! - said the Bear. - Where did you get it? Does he pick up the sand himself? Not yourself? Does he dump himself? Yes? And the pen? What is it for? Can you twirl it? Yes? A? Wow! Will you give it to me home?
I said:
- No I will not give. Present. Dad gave it before leaving.
The bear pouted and moved away from me. The yard grew even darker.
I looked at the gate so as not to miss when my mother came. But she still didn’t go. Apparently, she met Aunt Rosa, and they are standing and talking and do not even think about me. I lay down on the sand.
Here the Bear says:
- Would you mind a dump truck?
- Get off, Mishka.
Then the Bear says:
- I can give you one Guatemala and two Barbados for it!
I'm talking:
- Compared Barbados to a dump truck ...
And Mishka:
- Well, do you want me to give you a swimming circle?
I'm talking:
- He's burst.
And Mishka:
- You glue it!
I even got angry:
- Where to swim? In the bathroom? On Tuesdays?
And Mishka pouted again. And then he says:
- Well, it was not! Know my kindness! On!
And he handed me a box of matches. I took it in my hands.
- You open it, - said the Bear, - then you will see!
I opened the box and at first did not see anything, and then I saw a small light green light, as if a tiny star was burning somewhere far, far away from me, and at the same time I myself was holding it now in my hands.
- What is it, Mishka, - I said in a whisper, - what is it?
“It's a firefly,” said Bear. - What, good? He's alive, don't think.
- Bear, - I said, - take my dump truck, do you want? Take it forever, for good! Give me this star, I'll take it home ...
And Mishka grabbed my dump truck and ran home. And I stayed with my firefly, looked at it, looked and could not get enough of it: how green it is, as if in a fairy tale, and how close it is, in the palm of my hand, but it shines, as if from afar ... And I could not even breathe , and I heard my heart pounding, and a little prickling in my nose, as if I wanted to cry.
And I sat like that for a long time, for a very long time. And no one was around. And I forgot about everyone in this world.
But then my mother came, and I was very happy, and we went home. And when they began to drink tea with bagels and feta cheese, my mother asked:
- Well, how is your dump truck?
And I said:
- I, mom, changed it.
Mom said:
- Interesting! And for what?
I answered:
- Firefly! Here he lives in a box. Turn off the light!
And my mother turned off the light, and the room became dark, and the two of us began to look at the pale green star.
Then my mother turned on the light.
“Yes,” she said, “it's magic! But still, how did you decide to give such a valuable thing as a dump truck for this worm?
“I've been waiting for you for so long,” I said, “and I was so bored, and this firefly, he turned out to be better than any dump truck in the world.
Mom looked at me intently and asked:
- And why, what exactly is it better?
I said:
- Why don't you understand ?! After all, he is alive! And it shines! ..

GREEN LEOPARDS

The teacher wrote the theme of the essay on the blackboard: "Your comrade."
“Do I have a REAL comrade? thought Andryusha. With whom you can climb the mountains, and go for exploration, and dive to the bottom of the World Ocean. And in general, at least go to the ends of the world! .. "
Andryusha thought and thought, then thought and thought again and decided: he has such a friend! And then he wrote in large letters in a notebook:
MY COMRADE GRANDMA

Her name is Claudia Stepanovna, or just grandmother Klava. She was born a long time ago, and when she grew up, she became a railway woman. Grandmother Klava took part in various sports parades. That's why she's so brave and dexterous
Andryusha read the essay and sighed: he did not like it. How can you write so boringly about your grandmother?
No, he thought.
And he began to dream. About real mountains, which I have never been to. I wish I could climb to the very peaks! ..

Where the eternal glaciers don't melt.
Where is the avalanche
falls off a cliff.
Where it's cold even in July
And eagles soar in the sky

The mountain paths are dangerous there.
A rockfall thunders into the gorge.
Here are the snow leopards -
in the snow from head to toe.

They go out onto the road
their appetite is excellent!
And each of the leopards by the leg
strives to grab you.

A group of leopards approached.
The belt slips in fear
But here to the top
grandmother Klava climbed up
as agile as a deer.

The backpack is behind her,
and there are 28 cutlets in it,
piece of African cheese
and even a Chinese bracelet.

And the grandmother of the leopards fed
probably two minutes
and hardworking hand
stroking them on the head.

The snow leopards are full
and they say so politely:
“Thank you, grandmother Klava,
for a delicious and hearty lunch! .. "
And then they brushed their teeth and
went to the lair to take a nap.

“That's how grandma! - thought Andryusha. - With such a friend, not only in the mountains, but not a bit scary in reconnaissance.
And then it presented itself to him:
Night. Street. Flashlight. Pharmacy
No, it's better like this:
Night. Lake. Moon. Dubrava. And in the middle is a ravine. In short, a typical military environment

In intelligence, sneezing is not allowed!
Do you see the ravine turning black?
The enemy is hiding there -
the enemy of the Soviet people.

As he jumps out of the ditch,
how he pulls out his pistol,
as Klava's grandmother asks:
"How old are you, grandmother?"

But grandma Klava will not flinch -
she is such a person!
(no, better like this:
she is such a person!)
Therefore, it will not even flinch,
taking off the duffel bag.

And in that duffel bag according to the charter
put: 20 cutlets,
a bottle of ghee
and even a tram ticket.

Our enemy will feed
he sighs not in our way:
“Thank you, grandmother Klava!
It was a nutritious one
refreshments "
And immediately throw his pistol out into the sea.

Andryusha now dreamed well: he clearly imagined how the pistol was slowly sinking to the very bottom of the World Ocean. Wow, and deeply! ..

Washing half of the world with water,
seething ocean World.
It's very damp at the bottom
happens at night sometimes.

The water is there to the left and to the right
so there is nothing to breathe
But the glorious grandmother Klava
bravely knows how to dive!

And in a deep-sea valley
mustachioed sperm whale lies.
He thinks a bitter thought
and quietly gnaws a bone:

"And who is there fins
moves like a sawfish?
Excuse me, yes it's yourself
Yes, this is Grandma Kla "

For joy at the sperm whale
breath stole in the goiter -
he cannot utter a word,
but only mutters: boo-boo-boo

And the scuba grandmother
took out 12 cutlets,
cherry jam jar
and even a bouquet of daisies.

And the sperm whale, know to yourself, mutters: "Save-BU-BU-BU-shka, save-BU BU-BU-shka" and from happiness only blows colorful bubbles.
And those bubbles rise to the surface where the edge of the water is. Or the edge of the air in general, the real edge of the world. And Anryusha rises with them. No land, no water, no air can be seen. Continuous airless space. It is called the cosmos. And the Earth flickers with a dim light somewhere far away. And melts, melts

Our planet has melted
and with it our country.
There is no white light to be seen here
but grandma Klava is visible!

She's near the starry outskirts
flies among interplanetary worlds,
like Yuri Gagarin,
or maybe like German Titov.

In a spacesuit at Klava's grandmother
8 cutlets are hidden,
casserole with chicken broth
and even an alarm clock "Dawn".

