She sat in front of me beautiful. Lidia Mikhailovna, as in the story, always aroused in me both surprise and reverence.

Option 1

1) V.G. Rasputin2) A.S. Pushkin3) M.M. Prishvin4) A.P. Platonov
a) "Unknown Flower" b) "French Lessons" c) "Dubrovsky" d) "Pantry of the Sun"

Find the correspondence between the literary hero and the title of the work:

1) Lydia Mikhailovna

2) Mitrasha

3) Cossack chieftain Platov

4) Troyekurov

a) "Dubrovsky"

b) "Lefty"

c) "Pantry of the sun"

d) "French Lessons"

Define by description literary hero, indicate the author and the title of the work.

1) "... brought up in Cadet Corps and was released as a cornet to the guard; his father spared nothing for his decent maintenance, and the young man received from the house more than he should have expected. Being extravagant and ambitious, he allowed himself luxurious whims; played cards and went into debt, not worrying about the future, and foreseeing sooner or later a rich bride, the dream of a poor youth...»

2) “He was only ten years old with a ponytail. He was short, but very dense, with foreheads, the back of his head was wide. He was a stubborn and strong boy.

"The little man in the pouch", smiling, called him among themselves teachers at school.

3) “He is wearing what he was: in shawls, one leg is in a boot, the other is dangled, and the ozyamchik is old, the hooks do not fasten, they are lost, and the collar is torn ...”

4. Fill in the missing words in the poem:

The last rays....
They lie on a field of compressed rye.
A rosy nap is embraced
Grass of uncut border.

No breeze, no ... birds,
Above the grove is the red disk of the moon,
And the song of the reaper fades
Among ... silence.

Near the forest like a soft bed,

You can sleep - peace and space ...... (N.A. Nekrasov)

Which artistic technique uses

Evening, do you remember the blizzard was angry,

In the cloudy sky, darkness hovered ..... (A.S. Pushkin)

What artistic technique does

glorious autumn! frosty nights,

clear, quiet days .... (N.A. Nekrasov)

The last rays of sunset

They lie on a field of compressed rye.

A rosy nap is embraced

Grass of uncut border. (A. Blok)

6th grade. Final control work on literature.

Option 2

1) A.S. Pushkin

2) I.A. Krylov

3) N.S. Leskov

4) V.P. Astafiev

a) "Cabin"

b) "Dubrovsky"

c) "Horse with a pink mane"

d) "Lefty"

2. Find the correspondence between the literary hero and the title of the work:

1) Nastya and Mitrasha

2) Cossack chieftain Platov

4) Marya Kirilovna

a) Lefty

b) "Pantry of the sun"

c) "Horse with a pink mane"

d) "Dubrovsky"

3. Determine the description of the literary hero, indicate the author and title of the work.

1) “... was like a golden hen on high legs. Hair ...... shimmered with gold, freckles all over the face were large, like gold coins .... "

2) “She sat in front of me, neat, all smart and beautiful, beautiful in clothes, and in her feminine young pore, which I vaguely felt, the smell of perfume from her reached me, which I took for my very breath ..”

3) “His wealth, noble family and connections gave him great weight in the provinces where his estate was located. The neighbors were glad to cater to his slightest whims; provincial officials trembled at his name... Spoiled by everything that only surrounded him, he was accustomed to give full rein to all the impulses of his ardent disposition and all the undertakings of a rather limited mind.»

4. Insert the missing words in the poem:

The last rays of sunset
They lie on a field of compressed rye.
A rosy nap is embraced
Grass uncut….

Not a breeze, not a bird's cry,
Above the grove - a red disk ...,
And freezes ... reapers
In the middle of the evening silence.

5. What artistic technique does he use

The ice is fragile on the icy river

As if melting sugar lies... (N.A. Nekrasov)

6. What artistic technique does

Clouds are rushing, pouring rain,

And the wind howls, dying! (A. Blok)

7. What artistic technique does

Terrible night! On a night like this

I feel sorry for people deprived of shelter... (A. Blok)

What type of rhyme is used in this passage?

Small forests. Steppe and gave.

Moonlight all the way.

Here again they suddenly sobbed

Draft bells. (S. Yesenin)

a) cross b) adjacent c) girdle

Answers to control work Literature for grade 6A.

Evaluation

From 1 to 8 - "2".

9 - 14 - "3"

15 - 19 - "4"

I get to Adolf in the afternoon. The gate creaks. A dog barks in a kennel. I quickly walk down the fruit alley. Adolf at home. And the wife is right there. When I enter and offer my hand to him, she comes out. I sit down. After a pause, Adolf asks:

“Are you surprised, Ernst, eh?

What, Adolf?

Because she's here.

- Not at all. You know better.

He pushes a fruit platter towards me.

- Do you want apples?

I choose an apple and hand Adolf a cigar. He bites off the tip and says:

“You see, Ernst, I kept sitting here and sitting, and almost went crazy from this sitting. One in such a house is downright torture. You pass through the rooms - her blouse hangs here, there is a basket with needles and threads, here is a chair on which she always sat when she sewed; and at night - this white bed nearby, empty; every minute you look there, and toss and turn, and you can’t sleep ... At such moments, Ernst, you change your mind a lot ...

- Imagine, Adolf!

“And then you run out of the house and get drunk and do all kinds of nonsense…”

I nod. The clock is ticking. Firewood crackles in the stove. The woman silently enters, puts bread and butter on the table, and exits again. Bethke smoothes the tablecloth:

- Yes, Ernst, and she, of course, also suffered so much, she also sat and sat like that all these years ... Going to bed, she was always afraid of something, frightened of the unknown, thought about everything endlessly, listened to every rustle. So, in the end, this is what happened. I am sure that at first she did not want to at all, and when it happened, she could not cope with herself. And so it went.

The woman brings coffee. I want to say hello to her, but she doesn't look at me.

"Why don't you put down a cup for yourself?" Adolf asks her.

“I still have something to do in the kitchen,” she says. Her voice is quiet and deep.

“I sat here and said to myself: you guarded your honor and drove your wife out. But from this honor you are neither warm nor cold, you are alone, and with honor or without honor it does not make you feel any better. And I told her: stay. Who, in fact, needs all this rubbish, because you are tired to hell and you live, after all, for some ten or two years, and if I had not found out what was, everything would remain the same. Who knows what people would do if they always knew everything.

Adolf taps nervously on the back of his chair.

“Drink coffee, Ernst, and take the oil.

I pour myself and him a cup, and we drink.

“You understand, Ernst,” Bethke says quietly, “it’s easier for you: you have your books, your education and all that, but I have nothing and no one in the whole world except my wife.

I don't answer - he still won't understand me now: he's not the same as at the front, and I have changed.

– What does she say? I ask after a pause.

Adolf helplessly drops his hand:

“She doesn’t talk much, it’s hard to get anything from her, she just sits, is silent and looks at me. Unless he pays. He puts down his cup. “Sometimes she says that it all happened because she wanted someone to be around. And another time she says that she does not understand herself, she did not think that she was harming me, it seemed to her that it was me. All this is not very clear, Ernst; You have to be able to figure out things like this. In general, she is thoughtful.

I'm thinking.

“Maybe, Adolf, she wants to say that all these years she was like she was not herself, she lived like in a dream?

“Perhaps,” Adolf answers, “but I don't understand it. Yes, that's right, it didn't last that long.

“And she doesn’t want to know now, does she?” I ask.

She says her home is here.

I'm thinking again. What else to ask?

“So you feel better, Adolf?”

He is looking at me:

“I wouldn’t say, Ernst! Not yet. But I think it will get better. What do you think?

He looks like he's not very sure about it.

"Of course it'll work out," I say, and put some of the cigars I've saved for him on the table. We talk for a while. Finally I'm going home. In the hallway I run into Maria. She tries to sneak past unnoticed.

“Goodbye, Frau Bethke,” I say, holding out my hand to her.

“Goodbye,” she says, turning away and shaking my hand.

Adolf is coming with me to the station. The wind howls. I look askance at Adolf and remember his smile when we used to talk about peace in the trenches. What did it all come down to!

The train is moving.

“Adolf,” I hurriedly say from the window, “Adolf, believe me, I understand you very well, you don’t even know how well ...

Lonely he wanders through the field home.

Ten o'clock. Call for a big change. I just finished my high school class. And now fourteen-year-old guys are rapidly running past me into the wild. I watch them from the window. Within a few seconds, they are completely transformed, shake off the yoke of the school and regain the freshness and spontaneity characteristic of their age.

When they sit in front of me on their benches, they are not real. They are either quiet and toadies, or hypocrites, or rebels. Seven years of school made them that way. They came here uncorrupted, sincere, knowing nothing, straight from their meadows, games, dreams. They were still governed by a simple law of all living things: the most alive, the strongest became their leader, led the rest. But weekly portions of education gradually instilled in them another, artificial law: the one who sipped them more carefully than anyone else was awarded distinctions, declared the best. His comrades were encouraged to follow his example. Not surprisingly, the liveliest children resisted. But they were forced to submit, for a good student is once and for all the ideal of the school. But what a pitiful ideal! What good students turn into over the years! In the greenhouse atmosphere of the school, they bloomed with a short flowering of an empty flower and, moreover, mired in a swamp of mediocrity and servile mediocrity. The world owes its progress only to bad students.

