Stories for primary schoolchildren. Mote

Vladislav Petrovich Krapivin- Soviet and Russian children's writer, author of books about children and for children, including fiction. Vladislav Petrovich Krapivin was born on October 14, 1938 on the banks of the river. Tours in Tyumen in the family of teachers Pyotr Fedorovich and Olga Petrovna Krapivin. Graduated from the Faculty of Journalism of the Ural State University. While still studying, he was hired by the newspaper “Evening Sverdlovsk” and worked for several years in the magazine “Ural Pathfinder”.

In 1961, Vladislav Krapivin created the children's detachment "Caravella" (in 1965, the magazine "Pioneer" took over the patronage of the detachment). The squad's profile is journalism, maritime affairs, fencing. The detachment exists to this day; previously it had the status of a pioneer squad, a press center and a sailing flotilla of the Pioneer magazine. Vladislav Petrovich led the detachment for more than thirty years; currently, young graduates of the detachment are at the head of “Caravelle”.

Since 1965 has been engaged in creative work for years. The first book, “Orion Flight,” was published in 1962 by the Sverdlovsk publishing house.

In 1964 Krapivin was accepted as a member of the USSR SP.

In 1979 A 2-part film was made based on the book “The Side Where the Wind Is”

In 1982 Based on the story “Lullaby for a Brother,” a film of the same name was made at the Gorky Central Children’s and Youth Philosophy, which was awarded several awards in 1982–1984.

Since 2007 Vladislav Krapivin lives in the city of Tyumen. Vladislav Petrovich was elected professor at Tyumen State University and runs a school of literary excellence at the university.

In 2008 year, based on the story “Three from Carronade Square” (1979), a four-part television miniseries was filmed, which is currently the best film adaptation of Krapivin’s work in the opinion of the author himself.

In 2010 In 2009, the film “The Legend of Dvid Island” was released based on the work “Children of the Blue Flamingo”. However, Vladislav Petrovich himself was skeptical about the film, criticizing several key points.

He is also the author of the script for the first full-length film shot in the city of Tyumen, “The Flight of the Horned Vikings” (dir. Ilya Belostotsky). At the moment, the film materials have been completely filmed, editing and dubbing are underway. The film was planned to be released in 2011, and with release on big screens. However, a number of difficulties force us to postpone the official release indefinitely. In January, a demonstration of the footage took place in the Governor's Hall of the Tyumen State University library with the presence of television and the press.

Over his long creative career, more than 200 editions of Krapivin’s books were published in different languages ​​of the world; A song was also written based on his words to be sung by the choir.

The opening of a museum-exhibition in honor of Vladislav Krapivin, operating on a permanent basis, is scheduled for June 15, 2011 in Tyumen. The exhibition and subject range will consist of things from the life and work of the writer. The museum will be located in the Literary and Local History Center on Pervomaiskaya Street.

Family:

Since 1964 he has been married to Irina Vasilievna Krapivina. The eldest son Pavel and grandchildren Daria and Peter live in Yekaterinburg. The youngest son Alexey is in St. Petersburg.

Vladislav Krapivin

Stories

SCARLET FEATHERS OF ARROW ALPHA URSA MAJOR FLIGHT OF THE HORNED VIKINGS EIGHTH STAR NAILS DISTANT BURGERS STARS IN THE RAIN CAPTAINS DON'T LOOK BACK CAMPFIRE RED JIVER MINE PLAY INSTRUCTION ON THE FIREWALL PRESENT GHOST ISLAND STICKS FOR VASKA'S DRUM FIRST STEP LETTER FROM THE NORTHERN QUEEN TABLET WHY IS THIS NAME? TRAVELERS DO NOT PAY FLIGHT OF "ORION" RISK MITTENS THE YOUNGEST BURGER'S SIGNAL SNOW OBSERVATORY COUNTRY OF THE BLUE SEAGULL SNUFFBOX FROM PORT JACKSON BAY THREE WITH A DRUM NAVIGATION KONOPLEV I'M GOING TO MEET MY BROTHER

Vladislav Krapivin

WHY THIS NAME?

Stories. 1960 - 1963

WHY THIS NAME?

Tonic, Timka and Rimma were returning from the last children's film show at the shipbuilders club.

It’s a long way to the bridge,” Timka said. - Let's go ashore. Maybe someone will transport it.

“He’ll get in if they find out at home,” Tonic doubted.

Rimma pursed her lips contemptuously:

I won't get it.

He’s always afraid: “You can’t, they don’t allow it...” Petka is never afraid either,” Timka grumbled. - Will you go?

The tonic is gone. If little Petka, Tonic’s neighbor, is not afraid, then nothing can be done.

Avoiding stacks of wet wood and overturned boats, they made their way to the water. It was the beginning of summer, the river overflowed and in some places came close to houses and washed away fences. Brown with eroded sand and clay, it carried logs and scraps of rafts.

A motorboat was moving in the middle of the river.

We’re lucky,” Timka said. - Mukhin is on his way. I know him.

Which Mukhin? DOSAAF instructor? - Rimka asked.

Yeah. His brother studies in our class.

They called Mukhin in chorus several times before he waved his cap and turned towards the shore.

How's life, redheads? - Mukhin greeted the guys. - To the other side?

Only Rimka was red.

Are you handsome yourself? - she asked sarcastically.

But of course! Go.

Zhenya, let me steer a little,” Timka began to ask. - Well, give it, Zhen!

“Don’t put us on logs,” Mukhin warned.

Timka smiled and squeezed the steering wheel in his hands. All was good. A few minutes later, Timka turned the boat against the current and led it along the rafts that stretched from the right bank.

Get to the wave! - Mukhin suddenly shouted.

Throwing back steep ridges, a tug boat passed by. Timka was confused. He jerked the steering wheel, but in the wrong direction. The boat hit the raft with its bow. Tonic didn’t have time to figure anything out. He sat in front and immediately flew out onto the raft. The speed was great, and Tonic drove across the raft, as if on a huge xylophone, counting each log with his elbows and knees.

Mukhin cursed Timka, took the steering wheel and shouted to Tonic:

Did you knock, boy? Well, sit down!

Okay, we’ll get there from here,” Rimka said and jumped onto the raft. Timka silently crawled out behind her.

Tonic sat on the logs and sobbed. The pain was such that he couldn’t even hold back his tears.

“You’ve lost your mind, little boy,” Timka suddenly got angry. - Just think, I scratched my elbow.

You should do so,” Rimka interceded. - Helmsman "Hay-straw"...

And he’s worse than a girl... So-o-nechka,” Timka sang disgustingly.

Now Tonic sobbed with insult. Somehow he got up and looked straight at Timka. When Timka started teasing, he became disgusted: his eyes became small, his white eyebrows crawled onto his forehead, his lips protruded... He would have cracked him.

Tonic turned, limping, crossed to the shore, and began to climb the cliff along a path, barely noticeable among the hemp and weeds.

In the alley, at the water pump, he washed his face, and at home he quickly pulled on trousers and a long-sleeved shirt to hide the abrasions. And yet my mother immediately asked:

What happened, Tonic?

“Nothing,” he muttered.

“I know,” said dad, without looking up from the newspaper. - He got into a fight with Timofey.

Mom shook her head:

It can’t be, Tim is almost two years older. However... she sighed briefly, - a boy is growing up without a mother. Almost no supervision...

Tonic parted the ficus leaves, sat on the windowsill and dangled his legs onto the street. His throat felt sore again.

Timka never fights.

Dad put the newspaper aside and reached into his pocket for a cigarette.

So what happened?

But then... They came up with such a name that you won’t show yourself on the street. So-oh-nechka. Like a girl.

Good name. An-ton.

What good?

What's wrong? - Dad put down his unlit cigarette and said thoughtfully: - This name was not so simply invented. There's a whole story here, my friend.

“It’s not easier for me,” Tonic said, but still turned around and looked furtively through the leaves: was dad going to tell?

This is the story.

Then dad was studying at the institute, and his name was not Sergei Vasilyevich, but Sergei, Seryozha, and even Seryozha. After his second year, he and his comrades went to the Krasnoyarsk Territory to harvest grain in the virgin lands.

Dad, that is, Sergei, lived with ten comrades in an adobe hut, which stood alone and white on a gentle slope. Two thatched sheds were built next to the mud hut. All this was called: “Field camp Kara-Suk”.

There was nothing else around. Only steppe and mountains. In the morning, gray shaggy clouds lay on the mountains, and in the steppe, among the thorny grass, stone idols hot from the sun and strange blue daisies stood. Among the yellow fields, the squares of the Khakass mounds were brightly green. Kites circled in the bright sky. Their spread out shadows slid along the mountain slopes.

At night the stars burned brightly.

But one day, from behind a mountain that looked like a two-humped camel, a damp wind flew in, and the stars disappeared behind dull low clouds.