Astronomers of the Universe are looking
for a delicious and hearty lunch
into their big telescopes
and send grateful greetings:

THANKS TO YOU PST
GRANDMA KLAVDIA STEPANOVNA ZPT
YOUR MOTHER CARE
NAMED IN THE WORLD COMMUNITY
TChK

National glory thunders -
the thundering sound is heard:
"Long live grandmother Klava,
and also a grandmother's grandson! "

And even constellations in the sky
Libra, Scorpio and Sagittarius -
greet grandmother with grandson
This concludes:
THE END

And on time! Because the bell just rang.
"Oh, sorry, sighed Andryusha, the lesson is so short"
He remembered that he had another grandmother. Her name is Elena Gerasimovna, or just grandmother Lena. She, too, was born a long time ago. And also
“Okay, Andryusha decided. I will definitely write about her another time "
And he signed the essay: Andryusha IVANOV, grandson of Klava's grandmother (and Lena's grandmother too)

Tatiana PETROSYAN
A NOTE

The note had the most harmless appearance.
In it, according to all gentlemanly laws, an ink face and a friendly explanation should have been found: "Sidorov is a goat."
So Sidorov, not suspecting that he was thin, instantly unfolded the message and was dumbfounded.
Inside it was written in large, beautiful handwriting: "Sidorov, I love you!"
In the roundness of his handwriting, Sidorov felt a mockery. Who wrote this to him? Squinting, he looked around the classroom. The author of the note was bound to reveal himself. But Sidorov's main enemies this time for some reason did not grin maliciously. (This is how they usually grinned. But this time not.)
But Sidorov immediately noticed that Vorobyov was looking at him without blinking. It doesn't just look like that, but with meaning! There was no doubt: she wrote the note. But then it turns out that Vorobyova loves him ?!
And then Sidorov's thought came to a dead end and began to hammer helplessly, like a fly in a glass. WHAT DOES LOVE MEAN ??? What consequences will this entail and how can Sidorov be now? ..
“We will argue logically, Sidorov reasoned logically. What, for example, do I love? Pears! I love means I always want to eat "
At that moment, Vorobyova turned back to him and licked her lips bloodthirsty. Sidorov froze. He was struck by her long not trimmed well, yes, real claws! For some reason, I remembered how in the buffet Vorobyova eagerly gnawed at a bony chicken leg
“We need to pull ourselves together, Sidorov pulled himself together. (Hands turned out to be dirty. But Sidorov ignored little things.) I love not only pears, but also my parents. However, there can be no question of eating them. Mom bakes sweet pies. Dad often wears me around his neck. And I love them for that "
Then Vorobyova turned around again, and Sidorov thought with melancholy that now he would have to bake sweet pies for her all day long and wear her around his neck to school in order to justify such a sudden and insane love. He looked closely and found that Vorobyova was not thin and that it would probably be difficult to wear her.
“All is not lost yet, Sidorov did not give up. I also love our dog Bobik. Especially when I train him or take him out for a walk "
Then Sidorov felt stifling at the thought that Vorobyova could make him jump for every pie, and then take him out for a walk, holding tightly by the leash and not allowing him to evade either to the right or to the left.
"I love the cat Murka, especially when you blow right into her ear, Sidorov thought in despair, no, it's not that I like to catch flies and put them in a glass, but I really like toys that can be broken and see what's inside."
The last thought made Sidorov feel bad. There was only one salvation. He hastily tore a piece of paper out of his notebook, compressed his lips resolutely and in a firm hand wrote out the menacing words: "Vorobyova, I love you."
Let her get scared.

O. KOSHKIN
Tired of fighting!

At exactly 13 hours 13 minutes, the secret intelligence officer was declassified. He fled through the streets to escape the pursuit. Two men in civilian clothes were chasing him, firing on the move. The scout had already swallowed three ciphers and was now hastily chewing on the fourth. "Eh, soda would be now! .." he thought. How tired of fighting he was!
Top-top-top! .. The shoes of the pursuers were knocking closer and closer.
And suddenly oh, happiness! the scout saw a hole in the fence. He, without hesitation, jumped into it and ended up in the zoo.
Boy, come back! ”The usher waved her arms angrily.
No matter how it is! Former scout Mukhin ran along the path, climbed over one grate, over another and found himself in an elephant.
I'll hide here, okay? panting, he shouted.
Hide, I'm not sorry, the elephant replied. He stood, wiggling his ears, and listened to the radio on the events in Africa. Homeland, after all!
Are you at war? he asked when the last news ended.
Yeah, I ate all the encryption! slapping on the stomach, Mukhin boasted.
Children's fun, the elephant sighed and sadly stomped on the spot. My great-grandfather fought, yes!
Chi-in-oh? Mukhin was surprised. Was your great-grandfather a tank, or what?
A stupid boy! offended by the elephant. My great-grandfather was Hannibal's war elephant.
Whom? again Mukhin did not understand.
The elephant perked up. He loved to tell the story of his great-grandfather.
Sit down, listen! he said and drank water from the iron barrel. In 246 BC, the son of Hannibal was born to the Carthaginian commander Hamilcar Barca. His father fought endlessly with the Romans and therefore entrusted the upbringing of his son to a fighting elephant. This was my dear great-grandfather!
The elephant wiped away the tears with its trunk. The animals in the neighboring enclosures were quiet and also listened.
Oh, it was an elephant mountain! When on hot days he fanned himself with his ears, the wind rose so that the trees crackled. So, great-grandfather fell in love with Hannibal as his own son. He did not close his eyes, so that the child was not kidnapped by the Roman spies. Noticing the spy, he grabbed him with his trunk and threw him across the sea back to Rome.
“Hey, the scouts are flying! the inhabitants of Carthage spoke looking up into the sky. Must be for war! "
And, for sure, to the First Punic War! Hamilcar Barca had already fought with the Romans in Spain.
Meanwhile, the boy grew up under the supervision of a war elephant. Oh, how they loved each other! Hannibal recognized the elephant by the steps and fed it with selected raisins. By the way, do you have any raisins? the elephant asked Mukhin.
Nope! he shook his head.
It's a pity. So, when Hannibal became a commander, then the phase he decided to start the Second Punic War. "Maybe we should not? my great-grandfather dissuaded him. Maybe we'd better go for a swim? " But Hannibal didn't want to listen to anything. Then the elephant sounded, calling the army, and the Carthaginians set out on a campaign.
Hannibal led an army across the Alps, intending to strike at the rear of the Romans. Yes, it was a difficult transition! Mountain eagles carried away the soldiers, and hail the size of a melon fell from the sky. But here the road was blocked by an abyss. Then my great-grandfather stood over her, and the army crossed over him, as if over a bridge.
Hannibal's arrival took the Romans by surprise. They did not have time to deploy the formation, as the elephant was already running towards them, sweeping away everything in the way. The infantry moved behind him, the cavalry ace of the flanks. Victory! The army was jubilant. The War Elephant was picked up and started to swing.
"Brothers, let's go swimming!" the elephant suggested again.
But the soldiers did not listen to him: "What else, hunt to fight!"
The Romans were also not going to put up. Consul Gaius Flaminius gathered an army and marched against the Carthaginians. Then Hannibal went for a new trick. He put the army on an elephant and led it through the swamps, bypassing the enemy. Great-grandfather walked head over heels in the water. Soldiers hung from the sides like bunches of grapes. On the way, many got their feet wet, and the commander lost an eye.
Once again, Hannibal was victorious! Then the Romans gathered for a council and decided to decide the elephant's voice faltered, he raised the barrel and, in order to calm down, poured all the water on himself, to kill his great-grandfather! On the same night, a spy in Hannibal's clothes sneaked into the Carthaginian camp. He had poisoned raisins in his pocket. Having approached the elephant, he got up on the leeward side and said in the voice of Hannibal: "Eat, father elephant!" Great-grandfather swallowed just one raisin and fell down dead
The animals in the neighboring enclosures were crying. Crocodile tears flowed from the crocodile's eyes.
What about Hannibal? asked Mukhin.
For three days and three nights he mourned his elephant. Since then, luck has betrayed him. His army was defeated. Carthage is destroyed, and he himself died in exile in 183 BC.
The elephant finished the story.
And I thought only horses fought, Mukhin sighed.
We all fought here! We are all fighting! .. animals screamed in eager rivalry: camels, giraffes, and even a hippopotamus that surfaced like a submarine.
And the crocodile is the loudest:
Grab the belly, twist the tail and carry it! Like a battering ram. And bite the enemy, too. You will break off all your teeth! ..
And the mice were launched under the armor, the elephant interposed condemningly. This is to tickle the knights!
And we are, we are! frogs tore themselves in the terrarium. Tied up for the whole night on the front line, croak at the scouts! ..
Mukhin grabbed his head right: what is it, all the animals were forced to fight? ..
Here it is! suddenly a voice came from behind. Gotcha! Hands up!
Mukhin turned around. His buddies Volkov and Zaitsev stood at the grate and aimed with rifles.
Come on, tired of you! Mukhin dismissed it. Let's go swimming!
That's right, the crocodile approved. Come to my pool, there is enough space for everyone! And the water is warm
Mukhin began to unbutton his coat.
I'll bring you raisins tomorrow, he told the elephant. Good raisins, not poisoned. I'll ask my mom.
And he climbed into the water.

