home › Fuel system › Retelling the story of a horse with a pink mane. Viktor Astafiev

Retelling the story of a horse with a pink mane. Viktor Astafiev

My grandmother sent me to the hillside for strawberries, along with the neighborhood kids. She promised: if I pick up a full tuesok, she will sell my berries along with hers and buy me a “horse gingerbread”. Gingerbread in the form of a horse with a mane, tail and hooves covered with pink icing ensured the honor and respect of the boys of the whole village and was their cherished dream.

I went to the hillside together with the children of our neighbor Levontiy, who worked in logging. Approximately once every fifteen days, “Levontiy received money, and then in the neighboring house, where there were only children and nothing else, a feast began with a mountain,” and Levontiy’s wife ran around the village and repaid her debts. On such days, I made my way to the neighbors by all means. Grandma didn't let me. “There is nothing to eat these proletarians,” she said. Levontius welcomed me willingly and pitied me like an orphan. The money earned by the neighbor quickly ran out, and aunt Vasya again ran around the village, borrowed money.

The Levontiev family lived in poverty. There was no household around their hut, they even washed with their neighbors. Every spring they surrounded the house with a miserable tyn, and every autumn it went to kindling. To grandmother's reproaches, Levontiy, a former sailor, answered that he "loves the settlement."

With the Levontievsky "eagles" I went to the top, to earn money for a horse with pink mane. I had already taken a few glasses of strawberries when the Levontievsky guys started a fight - the elder noticed that the rest were picking berries not in dishes, but in their mouths. As a result, all the prey was scattered and eaten, and the guys decided to go down to the Fokinsky River. It was then that they noticed that I still had strawberries. Levontievsky Sanka knocked me out to eat it “weakly”, after which I, along with the others, went to the river.

The fact that my dishes are empty, I remembered only in the evening. It was embarrassing and scary to return home with an empty cupboard, “my grandmother, Katerina Petrovna, is not Vasya’s aunt, you won’t get rid of her with lies, tears and various excuses.” Sanka taught me: to push herbs into the tues, and sprinkle a handful of berries on top. This is the trick I brought home.

My grandmother praised me for a long time, but she didn’t pour the berries - she decided to take them to the city right in the tueska for sale. On the street, I told everything to Sanka, and he demanded a kalach from me - as payment for silence. I didn’t get off with one roll, I dragged it until Sanka ate. I didn’t sleep at night, I was tormented - and I deceived my grandmother, and stole kalachi. Finally, I decided to get up in the morning and confess everything.

When I woke up, I found that I overslept - my grandmother had already left for the city. I regretted that my grandfather's zaimka was so far from the village. Grandpa's is good, quiet, and he wouldn't let me offend. Having nothing to do, I went fishing with Sanka. After a while I saw a large boat coming out from behind the cape. My grandmother was sitting in it and shaking her fist at me.

I returned home only in the evening and immediately darted into the pantry, where a temporary “bed of rugs and an old saddle” was “arranged”. Curled up, I felt sorry for myself and thought about my mother. Like her grandmother, she went to the city to sell berries. One day, the overloaded boat capsized and my mother drowned. “She was pulled under a floating boom,” where she caught on a scythe. I remembered how my grandmother suffered until the river let my mother go.

When I woke up in the morning, I discovered that grandfather had returned from the lodge. He came to me and told me to ask my grandmother for forgiveness. Having shamed and denounced her enough, my grandmother sat me down for breakfast, and after that she told everyone “what the little one had done to her.”

But my grandmother brought me a horse. Since then, many years have passed, "grandfather is no longer alive, there is no grandmother, and my life is declining, but I still can't forget my grandmother's gingerbread - that marvelous horse with a pink mane."

Once a grandmother came from the neighbors and ordered her grandson and children to go to the forest for strawberries. For this, she promised to bring a gingerbread from the city in the form of a white horse with a pink mane, tail and hooves.

The boy liked to listen to the horse beating his belly; I could not compare the feeling with anything when you think that you have lost - and you find your treasure. Such a delicacy was the dream of any kid: for a piece of sweet, children were ready to share anything.

Neighbor, Levonty, father of many children, sawed firewood in the forest, sold - and from that his whole large family lived. When he received money, he threw a feast, distributed debts, and a few days later forced his wife Vasenya to ask for a loan.

The neighbor's house was in the open. No windows, no architraves, no fence. Levontiy also did not have a bathhouse. The Levontievskys washed over people.

Each family had "their" song. Neighbors loved to sing about the "little monkey." When their children were full, did not fight and did not exterminate anything, a discordant choir was heard from the broken windows throughout the village, Vasenya wept plaintively, pitying the “animal”. Uncle sang bass. From this, the family changed in plain sight, became more friendly and united.

The main goal of our hero was to sneak into the neighbor's house on the day of his uncle's payday in order to sing with everyone. Grandmother was strict and knew all thoughts in advance, so she did not allow me to go from house to house, to look into someone's mouth. When the kid managed to slip away, there was a real holiday.

Levonty asked if the boy remembered his dead mother, and shed tears. Late in the evening on such a day, Levontiy asked the same question: “What is life?” - and everyone scattered in all directions. The uncle smashed windows, broke tables, scattered sweets. In the morning I glassed the windows with fragments, repaired the broken ones, and gloomy went to work.

With the Levontievsky guys, the boy went into the forest to earn money for a gingerbread with his labor. They fought, fought, teased and cried until they found strawberries. Having collected half of the tuesque, the boy bet that he would eat what he had collected. The hungry Levontiev horde quickly ate the berries, leaving the boy with a few bent ones with greenery.