I look at the players. The leader is a strong and dexterous boy, curly-haired Damholt; with his energy, he holds the entire site in his hands. His eyes sparkle with militant enthusiasm and pleasure, all the muscles are tense, and the guys unquestioningly obey him. And in ten minutes on the school bench, this very little boy will turn into a stubborn, obstinate student who never knows the assigned lessons, and in the spring he will probably be left for the second year. When I look at him, he will make a lean face, and as soon as I turn away, he will make a grimace; he will lie without hesitation if you ask if he copied the composition, and at the first opportunity he will spit on my trousers or insert a pin in the seat of a chair. And the First Student (in the wild, a very pitiful figure) here, in the classroom, immediately grows up; when Damholt fails to answer and, bitterly, reluctantly, waits for his usual deuce, the first student will self-confidently raise his hand. The first disciple knows everything, he knows this too. But Damholt, who, in fact, should have been punished, is a thousand times dearer to me than the pale, exemplary student.

Strange: why do we, just like before our parents, every time feel guilty before our teachers? And not for what happened at school - no, but for what happened to us after.

I went to the fifth grade in forty-eight. It would be more correct to say, I went: in our village there was only Primary School, therefore, in order to study further, I had to equip myself from home fifty kilometers away to the regional center. A week earlier, my mother had gone there, agreed with her friend that I would lodge with her, and on the last day of August, Uncle Vanya, the driver of the only lorry on the collective farm, unloaded me on Podkamennaya Street, where I was to live, helped bring a bundle of bed, patted him on the shoulder reassuringly and drove off. So, at the age of eleven, my independent life began.

Hunger that year had not yet let go, and my mother had three of us, I am the oldest. In the spring, when it was especially hard, I swallowed myself and forced my sister to swallow the eyes of sprouted potatoes and grains of oats and rye in order to dilute the plantings in the stomach - then you won’t have to think about food all the time. All summer we diligently watered our seeds with pure Angarsk water, but for some reason we did not wait for the harvest, or it was so small that we did not feel it. However, I think that this idea is not entirely useless and someday it will come in handy for a person, and due to inexperience, we did something wrong there.

It is hard to say how my mother decided to let me go to the district (the district center was called the district). We lived without a father, lived very badly, and she, apparently, reasoned that it would not be worse - there was nowhere. I studied well, I went to school with pleasure, and in the village I was recognized as a literate person: I wrote for old women and read letters, went through all the books that ended up in our unprepossessing library, and in the evenings told all sorts of stories from them to the children, adding more from myself. But they especially believed in me when it came to bonds. People accumulated a lot of them during the war, the tables of winnings came often, and then the bonds were carried to me. I thought I had a lucky eye. Winnings really did happen, most often small ones, but the collective farmer in those years was happy with any penny, and here completely unexpected luck fell out of my hands. The joy from her involuntarily fell to me. I was singled out from the village children, they even fed me; Once Uncle Ilya, in general, a stingy, stingy old man, having won four hundred rubles, hastily heated a bucket of potatoes for me - in the spring it was considerable wealth.

And all because I understood bond numbers, mothers said:

Your brainy guy is growing. You are ... let's teach him. Gratitude will not go to waste.

And my mother, in spite of all the misfortunes, gathered me together, although before that no one from our village in the region had studied. I was first. Yes, I did not understand properly what was ahead of me, what trials awaited me, my dear, in a new place.

I studied here and it's good. What was left for me? - then I came here, I had no other business here, and then I did not know how to treat carelessly what was assigned to me. I would hardly have dared to go to school if I had not learned at least one lesson, so in all subjects except French, I kept fives.

I didn't get along well with French because of the pronunciation. I easily memorized words and phrases, quickly translated, coped well with the difficulties of spelling, but pronunciation with a head betrayed all my Angaran origin right up to the last generation, where no one ever pronounces foreign words if at all suspected of their existence. I sputtered in French in the manner of our village tongue twisters, swallowing half of the sounds as unnecessary, and blurting out the other half in short barking bursts. Lidia Mikhailovna, the French teacher, listened to me, wincing helplessly and closing her eyes. She had never heard of anything like it, of course. Again and again she showed how to pronounce nasals, vowel combinations, asked me to repeat - I was lost, my tongue in my mouth became stiff and did not move. Everything was wasted. But the worst thing happened when I came home from school. There I was involuntarily distracted, all the time I had to do something, there the guys bothered me, along with them - like it or not, I had to move, play, and in the classroom - work. But as soon as I was left alone, longing immediately piled up - longing for home, for the village. Never before, even for a day, had I been absent from my family and, of course, I was not ready to live among strangers. I felt so bad, so bitter and disgusted! - worse than any disease. I wanted only one thing, I dreamed of one thing - home and home. I lost a lot of weight; my mother, who arrived at the end of September, was afraid for me. With her, I strengthened myself, did not complain and did not cry, but when she began to leave, I could not stand it and chased the car with a roar. Mother waved her hand to me from the back so that I would be behind, not to disgrace myself and her, I did not understand anything. Then she made up her mind and stopped the car.

Get ready,” she demanded as I approached. Enough, weaned, let's go home.

I came to my senses and ran away.

But I lost weight not only because of homesickness. In addition, I was constantly malnourished. In the autumn, while Uncle Vanya was carrying bread on his lorry to Zagotzerno, which was not far from the district center, food was sent to me quite often, about once a week. But the problem is that I missed her. There was nothing there but bread and potatoes, and occasionally her mother stuffed cottage cheese into a jar, which she took from someone for something: she did not keep a cow. It seems that they will bring a lot, you will miss it in two days - it's empty. I very soon began to notice that a good half of my bread was disappearing somewhere in the most mysterious way. Checked - it is: there was no. The same thing happened with potatoes. Whether it was Aunt Nadya, a noisy, overwrought woman who was running around alone with three children, one of her older girls or her younger one, Fedka, I didn’t know, I was afraid to even think about it, let alone follow. It was only a shame that my mother, for my sake, tears the last thing from her own, from her sister and brother, but it still goes by. But I forced myself to come to terms with it. It will not be easier for the mother if she hears the truth.

The famine here was not at all like the famine in the countryside. There, always, and especially in autumn, it was possible to intercept, pluck, dig, lift something, fish walked in the Angara, a bird flew in the forest. Here everything around me was empty: strange people, strange vegetable gardens, strange land. A small river for ten rows was filtered with nonsense. I once sat with a fishing rod all day on Sunday and caught three small, about a teaspoon, minnows - you won’t get good from such fishing either. I didn’t go anymore - what a waste of time to translate! In the evenings, he hung around at the teahouse, in the bazaar, remembering what they sell for how much, choked on saliva and walked back with nothing. Aunt Nadia had a hot kettle on the stove; throwing boiled water over the naked man and warming his stomach, he went to bed. Back to school in the morning. And so it reached happy hour when a lorry drove up to the gate and Uncle Vanya knocked on the door. Hungry and knowing that my grub would still not last long, no matter how much I saved it, I ate to satiety, to pain and stomach, and then, after a day or two, again planted my teeth on the shelf.

* * *

Once, back in September, Fedka asked me:

Are you afraid to play "chika"?

In what "chika"? - I did not understand.

The game is like that. For money. If we have money, let's go and play.

And I don't have. Let's go, let's take a look. You'll see how great it is.

Fedka took me to the gardens. We walked along the edge of an oblong, ridged hill, completely overgrown with nettles, already black, tangled, with drooping poisonous clusters of seeds, we climbed, jumping in heaps, through an old dump and in a lowland, on a clean and even small clearing, we saw the guys. We approached. The guys were worried. All of them were about the same age as me, except for one - tall and strong, noticeable for his strength and power, a guy with a long red bang. I remembered: he went to the seventh grade.

Why else did you bring this? he said discontentedly to Fedka.

He is his own, Vadik, his own, - Fedka began to justify himself. - He lives with us.

Will you play? - Vadik asked me.

There is no money.

Look, don't yell to anyone that we're here.

Here's another! - I was offended.

No one paid any more attention to me, I stepped aside and began to observe. Not all six, then seven played, the rest just stared, rooting mainly for Vadik. He was in charge here, I understood it at once.

It didn't cost anything to figure out the game. Each staked ten kopecks on the bet, a stack of coins was lowered tails up onto a platform bounded by a thick line about two meters from the cash register, and on the other side, from a boulder that had grown into the ground and served as an emphasis for the front foot, they threw a round stone puck. You had to throw it in such a way that it rolled as close as possible to the line, but did not go beyond it - then you got the right to be the first to break the cash register. They beat him with the same puck, trying to turn it over. eagle coins. Turned over - yours, beat further, no - give this right to the next one. But it was considered most important of all when throwing the puck to cover the coins, and if at least one of them turned out to be on the eagle, the entire cash register went into your pocket without talking, and the game began again.

