Andrey Platonov - Bashkir folk tales retold by Andrey Platonov. Andrey Platonov - Bashkir folk tales retold by Andrey Platonov Andrey Platonov stories read online

Long ago, in ancient times, an old-looking man lived on our street. He worked in a forge on a large Moscow road; he worked as an assistant to the chief blacksmith, because he could not see well with his eyes and had little strength in his hands. He carried water, sand and coal to the forge, fanned the forge with fur, held the hot iron on the anvil with tongs while the chief blacksmith forged it, brought the horse into the machine to forge it, and did any other work that needed to be done. His name was Efim, but all the people called him Yushka. He was short and thin; on his wrinkled face, instead of a mustache and beard, sparse gray hairs grew separately; His eyes were white, like a blind man’s, and there was always moisture in them, like never-cooling tears.

Yushka lived in the apartment of the owner of the forge, in the kitchen. In the morning he went to the forge, and in the evening he went back to spend the night. The owner fed him for his work with bread, cabbage soup and porridge, and Yushka had his own tea, sugar and clothes; he must buy them for his salary - seven rubles and sixty kopecks a month. But Yushka didn’t drink tea or buy sugar, he drank water, and wore the same clothes for many years without changing: in the summer he wore trousers and a blouse, black and sooty from work, burned through by sparks, so that in several places his white body was visible, and he was barefoot; in winter, he put on a sheepskin coat over his blouse, which he inherited from his deceased father, and his feet were shod in felt boots, which he hemmed in the fall, and wore the same pair every winter all his life.

When Yushka walked down the street to the forge early in the morning, the old men and women got up and said that Yushka had already gone to work, it was time to get up, and they woke up the young people. And in the evening, when Yushka went to spend the night, people said that it was time to have dinner and go to bed - and Yushka had already gone to bed.

And small children and even those who became teenagers, seeing old Yushka walking quietly, stopped playing in the street, ran after Yushka and shouted:

There comes Yushka! There's Yushka!

The children picked up dry branches, pebbles, and rubbish from the ground in handfuls and threw them at Yushka.

Yushka! - the children shouted. - Are you really Yushka?

The old man did not answer the children and was not offended by them; he walked as quietly as before, and did not cover his face, which was hit by pebbles and earthen debris.

The children were surprised that Yushka was alive and was not angry with them. And they called out to the old man again:

Yushka, are you true or not?

Then the children again threw objects from the ground at him, ran up to him, touched him and pushed him, not understanding why he did not scold them, take a twig and chase them, as all big people do. The children did not know another person like him, and they thought - is Yushka really alive? Having touched Yushka with their hands or hit him, they saw that he was hard and alive.

Then the children again pushed Yushka and threw clods of earth at him - he’d better be angry, since he really lives in the world. But Yushka walked and was silent. Then the children themselves began to get angry with Yushka. They were bored and it was not good to play if Yushka was always silent, did not scare them and did not chase them. And they pushed the old man even harder and shouted around him so that he would respond to them with evil and cheer them up. Then they would run away from him and, in fear, in joy, would again tease him from afar and call him to them, then running away to hide in the darkness of the evening, in the canopy of houses, in the thickets of gardens and vegetable gardens. But Yushka did not touch them and did not answer them.

When the children stopped Yushka altogether or hurt him too much, he told them:

What are you doing, my dears, what are you doing, little ones!.. You must love me!.. Why do you all need me?.. Wait, don’t touch me, you hit me with dirt in my eyes, I can’t see.

The children did not hear or understand him. They still pushed Yushka and laughed at him. They were happy that they could do whatever they wanted with him, but he didn’t do anything to them.

Yushka was also happy. He knew why the children laughed at him and tormented him. He believed that children loved him, that they needed him, only they did not know how to love a person and did not know what to do for love, and therefore they tormented him.

At home, fathers and mothers reproached their children when they did not study well or did not obey their parents: “Now you will be the same as Yushka! “You will grow up and walk barefoot in the summer and in thin felt boots in the winter, and everyone will torment you, and you will not drink tea with sugar, but only water!”

Elderly adults, meeting Yushka on the street, also sometimes offended him. Adults had angry grief or resentment, or they were drunk, then their hearts were filled with fierce rage. Seeing Yushka going to the forge or to the yard for the night, an adult said to him:

Why are you walking around here so blessed and unlikeable? What do you think is so special?

Yushka stopped, listened and was silent in response.

