Graduation essay. Does war break the fate of people? E. Karpov. My name is Ivan.doc Karpov Evgeniy "My name is Ivan"
Topic: "Evgeny Karpov" My name is Ivan. The spiritual fall of the protagonist"Goals:
educational: familiarity with the text of the story;
developing: analysis of the work; characterize the image of the protagonist in a difficult life situation; find out the reasons for the moral fall of the hero;
educational: find out the reader's attitude to the main character of the story.
Introduction. A word about a writer.
It is light and sunny in the world of words and images of the writer Yevgeny Karpov. What do you like about his works? What are they written a good man, with which one can argue, differ in views and tastes, because it involves a critical attitude towards oneself.
Evgeny Vasilyevich Karpov was born in 1919. Until the age of twenty, his peers remained boys, after twenty they left to fight. After going through long miles of war, the writer comes to worldly maturity and decides to write about what his generation has done, which has risen from the soul and ignorance for the future.
Critics have the right to judge the skill and significance of a particular work. But only Time is the best judge in the world. Life dictates to create material values. What makes humanity create spiritual values? Yevgeny Karpov tries to answer this question in his works.
^ Reading the story "My name is Ivan."
Reading session:
(The main character of the story, Semyon Avdeev, a participant in the Great Patriotic War, caught fire in a tank and was seriously injured. He miraculously escaped: blind, with a broken leg, he crawled “at a step”, “half a step”, “a centimeter per hour” for two days. And Only on the third day did the sappers take him almost alive to the hospital, where they took away his leg to the knee, and besides, he lost his sight.)
How did Ivan feel in the hospital?
(While comrades and caring people were nearby, he forgot about his misfortune. But the time came, and he went out not for a walk, but, as they say, into life. He needed to take care of himself. And then he felt that he was again in "black hole")
Ivan Avdeev leaves the hospital. How does the new reality meet him without support and help?
(The city began to boil around Semyon and his comrade Leshka Kupriyanov. We had to live on.
The doctors did not promise that Semyon's sight would return, but he so hoped to wake up one day and see again "the sun, grass, ladybug».
^ Lyoshka also left unkind traces of the war: "there was no right hand and three ribs."
The comrades were left alone with reality, and very soon they ate, and even more, drank their small funds. They decided to go to the Moscow region, to Lyoshka's homeland. But Semyon had his own house, garden, mother. But it's all as if left in a past life that cannot be returned.)
(But there was a time: Semyon was a hooligan, fighting boy, who often received a belt from his father. And his mother ... She did not scold her son for leprosy and said: “There will be a breadwinner.” The breadwinner did not come out of him.)
Which path does Semyon and Lenka Kupriyanov choose?
(They start begging. "Brothers and sisters, help the unfortunate cripples..."
With these words, Semyon and Lyoshka entered the car, and the coins began to fall into the outstretched cap. At first, Semyon was shivering from this "tinkling", he tried to hide his sightless eyes.
^ But the experience turned out to be successful, and friends earned good money. Lyoshka was pleased, but Semyon wanted to get drunk and forget himself as soon as possible.
And they drank again, then they danced to the harmonica, bawled songs, and Semyon at first cried, and then forgot.)
Did fate give them a chance upon arrival in Moscow to choose a different path in life?
(On arrival in Moscow, Lyoshka refused to go to the artel - it was much easier to beg.
Semyon went to the House for the Invalids, even worked one day in the workshop, where "the presses clapped, dry and annoying." The workers sat down to dinner, and in the evening they all go home. "They are expected there, they are expensive there." And Semyon wanted warmth and affection, but he thought it was too late to go to his mother.
^ The next day, he did not go to work, because in the evening a drunk Lyoshka came with a company, and everything started spinning again. And soon Lyoshka's house turned into a brothel.)
How was the fate of Semyon's mother?
(And at that time, Semyon's mother, who had grown old, lost her husband and son, raised her niece, continued to live, take care of her grandchildren and moved to live in Moscow.
One day she heard a voice so familiar. She was afraid to turn in the direction from where he heard: "Senka." The mother went to meet her son, she put her hands on her shoulders. "Blind silence." Feeling the woman's hands, he turned pale, wanted to say something.
"Senya," the woman said quietly.
- My name is Ivan, - said Semyon and quickly walked on.)
Why didn't Semyon confess to his mother that it was him?
How do you feel about the character in the story?
What broke Semyon and his comrade, people who went through the war?
^ Homework : Tell us about the problem raised in the story "My name is Ivan."
LESSON #8
Topic: “The image of the mother in the works of I. Chumak “Mother”, “Herods”, “Strange”
Goals:
educational: to acquaint students with the works of I. Chumak;
developing: reveal the greatness of the image of the mother in the studied works; give the concept of the expressions "maternal feeling", "maternal heart"; develop monologue speech;
educational: to show the generosity, forgiveness of the mother, the ability to sympathize with people even in the most difficult moment of life, not to lose the presence of the spirit, to instill respect for the mother woman.
A word about a writer.
At the heart of everything he wrote is a true knowledge of life and people. In a brief annotation to the last lifetime book of the writer "Living placers" it is said: "This is a collection short stories- short stories. There is not a single line of fiction in the story. Everything is either experienced by the author himself or seen with his own eyes.
Ilya Chumak was a strict realist, but he did not copy reality. His works are characterized by an artistic generalization that makes the real phenomena of life more colorful and brighter.
What attracted Ilya Chumak as a writer? He was a writer of the heroic.
Ilya Chumak, both as a writer and as a person, was sharp, but at the same time kind. He was kind and open-hearted towards those whom he saw in useful activities for the good of the Motherland.
^ Work on the topic of the lesson.
^ Reading and discussion of the story "Mother":
Why did Maria Ivanovna, having received the first letter from her son, take to her bed? (She lived next door to the airfield, and it was inconceivably scary for her to look at the turns and dead loops that the pilots made, because her son was also a pilot, and he also fought.)
How do you understand the words of Marya Ivanovna: "When you become a mother, you will understand everything." (Even though the news from the son was good, the mother's heart was restless.)
Why didn't Maria Ivanovna rise to meet the postman? Has she stopped waiting for letters? (No. Her maternal feeling suggested that the postman would not bring her letters).
What else told her that something irreparable had happened? (daughter's eyes).
How did Maria Ivanovna try to console her grief? (She knitted socks and warm mittens. And she knitted so many that it turned out to be a whole parcel).
How did the mother react when she heard a message from her daughter that her son had died? ("The old woman did not stagger, did not cry out, did not clutch her heart. She only sighed heavily.")
So why did the mother continue to knit, knowing that her son was dead? (She is a mother. And the fighters who defended their homeland from the enemy were as dear to her as native son They were also someone's sons. And after losing her son, she realized how close they were to her.)
What conclusion can be drawn from this story? (How much kindness and warmth in a mother's heart, how much courage and love in it.)
^ Reading and discussion of the story "Herods":
What offended Praskovya Ivanovna in relations with her sons? (When I raised them, I struggled in my widow's share with all my might, and they, sons, having become adults, forgot about their mother and did not help her.)
Why didn't Praskovya Ivanovna sue the children for "a year, two, or maybe all ten"? (These were her children, she felt sorry for them, she thought that they themselves would think of helping their mothers).
What decision did the court make? (Children had to send mothers 15 rubles a month).
How did Praskovya Ivanovna react to the court decision and why? (She wailed, called the judges Herods, because their decision, in her opinion, was cruel towards her sons. No matter how they treated their mother, they were her children. And the mother's heart trembled when she heard the verdict. She already, She certainly forgave her wicked sons, because mothers are always ready to forgive, to protect their children, the most precious thing they have.)
What is the main idea of the novel? (A mother loves and is ready to forgive her children, to protect them from those who, as it seems to her, offend them. This special feeling is mother's love, forgiving love.)
^ Reading and discussion of the story "Strange":
Who decided to visit a heartbroken mother? (The old woman who heard about her grief.)
What did Ivan Timofeevich feel when he heard from a strange, unfamiliar old woman about the decision to go to his wife? (He was worried that the old woman, with her consolation, would tear Masha's heart even more.)
What could the two mothers talk about? (About her grief, about the fact that they lost their sons. Only Masha lost one son, and the old woman received funerals for seven sons. About the need to live, no matter what).
Why is the story called "Strange"? (She was strange, probably, because she consoled a stranger, because she understood that she could console, because she experienced seven times more grief and understood the suffering of this woman well.)