Tatiana PETROSYAN
MOM, BE MOTHER!

Yurik didn't have a dad. And one day he said to his mother:
If it were dad, he would make me a club.
Mom said nothing. But the next day, a Young Joiner set appeared on her nightstand. Mom sawed, planed, glued something. And once she handed Yurik a wonderful polished club.
A good club, Yurik sighed. Only my dad would go to football with me. The next day, my mother brought two tickets for the match in Luzhniki.
Well, I'll go with you, Yurik sighed. You don't even know how to whistle. A week later, at all matches, my mother whistled madly with two fingers and demanded to give the judge to the soap. It was then that the difficulties with soap began. But Yurik sighed:
If it were dad, he would lift me with one left and teach me the tricks
The next day, my mother bought a barbell and a punching bag. She has achieved excellent athletic performance. In the mornings she lifted the barbell and Yurika with one left, then thrashed the punching bag, then ran to work, and in the evening she was waiting for the semifinals of the World Cup. And when there was no football-hockey, my mother bent over the radio circuit until late at night with a soldering iron in her hands.
Summer came, and Yurik went to the village to see his grandmother. But my mother stayed. At parting, Yurik sighed:
If it were dad, he would speak in a bass, wear a vest and smoke a pipe
When Yurik returned from his grandmother, his mother met him at the station. Only Yurik did not even recognize her at first. Mom's biceps bulged under her vest, and the back of her head was cut short. Mom took the pipe out of her mouth with a calloused hand and said in a gentle bass:
Well, hello son!
But Yurik only sighed:
Daddy would have a beard
At night, Yurik woke up. The light was on in my mother's bedroom. He got up, went to the door and saw Mom with a shaving brush in her hand. Her face was tired. She washed her cheeks. Then she took a razor and saw Yurik in the mirror.
I'll try, son, my mother said quietly. They say that if you shave every day, the beard will grow.
But Yurik rushed to her and roared, burying himself in my mother's hard press.
No, no, he sobbed. Not necessary. Become a mom back. You still won't grow your father's! .. You will grow your mother's beard!
Since that night, my mother has thrown a barbell. And a month later I came home with some skinny uncle. He did not smoke a pipe. And he didn't wear a beard. And his ears were protruding.
He unbuttoned his coat, under which a cat was found instead of a vest. He unwound the muffler, it was a small boa constrictor. He took off his hat there was a white mouse swarming around. He handed Yurik a cake box. There was a chicken in it.
Dad! Yurik beamed. And he dragged dad into the room to show the barbell.

Alexander DUDOLADOV
BAM AND DONE!

Let everything remain the same, and I will have the Spanish name Pedro.
Bang! ..
Everything remained the same. And I'm a black-browed Spaniard. Smile like a flash.
Hi Pedro!
Smile.
Fireworks, Pedro!
Smile back. I don’t understand the language. A guest from a friendly country. I walk, goggling at the achievements.
Eh, it's good to be a foreign guest in Moscow! Much better than Em Nitkin. Just how to do it. Here you cannot do without a magic wand.
And let me be a magic wand myself! So wooden, thin. And magical!
Bang!
I am a magic wand! I bring benefit to people. As soon as you wave me, every benefit arises.
What if you become a benefit?
Bam!
And here I am the benefit! Everyone is glad to me. Everyone is smiling. Old people and youth. No! Bam!
I am the smile of youth!
I'm laughing! Ha ha ha ha!
Nitkin! Where are you? Why do you laugh in class? Nitkin, stand up! What is the theme of the essay?
The theme of the essay, Olga Vasilievna, the essay "What do I want to become when I grow up?"
So who do you want to be when you grow up?
I want to become want to become
Snegirev, don't tell Nitkin!
I want to become a scientist.
Okay. Sit down and write: to the scientists.
Nitkin sat down and began to write in a notebook: "I want to become a scientist cat, to walk around in a chain."
And Olga Vasilievna went to the table and began to write too. Report for the district: “In the third“ B ”, a test was carried out on the topic“ Who I want to become ”. Based on the results of the essay, I report the following data: one doctors, eight singers, five cooperators, scientists "
Mmya-uuu!
Nitkin! Get up now! And take off this stupid chain!

Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffmann. Nutcracker and Mouse King

On December 24, the children of the medical adviser Stahlbaum were not allowed to enter the passage room all day, and they were not allowed into the adjacent living room at all. In the bedroom, huddled together, Fritz and Marie were sitting in the corner. It was already completely dark, and they were very scared, because the lamps were not brought into the room, as it was supposed to be on Christmas Eve. Fritz, in a mysterious whisper, told his sister (she had just passed seven years old) that from the very morning in the locked rooms something rustled, noisy and softly tapped. And recently a small dark man with a large box under his arm slipped through the hallway; but Fritz probably knows that this is their godfather, Drosselmeyer. Then Marie clapped her hands for joy and exclaimed:
- Oh, did the godfather make something for us this time?
The senior councilor of the court, Drosselmeyer, was not distinguished by beauty: he was a small, dry man with a wrinkled face, with a large black plaster instead of his right eye, and completely bald, which is why he wore a beautiful white wig. Every time the godfather had something entertaining for the children in his pocket: now a little man turning his eyes and shuffling his foot, now a box from which a bird pops out, then some other little thing. And for Christmas, he always made a beautiful, intricate toy, on which he worked a lot. Therefore, the parents carefully removed his gift.
- Oh, something made for us this time the godfather! - exclaimed Marie.
Fritz decided that this year it would certainly be a fortress, and there would be pretty little soldiers marching and throwing out articles, and then other soldiers would appear and start an attack, but those soldiers in the fortress would bravely fire their cannons at them and rise noise and rumble.
“No, no,” interrupted Fritz Marie, “the godfather was telling me about the beautiful garden. There big lake, on it wonder what beautiful swans with golden ribbons on their necks swim and sing beautiful songs. Then a girl will come out of the garden, come to the lake, lure the swans and feed them with sweet marzipan ...
`` Swans don't eat marzipan, '' Fritz interrupted her not very politely, `` and the godfather can't make a whole garden. '' But what good is his toys to us? They are immediately taken away from us. No, I like my father's and mother's gifts much more: they stay with us, we manage them ourselves.
And so the children began to wonder what their parents would give them. Marie said that Mamzel Trudchen (her big doll) had completely deteriorated: she had become so clumsy, every now and then she fell to the floor, so that she now had nasty marks all over her face. And then, Mom smiled when Marie admired Greta's umbrella so much. And Fritz assured that he just lacked a chestnut horse in the court stable, and that there was not enough cavalry in the troops. Daddy knows that very well.
So, the children knew very well that their parents bought them all sorts of wonderful gifts and are now placing them on the table; but at the same time they did not doubt that the good baby Christ shone with his gentle and gentle eyes and that Christmas presents, as if touched by his benevolent hand, bring more joy than all others.

