Novel in. Astafieva "Sad Detective"

07.09.2020

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Viktor Astafiev
Sad detective

Chapter 1

Leonid Soshnin returned home in the very bad location of the Spirit. And although it was far away, almost on the outskirts of the city, in the railway village, he did not sit on the bus, - let the wounded leg, but it will soon and he will think of everything that he told him in the publishing house, he thinks and judge how to live And what to do.

Actually, the publisher as such in the city of Weisk was not, the department was left, the very publisher was transferred to the city larger and, as probably, it was thought of liquidators, more cultured with a powerful printing base. But this database was the same exactly as in Wais, is a stupid inheritance of old Russian cities. The typography was located in a pre-revolutionary building from a strong brown brick, stitched by grids of narrow rubbing gear and a shaped bent on top, also narrow, but already asked as an exclamation mark. Half of the building of the Weeish typography, where there were sets and printed cars, have long failed in the land of the earth, and although the ceiling with solid rows of daylight lamps were pulled, it was still uncomfortable in a set and printed shops, Zyabko and something all the time as if In the stuffy ears, kept or worked sword in the dungeon explosive mechanism of slow motion.

The branch of the publishing house juts in two and a half rooms, with the creak of the highlighted newspaper. In one of them, he shrinkled with a cigarette smoke, pulled out, chosenly on a chair, grasped for the phone, Sorid the local cultural luminaire - Skoyokwasova Okabrina Perfilore, moving forward and farther literature. Sockeokvasov considered himself the most knowledgeable person: if not in the whole country, there was no equal in Waisk for intelligence. She made reports and reports on the current literature, divided by publishing plans through a newspaper, sometimes, in newspapers, and he reviewed the books of local authors, to the place and not to place inserting quotes from Vergil and Dante, from Savonarola, Spinoza, Rabl, Hegel and Exupery , Cant and Ehrenburg, Yuri Oleshi, Treguba and Yermilov, however, and Einstein's asheat with Lunacharsky sometimes worried, the leaders of the world proletariat did not care.

Everything has long been decided with the book of Soshnina. The stories from it are printed albeit in thin, but metropolitan magazines, the time of them was condescendingly mentioned in observation critical articles, he stood for five years, "in the back of the head," came to the plan, established himself, it remained to edit and arrange a book.

Appointing the time of business dating, at exactly ten, Sockeokvasov appeared in the branch of the publishing house for twelve. Such a tobaching tubling, who worried, she rushed past him on a dark corridor - Someone "took away," the light bulbs, "sorry!" And for a long time crusher in a faulty castle, in a low voice swears.

Finally, the door grumbled, and the old, tightly pretended pliele of the pliele of gray, dull light in the corridor: On the street, the second week was the small rain, blurred snow in porridge, turned into street coils and alley. Iceshoot began on the river - in December!

Stupidly and continuously whined the leg, the burned and drilled shoulder from the recent wound, pressed the fatigue, pulled to sleep - I did not sleep at night, and again he was saved by feather and paper. "There is an incurable disease - grafomanism," the cozynine grinned and it seems to be treated, but then it shook the silence of a knock on the thick wall.

- Galya! - with the arrogance threw in the Scheocvasov space. - Call this genius!

Galya - typist, accountant and also secretary. Cosnine looked around: there was no one in the corridor, the genius, it became, he.

- Hey! Where are you here? - The door is a swarker, dried the galya short-cut head into the corridor. - Go. Name.

Cosnine shrugged his shoulders, corrected the new satin tie on the neck, smoothed his face with his palm. In minutes of excitement, he always stroked himself through her hair - his little much and often stroked her neighbors and aunt Lina, so he learned to be marked. "Quiet! Calm! " - ordered her own cozynine and, brought up coughing, asked:

- Can I go to you? - by the eye of the former operative, he immediately all in the Cabinet of Elsokvasova swept: an old-wheeling shelf in the corner; Hopefully on an accurate wooden peak, Gorbato hung wet, all in the city there was a hungry coat. The fur coats had no hanger. For a fur coat on a lap, but the literary products of the united publishing house are placed in a non-crack rack. In the foreground, several completely thoroughly decorated advertising and gift books in Locker bindings were concerned.

- Understand, - Skoyovasov nodded on the old yellow cabinet made of thick Tesa. - There are no hangers, robbed nails. Sit down, she pointed out on the chair opposite himself. And when Soshnin removed the raincoat, Okabrina Pickfilly, she threw a folder with irritation with an irritation, drove it almost from under the hem.

Cosnine barely found out the folder with his manuscript. It has passed the complex creative path since he passed it to the publisher. He noted at the eyes again, he noted that the kettle was put on her, and the cat was sitting on her, someone shed tea to the folder. If tea? Ladderkind of Elocawas - She has three sons from different creative manufacturers - painted on the dove of the world, tank with a star and a plane. It is remembered, he specifically picked up a sandy daddy for the first of his collection of stories, a white sticker in the middle did, name, albeit not very original, gently brought the felt-tip pen: "life is only more expensive." At that time, he had every reason to say this, and he carried a folder in the publishing house with a sense of no more renovated updates in the heart and thirst for living, to create, to be useful people - it happens with all the people who resurrected, scorched from "from there."

The white sticker was done in five years old, someone dug her nail, maybe the glue was bad was, but the festive mood and lordship in the heart - where is all this? He saw on the table a carelessly stored manuscript with two reviews, on the move written by the wagon-like, thinkers, workers, workers in the ceremonial and victims, which was reflected in this beautiful folder, most often in the honeycomb. Cosnine knew how expensive did any life, any society with human carelessness. What, it learned. Firmly. Forever and ever.

- Well, s, it means that the whole life is most expensive, - the lips of Heocawsov twisted and dragged into a cigarette, hurt the smoke, quickly scrolling the reviews, all repeating and repeating in thoughtful removal: - more than just ... more than just ...

- I thought so five years ago.

- What did you say? - Raised Sockeryvasov's head, and Cosnine saw the flabbing cheeks, sloppyly composed eyelids, the sloppy dry paint suppressed eyelashes and eyebrows - small black lumps were stuck in already outlook, semi-prestigious eyelashes and eyebrows. Smearavasov's dressed in comfortable clothing - a sort of modern woman specials: black turtleneck - do not often wash, denim sundress on top - do not iron.