^ Summing up the lesson:
And the question involuntarily arises: “Do we take care of our mothers? Do we give them as much love and attention as they give to us, children, whom we love endlessly? It is worth thinking about this in order to less upset our mothers, our only ones.
^ Homework: write an essay on the topic: "The image of the mother in the works of I. Chumak."
LESSON #9
Subject: "V. Butenko "The Wasp Year". The relationship between "fathers" and "children"
Goals:
educational: introduce students to the story; determine the main idea of the work; explore the age-old problem of relationships between representatives of different generations;
developing: to form the ability to analyze the work, draw conclusions;
educational: instill careful attitude to parents, sincerity and a true sense of kindness.
Organizational moment.
Reading and analysis of V. Butenko's story "The Wasp Year".
What impression did the story make on you?
Who does Evtrop Lukic live with? (He lives alone, but he has a son and a daughter who live separately from their father. His loneliness is shared by a neighbor and friend Kupriyan and a cat.)
How is Eutrop Lukich doing? (“The day was running out for business, a fresh evening came, he sat up with his friend Kupriyan, talked about life. When the neighbor left, grandfather Evtrop trudged into his courtyard, ate in the temporary hut with the cat, listened to Latest News. Having learned the weather for tomorrow, the old man would sit down to smoke. Thinking and lowering his hands with a cigarette to the very ground, and then wiping the cigarette butt with the toe of his boot, he went to sleep under a canopy.")
What was Eutrop Lukich thinking about when he "lowered his hand with the cigarette to the very ground"? (Most likely, he thought about his life, about his loneliness in old age, although he had a son and a daughter).
What can you say about the son of Eutrop Lukich? (He lives in the city and does not want to return to his father in the village. He has a three-room apartment with all amenities, he has a family.)
With what proposal does Vasily come to his father? (He persuades Evtrop Lukich to move to live with him in a city where there is a good park, cinema, dancing, "doctors are first class".)
Does the father agree to go to his son? Why? (No. Lukich is used to living on the land, doing housework, land. He likes to drink well water, eat fruits that he has grown himself. Lukich has everything: his honey and tobacco. And as long as he has the strength, he wants to live in his own house , in his station.
^ The grandfather handed over the gifts to the city, escorted his son to the alley and smiled uncertainly. He promised to think about moving.)
What did Kupriyan tell Evtrop Lukich about when he found out why Vasily had come? (He told the story of another single father who went to visit his son in Stavropol.)
How did his relatives treat the old man? (They met him unfriendly, put him to sleep on a "lame" folding bed, the son didn't even have anything to talk about with his father, "stared at the TV." The grandfather got ready and went to his village.)
What conclusion did Kupriyan and grandfather Lukich make? ("Blood is one, but life is different.")
How do you understand this expression? (Mature children have their own lives, especially if they live in the city. They are cut off from the earth, from their roots and no longer need their parents.)
So why did Evtrop Lukich's son really come? (He needs the money, the queue for the Zhiguli is approaching, but there is no money. There is a way out: to sell his father's house, and take him to him.)
What is the main idea of the story? (It is not out of a sense of filial duty that the son of his father calls to live with him, it is not a feeling of compassion that drives him, the reason is obvious - the need for money.)
What is your attitude to the problem raised in the story?
Generalization.
^ Homework: write an essay - a reflection on the topic: "And the tears of old people are a reproach for us."
LESSON #10
Topic: "Jan Bernard "The Peaks of Pyatigorye". Admiration for the beauty of native nature»
^ Goals:
educational: to acquaint students with the poetic works of the author;
developing: to continue work on the formation of the ability to analyze poetic work, convey the feelings and moods of the author;
educational: to instill love for the native land, native land.
My peaks of Pyatigorsk
And my priceless cities.
Here from the first to the last dawns I
I painted your creations.
Jan Bernard
^ Lesson progress
Organizational moment.
A word about the author
When did the Great Patriotic War, Ignat Bernard joined the Red Army - a construction battalion fighter - and begged the commander to leave his sons with him.
Jacek and Stasik became the children of the battalion. The Bernard family remained in their second homeland.
Now Jan Bernard lives in Stavropol. Conducts social work and continues his work.
In the preface to the collection “The Peaks of Pyatigorye”, Jan Bernard wrote: “For more than twelve years I have been circling around Stavropol. And only now, having become gray-haired, I realized: it is impossible to part with Stavropol - it is beyond my strength! Thank you, Lord, for your Light, thank you!”
Jan Bernard cherishes the landscapes of Stavropol, meetings with noble readers who "cried and laughed to tears" at the concerts of the author's poetry.
^ Reading and analysis of Jan Bernard's poems.
Mashuk, slashed by fog,
Airy in a cloudy window.
In some places the forest is like soot, black
In the milky depths haze.
Already, dressed in chain mail,
Crashed on a curve.
And you, surprised by the landscape,
You are silent with the mountain alone.
What are you thinking hard about?
Rocks stroking the hump,
How long have you wandered in paradise green
Along the lace of June trails?
Now you look mesmerized
Like a branch falls into a snowdrift.
It was not without reason that I wanted to start a conversation about the works of Jan Bernard with this poem. It has so much lyricism and admiration for one of the most famous mountains of Pyatigorye - Mashuk. Mashuk is in the fog, it is airy, its peaks are covered with snow, and the author prefers to contemplate such beauty in private, “stroking the hump of the rock.” What can delight in a cold winter landscape? Probably, the fact that quite recently the poet wandered “through the lace of June paths”, and now his eye is fascinated by the cold, frozen beauty, dressed as if in chain mail.
In the poem, the author uses epithets and metaphors that convey the mood from the meeting with the winter landscape of Mashuk. This is not the only poem that is dedicated to Mashuk. And each one is like a pearl of a precious necklace.
We turn over the page of the collection and here is the dedication to Mount Zheleznaya.
"Beauty of the Lord"(student reads)
Around the healing Iron Mountain,
Along the ring forest alley
Walk through the middle of nowhere
Any earthly blessings are sweeter.
Oh, how many times do I under a sheer rock
The holy birds sang wonderfully.
In a vice heartache and bodily
I suddenly became brighter.
And the sailboat was already similar,
And the maple looked like a mast
And I sailed on the high waves
And again in the green looms.
From the feelings surging in the native thicket,
I cry before the Beauty of the Lord.
The author calls Iron Mountain healing, i.e. healing, healing wounds, because at the foot of it springs of "living" water, generously donated by the earth, beat. And these sources heal not only bodily pain, but also spiritual pain, because the holy birds sing wonderfully.
What does the poet compare the cliff to and why? What feelings does he experience when looking at Iron Mountain?
(The poet compares a cliff with a sailboat, a maple tree with a mast, and one can imagine how the author floats “along the high-browed waves” into “The Beauty of the Lord.” And tears of joy fill his soul, and it (soul) is brighter from the beauty of the earth and unearthly. )
"Blossom Moment"(student reads)
I looked - what a beauty -
Will it be perishable?
Pure as a child's dream -
It shines amazingly.
The Lord Himself kissed on the lips,
And he named her Elena.
And in the eyes - the height shines,
And the spring of the universe itself.
God! Give the poet words
To sing your Creation,
And so that blue sparkles in them,
And they did not know decay
However, even the foliage of the stars withers,
But the moment of flowering is eternal.
In this poem, one can feel the author's delight at the moment of flowering, which is pure, "like a child's dream." The author again turns to the Lord, because this is his creation, which will not decay, it is eternal - "a moment of flowering."
The poems of Jan Bernard are dedicated not only to nature, its beauty in different times of the year. There are declarations of love to acquaintances, dear to my heart dreams.
"Old Street"(student reads)
On a quiet old street
Almost deserted, as in a dream.
It's like I met a painting
Known to me for a long time.
Here the cloud hangs like an avalanche
Along with the high tower
Other white ballerina
Deep in the green melts.
The houses are silent. And the dog is silent
He barely looked over me.
The roof is stained in the attic
Keeping your palette for centuries,
The trees are wrapped around
Mysterious shimmer of the day.
Find epithets, personifications in the text. What is their meaning?
Generalization:
What fascinates him?
What is the mood of his poems?
What do you feel when reading the poems of the poet?
Homework: prepare expressive reading and analysis of any poem of the poet.
At the very end of the war, the Germans set fire to a tank in which Semyon Avdeev was a turret gunner.