Vadik was cunning. He walked towards the boulder after all when full picture The lines were before his eyes and he saw where to throw to get ahead. The money went first, it rarely reached the last. Probably, everyone understood that Vadik was cunning, but no one dared to tell him about it. True, he played well. Approaching the stone, he crouched a little, squinted, pointed the puck at the target and slowly, smoothly straightened up - the puck slipped out of his hand and flew where he was aiming. With a quick movement of his head, he threw the bangs that had gone down, casually spat to the side, showing that the deed was done, and with a lazy, deliberately slow step stepped towards the money. If they were in a heap, he hit sharply, with a ringing sound, but he touched single coins with a puck carefully, with a knurling, so that the coin would not beat and spin in the air, but, not rising high, would just roll over to the other side. Nobody else could do that. The guys hit at random and took out new coins, and those who had nothing to get, turned into spectators.

It seemed to me that if I had money, I could play. In the countryside, we fiddled with grandmothers, but even there you need an accurate eye. And besides, I liked to invent for myself amusements for accuracy: I will pick up a handful of stones, find a harder target and throw it at it until I achieve the full result - ten out of ten. He threw both from above, from behind his shoulder, and from below, hanging a stone over the target. So I had some flair. There was no money.

Mother sent me bread because we had no money, otherwise I would have bought it here too. Where can they get on the collective farm? Nevertheless, twice she put me five in a letter - for milk. At present it is fifty kopecks, you can’t get hold of it, but all the same, money, you could buy five half-liter cans of milk at the bazaar, at a ruble per jar. I was ordered to drink milk from anemia, I often suddenly felt dizzy for no reason at all.

But, having received a five for the third time, I did not go for milk, but exchanged it for a trifle and went to the dump. The place here was chosen sensibly, you can’t say anything: the clearing, closed by hills, was not visible from anywhere. In the village, in full view of adults, such games were chased, threatened by the director and the police. Nobody bothered us here. And not far, in ten minutes you will reach.

The first time I lost ninety kopecks, the second sixty. Of course, it was a pity for the money, but I felt that I was adjusting to the game, my hand gradually got used to the puck, I learned to release exactly as much force for a throw as it was required for the puck to go right, my eyes also learned to know in advance where it would fall and how much more roll across the ground. In the evenings, when everyone dispersed, I returned here again, took out the puck hidden by Vadik from under the stone, raked out my change from my pocket and threw it until it got dark. I made sure that out of ten throws, three or four guessed exactly for the money.

And finally the day came when I won.

Autumn was warm and dry. Even in October it was so warm that one could walk in a shirt, the rains fell rarely and seemed random, inadvertently brought from somewhere out of bad weather by a weak tail breeze. The sky was turning blue quite like summer, but it seemed to have become narrower, and the sun was setting early. In clear hours the air smoked over the hills, carrying the bitter, intoxicating smell of dry wormwood, distant voices sounded clearly, flying birds screamed. The grass in our clearing, yellowed and smoky, nevertheless remained alive and soft, free from the game, or rather, lost guys, were busy on it.

Now I come here every day after school. The guys changed, newcomers appeared, and only Vadik did not miss a single game. She didn't start without him. Behind Vadik, like a shadow, followed a big-headed, short-haired, stocky guy, nicknamed Ptah. At school, I had never met Ptah before, but, looking ahead, I’ll say that in the third quarter, he suddenly, like snow on his head, fell on our class. It turns out that he stayed in the fifth for the second year and, under some pretext, gave himself a vacation until January. Ptakha also usually won, although not in the same way as Vadik, less, but did not remain at a loss. Yes, because, probably, he did not stay, because he was at the same time with Vadik and he slowly helped him.

From our class, Tishkin sometimes ran into the clearing, a fussy boy with blinking eyes who loved to raise his hand in class. Knows, does not know - still pulls. Called - silent.

Why did you raise your hand? - ask Tishkin.

He slapped his little eyes:

I remembered, but by the time I got up, I forgot.

I didn't make friends with him. From timidity, taciturnity, excessive rural isolation, and most importantly - from wild homesickness, which did not leave any desires in me, I had not yet made friends with any of the guys. They were not attracted to me either, I remained alone, not understanding and not singling out loneliness from my bitter situation: alone - because here, and not at home, not in the village, I have many comrades there.

Tishkin didn't even seem to notice me in the clearing. Having quickly lost, he disappeared and did not appear again soon.

And I won. I began to win constantly, every day. I had my own calculation: no need to roll the puck around the court, seeking the right to the first shot; when there are a lot of players, it's not easy: the closer you reach for the devil, the more danger pass over it and be the last one. It is necessary to cover the cash register when throwing. So I did. Of course, I took a risk, but with my skill it was a justified risk. I could lose three, four times in a row, but on the fifth, having taken the cashier, I returned my loss three times. Lost again and returned again. I rarely had to hit the puck on the coins, but even here I used my own trick: if Vadik rolled over myself, on the contrary, I baled away from myself - it was so unusual, but the puck held the coin in this way, did not let it spin and, moving away, turned over after itself.

Now I have money. I did not allow myself to get too carried away with the game and hang around in the clearing until the evening, I needed only a ruble, every day for a ruble. Having received it, I ran away, bought a jar of milk at the market (the aunts grumbled, looking at my bent, beaten, torn coins, but they poured milk), dined and sat down for lessons. All the same, I didn’t eat my fill, but the mere thought that I was drinking milk added strength to me and subdued my hunger. It seemed to me that my head was now spinning much less.

At first, Vadik was calm about my winnings. He himself was not at a loss, and from his pockets it is unlikely that I got anything. Sometimes he even praised me: here, they say, how to quit, study, muffins. However, soon Vadik noticed that I was leaving the game too quickly, and one day he stopped me:

What are you - raked in the cash register and fight? Look what a smart one! Play.

I need to do my homework, Vadik, - I began to excuse myself.

Who needs to do homework, he does not go here.

And Bird sang:

Who told you that this is how they play for money? For this, you want to know, they beat a little. Understood?

Vadik didn't give me the puck before him anymore and let me get to the stone only last. He shot well, and often I reached into my pocket for a new coin without touching the puck. But I threw better, and if I got the opportunity to throw, the puck, like a magnet, flew like a money. I myself was surprised at my accuracy, I should have guessed to hold it back, play more inconspicuously, but I ingenuously and ruthlessly continued to bomb the box office. How was I to know that no one has ever been forgiven if he breaks ahead in his work? Then do not expect mercy, do not seek intercession, for others he is an upstart, and the one who follows him hates him most of all. I had to comprehend this science in my own skin that autumn.

I had just hit the money again and was going to collect it when I noticed that Vadik had stepped on one of the scattered coins. All the rest were upside down. In such cases, when throwing, they usually shout “to the warehouse!” In order - if there is no eagle - to collect the money in one pile for the strike, but, as always, I hoped for luck and did not shout.

Not in the warehouse! Vadik announced.

I approached him and tried to move his foot off the coin, but he pushed me away, quickly grabbed it from the ground and showed me tails. I managed to notice that the coin was on the eagle - otherwise he would not have closed it.

You flipped it, I said. - She was on an eagle, I saw.

He thrust his fist under my nose.

Didn't you see this? Smell what it smells like.

I had to reconcile. It was pointless to insist on one's own; if a fight starts, no one, not a single soul will intercede for me, not even Tishkin, who was spinning right there.

Vadik's evil, narrowed eyes looked at me point-blank. I bent down, tapped the nearest coin softly, turned it over and moved the second one. “Hluzda will lead you to the truth,” I decided. “I’m going to take them all now anyway.” Again he pointed the puck for a strike, but he didn’t have time to lower it: someone suddenly gave me a strong knee from behind, and I awkwardly, bowed my head down, poked into the ground. Laughed around.

Behind me, smiling expectantly, stood Bird. I was taken aback:

What are you?!

Who told you it was me? he answered. - Dreamed, or what?

Come here! - Vadik extended his hand for the puck, but I did not give it away. Resentment overwhelmed me with fear of nothing in the world, I was no longer afraid. For what? Why are they doing this to me? What did I do to them?

Come here! - demanded Vadik.

You flipped that coin! I called out to him. - I saw it turned over. Saw.

Come on, repeat," he asked, advancing on me.

You turned it over,” I said more quietly, knowing full well what would follow.

First, again from behind, I was hit by Ptah. I flew at Vadik, he quickly and deftly, without trying on, poked me with his head in the face, and I fell, blood spurted from my nose. As soon as I jumped up, Ptah attacked me again. I could still break free and run away, but for some reason I did not think about it. I twirled between Vadik and Ptah, almost not defending myself, holding my hand to my nose, from which blood was gushing, and in despair, adding to their rage, stubbornly shouting the same thing:

Flipped over! Flipped over! Flipped over!

They beat me in turn, one and a second, one and a second. Someone third, small and vicious, kicked my legs, then they were almost completely covered with bruises. I tried only not to fall, not to fall again for anything, even in those moments it seemed to me a shame. But in the end they knocked me to the ground and stopped.

Get out of here while you're alive! - ordered Vadik. - Fast!

I got up and, sobbing, tossing my dead nose, trudged up the mountain.

Just blather to someone - we'll kill! - Vadik promised me after.

I didn't answer. Everything in me somehow hardened and closed in resentment, I did not have the strength to get a word out of myself. And, only having climbed the mountain, I could not resist and, as if foolish, I shouted at the top of my lungs - so that the whole village probably heard:

Flip-u-st!

