A brief retelling of the work 30 grains. Introduction to the fiction of Nosov “Thirty grains

Sculptor, don’t pretend to be humble
And a lump of viscous clay...
T. Gauthier

Fortune crosses our path at last,” said Gennison, closing the door and hanging up his rain-soaked coat. “Well, Jen, the weather is disgusting, but in my heart, the weather is good.” I was a little late because I met Professor Steers. He delivered amazing news.
As he spoke, Gennison walked around the room, absentmindedly looking at the set table and rubbing his chilled hands with the characteristic hungry gesture of a man who is unlucky and who is accustomed to prefer hope to dinner; he was in a hurry to report what Steers had said.
Jen, a young woman with a demanding, nervous expression in her stern eyes, smiled reluctantly.
“Oh, I’m afraid of everything amazing,” she said, starting to eat, but seeing that her husband was excited, she stood up and walked up to him, putting her hand on his shoulder. - Do not be angry. I just want to say that when you bring “amazing” news, we usually have no money the next day.
“This time, it seems, they will,” objected Gennison. - This is just about a visit to the workshop by Steers and three other people who make up the majority of votes on the competition jury. Well, it seems, it’s even likely that they will give me a bonus. Of course, the secrets of this matter are relative; my manner is as easy to recognize as Punk, Staorti, Belgrave and others, so Steers said: “My dear, this is your figure of a “Woman leading a child up a steep path, with a book in her hands”?” Of course, I denied, but he finished without extracting anything from me: “So, speaking conditionally that it’s yours, this statue has every chance. We - note that he said “us”, which means there was a conversation about that - we like her more than others. Keep it a secret. I tell you this because I love you and have high hopes for you. Get things right."
“Of course, it’s not difficult to recognize you,” said Jen, “but, oh, how difficult it is, exhausted, to believe that at the end of the road there will finally be rest.” What else did Steers say?
- I forgot what else he said. I only remember this and walked home in a semi-conscious state. Jen, I saw these three thousand in an unprecedented rainbow landscape. Yes, this will happen, of course. There is a rumor that Punk's work is also good, but mine is better. Geezer has more pattern than anatomy. But why didn’t Steers say anything about Ledan?
- Has Ledan presented his work yet?
- That's right - no, otherwise Steers should have been talking about him. Ledan is never in much of a hurry. However, the other day he told me that he had no right to be late, since six of his children, small or small, were also probably waiting for a bonus. What did you think?
“I thought,” Jen said thoughtfully, “that until we know how Ledan coped with the task, it’s too early for us to talk about celebration.”
- Dear Jen, Ledan is more talented than me, but there are two reasons why he will not receive the prize. First: they don’t like him for his extreme conceit. Secondly, his style is not favor people have positive ones. I know everything. In a word, Steers also said that my “Woman” is the most successful symbol of science leading the baby - Humanity - to the mountain peak of Knowledge.
- Yes... So why didn't he talk about Ledan?
- Who?
- Steers.
- Doesn't like him: he just doesn't like him. There's nothing you can do about it. That's the only way to explain it.
This tense conversation was about a competition announced by the architectural commission building the university in Lisse. Main portal it was decided to decorate the building with a bronze statue, and for the best submitted work the city promised three thousand pounds .
Gennison ate lunch while still talking to Jen about what they would do once they got the money. In Gennison's six months of work for the competition, these conversations have never been as real and vibrant as they are now. Within ten minutes, Jen visited the best stores, bought a lot of things, moved from a room to an apartment, and Gennison, between soup and cutlet, went to Europe, took a break from humiliation and poverty and conceived new jobs, after which fame and security would come.
When the excitement subsided and the conversation took on a less brilliant character, the sculptor looked around wearily. It was still the same cramped room, with cheap furniture, with a shadow of poverty in the corners. We had to wait, wait...
Against his will, Gennison was bothered by a thought that he could not admit even to himself. He looked at his watch - it was almost seven - and stood up.
- Jen, I'll go. You understand - this is not anxiety, not envy - no; I’m absolutely confident in the successful outcome of the matter, but... but I’ll still see if there’s a Ledan model there. I am interested in this unselfishly. It is always good to know everything, especially in important cases.
Jen looked up. The same thought troubled her, but, like Hennison, she hid it and gave it away, hastily saying:
- Of course, my friend. It would be strange if you were not interested in art. Will you be back soon?
“Very soon,” said Gennison, putting on his coat and taking his hat. - So, two weeks, no more, we have to wait. Yes.
“Yes, that’s right,” Jen answered, not very confidently, although with a cheerful smile, and, straightening her husband’s hair that had escaped from under his hat, she added: “Go.” I'll sit down to sew.