For two days, blind, burned, with a broken leg, Semyon crawled between some ruins. It seemed to him that the blast wave threw him out of the tank into a deep hole.
For two days, step by step, half a step, a centimeter per hour, he got out of this smoky pit to the sun, into the fresh wind, dragging his broken leg, often losing consciousness. On the third day, sappers found him barely alive on the ruins of an ancient castle. And for a long time, the surprised sappers wondered how a wounded tanker could get on this ruin that no one needed ...
In the hospital, Semyon's leg was taken away from the knee and then they took him for a long time to famous professors so that they would restore his sight.
But nothing came of it...
While Semyon was surrounded by comrades, cripples like him, while a smart, kind doctor was by his side, while nurses cared for him, he somehow forgot about his injury, lived like everyone else lives. For laughter, for a joke, I forgot grief.
But when Semyon came out of the hospital onto the city street - not for a walk, but completely, into life, he suddenly felt the whole world completely different from the one that surrounded him yesterday, the day before yesterday and all past life.
Although Semyon had been told a few weeks ago that his sight would not return, he still harbored hope in his heart. And now everything has collapsed. It seemed to Semyon that he again found himself in that black hole into which the blast wave had thrown him. Only then did he passionately want to get out into the fresh wind, to the sun, he believed that he would get out, but now there was no such confidence. Anxiety crept into my heart. The city was incredibly noisy, and the sounds somehow resilient, and it seemed to him that if he took even one step forward, these resilient sounds would throw him back, hurt him on the stones.
Behind the hospital. Together with everyone, Semyon scolded him for his boredom, did not look forward to how to escape from him, and now he suddenly became so expensive, so necessary. But you will not return there, even though it is still very close. We must move forward, but fearfully. Afraid of the ebullient cramped city, but most of all afraid of himself:
He brought Seeds Leshka Kupriyanov out of his stupor.
- Oh, and the weather! Now if only to take a walk with the girl! Yes, in the field, yes, pick flowers, but would run.
I love to fool around. Let's go! What are you up to?
They went.
Semyon heard how the prosthesis creaked and clapped, how hard, with a whistle, Leshka breathed. These were the only familiar, close sounds, and the clang of trams, the screams of cars, children's laughter seemed alien, cold. They parted before him, ran around. The stones of the pavement, some columns got underfoot, hindered the way.
Semyon knew Leshka for about a year. Small in stature, he often served as a crutch for him. It used to be that Semyon was lying on a bunk and shouting: “Nanny, give me a crutch,” and Lyoshka would run up and squeak, fooling around:
- I'm here, Count. Give me your whitest pen. Lay it, most illustrious one, on my unworthy shoulder.
So they walked side by side. Semyon knew Leshkino's round, armless shoulder and faceted, cropped head well by touch. And now he put his hand on Leshka's shoulder and his soul immediately became calmer.
All night they sat first in the dining room, and then in the restaurant at the station. When they went to the dining room, Leshka said that they would drink a hundred grams, have a good dinner and leave with the night train. We drank as agreed. Leshka offered to repeat. Semyon did not refuse, although he rarely drank in general. The vodka flowed surprisingly easily today. The hop was pleasant, did not stupefy the head, but woke up in it good thoughts. True, it was impossible to focus on them. They were nimble and slippery like fish, and like fish they slipped out and disappeared into the dark distance. This made my heart sad, but the longing did not linger for a long time. It was replaced by memories or naive but pleasant fantasies. It seemed to Semyon that one morning he would wake up and see the sun, grass, a ladybug. And then suddenly a girl appeared. He clearly saw the color of her eyes, her hair, felt her tender cheeks. This girl fell in love with him, the blind man. They talked a lot about such people in the ward and even read a book aloud.
Leshka did not have a right arm and three ribs. The war, as he said with a laugh, had cut him to pieces. In addition, he was wounded in the neck. After the throat operation, he spoke intermittently, with a hiss, but Semyon got used to these sounds, little like human ones. They annoyed him less than the accordion waltzers, than the coquettish cooing of the woman at the next table.
From the very beginning, as soon as wine and snacks were served on the table, Leshka chatted merrily, laughed contentedly:
- Oh, Senka, I love nothing in the world so much as a well-cleaned table! I love to have fun - especially to eat! Before the war, we used to go to Medvezhye Ozera in the summer with the whole factory. Brass band and buffets! And I - with an accordion. There is a company under every bush, and in every company I, like Sadko, am a welcome guest. “Spread it out, Alexei Svet-Nikolaevich.” And why not stretch it if they ask and the wine is already being poured. And some blue-eyed ham on a fork brings...
They drank, ate, sipped, savoring, cold thick beer. Leshka continued to enthusiastically talk about his suburbs. His sister lives there in her own house. She works as a technician at a chemical plant. The sister, as Leshka assured, would definitely fall in love with Semyon. They will get married. Then they will have children. Children will have as many toys as they want and what they want. Semyon will make them himself in the artel where they will work.
Soon it became difficult for Leshka to speak: he was tired, and it seemed that he had stopped believing in what he was talking about. They were silent more, they drank more ...
Semyon remembers how Lyoshka croaked: “We are lost people, it would be better if they killed us completely.” He remembers how the head became heavier, how dark it was in it - bright visions disappeared. Cheerful voices and music finally brought him out of himself. I wanted to beat everyone, smash, Leshka hissed:
- Don't go home. Who needs you there?
Home? Where is the house? A long, terribly long time, maybe
a hundred years ago he had a house. And there was a garden, and a birdhouse on a birch, and rabbits. Small, with red eyes, they trustingly jumped towards him, sniffed at his boots, funnyly moved their pink nostrils. Mother ... Seeds was called an "anarchist" because at school, although he studied well, he desperately hooligans, smoked, because he and his lads arranged merciless raids on gardens and orchards. And she, mother, never scolded him. The father mercilessly flogged, and the mother only timidly asked not to misbehave. She herself gave money for cigarettes and in every possible way hid Semyonov's tricks from her father. Semyon loved his mother and helped her in everything: he chopped wood, carried water, cleaned the barn. The neighbors envied Anna Filippovna, looking at how cleverly her son managed the housework,
- The breadwinner will be, - they said, - and the seventeenth water will wash away the boyish foolishness.
Drunk Semyon remembered this word - "breadwinner" - and repeated to himself, gritted his teeth so as not to burst into tears. What is he now the breadwinner? Collar on mother's neck.
The comrades saw how Semyon's tank burned, but no one saw how Semyon got out of it. The mother sent a notice that her son had died. And now Semyon thought, should she be reminded of her worthless life? Is it worth it to stir up her tired, broken heart new pain?
An intoxicated woman was laughing nearby. Leshka kissed her with wet lips and hissed something incomprehensible. Dishes rattled, the table overturned, and the earth turned over.
We woke up in a woodshed at the restaurant. Someone caring spread straw for them, gave them two old blankets. All the money is drunk, the ticket requirements are lost, and Moscow is six days away. To go to the hospital, to say that they were robbed, did not have enough conscience.
Lyoshka offered to go without tickets, in the position of beggars. Semyon was even afraid to think about it. He suffered for a long time, but there was nothing to be done. You have to go, you have to eat. Semyon agreed to walk through the cars, but he would not say anything, he would pretend to be dumb.
They entered the wagon. Leshka briskly began his speech in his hoarse voice:
- Brothers and sisters, help the unfortunate cripples...
Semyon walked bent over, as if through a cramped black dungeon. It seemed to him that sharp stones hung over his head. A rumble of voices was heard from afar, but as soon as he and Leshka approached, this rumble disappeared, and Semyon heard only Leshka and the clinking of coins in his cap. Semyon was shivering from this tinkling. He lowered his head, hiding his eyes, forgetting that they were blind, unable to see either reproach, or anger, or regret.
The farther they went, the more unbearable became Semyon Leshka's crying voice. It was stuffy in the carriages. There was absolutely nothing to breathe, when suddenly from open window the wind smelled in his face, fragrant, meadow, and Semyon was frightened of it, recoiled, painfully bruising his head on the shelf.
We walked the whole train, collected more than two hundred rubles, and got off at the station for lunch. Leshka was satisfied with the first success, boastfully spoke about his happy "planid". Semyon wanted to cut Leshka off, hit him, but even more he wanted to get drunk as soon as possible, to get rid of himself.
They drank cognac in three stars, ate crabs, cakes, since there was nothing else in the buffet.