- I thought so five years ago, Okabrina Perfilore.

- And now do not think so? - stiffness and served in the appearance and the words of the routine, which are in the manuscript, as if in the cabbage garbage. - Have disappointed in life?

- Not really.

- That's how! Very interesting! Boasually commendable! Not really, it means? ..

"Yes, she forgot his manuscript! She wins time, so that at least somehow familiar with her again. Curious how it will turn out? Really curious!" Sosnin waited, without answering the last half-breed editor.

- I think the conversation is long we will not work. Yes, and to spend a while. Manuscript in terms. I will correct something here, I will give your essay in God's appearance, I will give the artist. In the summer, I suppose you will keep your first printed brainchild in your hands. If, of course, they will give paper if in the printing house nothing cares if there is no plan and PE, and the PE PE. But I wanted to talk to you for the future. Judging by the press, you stubbornly continue to work, you are printed, although it is infrequent, but you have a topical one, and you have an up-to-date - Mi-Li-Zeyskaya!

- Human, Okabrina Perflight.

- What did you say? Your right to think so. And if frankly - to human, especially universal, problems you still, how far! As Götte said: "Sonerihbar Vi der Himmel". High and not available as the sky.

Something did not meet Soshnin at the great German poet of such a statement. Looks like herokvasov in the vanity of life confused gothen with someone or inaccurately quoted.

"You have not really learned what Fabul is, and without her, sorry, your police tracks are meakin, mykkin with a combined grain." And the rhythm of prose, she, so to speak, quintessence is for family seals. There is still a form, always updating, moving shape ...

- What is a form - I know.

- What did you say? - Sockerywasova woken. With inspired preaching, she closed his eyes, he had the painted ashes on the glass, under which the drawings of her ingenious children were conquered, the mint of the arrival poet, hanging on a drunk in the hotel three years ago and for this reason who had assureded the fashionable, almost holy rows of presserved personalities. The ash swept on the hem of Sarafan, on the chair, on the floor, and even a sundress of ash color, and all herokvasov seems to be covered with ashes or a delented time.

- I said I know the form. Wore it.

- I was not a police form meant.

- I did not understand your subtlety. Sorry. - Leonid rose, feeling that rabies begins to turn him. - If you don't need you more, I will allow myself to spare.

"Yes, yes, let me," the chearakvasov slightly mixed and switched to a business tone: "The advance will discover you in accounting." Sixty percent right away. But with money we have, as always, bad.

- Thank you. I get a pension. I have enough.

- Pension? In forty years?!

- I'm forty-two, Okabrina feathers.

- What is the age for a man? - As well as everybody, the annoyed being of the female family, Sockeokvasov decided, he merged with a tail, tried to change the stiffness of the tone of half-breed confidence.

But the sosnine did not take a change in her tone, crushed out, chose to a gentlemen corridor.

- I will fit the door open so that you are not killed! - shouted after Sudrovasov.

Sosnin did not answer her, went out on the porch, stood under the visor, decorated with the rim with antique wooden lace. They are awakened by bored mans, as if rye gingerbread. Having raised the collar of a warmed militia raincoat, Leonid pulled his head into the shoulders and stepped under the silent chant, as if in the failed desert. He went to the local bar, where regular customers met his approving roe, took a glass of brandy, drank her in Maha and came out, feeling how she worms in her mouth and warm in his chest. The burning in the shoulder was erased by heating, well, and to pain in the leg, he seemed to be used to, perhaps he just reconciled with her.

"Maybe still drink?" No, it is not necessary, "he decided," I didn't do this work for a long time, I was still a cold ... "

He walked along the native city, from the visor's wet cap, as the service was taught, habitually noted what was done around, which stood, went, was driving. Hollyantic slowed down not only movement, but the most life. People sat on the houses, they preferred under the roof, Lilo on top, rushed everywhere, flowed, the water was not streamlined, not river, somehow colorless, she was flat, unorganized: lying, spinned, poured out of the puddles in the puddle, from the slot in gap. Everywhere I was exposed covered with garbage: paper, cigarette, risky boxes, pepping in the wind cellophan. On black linden, the crows and daws were pulled on gray poplars, they stared, the other bird dropped with the wind, and she immediately blindly clung to the branch, sleepily, was swaying with an old habitation and, as if he was stitching a bone, striking, cleaned.

And the thoughts of the Sosnina should be slowly slowly, thickened hardly moved in the head, did not flow, they did not run, but it was sluggishly moved, and in this movement there is no light of distant, nor dreams, alone anxiety, one concern: how to continue to live?

He was completely clear: in the police he served, dismantled. Forever and ever! The usual line, rolled, one-rone - exterminate evil, fight criminals, ensure peace of mind, - at once, like a railway deadlock, near which he grew up and played his childhood "in the railway", broke off. Rails ended, sleepers, their binders, ended, on no direction, no path, then all the earth, immediately, for a dead end, - go in all directions, or spinning on the spot, or sit on the last deadlock, which is still And it's not sticky from impregnation, a weathered sleeper and, plunging into the meditation, Dremel Il Ori to the whole voice: "I'll think about sit down at the table, as in the world live lonely ..."

How to live lonely in the world? It's hard to live in the world without the usual service, without work, even without a government ammunition and dining room, it is necessary even about the clothes and food to be closed, somewhere to wash, iron, cook, wash the dishes.

But not this, this is not the main thing, most importantly - how to be yes to live among the people, who has long been divided into a criminal world and an unpaulous world. Criminal, he is still accustomed to one and this one, and this one? What is he in the motley of his own, in creation, bustle and constant movement? Where to? What for? What are his intentions? What is the nest? "Brothers! Take me! Stop to yourself! " - I wanted to scream the concentration first, it seems to be joking, it's necessary to see it, but the game ended. And it was discovered, approached the closest jet, weekdays, oh, what they, weekdays, people have everyday life.