That night Sergei was returning from a neighboring camp. He went there on behalf of the foreman and could have spent the night there, but he didn’t. In the morning the first trucks with grain were supposed to arrive, and Sergei did not want to be late for the start of work.

He walked straight across the steppe. Until it got completely dark, Sergei saw the familiar outlines of the mountains and was not afraid to lose his way. But dusk deepened, and the horizon melted. And soon nothing became visible at all, not even his outstretched hand. And there were no stars. Only a barely noticeable tailed comet hung low above the ground in a small gap in the clouds. But Sergei saw the comet for the first time and could not find out its direction.

Then the comet disappeared. The dull dark night fell like heavy black cotton wool. The wind, which flew from the northwest, could not overcome this dense darkness, weakened and went to sleep in the dry grass.

Sergei walked and thought that getting lost at night in the steppe was a hundred times worse than in the forest. In the forest, even by touch you can find moss on a trunk or stumble upon an anthill and find out where north and south are. And here it is dark and empty. And silence. You can only hear the heads of some flowers clicking on the tops of your boots.

Sergei climbed a low hill and wanted to go further, but suddenly he saw a small light on the side. It burned motionless, as if a window was shining somewhere far away. Sergei turned towards the light. He thought that he would have to walk a lot more, but after a hundred meters he came to a low adobe hut. The light was not the light of a distant window, but the flame of a kerosene lamp. She stood on the flat roof of the mud hut, casting yellow diffused light around.

The door was locked. Sergei knocked on the window and a few seconds later heard the patter of bare feet. The hook clanged and the old hinges creaked. A boy of about ten or eleven, wearing a large, knee-length padded jacket, looked up at Sergei.

Lost?

“I need to go to the Kara-Suk field camp,” said Sergei.

At the Prince's Kurgan? It's to the right, about three kilometers from here. Are you not from here?

If I were here, would I get lost? - Sergei remarked irritably.

It happens... - The boy shifted from foot to foot and suddenly asked:

Do you want to eat?

The boy disappeared behind the creaking door and immediately returned with a large piece of bread and a mug of milk.

It’s completely dark there,” he explained, nodding towards the door. - It's better to eat here.

Are you alone here?

No... I'm with my grandfather. We have a flock here. State farm sheep.

So, shepherds?

My grandfather is a shepherd, and so... I came to him for the summer. From Abakan.

Sergei sat down in the grass, leaned his back against the wall of the hut and began to eat. The boy sat down next to him.

Jack, come here! - he shouted quietly and whistled. From somewhere out of the darkness a large shaggy dog ​​appeared. He sniffed Sergei's boots, lay down and began to hit the ground with his tail.

Why is your roof light on? - Sergei asked, chewing bread.

Yes, just in case. What if someone gets lost... But there is not a light in the steppe.

“Thank you,” said Sergei, holding out the mug.

Maybe you want more?

No need...

Sergei did not explain that he said thank you not for the food, but for the light that saved him from wandering at night.

The boy called Sergei into the mud hut, but he did not go. The night was warm, and I didn’t want to sleep. The boy took the mug and returned.

They sat in silence for a long time. The lamp cast a ring of diffused light around the mud hut, but the boy and Sergei remained in the shadows, under the wall.

Do you light your beacon every night? - asked Sergei.

Every... Only my grandfather is angry that I burn kerosene in vain. I now began to get up early and early in order to have time to pay it off. Grandfather will wake up, and the lamp is already on the bench...

The boy laughed quietly, and Sergei smiled too.

Angry grandfather?

No, he’s good... He fought with the White Guards, he was a horseman. He has the Order of the Red Banner.

Why does he regret kerosene?

The boy did not hear, and silence fell again.

Isn't it boring here? - Sergei asked to break the silence.

Sometimes it gets boring. This is if it rains. And it’s so interesting, there are mountains and beams. The streams in the ravines are clean and clear. And the rose hips are blooming... The boy hesitantly turned to Sergei, but did not see his face. - And in the evening everything is done quietly. And there is no one around. You go down into the valley and think: what if there is something amazing there... You look, there is nothing. Only a month above the mountain. Funny?

No,” said Sergei, and thought that at night for some reason people reveal their secrets much easier.

Sergei suddenly dozed off. When he woke up, he saw that the night had brightened. The outlines of the mountains appeared again, and the blue dawn began.

The boy was sleeping, wrapped in a padded jacket. He immediately woke up as soon as Sergei rose to his feet.

“Hey, grandson,” an old man’s voice suddenly came from the mud hut, did he blow out the lamp? Otherwise I get up early today.

The boy jumped up. Sergei laughed cheerfully and extended his hand to him.

I have to go... Thanks for the light, comrade.

The boy shyly extended his small palm and glanced sideways at the lamp. It still burned with a motionless yellow fire.

What is your name? - asked Sergei.

Well, be healthy...

Sergei arrived at his camp when the first rays were already breaking through between the clouds and the rocky ridge. At the same time, a Khakass postman rode up on a shaggy horse.

There is a telegram! - he shouted. -Who is Comrade Kalunov?

Kalinov,” said Sergei, and turned pale. - It's me.

He tore up the telegram and read it the first time quickly and anxiously, the second time slowly and with a smile. The telegram said that Sergei's wife gave birth to a son. She asked what name to give him.

Give me the horse! - Sergei shouted. - Please give it. I'll go to the telegraph office!

What you! - exclaimed the postman. - I can not. Write the answer.

And Sergei hastily began to write: “Congratulations on my son Anton, dear...”

This is how another Anton came into the world.

All. End.

Tonic, without turning around, shrugged his shoulders and said:

Well... I thought something interesting.

What can you do... - said dad.

Tonic was silent. He bowed his head to the sun-warmed doorframe and closed his eyes tightly. He wanted to imagine what darkness it was like in the steppe when the August night fell.

And Tonic suddenly felt offended that he never had to light a light that would help someone.

When it got dark, he stealthily took his flashlight and went outside. In the alley, a light bulb was burning on a pole and the windows were shining. A whole thousand lights shimmered across the river. Red and green lights burned at the piers where tugboats, boats and self-propelled guns were parked. A distant plane flew three colored signal lights over the city... Each had its own light, and no one, apparently, needed the boy’s flashlight.

And suddenly all the lights immediately disappeared, because Tonic’s eyes were covered by someone’s small warm palms. Tonic shook his head and turned around angrily. Rimka and little Petka stood nearby, and Rimka had a small bundle in her hands.

“We’ll bake potatoes,” said Petka. Tonic pushed a piece of brick off the cliff with his foot and listened to how it rustled in the weeds as it fell.

“Well, bake,” answered Tonic.

“Anton is a poor man,” Rimka sighed. - You really messed up then, didn’t you?

You should do so,” said Tonic.

Rimka shook her bundle.

We will bake potatoes over the fire. Let's make a fire from dry grass.

From the grass! There are chips on the shore...

Will they let you go? - asked Rimka.

Am I little or something...

They had already begun to go down the path when Tonic finally decided to ask:

Why didn't he go?

Timka? “He’s not at home,” Petka explained.

“We passed by,” said Rimka, “but it was dark in his window.” Maybe he's already asleep.

“So what if it’s dark,” Tonic muttered. He thought that Timka was probably lying on the bed and looking out the blue window at the distant lights across the river. It’s still bad if you quarrel, and even in vain.

Maybe he’s at home,” Rimka sighed. - You haven’t made up, have you?

To put up again... - said Tonic. He stopped, thought for a moment and climbed up.

Soon all three were at Timka’s house.

“Knock on the window,” Tonic ordered Petka.

Well, yes,” said Petka. - Climb yourself. There are nettles in the front garden.

Then Tonic pulled a flashlight from his pocket. He turned it on and turned the glass so that the light fell in a narrow beam. Tonic directed the beam into the window and began to press the button: three flashes and a break, three flashes and a break...

The light falls in a yellow circle on the curtain behind the glass and gilds the geranium leaves on the windowsill.

And finally, Timka’s window flashed brightly in response.

ICEBERGS FLOAT NEARBY

Tonic found out that someone had come to them in the corridor. A red dog's coat covered in beads of melted snow hung on a hanger, a tarpaulin bale lay on the floor and a large shabby suitcase stood.

Tonic always welcomed guests. But today neither the guest nor even the thought that tomorrow was Sunday improved Tonic’s mood. Therefore, he indifferently greeted a tall, bald man in a gray sweater and did not even ask anyone who this man was or why he had come.

Did you bring any bad marks? - Dad asked when Tonic reluctantly sat down at the table and began scratching the oilcloth with a fork.

The grades are good... - Tonic sighed and put down his fork.

What's bad? - Mom immediately became alarmed. - Anton, answer this very minute!

Yes, you see... an airplane. Paper. I accidentally let him out during class. And she immediately wrote it down in her diary.

Who is she? Ah, Galina Viktorovna! “Yes,” my mother said in a wooden voice. - Come on, show me the diary.

Tonic slowly climbed down from his chair. He knew there was no point in making excuses.