Having drunk, Lyoshka found friends in the neighborhood, danced with them to the accordion, bawled songs. Semyon at first wept, then somehow forgot himself, began to stomp, and then sing along, clap his hands, and finally sang:
And we do not sow, but we do not plow, And the ace, the eight and the jack, And we wave our handkerchief from prison, Four on the side - and yours are gone ...,
... They were again left without a penny of money at a strange distant station.
Friends got to Moscow whole month. Lyoshka got so used to begging that sometimes he even buffooned, singing vulgar jokes. Semyon no longer felt remorse. He reasoned simply: you need money to get to Moscow - not to steal? And what they drink is temporary. He will come to Moscow, get a job in an artel and take his mother to him, be sure to take him and maybe even get married. And well, happiness falls to other cripples, it will fall to him too ...
Semyon sang front-line songs. He held himself confidently, proudly raising his head with dead eyes, shaking his long, thick hair in time with the song. And it turned out that he did not ask for alms, but condescendingly takes the reward due to him. His voice was good, the songs came out sincere, the passengers generously served the blind singer.
The passengers especially liked the song, which told how a fighter was dying quietly on a green meadow, an old birch leaned over him. She extended her hands to the soldier, as if she were her own mother. The fighter tells the birch that his mother and girl are waiting for him in a distant village, but he will not come to them, because he is forever engaged to a white birch, and that she is now his “bride and mother”. In conclusion, the soldier asks: “Sing, my birch, sing, my bride, about the living, about kind, about people in love - I will sleep sweetly to this song.”
It happened that in another carriage Semyon was asked to sing this song several times. Then they took with them in a cap not only silver, but also a bunch of paper money.
Upon arrival in Moscow, Leshka flatly refused to go to the artel. Wander on the trains, as he said he is work not dusty and money. Only worries to slip away from the policeman. True, this was not always possible. Then he was sent to a nursing home, but he safely escaped from there the next day.
I visited the home for the disabled and Semyon. Well, he said, it’s both satisfying and comfortable, the care is good, the artists come, and everything seems to be as if you were sitting buried in a mass grave. Was in the artel. “They took it like a thing that they don’t know where to put it, and put it on the machine.” All day he sat and spanked - stamped some tins. The presses clapped to the right and left, dryly, annoyingly. An iron box rattled across the concrete floor, in which blanks were dragged and finished parts were dragged. The old man who was carrying this box approached Semyon several times and whispered, breathing in a shag fumes:
- You're here for a day, sit another, and ask for another job. At least for a break. You will earn there. And here the work is hard, "and a little income ... Don't be silent, but step on your throat, otherwise ... It would be best to take a liter and drink it with the master. He would then give you money work. The master is our own guy .
Semyon listened to the angry talk of the workshop, the old man's teachings, and thought that he was not needed here at all, and everything here was alien to him. Especially clearly he felt his restlessness during dinner.
The machines were silent. People were talking and laughing. They sat down on workbenches, on boxes, untied their bundles, rattling pots, rustling paper. It smelled of homemade pickles, cutlets with garlic. Early in the morning, these knots collected the hands of mothers or wives. The working day will end, and all these people will go home. They are expected there, they are expensive there. And he? Who cares about him? No one will even take you to the dining room, sit without dinner. And so Semyon wanted the warmth of home, someone's caress ... To go to his mother? “No, it's too late now. Get lost all the way."
- Comrade, - someone touched Seeds on the shoulder. - Why did you hug the stamp? Come eat with us.
Semyon shook his head.
- Well, as you wish, and then let's go. Yes, you do not scold.
It always happens again, and then you get used to it.
Semyon would have gone home at that very moment, but he did not know the way. Leshka brought him to work and in the evening he had to come for him. But he didn't come. Semyon was waiting for him for a whole hour. A replacement watchman escorted him home.
My hands ached out of habit, my back was breaking. Without washing, without supper, Semyon went to bed and fell into a heavy, uneasy sleep. Woke up Leshka. He came drunk, with a drunken company, with bottles of vodka. Semyon began to drink greedily...
Didn't go to work the next day. Again they walked on the wagons.
A long time ago, Semyon stopped thinking about his life, stopped being upset by his blindness, he lived as God puts on his soul. He sang badly: he tore his voice. Instead of songs, it turned out to be a continuous scream. He did not have the former confidence in his gait, pride in the manner of holding his head, only impudence remained. But the generous Muscovites gave it anyway, so the money from friends read.
After several scandals, Leshka's sister left for an apartment. A beautiful house with carved windows turned into a brothel.
Anna Filippovna has aged a lot last years. During the war, my husband died somewhere digging trenches. The announcement of her son's death finally knocked her off her feet, she thought she would not rise, but somehow everything worked out. After the war, her niece Shura came to her (she had just graduated from the institute, got married at that time), came and said: “What are you, aunt, you will live here as an orphan, sell the hut and let’s go to me.” Neighbors condemned Anna Filippovna, they say, it is most important for a person to have his own corner. Whatever happens, but your house and live neither cursed nor crumpled. And then you sell the hut, the money will fly by, and then who knows how it will turn out.
It may be that people were telling the truth, but only the niece got used to Anna Filippovna from an early age, treated her like her own mother, and sometimes lived with her for several years, because they did not get along with her stepmother. In a word, Anna Filippovna made up her mind. She sold the house and went to Shura, lived for four years and does not complain about anything. And she really liked Moscow.
Today she went to see the dacha, which the young people rented for the summer. She liked the dacha: a garden, a small kitchen garden.
Thinking about the need to fix the boys' old shirts and trousers for the village today, she heard a song. In some ways she was familiar to her, but in what, she did not understand. Then I realized - the voice! Understood and shuddered, turned pale.
For a long time I did not dare to look in that direction, I was afraid that the painfully familiar voice would not disappear. And yet I looked. I looked... Senka!
The mother, as if blind, stretched out her hands and went to meet her son. Here she is next to him, put her hands on his shoulders. And Senkina's shoulders, with pointed bumps. I wanted to call my son by name and could not - there was no air in my chest and I did not have enough strength to breathe.
Blind silenced. He felt the woman's hands and became alert.
The passengers saw how the beggar turned pale, how he wanted to say something and could not - he suffocated. Passengers saw how the blind man put his hand on the woman's hair and immediately pulled her back.
"Senya," the woman said softly and weakly.
The passengers stood up and waited in trepidation for his answer.
The blind man at first only moved his lips, and then said muffledly:
- Citizen, you are mistaken. My name is Ivan.
- How! - exclaimed the mother. - Senya, what are you ?! The blind man pushed her away and with a quick, uneven gait
went on and did not sing anymore.
Passengers saw how the woman looked after the beggar and whispered: "He, he." There were no tears in her eyes, only pleading and suffering. Then they disappeared, and the anger remained. The terrible anger of an offended mother...
She lay in a heavy faint on the couch. An elderly man, probably a doctor, was leaning over her. Passengers in a whisper asked each other to disperse, to give access to fresh air, but did not disperse.
“Maybe I made a mistake?” someone asked hesitantly.
“Mother will not be mistaken,” answered the gray-haired woman,
So why didn't he confess?
- How can you admit it?
- Silly...
A few minutes later Semyon came in and asked:
- Where is my mother?
“You no longer have a mother,” the doctor replied.
The wheels were rattling. For a moment, Semyon, as if he had regained his sight, saw people, was frightened of them and began to back away. The cap fell out of his hands; crumbled, small things rolled on the floor, coldly and worthlessly ringing ...
German Sadulaev
VICTORY DAY
Old people sleep little. In youth, time seems to be an unchangeable ruble, the time of an elderly person is a copper trifle. Wrinkled hands are carefully stacked minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day: how much is left? Sorry every night.
He woke up at half past six. There was no need to get up so early. Even if he had not gotten out of his bed at all, and sooner or later it had to happen, no one would have noticed this. He could not get up at all. Especially so early. In recent years, he increasingly wanted not to wake up one day. But not today. Today was a special day.
Aleksey Pavlovich Rodin got up from an old creaking bed in a one-room apartment on the street ... in old Tallinn, went to the toilet, relieved his bladder. In the bathroom, he began to put himself in order. He washed, brushed his teeth, and spent a long time scraping the stubble from his chin and cheeks with a battered razor. Then he washed his face again, rinsing off the remaining soap suds, and refreshed his face with aftershave lotion.