Ptakha was about to rush after me, but he immediately returned - apparently, Vadik decided that enough was enough for me, and stopped him. For about five minutes I stood and, sobbing, looked at the clearing where the game began again, then went down the other side of the hill to a hollow covered with black nettles around, fell on the hard dry grass and, not holding back any longer, wept bitterly, sobbing.

There was not and could not be in the whole wide world a person more unfortunate than me.

* * *

In the morning I looked at myself in the mirror with fear: my nose was swollen and swollen, there was a bruise under my left eye, and below it, on my cheek, there was a fat bloody abrasion. I had no idea how to go to school in this form, but somehow I had to go, skipping classes for whatever reason, I did not dare. Suppose that people’s noses and by nature happen to be cleaner than mine, and if it weren’t for the usual place, you would never guess that this is a nose, but nothing can justify an abrasion and a bruise: it’s immediately obvious that they show off here not of my good will.

Shielding my eye with my hand, I darted into the classroom, sat down at my desk and lowered my head. The first lesson, unfortunately, was French. Lidia Mikhailovna, by right class teacher, was interested in us more than other teachers, and it was difficult to hide anything from her. She came in and greeted us, but before seating the class, she had a habit of carefully examining almost every one of us, making supposedly playful, but obligatory remarks. And, of course, she immediately saw the marks on my face, even though I hid them as best I could; I realized this because the guys began to turn around on me.

Well, - said Lidia Mikhailovna, opening the magazine. There are wounded among us today.

The class laughed, and Lidia Mikhailovna looked up at me again. They mowed at her and looked as if past, but by that time we had already learned to recognize where they were looking.

What happened? she asked.

Fell, - I blurted out, for some reason not having guessed in advance to come up with even the slightest degree of decent explanation.

Oh, how unfortunate. Did it crash yesterday or today?

Today. No, last night when it was dark.

Hee fell! Tishkin shouted, choking with joy. - Vadik from the seventh grade brought it to him. They played for money, and he began to argue and earned. I saw. He says he fell.

I was dumbfounded by such betrayal. Does he not understand anything at all or is it on purpose? For playing for money, we could be expelled from school in no time. Finished it. In my head everything was alarmed and buzzed with fear: it was gone, now it was gone. Well, Tishkin. Here is Tishkin so Tishkin. Pleased. Brought clarity - nothing to say.

I wanted to ask you, Tishkin, something completely different, - without being surprised and without changing her calm, slightly indifferent tone, Lidia Mikhailovna stopped him. - Go to the blackboard, since you're talking, and get ready to answer. She waited until the bewildered, who immediately became unhappy Tishkin came out to the blackboard, and briefly said to me: - You will stay after the lessons.

Most of all, I was afraid that Lidia Mikhailovna would drag me to the director. This means that, in addition to today's conversation, tomorrow I will be taken out in front of the school line and forced to tell what prompted me to do this dirty business. The director, Vasily Andreevich, asked the offender, no matter what he did, broke a window, got into a fight or smoked in the restroom: “What prompted you to do this dirty business?” He paced in front of the ruler, throwing his hands behind his back, moving his shoulders forward in time with his broad steps, so that it seemed as if the tightly buttoned, protruding dark jacket was moving independently a little ahead of the director, and urged: “Answer, answer. We are waiting. look, the whole school is waiting for you to tell us.” The student began to mutter something in his defense, but the director interrupted him: “You answer my question, answer my question. How was the question asked? - "What prompted me?" - That's it: what prompted? We listen to you." The case usually ended in tears, only after that the director calmed down, and we went to classes. It was more difficult with high school students who did not want to cry, but could not answer Vasily Andreevich's question either.

Once our first lesson started ten minutes late, and all this time the director interrogated one ninth-grader, but, having not achieved anything intelligible from him, took him to his office.

And what, interestingly, I will say? It would have been better to get kicked out right away. I briefly touched on this thought and thought that then I would be able to return home, and then, as if burned, I was frightened: no, you can’t go home with such a shame. Another thing is if I myself had left school ... But even then you can say about me that I am an unreliable person, since I could not stand what I wanted, and then everyone would shun me altogether. No, just not like that. I would still be patient here, I would get used to it, but you can’t go home like that.

After the lessons, trembling with fear, I waited for Lidia Mikhailovna in the corridor. She left the staff room and nodded as she led me into the classroom. As always, she sat down at the table, I wanted to sit at the third desk, away from her, but Lidia Mikhailovna pointed to the first one, right in front of her.

Is it true that you play for money? she started right away. She asked too loudly, it seemed to me that at school it was only necessary to talk about it in a whisper, and I was even more scared. But there was no point in locking myself up, Tishkin managed to sell me with giblets. I mumbled:

So how do you win or lose? I hesitated, not knowing which was better.

Let's tell it like it is. Are you losing, perhaps?

You… win.

Okay, anyway. You win, that is. And what do you do with money?

At first, at school, for a long time I could not get used to Lidia Mikhailovna's voice, it confused me. In our village they spoke, wrapping their voice deep in their guts, and therefore it sounded to their heart's content, but with Lidia Mikhailovna it was somehow small and light, so that you had to listen to it, and not from impotence at all - she sometimes could say to her heart's content , but as if from secrecy and unnecessary savings. I was ready to blame everything on French: of course, while I was studying, while I was adjusting to someone else's speech, my voice sat without freedom, weakened, like a bird in a cage, now wait for it to disperse again and get stronger. And now Lidia Mikhailovna asked as if she was at that time busy with something else, more important, but she still couldn’t get away from her questions.

Well, so what do you do with the money you win? Do you buy candy? Or books? Or are you saving up for something? After all, you probably have a lot of them now?

No, not much. I only win a ruble.

And you don't play anymore?

And the ruble? Why ruble? What are you doing with it?

I buy milk.

She sat in front of me neat, all smart and beautiful, beautiful in clothes, and in her feminine young pore, which I vaguely felt, the smell of perfume from her reached me, which I took for my very breath; besides, she was not a teacher of some kind of arithmetic, not of history, but of a mysterious French, from which something special, fabulous, beyond the control of anyone, everyone, like me, for example, emanated. Not daring to raise my eyes to her, I did not dare to deceive her. And why, after all, should I lie?

She paused, examining me, and I felt with my skin how, at the glance of her squinting, attentive eyes, all my troubles and absurdities really swell and fill with their evil strength. Of course, there was something to look at: in front of her, a scrawny, scrawny boy with broken face, untidy without a mother and alone, in an old, washed-out jacket on drooping shoulders, which was just right on his chest, but from which his arms protruded far; in light green trousers made from his father's breeches and tucked into teal, with traces of yesterday's fight. Even earlier I had noticed the curiosity with which Lidia Mikhailovna looked at my shoes. Of the entire class, I was the only one wearing teals. Only the following autumn, when I flatly refused to go to school with them, did my mother sell the sewing machine, our only valuable asset, and buy me tarpaulin boots.

And yet, you don’t need to play for money, ”said Lidia Mikhailovna thoughtfully. - How would you manage without it. Can you get by?

Not daring to believe in my salvation, I easily promised:

I spoke sincerely, but what can you do if our sincerity cannot be tied with ropes.

In fairness, I must say that in those days I had a very bad time. In the dry autumn, our collective farm settled early with the delivery of grain, and Uncle Vanya did not come again. I knew that at home my mother couldn’t find a place for herself, worrying about me, but that didn’t make it any easier for me. A sack of potatoes brought in last time uncle Vanya, evaporated so quickly, as if they were feeding, at least, cattle. It’s good that, having remembered, I guessed to hide a little in an abandoned shed standing in the yard, and now I lived only with this hiding place. After school, slinking like a thief, I darted into the shed, put a few potatoes in my pocket, and ran out into the hills to start a fire somewhere in a comfortable and hidden lowland. I was hungry all the time, even in my sleep I felt convulsive waves rolling through my stomach.

Hoping to stumble upon new company players, I began to slowly explore the neighboring streets, wandered through the wastelands, followed the guys who were drifting into the hills. It was all in vain, the season was over, the cold October winds were blowing. And only in our clearing the guys continued to gather. I was circling nearby, I saw how the puck flashed in the sun, how, waving his arms, Vadik was in command and familiar figures were leaning over the cash register.

In the end, I could not stand it and went down to them. I knew that I was going to be humiliated, but it was no less humiliating to accept once and for all the fact that I was beaten and kicked out. I was itching to see how Vadik and Ptah would react to my appearance and how I could behave. But most of all, it was hunger. I needed a ruble - no longer for milk, but for bread. I didn't know of any other way to get it.

I approached, and the game paused by itself, everyone stared at me. The bird was wearing a hat with turned-up ears, sitting, like everyone else on him, carefree and bold, in a checkered, loose-fitting shirt with short sleeves; Vadik forsil in a beautiful thick jacket with a lock. Nearby, piled in one heap, lay sweatshirts and coats, on them, huddled in the wind, sat a small boy, five or six years old.

Bird met me first:

What came? Haven't beaten in a while?

I came to play, - I answered as calmly as possible, looking at Vadik.

Who told you that with you, - Bird cursed, - they will play here?

What, Vadik, will we hit right away or will we wait a little?

Why are you sticking to a man, Bird? - squinting at me, Vadik said. - Understood, a man came to play. Maybe he wants to win ten rubles from you and me?