And it was like this. While the entire third "B" was dying of boredom, listening to Lilka Basova explaining a trivial problem at the blackboard, Tonic was making a small airplane from a piece of notebook paper.

Pieces of paper fell onto the notebook cover. “Like ice floes in blue water, if you look at them from an airplane,” Tonic thought. He didn’t have to fly or look at the ice floes from above, but that didn’t matter.

On one of the scraps he put several ink dots: there were people on the ice floe. They were in distress. From the northwest and east, huge icebergs, dazzlingly sparkling with bluish ice, moved onto the ice floe. Tonic made them from the largest scraps of paper. He had recently read about icebergs and knew that it was dangerous to joke with them. Now they will converge, flatten the ice floe, and people will die in the icy water. Only a plane can save them. Hurry!

But the pilot did not calculate the engine strength. The plane hit the inkwell with its paper wing, flew up and fell in the aisle between the desks...

“Yes,” said dad, after reading the teacher’s note. And the mother turned to the guest:

Good, huh? The trouble is with him. - Then she turned to her son. Ask German Ivanovich if he used airplanes during his lessons.

Tonic glanced at the newcomer from under his brows, but he hid his face behind a large mug and hurriedly swallowed hot tea. “Fact, he did,” Tonic decided, but remained silent.

We’ll talk to you later, Mom warned, but it was clear that the storm had passed.

In the next room, someone began to scratch the door. German Ivanovich stood up and let in a large gray puppy. One of the puppy's ears was half hanging, the other was sharp, like an arrow.

Leopard woke up. Meet me.

Tonic smacked his lips quietly. The puppy ran up, grabbed Tonic by the leg and shook his head cheerfully. He probably decided that this was the way to get acquainted.

What breed is he? - Tonic asked. - Laika? Have you come from the North? I guessed right away. Have you... seen icebergs?

German Ivanovich looked seriously at Tonic.

No, I didn’t see any icebergs,” he answered. “I really wanted to see it, but I haven’t had the chance until now.”

In the evening, Tonic, Timka and Petka, Tonic’s flatmate, were sitting in the front garden in front of Timka’s window. Tonic talked about German Ivanovich.

Such a cheerful one. He and his dad studied at the same institute. Game biologist. Now he is returning from an expedition to Moscow and decided to visit us.

“So, it’s probably polar night in the North,” Petka said with envy.

No, he says that there is sunshine. It's just low priced. Red and big. When you fly, the sun is lower than the plane.

Did he come by plane?

Timka looked at Petka with regret:

What do they teach you in first grade? Steamboats do not sail on ice.

Petka realized that he had blurted out something stupid and, out of frustration, began knocking small icicles off the branches.

“You’re lucky, Anton,” Timka suddenly remembered. - If it weren’t for this friend of yours, it would have flown into your plane.

Too... Write about every trifle in the diary,” said Tonic.

Certainly. Here Lyonka Korablev released a live sparrow in class, but nothing happened. They just kicked me out of class.

Sparrow? - asked Petka.

Well, and Lyonka, of course. But they didn’t write in the diary.

Good for you, fifth graders,” Tonic sighed.

Yeah... Only Lyonka had to take a coat from the locker room and walk the streets for half an hour so that the head teacher wouldn’t catch him in the corridor. Do you know how cold it was!

Just think, it's freezing! German Ivanovich recently spent the night right in the snow. In the taiga. He also has a sleeping bag, a huge one. The top is canvas and the inside is fur.

Petka left the icicles alone and moved closer. Timka's eyes sparkled.

Real?

Tonic remained silent contemptuously.

I'd like to sleep in it, huh?

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” Tonic lied, wondering how such a thought had not occurred to him before. Have a real sleeping bag nearby and don’t spend the night in it!

Timka continued dreamily:

The two of us could climb into it. It's like spending the night on an ice floe... They won't allow it?

Where exactly! - Tonic waved his mitten sadly. - Yes, there’s also this stupid diary...

Timka wrinkled his forehead so that his eyebrows crawled under his cap.

Do we have heads?

So, we need to think.

At nine o'clock Timka came to Tonic. He said that his father works the second shift, his sister Zinaida spends the night with her friend, and he finds it somehow boring to sleep alone in an empty apartment.

Where will you be placed? - Mom thought. - German Ivanovich will sleep on the sofa. You won't fit on the folding bed together with Tonic. Maybe on the floor?

Do you know,” Tonic scratched the back of his head with a serious look, “if you do this: Timka goes to the folding bed, and for me, ask German Ivanovich for this... what’s his name... sleeping bag?

More news! - Mom exclaimed.

“Don’t be afraid, Zoya Petrovna,” said German Ivanovich and winked at Tonic. - There are no fleas in the bag.

Mom pretended that she didn’t think about fleas at all and went to get sheets to put them inside the bag.

The guys were placed in a small room, the door of which went directly onto the stairs.

“It’s time,” Timka whispered, as soon as the lights were turned off and there was silence in the apartment. - Come on, move over.

The abandoned cot creaked sadly, and Timka screwed himself into the sleeping bag with a corkscrew.

Throw out the sheets,” he said. - They don’t sleep in the snow with sheets.

They threw away the sheets and listened to the silence for a few minutes. Suddenly, the cautious pitter-patter of bare feet was heard in the corridor. Someone said in a whistling whisper through the keyhole:

Tonic, open up, will you?

Petka. What does he want?

Tonic slid to the door and opened it, trying not to creak. In the semi-darkness he saw two small figures wrapped in blankets.

What do you want?

“In the bag,” said Petka.

Cudgel! March home! - Timka whispered from the bag.

Let's not get in! Why else would Klyaks be needed?

Doesn't lag behind, roars.

Heavy footsteps were heard in the next room. Timka flew out of the bag onto the cot like lightning.

Get out, devils,” Tonic exhaled and slammed the door. He and Petka grabbed the Blob and pushed him into the bag. Petka also hid in the bag. Tonic remained standing in the middle of the room.

German Ivanovich carefully opened the door.

Guys, let Leopard spend the night with you. Can?

“You can,” said Tonic. - Have you already gone to bed? And here I am... also... lying down.

Now the bag was very crowded.

Was your name? - Timka whispered. - Blob is drilling into my spine with his knee. Well, lie still!

Blob tried to whine.

Shut up,” Petka said so sternly that Klyaksa immediately fell silent.

Well, we’ll get it in the morning,” Tonic sighed.

We'll leave early. “They won’t notice,” Petka reassured.

They were silent for three minutes. The Blob began to snore peacefully through his nose. Somewhere in the corner Leopard was whining quietly in his sleep.

You know what? - Timka began. - We can’t wake up. It will hit if they see it. Let's take turns on duty. We will change every hour. There's the clock.

The alarm clock face glowed in the darkness.

“Great,” said Petka. - It's like we're on a hike.

“Come on, it’s like our ship hit an iceberg and we landed on an ice floe,” Tonic suggested.

What did you hit? - Petka didn’t understand.

On an iceberg, on an icy mountain. Such people swim in the northern seas.

Timka did not agree to land on the ice floe.

There's no food there. Better to go to a desert island. There are at least polar bears on the island.

They talked a little more, argued whether there were penguins at the North Pole and whether there were northern lights over the south pole. Then they agreed that Timka would be on duty first. Klyaksa was released from duty.

Tonic's eyes were drooping.

Are you sleeping? - asked Timka.

I'm sleeping. What should we be afraid of? The polar night is over.

A plane will come for us soon.

Certainly. But watch out for polar bears. Take my revolver.

An hour later, Timka pushed Tonic away with his elbow.

Your turn. Do you hear?

Yeah... - Tonic yawned.

Timka turned his head and whispered in his ear:

Let Petka sleep more. After all, we are the elders.

Of course,” Tonic muttered. - I'll give...

He said this mechanically, but was thinking about something else. Tonic thought that the shadow that he cast on the snow was very long. This was because the sun was very low. Large, red, like a ripe tomato, it hung over the edge of the ice. The snow was bathed in orange light. Violet shadows stretched far across it from the ice blocks. The ice ended at the black coastal cliffs.

Icebergs floated slowly near the shore. They were huge, like mountains. On one side they were illuminated by red rays, on the other, in the shadows, the icebergs were blue. They were entirely reflected in the quiet dark green water. Then a large shadow slid across the snow, and the plane began to circle in the air. It was white, with a thin blue check. His paper wings rustled loudly...

In the morning, at half past eight, German Ivanovich went into the room to take a razor from his suitcase. He opened the door and froze on the threshold. Four heads were sticking out of his sleeping bag. On the right could be seen Petka's neat forelock, behind him Tonic's dark tousled head, Timkin's blond hedgehog and Klyaksa's round head with a clipper.

And in the cot, sitting comfortably on a clean sheet, Leopard was sleeping. He wrinkled his nose and growled silently. Leopard dreamed of polar bears.