You don't have any words, you're such an animal! You live simply and honestly, as I live, and don’t think anything secretly! Tell me, will you live the way you should? You will not? Aha!.. Well okay!

And after a conversation during which Yushka was silent, the adult became convinced that Yushka was to blame for everything, and immediately beat him. Because of Yushka’s meekness, the adult became embittered and beat him more than he wanted at first, and in this evil he forgot his grief for a while.

Yushka then lay in the dust on the road for a long time. When he woke up, he got up on his own, and sometimes the daughter of the owner of the forge came for him, she picked him up and took him away with her.

It would be better if you died, Yushka,” said the owner’s daughter. - Why do you live? Yushka looked at her in surprise. He didn't understand why he should die when he

born to live.

“It was my father and mother who gave birth to me, it was their will,” Yushka answered, “I can’t die, and I’m helping your father in the forge.”

If only someone else could take your place, what a helper!

People love me, Dasha! Dasha laughed.

Now you have blood on your cheek, and last week your ear was torn, and you say - the people love you!..

“He loves me without a clue,” said Yushka. - People's hearts can be blind.

Their hearts are blind, but their eyes are sighted! - Dasha said. - Go quickly, or something! They love you according to your heart, but they beat you according to their calculations.

According to calculations, they are angry with me, it’s true,” Yushka agreed. “They don’t tell me to walk on the street and they mutilate my body.”

Oh, Yushka, Yushka! - Dasha sighed. - But you, my father said, are not old yet!

How old I am!.. I have suffered from breast problems since childhood, it was because of my illness that I made a mistake in appearance and became old...

Due to this illness, Yushka left his owner for a month every summer. He went on foot to a remote remote village, where he must have had relatives. Nobody knew who they were to him.

Even Yushka himself forgot, and one summer he said that his widowed sister lived in the village, and the next that his niece was there. Sometimes he said that he was going to the village, and other times that he was going to Moscow itself. And people thought that Yushka’s beloved daughter lived in a distant village, as kind and unnecessary to people as her father.

In July or August, Yushka put a knapsack with bread on his shoulders and left our city. On the way, he breathed the fragrance of grasses and forests, looked at the white clouds born in the sky, floating and dying in the bright airy warmth, listened to the voice of the rivers muttering on the stone rifts, and Yushka’s sore chest rested, he no longer felt his illness - consumption. Having gone far away, where it was completely deserted, Yushka no longer hid his love for living beings. He bent down to the ground and kissed the flowers, trying not to breathe on them so that they would not be spoiled by his breath, he stroked the bark of the trees and picked up butterflies and beetles from the path that had fallen dead, and peered into their faces for a long time, feeling himself without them orphaned. But living birds sang in the sky, dragonflies, beetles and hard-working grasshoppers made cheerful sounds in the grass, and therefore Yushka’s soul was light, the sweet air of flowers smelling of moisture and sunlight entered his chest.

On the way, Yushka rested. He sat in the shade of a road tree and dozed in peace and warmth. Having rested and caught his breath in the field, he no longer remembered the illness and walked on cheerfully, like a healthy person. Yushka was forty years old, but illness had long tormented him and aged him before his time, so that he seemed decrepit to everyone.

A story about war for reading in elementary school. A story about the Great Patriotic War for primary schoolchildren.

Andrey Platonov. Little soldier

Not far from the front line, inside the surviving station, Red Army soldiers who had fallen asleep on the floor were snoring sweetly; the happiness of relaxation was etched on their tired faces.

On the second track, the boiler of the hot duty locomotive quietly hissed, as if a monotonous, soothing voice was singing from a long-abandoned house. But in one corner of the station room, where a kerosene lamp was burning, people occasionally whispered soothing words to each other, and then they too fell into silence.

There stood two majors, similar to each other not in external features, but in the general kindness of their wrinkled, tanned faces; each of them held the boy's hand in his own, and the child looked pleadingly at the commanders. The child did not let go of the hand of one major, then pressed his face to it, and carefully tried to free himself from the hand of the other. The child looked about ten years old, and he was dressed like a seasoned fighter - in a gray overcoat, worn and pressed against his body, in a cap and boots, apparently sewn to fit a child’s foot. His small face, thin, weather-beaten, but not emaciated, adapted and already accustomed to life, was now turned to one major; the child's bright eyes clearly revealed his sadness, as if they were the living surface of his heart; he was sad that he was being separated from his father or an older friend, who must have been a major to him.