You don't have ten rubles each, - just so as not to seem like a coward to myself, I said.

We have more than you dreamed of. Set, don't talk until Bird gets angry. And he is a hot man.

Give it to him, Vadik?

No, let him play. - Vadik winked at the guys. - He plays great, we are no match for him.

Now I was a scientist and understood what it was - Vadik's kindness. Apparently, he was tired of a boring, uninteresting game, therefore, in order to tickle his nerves and feel the taste of a real game, he decided to let me into it. But as soon as I touch his vanity, I'll be in trouble again. He will find something to complain about, next to him is Ptah.

I decided to play carefully and not to covet the cashier. Like everyone else, in order not to stand out, I rolled the puck, afraid of inadvertently hitting the money, then quietly poked the coins and looked around to see if Ptah had come in behind. In the early days I did not allow myself to dream of a ruble; twenty or thirty kopecks for a piece of bread, and that's good, and then give it here.

But what was supposed to happen sooner or later, of course, happened. On the fourth day, when, having won a ruble, I was about to leave, they beat me again. True, this time it was easier, but one trace remained: my lip was very swollen. At school, I had to bite her constantly. But no matter how I hid it, no matter how I bit it, Lidia Mikhailovna saw it. She deliberately called me to the blackboard and made me read the French text. I wouldn't be able to pronounce it correctly with ten healthy lips, and there's nothing to say about one.

Enough, oh, enough! - Lidia Mikhailovna was frightened and waved at me, as if at evil spirit, hands. - Yes, what is it? No, you will have to work separately. There is no other way out.

* * *

Thus began a painful and awkward day for me. Since the very morning, I have been waiting with fear for the hour when I will have to be alone with Lidia Mikhailovna, and, breaking my tongue, repeat after her words that are inconvenient for pronunciation, invented only for punishment. Well, why else, if not for mockery, merge three vowels into one thick viscous sound, the same “o”, for example, in the word “beaucoup” (a lot), which you can choke on? Why, with some kind of priston, let sounds through the nose, when from time immemorial it has served a person for a completely different need? For what? There must be limits to reason. I was covered with sweat, blushed and choked, and Lidia Mikhailovna, without respite and without pity, made me callous my poor tongue. And why me alone? There were all sorts of guys at school who spoke no better French than I did, but they walked free, did what they wanted, and I, like a damned one, took the rap for everyone.

It turned out that this is not the worst thing. Lidia Mikhailovna suddenly decided that we were running out of time at school until the second shift, and told me to come to her apartment in the evenings. She lived near the school, in teachers' houses. On the other, larger half of Lidia Mikhailovna's house, the director himself lived. I went there like torture. Already by nature timid and shy, lost at any trifle, in this clean, tidy apartment of the teacher, at first I literally turned to stone and was afraid to breathe. I had to speak so that I undressed, went into the room, sat down - I had to be moved like a thing, and almost by force to extract words from me. It didn't help my French at all. But, strange to say, we did less here than at school, where the second shift supposedly interfered with us. Moreover, Lidia Mikhailovna, bustling about the apartment, asked me questions or told me about herself. I suspect that she deliberately invented for me that she went to the French faculty only because she was not given this language at school either, and she decided to prove to herself that she could master it no worse than others.

Hiding in a corner, I listened, not waiting for tea when they let me go home. There were a lot of books in the room, a large beautiful radio set on the bedside table by the window; with a player - rare for those times, but for me it was an unprecedented miracle. Lidia Mikhailovna put on records, and deftly male voice again taught French. One way or another, there was nowhere for him to go. Lidia Mikhailovna, in a simple house dress, in soft felt shoes, walked around the room, making me shudder and freeze when she approached me. I couldn’t believe that I was sitting in her house, everything here was too unexpected and unusual for me, even the air, saturated with light and unfamiliar smells of a different life than I knew. Involuntarily, a feeling was created, as if I were peeping into this life from the outside, and out of shame and embarrassment for myself, I wrapped myself even deeper into my short jacket.

Lidia Mikhailovna was then probably twenty-five or so; I remember well her regular and therefore not too lively face, with her eyes screwed up to hide the pigtail in them; tight, rarely revealed to the end of a smile and completely black, short-cropped hair. But with all this, one could not see the rigidity in her face, which, as I later noticed, becomes over the years almost a professional sign of teachers, even the most kind and gentle by nature, but there was some kind of cautious, cunningly, bewilderment related to to herself and seemed to say: I wonder how I ended up here and what I'm doing here? Now I think that by that time she had managed to be married; in her voice, in her walk - soft, but confident, free, in her whole behavior, courage and experience were felt in her. And besides, I have always been of the opinion that girls who study French or Spanish, become women earlier than their peers who study, say, Russian or German.

I am ashamed now to remember how frightened and lost I was when Lidia Mikhailovna, having finished our lesson, called me to supper. If I were a thousand times hungry, every appetite immediately jumped out of me like a bullet. Sit down at the same table with Lydia Mikhailovna! No no! I'd rather tomorrow I will learn all French by heart so that I will never come here again. A piece of bread would probably really get stuck in my throat. It seems that before that I did not suspect that Lidia Mikhailovna, like all of us, eats the most ordinary food, and not some kind of manna from heaven, so she seemed to me an extraordinary person, unlike everyone else.

I jumped up and, mumbling that I was full, that I didn’t want to, backed up along the wall to the exit. Lidia Mikhailovna looked at me with surprise and resentment, but it was impossible to stop me by any means. I ran. This was repeated several times, then Lidia Mikhailovna, in despair, stopped inviting me to the table. I breathed more freely.

Once I was told that downstairs, in the locker room, there was a package for me that some guy brought to school. Uncle Vanya, of course, is our driver - what a man! Probably, our house was closed, and Uncle Vanya could not wait for me from the lessons - so he left me in the locker room.

I hardly endured until the end of classes and rushed downstairs. Aunt Vera, the school cleaning lady, showed me a white plywood box standing in the corner, in which parcels are packed by mail. I was surprised: why in a drawer? - Mother used to send food in an ordinary bag. Maybe it's not for me at all? No, my class and my last name were printed on the lid. Apparently, Uncle Vanya already wrote here - so as not to be confused for whom. What is this mother thought up to nail food in a box ?! Look how intelligent she has become!

I could not carry the parcel home without knowing what was in it: not that kind of patience. It is clear that there are no potatoes. For bread, the container is also, perhaps, too small, and inconvenient. In addition, bread was sent to me recently, I still had it. Then what is there? Immediately, at school, I climbed under the stairs, where, I remembered, there was an ax, and, having found it, I tore off the lid. It was dark under the stairs, I climbed back out and, furtively looking around, put the box on the nearest windowsill.

Looking into the parcel, I was stunned: on top, neatly covered with a large white sheet of paper, lay pasta. Wow! Long yellow tubes, laid one to the other in even rows, flashed in the light with such wealth, which nothing more expensive for me existed. Now it’s clear why my mother packed the box: so that the pasta wouldn’t break, didn’t crumble, they arrived to me safe and sound. I carefully took out one tube, looked, blew into it, and, unable to restrain myself any longer, began to grunt greedily. Then, in the same way, I took up the second, the third, thinking about where I could hide the box so that the pasta would not get to the overly voracious mice in my mistress's pantry. Not for that mother bought them, spent the last money. No, I won't go for pasta that easily. This is not some potato for you.

And suddenly I choked. Pasta… Really, where did mother get pasta? We never had them in our village, you can't buy them there for any money. What is it then? Hastily, in desperation and hope, I sorted through the pasta and found several large lumps of sugar and two hematogen tiles at the bottom of the box. Hematogen confirmed that the parcel was not sent by the mother. Who, in this case, who? I looked at the lid again: my class, my last name - me. Interesting, very interesting.

I pressed the nails of the lid into place and, leaving the box on the windowsill, went up to the second floor and knocked on the staff room. Lidia Mikhailovna has already left. Nothing, we will run into, we know where he lives, there have been. So, here's how: if you don't want to sit down at the table, get food at home. So yes. Will not work. No one else. This is not a mother: she would not forget to put a note, she would tell where, from what mines such wealth came from.

When I sideways climbed in with the parcel through the door, Lidia Mikhailovna pretended not to understand anything. She looked at the box, which I placed on the floor in front of her, and asked in surprise:

What is this? What is it you brought? For what?

You did it,” I said in a trembling, breaking voice.

What have I done? What are you talking about?

You sent this package to the school. I know you.

I noticed that Lidia Mikhailovna blushed and became embarrassed. This was the only, apparently, case when I was not afraid to look her straight in the eyes. I didn't care if she was a teacher or my second cousin. Then I asked, not she, and asked not in French, but in Russian, without any articles. Let him answer.

Why did you think it was me?

Because we don't have any pasta there. And there is no hematogenous.

How! Doesn't happen at all? She was so sincerely surprised that she betrayed herself completely.

It doesn't happen at all. It was necessary to know.

Lidia Mikhailovna suddenly laughed and tried to hug me, but I pulled away. from her.

Indeed, you should have known. How am I like this?! She thought for a moment. - But here it was hard to guess - honestly! I'm a city person. Are you saying it doesn't happen at all? What happens to you then?