Entering the room, Rodin stood in front of wardrobe with a cracked mirror. The mirror reflected his battered, scarred body, clad in faded shorts and a tank top. Rodin opened the closet door and changed the linen. For a couple of minutes he looked at his ceremonial tunic with order medals. Then he took out a shirt that had been ironed the day before and put on his uniform.
Immediately, as if twenty years had fallen off my shoulders. In the dim light of a chandelier dimmed from time, the captain's epaulettes burned brightly.
Already at eight o'clock Rodin met at the front of his house with another veteran, Vakha Sultanovich Aslanov. Together with Vakha, they went through half the war, in one reconnaissance company of the First Belorussian Front. By 1944, Vakha was already a senior sergeant, he had a medal "For Courage". When the news came about the eviction of the Chechens, Vakha was in the hospital after being wounded. Immediately from the hospital he was transferred to the penal battalion. Without guilt, on a national basis. Rodin, then a senior lieutenant, went to the authorities, asked to return Vakha. The intercession of the commander did not help. Vakha ended the war in a penal battalion and immediately after demobilization was sent to a settlement in Kazakhstan.
Rodin was demobilized in 1946, with the rank of captain, and was assigned to serve in Tallinn as an instructor in the city party committee.
Then there was only one "n" in the name of this city, but my computer new system check spelling, I will write Tallinn with two "l" and two "n", so that the text editor does not swear and do not underline this word with a red squiggle.
After the rehabilitation of the Chechens in 1957, Rodin found his front-line comrade. He made inquiries, taking advantage of his official position - by this time Rodin was already the head of the department. Rodin even managed to do more than just find Vakha, he secured his call to Tallinn, found him a job, helped him with an apartment and a residence permit. Waha has arrived. Rodin, starting his troubles, was afraid that Vakha would not want to leave native land. He made sure that Vakha could transport his family.
But Vakha came alone. He had no one to carry. The wife and child died during the eviction. They fell ill with typhus in a freight car and died suddenly. Parents died in Kazakhstan. Vakha has no close relatives left. This is probably why it was easy for him to leave Chechnya.
Then there was… life. Life? .. probably, then there was a whole life. She had good and bad. Indeed, a lifetime. After all, sixty years have passed. Sixty years have passed since the end of that war.
Yes, it was a special day. Sixtieth anniversary of the victory.
Sixty years is the whole life. Even more. For those who did not return from the war, who remained twenty years old, these are three lives. It seemed to his homeland that he was living these lives for those who did not return. No, this is not just a metaphor. Sometimes he thought: for these twenty years I have been living for Sergeant Savelyev, who was blown up by a mine. For the next twenty years, I will live for Private Talgatov, who died in the first battle. Then Rodin thought: no, I won’t be able to do much. Let ten years be better. After all, living to thirty is not so bad. Then I will have time to live for three more of my dead fighters.
Yes, sixty years is a long time! Whole life or six appendages to the ragged lives of dead soldiers.
And yet it is ... if not less, then probably as much as four years of war.
I don't know how to explain it, others before me have explained it much better. A person lives four years in a war, or half a year in an Arctic wintering, or a year in a Buddhist monastery, then he lives for a long time, a whole life, but that period of time remains the longest, most important for him. Maybe because of the emotional tension, because of the simplicity and brightness of sensations, maybe it's called something else. Maybe our life is measured not by time, but by the movement of the heart.
He will always remember, he will compare his present with that time, which will never turn into the past for him. And the comrades who were next to him then will remain the closest, the most faithful.
And not because good people will meet no more. It’s just that those others… they won’t understand much, no matter how you explain it. And with your own, with them you can even just be silent.
As with Waha. Sometimes Rodin and Vakha drank together, sometimes they argued and even quarreled, sometimes they simply remained silent. Life has been different...
Rodin married and lived in marriage for twelve years. His wife got a divorce and went to Sverdlovsk, to her parents. Rodin had no children. But Vakha probably had many children. He didn't even know how much. But Vakha did not marry. Vakha was still that reveler.
Great career neither one nor the other did. But in Soviet time retired respected people. They stayed in Tallinn. Where were they to go?
Then everything began to change.
Rodin didn't want to think about it.
Everything just changed. And he ended up in a foreign country, where it was forbidden to wear Soviet orders and medals, where they, who had nourished the land with their blood from Brest to Moscow and back to Berlin, were called invaders.
They were not occupiers. Better than many others, Rodin knew about everything wrong that was happening in that country that had sunk into oblivion. But then, those four years… no, they were not occupiers. Rodin did not understand this anger of prosperous Estonians, who, even under Soviet rule, lived better than Russian people somewhere in the Urals.
After all, even Vakha, Rodin was ready that after the eviction, after that monstrous injustice, the tragedy of his people, Vakha would begin to hate the Soviet Union and especially the Russians. But it turned out that this was not the case. Waha has seen too much. In the penal battalion there are Russian officers who heroically escaped from captivity and for this they were demoted to ordinary, overcrowded zones and prisons. Once Rodin directly asked if Vakha did not blame the Russians for what had happened.
Vakha said that the Russians suffered from all this more than other peoples. And Stalin was generally a Georgian, although this is not important.
And Vakha also said that together, together, they not only sat in the zones. Together they defeated the Nazis, sent a man into space, built socialism in a poor and devastated country. All this was done together, and all this - and not just the camps - was called: the Soviet Union.
And today they put on front-line orders and medals. Today was their day. They even went to a bar and took a hundred grams of front-line soldiers, yes. And there, in the bar, young men in fashionable military with stripes stylized as "SS" symbols called them Russian pigs, old drunkards and tore off their awards. They also called Wakha a Russian pig. The knife, it was just lying on the counter, probably the bartender was chopping ice with it.
Vakha with an accurate blow put him between the ribs of a young Estonian.
There was also a telephone on the counter, and Rodin threw its cord like a noose around the neck of another SS man. There is no longer that strength in the hands, but it is not needed, every movement of the old scout has been worked out to automatism. The frail boy groaned and fell to the floor.
They returned to the present time. They were again Soviet intelligence officers, and there were enemies around. And everything was right and simple.
For another five minutes they were young.
While they were kicked to death on the wooden floor.
And I don't feel sorry for them at all. I just don't dare to humiliate them with my pity.
In Krupin AND YOU SMILE!
On Sunday, some very important issue was to be decided at a meeting of our housing cooperative. They even collected signatures so that there would be a turnout. But I couldn’t go - I couldn’t take the children anywhere, and my wife was on a business trip.
I went for a walk with them. Although it was winter, it was melting, and we began to sculpt a snowman, but it was not a woman who came out, but a snowman with a beard, that is, dad. The children demanded to sculpt their mother, then themselves, then relatives went further away.
Next to us was a wire mesh fence for hockey, but there was no ice in it, and the teenagers played football. And they drove very passionately. So we were constantly distracted from our sculptures. Teenagers had a saying: "And you smile!" She stuck to them all. Either they took it from which movie, or they came up with it themselves. The first time she flashed when one of the teenagers hit a wet ball in the face. "It hurts!" he shouted. "And you smile!" - answered him under friendly laughter. The teenager broke out, but pulled back - the game, who to be offended by, but I noticed that he began to play angrier and more reserved. He lay in wait for the ball and hit, sometimes not passing his own, but slamming into opponents.
Their game was cruel: the boys had seen enough TV. When someone was shoved off, pressed to the wire, pushed away, they shouted victoriously: "Power hold!"
My children quit sculpting and watched. The guys have a new passing fun - throwing snowballs. Moreover, they did not immediately begin to aim at each other, first they aimed at the ball, then at the leg at the moment of impact, and soon, as they shouted, “a power struggle all over the field” began. It seemed to me that they were fighting - the clashes, blows, snowballs were thrown with all their might at any place of the body. Moreover, the teenagers rejoiced when they saw that the opponent got hit, and it hurt. "And you smile!" they shouted at him. And he smiled and answered the same. It was not a fight, because she was hiding behind the game, sports terms, the score. But what was it?
Here, from the meeting of the housing cooperative, people reached out. The teenagers were taken to dinner by their parents. The chairman of the housing cooperative stopped and scolded me for my absence from the meeting.
You can't stand aside. We discussed the issue of teenagers. You see, there are so many cases of teenage cruelty. We need to distract, we need to develop sports. We decided to make another hockey field.
"And you smile!" I suddenly heard the cry of my children. They shot with snowballs molded from the snow and dad, and mom, and themselves, and all relatives.