The second major drew the child by the hand and caressed him, comforting him, but the boy, without removing his hand, remained indifferent to him. The first major was also saddened, and he whispered to the child that he would soon take him to him and they would meet again for an inseparable life, but now they were parting for a short time. The boy believed him, but the truth itself could not console his heart, which was attached to only one person and wanted to be with him constantly and close, and not far away. The child already knew what great distances and times of war were - it was difficult for people from there to return to each other, so he did not want separation, and his heart could not be alone, it was afraid that, left alone, it would die. And in his last request and hope, the boy looked at the major, who must leave him with a stranger.

“Well, Seryozha, goodbye for now,” said the major whom the child loved. “Don’t really try to fight, when you grow up, you will.” Don’t interfere with the German and take care of yourself so that I can find you alive and intact. Well, what are you doing, what are you doing - hold on, soldier!

Seryozha began to cry. The major picked him up in his arms and kissed his face several times. Then the major went with the child to the exit, and the second major also followed them, instructing me to guard the things left behind.

The child returned in the arms of another major; he looked aloofly and timidly at the commander, although this major persuaded him with gentle words and attracted him to himself as best he could.

The major, who replaced the one who had left, admonished the silent child for a long time, but he, faithful to one feeling and one person, remained alienated.

Anti-aircraft guns began firing not far from the station. The boy listened to their booming, dead sounds, and excited interest appeared in his gaze.

- Their scout is coming! - he said quietly, as if to himself. - It goes high, and anti-aircraft guns won’t take it, we need to send a fighter there.

“They’ll send it,” said the major. - They're watching us there.

The train we needed was expected only the next day, and all three of us went to the hostel for the night. There the major fed the child from his heavily loaded sack. “How tired I am of this bag during the war,” said the major, “and how grateful I am to it!” The boy fell asleep after eating, and Major Bakhichev told me about his fate.

Sergei Labkov was the son of a colonel and a military doctor. His father and mother served in the same regiment, so they took their only son to live with them and grow up in the army. Seryozha was now in his tenth year; He took the war and his father’s cause to heart and had already begun to truly understand why war was needed. And then one day he heard his father talking in the dugout with one officer and caring that the Germans would definitely blow up his regiment’s ammunition when retreating. The regiment had previously left German envelopment, well, with haste, of course, and left its warehouse with ammunition with the Germans, and now the regiment had to go forward and return the lost land and its goods on it, and the ammunition, too, which was needed. “They probably already laid the wire to our warehouse - they know that we will have to retreat,” the colonel, Seryozha’s father, said then. Sergei listened and realized what his father was worried about. The boy knew the location of the regiment before the retreat, and so he, small, thin, cunning, crawled at night to our warehouse, cut the explosive closing wire and remained there for another whole day, guarding so that the Germans did not repair the damage, and if they did, then again cut the wire. Then the colonel drove the Germans out of there, and the entire warehouse came into his possession.

Soon this little boy made his way further behind enemy lines; there he found out by the signs where the command post of a regiment or battalion was, walked around three batteries at a distance, remembered everything exactly - his memory was not spoiled by anything - and when he returned home, he showed his father on the map how it was and where everything was. The father thought, gave his son to an orderly for constant observation of him and opened fire on these points. Everything turned out correctly, the son gave him the correct serifs. He is small, this Seryozhka, the enemy took him for a gopher in the grass: let him move, they say. And Seryozhka probably didn’t move the grass, he walked without a sigh.

The boy also deceived the orderly, or, so to speak, seduced him: once he took him somewhere, and together they killed a German - it is not known which of them - and Sergei found the position.

So he lived in the regiment with his father and mother and with the soldiers. The mother, seeing such a son, could no longer tolerate his uncomfortable position and decided to send him to the rear. But Sergei could no longer leave the army; his character was drawn into the war. And he told that major, his father’s deputy, Savelyev, who had just left, that he would not go to the rear, but would rather hide as a prisoner to the Germans, learn from them everything he needed, and again return to his father’s unit when his mother left him. miss you. And he would probably do so, because he has a military character.

And then grief happened, and there was no time to send the boy to the rear. His father, a colonel, was seriously wounded, although the battle, they say, was weak, and he died two days later in a field hospital. The mother also fell ill, became exhausted - she had previously been maimed by two shrapnel wounds, one in the cavity - and a month after her husband she also died; maybe she still missed her husband... Sergei remained an orphan.