The children ran to the river, splashed, tore the piper to pieces, knocked out the yellow belly. Sanka wandered into the cave, scared everyone with brownies and snakes. I thought up to deceive my grandmother by pushing herbs under the strawberries.

In the evening, Sanka demanded rolls in exchange for silence about the case with the strawberries he had eaten.

Grandfather lived for the time of garden work in a small estate at the mouth of the Mana River.

Grandma left early in the morning. The kid was fishing. Sanka dragged ruffs, minnows and fir-trees. The boy saw a boat with his grandmother. He ran to his aunt, walked until dark. Aunt Fenya dragged him home by the hand. Pushed into the closet.

The boy could not sleep, recalled how his mother drowned, how his grandmother suffered, how she took him into care. Grandfather arrived at night. He covered the child with a sheepskin coat.

In the morning, the “general” (as grandfather called grandmother) was angry. The grandmother grumbled, the boy repented. He opened his eyes full of tears: in front of him lay a gingerbread horse with a pink mane.

Astafiev - master instructive stories for youth and children by reading summary story "The Horse with the Pink Mane" reader's diary, the young reader will be able to see for himself.

Plot

Orphan Vitya was raised by his grandmother. He dreamed of a white gingerbread in the shape of a horse. The grandmother asked her grandson to pick up a box of strawberries in the forest so that with the money received from the sale of berries, he could buy a gingerbread for his grandson.

The boy was ready to complete the task, but played with the neighbor's children. When it was time to go home, the boy picked up a full box of grass and placed a berry on top. Grandmother did not understand the deception and took the box away to sell.

The next morning, the old woman had to deal with the customer. Vitya was scolded. He became very ashamed of the deceit. He agreed to any punishment and completely repented. A loving grandmother gave her grandson a long-awaited gingerbread after dinner. This lesson was remembered by the boy for the rest of his life.

Conclusion (my opinion)

Bring up moral qualities in children is necessary from an early age. Cheating will not lead to good things.

Grandmother came back from the neighbors and told me that the Levontievsky children were going to the ridge for strawberries, and ordered me to go with them.
- You will pick up tuesok. I will take my berries to the city, I will sell yours too and buy you a gingerbread.
- Horse, woman?
- Horse, horse.
Horse gingerbread! This is the dream of all village kids. He is white-white, this horse. And his mane is pink, his tail is pink, his eyes are pink, his hooves are also pink. Grandmother never allowed me to carry pieces of bread. Eat at the table, otherwise it will be bad. But gingerbread is a completely different matter. You can put the gingerbread under your shirt, run around and hear the horse kicking its hooves into its bare stomach. Chilling with horror - lost - grab his shirt and be convinced with happiness - here he is, here the horse-fire!
With such a horse, I will immediately honor how much attention! The Levontievsky guys fawn on you this way and that, and they give you the first to beat the siskin, and shoot from the slingshot, so that only they will be allowed to bite off the horse or lick it later. When you give the Levontievsky Sanka or Tanka a bite, you need to hold with your fingers the place where it is supposed to bite off, and hold it firmly, otherwise Tanka or Sanka will bite so that the tail and mane of the horse will remain.
Levonty, our neighbor, worked on badogs together with Mishka Korshukov. Levonty harvested wood for badogi, sawed it, chopped it and handed it over to the lime plant, which was opposite the village, on the other side of the Yenisei. Once every ten days, or maybe fifteen, I don’t remember exactly - Levontiy received money, and then in the neighboring house, where there were only children and nothing more, a feast began with a mountain. Some kind of restlessness, a fever, or something, seized not only the Levontievsky house, but also all the neighbors. Early in the morning, Aunt Vasenya, the wife of Uncle Levonti, ran to her grandmother, out of breath, driven away, with rubles clutched in her handful.
- Kuma! she exclaimed in a frightened, joyful voice. Debt-from I brought! - And then she rushed away from the hut, throwing up a whirlwind with her skirt.
- Stop, you freak! her grandmother called. - You have to count.
Aunt Vasenya dutifully returned, and while her grandmother was counting the money, she moved with her bare feet, like a hot horse, ready to rush as soon as the reins were released.
Grandmother counted thoroughly and for a long time, smoothing out every ruble. As far as I remember, my grandmother never gave Levontikha more than seven or ten rubles from the “reserve” for a rainy day, because all this “reserve” seemed to consist of ten. But even with such a small amount, the dilapidated Vasenya managed to shortchange one ruble, when even a whole threefold.
- How do you handle money, you eyeless scarecrow! grandma attacked a neighbor. - A ruble for me, a ruble for another! What will it do? But Vasenya again threw up a whirlwind with her skirt and rolled away.
- I passed it on!
For a long time my grandmother slandered Levontikha, Levonti himself, who, in her opinion, was not worth bread, but ate wine, beat her thighs with her hands, spat, I sat down at the window and looked longingly at the neighbor's house.
He stood by himself, in the open space, and nothing prevented him from looking at the white light with somehow glazed windows - no fence, no gate, no architraves, no shutters. Uncle Levontiy didn’t even have a bathhouse, and they, Levontiev’s, bathed in the neighbors, most often with us, bringing water and a supply of firewood from the lime plant.
One good day, perhaps even evening, Uncle Levonty was rocking the wobble and, forgetting himself, sang the song of sea wanderers heard on the voyages - he was once a sailor.

Sailed down the akiyan
From Africa sailor,
Baby obezyanu
He brought in a box ...