A MINUTE OF THE SUN

There is a bench near the fence, where large burdocks and tall burdocks grow. This is not even a real bench, but an old board on pillars made from broken bricks. The boys stacked the pillars. And they tore the board off the fence to create a loophole. Now it’s good: the road to the river has become shorter, and there is a bench. You can sit here and talk about different things.

But now there is no one to talk to. Tonic sits alone. Timka is still bathing, and Petka, Klyaksa and Rimka have gone to lunch. Only at the very end of the bench is the skinny cat Arkashka basking in the sun. He is dozing, but one of the cat’s eyes is still slightly open. Even in his sleep, Arkasha watches with this eye, whether it is possible to catch a butterfly or even a sparrow to devour. Gray Arkashka is not quite an adult cat yet, but he is a bandit and a glutton.

Tonic, finally go have lunch!

It's his mother calling him. But Tonic doesn’t want to leave. The sun warms your bare shoulders, a small wind touches your hair, which is already dry after swimming. Sometimes it's nice to just sit and watch the leaves of the grass sway.

Right now,” says Tonic. - It means "now."

No "right now"! Everything will cool down. I'll be home in a minute!

Is a minute a lot or a little? Tonic has sat here more than once and knows that in a minute the shadow from the fence should crawl from the red brick fragment to about that piece of paper in the grass. To prevent the wind from moving the piece of paper from its place, Tonic extends his leg and presses the piece of paper with his heel.

The shadow moves almost imperceptibly to the eye. But, very noticeably to the eye, a black beetle with a mustache crawls out of the grass jungle. The beetle is shiny and round. It is the size of a penny. The beetle climbs, as if on a rope, along the lace of a slipper and climbs onto Tonic’s leg. Tonic shudders and wants to throw off the mustachioed guest. Only then he comes to his senses, because you need to cultivate courage in yourself. How can you be brave if you are scared of some bug?

Tonic decides to sit and not move. The beetle crawls up my leg very quickly. You don’t even feel it at all, it’s so light. But even though it’s light and small, it’s still a little scary: it’ll suddenly grab you and bite you! But the beetle does not bite, but peacefully continues on its way. I got almost to my knee. Here he stops and begins to move his mustache. “Why did he climb to such a height?” - Tonic thinks. This must be a very curious beetle. Or maybe it’s even a great traveler from the Land of Insects. He was now wandering in an unfamiliar forest of giant burdocks, among brick rocks under burdocks. huge, like the green sky. Someday the traveler will return home, and the insects will have a ball to celebrate. Ladybugs will lead a slow round dance on the wide leaves, colorful butterflies will begin to dance the “Waltz of the Flowers” ​​to the orchestra of cheerful grasshoppers. And the famous beetle will sit down in a circle of mustachioed relatives and neighbors and begin a story about foreign lands, adventures and encounters with monsters.

Tonic thought about monsters and glanced sideways at the cat. I remembered in time. Arkashka opened both eyes. His striped tail trembled quietly from the excitement of the hunt. Arkashka saw a beetle!

Tonic threw the “traveler” into the grass with his finger and stuck out his tongue at the cat. Arkashka closed both eyes in annoyance. And the beetle disappeared into the grass. He probably sat under the burdock trees and thought about the incomprehensible force that threw him from a high mountain. There will be something to tell your insect friends about!..

The edge of the shadow, while Tonic was watching the beetle, slid off the brick fragment and almost touched the paper scrap. The shadow became shorter and shorter, making room for the sun. And suddenly the bravest ray, which climbed further into the grass than others, sparkled on something silver.

Tonic didn’t even have time to wonder what it was that caught fire under the sun. He immediately remembered seeing the same silver shine in the dense forest.

This happened at the beginning of summer. Tonic and many other third-graders were supposed to be accepted as pioneers. They decided to make the gathering of the squad unusual, to hold it in the forest. May was ending, and light birch trees rustled festively around the wide meadows.

Tonic woke up early that morning.

But, as luck would have it, he agreed to go to the training camp with Timka, and that’s why trouble happened.

Timka took too long to get ready. He first cleaned his boots, then looked for his cap, although he could have walked without it. Tonic fidgeted impatiently in his chair, and Timka pulled out his cap from behind the closet with a mop and said:

We'll make it. We'll even arrive early.

He wasn’t worried at all, this Timka, because he was accepted into the pioneers two years ago.

And they were late for school, where the squad was gathering before going into the forest.

It was such a disaster that it was impossible to cope with. Slouching, Tonic turned to the wall and began to pick off the oil paint with his fingernail.

In the unusual silence of the empty corridor, the clock ticked clearly. The clock doesn’t care even if a person has enormous misfortune.

Tears on wheels. Just think... - Timka said angrily. - Well, let's run! I know the way.

Tonic remembers the garden vines and loose ridges on the outskirts, through which he and Timka rushed straight through. He also remembers the green field and the far wall of the forest. The forest was getting closer and closer. And finally, he surrounded them on all sides.

The guys rested and ran again. And over the tops of the pines, keeping pace with Tonic and Timka, white clouds rushed.

But beyond the stream, at the edge of a birch grove, the last path got lost. And I had to stop.

Just think... - Timka said again. But he didn't say anything more. Tonic turned away from him. It was quiet in the forest. The clouds stood motionless above the trees. The sun shone through the young leaves and glittered on Tonic’s eyelashes. And then, from behind the trees, another, bright silver sparkle hit my eyes. Tonic involuntarily looked there from under his palm and immediately jumped up.

And the clouds again rushed over the tops of the trees, and then stopped over a wide clearing. In the clearing, a squad lined up in a large square, and in the middle of this square stood the bugler Vaska Seryogin and was preparing to sound the signal “listen, everyone!” The sun burned dazzlingly on the rim of the forge...

And now, when something sparkled in the greenery with a silver sheen, Tonic remembered this very good day.

But what's in the grass? He wants to get up and look, but then a soft gray shadow grows and scatters throughout the yard. Tonic raises his head. A small cloud ran into the sun. The cloud has a dark center and shaggy edges, yellow from the translucent rays. Next to it there are two other smaller clouds in the sky.

Clouds, clouds... - Tonic whispers, and suddenly a few words are added of their own accord: - You shaggy sides...

For some reason, Tonic immediately remembers how last summer he unexpectedly came up with lines about pigeons flying towards the sun. He adds them to new lines about clouds, and the result is either a song or a rhyme:

Clouds, clouds,

You are shaggy sides,

Don't fly towards the sun!

You will all burn there...

And the clouds, frightened, move away from the sun. A sharp ray of silver glitter tingles my eyes again. Tonic jumps up and pushes the quinoa stems apart.

There is a tin propeller there. The familiar helicopter propeller that Tonic recently carved from a shiny tin can. Found!

But then it’s as if a shadow falls on the ground again. Only it's not a shadow. The sun is still shining. A good mood just runs away from Tonic. After all, he and Petka quarreled over the propeller. So, I quarreled in vain.

Two days ago, Tonic and Petka launched a “helicopter” from a simple structure made from a spool of thread and a stick. When you pull the thread, the propeller takes off and flies with a buzz to the other end of the yard. And then one day the “helicopter” fell into the grass, and Petka’s brother Klyaksa was standing nearby. Getting down on all fours, Blob rummaged in the grass, stood up and said:

Petka and I looked for tonic and didn’t find it either. And it seemed to Tonic that Blob’s eyes sparkled somehow suspiciously.

Blob, speak right away! - he demanded. - Pulled the helicopter?

“No,” repeated the Blob.

Better give it, otherwise you’ll get it now,” Petka intervened.

Klyaksa shifted from foot to foot and blinked:

He's not there...

“He didn’t take it,” Petka said confidently. - If he’s lying, he doesn’t blink, he just sniffles.

“He’s still sniffling,” Tonic insisted. - He put a helicopter under his shirt. Let me see.

But Petka didn’t give it.

You think everyone is a crook, right?

I don’t think so... And Klyaksa is a crook. Who stole the football camera? He pulled it off and pierced it with a nail.

It was true, but Petka was offended for the Blob. Even though Blob is roaring, he’s still a brother.

Maybe you did it yourself,” Petka said impudently.

There was no fight because Petka is almost two years younger than Tonic. As always. No matter who quarrels here, there are no fights: everyone’s strengths are different. Timka is bigger than Tonic, Rimka is a girl and you shouldn’t mess with her at all, although she herself is not averse to it. In general, no matter how you turn it, nothing will come of it. Only sometimes Petka will hit Klyak on the back of the head, but this is their business, a family matter.

And now Petka knew that there would be no fight, and said impudent things. Maybe Tonic would have given him once, but Rimka came to the yard.

Here's the market! - she intervened. - You, Anton, should have cut out a new propeller. How long have you been, or what?

She told the truth: not for long. But I no longer wanted to do “helicopters”. Boring...

That’s how he and Petka parted ways. And now you won’t really understand whether they are in a quarrel or not. And to be honest, of course, we are in a quarrel. When the whole company is together, it seems like they didn’t fight. And how the two of them will stay - in different directions.