Soshnin wanted to enter the market, buy apples, but near the gate of the market with twisted plywood letters on the arc: "Welcome" was spoiled and tied to the passers-by a drunk woman on the nickname of urn. For a toothless, black and dirty mouth received a nickname, already not a woman, some separate creature with a blind, semi-dry burden for drunkenness and disgraces. She had a family, her husband, children, she sang in the amateur time of the railway DC near Mordasov - everything was cut, everything lost, made a shameful attraction of the city of Wais. I didn't take it into the police, even in the ATC receiver, which is called "Bicchevnik" in the people, and in the old rude times, the prison was called for a prison, they did not hold, from the detox driven, the nursing home did not take, because she was old Only on appearance. She led himself in public places in the public, ashamed, with the brazen and vengeful to all the challenge. With the urn, it is impossible and nothing to fight, even though I was lying on the street, I slept on the attic and on the benches, I did not die and did not freeze.

Ah, my Vesse-Olay laughter
Always had success ... -

the urn was hoarse, and heavily, stal spatiality did not pick her voice, nature as if separated, repelled his sacrifices. Cosnine passed the market and urn the side. Everything was still flowing, floated, oozed with a brainstone void on the ground, in the sky, and there was no end to gray light, gray earth, gray longing. And suddenly, in the midst of this irresponsible, the gray planet there was a revival, heard a speech, laughter, frightened the car at the intersection.

In the widespread, in the fall, only the street marked, more precisely, on the avenue of the world, by his Hello herself, on white dottedira markings slowly followed the Poggy horse with a clamp on the neck, occasionally hiding the wet, formost trimmed tail. The horse knew the rules of movement and zokal with horseshoes, as the fashionista imported boots, according to the very neutral strip. And the horse herself, and giving it to her, they were well-groomed, the animal did not pay anyone at all and nothing to do with their affairs.

People unanimously accompanied the horse with his eyes, light faces, smiling, raped as a conya of the replica: "I set up from the miser owner!", "I myself went to surrender to the sausage," "not-eh, in the detox - there is warm, rather than in the stable", "nothing Similar! It is going to report to the marriage of Lavry Cossack about his location "...

Cosnine, too, was caught from under the collar, held a horse with a look - she went towards the brewery. There's her stable. Her owner, the Cossacks of the Brewery of the Cossacks of the Cossacks, in the people - the Cossack Lovel, the old Guardsman from the Corps of General Belov, the cavalier of the three orders of fame and many more combat orders and medals, raised through the "Points" of Tyro and other non-alcoholic drinks, looked down with peasants "Point" - in the buffet of Sazontevskaya bath - to overflow about past fighting campaigns, about modern urban orders, pro flept to the Baby and the lack of peasants, the horse is reasonable, so as not to Moklo and did not thrw the animal under the sky, let him go to the brewery. All Wais militia, and not only she, all the indigenous people of Weisk knew: where the Pivzavodskaya Treag is standing, there is a conversation and rests the Cossack lavary. And his horse has a scientist, independent, everything understands and the abyss will not give himself.

So I was shifted in the soul, and the weather is not bad for the opposite, the sosnine was shaken, it's time to get used to it, I was born here in Rotina Corner of Russia. And visit the publisher? Conversation with chearakeys? Yes the jester with her! Well, fool! Well, will remove her ever. The book is and in fact not ahti is the first, naive, silent imitation, and it is outdated for five years. The next one must be done better to publish in addition to chearaky; Maybe in Moscow itself ...

Cosnine bought in the grocery of the Baton, the bank of the Bulgarian compote, a bottle of milk, a chicken, if it is mournfully lit, Iscin-a naked creature, right from the neck of which, it seemed to be a lot of paws, can be called chicken. But the price is just a goose! However, this is not an object for annoyance. The soup of the vermichel wool, the bread-hot and, you look, after the satisfying dinner on the law of Archimedes, under the monotonous drops from the battery, under the knock of old wall clocks - would not forget to start, - under the spanning of the rain one and a half or two hours, it will sweat, then sucks Night at the table - create. Well, do not create, but still live in some separate, your imagination created by the world.

Cosnine lived in the new railway microdistrict, but in the old two-story wooden house near Seven, who forgot to demolish, after oblivion we were tied, picked up the house to the highway highway, to gas, to the waste pipes, built in the thirties for a simple architectural project, With the inner staircase dividing the house in two, with a sharp Shalashik above the entrance, where there was a glazed frame, a little yellow on the outer walls and the roof the house was modestly buried and submired to the ground between the deaf ends of the two panel structures. Sightseeing, traveling milestone, childhood memory and kind shelter people. Residents of the modern microdistrict focused visitors and themselves on him, a wooden proletarian structure: "How to go past a yellow house ..."

Cosnine loved his home or regretted - not to understand. Probably loved, and regretted because it grew up in it and did not know any other houses, nowhere, except for the hostels, did not live. The father fought him in the cavalry and also in the Belov Corps, together with the Lavrey Cossack, the Lavry - ordinary, Father - Comvjud. From the war, the father did not return, died during the raid of Cavkorpus on the rear of the enemy. Mother worked in the technical office of Wais station in a large, flat, half-walled room and lived with his sister in this house, in the apartment number four, on the second floor. The apartment consisted of two squares and kitchens. Two windows of one room went to the railway line, two windows of another room - to the courtyard. The apartment was once given a young family of railway workers, his mother's sister, aunt aunt, came from the village to mess around with him, he remembered her and knew more Mother because of all office war, they often dressed to unload wagons on a snow-mounted harvest in a collective farm The mother was rarely at home, he was tangled for war, on the outcome of the war, he was seriously cold, got sick and died.

They stayed together with a aunt lime, which Lenya, who was mistaken at an early age, called Lina, and she was so linted in his memory. Lina's aunt went in the footsteps of the sister and ranked her place in the technical office. They lived, like all the honest people of their village, the neighborhood, potato sitting outside the city, from paying to paying was made with difficulty. Sometimes, if it happened to play the update or take a walk on the holiday, and did not reach. The aunt married did not come out and did not try to go out, repeating: "I have a Lena." But walking widespread, rusticly noisy, with songs, overwhelms, loved.