Peas happen. Radish happens.

Peas ... radish ... And we have apples in the Kuban. Oh, how many apples are there now. Today I wanted to go to the Kuban, but for some reason I came here. Lidia Mikhailovna sighed and glanced at me. - Do not get mad. I wanted the best. Who knew you could get caught eating pasta? Nothing, now I'll be smarter. Take this pasta...

I won’t take it,” I interrupted her.

Well, why are you like this? I know that you are hungry. And I live alone, I have a lot of money. I can buy whatever I want, but I'm the only one ... I eat a little, I'm afraid to get fat.

I'm not hungry at all.

Please don't argue with me, I know. I spoke to your mistress. What's wrong if you take this pasta now and cook yourself a good dinner today. Why can't I help you for the only time in my life? I promise not to send any more packages. But please take this one. You have to eat enough to study. There are so many well-fed loafers in our school who don’t understand anything and probably never will, and you are a capable boy, you can’t leave school.

Her voice began to have a soporific effect on me; I was afraid that she would persuade me, and, angry with myself for understanding Lidia Mikhailovna's rightness, and for the fact that I was going to not understand her after all, shaking my head and muttering something, I ran out the door.

* * *

Our lessons did not stop there, I continued to go to Lidia Mikhailovna. But now she took me for real. She apparently decided: well, French is French. True, the sense of this came out, gradually I began to pronounce quite tolerably French words, they no longer broke off at my feet with heavy cobblestones, but, ringing, tried to fly somewhere.

Good, - Lydia Mikhailovna encouraged me. - In this quarter, the five will not work yet, but in the next - for sure.

We did not remember the parcel, but just in case, I kept my guard. You never know what Lidia Mikhailovna will undertake to come up with? I knew from my own experience: when something doesn’t work out, you will do everything to make it work out, you just won’t give up. It seemed to me that Lidia Mikhailovna was looking at me expectantly all the time, and looking closely, chuckles at my wildness - I was angry, but this anger, oddly enough, helped me to be more confident. I was no longer that meek and helpless boy who was afraid to take a step here, little by little I got used to Lidia Mikhailovna and her apartment. Still, of course, I was shy, hiding in a corner, hiding my teals under a chair, but the former stiffness and oppression receded, now I myself dared to ask Lidia Mikhailovna questions and even enter into disputes with her.

She made another attempt to put me at the table - in vain. Here I was adamant, stubbornness in me was enough for ten.

Probably, it was already possible to stop these classes at home, I learned the most important thing, my tongue softened and moved, the rest would eventually be added to school lessons. Years and years ahead. What will I do then if I learn everything in one go from beginning to end? But I did not dare to tell Lidia Mikhailovna about this, and she, apparently, did not at all consider our program completed, and I continued to pull my French strap. However, a webbing? Somehow involuntarily and imperceptibly, without expecting it myself, I felt a taste for the language and in my free moments, without any prodding, I climbed into the dictionary, looked into the texts farther in the textbook. Punishment turned into pleasure. Ego also spurred me on: it didn’t work out - it will work out, and it will work out - no worse than the best. From another test, or what? If I didn’t have to go to Lidia Mikhailovna yet ... I would myself, myself ...

Once, about two weeks after the story with the parcel, Lidia Mikhailovna, smiling, asked:

Well, don't you play for money anymore? Or are you going somewhere on the sidelines and playing?

How to play now?! I wondered, looking out the window where the snow lay.

And what was that game? What is it?

Why do you need? I got worried.

Interesting. We used to play as children, so I want to know if this is a game or not. Tell me, tell me, don't be afraid.

I told him, omitting, of course, about Vadik, about Ptah and about my little tricks that I used in the game.

No, - Lidia Mikhailovna shook her head. - We played in the "wall". Do you know what it is?

Here look. - She easily jumped out from behind the table at which she was sitting, found coins in her purse and pushed the chair away from the wall. Come here, look. I bang the coin against the wall. - Lidia Mikhailovna lightly hit, and the coin, clinking, flew off to the floor in an arc. Now, - Lidia Mikhailovna thrust a second coin into my hand, you beat. But keep in mind: you need to beat so that your coin is as close as possible to mine. So that they can be measured, get them with the fingers of one hand. In another way, the game is called: freezing. If you get it, then you win. Bay.

I hit - my coin, hitting the edge, rolled into a corner.

Oh, - Lidia Mikhailovna waved her hand. - Far. Now you are starting. Keep in mind: if my coin touches yours, even a little, by the edge, I win doubly. Understand?

What is not clear here?

Let's play?

I didn't believe my ears:

How can I play with you?

What is it?

You are a teacher!

So what? The teacher is a different person, isn't it? Sometimes you get tired of being only a teacher, teaching and teaching endlessly. Constantly pulling yourself up: this is impossible, this is impossible, - Lidia Mikhailovna screwed up her eyes more than usual and looked out the window thoughtfully, aloof. “Sometimes it’s useful to forget that you’re a teacher, otherwise you’ll become such a badass and beech that living people will get bored with you. Perhaps the most important thing for a teacher is not to take himself seriously, to understand that he can teach very little. - She shook herself and immediately cheered up. - And I was a desperate girl in childhood, my parents suffered with me. Even now I still often want to jump, jump, rush somewhere, do something not according to the program, not according to the schedule, but at will. I'm here, it happens, I jump, I jump. A person ages not when he lives to old age, but when he ceases to be a child. I would love to jump every day, but Vasily Andreevich lives behind the wall. He is a very serious person. In no case should he find out that we are playing "freeze".

But we don't play any "freezes". You just showed me.

We can play as easy as they say, make-believe. But you still don't betray me to Vasily Andreevich.

Lord, what is going on in the world! How long have I been scared to death that Lidia Mikhailovna would drag me to the director for playing for money, and now she asks me not to betray her. Doomsday - not otherwise. I looked around, frightened for some reason, and blinked my eyes in confusion.

Well, shall we try? If you don't like it - leave it.

Come on, I agreed hesitantly.

Get started.

We took the coins. It was evident that Lidia Mikhailovna had really played at one time, and I was only just trying on the game, I had not yet figured out for myself how to beat a coin against the wall with an edge or flat, at what height and with what force when it was better to throw. My blows went blind; if they had kept the score, I would have lost quite a lot in the first minutes, although there was nothing tricky in these “meanings”. Most of all, of course, what embarrassed and oppressed me, did not allow me to get used to the fact that I was playing with Lidia Mikhailovna. In no dream could such a dream, in one bad thought to think. I did not come to my senses immediately and not easily, but when I came to my senses and began to look at the game little by little, Lidia Mikhailovna took it and stopped it.

No, that's not interesting, - she said, straightening up and brushing her hair that had fallen over her eyes. - Playing is so real, but the fact that we are like three-year-old kids.

But then it will be a game for money, - I timidly reminded.

Certainly. What are we holding in our hands? There is no other way to replace gambling with money. This is good and bad at the same time. We can agree on a very small rate, but there will still be interest.

I was silent, not knowing what to do and how to be.

Are you afraid? Lidia Mikhailovna encouraged me.

Here's another! I'm not afraid of anything.

I had some small things with me. I gave the coin to Lidia Mikhailovna and took mine out of my pocket. Well, let's play for real, Lidia Mikhailovna, if you like. Something to me - I was not the first to start. Vadik had zero attention to me either, and then he came to his senses, climbed with his fists. Learned there, learn here. It's not French, and I'll get French to my teeth soon.

I had to accept one condition: since Lydia Mikhailovna’s hand is larger and her fingers are longer, she will measure with her thumb and middle finger, and I, as expected, with my thumb and little finger. It was fair and I agreed.

The game restarted. We moved from the room to the hallway, where it was freer, and beat on a smooth wooden fence. They beat, knelt down, crawled, but the floor, touching each other, stretched their fingers, measuring the coins, then again rising to their feet, and Lidia Mikhailovna announced the score. She played noisily: she screamed, clapped her hands, teased me - in a word, she behaved like an ordinary girl, not a teacher, I even wanted to shout at times. But nevertheless she won, and I lost. Before I had time to come to my senses, eighty kopecks ran into me, with great difficulty I managed to knock off this debt to thirty, but Lidia Mikhailovna from a distance hit mine with her coin, and the account immediately jumped to fifty. I started to worry. We agreed to pay at the end of the game, but if things continue like this, my money will not be enough very soon, I have a little more than a ruble. So, you can’t go over the ruble - otherwise it’s a shame, shame and shame for life.

And then I suddenly noticed that Lidia Mikhailovna was not even trying to beat me at all. When measuring, her fingers hunched over, not stretching out to their full length - where she allegedly could not reach the coin, I reached out without any effort. This offended me, and I got up.

No, I said, I don't play like that. Why are you playing along with me? This is unfair.

But I really can’t get them,” she began to refuse. - I have wooden fingers.

Okay, okay, I'll try.

I don't know how it is in mathematics, but in life the best proof is by contradiction. When the next day I saw that Lidia Mikhailovna, in order to touch the coin, surreptitiously pushes it to her finger, I was stunned. Looking at me and for some reason not noticing that I see her perfectly clean water fraud, she continued to move the coin as if nothing had happened.

What are you doing? - I was indignant.

I? And what am I doing?

Why did you move her?

