Solzhenitsyn read one day in the life of Ivan Denisov. Several unexpected facts from the life of the writer

Alexander Isaevich Solzhenitsyn.

"One day in the life of Ivan Denisovich"

Peasant and front-line soldier Ivan Denisovich Shukhov turned out to be a “state criminal”, a “spy” and ended up in one of Stalin’s camps, like millions of Soviet people, convicted without guilt during the “cult of personality” and mass repressions. He left home on June 23, 1941, on the second day after the start of the war with Nazi Germany, “... in February of '42, their entire army was surrounded on the North-Western [Front], and they didn’t throw anything from the planes for them to eat, and there were no planes. They went so far as to cut the hooves off dead horses, soak that cornea in water and eat it,” that is, the command of the Red Army abandoned its soldiers to die surrounded. Together with a group of fighters, Shukhov found himself in German captivity, fled from the Germans and miraculously made it to his own. A careless story about how he was in captivity led him to a Soviet concentration camp, since the state security authorities indiscriminately considered all those who escaped from captivity to be spies and saboteurs.

The second part of Shukhov’s memories and reflections during long camp labors and a short rest in the barracks relates to his life in the village. From the fact that his relatives do not send him food (he himself refused the parcels in a letter to his wife), we understand that they are starving in the village no less than in the camp. The wife writes to Shukhov that collective farmers make a living by painting fake carpets and selling them to townspeople.

If we leave aside flashbacks and random information about life outside the barbed wire, the entire story takes exactly one day. In this short period of time, a panorama of camp life unfolds before us, a kind of “encyclopedia” of life in the camp.

First of all, a whole gallery social types and at the same time, bright human characters: Caesar is a metropolitan intellectual, a former film figure, who, however, even in the camp leads a “lordly” life compared to Shukhov: he receives food parcels, enjoys some benefits during work; Kavtorang - a repressed naval officer; an old convict who had been in tsarist prisons and hard labor (the old revolutionary guard, who had not found common language with the policies of Bolshevism in the 30s); Estonians and Latvians are the so-called “bourgeois nationalists”; Baptist Alyosha is an exponent of the thoughts and lifestyle of a very heterogeneous religious Russia; Gopchik - sixteen year old teenager, whose fate shows that repression did not distinguish between children and adults. And Shukhov himself - characteristic representative the Russian peasantry with its special business acumen and organic way of thinking. Against the background of these people who suffered from repression, a different figure emerges - the head of the regime, Volkov, who regulates the lives of prisoners and, as it were, symbolizes the merciless communist regime.

Secondly, a detailed picture of camp life and work. Life in the camp remains life with its visible and invisible passions and subtle experiences. They are mainly related to the problem of getting food. They are fed little and poorly with terrible gruel with frozen cabbage and small fish. A kind of art of life in the camp is to get yourself an extra ration of bread and an extra bowl of gruel, and if you're lucky, a little tobacco. For this, one has to resort to the greatest tricks, currying favor with “authorities” like Caesar and others. At the same time, it is important to preserve your human dignity, not to become a “descended” beggar, like, for example, Fetyukov (however, there are few of them in the camp). This is important not even for lofty reasons, but out of necessity: a “descended” person loses the will to live and will certainly die. Thus, the question of preserving the human image within oneself becomes a question of survival. The second vital issue is the attitude towards forced labor. Prisoners, especially in winter, work hard, almost competing with each other and team with team, in order not to freeze and in a way “shorten” the time from overnight to overnight, from feeding to feeding. This terrible system is built on this incentive. collective work. But nevertheless, it does not completely destroy the natural joy of physical labor in people: the scene of the construction of a house by the team where Shukhov works is one of the most inspired in the story. The ability to work “correctly” (without overexerting, but also without shirking), as well as the ability to get extra rations for yourself, is also high art. As well as the ability to hide from the eyes of the guards a piece of saw that turns up, from which the camp craftsmen make miniature knives for exchange for food, tobacco, warm things... In relation to the guards who are constantly conducting “shmons”, Shukhov and the rest of the Prisoners are in the position of wild animals: they must be more cunning and dexterous than armed people who have the right to punish them and even shoot them for deviating from the camp regime. Deceiving the guards and camp authorities is also a high art.