The family calmed down, listening to the voice of the parent, absorbing a very harmonious and pitiful song. Our village, besides the streets, suburbs and lanes, is tailored and folded also in song - every family, the surname had “its own”, crown song, which deeper and more fully expressed the feelings of this and no other relatives. To this day, when I remember the song “The Monk Fell in Love with a Beauty,” I see Bobrovsky Lane and all the Bobrovskys, and goosebumps scatter on my skin from shock. Trembling, shrinking heart from the song "chess knee": "I was sitting at the window, my God, and the rain was dripping on me." And how to forget Fokine’s soul-tearing: “In vain I broke the bars, in vain I escaped from prison, my dear, dear little wife lies on the chest of another”, or my beloved uncle: “Once in a cozy room”, or in memory of the deceased mother , which is still sung to this day: “Tell me, sister ...” But where do you remember everything and everyone? The village was large, the people were vociferous, daring, and relatives in the knees were deep and wide.
But all our songs glided over the roof of Uncle Levontiy's settler - not one of them could disturb the hardened soul of a fighting family, and here on you, the Levontievsky eagles trembled, it must be a drop or two of sailor's, vagrant blood tangled in the veins of children, and she their steadfastness washed away, and when the children were full, did not fight and did not exterminate anything, one could hear how a friendly chorus splashed out through the broken windows and wide open doors:

She sits, longing
All night long
And such a song
He sings about his homeland:

"In the warm-warm south,
In my homeland
Friends live and grow
And there are no people at all ... "