Who! What made it with this clean, poor woman? Time? People? Poveter? Perhaps both the other, and the third. In the same office, at the same station, she switched to a separate table, for the partition, then he was already transferred to the mountain, to the commercial department of the Wais branch of the road. Beginning aunt Lina to bring home money, wine, products, made a swirling-cheerful, lagged home from work, tried to fosse, tinted. "Oh, Lenka, Lenka! I disappear - and you will disappear! .. "Aunt called Cavalers. Lenka, it happened, take the tube and, not healthy, rudely asks: "Who needs?" - Lipa. - "We have no such!" - "How not that?" - "No, that's it!" The aunt scrambles on the tube with a paw: "I feel it, I ..." - "Oh, you aunt Lina? So would say! .. Yes, please! You're welcome!" And not immediately, but sliding the aunt, give her a phone. She will charm her in a handful: "Why do you call? I spoke, then ... then, then! When-when? .. "and laughter and sin. There is no experience, take and runs away: "When Lenya goes to school."

Lenya is already a teenager, with gonor already: "I can go now! As far as, tell me, and it will be done ... "-" Yes, you, Lenya! - Hiding your eyes, the aunt zets. - Call from the office, and you are god news that ... "

He spread her smile and look as contemptuous, especially when Aunt Lina was forgotten: fattening slippers, wrestle his foot, stretches on the socks - a sort of fifa-tenth-grader in a public eyelet ... Di-di, Di Di-di ... " Parenskka J, just half the pasta need, and he surely correct the broom to the broom of the leg, the place of her water or foolishly singing with a breaking bass: "Sumi-and-and-and-and-and-and-and-ours, excitement of passion."

All my life a good woman with him and for him lived, how could he have been shared with someone? Modern boy! Egoist!

Near the building of the regional management of the internal affairs, lined for some reason by ceramic tiles, brought already from the Carpathians, but the most beautiful from this did not become, even as if even more lurking, in the "Volga" of the cherry blossom, ticking on the door, Dreamed Vanka Strigalov in Kozhanka And a rabbit hat is also a very interesting person: he could sit in the car a day, without reading, something slowly thinking. The concentrate was made with the workers of the Department of Internal Affairs, Uncle Pasha and his friend, the old man Aristarkh Kapustin, ride fishing, and many even a sense of awkwardness experienced because the young guy with Bennbard sits a whole day in the car and waiting for fishermen. "You would have read, Vanya, magazines, a newspaper or a book." - "And what to read them? What about their sense? " - Vanya will say, sweetly yawn and plane will reveal.

Won and Uncle Pasha. He always swees. And scraper. There is no snow, washed, so he swears the water, for the gate of the Inteadavsky yard it kicks out, on the street. Revenge and dwell - this is not an act of adherent for uncle Pasha. He was a completely obsessed fisherman and a hockey fan, the janitor went for the sake of achieving his goal: a man is not drinking, but the uncle Pasha who drinks, on hockey and fishing, so as not to ruin his pension, not to tear it into parts, worked as a dumplings - on "his expenses ", The retirement was given to the safe hands of his wife. That every time with the expectation and reprimand gave him "Sundays": "It is for you, Pasha, PIRATAK for fishing, this is a Trojak - on your coky".

A few more horses and a small stable, who waded uncle-Pashin, was kept in the police department, who was the old man of Aristarh Kapustin. Together, they sipped their native police, reached hot pipes, to the heat center, laid in the building of the Department of Internal Affairs, poured onto these pipes of the Konsky name, land, humoring, disguised on top of slate plates - and such worms raised all year round in the subcople, which for bait they were taken to Any transport, even bigric. With the authorities, Uncle Pasha and the old man of Aristarkh Kapustin did not like to ride. They were tired of the bosses and from wives in everyday life, they wanted to be completely free in nature, relax, forget from those from others.

Old people went out four hours on the street, became at the crossroads, leaning on a walk, and soon the car, most often the body, covered with a tarp or a box of plywood, slowed down and hid them from the asphalt - someone's hands picked up old people, pushed them for Spins, in the thick of the people. "A-A, Pasha! Ah, Aristas? Alive yet? " - the exclamations were heard, and from now on, the craft fishermen, hitting the native element, blurted out the body and soul, talked about "their" and with "their".

At the uncle Pasha, the whole right brush was in white scars, and the fishermen shrama, and not only fishermen, but also the rest of the public of the city, treated, perhaps, even respectful than to his combat wounds.

The massive fisherman is susceptible to psychosis, he covers the waves on the water bodies, hammering, turns, swears, recalls the former fishing, the progress that destroys the fish, regrets that he did not go on another reservoir.

Not such a fisherman uncle Pasha. He will fall to one place and is waiting for mercies from nature, although the master fishing is not the last, thin, poorly, it always brings, it happened, and a full scarmer box, a bag and shirt, the bottom, the sleeves knitting her, stuffed the fish uncle Pasha - All then the management of the ear of bread, especially the lower apparatus, made all the uncle Pasha fish. The old man of Aristarkh Kapustin, that field, that fish was dried between the frames in his apartment, then, stuffing the pockets dried, was in the buffet of the Santevian bath, pounded the fish on the table - and there were always hunters to squeeze the salty teeth and saw the elder Aristarch Kapustina Darmov Beer.

The Caverznous Nebyl, who he himself, however, was told about the uncle Pasha, who himself. As if he fell asleep to the hole, but every passing fisherman sticks: "How is Klev?" My uncle Pasha is silent, does not answer. His tormosham and tormosham! Uncle Pasha could not stand, spat out of the cheeks of living worms and cooked: "I frost with you! .."

The faithful bunch of his, the elder of Aristarha Kapustina, one spring picked up a whim of the search - in the evening, a large, seeking the river lake, broke out, pulled the ice, muddy, the stern wave tied the fish to the middle of the lake. Raised from the evening, almost in the dark already, began to take self - Material Sudak, and local fishermen firmly dug. But by the morning the border of the muddy water was shifted somewhere, even further, the fish was plunged. And where to? Lake Light in the width of fifteen miles, in length - seventy. Skeid on a bunch of Aristarha Kapustina Uncle Pasha: "Nishkni! Sitty! Tuta she will ... "But where there! The singer suffered an elder Aristarkha Kapustin, like a lacer, on the lake.

Halfney was angry at Aristarha Kapustina Uncle Pasha, he pulled a fishing rods, the stuffed Okuneek happened, twice the go was clinging for the fish and rushed toothcher. Uncle Pasha launched a gloss under the ice, snewed to the trouble and turned it up - not a balus! Here she, a predator of the underwater world, splashed on the sneezing ice, Already splashes fly, in her mouth, she scraps of thin fishing lines with verses, like stamped, glorious teeth decorated with a naughty mouth. Uncle Pasha does not enter the Mormachka, let him call, Fuligan, how to ruin the poor fishermen!