The day the hero talks about was, in his opinion, own opinion, successful - “they didn’t put him in a punishment cell, they didn’t kick out the brigade to Sotsgorodok (working in a bare field in winter - editor’s note), at lunch he made porridge (received an extra portion - editor’s note), the foreman closed the interest well (evaluation system camp labor— approx. ed.), Shukhov laid out the wall cheerfully, didn’t get caught with a hacksaw on a search, worked in the evening at Caesar’s and bought tobacco. And he didn’t get sick, he got over it. The day passed, unclouded, almost happy. There were three thousand six hundred and fifty-three such days in his period from bell to bell. Because of leap years- three extra days added up..."

At the end of the story it is given short dictionary criminal expressions and specific camp terms and abbreviations that appear in the text.

Ivan Denisovich Shukhov was an ordinary peasant and front-line soldier, but he became a “state criminal”, a “spy”, and that’s why he ended up in Stalin's camp, like millions of people convicted without guilt.

He went to war in June 1941, in February their army was surrounded, and no food was delivered to them. It got to the point that they trimmed the hooves of the horses, soaked them and ate them. The command left its soldiers to die surrounded. But Shukhov and his soldiers were captured, from where he managed to escape. By chance, he lets slip that he was captured and ends up in a Soviet concentration camp.

Shukhov, during camp work and a short rest, recalls his life in the village. In the letter, he asks his wife not to send him food, because he understood that people in the village were also starving. If you do not pay attention to flashbacks and small episodes about life outside the camp, the actions of the story fit into one day, into which the author invested the entire life of the camp.

In the camp a large number of people of different social strata: the capital’s intellectual, Caesar, who leads a “lordly” life even in the camp; Marine officer; an old man who was still in royal prisons; Estonians and Latvians are the so-called “bourgeois nationalists”; Gopchik is a teenager whose fate shows that repression did not distinguish between children and adults. And Shukhov himself is a typical representative of the Russian peasantry with his special business acumen and organic way of thinking. The head of the regime is Volkov, who characterizes the communist regime.

Our hero describes every detail of camp life and work. Whatever life is, it remains life, with its passions and experiences. Most often it is related to food. The food is terrible, so if a prisoner found himself an extra ration of bread or gruel, he mastered a kind of art. To do this, it was necessary to curry favor with authorities, without losing one’s dignity. This was necessary not because of any lofty considerations; such people simply lost the will to live and died.

A vital issue is the attitude towards forced labor. In winter, the workers almost staged competitions, working as hard as they could, trying to reduce the time spent sleeping and eating so as not to freeze. This is what the system of collective labor is built on.

The day the hero tells us about was successful - he wasn’t put in a punishment cell, he was able to make some porridge for himself, he wasn’t forced out to work in the field, he didn’t get caught in a search and bought himself some tobacco. He had three thousand six hundred and fifty-three such days. Due to leap years, three extra days were added.

Essays

The story was conceived by the author in the Ekibastuz special camp in the winter of 1950/51. Written in 1959 in Ryazan, where A.I. Solzhenitsyn was then a teacher of physics and astronomy at school. In 1961 sent to " New world". The decision to publish was made by the Politburo in October 1962 under personal pressure from Khrushchev. Published in Novy Mir, 1962, No. 11; then published as separate books in Sovetsky Pisatel and in Roman-Gazeta. But since 1971 all three editions of the story were removed from libraries and destroyed according to secret instructions from the Party Central Committee. Since 1990, the story has been published again in his homeland. The image of Ivan Denisovich was formed from the appearance and habits of the soldier Shukhov, who fought in the battery of A. I. Solzhenitsyn in the Soviet-German war (but never imprisoned), from the general experience of the post-war flow of “prisoners” and personal experience the author in the Special Camp as a mason. The rest of the characters in the story are all taken from camp life, with their true biographies.