Tonic holds the propeller in his palm and thinks that he needs to put up with Petka. Go up to him and say that the “helicopter” was found... but the camera was pierced by the Blob. And everything will be alright...

Anton! How long will we have to wait for you?! - Mom’s voice is heard. Tonic flinches in surprise. The edge of the shadow had already crawled across the piece of paper, and a minute, of course, had passed. It turns out to be big, this minute. Tonic has managed so much for her! Saved the great traveler from death. I remembered the best day. I composed either a rhyme or a song about clouds. And I decided to make peace with Petka...

With his arms outstretched and humming like an airplane engine, Tonic flies “to the gas station.” He had already forgotten about the minute he spent on the bench. There are still many different minutes ahead today: sometimes clear, like the blue sky, sometimes clouded by the shadow of a passing cloud, sometimes joyful, like the sunny shine of a signal trumpet.

Whiner,” said Timka.

You should at least raise him, Petka,” Rimka sighed. “He’s going to school in a year, but all he can do is cry.”

Try it yourself. I brought up yesterday. They put me in a corner for this... Like some kind of preschooler.

This memory upset Petka so much that he even wanted to hit Klyaksa on the back of the head. But he guessed and moved to the edge of the woodpile.

You’ll raise someone like that,” Timka grumbled. - He’s afraid of everything in the world, even some lousy ganders.

The Blob looked offendedly at the guys, but said nothing. It was true. Klyaksa was even more afraid of geese than of thunderstorms or bees.

These malicious birds were brought in by a neighbor, Nelly Prokopyevna. She recently retired and decided to take up poultry farming. From then on, a very bad life began for Klyaksa. The ganders hated him. It’s unknown why, it’s just some kind of mystery.

As soon as Blob went out onto the porch, the geese stretched their necks and hissed predatorily. Then they slowly went on the offensive. A large light gray gander went into a frontal attack, and a smaller white gander went around the Blob from the left flank. Of course, the Blob roared and took off running.

Everyone was sick of Klyaksino's whining.

Enough! - said Rimka. - Blot! You must cross the Rubicon.

The Blob's eyes became round, like blue shiny buttons.

What? - he asked.

Rubicon,” Rimka explained patiently. - That's what they say. This means overcoming fear.

“It was one king who said so,” Tonic intervened. “He kept thinking and thinking about whether or not to cross the river before the battle. And then I decided to move so that there was nowhere to retreat.

Not a king, but a Roman emperor,” said Timka. - Julius Caesar. We went through this.

Klyaksa didn’t understand anything. Or rather, he only realized that he had to do something special. He sniffled and, just in case, jumped from the woodpile.

“He won’t cross anything,” Petka waved his hand. - I know him.

And Klyaksa suddenly stopped. He really wanted to go home, he even blinked, but suddenly he stopped. And asked:

How to transfer?

It’s very simple,” advised Rimka. - Go out onto the porch and slam the door behind you. There will be nowhere to run. So you give these goslings a good meal.

Give it to me! - Blob objected sadly. - They will give ahead.

For some reason, he wanted to prove that geese are not such a trifle as everyone thinks.

Look, they pulled my leg. So bruised.

Do not lie! “It was you who cracked on the step,” said Petka. - Come here. Who do they tell? Will you cross the Rubicon?

Klyaksa was silent. Timka reached into his pocket.

If you're so afraid, take it. Just don’t cry and don’t be afraid. And I'm already tired...

He pulled out a slingshot. The slingshot was new, made of red rubber, with a smooth black leather jacket.

Blob approached slowly. Everyone looked at him in silence. We waited. And for the first time in his life, Klyaksa felt embarrassed because they were looking at him like that. Maybe it was because four people were watching at once and were not teasing, but only thought that he was the worst coward. Or maybe because Klyaksa was almost six years old. When you're six years old, it's not very nice to admit that you're a coward.

Klyaksa looked at the new slingshot, then at Petka.

“Come on,” he said and reached for Timka’s slingshot.

That day the geese were not allowed out of the barn, and it was not possible to cross the Rubicon.

At night, Petka woke up because someone climbed onto his bed. He was really scared, and when he saw the Blob, he got angry. He even pulled his hand out from under the blanket to give the Blob a slap on the back of the head, but changed his mind. The Blob realized this and pressed himself closer to him.

Petya, why close the door? - he whispered. Petka didn’t understand anything.

Well, tomorrow,” explained the Blob. - When the geese...

“They told you,” Petka answered. - So that he doesn’t run away again.

Klyaksa was silent. Petka only heard his breathing.

What is a Rubicon? - Klyaksin’s whisper was heard again. But Petka himself didn’t really know.

When you cannot retreat, this is the Rubicon. You aim straight for the head if the ganders come at you.

The Blob suddenly jumped off and padded towards his bed. For some reason Petka felt sorry for him. He wanted to say something to the Blob, but couldn’t think of one right away. While I was thinking, I fell asleep...

In the morning everyone gathered in the corridor.

“Let me come closer,” Timka taught. - And then hit it point blank. Understood?

He poured a handful of small stones into the Blob's pocket.

Tonic removed the latch from a self-closing lock that was not usually used.

“Don’t even try to run out the gate,” Rimka warned. - And close the door.

But Petka said nothing. He just picked up another pebble from the floor and put it in Klyaksin’s pocket.

The guys went to the river, and Klyaksa remained in the corridor. Once he stuck his head out the door, but immediately hid. Geese walked nearby. Gray saw the Blob and cackled: “We’ll get there, just wait.”

The Blob took out a slingshot, inserted a stone and sighed noisily. Then he pulled the strap of his pants over his shoulder, the way one tightens a gun belt when setting out on a dangerous hike.

One, two, three,” whispered the Blob, but did not move. As soon as he imagined that he would be left alone with the ganders, his stomach felt cold. The Blob shook his head and counted to three again. And suddenly, without any count, he jumped out onto the porch and slammed the door.

The ganders looked at the Blob as if on cue. They stretched out their necks, lowered their heads to the very ground and opened their beaks. The Blob pressed his back against the door. He frantically pulled the slingshot and fired. But the stone clicked on the ground and pierced the burdock. And the geese walked through the sunny yard, overgrown with plantains and fluffy dandelions. A long black shadow moved ahead of each gander.

A white goose came in from the left and cut off the path to the gate. Gray moved straight. Its slightly open beak was red inside.

Let's go! - Blob shouted desperately and fired at random. And then he threw the slingshot and began to desperately pull on the door. The door, of course, did not open. Blob closed his eyes and hung on the handle. He pressed his legs together with all his might to escape the terrible beaks. But it was impossible to hang like that for long. The hands fell away, and the Blob fell onto the porch.

And then he saw an amazing thing. The gray gander was lying on its side. His neck stretched across the ground like a piece of vacuum cleaner hose. The white goose, raising its head, looked at its fallen friend.

Huh? - he asked in surprise.

The Blob picked up the slingshot and stood up. And then he realized that he was not afraid. It was even strange that he had just trembled in front of these birds. The gray goose twitched its red paw, slowly stood up and opened its beak in shock.

Well? - said Blob. The ganders wandered away dejectedly. Klyaksa fired a couple of shots after them and walked out into the middle of the yard.

He stood like a predator tamer in the arena. He spread his legs and waved the slingshot like a whip. He didn't even look at the geese.

And suddenly Rimka flew into the gate like a red blond, and Petka, Timka and Tonic fell from the fence.

Hooray! - Petka shouted. - Download it!

The Blob didn't mind being rocked. But when Tonic grabbed him by the arms, and Timka wanted to grab him by the legs, for no apparent reason he groaned and broke away.

Wow! - Timka was surprised. - Looks like he tore off his skin!

On Blob’s left hand, near the wrist, the skin was torn until it bled. Either he scraped it while he was hanging on the handle, or it got hit by rubber from the slingshot. He didn't notice it himself.

Does it hurt a lot, Vladik? - asked Rimka.

Klyaksa shook his head.

A little... - And he turned to the fence. His shoulders shook, but probably no one noticed. After all, everyone is used to the fact that if he roars, he roars openly, at the top of his voice.

Rimka pulled Klyaksa’s sleeve.

Come on, I'll quit. Otherwise you'll clog it.

The Blob took a short breath and walked ahead. He walked towards the gate where the geese were trampling. The shell-shocked goose said something to the healthy one, and both headed towards the barn. On the way, they cackled contemptuously, but there was fear in their goose eyes.

Well? - said Petka. - Has he crossed this very Rubicon?

Fact,” said Timka. Then the Blob stopped. And everyone stopped too. The Blob turned and hesitantly raised his face.

What? - everyone was surprised.

Well... This,” he awkwardly pointed his finger at his cheek, where a tear had left a trail.

“This doesn’t count,” Tonic decided. - Really, guys? It's not out of fear. This is true...