Uncle Levonty drilled the song with a bass, added a roar to it, and because of this, the song, and the guys, and he himself, as it were, changed their appearance, became more beautiful and united, and then the river of life flowed in this house in a calm, even channel. Aunt Vasenya, a person of unbearable sensitivity, irrigated her face and chest with tears, howling into an old burnt apron, spoke out about human irresponsibility - some drunken scumbag scooped up a scumbag, dragged her away from her homeland for no reason and for what? And here, poor thing, she sits and yearns all night long ... And, throwing herself up, suddenly glared at her husband with wet eyes - but wasn’t he, wandering around the wide world, done this dirty deed ?! Didn't he whistle the monkey? He's drunk and doesn't know what he's doing!
Uncle Levonty, repentantly accepting all the sins that it is possible to hang on a drunk person, wrinkled his forehead, trying to understand: when and why did he take the monkey away from Africa? And, if he took away, kidnapped the animal, then where did it go afterwards?
In the spring, the Levontiev family dug a little into the ground around the house, erected a fence out of poles, twigs, and old planks. But in winter, all this gradually disappeared in the womb of the Russian stove, squatting in the middle of the hut.
Tanka Levontievskaya used to say this, making noise with her toothless mouth, about their whole establishment:
- But as a tyatka will shove us - you run and do not stop.
Uncle Levonty himself went out into the street on warm evenings in his trousers, held on by a single copper button with two eagles, in a calico shirt, without buttons at all. He sat down on a block of wood studded with an ax, which depicted a porch, smoked, looked, and if my grandmother reproached him through the window for idleness, listed the work that he had, in her opinion, to do in the house and around the house, uncle Levonty scratched himself complacently.
- I, Petrovna, love the settlement! - and waved his hand around him:
- Fine! Like the sea! None of the eyes are oppressed!
Uncle Levonty loved the sea, and I loved it. The main goal of my life was to break into Levontius's house after his pay, listen to a song about a little monkey and, if necessary, bring up the mighty choir. Getting out isn't easy. Grandmother knows all my habits in advance.
“There’s nothing to look out for,” she thundered. - There is nothing to eat these proletarians, they themselves have a louse on a lasso in their pocket.
But if I managed to sneak out of the house and get to the Levontievskys, that's all, then I was surrounded by rare attention, then I was completely happy.
- Get out of here! - the drunken uncle Levonty strictly ordered one of his boys. And while one of them reluctantly got out from behind the table, he explained to the children his strict action in a already limp voice: - He is an orphan, and you are all with your parents! - And, looking pitifully at me, he roared: - Do you even remember your mother? I nodded in the affirmative. Uncle Levonty sadly leaned on his arm, rubbed his tears down his face with his fist, remembering; - Badogi with her for one year pricked-and-and! - And completely bursting into tears: - When you come ... night-midnight ... prop ... you lost head, Levonty, will say and ... get drunk ...
Aunt Vasenya, Uncle Levonty's children and I, together with them, burst into a roar, and it became so pitiful in the hut, and such kindness seized people that everything spilled out and fell out on the table and everyone vied with each other to treat me and themselves ate already through force, then they sang the song, and tears flowed like a river, and after that I dreamed of the miserable monkey for a long time.
Late in the evening, or quite at night, Uncle Levontiy asked the same question: “What is life?!” After that, I grabbed gingerbread, sweets, the Levontievsky kids also grabbed whatever they could get their hands on and scattered in all directions.
Vasenya set the last move, and my grandmother greeted her until the morning. Levontiy smashed the remnants of glass in the windows, swore, rattled, and wept.
The next morning, he glassed the windows with fragments, repaired the benches, the table, and, full of gloom and remorse, went to work. After three or four days, Aunt Vasenya again went to the neighbors and no longer tossed up a whirlwind with her skirt, again borrowed money, flour, potatoes - whatever she had to pay.
It was with the eagles of Uncle Levontiy that I went through the strawberries in order to earn a gingerbread with my labor. The children carried goblets with broken edges, old, half-torn for kindling, birch bark tueski, krinki tied around the throat with twine, who had ladles without handles. The boys went wild, wrestled, threw dishes at each other, tripped each other, started to fight twice, cried, teased. On the way, they jumped into someone's garden, and, since nothing had ripened there yet, they piled on a bunch of onions, ate until they had green saliva, and threw the rest away. Left a few feathers on the whistles. They squeaked and danced into bitten feathers, we walked merrily to the music, and we soon came to a rocky ridge. Then everyone stopped playing around, scattered through the forest and began to take strawberries, just ripening, white-sided, rare, and therefore especially joyful and expensive.
I took it diligently and soon covered the bottom of the neat tueska of the glass for two or three.
Grandmother said: the main thing in berries is to close the bottom of the vessel. I sighed with relief and began to collect strawberries more quickly, and I came across more and more of them higher up the ridge.
The Levontievsky children walked quietly at first. Only the lid tinkled, tied to a copper teapot. The older boy had this teapot, and he rattled so that we could hear that the older boy was here, nearby, and we had nothing to fear and nothing to do.
Suddenly the lid of the teapot rattled nervously, and there was a fuss.
- Eat, right? Eat, right? What about home? What about home? - the elder asked and gave someone a cuff after each question.
- A-ha-ha-ha! - Tanya sang. - Shazhral shazhral, duck nothing-oh-oh ...
Sanka also got it. He got angry, threw the bowl and fell into the grass. The eldest took, took berries, and thought: he tries for the house, and those parasites out there are eating berries or even lying on the grass. The elder jumped up and kicked Sanka again. Sanka howled, rushed at the elder. The kettle rang, berries splashed out of it. The heroic brothers are fighting, rolling on the ground, all the strawberries have been crushed.
After the fight, the elder's hands dropped too. He began to collect the spilled, crushed berries - and into their mouth, into their mouth.
So you can, but I can't! You can, but I can't? he asked ominously until he had eaten everything he could gather.
Soon the brothers somehow imperceptibly reconciled, stopped calling names and decided to go down to the Fokinsky river, splash.
I also wanted to go to the river, I would also like to splash, but I did not dare to leave the ridge, because I had not yet collected a full vessel.
- Grandmother Petrovna was frightened! Oh you! - Sanka grimaced and called me a filthy word. He knew many such words. I also knew, I learned to say them from the Levontievsky guys, but I was afraid, maybe embarrassed to use filth and timidly declared:
- But my grandmother will buy a gingerbread horse for me!
- Maybe a mare? - Sanka grinned, spat at his feet and immediately realized something; - Tell me better - you are afraid of her and still greedy!
- I?
- You!
- Greedy?
- Greedy!