Major Savelyev took command of the regiment, he took the boy to him and became his father and mother instead of his relatives - the whole person. The boy also answered him with all his heart.

- But I’m not from their unit, I’m from another. But I know Volodya Savelyev from a long time ago. And so we met here at the front headquarters. Volodya was sent to advanced training courses, but I was there on another matter, and now I’m going back to my unit. Volodya Savelyev told me to take care of the boy until he arrives back... And when will Volodya return and where will he be sent! Well, it will be visible there...

Major Bakhichev dozed off and fell asleep. Seryozha Labkov snored in his sleep, like an adult, an elderly man, and his face, having now moved away from sorrow and memories, became calm and innocently happy, revealing the image of the saint of childhood, from where the war took him. I also fell asleep, taking advantage of the unnecessary time so that it would not be wasted.

We woke up at dusk, at the very end of a long June day. Now there were two of us in three beds - Major Bakhichev and I, but Seryozha Labkov was not there. The major was worried, but then decided that the boy had gone somewhere for a short time. Later we went with him to the station and visited the military commandant, but no one noticed the little soldier in the rear crowd of the war.

The next morning, Seryozha Labkov also did not return to us, and God knows where he went, tormented by the feeling of his childish heart for the man who left him - perhaps after him, perhaps back to his father’s regiment, where the graves of his father and mother were.

One of the most notable Russian writers of the 20th century is Andrei Platonov. The list of works by this author allows you to thoroughly study the domestic history of the first half of the 20th century.

Andrey Platonov

Andrei Platonov, whose list of works is well known to every schoolchild, became famous after the release of the novels “The Pit” and “Chevengur”. But besides them there were many significant works.

The writer himself was born in Voronezh in 1899. He served in the workers' and peasants' Red Army and took part in the Civil War as a war correspondent. He began publishing his works in 1919.

In 1921, his first book was published, which was called "Electrification". His poems also appeared in a collective collection. And in 1922, his son Plato was born and a collection of poems was published - “Blue Clay”.

In addition to writing, he was engaged in hydrology. In particular, he developed his own projects for hydrofication of the region in order to protect fields from drought.

In the mid-20s, Platonov worked fruitfully in Tambov. The list of the writer’s works is supplemented by such works as “Ethereal Route”, “City of Grads”, “Epiphanian Gateways”.

Next comes his most significant works for Russian literature - “The Pit” and “Chevengur”. These are very unexpected and innovative works that are distinguished by modern language. Both works were created in a fantastic spirit, they describe the utopian construction of a new communist society, the formation of a new generation of people.

"Epiphanian Gateways"

"Epiphansky Gateways" appeared in 1926. The action takes place in Peter's Russia. At the center of the story is the English engineer William Perry, a master of lock construction. He calls his brother to Russia to help him fulfill the new imperial order. The British need to build a ship canal that would connect the Oka and Don rivers.

Whether the brothers will be able to carry out this plan is the subject of Platonov’s story.

"Chevengur"

In 1929, Platonov wrote one of his most famous works - the socio-philosophical novel "Chevengur".

The actions of this work have been transferred to the writer’s contemporary Russia. In the south, War Communism and the New Economic Policy are in full swing. The main character is Alexander Dvanov, who lost his father. His father drowned himself, dreaming of a better life, so Alexander has to live with his adoptive parent. These events described in the novel are largely autobiographical; the fate of the author himself developed in a similar way.

Dvanov goes in search of his communism. On this path he meets many different people. Platonov revels in their description. The works, the list, the most famous of them are presented in this article, but “Chevengur” stands out even against this background.

Dvanov encounters the revolutions of Kopenkin, who resembles the medieval character Don Quixote. Her own Dulcinea also appears, which becomes Rosa Luxemburg.

Finding truth and truth in a new world, even with knights errant, turns out to be not at all easy.

"Pit"

In 1930, Platonov created the dystopian story "The Pit". Here communism is already being built in the literal sense of the word. A group of builders receives instructions to build a common proletarian house, a building that should become the basis of a utopian city of the future in which everyone will be happy.

Andrey Platonov describes their work in detail. The works listed in this article are a must read if you want to get to know this original author better. The story "The Pit" can greatly help you with this.

The construction of a common proletarian house is interrupted suddenly, even at the foundation pit stage. The matter cannot move forward. Builders realize that creating something on the ruins of the past is useless and futile. Moreover, the end does not always justify the means.