And the Blob smiled with relief, because everyone said that this random tear did not count. Now only one thought bothered him. He glanced sideways at Timka. Timka didn’t say anything about the slingshot, and Klyaksa put it under his shirt.

Tonic found a horseshoe on the side of the road, in the dusty grass. The horseshoe was old, worn out. Glistened in the sun.

“It will come in handy,” said Tonic.

And it came in handy.

In the evening, Tonic, Petka and Rimka were running a horseshoe along the pavement. It had to be thrown in the same way as flat stones are thrown across water to “bake pancakes.” Then the horseshoe jumped on the cobblestones with a ringing sound, and bright yellow sparks rained down from under it in all directions.

Timka came, and with him Genka Zvyagin from Pushkinskaya Street. Genka was also allowed to throw a horseshoe. But he miscalculated and let her go diagonally rather than along the alley. The horseshoe flew over the ditch and hit the burdocks by the fence.

Genka rummaged through the burdocks for a long time, but could not find the horseshoe. After him, everyone looked for it in turn, pulled out the burdocks, but they didn’t find it either. Genka shifted from foot to foot and scratched his shaggy head. He understood that throwing someone else’s horseshoe into an unknown place was disgusting.

Okay,” Timka decided. “Well, this piece of iron.” It's time to go home.

Tonic didn't argue. It was almost completely dark, and the moon rose above the dark roofs, looking like a pink balloon. “Sleep,” the tugboat boomed sleepily on the river. “Sleep, sleep,” the dock locomotives responded subtly. And the guys went to bed.

Tonic ran up to the large poplar. He parked his scooter there today.

Hurry! - Rimka called out to him. - You're always fiddling with your jalopy.

“There’s no number,” Tonic said confusedly. - Guys, the number has disappeared.

Timka busily examined the scooter. I felt the nail holes on the front board and concluded:

Looks like they ripped it off...

Little Petka said that maybe the number fell off on its own because the nails were loose.

“You’ll make a new one,” Timka waved his hand.

Tonic walked behind everyone and pulled behind him a scooter rattling on the rocks. The license plate he lost was from the real car. In addition, it seems like it was made especially for Tonic: TK 11-25. It could be read like this: Tonic Kalinov, eleven years old, twenty-fifth school. With this number, Tonic wanted to race on the Coastal Slope, which had recently been paved. But now there’s no point in going there. All the guys have something real on their scooters: a headlight from a bicycle, a red flashlight from a car, or, for example, a motorcycle horn that doesn’t buzz, but is still real. And now Tonic has only holes from nails.

At home, Tonic pushed the scooter without a number into the closet, walked up to the bed and began to take off his shirt.

“Good,” said my mother. “To bed with such legs?”

Tonic wandered into the kitchen and poured water into a basin. The water, of course, splashed and a puddle appeared on the floor. Tonic sat down on a stool, absentmindedly dipped his right foot into the puddle and wrote on the floorboard with his thumb: TK 11-25. Then, resting his head on his palms, he began to look at the reflection of the light bulb in the puddle.

The hot filament in the light bulb looked like a golden horseshoe. Tonic remembered that he had read in some book that they used to forge silver horseshoes for the horses of various rich people. But has anyone made them from gold? No, i guess. Gold is probably very soft. Or maybe someone made golden horseshoes. Not for horses, but just like that. They say a horseshoe brings happiness.

I wonder why they say that?

Slapping his bare feet, one dry and one wet, Tonic walked to the door and asked his mother about it. But his mother replied that no horseshoes would help him if he did not immediately wipe up the puddle and wash his feet.

Okay,” said Tonic.

And I thought again.

He decided to try to find happiness for himself. Of course, Tonic didn’t believe the fairy tales. But you can try. After all, he doesn’t need any special happiness. Just to find the number from the scooter.

Tonic grabbed a flashlight and quietly got out into the street. The sky has already completely darkened. The moon rose higher, became yellow and flat. Under its light the poplar leaves gleamed faintly.

Tonic walked over to the neighbor’s fence, pushed the cool burdocks under his feet and turned on the flashlight. He saw the horseshoe right away. It’s even surprising that recently five people couldn’t find her.

In the morning, Tonic nailed a horseshoe to the front board of the scooter, where there used to be a yellow iron plate with a number. It turned out well. It’s as if a horseshoe is something like a search apparatus that should itself lead to the trail.

Then Tonic went to look for a number. He drove around all the places where he had been the day before, exploring the ditches overgrown with grass. I asked the guys. But the horseshoe did not bring good luck.

When he was tired of searching, Tonic met Rimka.

I’ve been hunting for you for a whole hour,” Rimka said without looking at Tonic. “Let’s go.” Lilka wants to tell you... In general, something important. Let's go to.

Lilka was the name of a girl who lived in a corner house. She came to visit either her aunt or her grandmother a long time ago. Lilka rarely played with the boys. More and more she sat on a bench at her gate and watched from afar as Timkina and Genkina’s teams sulked into laptas or drove a wooden “butt” along the pavement. Maybe she was afraid to tear her wide and colorful sundress, like a sports parachute, or maybe she was not yet used to the new company.

“Some kind of amoeba, not a person,” said Timka...

“What does she want?” Tonic shrugged his shoulder. “I don’t have time.”

Rimka remained silent gloomily. Then she shook out her shock of red hair, took Tonic by the hand and led him like a little boy.

But Tonic no longer paid attention to this. A brilliant guess dawned on him. Of course, Lilka knows where the lost number is!

Thinking about this, Tonic walked like this: with one hand he dragged the scooter behind him, and held the other in Rimka’s palm.

“Here,” said Rimka gloomily. “He has come.”

Lilka stood at the gate. She lowered her head and wound a long stem of a fallen dandelion around her finger.

“Well, what are you talking about,” Tonic impatiently rattled his scooter. “Speak, since I called.”

Lilka was silent.

Okay,” Rimka said in a deep voice. “Actually, I don’t approve of this, of course, but, in general, this is her business... She fell in love with you, that’s it.”

It seemed to Tonic that the sky had split, and the largest fragment cracked his head.

“And the number?” he asked stupidly. But it was clear that the number had nothing to do with it.

In general, I went,” Rimka hastily declared.

Tonic's confusion turned into indignation. It seems like he was being bullied.

“Okay,” he muttered ominously. He turned the scooter around sharply and wanted to rush after Rimka. To tell her...

And he accidentally looked at Lilka.

She still stood at the gate, only she threw the stem and lowered her hands. Small, thin-legged, with crumpled blue ribbons in short braids that stick out unequally: one down, the other to the side. And on long eyelashes there are dewdrops.

Tonic did not rush after Rimka.

“What are you doing?” he muttered. “Really?”

“What?” Lilka said quietly.

Well it. What Rimka says.

Lilka shook her head:

And nothing is true... I said that I... like you. Just.

Well,” he stammered in great confusion. “What am I...

They stood and were silent for probably five minutes. Tonic bent down and angrily scratched his nails at his knee. So as not to look at Lilka.

Then he asked:

What's going through your head?

“What knocked?” Lilka responded.

Well... what did I... what did you say.

For some reason, Lilka pulled the braid that was sticking down by the ribbon.

So...Your eyes are beautiful.

“Not normal,” said Tonic.

At this point he was quite determined to leave, but the wheel got caught in a crack in the wooden sidewalk. The tonic tugged and couldn’t get it out.

Let me help,” said Lilka.

Don't interfere.

She asked:

Will you stand up for me?

Who is touching you? You're making up nonsense.

Well, come on... let's go to the cinema with you.

We all go to the movies together,” Tonic said without looking at Lilka. “Timka, me, Petka.” Rimka is also walking. And to the river - together. And in winter we go skiing. Do you know what cliffs are here...

Lilka sighed:

You're alone, which means you don't go anywhere...

“I’m going,” Tonic answered, not without malice. “I’ll go get some worms for fishing in the evening.”

Can I?

“Well, I’m attached,” thought Tonic and snapped:

It is forbidden. They'll catch you.

He said that the worms should be dug in the neighboring garden, at Grandma Vera’s. The grandmother herself is old, but she has two adult sons. They always say that boys steal carrots. If they catch you, they won't look into it.

But Lilka was not afraid of dangers. She, it turns out, loved adventure more than anything else.

“As you wish,” answered Tonic. “Am I sorry, or what?”

Back in my yard. Tonic saw Timka, Petka and Rimka. Friends sat on the porch and looked questioningly at Tonic.

Well, Rimka, I’ll remember that for you,” he said gloomily.

“What do I have to do with it?” Rimka spoke. “She asked you to come.” Here. I brought it.

“Brought her,” Timka grumbled.

“No, to consult with people,” said little Petka.

Rimka narrowed her yellow eyes and stood up.

Well, why are you attached to me? I fell in love, didn't I? Lilka...

The tonic jumped up like on a hot frying pan:

She didn't fall in love at all! Do not lie!