Alexander Solzhenitsyn
One day of Ivan Denisovich

This edition is true and final.

No lifetime publications can cancel it.

At five o'clock in the morning, as always, the rise struck - with a hammer on the rail at the headquarters barracks. The intermittent ringing faintly passed through the glass, which was frozen solid, and soon died down: it was cold, and the warden was reluctant to wave his hand for long.

The ringing died down, and outside the window everything was the same as in the middle of the night, when Shukhov got up to the bucket, there was darkness and darkness, and three yellow lanterns came through the window: two in the zone, one inside the camp.

And for some reason they didn’t go to unlock the barracks, and you never heard of the orderlies picking up the barrel on sticks to carry it out.

Shukhov never missed getting up, he always got up on it - before the divorce he had an hour and a half of his own time, not official, and whoever knows camp life can always earn extra money: sew someone a mitten cover from an old lining; give the rich brigade worker dry felt boots directly on his bed, so that he doesn’t have to trample barefoot around the pile, and doesn’t have to choose; or run through the storerooms, where someone needs to be served, sweep or offer something; or go to the dining room to collect bowls from the tables and take them in piles to the dishwasher - they will also feed you, but there are a lot of hunters there, there is no end, and most importantly, if there is anything left in the bowl, you can’t resist, you will start licking the bowls. And Shukhov firmly remembered the words of his first brigadier Kuzemin - he was an old camp wolf, he had been sitting for twelve years by the year nine hundred and forty-three, and he once said to his reinforcement, brought from the front, in a bare clearing by the fire:

As for the godfather, of course, he turned down that. They save themselves. Only their care is on someone else’s blood.

Shukhov always got up when he got up, but today he didn’t get up. Since the evening he had been uneasy, either shivering or aching. And I didn’t get warm at night. In my sleep I felt like I was completely ill, and then I went away a little. I didn't want it to be morning.

But the morning came as usual.

And where can you get warm here - there is ice on the window, and on the walls along the junction with the ceiling throughout the entire barracks - a healthy barracks! - white cobweb. Frost.

Shukhov did not get up. He was lying on top of the carriage, his head covered with a blanket and pea coat, and in a padded jacket, in one sleeve turned up, with both feet stuck together. He didn’t see, but he understood everything from the sounds of what was happening in the barracks and in their brigade corner. So, heavily walking along the corridor, the orderlies carried one of the eight-bucket buckets. Considered disabled easy job, come on, take it out without spilling it! Here in the 75th brigade they slammed a bunch of felt boots from the dryer onto the floor. And here it is in ours (and today it was our turn to dry felt boots). The foreman and sergeant-at-arms put on their shoes in silence, and their lining creaks. The brigadier will now go to the bread slicer, and the foreman will go to the headquarters barracks, to the work crews.

And not just to the contractors, as he goes every day, - Shukhov remembered: today fate is being decided - they want to transfer their 104th brigade from the construction of workshops to the new Sotsbytgorodok facility. And that Sotsbytgorodok is a bare field, in snowy ridges, and before you do anything there, you have to dig holes, put up poles and pull the barbed wire away from yourself - so as not to run away. And then build.

There, sure enough, there won’t be anywhere to warm up for a month – not a kennel. And if you can’t light a fire, what to heat it with? Work hard conscientiously - your only salvation.

The foreman is concerned and goes to settle things. Some other brigade, sluggish, should be pushed there instead. Of course, you can’t come to an agreement empty-handed. The senior foreman had to carry half a kilo of fat. Or even a kilogram.