II.

The studio dedicated to the competition was located in the building of the School of Painting and Sculptures, and at that hour of the evening there was no one there except the watchman Nurse, who had known Gennison well for a long time. Upon entering, Gennison said:
- Nurse, please open the northern corner, I want to take another look at my work and maybe correct something. Well, how many models have been delivered today?
“In total, it seems, fourteen.” Nurse began to look at the floor. - You know what the story is. Just an hour ago an order was received not to let anyone in, since the jury will meet tomorrow and, you understand, they want everything to be in order.
“Of course, of course,” picked up Gennison, “but, really, my soul is not in the right place and I’m restless until I look at my own things again.” Please understand me as a human being. I won't tell anyone, you won't tell a single soul either, so this matter will pass harmlessly. And... here she is, show her a seat at the Grill Room cash register.
He pulled out a gold coin - the last one - all he had - and placed it in Nourse's hesitant palm, squeezing the watchman's fingers with a hot hand.
“Well, yes,” said Nurse, “I understand all this very well... Unless, of course... What to do - let’s go.”
Nourse led Gennison to the prison of hopes, opened the door, the electricity, and stood on the threshold, skeptically looking around the cold, high room, where on the elevations covered with green cloth could be seen motionless creatures made of wax and clay, full of that strange, transformed vitality that distinguishes sculpture. Two people looked at it differently. Nurse saw the dolls while pain and turmoil returned to life in Gennison. He noticed his model in a series of alien, honed tensions and began to look for Ledan with his eyes. Nurse left.
Gennison walked a few steps and stopped in front of a small white statue, no more than three feet high. feet. The model of Ledan, whom he immediately recognized by the wonderful lightness and simplicity of his lines, carved from marble, stood between Punk and the pitiful reflection of the honest, hardworking Preuss, who gave a stupid Juno with a shield and coat of arms of the city. Ledan also did not amaze with his invention. Just a pensive figure of a young woman in a carelessly falling blanket, bending slightly, drawing a geometric figure on the sand with the end of a branch. The knitted eyebrows on the correct, femininely strong face reflected cold, unshakable confidence, and the impatiently outstretched toe of a slender foot seemed to beat the beat
some kind of mental calculation that she makes.
Gennison retreated with a feeling of collapse and delight. "A! - he said, finally having the courage to become only an artist. - Yes, this is art. It's like catching a ray. How he lives. How he breathes and thinks.”
Then - slowly, with the gloomy animation of a wounded man looking at his wound at the same time with the eyes of a doctor and a patient, he approached that “Woman with a Book”, which he had created himself, entrusting to her all the hopes of deliverance. He saw some tension in her posture. He peered into naive shortcomings, into poorly hidden efforts, with which he wanted to compensate for the lack of an accurate artistic vision. She was relatively good, but significantly bad next to Ledan...
With anguish and anguish, in the light of the highest justice, which he never betrayed, he recognized the indisputable right of Ledan to make from marble, without expecting a favorable nod from Steers...
In a few minutes, Gennison lived a second life, after which the conclusion and decision could take only one form, characteristic of him. He took the fireplace tongs and with three strong blows turned his model into clay - without tears, without wild laughter, without hysteria - as intelligently and simply as one destroys a failed letter.
“I inflicted these blows on myself,” he said to Nurse, who had come running at the noise, since I only broke my own product. You'll have to do some sweeping here.
- How?! - Nurse shouted, “this one... and this is yours... Well, I’ll tell you that I liked her the most.” What will you do now?
- What? - repeated Gennison. - The same, but only better, - to justify your flattering opinion of me. Without tongs there was little hope for this. In any case, the ridiculous, bearded, burdened with babies and talent, Ledan can be calm, since the jury has no other choice.