YOLKA Zoshchenko
The children were looking forward to a fun holiday. And even through the crack of the door they peeped how my mother decorates the Christmas tree.
Little sister Lele was seven years old at the time. She was a lively girl.
She once said:
Minka, mom went to the kitchen. Let's go to the room where the tree is and see what is going on there.
Now the children entered the room. And they see: a very beautiful tree. And there are gifts under the tree. And on the tree there are colorful beads, flags, lanterns, golden nuts, pastilles and Crimean apples.
Lelya says:
Let's not look at the gifts. Instead, let's eat one lozenge at a time.
And so she comes up to the tree and instantly eats one lozenge hanging on a string.
Lelya, if you have eaten a lozenge, then I will also eat something now.
And Minka comes up to the tree and bites off a small piece of apple.
Lelya says:
Minka, if you took a bite of the apple, then I'll eat another lozenge and in addition I'll take this candy for myself.
And Lelya was such a tall, lanky girl. And she could reach high. She stood on tiptoe and with her big mouth began to eat the second lozenge.
And Minka was surprisingly small. And he had almost nothing to reach, except for one apple, which hung low.
If you, Lelyshcha, have eaten the second lozenge, then I will take another bite of this apple.
And Minka again took this apple with his hands and again bit off a little.
Lelya says:
If you have bitten off an apple for the second time, then I will no longer stand on ceremony and now I will eat the third lozenge and, in addition, I will take a cracker and a nut as a souvenir.
Minka almost roared. Because she could reach everything, but he could not.
And I, Lelishcha, how I will put a chair by the tree and how I will get myself something, besides an apple.
And so he began to pull a chair towards the tree with his thin little hands. But the chair fell on Minka. he wanted to lift a chair. But he fell again. And right for gifts.
Minka, you seem to have broken the doll. This is true. You knocked the porcelain handle off the doll.
Then mother's footsteps were heard, and the children ran into another room.
Guests soon arrived. There are many children with their parents.
And then my mother lit all the candles on the tree, opened the door and said:
All come in.
And all the children entered the room where the tree stood.
Now let every child come to me, and I will give everyone a toy and a treat.
The children began to approach their mother. And she gave everyone a toy. Then she took an apple, a lozenge and a candy from the tree and gave it to the child.
And all the children were very happy. Then my mother picked up the apple that Minka bit off.
Lelya and Minka, come here. Which of you two has bitten off this apple?
This is Mink's job.
Lelka taught me this.
I'll put Lelia in the corner with my nose, and I wanted to give you a clockwork engine. But now I will give this groovy little engine to the boy to whom I wanted to give a bitten off apple.
And she took a little train and gave it to one four-year-old boy. And he immediately began to play with him.
Minkaa got angry with this boy and hit him on the arm with a toy. And he roared so desperately that his own mother took him in her arms and said:
From now on, I will not come to visit you with my boy.
You can leave, and then the locomotive will remain for me.
And that mother was surprised at these words and said:
Probably your boy will be a robber.
And then mom took Minka on her arms and said to that mom:
Don't you dare talk about my boy like that. Better leave with your scrofulous child and never come to us again.
I will do so. It is common with you to sit in nettles.
And then another, third mother, said:
And I'll leave too. My girl didn't deserve to
· She was given a doll with a broken arm.
And Lelya shouted:
You can go with your scrofulous child too. And then the doll with the broken handle will remain for me.
And then Minka, sitting in her mother's arms, shouted:
In general, you can all leave, and then all the toys will remain for us.
And then all the guests began to leave. Then dad came into the room.
This kind of upbringing is ruining my children. I don’t want them to fight, quarrel and expel guests. It will be difficult for them to live in the world, and they will die alone.
And dad went to the tree and put out all the candles.:
Go to bed instantly. And tomorrow I will give all the toys to the guests.
And now thirty-five years have passed since then, and this tree is still not forgotten.

Bazhov Malachite box
From Stepan, you see, there are three little robes left.
Two boys. Robyats are as shy, but this one, as they say, is neither mother nor father. Even when Stepanova was still small, people marveled at this girl. Not that the girls-women, but also the men told Stepan:
- Not otherwise, this one with you, Stepan, fell out of the brushes Into whom it was just conceived! The little black girl herself, and the little green eyes. It doesn't seem like our girls at all.
Stepan jokes, it happened:
- It's not a miracle that little black. My father, after all, from an early age skidded in the ground. And that the eyes are green is also not surprising. You never know, I stuffed malachite for Barin Turchaninov. Here is the memo left to me.
So he called this girl a Memo. - Come on, my memo! - And when it happened to her what to buy, so always blue or green will bring.
So that girl grew up in people's minds. Exactly and in all likelihood the garusinka fell out of the festive belt - you can see it far away. And although she was not very fond of strangers, and everyone to her - Tanya and Tanyushka. The most envious women admired them too. Well, how - beauty! Everyone is cute. One mother sighed:
- Beauty is beauty, but not ours. Exactly who replaced the girl for me.
According to Stepan, this girl was killed very quickly. She was purely crying all over, she lost weight from her face, only her eyes remained. Mother thought of giving Tanyushka that casket to Malakhitov - let him have some fun. Though a little, but a girl, from an early age it is flattering for them to scoff at themselves. Tanya began to disassemble these things. And here's a miracle - which she tries on, and the one for her. Mother didn't know why, but this one knows everything. And he also says:
- Mammy, how good is a donut! Warmth from him, as if you are sitting on a warmer, and even who is stroking you soft.
Nastasya sewed it herself, she remembers how her fingers were numb, her ears ached, her neck could not get warm. So he thinks: "It's not for nothing. Oh, not without reason!" - Yes, hurry up the box, then back into the chest. Only Tanya since then, no, no, and will ask:
- Mammy, let me play with a taty gift!
When Nastasya is nailed down, well, a mother's heart, she will regret it, take out the box, only punish:
- Don't break something!
Then, when Tanya grew up, she began to take out the box herself. The mother and the older boys will leave for the mowing or somewhere else, Tanyushka will remain to play housewives. First, of course, he will rule what the mother punished. Well, wash the cups and spoons, shake off the tablecloth, wave a broom in the hut, give the chicken feed, take a look in the stove. Will settle everything as soon as possible, and for the box. By that time, one of the upper chests remained, and even that one became light. Tanya will move him onto a stool, take out the casket and sort out the pebbles, admire, try on himself.