The test isn't a loss, shouldn't you try to cut yourself off in the medical unit and free yourself from work for a day? Well, the whole body is literally torn apart.

And one more thing - which of the guards is on duty today?

On duty - I remembered: One and a half Ivan, a thin and long black-eyed sergeant. The first time you look, it’s downright scary, but they recognized him as one of the most flexible of all the guards on duty: he doesn’t put him in a punishment cell, or drag him to the head of the regime. So you can lie down until you go to barracks nine in the dining room.

The carriage shook and swayed. Two stood up at once: at the top was Shukhov’s neighbor, Baptist Alyoshka, and at the bottom was Buinovsky, a former captain of the second rank, cavalry officer.

The old orderlies, having carried out both buckets, began to argue about who should go get boiling water. They scolded affectionately, like women. An electric welder from the 20th brigade barked:

- Hey, wicks! - and threw a felt boot at them. - I’ll make peace!

The felt boot thudded against the post. They fell silent.

In the neighboring brigade the brigadier muttered slightly:

- Vasil Fedorych! The food table was distorted, you bastards: it was nine hundred and four, but it became only three. Who should I miss?

He said this quietly, but, of course, the whole brigade heard and hid: a piece would be cut off from someone in the evening.

And Shukhov lay and lay on the compressed sawdust of his mattress. At least one side would take it - either the chill would strike, or the aching would go away. And neither this nor that.

While the Baptist was whispering prayers, Buinovsky returned from the breeze and announced to no one, but as if maliciously:

- Well, hold on, Red Navy men! Thirty degrees true!

And Shukhov decided to go to the medical unit.

And then someone’s powerful hand pulled off his padded jacket and blanket. Shukhov took off his pea coat from his face and stood up. Below him, with his head level with the top bunk of the carriage, stood a thin Tatar.

This means that he was not on duty in line and sneaked in quietly.

- More - eight hundred and fifty-four! - Tatar read from the white patch on the back of his black pea coat. - Three days of condominium with withdrawal!

And as soon as his special, strangled voice was heard, in the entire dim barracks, where not every light was on, where two hundred people were sleeping on fifty bedbug-lined carriages, everyone who had not yet gotten up immediately began to stir and hastily get dressed.

- For what, citizen chief? – Shukhov asked, giving his voice more pity than he felt.

Once you're sent back to work, it's still half a cell, and they'll give you hot food, and there's no time to think about it. A complete punishment cell is when there is no conclusion.

– Didn’t get up on the climb? “Let’s go to the commandant’s office,” Tatar explained lazily, because he, Shukhov, and everyone understood what the condo was for.

Nothing was expressed on Tatar’s hairless, wrinkled face. He turned around, looking for someone else, but everyone, some in the semi-darkness, some under the light bulb, on the first floor of the carriages and on the second, was pushing their legs into black padded trousers with numbers on the left knee or, already dressed, wrapped themselves up and hurried to the exit - wait for Tatar in the yard.

If Shukhov had been given a punishment cell for something else, where would he have deserved it, it wouldn’t have been so offensive. It was a shame that he was always the first to get up. But it was impossible to ask Tatarin for time off, he knew. And, continuing to ask for time off just for the sake of order, Shukhov, still wearing cotton trousers that had not been taken off for the night (a worn, dirty flap was also sewn above the left knee, and the number Shch-854 was written on it in black, already faded paint), put on a padded jacket (she had two such numbers on her - one on the chest and one on the back), chose his felt boots from the pile on the floor, put on his hat (with the same flap and number on the front) and followed Tatarin out.

The entire 104th brigade saw Shukhov being taken away, but no one said a word: there was no point, and what can you say? The brigadier could have intervened a little, but he wasn’t there. And Shukhov also didn’t say a word to anyone, and didn’t tease Tatarin. They'll save breakfast and they'll guess.

So the two of them left.

There was frost with a haze that took your breath away. Two large spotlights hit the zone crosswise from the far corner towers. The area and interior lights were on. There were so many of them that they completely illuminated the stars.