“Don’t get involved with girls, Anton,” Timka advised. Petka took cover behind Timka’s back and expressed his opinion:

They are all harmful.

“I’m not getting involved,” Tonic sighed.

You’re stupid,” Rimka said sadly.

At home, Tonic wandered absentmindedly from corner to corner. Of course, he decided not to go anywhere in the evening. But I still remembered Lilka. I remembered the white stalk of a dandelion that she wound around her finger. Blue ribbons in small braids that stick out unequally. Eyelashes with dewdrops...

“Why are you boring today?” Mom asked when she came home from work.

I'm not boring, I'm thoughtful.

He wandered around a little more and asked:

Mom, am I handsome?

“What, what?” Mom was surprised. She looked at him and suddenly said cheerfully:

Very. Look in the mirror. When did you wash your face?

Tonic again began to walk from corner to corner: from the ficus tree to the bookcase and back. And why did Lilka become attached to him? Maybe hit her in the neck? But her neck is like a dandelion stalk...

Tonic decided to go to bed early. As soon as it began to get dark, he went to bed. I wanted to throw back the blanket. But for some reason he didn’t throw it away, but crawled under the bed. He pulled out a tin with a lid and a child's shovel, which he and Timka sharpened like a sapper's one. He put the spatula in his belt. I brought the scooter out of the closet...

At the end of the lane, by the green gate. Tonic stood for a moment to gather his courage. Then he turned the creaking iron ring and pushed the gate. A large shaggy dog ​​with a sad face and a tail that looked like a mop without a handle barked hoarsely. Tonic knew this dog.

“Bomb,” he hissed, crouching. “Shut up, you idiot.”

Bomba fell silent and waved his mop. Tonic stood on the rubble, reached out to the high window and knocked three times, as Lilka said. And he quickly went to the gate.

Lilka immediately jumped out onto the porch: Tonic didn’t even have time to figure out whether he wanted Lilka to come out or not.

Let’s go if you want,” he said.

“Hunting,” Lilka nodded.

When they entered the garden, dusk had already deepened. The moon, resembling a pink ball, hung over the roofs again. It cooled down. It smelled of damp earth. A whitish fog lay in a layer over the ridges.

Behind the small log bathhouse by the carrot patch, Tonic stuck a spade into the ground.

Here... And you sit down. You can see your sundress from the moon...

Lilka obediently squatted down next to her.

The shovel easily crashed into the black soil. Tonic would sometimes turn on a flashlight and pick out fat red worms from the ground.

“Help,” he ordered and thought that Lilka would never dare to pick up a worm. But Lilka dared. Only she shuddered every time and quickly threw the squirming prey into the tin.

Then she whispered in Tonic’s ear:

It's like we're treasure hunters. Is it true?

Tonic had a tickle in his ear, and at first he got angry and said nothing. But then he still said:

“I would never go here alone,” Lilka whispered again. Aren’t you afraid?

“What else,” Tonic said, also in a whisper. “And don’t be afraid.”

He glanced sideways at Lilka. The girl hurriedly picked through the earthen lumps with her fingers and often shuddered. Still, she was scared.

“Don’t be afraid,” Tonic repeated quietly. “And don’t touch the worms.” Me myself. Look, all hands are in the ground.

Well, let.

“Don’t let anything happen,” he said. Lilka's hands should not be in the ground.

How is she, someone else's carrot? Sweet?

This voice probably wasn't very loud. But it seemed more deafening than a thunderclap. The tonic fell over backwards in surprise. A tall man in boots was reaching out to him. Tonic couldn't see his face. All I saw was this hand with its fingers spread out.

And suddenly Lilka jumped up. She dove under the arm and began to run along the ridges. Tonic didn’t understand why she rushed through the garden and not to the fence. The man yelled something and rushed after her. But Lilka jumped out of the garden into the yard, and from the yard into the street. Tonic came to his senses. He picked up his property and waved it over the fence.

When Tonic passed by the poplar, Lilka called out to him. She stood behind the trunk. Then they walked together.

They stopped at Lilka's gate, although Tonic himself did not know why.

“I was afraid that the gate in their yard was closed,” Lilka admitted. “And he’s running around in his boots...

Did you run along the ridges on purpose?

He wanted to grab you...

Tonic began to pull out the scooter hidden there from the front garden. He pulled it by the handlebars, although the scooter did not get caught on anything. Lilka stood nearby. She. She probably didn’t know what to say either, so she asked:

Why did you nail the horseshoe here?

“Okay,” said Tonic. “I nailed it...

Suddenly he rested against the steering board and with one jerk tore off the horseshoe.

Do you want me to give it to you?.. Well, I’ll give it to you.

I want to,” Lilka nodded. “Why?”

Well, so,” he said quietly. “It’s just like that.” She brings happiness.

“It’s a fairy tale,” he sighed. “But here’s what you can do... Go.” on the road, further, even further! Catch her, don't lose her! Look!

Tonic launched the horseshoe along the pavement, and it flew towards Lilka with a ringing sound. Golden sparks flew.

The next morning, Tonic woke up early. He stood up, carefully opened the dresser drawer, and pulled out all his pants: old and new, long and short. He turned out the pockets of all his pants. So we managed to collect seven kopecks. After that, Tonic crawled under the kitchen table. A three-kopeck coin had been lying there since last month. I got a whole kopeck. Yes, Tonic had another ten-kopeck piece before.

At seven o'clock Tonic ran to the Severny cinema, where it was showing; "Drummer's Fate" He bought two tickets for the first showing.

There was just over an hour left before the start. Tonic returned to his alley. It was a very good morning. A cool wind blew from the river. It brought small “parachutes” of dandelions and a damp smell from the shore. tree. The sun was already high. The tarred boats that lay near the fences warmed their humpbacked backs under its rays.

Tonic hurried to the green gate. True, he was in a hurry while he was far away, and when he came very close, he stopped rushing. Has stopped. For some reason, he pulled the tickets out of his pocket and examined them from both sides. His heart was beating desperately. It could easily pierce the chest, jump out and explode like a grenade.

But my heart didn't explode. It began to beat more quietly, and Tonic entered the yard. This time Bomb didn't bark. He lazily got up, waved the mop and lay down again, resting his sad face on his paws.

Tonic stood up. He stood up on his toes. He tapped the glass three times. He knocked and ran back to the gate just in case. Bomb waved the mop again.

A minute passed, or maybe five minutes passed. Nobody showed up. Tonic climbed onto the rubble again and again reached for the window.

Who do you want, young man? - he heard. A bald guy with a big belly and blue suspenders stood on the porch. He stretched and, lazily squinting, looked at Tonic.

“Hello,” muttered Tonic, flying off the rubble. “I want Lilka... that is, Lilya.”

The man in blue suspenders raised his arms to shoulder level, bent them several times and finally answered:

Lilka left. At night her mother came for her.

Yeah,” said Tonic. “Okay... Goodbye...

Behind the gate, he put his hands in his pockets and walked towards the cinema. There were two tickets in my pocket. One could be given to Timka or Petka. But Tonic didn’t want to give this ticket to anyone.

He walked with his head down and watched the shadows of poplar leaves dance on the sidewalk. Something flashed at the edge of the sidewalk. Tonic stopped. He saw a horseshoe. The same one. He recognized her.

Tonic squatted down and placed the cold horseshoe on his palm. But she was a simple piece of iron and could not tell anything.

Near the picket fence on the corner of Pushkinskaya and Staraya Pristanskaya stood a pile of scrap metal. This scrap was collected three days ago by boys from the surrounding streets, but the plant still has not sent the car.

Tonic walked out to the middle of the pavement, squinted and threw the horseshoe into a pile of scrap metal.

The horseshoe clanged against the holey basin and got lost among the iron junk, but Tonic was still looking in that direction. The corner of a yellow sign stuck out from under the basin.

Tonic ran up and pulled it out. It was number TK 11-25. This means that someone tore him away from the scooter in order to add extra grams to their “boot.” Or maybe the number flew off on its own and was found...

Tonic indifferently put the iron tablet under his arm and walked on.

It so happened that the horseshoe actually helped him find his number.

But Tonic did not feel happy.

At the small Dosaaf airfield, everyone knew the boy: glider pilots, instructors, drivers, and the lame watchman Uncle Kostya.

The first time he was seen was in the spring, when test flights began. The boy stood not far from the motorized winch and watched the green Primorets cut through the air with their long wings. From then on he came almost every day. At first they chased him away: just like that, out of habit, like curious boys are chased away, so as not to interfere with serious business. Then we got used to it.

He helped the cadets drag gliders to the start, fasten parachutes, spread and roll up the white panels of landing signs.

In the evening, the boy sat by the fire with everyone else. A dark gray sky with a blue tint hung over the airfield. In the northwest, a yellow sunset streak lifted the twilight. Screaming trains rushed past the dark grove, and their iron roar made the lonely stars tremble. The cadets baked potatoes dug up in a neighboring garden, and instructor Grigory Yuryevich talked about his service in polar aviation.