- Do you want to eat all the berries? - I said this and immediately repented, I realized that I had fallen for the bait. Scratched, with bumps on his head from fights and various other causes, with pimples on his arms and legs, with red, bloodied eyes, Sanka was more harmful and meaner than all the Levontievsky guys.
- Weak! - he said.
- I'm weak! I swaggered, looking askance into the tube. There were berries already above the middle. - Am I weak? I repeated in a fading voice, and in order not to give in, not to be afraid, not to disgrace myself, I resolutely shook out the berries on the grass: “Here! Eat with me!
The Levontiev horde swooped in, the berries disappeared in an instant. I got only a few tiny, bent berries with greenery. Pity the berries. Sad. Anguish in the heart - it anticipates a meeting with a grandmother, a report and calculation. But I put on despair, waved my hand at everything - now it's all the same. I rushed along with the Levontievsky children downhill, to the river, and boasted:
- I'll steal kalach from my grandmother!
The guys encouraged me to act, they say, and carry more than one roll, grab another shaneg or a pie - there will be nothing superfluous.
- OK!
We ran along a shallow river, splashed with icy water, overturned the slabs and caught a sculpin - a piper with our hands. Sanka grabbed this vile-looking fish, compared it to shame, and we tore the fisherman to pieces on the shore for his ugly appearance. Then they shot stones at flying birds, knocked out a white belly. We soldered the swallow with water, but she bled into the river, she could not swallow water and died, dropping her head. We buried a white, flower-like bird on the shore, in pebbles, and soon forgot about it, because we were engaged in an exciting, terrible business: we ran into the mouth of the cold cave where we lived (this was known for certain in the village) devilry. Sanka ran furthest into the cave - even the evil spirits did not take him!
- It's still Che! - Sanka boasted, returning from the cave. - I would have further escape, in a block of escape ba, but I'm barefoot, there is death of kites.
- Zhmeev?! - Tanka retreated from the mouth of the cave and, just in case, pulled up her falling pants.
“I saw a brownie with a brownie,” Sanka continued to tell.
- Clapper! Brownies live in the attic and under the stove! - cut off Sanka the eldest.
Sanka was confused, but immediately challenged the elder:
- Duck Tama what kind of brownie? Home. And here is the cave. All in moss, seray, trembling trembling - he is cold. And the housekeeper, thin and thin, looks plaintively and groans. Yes, you can’t lure me, just come and grab and devour. I stuck a stone in her eye!..
Maybe Sanka was lying about the brownies, but it was still scary to listen to, it seemed - very close in the cave, someone was moaning, moaning. Tanka was the first to pull from a bad place, after her the rest of the guys fell down from the mountain. Sanka whistled, yelled silly, giving us heat.
We spent the whole day so interesting and fun, and I completely forgot about the berries, but it was time to return home. We dismantled the dishes hidden under the tree.
- Katerina Petrovna will ask you! Will ask! - neighed Sanka. We ate the berries! Haha! Really ate! Haha! We're good for nothing! Haha! And you, ho-ho!
I myself knew that for them, Levontievsky, “ha-ha!”, And for me “ho-ho!”. My grandmother, Katerina Petrovna, is not Aunt Vasenya, you won’t get rid of her with lies, tears and various excuses.
Quietly I trailed behind the Levontievsky guys from the forest. They ran ahead of me in a crowd, driving a ladle without a handle along the road. The ladle clanged, bounced on the stones, the remnants of enamel bounced off it.
- You know what? - Having spoken with the bros, Sanka returned to me. - You push the grass into the tues, on top of the berries - and the job is ready! Oh my child! - began to imitate my grandmother Sanka with accuracy. - Helped you resurrect, orphan, help-silt. And the demon Sanka winked at me, and rushed on, down the ridge, home.
But I stayed.
The voices of the children under the ridge, behind the gardens, subsided, it became terribly. True, the village can be heard here, but still the taiga, the cave is not far away, in it there is a brownie with a brownie, snakes are swarming. I sighed, sighed, almost burst into tears, but I had to listen to the forest, the grass, whether the brownies were coming out of the cave. No time to whine here. Keep your ears open here. I tore the grass with a handful, and looked around myself. He stuffed a tight tuyesok with grass, on a goby, so that he could see closer to the light and at home, he collected several handfuls of berries, laid grass with them - it turned out to be strawberries even with a shock.
- You are my child! - Grandma wailed when I, trembling with fear, handed her the vessel. - Lord helped you, wake up! I'll buy you a gingerbread, the biggest one. And I won’t pour your berries to my own, I’ll take you away right in this box ...
It eased a little.
I thought that now my grandmother would discover my fraud, give me what I was supposed to, and I was already preparing for punishment for the villainy I had committed. But it worked out. Everything worked out. Grandmother took the tuesok to the basement, praised me again, gave me something to eat, and I thought that I had nothing to be afraid of and that life was not so bad.
I ate, went outside to play, and there I was pulled to tell Sanka about everything.
- And I'll tell Petrovna! And I'll tell!
- Don't, Sanka!
- Bring kalach, then I won't tell.
I sneaked into the closet, took a roll out of the chest and brought it to Sanka, under my shirt. Then he brought another, then another, until Sanka got drunk.
“Grandma cheated. Kalachi stole! What will happen? - I was tormented at night, tossing and turning on the floor. Sleep didn’t take me, the “Andelian” peace did not condescend to my fidgeting, to my Varnach soul, although my grandmother, having crossed me for the night, wished me not some, but the very “Andelian”, quiet sleep.
- What are you doing there? Grandmother asked hoarsely from the darkness. - I suppose you wandered in the river again? Do your legs hurt again?
“Nope,” I replied. - I had a dream...
- Sleep with God! Sleep, don't be afraid. Life scarier than dreams, father...
“But what if you get off the bed, climb under the covers to your grandmother and tell everything, everything?”
I listened. From below came the labored breathing of an old man. It's a pity to wake up, my grandmother is tired. She gets up early. No, it’s better I won’t sleep until the morning, I’ll watch my grandmother, I’ll tell about everything: about the tuyesok, and about the brownie with the brownie, and about the rolls, and about everything, about everything ...
This decision made me feel better, and I did not notice how my eyes closed. Sanka's unwashed face appeared, then the forest flashed by, grass, strawberries, she filled up Sanka, and everything that I saw during the day.
On the decks there was a smell of pine forest, a cold mysterious cave, the river murmured at the very feet and fell silent ...
Grandfather was at the zaimka, about five kilometers from the village, at the mouth of the Mana River. There we have sown a strip of rye, a strip of oats and buckwheat, and a large paddock planted with potatoes. Talk about collective farms was just beginning then, and our villagers lived alone for the time being. I liked to visit my grandfather at the castle. Quietly with him there, in detail, no oppression and supervision, run even until the very night. Grandfather never made any noise at anyone, he worked slowly, but very relentlessly and pliably.