Evgeniy Nosov THIRTY GRAINS
Story

At night, snow fell on the wet trees, bent the branches with a loose, damp weight, and then it was grabbed by frost, and the snow now held tightly to the branches, like candied cotton wool.
A titmouse flew in and tried to pick at the frost. But the snow was hard, and she looked around worriedly, as if asking: “What should we do now?”
I opened the window, placed a ruler on both crossbars of the double frames, secured it with buttons and placed hemp grains every two centimeters. The first grain ended up in the garden, and grain number thirty ended up in my room.
The titmouse saw everything, but for a long time did not dare to fly to the window. Finally she grabbed the first hemp and carried it to a branch.
Quickly pecking at the hard shell, she pulled out the core and ate it.
Everything went well. Then the titmouse, seizing the moment, picked up grain number two...
I sat at the table, worked and from time to time glanced at the tit.
And she, still timid and anxiously looking into the depths of the window, centimeter by centimeter approached along the ruler on which her fate was measured.
- Can I peck another grain?
And the titmouse, frightened by the noise of its own wings, flew away with another piece of hemp onto a tree.
- Well, one more thing please, okay?
But now the last grain remains. It lay at the very tip of the ruler. The grain seemed so far away, and it was so scary to follow it!
The titmouse, freezing in fear and alerting its wings, crept to the very end of the line and ended up in my room.
With fearful curiosity she peered into the unknown world. She was especially struck by the fresh green flowers and the very summer warmth that so pleasantly fanned her chilled paws.

Do you live here?
- Yes.
- Why is there no snow here?
Instead of answering, I turned on the switch. The matte globe of the lampshade flashed brightly under the ceiling.
- Sun! - the titmouse was amazed. - What is this?
- These are all books.
- What are “books”?
- They taught how to light this sun, grow these flowers and those trees on which you jump, and much more. They also taught you how to sprinkle hemp seeds on you.
- This is very good. And you're not scary at all. Who are you?
- I am human.
It was difficult to explain, so I said:
- Do you see the thread? She is tied to the window...
The titmouse looked around in fear.
- Don't be afraid. I won't do this. This is what we call Human.
-Can I eat this last grain?
- Yes, sure! I want you to fly to me every day. You will visit me, and I will work. Agree?
- Agree. What does “work” mean?
- You see, this is the responsibility of every person. It's impossible without her. All people must do something. This is how they help each other.
- How do you help people?
- I want to write a book. Such a book that everyone who reads it would put thirty hemp grains on his window...
But it seems that the titmouse is no longer listening to me. Having clasped the seed with her paws, she trustingly pecks it at the tip of the ruler.

Do you know...

Russian Federation - participant Geneva Conventions 1949 . You need to know what principles and rules are recorded in these documents, since you are a citizen of Russia.