By noon, from the crushed gates of the pretty monastery, though with the dilapidated, but unveiled turrets having a humble sign "School-boarding school", came out and dragged on the lake two years, two brothers, Anton and Sanka, nine and twelve years. "They run away from the last lessons," the uncle Pasha guessed, but did not condemn the Maltsov - to learn for him for a long time, maybe all his life, the spring fishing is a festive time, it flashes - you will not notice. The drama has already survived the longest on that day. We just satisfied the guys to the fishing rods, as one of them took and a large fishing scum in the hole was already in the well. He descended from the younger, he cried bitterly. "Nothing, nothing, a guy," his uncle Pasha consomed in a busy whisper, "will be ours!" Not anywhere! On you candy and Ishsho Pretzel City, with Mac.

Uncle Pasha predicated everything and calculated: by noon, to the muddy water, where the junior fisher is breedington and the other small fish, the river will push further into the lake, sweeps a large "Khchnik" to hunt. Fishermen's troops, brutal-frowning walking, banging boots, announcement of the neighborhood by Mat, her, fucking and sensitive fish, not carrying a selected mat, will be distilled off in the "neutral strip", it became here here, where, along with the randoms from the very early morning, without saying - Neither one! - Fucking words, tolerates and waiting for her uncle Pasha!

And its strategic calculation was fully confirmed, his patience and modesty in expressions were rewarded: three pike perch in Kilo lay on the ice and mournfully glared in the sky with tin pupils. Yes, the most, of course, the large two pike perch! But who pleased the unkought heart of Uncle Pasha, so these are small fishermen - the rasters of Anton and Sanka. They also got two pike perch on their dumping, brilliant glitter from a rifle cartridge. The youngest shouted, laughed, again and again told about how he pecks like him! .. Uncle Pasha Rastoganno encouraged him: "Well! And you - cry? In life, it is true: that he pecks, it does not peck ... "

It happened that such that in confusion was introduced not only fishermen, but almost all the priest population, and part of the city of Waisa shook the heroic event.

Satan, Rybatsky Divil, Uncle Pasha, so as not to knock for a walk, moved on the guys, drilled ice ax. And only lowered his famous, under the scent exclained gloss, as her trial shock tweaked, then Dolbanulo, and so that he is what an experienced fisherman! - barely retained in his hand fishing rod! Dolbanulo, pressed, led to the bump of lakewaters.

Sudhad for seven kilograms and fifty-seven grams - it was later with the pharmaceutical accuracy being stuck - stuck in a narrow hole. Uncle Pasha, plumbing on the belly, put his hand in the hole and lit fishery under the gills. "Bay!" - He commanded the shifts, winding his head on a scratch. Senior Patterns jumped, grabbed off, swung and froze: how "Bay"?! And hand? And then the hardened front-line, flew rotating her eyes, Garked: "And as in war!" And a bad guy, in advance sweating, began to crush the hole.

Soon the well shifted with red blood strings. "Right! Levo! In the intercession! Beri! In the intercession! The fishing line can not do ... "- commanded Uncle Pasha. The full blood well was when uncle Pasha took out of the water and threw the fishery on the ice. And immediately, by jumping into their feet with their keen rheumatism, drank the uncle Pasha, but he soon came to mind and, who had a teeth, he glazed his teeth, put the guys with vodka, ordered the ripples to neutralize the wounds.

Roman V.P. Astafieva "Sad Detective"

V.P. Astafyev is a writer, in whose works the life of the people of the 20th century is reflected. Astafyev is a person who is known and close all the problems of our sometimes hard life.

Viktor Petrovich walked ordinary war, knows all the post-war life. I think that he with his wisdom and experience refers to those people, to the advice and the orders of which you need not only to listen, but try to perform them. But Astafyev does not act as a prophet, he simply writes that he is close and that he worries him. Although the work of Viktor Petrovich belongs to modern Russian literature, the problems that are often rising in them, not one thousand years.

The eternal questions of good and evil, punishment and justice have long forced a person to look for answers on them. But it turned out to be a very difficult thing, because the answers lie in the man itself, and in us we were intertwined and evil, honesty and disgrace. Having a soul, we are often indifferent. Everyone has a heart, but often we are called heartless. In the novel of Astafieva "Sad Detective", the problems of crime, punishment and the celebration of justice are raised. The topic of the novel is the current intelligentsia and the current people. The work is told about the lives of two small towns: Waisa and Hailovsk, about people living in them, about modern nrav. When they talk about small cities, an image of a quiet, peaceful place arises in consciousness, where life filled with joy, flows slowly, without any special emergencies. The soul appears a sense of peace. But the one who thinks so is mistaken. In fact, life in Veisk and Hailovsk flows a rapid flow. Young people, putting up to such an extent when a person turns into an animal, rape a woman who is suitable for them in the mother, and parents leave the child locked in an apartment for a week. All these pictures described by Astafyev lead the reader in horror. It becomes scary and terribly from the idea that the concepts of honesty, decency and love disappear. The description of these cases in the form of reports is, in my opinion, an important artistic feature.

I hear every day about various incidents, we sometimes pay attention, and assembled in the novel, they make it make pink glasses and understand: if it happened not with you, it does not mean that it does not concern you. The novel makes you think about your actions, look back and see what you have done for the past years. After reading, ask yourself a question: "What did I do good and good? Did I notice when a person was bad next to me?" You begin to think about the fact that indifference is the same evil as cruelty. I think the search for answers to these questions is the purpose of the work.