Ah, if only the place was closer! I would leave, hide. But five kilometers for me was then an insurmountable distance. And Alyoshka is not there to wind away with him. Recently, Aunt Augusta came and took Alyoshka with her to the forest area, where she went to work.
I wandered about, wandered around the empty hut, and could think of nothing else but to go to the Levontievskys.
- Petrovna swam away! - Sanka grinned and spit saliva into the hole between his front teeth. He could fit one more tooth in this hole, and we were crazy about this Sanya hole. How he spit into her!
Sanka was going fishing, unraveling the line. His little brothers and sisters pushed around, wandered around the benches, crawled, hobbled on crooked legs.
Sanka gave cracks to the right and left - the little ones climbed arm in arm, confused the fishing line.
- There is no hook, - he muttered angrily, - he must have swallowed some.
- Die?
- Nishtya-ak! Sanka reassured me. - They'll digest it. You got a lot of hooks, give it. I'll take you with me.
- Goes.
I rushed home, grabbed my fishing rods, put bread in my pocket, and we went to the stone steers, for the cattle, which descended directly into the Yenisei behind the log.
There was no old house. His father took him with him "to badogi", and Sanka commanded recklessly. Since he was the eldest today and felt a great responsibility, he didn’t bully himself in vain and, moreover, pacified the “people” if they started a dump.
At the gobies, Sanka put fishing rods, baited worms, pecked at them and “from hand” threw the fishing lines in order to throw them further - everyone knows: the farther and deeper, the more fish and she is bigger.
- Sha! - Sanka goggled his eyes, and we obediently froze. It didn't bite for a long time. We got tired of waiting, started pushing, giggling, teasing. Sanka endured, endured and drove us to look for sorrel, coastal garlic, wild radish, otherwise, they say, he does not vouch for himself, otherwise he will hit us all. The Levontiev guys knew how to soak themselves "from the earth", ate everything that God sent, did not disdain anything, and that's why they were red-faced, strong, dexterous, especially at the table.
Without us, Sanka really got sick. While we were collecting greens suitable for grub, he pulled out two ruffs, a minnow and a white-eyed spruce. They lit a fire on the beach. Sanka put fish on sticks, adapted them to fry, the children surrounded the fire and did not take their eyes off the heat. "Sa-an! - they whined soon. - It's gone! Sa-an! .. "
- W-well, breakthroughs! W-well, breaks! Can't you see that the ruff is yawning with gills? Toko would gobble up as soon as possible. Well, how will the belly grab, diarrhea? ..
- Vitka Katerinino has diarrhea. We don't have.
- What did I say?
The fighting eagles fell silent. With Sanka it’s not painful to divorce turuses, he, a little something, and sticks. Tolerate the little ones, tossing their noses; strive to make the fire hotter. However, patience does not last long.
- Well, Sa-an, it’s just coal ...
- Choke!
The guys grabbed sticks from fried fish, tore them up on the fly and on the fly, groaning from the hot, ate them almost raw, without salt and bread, ate them and looked around in bewilderment: already ?! We waited so much, endured so much and only licked our lips. My children also imperceptibly grinded bread and did something: they pulled out shoreline burrows, “blinded” stone tiles on the water, tried to swim, but the water was still cold, quickly jumped out of the river to warm themselves by the fire. They warmed up and fell into the still low grass, so as not to see how Sanka fries the fish, now for himself, now it's his turn, and then ask, don't ask - the grave. He won’t, because he loves to devour more than anyone else.
The day was clear and summery. It was hot on top. Ruffled cuckoo's shoes leaned towards the ground near the cattle. Blue bells dangled from side to side on long crunchy stems, and, probably, only the bees heard how they rang. Striped gramophone flowers lay on the heated ground near the anthill, and bumblebees stuck their heads into their blue mouthpieces. They froze for a long time, exposing their furry backsides, they must have been listening to the music. The birch leaves gleamed, the aspen forest was shriveled by the heat, the pine forest along the ridges was covered in blue smoke. Sunshine shimmered over the Yenisei. Through this flickering, the red vents of the lime kilns blazing on the other side of the river were barely visible. The shadows of the rocks lay motionless on the water, and the light opened them up, tore them to shreds, like old rags. The railway bridge in the city, visible from our village in clear weather, swayed with thin lace, and if you look at it for a long time, the lace thinned and torn.
From there, because of the bridge, grandmother should sail. What will be! And why did I do that? Why did he listen to the Levontievskys? Wow, how good it was to live. Walk, run, play and don't think about anything. Now what? There is nothing to hope for now. Is that an accidental deliverance. Maybe the boat will capsize and the grandmother will drown? No, it's better if it doesn't tip over. Mom drowned. What good? I am now an orphan. Unhappy person. And there is no one to pity me. Levonty, only drunk, regrets, and even grandfather - and that’s all, grandmother only screams, no, no, yes, yes, she will give in - she won’t be late. The main thing is that there is no grandfather. Grandpa is on the fence. He wouldn't hurt me. Grandmother yells at him: “Sweater! I’ve honed my whole life, now this one! ..” “Grandfather, you are grandfather, if only you came to the bathhouse to wash, even if you just came and took me with you!”
- What are you sniffing? - Sanka leaned towards me with a preoccupied look.
- Nothing-oh-oh! - I made it clear with my voice that it was he, Sanka, who brought me to such a life.
- Nishtya-ak! - Sanka consoled me. - Don't go home, that's all! Burrow in the hay and hide. Petrovna saw your mother's eyes half open when she was buried. Afraid - you will drown too. Here she is wailing: “My child will drown-u-ul, calm me down, little orphan,” - you’ll get out here! ..
- I won't do that! I protested. And I won't listen to you!
- Well, leshak with you! They are trying about you. In! Pecked! You pecked!
I fell off the ravine, disturbing the coasters in the holes, and pulled the fishing rod. Perch caught. Then ruff. The fish approached, biting began. We baited worms, threw them.
- Do not step over the rod! - Sanka yelled superstitiously at the kids, completely stunned with delight, and dragged, dragged small fish. The boys put them on a willow rod, lowered them into the water and shouted at each other: “Who is told - do not cross the bait ?!”
Suddenly, behind a nearby stone steer, forged poles clicked along the bottom, and a boat appeared from behind the cape. Three men threw poles out of the water at once. Flashing with polished tips, the poles fell into the water at once, and the boat, burrowing along the lines into the river, rushed forward, throwing waves to the sides. The swing of the poles, the throwing of hands, the push - the boat jumped up with its nose, quickly leaned forward. She's closer, closer. Now the stern moved the pole, and the boat nodded away from our fishing rods. And then I saw another person sitting on the gazebo. A half-shawl on the head, its ends are passed under the armpits and tied crosswise on the back. Under the half-shawl is a burgundy-dyed jacket. This jacket was taken out of the chest on major holidays and on the occasion of a trip to the city.