The Red Cross has always put forward<...>two demands merged into a single principle: he always saw in a suffering person only a person, and not a vanquished or a winner, and never tried to find and condemn the guilty.
This principle forms the basis of two Conventions, the right to sign which is granted to all countries of the world. Of course, the text of the Conventions is not something final and unchangeable: time will undoubtedly make its own adjustments to them, and these changes and additions will be more significant the more terrible the threat of violence hanging over the world becomes, which these documents are designed to counter. The spirit of humanity and compassion must prevail over the violence generated by international conflicts, and over the intolerance inherent in civil wars, and over the naked cruelty that occurs even in times of peace.
The texts of both Conventions reflect the same principle of humanity, the symbol of which is the Red Cross. It is from this principle that these Conventions were born. And if the Red Cross, which is entrusted to preserve this principle as a hearth and maintain its living warmth, ever disappears, who can guarantee that the principle itself, the spirit of humanity itself will not be consigned to oblivion?
...But no matter how great the significance of certain documents, only people can implement the principles proclaimed in them.
During my years of work with the International Committee of the Red Cross, I visited war zones many times, and often felt as if I was participating in some kind of battle.
I had to fight those who violated, ignored the Conventions, who forgot about their existence. I had to fight for strict compliance with the provisions of these Conventions, for the expansion of their scope. And in those cases where the text of the documents turned out to be imperfect, I had to fight to respect the spirit of the Conventions.
Whoever undertakes this mission cannot in any way be spared the risks associated with combat. At the same time, he must remain blind and deaf to the motives that guide the opposing sides.
In battle, only two sides always oppose each other. But next to them - and sometimes in front of them - a third fighter appears: a warrior without a weapon.
He fights for everything that is destroyed and destroyed in battles between people. He raises his voice in all situations in which a person somehow finds himself in the hands of the enemy. He strives for one single goal - to prevent the winner - whoever he is - from dealing with an unarmed victim.
Raise your voice in defense of the victims... How often this only meant an opportunity to remind those in power of the existence of victims, often located far from them, to make them feel the full reality of the suffering of these people.
... I am writing these lines sitting in a room in which all the wars and tragedies that have befallen humanity in recent years have found their echo. I still feel their presence. It seems that all the heartbreaking groans that were heard then and that are heard now have merged together.
In the darkness of the office, those wounded bodies, all those faces distorted by suffering that I have seen over the past 11 years, appear before my eyes.
... There are millions of those who cry for help. And they turn to you.

E. Nosov “Thirty grains”

At night, snow fell on the wet trees, bent the branches with its loose, damp weight, and then it was grabbed by frost, and the snow now held tightly to the branches, like candied cotton wool.

A titmouse flew in and tried to pick at the frost. But the snow was hard, and she looked around worriedly, as if asking: “What should we do now?”

I opened the window, put a ruler on both crossbars of the double frames, secured it with buttons and placed hemp grains every centimeter. The first grain ended up in the garden, and grain number thirty ended up in my room.

The titmouse saw everything, but for a long time did not dare to fly to the window. Finally she grabbed the first hemp and carried it to a branch. Having pecked the hard shell, she plucked out the core.

Everything went well. Then the titmouse, seizing the moment, picked up grain number two...

I sat at the table, worked and from time to time glanced at the titmouse. And she, still timid and anxiously looking into the depths of the window, centimeter by centimeter approached along the ruler on which her fate was measured.

- Can I peck another grain? The only one?

And the titmouse, frightened by the noise of its own wings, flew away with the hemp into the tree.

- Well, one more thing please. OK?

Finally the last grain remained. It lay at the very tip of the ruler. The grain seemed so far away, and it was so scary to follow it!

The titmouse, crouching and pricking its wings, crept to the very end of the line and ended up in my room. With fearful curiosity she peered into the unknown world. She was especially struck by the fresh green flowers and the very summer warmth that enveloped her chilled paws.

- Do you live here?

- Why is there no snow here?

Instead of answering, I turned on the switch. An electric light flashed brightly under the ceiling.

-Where did you get a piece of the sun? And what's that?

- This? Books.

- What are books?

“They taught how to light this sun, plant these flowers and those trees on which you jump, and much more. And they also taught you how to sprinkle hemp seeds on you.

- This is very good. And you're not scary at all. Who are you?

- I am human.

- What is a Man?

It was very difficult to explain this to the stupid little titmouse.

- Do you see the thread? She is tied to the window...

The titmouse looked around in fear.

- Don't be afraid. I won't do this. This is what we call Human.

-Can I eat this last grain?

- Yes, sure! I want you to fly to me every day. You will visit me, and I will work. This helps a Person to work well. Agree?

- Agree. What does it mean to work?

- You see, this is the responsibility of every person. It's impossible without her. All people must do something. This is how they help each other.

- How do you help people?

— I want to write a book. Such a book that everyone who reads it would put thirty hemp grains on his window...