In the novel, "Sad Detective" Astafiev created a whole system of images. The author introduces the reader with each hero of the work, telling about his life. The main character is the operational worker of the police Leonid Soshnin. He is a forty-year-old man who received several wounds in the performance of official duties - should retire. Having left a well-deserved rest, he begins to write, trying to figure out where there is so much anger and cruelty in man. Where is she coping? Why, together with this cruelty, exists in Russian people pity for the arrestants and indifference to themselves, to the neighbor - the disabled person of war and labor? The chief hero, an honest and bold operational employee, Astafyev opposes the Militiaman Fedor Swan, who sneezing serves, moving from one post to another. In particular dangerous departures, he tries to not risk life and gives the right to neutralize armed criminals to their partners, and it is not very important that the partner has no tablet weapons, because he has a recent graduate of the Militia School, and Fedor has a tabler weapon. A bright way in the novel is aunt-alend - a woman who, without having his children, gave all the love of children who played near her house at the railway station, and then children in the child's house. Heroes of the work that should be disgusted, cause pity. The urn, which turned out of a woman who was engaged in amateur, in a drunkard without a home and family, causes sympathy. She is yelling songs and sticks to passersby, but it becomes a shame not for her, but for a society that turned away from the urn. Cosnine suggests that she was trying to help, but nothing happened, and now they simply do not pay attention to it. There is a Dobchinsky and Bobchinsky in the city of Weisk. Astafyev does not even change the surnames to these people and gives the characteristic by the quotation from the "auditor" of Gogol, thereby refuting the well-known saying that nothing is ever under the moon. All flows, everything changes, and such people remain, changing the clothes of the XIX century on a fashionable costume and a shirt with gold cufflinks of the 20th century. There is in the city of Weisk and his literary luminaries, which, sitting in his cabin, "Having shrouded the cigarette smoke, pulled out, chicken on a chair and sailed ashes." It is Socolakvasova Okabrina Perflight. It is this person who describes a smile, moves forward and farther the local literature. This woman decides which works to print. But not everything is so bad, because if there is evil, then there is a good one. Demide Cosnine puts up with his wife, and she returns to him again with her daughter. A little sad because to make themselves make them makes the death of a neighbor of Sosnina, Grandmothers of the Tutyhih. It is the grief bringing Leonid with Leroy. A clean sheet of paper in front of the scent, which is usually written at night, is a symbol of the beginning of a new stage of the life of the family of the chief hero. And I want to believe that their future life will be happy and joyful, and they will cope with grief, because they will be together.

Roman "Sad Detective" - \u200b\u200ban exciting work. Although it is difficult to read it, because too terrible paintings describe Astafiev. But such works need to read, because they are forced to think about the meaning of life, so that it does not pass colorfully and empty. I liked the work. I took a lot of important for myself, I understood a lot. I met a new writer and I know for sure that this is not the last work of Astafieva, which I read.

Bibliography

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Roman V.P. Astafieva "Sad Detective"

V.P. Astafyev is a writer, in whose works the life of the people of the 20th century is reflected. Astafyev is a person who is known and close all the problems of our sometimes hard life.

Dear friends, the program "One hundred years - one hundred books" reached 1986, to the small novel Viktor Astafieva "Sad Detective".

It must be said that how it was from Russia two thaws, conventionally speaking, 1953-1958 and 1961-1964, so it was two restructuring, Soviet and post-Soviet. Conditionally speaking, they are divided into restructuring and publicity, or even there is another division - publicity and freedom of speech. At first, the restructuring was declared, the publicity came only then. At first, gently began to return the forgotten Russian classics, Gumilyev, for example, began to print "untimely thoughts" of Gorky, Korolenko's letters, then gradually began to concern and modernity. And now the first two texts about the modernity, which was solved and determined, were the story of the Rasputin "Fire" and Roman Astafieva "Sad Detective".

I must say that Roman Astafieva played a rather sad role in his fate. One of his best books, and on my feelings and the best, to the novel "Cursed and killed," was for a while, I will not say that Trestima, I will not say slander, but gave rise to very sad and very gloomy episodes, Almost before the injury, which Astafiev was subjected. The reason was that in the story "Catching Pescares in Georgia" and, accordingly, later in the "Sad detective," found xenophobic attacks. The story about catching Pescarev, or Caras, now I definitely do not remember, was considered the Georgianophobian, Antigruzinsky, and the novel "Sorry Detective" contained the mention of the "Jewish", which the historian Nathan Eidelman did not like it, and he wrote a violent letter to Astafyev.

The letter was correct, the rage was buried in depth. They came into correspondence, this correspondence widespread the hands, and the Astafev appeared in it, maybe somewhat irritable, maybe there are grabbing through the edge, but in general, he looked there anti-Semit, which he in life, of course, was not. Real anti-Semites were happily used by this, they tried to attract Astafieva to themselves, but nothing came out of this. Astafev remained the same as an absolutely honest and lonely artist who, in general, did not adjacent to anyone and the things quoriving him continued until the end of the life, then with others. But in any case, it did not work out of it of such a Russian-anti-Semite.

Of course, the "sad detective" is a book in no way about a Jewish question and not about restructuring, this is a book about the Russian soul. And that's what her amazing feature: Then, at the beginning of the first perestroika, the Soviet Union was still looking for ways to salvation, he was still doomed, no one considered him a definitely loser who was unequivocally subject to, say, of the historical recycling, stood on a blackboard non-obvious continuation options . Who would have been talking about the doom of the Soviet project today, I remember well that in 1986 this doom was not yet obvious. In 1986, the Union had not yet fang, did not harbor, no one knew that he was left for five years, but tried to find the paths of salvation. And Astafiev, with his unique little, was the only person who offered the image of a new hero - a hero, who can somehow keep this sprawling country on himself.

And here is his main character, this Leonid Soshnin, this sad detective, the policeman, who was 42 years old, and who with the second group of disability sent to a pension, he is a beginner writer, trying to print some stories in Moscow in thin militia magazines, now he has Maybe the book will be released in the homeland. He lives in Veisk, he once almost lost his leg, when the population of his native city saved from a drunken driver of the truck, and this truck rushed, and many managed to knock, and he hardly decided to eliminate the decision to shoot this drunk, But he managed to push the police truck, and the hero almost amputically amputated. Then, after that, somehow he returned to construction, he was tormented by inquiry for a long time, why he shot, although he shot his partner, whether the use of weapons was justified.

He still serves as a time, and then as a result he saves the old women, who locked the local alcoholic in the hollow and threaten to set fire to the barn, if they won't give him ten rubles on the oral milk, and they had no ten rubles. And then, this Leonid rushes into this village, runs to the shed, but it is sculpted on manure, and then Alkash has time to put for a pitchfork. After that, he was miracle, and, of course, after that, he could not serve, sent to a retirement with the second group of disabilities.