No, she was lying there, - in the most shameless way, with some kind of even joy, Lidia Mikhailovna opened the door no worse than Vadik or Ptakha.

Wow! The teacher is called! I saw with my own eyes at a distance of twenty centimeters that she was touching a coin, and she assures me that she did not touch it, and even laughs at me. Does she take me for a blind man? For a little one? French language teaches, is called. I immediately completely forgot that just yesterday Lidia Mikhailovna tried to play along with me, and I only made sure that she did not deceive me. Well well! Lidia Mikhailovna, is called.

On this day we studied French for fifteen or twenty minutes, and then even less. We have another interest. Lidia Mikhailovna made me read the passage, made comments, listened to the comments again, and without delay we moved on to the game. After two small losses, I began to win. I quickly got used to the "freezes", figured out all the secrets, knew how and where to hit, what to do as a point guard, so as not to substitute my coin under the freeze.

And again I have money. Again I ran to the market and bought milk - now in ice cream mugs. I carefully cut off the influx of cream from the mug, put the crumbling ice slices into my mouth and, feeling their full sweetness all over my body, closed my eyes in pleasure. Then he turned the circle upside down and hollowed out the sweetish milk sludge with a knife. He allowed the leftovers to melt and drank them, eating them with a piece of black bread.

Nothing, it was possible to live, and in the near future, as soon as we heal the wounds of the war, they promised everyone a happy time.

Of course, when I accepted money from Lidia Mikhailovna, I felt uncomfortable, but each time I was reassured by the fact that this fair win. I never asked for a game, Lidia Mikhailovna suggested it herself. I didn't dare refuse. It seemed to me that the game gives her pleasure, she was cheerful, laughed, disturbed me.

We would like to know how it all ends ...

... Kneeling against each other, we argued about the score. Before that, too, it seems, they were arguing about something.

Understand you, garden head, - crawling on me and Waving her arms, argued Lidia Mikhailovna, - why should I deceive you? I keep score, not you, I know better. I lost three times in a row, and before that I was “chika”.

- "Chika" is not a reading word.

Why is it not readable?

We were shouting, interrupting each other, when a surprised, if not startled, but firm, ringing voice reached us:

Lydia Mikhailovna!

We froze. Vasily Andreevich stood at the door.

Lidia Mikhailovna, what's the matter with you? What's going on here?

Lidia Mikhailovna slowly, very slowly got up from her knees, flushed and disheveled, and smoothing her hair, she said:

I, Vasily Andreevich, was hoping that you would knock before entering here.

I knocked. Nobody answered me. What's going on here? Explain, please. I have the right to know as a director.

We are playing in the "wall", - Lydia Mikhailovna calmly answered.

Do you play for money with this? .. - Vasily Andreevich pointed his finger at me, and with fear I crawled behind the partition to hide in the room. - Are you playing with a student? Did I understand you correctly?

Right.

Well, you know... - The director was suffocating, he did not have enough air. - I'm at a loss to immediately name your act. It is a crime. Corruption. Seduction. And more, more ... I have been working at school for twenty years, I have seen everything, but this ...

And he raised his hands over his head.

* * *

Three days later, Lidia Mikhailovna left. The day before, she met me after school and walked me home.

I'll go to my place in the Kuban, - she said, saying goodbye. - And you study calmly, no one will touch you for this stupid case. It's my fault here. Learn, - she patted me on the head and left.

And I never saw her again.

In the middle of winter, after the January holidays, a parcel arrived at school by mail. When I opened it, taking out the ax again from under the stairs, there were tubes of pasta in neat, dense rows. And below, in a thick cotton wrapper, I found three red apples.

I used to see apples only in pictures, but I guessed that they were.

• human behavior, experience and knowledge are largely determined by internal and irrational drives;
• these drives are mostly unconscious;
• attempts to become aware of these drives lead to psychological resistance in the form of defense mechanisms;
• in addition to the structure of personality, individual development is determined by events early childhood;
• conflicts between conscious perception of reality and unconscious (repressed) material can lead to mental disorders such as neurosis, neurotic traits, fear, depression, and so on;
• liberation from the influence of unconscious material can be achieved through its awareness (creativity).

“... Kneeling against each other, we argued about the score. Before that, too, it seems, they were arguing about something

Understand you, garden head, - crawling on me and waving her arms, Lidia Mikhailovna argued, - why should I deceive you? I keep score, not you, I know better. I lost three times in a row, and before that I was “chika”.

- "Chika" is not a reading word.

Why is it not readable?

We were shouting, interrupting each other, when we heard a surprised, if not startled, but firm, ringing voice:

Lydia Mikhailovna!

We froze. Vasily Andreevich stood at the door.

Lidia Mikhailovna, what's the matter with you? What's going on here?

Lidia Mikhailovna slowly, very slowly got up from her knees, flushed and disheveled, and smoothing her hair, she said:

I, Vasily Andreevich, was hoping that you would knock before entering here.

I knocked. Nobody answered me. What's going on here? - Explain, please. I have the right to know as a director.

We are playing in the "wall", - Lydia Mikhailovna calmly answered.

Do you play for money with this? .. - Vasily Andreevich pointed his finger at me, and with fear I crawled behind the partition to hide in the room. - Are you playing with a student? Did I understand you correctly?

Right.

Well, you know...

The director was suffocating, he did not have enough air. - I'm at a loss to immediately name your act. It is a crime. Corruption. Seduction. And more, more ... I have been working at school for twenty years, I have seen everything, but this ... "

The director is absolutely right, because a little more and Lidia Mikhailovna would have turned 11-year-old student Valya into a young lover.

“Lydia Mikhailovna,” writes Rasputin, “was then probably twenty-five years old or so ... Now I think that she had managed to be married by that time; in her voice, in her walk - soft, but confident, free, in her whole behavior one could feel courage and experience in her ... I remember well her correct and therefore not too lively face with her eyes narrowed to hide a pigtail in them; tight, rarely revealed to the end smile and completely black, short hair. But with all this, one could not see the harshness in her face, which, as I later noticed, becomes over the years almost a professional sign of teachers, even the most kind and gentle by nature, but there was some kind of cautious, with a cunning, bewilderment related to to herself and seemed to say: I wonder how I ended up here and what I am doing here? .. And, besides, I have always been of the opinion that girls who study French or Spanish become women earlier than their peers who study , Russian or German.

“She sat in front of me neat, all smart and beautiful, beautiful in clothes, and in her feminine young pore, which I vaguely felt, the smell of perfume from her reached me, which I took for my very breath; besides, she was not a teacher of some kind of arithmetic, not of history, but of the mysterious French language, from which something special, fabulous, beyond the control of anyone, everyone, like me, for example, came. Not daring to raise my eyes to her, I did not dare to deceive her. And why, after all, did I have to deceive? .. "

“Lydia Mikhailovna suddenly decided that we were running out of time at school until the second shift, and told me to come to her apartment in the evenings. She lived near the school, in teachers' houses. On the other, larger half of Lidia Mikhailovna's house, the director himself lived. I went there like torture. Already by nature timid and shy, lost at any trifle, in this clean, tidy apartment of the teacher, at first I literally turned to stone and was afraid to breathe. I had to speak so that I undressed, went into the room, sat down - I had to be moved like a thing, and almost by force to extract words from me. It didn't help my French at all. But, strange to say, we did less here than at school, where the second shift supposedly interfered with us. Moreover, Lidia Mikhailovna, bustling about something around the apartment, asked me or told me about herself ... Lidia Mikhailovna, in a simple home dress, in soft felt shoes, walked around the room, making me shudder and freeze when she approached me. I could not believe that I was sitting in her house, everything here was too unexpected and unusual for me, even the air, saturated with light and unfamiliar smells of a different life than I knew. Involuntarily, a feeling was created, as if I were peeping into this life from the outside, and out of shame and embarrassment for myself, I wrapped myself even deeper in my short-haired jacket ... "

“Perhaps the most important thing for a teacher is not to take himself seriously, to understand that he can teach very little. - She shook herself and immediately cheered up. - And in my childhood I was a desperate girl, my parents suffered with me ... "

“She played noisily: she screamed, clapped her hands, teased me - in a word, she behaved like an ordinary girl, not a teacher, I even wanted to shout sometimes ...”

The unrealized maternal instinct, coupled with sexual dissatisfaction, prompts the young teacher of "French" to draw the attention of the female heart to a very young boy, who, however, despite the forced starvation, flatly refuses food from her hands, thereby showing a strong male character. “It’s a shame now to remember,” Rasputin admits, “how frightened and lost I was when Lidia Mikhailovna, having finished our lesson, called me to dinner. If I were a thousand times hungry, every appetite immediately jumped out of me like a bullet. Sit down at the same table with Lydia Mikhailovna! No no! ( attempts to become aware of attraction lead to psychological resistance in the form of defense mechanisms - Z.F. ) I'd better learn all French by heart by tomorrow so that I never come here again. A piece of bread would probably really get stuck in my throat ... ".