But it seems that the titmouse is not listening to me at all. Having clasped the seed with her paws, she slowly pecks it at the tip of the ruler.

At night, snow fell on the wet trees, bent the branches with its loose, damp weight, and then it was grabbed by frost, and the snow now held tightly to the branches, like candied cotton wool.

A titmouse flew in and tried to pick at the frost. But the snow was hard, and she looked around worriedly, as if asking: “What should we do now?”

I opened the window, placed a ruler on both crossbars of the double frames, secured it with buttons and placed hemp seeds every centimeter. The first grain ended up in the garden, and grain number thirty ended up in my room.

The titmouse saw everything, but for a long time did not dare to fly to the window. Finally she grabbed the first hemp and carried it to a branch. Having pecked at the hard shell, she plucked out the core.

Everything went well. Then the titmouse, seizing the moment, picked up grain number two...

- Can I peck another grain? The only one?

And the titmouse, frightened by the noise of its own wings, flew away with the hemp into the tree.

- Well, one more thing please. OK?

Finally the last grain remained. It lay on the right end of the ruler. The grain seemed so far away, and it was so scary to follow it!

- Do you live here?

- Why is there no snow here?

Instead of answering, I turned on the switch. An electric light flashed brightly under the ceiling.

-Where did you get a piece of the sun? And what's that?

- This? Books.

- What are books?

“They taught how to light this sun, plant these flowers and those trees on which you jump, and much more. And they also taught you how to sprinkle hemp seeds on you.

- This is very good. And you're not scary at all. Who are you?

- I am human.

- What is a Man?

It was very difficult to explain this to the stupid little titmouse.

- Do you see the thread? She is tied to the window...

The titmouse looked around in fear.

- Don't be afraid. I won't do this. This is what we call Human.

-Can I eat this last grain?

- Yes, sure! I want you to fly to me every day. You will visit me, and I will work. This helps a Person to work well. Agree?

- Agree. What does it mean to work?

- You see, this is the responsibility of every person. It's impossible without her. All people must do something. This is how they help each other.

- How do you help people?

— I want to write a book. Such a book that everyone who reads it would put thirty hemp grains on his window...

But it seems that the titmouse is not listening to me at all. Having clasped the seed with her paws, she slowly pecks it at the tip of the ruler.

E. Nosov

At night, snow fell on the wet trees, bent the branches with its loose, damp weight, and then it was grabbed by frost, and the snow now held tightly to the branches, like candied cotton wool.

A titmouse flew in and tried to pick at the frost. But the snow was hard, and she looked around worriedly, as if asking: “What should we do now?”

Everything went well. Then the titmouse, seizing the moment, picked up grain number two...

Can I peck another grain? The only one?

And the titmouse, frightened by the noise of its own wings, flew away with the hemp into the tree.

Well, one more thing please. OK?

Finally the last grain remained. It lay at the very tip of the ruler. The grain seemed so far away, and it was so scary to follow it!

Do you live here?

Why is there no snow here?

Instead of answering, I turned on the switch. An electric light flashed brightly under the ceiling.

Where did you get a piece of sun? And what's that?

This? Books.

What are books?

They taught how to light this sun, plant these flowers and those trees on which you jump, and much more. And they also taught you how to sprinkle hemp seeds on you.

This is very good. And you're not scary at all. Who are you?

I am human.

What is Human?

It was very difficult to explain this to the stupid little titmouse.

Do you see the thread? She is tied to the window...

The titmouse looked around in fear.

Don't be afraid. I won't do this. This is what we call Human.

Can I eat this last grain?

Yes, sure! I want you to fly to me every day. You will visit me, and I will work. This helps a Person to work well. Agree?

Agree. What does it mean to work?

You see, this is the responsibility of every person. It's impossible without her. All people must do something. This is how they help each other.

How do you help people?

I want to write a book. Such a book that everyone who reads it would put thirty hemp grains on his window...

But it seems that the titmouse is not listening to me at all. Having clasped the seed with her paws, she slowly pecks it at the tip of the ruler.