Felt boots creaking in the snow, the prisoners quickly ran about their business - some to the restroom, some to the storeroom, others to the parcel warehouse, some to hand over the cereal to the individual kitchen. All of them had their heads sunk into their shoulders, their peacoats were wrapped around them, and they were all cold, not so much from the frost as from the thought that they would have to spend a whole day in this frost.

And Tatar, in his old overcoat with stained blue buttonholes, walked smoothly, and the frost seemed to not bother him at all.

Alexander Solzhenitsyn

One day of Ivan Denisovich

This edition is true and final.

No lifetime publications can cancel it.

At five o'clock in the morning, as always, the rise struck - with a hammer on the rail at the headquarters barracks. The intermittent ringing faintly passed through the glass, which was frozen solid, and soon died down: it was cold, and the warden was reluctant to wave his hand for long.

The ringing died down, and outside the window everything was the same as in the middle of the night, when Shukhov got up to the bucket, there was darkness and darkness, and three yellow lanterns came through the window: two in the zone, one inside the camp.

And for some reason they didn’t go to unlock the barracks, and you never heard of the orderlies picking up the barrel on sticks to carry it out.

Shukhov never missed getting up, he always got up on it - before the divorce he had an hour and a half of his own time, not official, and whoever knows camp life can always earn extra money: sew someone a mitten cover from an old lining; give the rich brigade worker dry felt boots directly on his bed, so that he doesn’t have to trample barefoot around the pile, and doesn’t have to choose; or run through the storerooms, where someone needs to be served, sweep or offer something; or go to the dining room to collect bowls from the tables and take them in piles to the dishwasher - they will also feed you, but there are a lot of hunters there, there is no end, and most importantly, if there is anything left in the bowl, you can’t resist, you will start licking the bowls. And Shukhov firmly remembered the words of his first brigadier Kuzemin - he was an old camp wolf, he had been sitting for twelve years by the year nine hundred and forty-three, and he once said to his reinforcement, brought from the front, in a bare clearing by the fire:

- Here, guys, the law is the taiga. But people live here too. In the camp, this is who is dying: who licks the bowls, who hopes at the medical unit, and who goes to knock on their godfather.

As for the godfather, of course, he turned down that. They save themselves. Only their care is on someone else’s blood.

Shukhov always got up when he got up, but today he didn’t get up. Since the evening he had been uneasy, either shivering or aching. And I didn’t get warm at night. In my sleep I felt like I was completely ill, and then I went away a little. I didn't want it to be morning.

But the morning came as usual.

And where can you get warm here - there is ice on the window, and on the walls along the junction with the ceiling throughout the entire barracks - a healthy barracks! - white cobweb. Frost.

Shukhov did not get up. He was lying on top of the carriage, his head covered with a blanket and pea coat, and in a padded jacket, in one sleeve turned up, with both feet stuck together. He didn’t see, but he understood everything from the sounds of what was happening in the barracks and in their brigade corner. So, heavily walking along the corridor, the orderlies carried one of the eight-bucket buckets. He is considered disabled, easy work, but come on, take it without spilling it! Here in the 75th brigade they slammed a bunch of felt boots from the dryer onto the floor. And here it is in ours (and today it was our turn to dry felt boots). The foreman and sergeant-at-arms put on their shoes in silence, and their lining creaks. The brigadier will now go to the bread slicer, and the foreman will go to the headquarters barracks, to the work crews.

And not just to the contractors, as he goes every day, - Shukhov remembered: today fate is being decided - they want to transfer their 104th brigade from the construction of workshops to the new Sotsbytgorodok facility. And that Sotsbytgorodok is a bare field, in snowy ridges, and before you do anything there, you have to dig holes, put up poles and pull the barbed wire away from yourself - so as not to run away. And then build.