At the same time, the story of a girl Nastya, who was left homeless, is told. She is a bright embodiment of the living future of the country, those residents who should live in this house when it is built. In the meantime, she lives at a construction site. She doesn’t even have a bed, so the builders give her two coffins, which were previously taken from the peasants. One of them serves as her bed, and the second as a toy box. In the end, Nastya dies without seeing the construction of a utopian house.

In this story, Andrei Platonov sought to show the cruelty and senselessness of the totalitarian system. A list of this author's works often reflects this one point of view. This story contains the entire history of Bolshevism during collectivization, when people were fed only with promises of a bright future.

"Potudan River"

Platonov's short works, a list of which is also in this article, are of great interest to readers. These include primarily the story "The Potudan River".

It tells the story of Red Army soldier Nikita Firsov, who returns on foot from service to his homeland. Everywhere he meets signs of hunger and need. He goes out to the distance and notices the first lights of his hometown. At home he is met by his father, who was no longer expecting his son from the front, and changed his mind about many things after the death of his wife.

The meeting of father and son after a long separation takes place without unnecessary sentimentality. Nikita soon notices that his father is worried about serious problems. He is on the very edge of poverty. There is practically no furniture left in the house, even though my father works in a carpentry workshop.

The next morning Nikita meets his childhood friend Lyubov. She is the daughter of a teacher, their house was always clean and tidy, they seemed to be the main intellectuals. For this reason alone, he had long ago given up the idea of ​​asking for her hand in marriage. But now everything has changed. Poverty and devastation came to this house. Everything around has changed.

"Return"

One of Platonov's last significant works is the story "Return". This time the events after the end of the Great Patriotic War are described.

Captain Ivanov returns from the front. At the station he meets young Masha and comes to her hometown. At this time, his wife and two children, with whom he was separated for 4 years, are waiting for him at home. When he finally gets to his home, he discovers an amazing picture. 12-year-old Petya is in charge of everything, Ivanov feels out of place, he cannot fully rejoice at his return.

Andrey Platonov (real name Andrey Platonovich Klimentov) (1899-1951) - Russian Soviet writer, prose writer, one of the most original Russian writers in style of the first half of the 20th century.

Andrey was born on August 28 (16), 1899 in Voronezh, in the family of a railway mechanic Platon Firsovich Klimentov. However, traditionally his birthday is celebrated on September 1st.

Andrei Klimentov studied at a parish school, then at a city school. At the age of 15 (according to some sources, already at 13) he began working to support his family. According to Platonov: “We had a family... 10 people, and I am the eldest son - one worker, except for my father. My father... could not feed such a horde.” “Life immediately turned me from a child into an adult, depriving me of my youth.”

Until 1917, he changed several professions: he was an auxiliary worker, a foundry worker, a mechanic, etc., which he wrote about in his early stories “The Next One” (1918) and “Seryoga and I” (1921).

Participated in the civil war as a front-line correspondent. Since 1918, he published his works, collaborating with several newspapers as a poet, publicist and critic. In 1920, he changed his last name from Klimentov to Platonov (the pseudonym was formed on behalf of the writer’s father), and also joined the RCP (b), but a year later he left the party of his own free will.

In 1921, his first journalistic book, Electrification, was published, and in 1922, a book of poems, Blue Depth. In 1924, he graduated from the polytechnic and began working as a land reclamation worker and electrical engineer.

In 1926, Platonov was recalled to work in Moscow at the People's Commissariat for Agriculture. He was sent to engineering and administrative work in Tambov. In the same year they wrote “Epiphanian Gateways”, “Ethereal Route”, “City of Grads”, which brought him fame. Platonov moved to Moscow, becoming a professional writer.

Gradually, Platonov’s attitude towards revolutionary changes changes until they are rejected. His prose ( "City of Gradov", "Doubting Makar" etc.) often caused rejection of criticism. In 1929, A.M. received a sharply negative assessment. Gorky and Platonov’s novel “Chevengur” was banned from publication. In 1931, the published work “For Future Use” caused sharp condemnation by A. A. Fadeev and I. V. Stalin. After this, Platonov practically stopped being published. Stories "Pit", "Juvenile Sea", the novel "Chevengur" was released only in the late 1980s and received worldwide recognition.