He also has Lerka's wife, with whom he met when jeans were filmed at her kiosk, he miraculously managed to save her. There is a daughter of Lenka, which he loves very much, but Lerina after another quarrel leaves him, because there is no money in the house. Then she returns, and everything ends almost idyllically. At night, this Leonid wakes wilderly girls from the first floor, because her grandmother-old woman was died, but not from the survey, but from the cushion, and on the acknowledged on this grandmother, Lerka is returned with Lenka. And in miserably hubar, in miserably, they fall asleep this compartment, and he sits on a sheet of pure paper. This rather pitiful idyll ends with a novel.

What are people who are dying in this novel, constantly? Not only from drunkenness, not only from accidents, from unwilling their own lives, not only from wild mutual malice. They are dying from the fact that the screaming is universal, the loss of meaning, they reached apogee, there is no need to live. There is no need to take care of each other, there is no need to work, there is no need to do everything, that's it ...

You see, I now recently looked at one film festival a large selection of modern Russian paintings. All this looks like a straight screen version of episodes from a "sad detective". We had a short-term period when instead of "Chernihi" began to shoot stories about bandits, then melodramas, then the series, now again this wild wave "Chernuhi". I am not in complaints, because, listen, what else to show?

And for the first time, Astafeyev turned the entire panorama of porching plots before the reader. There we slept, they were kicked out of work, here a disabled person has nothing to do, here is a lonely old woman. And the terrible thought there that this Leonid thinks all the time: why are we so many things? This is what Solzhenitsyn was expressed later, after many years, in the book "Two hundred years together" - "We, Russians, worse than dogs." Why is it so? Why is it completely absent here, whatever, internal solidarity? Why there is no feeling that a person living next to you, he is still your tribesman, peers, akin, he is your brother, ultimately?

And, unfortunately, it remains to hope only for the conscience of people like this Leonid, this former operative. Where it from him there is not very clear. He grew up the orphan, the father did not return from the war, the mother fell ill and died. Browsing his aunt Lipa, which he calls aunt Lina. Then they planted her on a false charge, she did not live for a short time when he was freed. And as a result, he got another aunt, and this, the other aunt, the younger sister in the family, when he was already a young operator, four of her drunk scokers were raped, he wanted to shoot them, but did not give him. And she, here is a striking episode when they were planted, she cries that she broke his life with four young guys. This, such a somewhat oboruding kindness, like the Solzhenitsyn Matrery, which this hero can not understand at all, he only calls her old fool when she cries on them.

It may be, on this strange intersection of kindness, reaching the people, and the feelings of a long time reaching fanaticism, which is sitting here in this hero, probably, at this intersection and is held by the Russian character. But the book of Astafieva that this character died, that he was killed. This book is perceived, oddly enough, not as hope, but as requiem. And Astafiev, in one of the last recordings in his, probably, the spiritual will, said: "I came to the world of kind, full of heat and meaning, but I leave the world of full cold and anger. I have nothing to tell you goodbye. " These are terrible words, I saw late Astafieva, knew, talked to him, and this is a sense of despair, which was sitting in it, it was impossible to disguise. All hope, all the hope was on these heroes.

By the way, I asked him then: "" Sad Detective "performs the impression of some thickening, some exaggeration. So was it? ". He says: "There is neither a single episode that was not. Everything, what I am reproach, all that they say, I invented, it was in my eyes. " And indeed, yes, it was probably, because some things do not invent.

Astafyev finally, in recent years, this is a very rare case, reached an incredible creative height. He wrote everything that he dreamed of what he wanted, he said the whole truth and about the time, and about the people, among whom he lived. And, unfortunately, I am afraid that his diagnosis is confirmed today, today that Leonid, on which everything keeps, that sad detective, twice wounded, almost killed and all abandoned, he continues to hold on himself, on the only one, by the way, real Vertical, continues to keep the whole severity of Russian life. But as far as it is enough, I do not know who will come to shift until it is not clear. There is some kind of hope for a new fine generation, but whether they associate their lives with Russia, it is very difficult to say.

What can not be mentioned here, so this is an incredible plastic, the incredible fine forces of this Astafevsky novel. When you read it, then this is a stench, this risk, this horror feel all the skin. There is such a scene when the sosnine comes home from the publisher, where he was just not bored, but they said that he could have a book, he goes in a disgusting mood to eat his bachelor dinner, and three moonless drunk teens attack him . They are faded, they say that you are impossible, apologize to us. And it choses him, he recalls everything that he was taught in the police, and begins to thoroughly, and one swears so that he flies the head about the corner of the battery. And he calls himself to the police and says that there seems to have one skull, the villain is not looking for, this is me.

But it turned out that nothing was split there, it was completely safe for him, but the description of this fight, these moonlight types ... Then, when Astafiev wrote a story "Lyudochka", about the same muddy drunk bastard, which so much broke, I think As the Rasputin of such strength and rage did not reach. But this book, which just shines from white cagid, from the inner trembling, rage, hate, which is in it, because it is a person, who is brought up by good people, the people of debt, and suddenly those for whom no moral There is no rules, for which there is only one pleasure - to demonstratively to rude, mock, stop all the time the border separating the beast from a person. This cynicism is wild and this permanent smell of shit and vomiting, which is haunted by the hero, for a long time he does not let go of the reader. It is written with such a force of visual, which will be unwilling.

You understand, it is accepted by such an idea of \u200b\u200bRussian literature as a kind, loving, somewhat tinted, such as wrote, remember, Georgy Ivanov, "sentimental masturbating Russian consciousness." In fact, of course, Russian literature best of their pages wrote boiling bile. It was at Herzen, it was at Tolstoy, it was a terrible, icy mockery of Turgenev, Saltykov-Shchedrin. Well, how much did Dostoevsky had this, what to say. A kindness itself is a good stimulus, but hatred when she is notched in ink, she also gives the literature some incredible power.

And so far the light of this novel, I must say, he still goes and comes. Not only because this book is still moderately optimistic, after all there is a fighting hero in it, but the main thing in it is that it carries joy, you will not believe, from a long silence, finally resolved speech. The man endured, endured, and finally said what he felt obliged to say. In this sense, the "sad detective" is the highest achievement of perestroika literature. And therefore, it is a pity that the hopes of Astafieva, associated with his hero, were broken as soon as possible, and maybe not completely broken.