Ray Bradbury"A Sound of Thunder"
My name is Ivan
At the very end of the war, the Germans set fire to a tank in which Semyon Avdeev was a turret gunner.
For two days, blind, burned, with a broken leg, Semyon crawled between some ruins. It seemed to him that the blast wave threw him out of the tank into a deep hole.
For two days, step by step, half a step, a centimeter per hour, he got out of this smoky pit to the sun, into the fresh wind, dragging his broken leg, often losing consciousness. On the third day, sappers found him barely alive on the ruins of an ancient castle. And for a long time, the surprised sappers wondered how a wounded tanker could get on this ruin that no one needed ...
In the hospital, Semyon's leg was taken away from the knee and then they took him for a long time to famous professors so that they would restore his sight.
But nothing came of it...
While Semyon was surrounded by comrades, cripples like him, while a smart, kind doctor was by his side, while nurses cared for him, he somehow forgot about his injury, lived like everyone else lives. For laughter, for a joke, I forgot grief.
But when Semyon left the hospital on the city street - not for a walk, but completely, into life, he suddenly felt the whole world completely different from the one that surrounded him yesterday, the day before yesterday and all his past life.
Although Semyon had been told a few weeks ago that his sight would not return, he still harbored hope in his heart. And now everything has collapsed. It seemed to Semyon that he again found himself in that black hole into which the blast wave had thrown him. Only then did he passionately want to get out into the fresh wind, to the sun, he believed that he would get out, but now there was no such confidence. Anxiety crept into my heart. The city was incredibly noisy, and the sounds were somehow elastic, and it seemed to him that if he took even one step forward, these elastic sounds would throw him back, hurt him on the stones.
Behind the hospital. Together with everyone, Semyon scolded him for his boredom, did not look forward to how to escape from him, and now he suddenly became so expensive, so necessary. But you will not return there, even though it is still very close. We must move forward, but fearfully. Afraid of the ebullient cramped city, but most of all afraid of himself:
He brought Seeds Leshka Kupriyanov out of his stupor.
- Oh, and the weather! Now if only to take a walk with the girl! Yes, in the field, yes, pick flowers, but would run.
I love to fool around. Let's go! What are you up to?
They went.
Semyon heard how the prosthesis creaked and clapped, how hard, with a whistle, Leshka breathed. These were the only familiar, close sounds, and the clanging of trams, the screams of cars, children's laughter seemed alien, cold. They parted before him, ran around. The stones of the pavement, some columns got underfoot, hindered the way.
Semyon knew Leshka for about a year. Small in stature, he often served as a crutch for him. It used to be that Semyon was lying on a bunk and shouting: “Nanny, give me a crutch,” and Lyoshka would run up and squeak, fooling around:
- I'm here, Count. Give me your whitest pen. Lay it, most illustrious one, on my unworthy shoulder.
So they walked side by side. Semyon knew Leshkino's round, armless shoulder and faceted, cropped head well by touch. And now he put his hand on Leshka's shoulder and his soul immediately became calmer.
All night they sat first in the dining room, and then in the restaurant at the station. When they went to the dining room, Leshka said that they would drink a hundred grams, have a good dinner and leave with the night train. We drank as agreed. Leshka offered to repeat. Semyon did not refuse, although he rarely drank in general. The vodka flowed surprisingly easily today. The hop was pleasant, did not stupefy the head, but awakened good thoughts in it. True, it was impossible to focus on them. They were nimble and slippery like fish, and like fish they slipped out and disappeared into the dark distance. This made my heart sad, but the longing did not linger for a long time. It was replaced by memories or naive but pleasant fantasies. It seemed to Semyon that one morning he would wake up and see the sun, grass, a ladybug. And then suddenly a girl appeared. He clearly saw the color of her eyes, her hair, felt her tender cheeks. This girl fell in love with him, the blind man. They talked a lot about such people in the ward and even read a book aloud.
Leshka did not have a right arm and three ribs. The war, as he said with a laugh, had cut him to pieces. In addition, he was wounded in the neck. After the throat operation, he spoke intermittently, with a hiss, but Semyon got used to these sounds, little like human ones. They annoyed him less than the accordion waltzers, than the coquettish cooing of the woman at the next table.
From the very beginning, as soon as wine and snacks were served on the table, Leshka chatted merrily, laughed contentedly:
- Oh, Senka, I love nothing in the world so much as a well-cleaned table! I love to have fun - especially to eat! Before the war, we used to go to Medvezhye Ozera in the summer with the whole factory. Brass band and buffets! And I - with an accordion. There is a company under every bush, and in every company I, like Sadko, am a welcome guest. “Spread it out, Alexei Svet-Nikolaevich.” And why not stretch it if they ask and the wine is already being poured. And some blue-eyed ham on a fork brings...
They drank, ate, sipped, savoring, cold thick beer. Leshka continued to enthusiastically talk about his suburbs. His sister lives there in her own house. She works as a technician at a chemical plant. The sister, as Leshka assured, would definitely fall in love with Semyon. They will get married. Then they will have children. Children will have as many toys as they want and what they want. Semyon will make them himself in the artel where they will work.
Soon it became difficult for Leshka to speak: he was tired, and it seemed that he had stopped believing in what he was talking about. They were silent more, they drank more ...
Semyon remembers how Lyoshka croaked: “We are lost people, it would be better if they killed us completely.” He remembers how the head became heavier, how dark it was in it - bright visions disappeared. Cheerful voices and music finally brought him out of himself. I wanted to beat everyone, smash, Leshka hissed:
- Don't go home. Who needs you there?
Home? Where is the house? A long, terribly long time, maybe
a hundred years ago he had a house. And there was a garden, and a birdhouse on a birch, and rabbits. Small, with red eyes, they trustingly jumped towards him, sniffed at his boots, funnyly moved their pink nostrils. Mother ... Seeds was called an "anarchist" because at school, although he studied well, he desperately hooligans, smoked, because he and his lads arranged merciless raids on gardens and orchards. And she, mother, never scolded him. The father mercilessly flogged, and the mother only timidly asked not to misbehave. She herself gave money for cigarettes and in every possible way hid Semyonov's tricks from her father. Semyon loved his mother and helped her in everything: he chopped wood, carried water, cleaned the barn. The neighbors envied Anna Filippovna, looking at how cleverly her son managed the housework,
- The breadwinner will be, - they said, - and the seventeenth water will wash away the boyish foolishness.
Drunk Semyon remembered this word - "breadwinner" - and repeated to himself, gritted his teeth so as not to burst into tears. What is he now the breadwinner? Collar on mother's neck.
The comrades saw how Semyon's tank burned, but no one saw how Semyon got out of it. The mother sent a notice that her son had died. And now Semyon thought, should she be reminded of her worthless life? Is it worth reopening her tired, broken heart with new pain?
An intoxicated woman was laughing nearby. Wet lips Leshka kissed her and hissed something incomprehensible. Dishes rattled, the table turned over, and the earth turned over.
We woke up in a woodshed at the restaurant. Someone caring spread straw for them, gave them two old blankets. All the money was drunk, the demands for tickets were lost, and it was a six-day drive to Moscow. To go to the hospital, to say that they were robbed, did not have enough conscience.
Lyoshka offered to go without tickets, in the position of beggars. Semyon was even afraid to think about it. He suffered for a long time, but there was nothing to be done. You have to go, you have to eat. Semyon agreed to walk through the cars, but he would not say anything, he would pretend to be dumb.
They entered the wagon. Leshka briskly began his speech in his hoarse voice:
- Brothers and sisters, help the unfortunate cripples...
Semyon walked bent over, as if through a cramped black dungeon. It seemed to him that sharp stones hung over his head. A rumble of voices was heard from afar, but as soon as he and Leshka approached, this rumble disappeared, and Semyon heard only Leshka and the clinking of coins in the cap. Semyon was shivering from this tinkling. He lowered his head, hiding his eyes, forgetting that they were blind, unable to see either reproach, or anger, or regret.
The farther they went, the more unbearable became Semyon Leshka's crying voice. It was stuffy in the carriages. There was absolutely nothing left to breathe, when suddenly a fragrant, meadow wind blew in his face from the open window, and Semyon was frightened of it, recoiled, and hurt his head painfully on the shelf.
We walked the whole train, collected more than two hundred rubles, and got off at the station for lunch. Leshka was satisfied with the first success, boastfully spoke about his happy "planid". Semyon wanted to cut Leshka off, hit him, but even more he wanted to get drunk as soon as possible, to get rid of himself.