Private French lessons at home as an excuse to gamble with a schoolboy in order to feed him financially as a potential lover. “And then I suddenly noticed that Lidia Mikhailovna was not even trying to beat me at all. During measurements, her fingers hunched, not lining out to their full length - where she allegedly could not reach the coin, I reached out without any effort ... When the next day I saw that Lidia Mikhailovna, in order to touch the coin, surreptitiously pushes it to her finger , I was dumbfounded. Looking at me and for some reason not noticing that I perfectly see her pure fraud, she continued to move the coin as if nothing had happened ... That day we studied French for fifteen to twenty minutes, and then even less. We have another interest. Lidia Mikhailovna made me read the passage, made comments, listened to the comments again, and we, without delay, moved on to the game. After two small losses, I began to win. I quickly got used to the “freezes”, figured out all the secrets, knew how and where to hit, what to do as a point guard, so as not to put my coin under freezing ... And again I had money. Again I ran to the market and bought milk - now in ice cream mugs. I carefully cut off the influx of cream from the mug, put the crumbling ice slices into my mouth and, feeling their full sweetness all over my body, closed my eyes in pleasure. Then he turned the circle upside down, and hollowed out the sweetish milk sludge with a knife. He allowed the leftovers to melt and drank them, eating them with a piece of black bread. Nothing, it was possible to live, but in the near future, as soon as we heal the wounds of the war, they promised a happy time for everyone ... "

Valentin Rasputin in his works always left the reader room for imagination and the right to think.

He made an attempt to free himself from the influence of unconscious material through creativity with this story in 1973, at the age of 36. However, the conflicts between the conscious perception of reality and the unconscious, aggravated by the death of his wife and daughter, eventually led the writer to depression and fear. IN last years he led a secluded life.

receiving State Prize in the Kremlin in 2013, Valentin Grigoryevich stuttered ...

“It’s strange: why do we, just like before our parents, every time feel guilty before our teachers? he asks at the very beginning of French Lessons. “And not for what happened at school, no, but for what happened to us after.”

Yesterday, an acquaintance, my age, boasted furtively that she was living with a young man who was fourteen years her junior. “He’s such a bunny for me, I’m in trend!” she said, being, it seems, in complete ecstasy. And for some reason I thought: "Eleven plus fourteen equals twenty-five - Lidia Mikhailovna."

French lessons…

Sergey SURAZAKOV

Actual stuff:

V. G. Rasputin "French Lessons".
"French Lessons" 1978 director Yevgeny Tashkov

Task of the lesson: develop the skill of analysis artwork, motives for the behavior of the main characters as part of universal educational activities:
1) personal - moral and ethical assessment of the content being learned, providing a personal moral choice based on social and personal values;
2) cognitive - extracting the necessary information from the provided material; building a logical chain of reasoning; establishing causal relationships;
3) communicative - taking into account the position of other people, the ability to listen and enter into a dialogue, express their point of view on events, actions.

Planned results:

subject: analyze a work of art from the point of view of the ideological content and moral issues, express their own attitude to the work, characters, answer questions about the read text, enter into a dialogue, create oral monologues.

Metasubject: understand the problem, select arguments to support their own position, formulate conclusions.

Lesson type: generalization and systematization of knowledge.

Technology: development of critical thinking.

Lesson form: reflection lesson.

DURING THE CLASSES

Literature, in my opinion, is, first of all, the education of feelings, and, above all, kindness, purity, nobility.

V.G.Rasputin

Orgmoment

Human kindness- the most amazing phenomenon in the world. Try to convey your mood with a smile. I see you are in a good, businesslike mood, so let's get to work.
- Guys, real kindness ... What is it like? (Answers guys: not looking for rewards, disinterested)
- Guys, today we will turn to the best story by V. G. Rasputin "French Lessons". You have workbooks on your desks, in which we will work. Our lesson is called "French Lessons" - life lessons.
- Read the epigraph to the lesson. Do you agree with the writer's words? (Answers guys).
- Did you like the story?
Let's take a look at the title of the story. Why lessons? What associations does this word evoke in you? Write association words in workbook. (school, subject, knowledge, education).

Stage I: Challenge

- Look carefully at the epigraph and the title of our lesson and think about what we have to figure out? (We formulate the purpose of the lesson)

Who? To whom? For what?

Stage II: comprehension

Who do you think is the main character of the story? Maybe there are several?
Let's read the quotes from the story, determine to whom they refer:

"In order to study further ... I had to equip myself in the district center."
“But as soon as I was left alone, melancholy immediately piled up ...”.
“There wasn’t a person more unfortunate than me that day.”
"I needed a ruble ... for bread."
"I went there as though I was being tortured."
Did you recognize the hero from the story? What do these quotes indicate?
(Children name the character traits of the hero)
What time is shown in the story? (1948)
- It was the post-war period. What do you know about him?
(The war brought a lot of grief, deprived children of their childhood, destroyed cities and villages, famine).
- Turn over the page of your workbook, select from the column those qualities of the boy that he possesses, and underline them.

(We read out the qualities of the hero).

- Who plays an important role in the fate of the boy?

Let's read the description of Lydia Mikhailovna:

“She sat in front of me, all neat, smart and beautiful, beautiful in clothes, and in her feminine young pore ... Her eyes squinted and looked as if past, but by that time we had already learned to recognize where they were looking ... Lydia Mikhailovna was then probably twenty-five years or so; I remember well her correct and therefore not too lively face with narrowed eyes, a tight smile that rarely opens to the end, and completely black, short-cropped hair. But with all this, one could not see cruelty in her face ... but there was some kind of cautious, cunning, bewilderment, relating to herself and as if saying: I wonder how I ended up here and what I'm doing here?
- Underline in this passage the expressions that characterize Lydia Mikhailovna.
- What character traits of the teacher did you see? (Kindness, outward modesty, inconspicuousness, neat - fill out the table).
This story is autobiographical. Rasputin dedicated it to Anastasia Prokopievna Kopylova. In 1973, Rasputin wrote one of his best short stories, French Lessons. “There I didn’t have to invent anything. All this happened to me. The prototype did not have to go far. I needed to return to people the good that they once did for me.
In the image of Lidia Mikhailovna, the author expressed his ideal of a teacher. The personality of the teacher is best revealed in relation to his students.

Watching Episode #1

Let's see excerpt No. 1 from the film based on the story of V. G. Rasputin "French Lessons".
- What did you notice in the image of Lidia Mikhailovna, what kind of teacher is she?
- Did you see the character as the director created him? Is that how you imagined him?

Let's read an excerpt:

“At first, for a long time I could not get used to Lidia Mikhailovna’s voice, it confused me ... it was somehow small and light, so I had to listen to it ... Her voice began to have a lulling effect on me ..”
“Lydia Mikhailovna ... was interested in us more than other teachers, and it was difficult to hide anything from her. She had a habit of carefully examining almost every one of us."
- What character traits did we see in the image of Lidia Mikhailovna? Underline the most important thing in the text that characterizes the teacher. (Child care, motherhood, mindfulness).
- How main character related to the teacher?
- Why did Lidia Mikhailovna choose the main character to study French? (feed the baby).
– Choose from the column those qualities that Lidia Mikhailovna possesses and underline them.

(The guys read out the qualities of Lydia Mikhailovna).

Trap reception

- Why didn't you emphasize the interest in gambling?
- We all know what act a teacher does to help a child - he decides on a forbidden game. gambling, on the money of a teacher with a student has always been considered an immoral act.

View episode #2

Why does Lidia Mikhailovna decide on a forbidden game? Did she have a choice not to play? (The teacher set a goal - to help the child by any means, so that the boy could buy milk and bread for himself).
- Why did Lidia Mikhailovna not explain her act to the director?

Let's read the end of the story:

“And I never saw her again.
In the middle of winter, after the January holidays, a parcel arrived at school by mail. When I opened it, taking out the ax again from under the stairs, there were tubes of pasta in neat, dense rows. And below, in a thick cotton wrapper, I found three red apples.
Before, I only saw apples in pictures, but I guessed that they were.
What do you think the apples in this story symbolize? (A symbol of spiritual generosity. The boy learned that he was not alone, that there is kindness, responsiveness, love in the world).
– The hero of the story, despite his eleven years, felt the lessons of life. Who taught life lessons, to whom and why?
- What are the lessons of life?

Guys answers:

1. Separation from loved ones and loneliness.
2. Hunger.
3. Unfair fight.
4. Difficulties with French.
5. Parting with a teacher who became a friend.

- What is main lesson taught by Lidia Mikhailovna?
- What feelings does the story "French Lessons" bring up? (Kindness, unselfishness, sincere generosity, unselfishness).
How can you describe these feelings in one word? (Moral).

Morality is the rules of behavior, the qualities necessary for a person in society.
"French Lessons" - lessons of life, courage, kindness.
Kindness, love, sympathy, mercy, attention are the spiritual values ​​of mankind. People who have these qualities are people with spiritual beauty.
A person receives spiritual beauty from others. So the hero of the story remembered that the young teacher saved him from hunger and shame.

III stage: reflection

Filling the Soul Tree

On the Tree of the Soul, you need to grow only beautiful fruits (we fill the tree with those qualities that a person needs).

Continue suggestions:

• I learned (learned)...
• I've been thinking about...
• I discovered (discovered) for myself ...
• What do I want to learn?

Homework

1. Draw the cover of the book by V. G. Rasputin "French Lessons".
2. Write a message "I advise you to read" French Lessons ".