War and Peace
In Mozhaisk, troops were stationed and marching everywhere. Cossacks, foot, horse soldiers, wagons, boxes, cannons could be seen from all sides. Pierre was in a hurry to drive forward, and the farther he rode away from Moscow and the deeper he plunged into this sea of troops, the more he was seized by anxiety of uneasiness and a new joyful feeling he had not yet experienced. It was a feeling similar to that which he experienced in the Sloboda Palace when the emperor arrived - a feeling of the need to undertake something and sacrifice something. He now experienced a pleasant feeling of consciousness that everything that constitutes the happiness of people, the comforts of life, wealth, even life itself, is nonsense, which is pleasant to cast aside in comparison with something. tried to understand for himself for whom and for what he finds a special charm to sacrifice everything. He was not interested in what he wanted to sacrifice for, but the sacrifice itself constituted a new joyful feeling for him.

On the morning of the 25th, Pierre left Mozhaisk. On the descent from a huge steep mountain leading out of the city past the cathedral, Pierre got out of the carriage and went on foot. A cavalry regiment descended behind him, with singers in front. A train of carts with the wounded in yesterday's case was rising to meet them. Carts, on which lay and sat three and four wounded soldiers, jumped on a steep rise. The wounded, tied with rags, pale, with pursed lips and frowned eyebrows, holding on to the beds, jumped and shoved in carts. Everyone looked with almost naive childish curiosity at Pierre's white hat and green tailcoat.

One cart with the wounded stopped at the edge of the road near Pierre. One wounded old soldier looked back at him.
- Well, fellow countrywoman, will they put us here, eh? Ali to Moscow?
Pierre was so lost in thought that he did not hear the question. He looked now at the cavalry regiment, now meeting with a train of wounded, now at the cart in which he was standing and on which two wounded were sitting; one was probably wounded in the cheek. His whole head was tied with rags, and one cheek swelled like a child's head. His mouth and nose were on the side. This soldier looked at the cathedral and was baptized. Another, a young boy, a recruit, blond and white, as if completely without blood in his thin face, with a stopped, kind smile, looked at Pierre. The cavalry singers passed over the cart itself.
- Ah, yes the hedgehog's head has disappeared Yes, it is tenacious on the foreign side - they were making a dancing soldier's song. As if echoing them, but in a different kind of fun, the metallic sounds of pealing were interrupted in the sky. But under the slope, by the wounded cart, it was damp, cloudy and sad.
A soldier with a swollen cheek looked angrily at the cavalry singers.
- Today, not only a soldier, but also seen peasants! The peasants and those are being driven away, ”said the soldier with a sad smile, who was standing behind the cart and addressing Pierre. - Nowadays they do not make out All the people want to pile on, one word - Moscow. They want to do one end. - Despite the ambiguity of the soldier's words, Pierre understood everything he wanted to say and nodded his head approvingly.

“The cavalrymen go to battle, and meet the wounded, and do not think for a minute about what awaits them, but walk past and wink at the wounded. And of these all twenty thousand are doomed to die! " Thought Pierre, heading on.

Having entered a small street of the village, Pierre saw the peasants of the militia with crosses on their hats and in white shirts, who were working for something on a huge mound. Seeing these men, Pierre remembered the wounded soldiers in Mozhaisk, and it became clear to him what the soldier wanted to express when he said that they wanted to pile up with all the people.

How dad studied at school

HOW DAD WAS GOING TO SCHOOL

When dad was little, he was very sick. He did not miss a single childhood illness. He suffered from measles, mumps, whooping cough. After every illness he had complications. And when they passed, little dad quickly fell ill with a new disease.

When he had to go to school, his little dad was also sick. When he recovered and went to class for the first time, all the children had been studying for a long time. They all had already met, and the teacher also knew them all. And no one knew little dad. And everyone looked at him. It was very unpleasant. Moreover, some even stuck out their tongue.

And one boy gave him a leg. And the little daddy fell. But he didn't cry. He got up and pushed the boy. He also fell. Then he got up and pushed the little dad. And the little dad fell down again. He didn't cry again. And again he pushed the boy. They probably would have pushed around like this all day. But then the bell rang. Everyone went to class and sat down in their places. And little dad had no place of his own. And he was seated next to the girl. The whole class began to laugh. And even this girl laughed.

Then the little dad really wanted to cry. But suddenly he felt funny, and he himself laughed. Then the teacher laughed too.
She said:
Well done! And I was already afraid that you would cry.
I was scared myself, Dad said.
And they all laughed again.
Remember, children, said the teacher. Whenever you feel like crying, try laughing. This is my advice to you for life! Now let's learn.

Little dad found out that day that he reads the best in the class. But then he found out that he writes the worst. When it turned out that he spoke the best in class, the teacher shook her finger at him.

She was a very good teacher. She was both stern and cheerful. It was very interesting to study with her. And the little dad remembered her advice for the rest of his life. After all, this was his first day at school. And then there were a lot of these days. And there were so many funny and sad, good and bad stories in little daddy's school!

HOW DAD'S HAVE Avenged the GERMAN LANGUAGE
Alexander Borisovich Raskin (19141971)

When dad was young and in school, he had different grades. In Russian it is "good". In arithmetic "satisfactory". The spelling is "unsatisfactory." In drawing "bad" with two minuses. And the art teacher promised dad a third minus.

But one day a new teacher entered the class. She was very pretty. Young, beautiful, cheerful, in some very elegant dress.
My name is Elena Sergeevna, and how are you? she said and smiled.
And everyone shouted:
Zhenya! Zina! Lisa! Misha! Kolya!
Elena Sergeevna covered her ears, and everyone was silent. Then she said:
I will teach you German. Do you agree?
Yes! Yes! the whole class screamed.
And so little dad began to learn German. At first he really liked that the chair in German is der stuhl, the table is der tysh, the book is das bukh, the boy is der knabe, the girl is das methen.

It was like some kind of game, and the whole class was interested to know it. But when declensions and conjugations began, some of the knaben and methen got bored. It turned out that it is necessary to study German seriously. It turned out that this is not a game, but the same subject as arithmetic and the Russian language. I had to immediately learn three things: write in German, read in German and speak German. Elena Sergeevna tried very hard to make her lessons interesting. She brought books with funny stories to the class, taught the children to sing German songs and joked in German in the lesson too. And it was really interesting for those who did it properly. And those students who did not study and did not prepare lessons did not understand anything. And, of course, they were bored. They looked less and less at the das bukh and more and more often were silent, like a devil, when Elena Sergeevna interrogated them. And sometimes, just before the lesson of the German language, a wild cry was heard: "Their habe is screwed!" That in translation into Russian meant: "I have a walk!". And translated into school language meant: "I have to skip!".