They drank cognac in three stars, ate crabs, cakes, since there was nothing else in the buffet.
Having drunk, Leshka found friends in the neighborhood, danced with them to the accordion, bawled songs. Semyon at first wept, then somehow forgot himself, began to stomp, and then sing along, clap his hands, and finally sang:
And we do not sow, but we do not plow, And the ace, the eight and the jack, And we wave our handkerchief from prison, Four on the side - and yours are gone ...,
... They were again left without a penny of money at a strange distant station.
Friends traveled to Moscow for a whole month. Lyoshka got so used to begging that sometimes he even buffooned, singing vulgar jokes. Semyon no longer felt remorse. He reasoned simply: you need money to get to Moscow - not to steal? And what they drink is temporary. He will come to Moscow, get a job in an artel and take his mother to him, be sure to take him and maybe even get married. And well, happiness falls to other cripples, it will fall to him too ...
Semyon sang front-line songs. He held himself confidently, proudly raising his head with dead eyes, shaking his long, thick hair in time with the song. And it turned out that he did not ask for alms, but condescendingly takes the reward due to him. His voice was good, the songs came out sincere, the passengers generously served the blind singer.
The passengers especially liked the song, which told how a soldier was dying quietly in a green meadow, an old birch leaned over him. She extended her hands to the soldier, as if she were her own mother. The fighter tells the birch tree that his mother and girl are waiting for him in a distant village, but he will not come to them, because he is forever betrothed to the white birch tree, and that she is now his “bride and mother”. In conclusion, the soldier asks: “Sing, my birch, sing, my bride, about the living, about kind, about people in love - I will sleep sweetly to this song.”
It happened that in another carriage Semyon was asked to sing this song several times. Then they took with them in a cap not only silver, but also a bunch of paper money.
Upon arrival in Moscow, Leshka flatly refused to go to the artel. Wandering around the trains, as he said, is not dusty and money work. Only worries to slip away from the policeman. True, this is not always successful. Then he was sent to a nursing home, but he safely escaped from there the next day.
I visited the home for the disabled and Semyon. Well, he said, it’s both satisfying and comfortable, the care is good, the artists come, and everything seems to be as if you were sitting buried in a mass grave. Was in the artel. “They took it like a thing that they don’t know where to put it, and put it on the machine.” All day he sat and spanked - stamped some tins. The presses clapped to the right and left, dryly, annoyingly. An iron box rattled across the concrete floor, in which blanks were dragged and finished parts were dragged. The old man who was carrying this box approached Semyon several times and whispered, breathing in a shag fumes:
- You're here for a day, sit another, and ask for another job. At least for a break. You will earn there. And here the work is hard, "and a little income ... Don't be silent, but step on your throat, otherwise ... It would be best to take a liter and drink it with the master. He would then give you money work. The master is our own guy .
Semyon listened to the angry talk of the workshop, the old man's teachings, and thought that he was not needed here at all, and everything here was alien to him. Especially clearly he felt his restlessness during dinner.
The machines were silent. People were talking and laughing. They sat down on workbenches, on boxes, untied their bundles, rattling pans, rustling paper. It smelled of homemade pickles, cutlets with garlic. Early in the morning, these knots collected the hands of mothers or wives. The working day will end, and all these people will go home. They are expected there, they are expensive there. And he? Who cares about him? No one will even take you to the dining room, sit without dinner. And so Semyon wanted the warmth of home, someone's caress ... To go to his mother? “No, it's too late now. Get lost all the way."
- Comrade, - someone touched Seeds on the shoulder. - Why did you hug the stamp? Come eat with us.
Semyon shook his head.
- Well, as you wish, and then let's go. Yes, you do not scold.
It always happens again, and then you get used to it.
Semyon would have gone home at that very moment, but he did not know the way. Leshka brought him to work and in the evening he had to come for him. But he didn't come. Semyon was waiting for him for a whole hour. A replacement watchman escorted him home.
My hands ached out of habit, my back was breaking. Without washing, without supper, Semyon went to bed and fell into a heavy, uneasy sleep. Woke up Leshka. He came drunk, with a drunken company, with bottles of vodka. Semyon began to drink greedily...
Didn't go to work the next day. Again they walked around the wagons.
A long time ago, Semyon stopped thinking about his life, stopped being upset by his blindness, he lived as God puts on his soul. He sang badly: he tore his voice. Instead of songs, it turned out to be a continuous scream. He did not have the former confidence in his gait, pride in the manner of holding his head, only impudence remained. But the generous Muscovites gave it anyway, so the money from friends read.
After several scandals, Leshka's sister left for an apartment. A beautiful house with carved windows turned into a brothel.
Anna Filippovna has aged a lot in recent years. During the war, my husband died somewhere digging trenches. The announcement of the death of her son finally knocked her off her feet, I thought she would not rise, but somehow everything worked out. After the war, her niece Shura came to her (she had just graduated from the institute, got married at that time), came and said: “What are you, aunt, you will live here as an orphan, sell the hut and let’s go to me.” Neighbors condemned Anna Filippovna, they say, it is most important for a person to have his own corner. Whatever happens, but your house and live neither cursed nor crumpled. And then you sell the hut, the money will fly by, and then who knows how it will turn out.
It may be that people were telling the truth, but only the niece got used to Anna Filippovna from an early age, treated her like her own mother, and sometimes lived with her for several years, because they did not get along with her stepmother. In a word, Anna Filippovna made up her mind. She sold the house and went to Shura, lived for four years and does not complain about anything. And she really liked Moscow.
Today she went to see the dacha, which the young people rented for the summer. She liked the dacha: a garden, a small kitchen garden.
Thinking about the need to fix the boys' old shirts and trousers for the village today, she heard a song. In some ways she was familiar to her, but in what, she did not understand. Then I realized - the voice! Understood and shuddered, turned pale.
For a long time I did not dare to look in that direction, I was afraid that the painfully familiar voice would not disappear. And yet I looked. I looked... Senka!
The mother, as if blind, stretched out her hands and went to meet her son. Here she is next to him, put her hands on his shoulders. And Senkina's shoulders, with pointed bumps. I wanted to call my son by name and could not - there was no air in my chest and I did not have enough strength to breathe.
Blind silenced. He felt the woman's hands and pricked up.
The passengers saw how the beggar turned pale, how he wanted to say something and could not - he suffocated. seen
passengers, how the blind man put his hand on the woman's hair and immediately pulled her back.
"Senya," the woman said softly and weakly.
The passengers stood up and waited in trepidation for his answer.
The blind man at first only moved his lips, and then said muffledly:
- Citizen, you are mistaken. My name is Ivan.
- How! - exclaimed the mother. - Senya, what are you ?! The blind man pushed her away and with a quick, uneven gait
went on and did not sing anymore.
Passengers saw how the woman looked after the beggar and whispered: "He, he." There were no tears in her eyes, only pleading and suffering. Then they disappeared, and the anger remained. The terrible anger of an offended mother...
She lay in a heavy faint on the couch. An elderly man, probably a doctor, was leaning over her. Passengers in a whisper asked each other to disperse, to give access to fresh air, but did not disperse.
“Maybe I made a mistake?” someone asked hesitantly.
“Mother will not be mistaken,” answered the gray-haired woman,
So why didn't he confess?
- How can you admit it?
- Silly...
A few minutes later Semyon came in and asked:
- Where is my mother?
“You no longer have a mother,” the doctor replied.
The wheels were rattling. For a moment, Semyon, as if he had regained his sight, saw people, was frightened of them and began to back away. The cap fell out of his hands; crumbled, small things rolled on the floor, coldly and worthlessly ringing ...
What arguments can be drawn from this interesting story?
First, of course, one must write about the role of a mother in a person’s life. It is possible that Semyon offended his mother, repented, but it was too late ...
Secondly, about the role of friends in our life. If this front-line soldier had not been next to Semyon, maybe he would have returned home to his mother ...
Thirdly, one can write about the pernicious role of drunkenness...
Fourthly, one can give an example in condemning the war, which so breaks human destinies.
Kassil Lev "The Story of the Absent"
EVGENY VASILIEVICH KARPOV
At the end of 1967, Wolf Messing, after completing his performances in Stavropol, visited Yevgeny Karpov. When Karpov's mother entered from the street, Messing suddenly became agitated, got up from the table and began to repeat: “Oh, the long-liver has come! The long-liver has come!” and indeed: Baba Zhenya lived for several more decades, happily telling everyone about the words of the telepathic magician, and died at a ripe old age.