There, sure enough, there won’t be anywhere to warm up for a month – not a kennel. And if you can’t light a fire, what to heat it with? Work hard conscientiously - your only salvation.

The foreman is concerned and goes to settle things. Some other brigade, sluggish, should be pushed there instead. Of course, you can’t come to an agreement empty-handed. The senior foreman had to carry half a kilo of fat. Or even a kilogram.

The test isn't a loss, shouldn't you try to cut yourself off in the medical unit and free yourself from work for a day? Well, the whole body is literally torn apart.

And one more thing - which of the guards is on duty today?

On duty - I remembered: One and a half Ivan, a thin and long black-eyed sergeant. The first time you look, it’s downright scary, but they recognized him as one of the most flexible of all the guards on duty: he doesn’t put him in a punishment cell, or drag him to the head of the regime. So you can lie down until you go to barracks nine in the dining room.

The carriage shook and swayed. Two stood up at once: at the top was Shukhov’s neighbor, Baptist Alyoshka, and at the bottom was Buinovsky, a former captain of the second rank, cavalry officer.

The old orderlies, having carried out both buckets, began to argue about who should go get boiling water. They scolded affectionately, like women. The electric welder from the 20th brigade barked.

Alexander Solzhenitsyn

One day of Ivan Denisovich

This edition is true and final.

No lifetime publications can cancel it.

A. Solzhenitsyn April 1968

At five o'clock in the morning, as always, the rise struck - with a hammer on the rail at the headquarters barracks. The intermittent ringing faintly passed through the glass, which was frozen solid, and soon died down: it was cold, and the warden was reluctant to wave his hand for long.

The ringing died down, and outside the window everything was the same as in the middle of the night, when Shukhov got up to the bucket, there was darkness and darkness, and three yellow lanterns came through the window: two in the zone, one inside the camp.

And for some reason they didn’t go to unlock the barracks, and you never heard of the orderlies picking up the barrel on sticks to carry it out.

Shukhov never missed getting up, he always got up on it - before the divorce he had an hour and a half of his time, not official, and whoever knows camp life can always earn extra money: sew someone a mitten cover from an old lining; give the rich brigade worker dry felt boots directly on his bed, so that he doesn’t have to trample barefoot around the pile, and doesn’t have to choose; or run through the storerooms, where someone needs to be served, sweep or offer something; or go to the dining room to collect bowls from the tables and take them in piles into the dishwasher - they will also feed you, but there are a lot of hunters there, there is no end, and most importantly, if there is anything left in the bowl, you can’t resist, you will start licking the bowls. And Shukhov firmly remembered the words of his first brigadier Kuzyomin - he was an old camp wolf, he had been sitting for twelve years by the year nine hundred and forty-three, and he once said to his reinforcement, brought from the front, in a bare clearing by the fire:

Here, guys, the law is the taiga. But people live here too. In the camp, this is who is dying: who licks the bowls, who hopes at the medical unit, and who goes to knock on their godfather.

As for the godfather, of course, he turned down that. They save themselves. Only their care is on someone else's blood.

Shukhov always got up when he got up, but today he didn’t get up. Since the evening he had been uneasy, either shivering or aching. And I didn’t get warm at night. In my sleep I felt like I was completely ill, and then I went away a little. I didn't want it to be morning.

But the morning came as usual.

And where can you get warm here - there is ice on the window, and on the walls along the junction with the ceiling throughout the entire barracks - a healthy barracks! - white cobweb. Frost.

Shukhov did not get up. He was lying on top of the carriage, his head covered with a blanket and pea coat, and in a padded jacket, in one sleeve turned up, with both feet stuck together. He didn’t see, but he understood everything from the sounds of what was happening in the barracks and in their brigade corner. So, heavily walking along the corridor, the orderlies carried one of the eight-bucket buckets. He is considered disabled, easy work, but come on, take it without spilling it! Here in the 75th brigade they slammed a bunch of felt boots from the dryer onto the floor. And here it is in ours (and today it was our turn to dry felt boots). The foreman and sergeant-at-arms put on their shoes in silence, and their lining creaks. The brigadier will now go to the bread slicer, and the foreman will go to the headquarters barracks, to the workmen.