Hearing this cry, many students picked up: “Shpatsiren! Spatsiren! " And poor Elena Sergeevna, coming to the lesson, noticed that all the boys were studying the verb "shpatsiren", and only girls were sitting at their desks. And this, of course, upset her very much. Little dad was also mainly engaged in the spatula. He even wrote poetry that began like this:
No more pleasing to the ear Children's Words acquaintances: "Let's run from German!"

He did not want to offend Elena Sergeevna with this. It was just a lot of fun running away from the lesson, hiding from the director and teachers, hiding in the school attic from Elena Sergeevna. It was much more interesting than sitting in class without having learned the lesson and answering Elena Sergeevna's question: "Haben zi den federmesser?" (“Do you have a penknife?”) Answer after a long thought: “Their nicht” ... (which in Russian sounded very stupid: “I don’t ...”). When little dad answered that, the whole class laughed at him. Then the whole school laughed. And little dad really did not like it when they laughed at him. He was much more fond of laughing at others himself. If he were smarter, he would start studying German, and they would stop laughing at him. But little dad was very offended. He was offended by the teacher. He was offended by the German language. And he took revenge on the German language. Little daddy never did it seriously. Then he did not practice properly. French at another school. Then he almost did not study English at the institute. And now daddy doesn't know one foreign language... Whom did he take revenge on? Now dad understands that he offended himself. He cannot read many of his favorite books in the language in which they are written. He really wants to go on a tourist trip abroad, but he is ashamed to go there, not knowing how to speak any language. Sometimes dad is introduced to different people from other countries. They speak Russian poorly. But they all learn Russian, and they all ask dad:
Sprechen Zee Deutsch? Parlais wu france? Do you speak English?
And dad just throws up his hands and shakes his head. What can he answer them? Only: "Their nicht." And he is very ashamed.

HOW DAD SPEAK THE TRUTH

When dad was little, he lied very badly. Other children did it somehow better. And little dad was told right away: “You're lying!” And they always guessed.
Little dad was very surprised. He asked: "How do you know?"
And everyone answered him: "It is written on your nose."

After hearing this several times, little dad decided to check his nose. He went to the mirror and said:
I am the strongest, the smartest, the most beautiful! I'm a dog! I'm a crocodile! I'm a locomotive! ..
Having said all this, little daddy looked at his nose in the mirror for a long time and patiently. There was still nothing written on the nose.
Then he decided that he needed to lie even more. Continuing to look in the mirror, he said quite loudly:
I can swim! I am very good at drawing! I have beautiful handwriting!
But even this blatant lie achieved nothing. No matter how little dad looked in the mirror, nothing was written on his nose. Then he went to his parents and said:
I lied a lot and looked at myself in the mirror, but there was nothing on my nose. Why do you say that it says there that I am lying?

Little daddy's parents laughed a lot at their stupid child. They said:
No one can see what is written on his nose. And the mirror never shows it. It's like biting your own elbow. Have you tried it?
No, said little dad. But I'll try...

And he tried to bite his elbow. He tried very hard, but nothing worked. And then he decided not to look at his nose in the mirror anymore, not to bite his elbow and not to lie.
Little dad decided to tell everyone only the truth from Monday. He decided that from that day on, only the pure truth would be written on his nose.

And then came this Monday. As soon as the little dad washed up and sat down to drink tea, he was immediately asked:
Did you wash your ears?
And he immediately told the truth:
No.
Because all boys don't like to wash their ears. There are too many of them, these ears. First my one ear, and then another. And still they are dirty in the evening.
But adults don't understand this. And they cried out:

A shame! Slut! Wash immediately!
Please ... Little Daddy said quietly.
He went out and came back very quickly.
Ears of soaps? asked him.
Washed, he replied.
And then he was asked a completely unnecessary question:
Both or one?

One ...
And then he was sent to wash his other ear. Then he was asked:
Did you drink fish oil?
And little daddy answered the truth:
Drank.
A teaspoon or a tablespoon?
Until that day, little dad always answered: "Dining room", although he drank a teahouse. Anyone who has ever tried fish oil should understand it. And that was the only lie that was not written on the nose. Everyone here believed in little dad. Moreover, he always poured fish oil first into a tablespoon, and then poured it into a teahouse, and poured the rest back.
Tea room ... said little dad. After all, he decided to speak only the truth. And for this he received another teaspoon of fish oil.
It is said that there are children who love fish oil. Have you ever seen such children? I have never met them.

Little dad went to school. And there, too, it was hard for him. The teacher asked:
Who didn't do their homework today?
All were silent. And only little daddy told the truth:
I have not done.
Why? asked the teacher. Of course, one could say that there was a headache, that there was a fire, and then an earthquake began, and then ... In general, one could lie something, although this usually does not help much.
But little dad decided not to lie. And he said the pure truth:
I read Jules Verne ...
And then the whole class laughed.
Very well, the teacher said, I'll have to talk to your parents about this writer.
Everyone laughed again, but little daddy felt sad.

And in the evening one aunt came to visit. She asked little dad:
Do you like chocolate?
I love it very much, said the honest little dad.
Do you love me? asked the aunt in a sweet voice.
No, said little dad, I don't.
Why?
First, you have a black wart on your cheek. And then you scream a lot, and it seems to me all the time that you are swearing.
What a long story to tell? Little daddy got no chocolate.
And the parents of the little dad told him this:
Lying, of course, is not good. But to tell only the truth all the time, on every occasion, by the way and inopportunely, it is also not necessary. It's not my aunt's fault that she has a wart. And if she does not know how to speak quietly, then it is too late for her to learn. And if she came to visit and even brought chocolate, it would be possible not to offend her.

And the little daddy got completely confused, because sometimes it is very difficult to understand whether it is possible to tell the truth or it is better not to.
Still, he decided to tell the truth.
And since then, little dad has tried all his life never to lie to anyone. He always tried to tell only the truth, and often for this he received bitter instead of sweet. And they still tell him that when he lies, he has it written on his nose. Well, what then! It is written so it is written! There's nothing you can do about it!

V. Golyavkin. My kind dad

3. On the balcony

I go to the balcony. I see a girl with a bow. She lives in that front door. You can whistle to her. She will look up and see me. This is what I need. "Hello," I say, "tra-la-la, three-li-li!" She will say: "Fool!" - or something different. And it will go further. As if nothing had happened. As if I wasn't teasing her. Me too! What a bow to me! As if I'm waiting for her! I'm waiting for dad. He will bring me some presents. He will tell me about the war. And about different old times. Dad knows so many stories! No one can tell better. I listened and listened to everything!

Dad knows about everything. But sometimes he doesn't want to tell. He is then sad and keeps saying: "No, I wrote the wrong thing, not that, the wrong music. But you! - He says this to me. - You won't let me down, I hope?" I don't want to offend my dad. He dreams that I will become a composer. I am silent. What is music to me? He understands. "It's sad," he says. "You can't even imagine how sad it is!" Why is it sad when I'm not sad at all? After all, dad does not wish me bad. Then why is it so? "Who will you be?" he says. "The leader," I say. "Another war?" - My dad is not happy. And he himself fought. He rode a horse himself, fired a machine gun

My dad is very kind. My brother and I once said to my dad: "Buy us ice cream. But more. So that we eat." - "Here's a basin for you," said dad, "run for ice cream." Mom said: "They'll catch a cold!" - "It's summer now," Dad replied, "why would they catch a cold!" - "But throat, throat!" - said my mother. Dad said, "Everyone has a throat. But everyone eats ice cream." - "But not in that amount!" - said my mother. "Let them eat as much as they want. What does the quantity have to do with it! They won't eat more than they can!" Dad said so. And we took a basin and went for ice cream. And they brought a whole basin. We put the basin on the table. The sun was shining from the windows. The ice cream began to melt. Dad said, "This is what summer means!" - ordered us to take spoons and sit down at the table. We all sat down at the table - me, dad, mom, Boba. Boba and I were delighted! Ice cream flows down the face, over the shirts. We have such a kind dad! He bought so much ice cream! What now we do not want soon

Dad planted twenty trees on our street. Now they have grown up. A huge tree in front of the balcony. If I reach, I will get the branch.