Now it becomes obvious that Messing could make the same prediction to her son. But Karpov at that moment was 48 years old (that is, he was almost half his age today), and Volf Grigorievich did not look into such a distant future ...
A well-known writer in the Stavropol Territory was born on Monday, October 6, 1919, on the Esaulovka farm in the Rossoshansky district. Voronezh region. His father, Vasily Maksimovich Karpov, a hereditary railway worker, commander of a red armored train, was shot by the soldiers of General Mamontov at the station of the Talovaya South-Eastern Railway on his son's birthday.
So, starting from the first moments, all future life E. V. Karpova will be inextricably linked with the fate and history of the country.
In the days of terror - he is in the camp: building with other prisoners railway near Murmansk by order of L.P. Beria.
In the days of the war - on the front line: a topographer at the headquarters battery on the Stalingrad front.
After the war - on the construction of the Volga giant. XXII Party Congress: fitter, dispatcher, employee of a large-circulation newspaper.
It was here, among the installers and builders of the hydroelectric power station, that Karpov the writer was truly born, although before that he had been in his life the Literary Institute. A. M. Gorky, classes in the seminar of Konstantin Paustovsky. The living classic favored the former front-line soldier. After defending his diploma, K. Paustovsky said: “Here, meet me. Maybe you will like something, ”the Smena magazine thrust into his hands. “I began to flip through,” recalls Karpov, “my dear mother! My story "Pearl". For the first time I saw my words printed, and even in the capital's magazine.
In 1959, the Stalingrad book publishing house published the first book of Karpov's stories, My Relatives.
In 1960, the Leningrad magazine "Neva" in No. 4 published his story "Shifted Shores", which suddenly became the main publication of the year. Reviews in the magazines "Don", "October", "Znamya", "In the world of books" are written by well-known in the country literary critics. The story is published as a separate book in the Moscow publishing house "Soviet Russia". Reprinted in half a million copies in Roman-gazeta. Translated into Czech, Polish, French and Chinese. A film was made based on it, in which Ivan Lapikov first appeared on the screen.
In 1961, Karpov was accepted into the Writers' Union of the USSR. The magazine "Neva" and the publishing house "Soviet Russia" offer him to conclude contracts for a new story.
What is the reason for the official recognition and incredible success of "Shifted Shores"? I can assume the following ... At that time, the country was reading the books of V. Aksenov and A. Gladilin, whose heroes, city slickers with a touch of healthy cynicism, did not like the party and literary "generals" at all. And now a story appears, in the center of which the working youth with enthusiasm or, as the author himself writes, "coordinatedly and energetically" builds a hydroelectric power station. The ruling power wanted the people to read just such books, and seized on it like a lifesaver. At the time, it looked, if not funny, then at least naive. Where was she to keep up with the Star Ticket or the Chronicle of the Times of Viktor Podgursky. But what a metamorphosis trick: a little more than half a century has passed, and the once fashionable heroes of Aksenov and Gladilin have shriveled and faded away in our minds, and Karpov’s heroes, the creators of romance, have gained today even more greater value, charm and necessity.
Before moving to Stavropol, E. Karpov publishes two more stories: "Blue Winds" (1963) in the publishing house "Soviet Russia" and "Don't Be Born Happy" (1965) in the "Soviet Writer". They are written about in the magazines "Spark", "October", " New world”,“ Star ”and in“ Literary newspaper ”.
Since 1967, Karpov has been in Stavropol. From now on, the history of the Stavropol Territory, its people become for the writer main theme his creativity. "Chogray Dawns" (1967) - the first book published in the Stavropol Territory by E. Karpov. For two years he was the executive secretary of the Stavropol Writers' Organization.
His 50th anniversary was marked in the region not only by articles by A. Popovsky and V. Belousov in the press, but also by the publication of "The Chosen One" by the Stavropol Book Publishing House, the premiere of the play "Don't Be Born Happy" on stage drama theater them. Lermontov, as well as conferring the title of Honored Worker of Culture of the RSFSR to the hero of the day.
In 1975, "Profizdat" publishes a documentary story by E. Karpov "High Mountains" - about the builders of the Great Stavropol Canal. The regional publishing house publishes the collection “Your Brother”: it contains a scattering of poetically subtle, deep and tragic stories - “Five poplars”, “Brut”, “My name is Ivan”, “Forgive me, Motya”.
In 1980, the Sovremennik publishing house published the story “The Sultry Field” - a large-scale biography of the first secretary of the Izobilnensky district party committee G.K. Gorlov, where the fate of the country is explored through the fate of the hero.
On next year a small but unique book "On the Seven Hills" ("Soviet Russia") is published - essays about Stavropol and its eminent inhabitants known throughout the Soviet Union. This book is like an old wine: its price and value grows with each passing year.
A quarter of a century later, Dr. philological sciences, Professor of Stavropol State University Lyudmila Petrovna Egorova in the article "Literary Stavropoliana", published in the almanac "Literary Stavropol", focused on the essays "On the Seven Hills", explaining that Karpov managed to issue a "new business card”to industrial Stavropol: “Of the Stavropol writers, E. Karpov, perhaps, was the first to derive a generalized human component of the city: “The city is the concentrated energy of the human genius, its unceasing development, intense search.” Therefore, human characteristics are necessarily present in the generalized definitions of the City: “Courage, courage, diligence, the breadth of nature, its nobility - this is Stavropol, the city on seven hills, on seven winds. And they are all passing."
In the early 90s, after releasing the novel Buruny (1989), E. Karpov moved to Moscow. In vain he does not take into account the bitter experience of Stavropol friends-writers who moved to Moscow earlier - Andrei Gubin and Vladimir Gneushev. The latter publicly regretted their rash move:
We must live in the homeland, where they love,
Where envy and lies are dead.
In a foreign land, where strangers are all over,
Milk, my friend Andryusha Gubin,
You can't even drink from a she-wolf.
In the autumn of 1999 Karpov last time visits Stavropol. Journalist Gennady Khasminsky, after meeting with him, publishes the material “They do not renounce confession” in the newspaper Stavropol Gubernskiye Vedomosti on the occasion of the writer’s 80th birthday:
“I have the impression that I came to my home,” said Evgeny Vasilyevich. - And as for Stavropol, it has become much cleaner and more comfortable ... Many beautiful buildings have appeared. I walked along the familiar streets, remembered my friends, visited the studio of the artist Zhenya Bitsenko, met with the writer Vadim Chernov. Vladyka Gideon received me, gave me his blessing for the book "The Link of Times" - about the revival of Orthodoxy, which I am currently working on.
I don't think I've lived my life in vain. Any life is never wasted, except perhaps a criminal one. A simple human life... It is already good because I saw the sun, met sunsets and sunrises, saw the steppe. I love the steppe more than the sea, because I am a steppe dweller. And it’s not in vain that my life has been lived, and because I have children, grandchildren, and many friends.”
Currently, E. Karpov lives in Kyiv, where he has a daughter, Alena, and a son, Leo, who work in Ukrainian cinema. Published in the Russian-language magazine "Rainbow". The Kyiv publishing houses published several voluminous volumes of the writer: "New Heaven" (2004), "Thy will be done" (2006), "Everything was as it was" (2008).
Fortunately, his most important book, Gog and Magog: Reporting Chronicle, 1915-1991. published in Stavropol in the magazine " southern star" in 2005. And here we all must express our gratitude to the publisher Viktor Kustov. He makes vigorous efforts to keep the works of E. Karpov in the treasury of classical Russian literature.
Vadim Chernov, who for a long time appreciated only own creativity, in his declining years he honored Karpov with an unprecedented characterization: “His authority overshadowed mine and even Chernoy, Usov, Melibeev and other old people combined. Karpov - bright Star among writers not only of the North Caucasus”.
Evgeny Vasilyevich is starting his day at the computer today, working on the story "Baba Nastusya" - the story of the appearance in the Karpovs' house of the beautifully published folio of the "Bible". This book, in a homemade oilcloth binding with a large yellow metal cross, is familiar to many Stavropol writers.
A priest from the nearby temple of Prince Vladimir often visits Karpov. They have long, slow conversations.
And only if the conversation concerns Stavropol, Karpov cannot hold back his tears ...
Nikolai Sakhvadze
// Stavropol chronograph for 2014. - Stavropol, 2014. - S. 231-236.