Well, about the literature of 1987 and about the novel "Children of Arbat", which separates publicity from freedom of speech, we will talk next time.

For his life, the Soviet writer Viktor Astafyev created a lot of bright works. Received by an outstanding author, he deservedly has several state awards in a creative piggy bank. "Sad detective" is a tale of a small volume that left a strong impression of readers. In our article we will analyze her brief content. "Sad detective" Astafieva is one of those works in which the writer is worried about the fate of his country and its individual citizens.

Live life - write a book

Viktor Petrovich Astafiev wrote a work in 1987. At that time, he had already received a wide recognition of the public, making his best books - "to the future spring" and "melting snow". As noted critics, "Detective ..." could turn out to be different if it was written in a different time. Here the experience of the years has learned, and the author has invested all his personal experiences.

To get acquainted with the story, a summary will help us. "Sad Detective" Astafieva talks about the difficult life of the former policeman Leonid Sosnina, who in 42 left alone. Everything that he glances is an empty apartment to which he is used to, and the opportunity to do a favorite thing. In the evenings, when the light goes out, in the night silence he sits in front of a piece of paper and begins to write. Probably, the presentation of thoughts on behalf of the "Positioning" (Cosnin as it may transmit reflections to the author) creates an additional atmosphere of perception for the reader, filled with a large number of ordinary alarms.

The essence of the book: On the main thing

Many admitted that not a detective as genre affiliation distinguishes the story "Sad Detective" (Astafyev). It can directly say that it is based on a deep drama. The sadness became the faithful companion of the main character when he went with his wife and now almost sees his little daughter. The policeman from the province really wants, but cannot completely eradicate crime. He reflects on why the surrounding reality is full of grief and suffering, and love and happiness are crowded somewhere nearby. Through the memories of their own life, Cosnine learns incomprehensible earlier things in the hope that it may be given if not answers, then at least peace of mind.

Scraps of memories

Astafyev loves to explore the human soul, providing in this case this right to the main character. Roman "Sad Detective" Fragmented. Lenya Cosnine looks in a new way to people close to him, analyzes the individual episodes of the past, recalls the events that he witnessed. Fate faced him with different people, and now, as if sulking, he wonders about their role in his life. Insightedness and partial lawlessness do not give him as a minister of the law of rest. Why a helpless man who has passed war dies alone, and those who have committed a crime, but received the forgiveness of society, feel free to feel free? Apparently, such an imbalance will always be tight ...

Criminal components of books

From the description of the criminal incidents, some of which are really terrible, consists of a "sad detective" story. Astafiev (the analysis of the work will consider below) not in vain describes the scenes of violence, proving that simple, which is so difficult to fit in the head.

Looking at any product in which the murders appear, the possible motives of the crime seem to be understandable to us. What can serve as a better prerequisite than power, money, revenge? Defencing this, Viktor Petrovich opens the readers of the eye to the fact that even the murder "for the account" or "just so" is also considered a crime. The author fully shows the vitality of the murderer, his negative attitude towards society, as well as family-domestic disassembly, often ending with very poorly.

Similarly, the nature of the Russian soul boldly reveals realist V. P. Astafiev. "Sad Detective" clearly shows how well he likes to walk our people. "To break away in full" - here is the main motto of every feast, while the boundaries of the pervolored are often disturbed.

Failures in the service, joy in creativity

And although the work is characterized by a small number of pages, which can be mastered in a short period of time, for those who are not familiar with the book, it is interesting for its summary. "Sad Detective" Astafieva is also a detailed description of the service of the main character. And if he had an unpleasant precipitate in this area, often resembling himself, then in the creative plan of Sosnina more or less good. Leonid dreams the idea of \u200b\u200bwriting his manuscript. The only salvation for him is to frighten the experience on paper. The cynical editor clear makes it clear that the inexperienced amateur needs to learn a lot, but it seems that there is little conversion so far ...

Good "sad detective" (Astafiev)

Without disclosing the details of the end, it should be said that the fate will return the hero in the family. Having met his wife and daughter, he will not be able to let them go, like them, performed by the "resurrecting, life-giving sadness," will return to his house.

Modern techniques of old history

A distinctive welcome when creating a story was used by Viktor Astafyev. "Sad detective" includes plot inserts, which would be called flashbacks today. In other words, periodically the narrative is transferred to the past, to the individual and most bright episodes of the life of the Sosnina, which influenced it. For example, the echoes of sad, difficult childhood, when his upbringing was engaged in his upbringing. One of them was attacked by hooligans, and Soshnin managed to take himself in hand to not shoot them. Another time in a dirty entrance to him, adolescents were stuck, provoking on response actions. The hero is trying to cool their dust, and when the young "Bugai" turns out to be very wounded, Leonid is the first thing to call the site, consciously in the deed. But, as if wishing to call them, he causes him ...

Such motives clearly designate the key promise of the story "Sad Detective" - \u200b\u200bthe moral problems of the modern world. How does this manifest? Watching the workless lawlessness, Soshnin himself involuntarily becomes his participant. At the same time, he keeps his own dignity until the latter. But will you change the world? Or is it easier to force others to change the attitude to the world?

Strong sides of the work

If you rely on the summary, the "sad detective" Astafieva quickly develops the storyline of the main character, not letting it stand in place. According to readers, the story is impressive, despite the peculiarities of the language with which Cosnine as a narrator gives material. This seems to see a special charm, as if Astafev gave way the author's chair to the one who wanted to become a writer. On the pages of the work, we see whether the Sosnina service was given with what kind of dignity, he left different situations that had exposed his life of real danger. At the same time, he loves his profession and does not want to change it, remaining an honest, fair policeman, fighting for the truth and calm.

Sample imitation

Creating Soshnina Astafyev showed a worthy example of what should be not only the ministers of law enforcement, but also ordinary citizens. For such simplicity and accuracy, the author and his story deserved recognition of readers and critics.

Viktor Petrovich Astafiev left a bright heritage to the modern generation. The main works, in addition to the "sad detective", include: the novel "Cursed and killed", the story "somewhere threatening the war", "Starstel", "Pass", "Oberton" and others. According to some works of the author, art films were removed.