I'm waiting for dad. It will appear now. I find it difficult to look through the branches. They close the street. But I bend over and see the whole street.

"Notes of an outstanding poor student" Artur Givargizov

TEACHERS CANNOT ENDURE

Everyone knows that teachers hate each other, they only pretend that they love, because everyone considers their subject to be the most important. And the most important thing is the Russian language teacher. Therefore, she asked an essay on the theme "The Most Important Subject." It was enough to write just one sentence: “The most important subject is the Russian language”, even with mistakes, and get an A; and everyone did so, except for Seryozha; because Seryozha did not understand what kind of objects were being discussed at all, he thought that the object was something solid, and wrote about a lighter.
“The most important subject, the teacher read aloud by Seryozha's essay, is a lighter. You can't light a cigarette without a lighter. " Just think, she stopped, you can't light a cigarette. I asked a passerby for a light, and that was all.
And if in the desert? Seryozha objected calmly.
You can light a cigarette in the desert and from the sand, the teacher calmly answered. Hot sand in the desert.
Okay, Seryozha agreed calmly, but in the tundra, at minus 50 ??
In the tundra, yes, the Russian language teacher agreed.
Then why two? asked Seryozha.
- Because we are not in the tundra, the Russian language teacher sighed calmly. And not in the tundra, she suddenly screamed, the most important subject is the great and mighty Russian language !!!

RESULTS of the All-Russian competition "Living Classics"
19th century
1. Gogol N.V. "Taras Bulba" (2), "The Enchanted Place", "The Inspector General", "The Night Before Christmas" (3), "Evenings on a Farm Near Dikanka".
2. Chekhov A.P. “Thick and Thin” (3), “Chameleon”, “Burbot”, “Joy”, “Summer Residents”.
3. Tolstoy L.N. "War and Peace" (excerpts from "Petya Rostov", "Before the Battle", "Death of Petya", Natasha Rostova's monologue (5)), "The Lion and the Dog"
4. Turgenev I.S. Poem in prose "Doves", "Sparrow" (2), "Shchi", "Russian language".
5. Pushkin A.S. "The young lady-peasant" (3).
Aksakov S.T. "Early summer".
Glinka F.N. "Partisan Davydov".
Dostoevsky F.M. "Netochka Nezvanova".
Korolenko V. "The Blind Musician".
Ostrovsky N.A. "Storm".
20th century
1. Green A. "Scarlet Sails" (7)
2. Paustovsky K.G. "Basket with spruce cones”(3),“ The Old Chef ”,“ The Tenants of the Old House ”.
3. Platonov A.P. "Unknown flower" (2), "Flower on the ground"
4. M. Gorky (1), "Tales of Italy"
5. Kuprin A.I. (2)
Alekseevich S. "The Last Witnesses"
Aitmatov Ch.T. "Plakha"
Bunin I.A. "Lapti"
Zakrutkin V. "Human Mother"
Rasputin V.G. "French lessons".
Tolstoy A. N. "Nikita's Childhood"
Sholokhov M.A. "Nakhalenok".
Shmelev I.S. "The Lord's Summer", an excerpt from the chapter "Conversation"
Troepolsky G.N. "White Bim Black Ear"
Fadeev A. "Young Guard" excerpt "Mom"
Original work (search engines do not provide links by title)
"The Tale of Aimio, the North Wind and the Fairy of the Taka-tik River"
Children's literature
Alexandrova T. "Traffic light"
Gaidar A.P. "Distant countries", "Hot stone".
Georgiev S. "Sasha + Tanya"
Zheleznikov V.K. "Scarecrow"
Nosov N. "Fedina's problem"
Pivovarova I. "Day of Nature Protection"
Black Sasha "Diary of the pug Mickey"
Foreign literature
1. Antoine de Saint-Exupery "The Little Prince" (4).
2. Hugo V. "Les Miserables".
3. Lindgren A. "Peppy, Long Stocking."
4. Sand J. "What Flowers Talk About".
5. S.-Thompson "Lobo".
6. Twain M. "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer"
7. Wilde O. "The Boy Star".
8. Chapek Karel "A Dog's Life".

For example, Lev Kassil became famous for his book "Conduit and Shvambrania", Nikolai Nosov - for his novels about Dunno, Vitaly Bianki - for "Forest newspaper", Yuri Sotnik - for the story "How I was independent."

But Radiy Pogodin does not have such a book. Even his story "Dubravka", the story "Turn on the Northern Lights", the story "Chizhi"

After "Scarlet" Yuri Koval began to write one after another his wonderful stories and novels: "The Adventures of Vasya Kurolesov", "Napoleon III underdog", "Five Abducted Monks", "Wormwood Tales". The novel "Suer-Vyer".

Well, Lizaveta Grigorievna, I saw young Berestov; looked enough; were together all day.
Like this? Tell me, tell me in order.
Excuse me: let's go, I, Anisya Egorovna, Nenila, Dunka
Okay, I know. Well then?
Let me tell you everything in order. So we came to dinner itself. The room was full of people. There were Kolbinsky, Zakharyevsky, a clerk with her daughters, Khlupinsky
Well! and Berestov?
Wait, sir. So we sat down at the table, the clerk in the first place, I am next to her, and the daughters sulked, but I don't give a damn about them
Ah Nastya, how boring you are with your eternal details!
How impatient you are! Well, we left the table and we sat for three hours, and the dinner was glorious; blue, red and striped blancmange cake So we left the table and went into the garden to play with the burners, and the young master came here.
Well? is it true that he is so handsome?
Surprisingly good, handsome, you might say. Slender, tall, full cheek blush
Right? And I thought that his face was pale. What? How did he seem to you? Sad, thoughtful?
What do you? Yes, I have never seen such a madman. He took it into his head to run into the burners with us.
Run into the burners with you! Impossible!
It is very possible! What else did he invent! Catch, and kiss well!
Your will, Nastya, you are lying.
Your will, I'm not lying. I got rid of him violently. The whole day was spent with us.
But how, they say, he is in love and does not look at anyone?
I don't know, sir, but he looked at me too much, and at Tanya, the clerk's daughter, too; Yes, and on Pasha Kolbinskaya, but it's a sin to say, he offended no one, such a mischievous person!
It is amazing! And what do you hear about him in the house?
The master, they say, is wonderful: so kind, so cheerful. One thing is not good: he likes to chase girls too much. Yes, for me, this is not a problem: it will settle down over time.
How I would like to see him! said Lisa with a sigh.
What's so tricky about that? Tugilovo is not far from us, only three miles: go for a walk in that direction, or ride on horseback; you will meet him faithfully. Every day, early in the morning, he goes hunting with a gun.
No, not good. He might think I'm chasing him. Besides, our fathers are in a quarrel, and I still won't be able to meet him Oh, Nastya! Do you know what? I'll dress up as a peasant!
And indeed; put on a thick shirt, a sundress, and boldly go to Tugilovo; I can assure you that Berestov will not miss you.
And I can speak very well here. Ah, Nastya, dear Nastya! What a glorious invention!