And not just to the contractors, as he goes every day, - Shukhov remembered: today fate is being decided - they want to transfer their 104th brigade from the construction of workshops to the new Sotsbytgorodok facility. And that Sotsbytgorodok is a bare field, in snowy ridges, and before you do anything there, you have to dig holes, put up poles and pull the barbed wire away from yourself - so as not to run away. And then build.

There, sure enough, there will be nowhere to warm up for a month - not a kennel. And if you can’t light a fire, what to heat it with? Work hard conscientiously - your only salvation.

The foreman is concerned and goes to settle things. Some other brigade, sluggish, should be pushed there instead. Of course, you can’t come to an agreement empty-handed. The senior foreman had to carry half a kilo of fat. Or even a kilogram.

The test isn't a loss, shouldn't you try to cut yourself off in the medical unit and free yourself from work for a day? Well, the whole body is literally torn apart.

And one more thing - which of the guards is on duty today?

On duty - I remembered: Ivan and a half, a thin and long black-eyed sergeant. The first time you look, it’s downright scary, but they recognized him - of all the duty officers, he’s the most flexible: he doesn’t put him in a punishment cell, or drag him to the head of the regime. So you can lie down until you go to barracks nine in the dining room.

The carriage shook and swayed. Two stood up at once: at the top was Shukhov’s neighbor, Baptist Alyoshka, and at the bottom was Buinovsky, a former captain of the second rank, cavalry officer.

The old orderlies, having carried out both buckets, began to argue about who should go get boiling water. They scolded affectionately, like women. An electric welder from the 20th brigade barked:

Hey wicks! - and threw a felt boot at them. - I’ll make peace!

The felt boot thudded against the post. They fell silent.

In the neighboring brigade the brigadier muttered slightly:

Vasil Fedorych! The food table was distorted, you bastards: it was nine hundred and four, but it became only three. Who should I miss?

He said this quietly, but, of course, the whole brigade heard and hid: a piece would be cut off from someone in the evening.

And Shukhov lay and lay on the compressed sawdust of his mattress. At least one side would have taken it - either the chill would have struck, or the aching would have gone away. And neither this nor that.

While the Baptist was whispering prayers, Buinovsky returned from the breeze and announced to no one, but as if maliciously:

Well, hold on, Red Navy men! Thirty degrees true!

And Shukhov decided to go to the medical unit.

And then someone’s powerful hand pulled off his padded jacket and blanket. Shukhov took off his pea coat from his face and stood up. Below him, with his head level with the top bunk of the carriage, stood a thin Tatar.

This means that he was not on duty in line and sneaked in quietly.

More - eight hundred and fifty four! - Tatar read from the white patch on the back of his black pea coat. - Three days of condominium with withdrawal!

And as soon as his special, strangled voice was heard, in the entire dim barracks, where not every light was on, where two hundred people were sleeping on fifty bedbug-lined carriages, everyone who had not yet gotten up immediately began to stir and hastily get dressed.

For what, citizen chief? - Shukhov asked, giving his voice more pity than he felt.

With the transfer to work, it’s still half a cell, and they’ll give you hot food, and there’s no time to think about it. A complete punishment cell is when there is no conclusion.

Alexander Isaevich Solzhenitsyn wrote the story “One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich” in 1959. It became the first work about Soviet concentration camps, bringing him worldwide fame. This is a story about one day of an ordinary Soviet prisoner. The events of the story written by Solzhenitsyn take place at the beginning of the 51st year of the 20th century.

It was winter. At 5 am in the camp, as always, the rise was announced. It was dark and cold outside. And in the large barracks for hundreds of people there was also a terrible cold. Prisoner Ivan Denisovich Shukhov was sick, so he really didn’t want to get up.