The story is told in the first person. The author talks about his childhood. Orphaned at an early age, he lived with his grandparents. One day, his grandmother sent him with the neighbor boys to the forest to pick strawberries. She was going to sell the berries in the city. And she promised her grandson to bring the gingerbread "by horse".

This gingerbread was in the form of a white horse. And the mane, tail and hooves of the horse were pink. Such a gingerbread was the dream of all the village children. Its owner has always been surrounded by honor and attention of all the guys. He was immediately allowed to shoot from a slingshot, allowed the first to hit when playing siskin in the hope that the lucky one would later allow him to bite off a little of the gingerbread. True, here the lucky man should have been on the alert and firmly held with his fingers the place where it was allowed to bite off. Otherwise, he could only have a tail and a mane.

It was also nice to put the gingerbread under my shirt, run around and feel how the horse kicks its bare belly with its hooves.

For berries the boy went with the children of his neighbor Levontiy. Levonty worked on badogs. He was logging. He sawed it, pricked it and handed it over to the lime plant.

Once every ten to fifteen days he received money. Then a feast began in his house with a mountain. Levonti's wife, aunt Vasenya, came to grandmother Katerina Petrovna and repaid the debt. Grandmother counted the money for a long time and carefully, although there were usually no more than ten of them. And she always found that a neighbor gave her a ruble or a three-ruble note.

Grandmother scolded her for squandering, and she justified herself by bringing more, not less.

On such days, the main goal for the boy was to get into Levonti's house. But the grandmother strictly watched that he did not try to sneak to the neighbors. Declaring that these "proletarians" themselves "have a louse on a lasso in their pocket."

But if he still managed to get to Levontius, then there he was surrounded by rare attention.

The owner, who had become better after taking alcohol, put the boy on the best place and, rubbing tears down his face, he began to remember his mother, who always showed him kindness and condescension.

Feeling emotional, everyone burst into tears and, seized by a generous impulse, laid out on the table all the most delicious and vied with each other to treat the boy.

Late in the evening, Levontiy asked the same question: “What is life?!” After that, the children grabbed gingerbread and sweets and scattered in all directions. Aunt Vasenya was the last to run away. And grandmother Katerina Petrovna "greeted her until the morning." And Levontiy beat the remnants of glass in the windows, cursed and cried.

In the morning he glassed windows with glass fragments, repaired the table and benches, and, full of remorse, went to work. And a few days later, Aunt Vasenya again went to the neighbors - "borrowed money, flour, potatoes - whatever you have to."

With the children of this neighbor, the boy went “through the strawberries” in order to earn a gingerbread with his own labor. The children carried goblets with chipped edges, birch bark pieces. They threw dishes at each other, cried, teased and squeaked into whistles.

Soon they came to the forest and began to collect strawberries. The boy collected diligently and soon covered the bottom of his cup with two or three glasses. Grandmother taught him that the main thing in berries is to close the bottom of the vessel. And then the work will go faster.

The Levontievsky children walked quietly at first. But soon the elder noticed that while he was picking berries home, brothers and sisters shamelessly put them in his mouth. He began to restore order, handing out cuffs. Having received a slap in the face, the younger Sanka howled and rushed at the elder. In a fight, they dropped the teapot and crushed all the berries they had picked.

The older man dropped his hands when he saw this. He began to collect crushed berries and put them in his mouth.

The brothers soon reconciled. And we decided to go swimming in the river. The boy also wanted to swim, but he had not yet taken a full vessel.

Sanka began to taunt him, stating that he was either afraid of his grandmother, or simply greedy. Offended by such an accusation, the boy shouted out in the heat of the moment that he could immediately eat all the berries he had picked. And he immediately regretted what he had said, realizing that he had foolishly fallen for the bait.

But Sanka did not let up and, continuing to provoke, arrogantly threw: “Weak!” And the boy, sadly looking at the collected berries, realized that now there is only one way not to disgrace himself. He shook out the berries on the grass and shouted: “Here! Eat with me!”

The berries instantly disappeared. The boy got only a few of the smallest. He was sad and sorry for the berries. But he let himself be desperate and rushed with the guys to the river. And in order to completely drown out the feeling of awkwardness, he began to brag that he would also steal a kalach from his grandmother. The guys noisily encouraged his plans.

Then they ran and splashed in the river, threw stones at flying birds and ran into the mouth of a cold cave, where, as they said, evil spirits lived.

It was such an interesting and fun day. And the boy had completely forgotten about the berries. But it's time to go home. Sanka began to mock, predicting reprisals to the boy and declaring that they had eaten the berries on purpose. The boy himself knew what would happen to him. And quietly trailed behind friends.

But soon Sanka returned to him and offered a way out. He advised pushing herbs into the tuyesok, and cover with a berry on top. Winking goodbye, Sanka sped away.

The boy was left alone, and he became terribly sad. But there was nothing to do, and he began to tear the grass. I pushed it into the tube, and picked up berries from above. It turned out strawberries even with a “shock”.

Grandmother wailed affectionately when, trembling with fear, the boy gave her the tuesok. She promised to buy him the biggest gingerbread and decided not to pour the berries. The boy calmed down a little, realizing that right now his fraud would not be detected.

But on the street he did something stupid and told Sanka about everything. He immediately threatened to tell everything. The boy began to persuade him not to do it. Sanka agreed only on the condition that they bring him a roll.

The boy secretly made his way into the pantry, took the kalach out of the chest and took it to Sanka. Then another.

At night, he tossed and turned without sleep and was tormented by everything he had done, by the fact that he had deceived his grandmother and stole rolls. He even almost decided to wake her up and tell her everything. But it was a pity to wake up my grandmother. She was tired and had to get up early in the morning. The boy decided that he would not sleep until morning, and when his grandmother wakes up, he will confess everything. But he himself did not notice how he fell asleep.