Victor Golyavkin
THAT'S WHAT IS INTERESTING!
When Goga started going to first grade, he knew only two letters: O circle, and T - hammer. And that's all. I did not know any other letters. And he could not read. Grandma tried to teach him, but he immediately came up with a trick: - Now, now, granny, I'll wash the dishes for you. And he immediately ran to the kitchen to wash the dishes. And the old grandmother forgot about her studies and even bought him gifts for helping with the household. And Gogin's parents were on a long business trip and hoped for their grandmother. And of course, they didn’t know that their son hadn’t learned to read yet. But Goga often washed the floor and dishes, went to buy bread, and his grandmother praised him in every possible way in letters to his parents. And I read to him aloud. And Goga, sitting comfortably on the sofa, listened with closed eyes. "Why should I learn to read," he reasoned, if my grandmother reads to me aloud. " He didn't try. And in class, he dodged as best he could. The teacher says to him: - Read it here. He pretended to read, while he himself recounted from memory what his grandmother had read to him. The teacher stopped him. To the laughter of the class, he said: - If you want, I'd better close the window so that it doesn't blow. Or: “I’m so dizzy that I’m about to fall down ... He pretended so skillfully that one day his teacher sent him to the doctor. The doctor asked: - How is your health? “Bad,” said Goga. - What hurts? - Everything. - Well, then go to class. - Why? - Because nothing hurts you. - How do you know? - How do you know that? - the doctor laughed. And he slightly pushed Goga towards the exit. Goga never pretended to be sick again, but continued to evade. And the efforts of classmates have led nowhere. First, Masha, an excellent student, was attached to it.
- Let's study seriously, - Masha told him. - When? - asked Gog. - Yeah right now. “I’ll come now,” said Goga. And he left and never came back. Then Grisha, an excellent student, was attached to him. They stayed in the classroom. But as soon as Grisha opened the ABC book, Goga crawled under the desk. - Where are you going? - asked Grisha. - Come here, - Goga called. - Why? - And here no one will interfere with us. - Yah you! - Grisha, of course, was offended and immediately left. No one else was attached to it.
As time went. He dodged. Gogh's parents arrived and found that their son could not read a single line. The father grabbed his head, and the mother grabbed the book she had brought to her child. “Now, every evening,” she said, “I will read this wonderful book out loud to my son. Grandmother said: - Yes, yes, I also read interesting books aloud to Gogochka every evening. But the father said: - You did it very in vain. Our Gogochka is so lazy that he cannot read a single line. I ask everyone to retire to the meeting. And dad, along with grandmother and mom, retired to the meeting. And Goga was at first worried about the meeting, and then calmed down when his mother began to read to him from a new book. And he even swayed his legs with pleasure and almost spat on the carpet. But he didn't know what this meeting was! What was decided there! So Mom read him a page and a half after the meeting. And he, dangling his legs, naively imagined that it would continue this way. But when my mother stopped at the most interesting place, he became agitated again. And when she handed him the book, he became even more worried. “Then read it yourself,” his mother told him. He immediately suggested: - Let me, mommy, wash the dishes. And he ran to wash the dishes. But even after that, my mother refused to read. He ran to his father. The father strictly said that he would never again turn to him with such requests. He shoved the book to his grandmother, but she yawned and dropped it from her hands. He picked up the book from the floor and gave it to grandmother again. But she again dropped it from her hands. No, she had never fallen asleep so quickly in her chair before! "Is she really, - thought Goga," she is asleep, or was she instructed to pretend at the meeting? " Goga tugged at her, shook her, but the grandmother did not even think to wake up. And he so wanted to know what happens next in this book! In desperation, he sat down on the floor and began to examine the pictures. But from the pictures it was difficult to understand what was going on there. He brought the book to class. But his classmates refused to read to him. Not even that: Masha immediately left, and Grisha defiantly crawled under the desk. Goga stuck to the high school student, but he clicked his nose and laughed. How to continue to be? After all, he will never know what is written next in the book until he reads it.
All that remained was to study. Read it yourself. That's what home meeting means! That's what the public means! He soon read the whole book and many other books, but out of habit he never forgot to go for bread, wash the floor or the dishes. That's what's interesting!

Victor Golyavkin

TWO GIFTS
On his birthday, dad gave Alyosha a pen with a gold nib. On the handle were engraved golden words: "Alyosha on his father's birthday." The next day Alyosha went to school with his new pen. He was very proud: after all, not everyone in the class has a pen with a gold nib and gold letters! And then the teacher forgot her pen at home and asked the children for a while. And Alyosha was the first to give her his treasure. And at the same time he thought: "Maria Nikolaevna will definitely notice what a wonderful pen he has, read the inscription and say something like:" Oh, what a beautiful handwriting it is! " on a golden pen, Maria Nikolaevna, the most real golden one! "But the teacher did not look at the pen and said nothing like that. She asked Alyosha for a lesson, but he did not learn it. And then Maria Nikolaevna put a two in the magazine with a golden pen and returned the pen. Alyosha, looking in bewilderment at his golden feather, said: - How does it happen? .. This is how it happens! .. - What are you talking about, Alyosha? - the teacher did not understand. - About the golden feather ... - said Alyosha. can I put two's with a gold nib?
- So, today you do not have golden knowledge, - said the teacher. - It turns out that dad gave me a pen so that they could give me deuces? - said Alyosha. - That's the number! What kind of gift is this ?! The teacher smiled and said: - Dad gave you a pen, and you made today's present yourself.

FAST, FAST! (V. Golyavkin)

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An excerpt for living classics from contemporary prose. Selection of texts for the competition `Living Classics` (prose)

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2 Fyodor Dostoevsky. "Demons"

3 Anton Chekhov. "Drama"

4 Mikhail Zoshchenko. "In the days of Pushkin"

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

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

7 Mikhail Bulgakov. "Theatrical novel"

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

9 Sergey Dovlatov. "Reserve"

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

Lydia Charskaya NOTES OF A LITTLE GYMNASIST

Lev Tolstoy

Swans

Paulo Coelho Parable "The Secret of Happiness"

Leonardo da Vinci Parable "NEVOD"

Lucky Sergey Silin

Charskaya Lidia Alekseevna

Lusin's life

Princess Miguel

Y. Yakovlev Girls from Vasilievsky Island

Vladimir Zheleznyakov "Scarecrow"

"Anya of Green Gables" by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Sergey Kutsko

WOLVES

Boris Ganago

LETTER TO GOD

Boris Ganago

SAID WORD

Boris Ganago

MASHENKA

Boris Ganago

BACK TO LIFE

Boris Ganago

YOUR BIRTHDAY

Boris Ganago

MIRROR

Boris Ganago

Parrot

Lydia Charskaya
NOTES OF A LITTLE GYMNASIST

Paulo Coelho
Parable "The Secret of Happiness"

Leonardo da Vinci
Parable "NEVOD"

Lucky
Sergey Silin