Today their team was supposed to be transferred to the construction of another facility. Because of the terrible cold, no one wanted this. The foreman, Andrei Prokofievich Tyurin, had to negotiate the cancellation of the transfer to a new facility for a bribe, of course, a kilogram of lard.

Shukhov decided to go to the medical unit. He has already served 8 years out of the required 10. Shukhov was transferred to this camp from another: he previously served his sentence in Ust-Izhma. The duty officer turned to Shukhov and said that he would receive three days in a punishment cell for failure to comply with the lifting time. The entire 104th brigade saw Ivan Denisovich being taken away from the barracks.

The duty officer took Shukhov to the headquarters barracks, where he had to wash the floor. Ivan was very happy about this, because it was flooded here. He got to work. Having wiped the floors under the close attention of the guards, Shukhov went to the dining room for another portion of gruel.

It was cold in the dining room. Black cabbage with millet was eaten in hats. Teammate Fetyukov was guarding Shukhov’s already cold breakfast. Ivan took off his hat; he always had a spoon with him, in his felt boots. Slowly, he ate it all, breaking off pieces of the almost frozen porridge.

After breakfast, Shukhov remembered that he had agreed to buy two glasses of samosada from the Latvian from the neighboring barracks. But the medical unit was more needed. There was only one guy there in the morning - paramedic Kolya. Nikolai Semenovich knew that Shukhov was not faking. But he could not be released from work, since two prisoners were much more seriously ill.

Ivan Denisovich went to work with a slight fever. Along the way he received a ration of bread weighed down and walked morning check for prohibited products and letters. Local artist I updated the number Shch-854 on Shukhov’s padded jacket so that it can be seen better. Otherwise, you could end up in a punishment cell.

In the new year, Shukhov had the right to two letters, but he himself did not want more. Ivan Denisovich left home on June 23, 1941, immediately after the start of the war. His family also wrote to him twice a year. Shukhov did not understand their life, their problems. His wife was waiting for Ivan with the hope that when he returned, he would earn a lot of money and put his children on their feet. Shukhov was not very hopeful: he didn’t know how to cheat, he didn’t take or give bribes.

Work went to each of the brigade: some carried water, others carried sand, others cleared snow. Shukhov, as the first master, got the job of laying the walls with cinder blocks. He carried it out together with his partner, the Latvian Kildiks, whose prison term was 25 years. Until noon, cinder blocks were lifted by hand to the second floor. For lunch, the workers were given oatmeal. Shukhov got a double portion.

Work on laying the wall continued. Considering the frost, there was no time to hesitate: the solution set quickly. Shukhov admired the well-done work late in the evening, when everyone had left.

After dinner and the evening check, Ivan Denisovich climbed onto his bed and lit a cigarette. He didn’t want to sleep at all, because the day had turned out to be successful:

• They didn’t put me in a punishment cell;
• A brigade was not sent for new construction;
• For lunch he received a double portion of porridge;
• The foreman closed the interest well;
• Shukhov laid out the wall cheerfully;
• I didn’t get caught on a search with a hacksaw found, from which I was going to make a shoe knife;
• I bought two glasses of samosada tobacco for 2 rubles;
• Almost recovered without getting sick.

And there were 3653 such days in his period from call to call.

The story teaches moral overcoming, preserving human dignity even in conditions in which survival can be very difficult.

Picture or drawing One day in the life of Ivan Denisovich

Other retellings for the reader's diary

• Summary of Asimov's Bicentennial Man

  The work belongs to the writer’s science fiction prose and the main theme represents humanity and artificial intelligence, slavery and freedom, life and death.

  Tenth year of the war between the Trojans and Achaeans. The Greeks lay siege to the main wall of the city, but the enemy firmly holds the siege. Both people and the Olympian gods wage war.