In the morning the boy wandered around the hut, not knowing what to do. And he didn’t think of anything other than how to go to the “Levontievsky”.

Sanka and his brothers were going fishing. But, having unraveled the fishing rods, I found that there was no hook. He asked the boy to bring a hook, promising to take it with him on a fishing trip. The boy was delighted. I ran home, took hooks, bread and went with my friends.

Sanka was for the elder. Feeling responsible, he almost did not bully and even pacified others. He set up the fishing rods and told everyone to sit quietly. It didn't bite for a long time. And soon everyone was bored. But Sanka drove everyone to look for sorrel, coastal garlic, wild radish and other grass suitable for eating. During this time, he pulled out two ruffs, a white-eyed dace and a gudgeon.

The fish were fried on sticks and eaten without salt, almost raw. Then everyone began to entertain themselves as best they could. But the boy did not let go of anxiety. He knew that his grandmother would be back soon. And I was afraid to even think what would happen then. He deeply regretted his action. About the fact that he obeyed his friends and succumbed to Sanka's bait.

The boy lamented that there was no one to pity him. There is no mother. Levontius regrets only drunk. Grandmother scolds, and maybe, on occasion, and give on the scruff of the neck. Only the grandfather, according to the grandmother, always indulges him. But there is no grandfather. He is in a zaimka where rye, oats and potatoes are sown.

Sanka noticed the boy's anxiety and asked what he was "nurturing". He replied: "Nothing."

But with all his appearance he tried to make it clear that Sanka was to blame for everything. He grinned and suggested that his friend not go home, but hide in the hay. And when the grandmother, thinking that he drowned, starts to lament, get out. But the boy replied that he would no longer listen to stupid advice.

And then the boy pecked. He jerked the line and pulled out the perch. And then the fish began to catch one after another.

And suddenly a boat appeared from behind the cape. The boy recognized the familiar burgundy-dyed jacket and realized that his grandmother had returned. Jumping up, he rushed away with all his might.

Grandmother screamed, ordering him to stop. But he himself did not notice how he ended up on the other side of the village. He was afraid to return home and went to his cousin Keshka. He was playing bast shoes with friends near the house. The boy got involved in the game and ran until dark.

Keshka's mother offered him something to eat and asked why he wasn't going home. He told her that the grandmother was in the city, hoping that they would leave him for the night. But she, after questioning the boy, took him by the hand and led him home.

From the passage the aunt pushed him into the pantry. He settled into bed and became quiet. And the aunt in the hut talked for a long time about something with her grandmother.

In the morning the boy woke up from the sunbeam and found himself covered with his grandfather's fur coat. The fact that the grandfather returned added courage to him. But he immediately heard his grandmother in the kitchen talking about selling berries. A cultured lady in a hat wished to purchase all of his tuesok. And her grandmother also told her that the berries were picked by a "miserable orphan."

I didn’t hear the continuation of the “orphan”, because he was ready to fall through the ground with his grandmother, and hastily buried his head in a sheepskin coat, dreaming of “dying on the spot”.

But breathing became difficult, and he stuck his head out. And the grandmother already scolded the grandfather. Who, apparently, tried to stand up for his grandson, accusing him of always “indulging” his children and now indulging his grandson, from whom a “prisoner” and “convict” will grow up. She also threatened to take into circulation the "Levontievsky". Declaring that this is "their letter".

Then my grandmother's niece came to visit and asked about a trip to the city. And the grandmother began to tell her "what did" her "little one" do. And to everyone who came to her hut, she told about the trick of her grandson. And to her grandson, passing by, each time she reported that she saw that he had not slept for a long time.

Then the grandfather looked into the pantry, stroked the boy on the head. He could not stand it and burst into tears. Grandfather wiped away his tears and, gently pushing him in the back, sent to ask for forgiveness.

Holding his pants, the boy entered the hut and through his tears muttered that "there will be no more." Grandmother told him to wash and sit down at the table.

The boy washed himself, dried himself for a long time with a towel, and, sitting down at the table, timidly reached for a loaf of bread. Grandmother was touched with irony by his modesty. And the grandfather with a look ordered to be silent.

The boy himself knew that now he should not argue with his grandmother. She must “take her soul away”, let off steam and express everything that has accumulated. Grandmother rebuked and shamed the boy for a long time. And he only roared repentantly.

But Grandma calmed down. Grandpa has gone somewhere. And the boy sat with his eyes downcast and smoothed the patch on his pants.

And when he raised his head, he saw that a white horse with a pink mane was galloping on a scraped table, as if on a huge land with arable land and meadows, on pink hooves. He closed his eyes and opened them again. But the horse didn't disappear. “Take it, take it, what are you looking at? You look, but even when you deceive your grandmother ... "

Many years and events have passed since then. But he still cannot forget his grandmother's gingerbread - "that marvelous horse with a pink mane."

On the pages of the story, the daily life of the Russian village in the pre-war years appears before us. Life is harsh and meager, filled hard work but also quiet joy.

With kind sympathy, and sometimes with irony, the author describes both adults and little heroes of the story. Even the mischievous Sanka, in fact, is just a boy deprived of warmth and affection with an eternally empty stomach, trying in his own way to adapt to a difficult life.

With special love, the image of grandmother Katerina Petrovna is written out - strict, but kind and fair. She is the personification of the moral ideal, in accordance with which she brings up her grandson. She can be stern when she needs to be, but she's still warm and kind. Having strongly scolded her grandson for an unworthy act, she nevertheless did not deprive him of his joy, although he put her in an extremely awkward position. This story is saturated with the truth of life, warmth, humor and the author's boundless love for his land.