In 1931-1935, Andrei Platonov worked as an engineer in the People's Commissariat of Heavy Industry, but continued to write (the play "High voltage", story "Juvenile Sea"). In 1934, the writer and a group of colleagues traveled to Turkmenistan. After this trip, the story “Jan”, the story “Takyr”, the article "On the first socialist tragedy" and etc.

In 1936-1941, Platonov appeared in print mainly as a literary critic. Under various pseudonyms, he is published in the magazines “Literary Critic”, “Literary Review”, etc. He is working on a novel "Journey from Moscow to St. Petersburg"(his manuscript was lost at the beginning of the war), writes children's plays "Granny's Hut", "Good Titus", "Step Daughter".

In 1937, his story “The Potudan River” was published. In May of the same year, his 15-year-old son Platon was arrested, having returned from imprisonment in the fall of 1940, terminally ill with tuberculosis, after the troubles of Platonov’s friends. In January 1943 he died.

With the beginning of the Great Patriotic War, the writer and his family were evacuated to Ufa, where a collection of his war stories was published "Under the skies of the Motherland". In 1942, he volunteered to go to the front as a private, but soon became a military journalist, front-line correspondent for Red Star. Despite suffering from tuberculosis, Platonov did not leave the service until 1946. At this time, his war stories appeared in print: "Armor", "Spiritualized People"(1942), "No Death!" (1943), "Aphrodite" (1944), "Towards the Sunset"(1945), etc.

For Platonov’s story “Return” (original title “Ivanov’s Family”), published at the end of 1946, the writer was subjected to new attacks from critics the following year and was accused of slandering the Soviet system. After this, the opportunity to publish his works was closed for Platonov.

At the end of the 1940s, deprived of the opportunity to earn a living by writing, Platonov was engaged in literary adaptation of Russian and Bashkir fairy tales, which were published in children's magazines.

Platonov died on January 5, 1951 in Moscow from tuberculosis, which he contracted while caring for his son.

His book was published in 1954 "The Magic Ring and Other Tales". With Khrushchev's "thaw", his other books began to be published (the main works became known only in the 1980s). However, all of Platonov's publications during the Soviet period were accompanied by significant censorship restrictions.

Some works of Andrei Platonov were discovered only in the 1990s (for example, the novel written in the 30s "Happy Moscow").

Recovery of the dead

I call from the abyss
[ova of the dead

The mother returned to her house. She was a refugee from the Germans, but she could not live anywhere other than her native place, and returned home.
She passed through intermediate fields past German fortifications twice, because the front here was uneven, and she walked along a straight, nearby road. She had no fear and was not afraid of anyone, and her enemies did not harm her. She walked through the fields, sad, bare-haired, with a vague, as if blind, face. And she didn’t care what was in the world now and what was happening in it, and nothing in the world could disturb her or make her happy, because her grief was eternal and her sadness was insatiable - her mother lost all her children dead. She was now so weak and indifferent to the whole world that she walked along the road like a withered blade of grass carried by the wind, and everything she met also remained indifferent to her. And it became even more difficult for her, because she felt that she did not need anyone, and that no one needed her anyway. This is enough to kill a person, but she did not die; she needed to see her home, where she lived her life, and the place where her children died in battle and execution.
On her way she met Germans, but they did not touch this old woman; It was strange for them to see such a sad old woman, they were horrified by the sight of humanity on her face, and they left her unattended to die on her own. In life there is this vague, alienated light on people’s faces, frightening the beast and the hostile person, and no one can destroy such people, and it is impossible to approach them. Beast and man are more willing to fight with their own kind, but he leaves those unlike him aside, fearing to be frightened by them and to be defeated by an unknown force.
Having gone through the war, the old mother returned home. But her homeland was now empty. A small, poor one-family house, plastered with clay, painted yellow, with a brick chimney that looked like a man’s head in thought, had long since burned out from the German fire and left behind embers already overgrown with the grass of the grave. And all the neighboring residential areas, this entire old city also died, and it became light and sad all around, and you could see far away across the silent land. A little time will pass, and the place where people live will be overgrown with free grass, the winds will blow it out, the rain streams will level it, and then there will be no trace of man left, and all the torment of his existence on earth will be no one to understand and inherit as good and teaching for the future, because no one will survive. And the mother sighed from this last thought and from the pain in her heart for her unmemorable dying life. But her heart was kind, and out of love for the dead, she wanted to live for all the dead in order to fulfill their will, which they took with them to the grave.
She sat down in the middle of the cooled fire and began to sort through the ashes of her home with her hands.