But the boy didn’t talk about anything. He just listened and constantly thought about the same thing.

For a long time the boy did not dare to ask to be taken on the flight. When he finally expressed his desire, he was, of course, refused. That day he asked for nothing more. The next day he said to Oleg, one of the most experienced glider pilots:

You even give your dog rides, but you can’t give me a ride?

He was referring to Mirza, a small Pomeranian who had at least a dozen flights under his belt.

You won’t have to answer for the dog,” Oleg answered.

A week later, overwhelmed by daily requests, Oleg told Grigory Yuryevich that he wanted to give the boy a ride. He allowed it.

The next morning the boy arrived at the airfield so early that even Uncle Kostya was still asleep. Only three hours later the glider pilots appeared. Another half hour later the winch operator came. Then the newly received glider was taken out of the hangar. Everyone was busy with their own business and no one noticed how the boy’s voice trembled as he tried to suppress his excitement.

“First I’ll fly alone,” Oleg said, putting on the parachute. - And I’ll take you a second time.

At the other end of the airfield, the winch hummed, the cable tightened, and the glider soared along a steep trajectory.

And suddenly someone very calmly, as it seemed to the boy, said:

Can't unhook.

The glider was already above the winch, but the cable was still holding it. The boy imagined Oleg frantically pulling the black lever in the cabin to free himself from the cable. At the other end of the field, the figure of a driver darted about. He wanted to cut the cable and could not find the ax. The glider entered a steep dive, then made a corkscrew turn near the ground and somehow crashed obliquely into the garden beds behind the airfield.

The boy stood with a white face, stood motionless and heard silence falling from everywhere, dense, like a cotton blanket. And only when motorcycles with an instructor and cadets rushed past him, roaring, did he wake up and run. For the first time the boy felt how huge this small airfield really was. When the boy, gasping for breath, ran to the fallen glider, Oleg had already been taken to the hospital.

The next day the boy did not come to the airfield.

He appeared four days later and told the gliders:

I was in the hospital. Oleg's ribs and arm were broken. And there was a concussion. And now nothing...

Nothing? - Grigory Yuryevich, who was also in the hospital, grinned.

The boy looked down. Then he touched the instructor’s sleeve.

Oleg will lie there for a long time,” he said quietly. -Can I fly with someone? It's possible, huh?

Grigory Yuryevich looked at the boy for a long time, slightly wrinkling his forehead. Then he said:

You've been hanging around here for so long... What's your name?

“Anton,” the boy said gloomily.

Look at you... Quite a catchy name.

He immediately understood why: at the edge of the airfield another Anton, a small AN-2, was whirring its engine.

Grigory Yuryevich looked at his watch.

Go to Misha Krylov,” he said. “Let him give you his parachute.”

THE STARS SMELL WORMWORM

For two months, workers installed a parachute tower on the edge of the stadium. By August she was ready. Fifty meters high. Thin iron lace.

Every day the boys came to the stadium and lay down around the tower on the drying grass. Mountains of white clouds were slowly moving towards the east, and it seemed as if the tower was falling towards them.

The boys lay there, gnawed on blades of grass and looked at those who were jumping.

They jumped in different ways. Some walked without thinking from the edge of the platform, others lingered a little, as if silently counting to three. And some stood for several minutes under the white dome, translucent in the sun, and shifted from foot to foot. The wind rinsed the sagging silk parachute. The man on the landing sighed and looked down. The evil boys lay below. They shouted:

Hey there! Stuck?!

One time it happened that some young man with long hair and a blue jacket did not dare to jump. He walked backwards down the trembling iron steps and said:

I have a heart...

The boys howled. The DOSAAF instructor returned the money for the ticket to the long-haired man:

Please... Since you have a heart...

The instructors were Zhenya Mukhin, whom the guys knew from the water station, and the elderly, gloomy Vladimir Andreevich. Because of his thick gray hair in his short, angry crew cut, the boys called him Grandfather.

Mukhin was downstairs selling tickets and explaining to newcomers how to climb the tower and what to do before the jump. The grandfather, on the upper platform, entangled the man with canvas straps, fastened the parachute with carabiners and told him how to land correctly.

But sometimes Grandfather left for a long time. Then Zhenya waited until a team of five people was formed from those who wanted to jump. Then he led them upstairs and floated them to the ground one by one. I was the last one to jump.

And if none of the parachute lovers were there, Mukhin would open a physics problem book, ask the boys for a stub of a pencil, and, cursing, dive into drawing up heat balances. He was preparing for either a technical school or a college. Timka said: to aviation. When they asked Zhenya, he said:

To the school of culinary arts.

They waved their hand. You can't tell when he's serious and when he's...

One day, when Grandfather was not there, Timka somehow managed to persuade Mukhin, and he allowed him to jump.

After the jump, Timka lay belly up in the grass and casually explained:

When you land, you need to tuck your legs and tighten the lines. Otherwise he will fall over on his back. Clear? And so all this is nonsense. The main thing is to tuck your legs in so as not to scratch your back...

He probably repeated a hundred times that you need to tuck your legs and pull yourself up on the slings. Tonic said:

Have you heard...

Well, listen again. “You probably won’t crack,” Timka muttered and turned on his stomach offendedly.

The sun warmed our shoulders through our shirts. The grass rustled sleepily. There were no more people willing to jump from the tower. It was boring. And, probably, just to break up the silence, Genka Zvyagin, who was lying next to him, lazily said:

And I'm envious...

To whom? - Tonic didn’t understand.

“You,” Genka yawned.

What's jealous? - Tonic sat down.

That Timokha jumped.

Ha... - said Tonic.

Without turning around, Timka grumbled:

If “ha”, I would jump myself.

Well, I would jump...

Jump! - Genka perked up. He rose up on his elbows. His gray, wide-set eyes looked at Tonic with a poisonous squint. “I bet you won’t jump!”

Mukhin won't let him in.

Did you ask?

Everyone asked. He didn’t let anyone in.

And Timka?

Compare! What a shaft he is.

The shaft itself,” Timka said and yawned.

Little Petka Sorokin and another Petka, from Timka’s class, crawled up on their bellies (they didn’t feel like getting up).

“Come on, let’s ask Zhenya,” Genka pressed. “Are you afraid?”

The Petkas wanted to know who was afraid of what.

Antoshka promised to jump, but now he’s shaking. I bet you won't jump?

“What are we betting on?” Tonic asked and stood up.

At least for anything... For your lantern and for my knife.

Genka knew the value of things: the old, useless-looking flashlight had a large mirror reflector. The light burst out as if from a spotlight. The beam hit a hundred meters.

But it was also a good knife, a hunting knife. Its handle ended in two bronze crossbars with hooks for pulling stuck cartridges out of gun barrels. Because of these crossbars, when the main blade was opened, the knife looked like a dagger.

The boys had already surrounded Tonic and Genka. We waited. Tonic silently pushed them apart with his shoulder and walked towards Zhenya.

Mukhin was sitting in the doorway of a plywood booth built next to the tower. He read. He didn't look at Tonic.

“Zhen,” said Tonic.

Should I jump, Zhen, eh?” Tonic said loudly so that they could hear.

It wouldn't be bad.

Tonic wasn't expecting this at all. Now? Right away? Silvery plexuses of thin metal went high into the blue void. It seemed as if the tower was quietly ringing from the light and high wind. Up there, this ringing probably becomes alarming and tense...

Can? Yes?” Tonic said quietly.

“You can’t,” said Mukhin, without looking up from his book. His dark, hook-nosed face was imperturbable.

Well, Zhenya,” Tonic began after a pause. “After all, no one sees.” There is no one. Well, Timka jumped.

It’s heavy,” said Mukhin, turning the page.

And he was given this book! At least it was interesting, otherwise it’s just numbers and some icons. I would have slammed it sooner and driven everyone away from the tower!

Genka, Timka and both Petkas waited in silence.

“Zhen,” said Tonic.

Zhenya straightened the curly hair hanging over his forehead with his fingers and finally put the book down.

Will you get rid of it, damn it?!

The boys didn't move. Tonic scratched the trampled grass with his heel.

How much do you weigh?

Almost forty,” Tonic lied.

Mukhin grinned irritably:

Almost... The parachute has a counterweight of just forty kilos. You will hang over the whole city and dangle like a clown on a Christmas tree. It's not clear, right?

“I see,” Tonic sighed. “What if I fill my pockets with stones?” Or will I add fractions? A? She's heavy...

Zhenya silently and almost seriously looked at the frail Tonic. Then he picked up the book and, already looking at it, explained:

Load your pockets and your pants will fall off and fly away. And you yourself will hang.

This was already a mockery. Tonic turned to the guys and shrugged. The boys understood him. And Timka, almost forgetting the insult, grumbled:

Get out of here...

Where Tonic had been lying before, the place was already occupied: some kids came and shouted enthusiastically, raising their heads.

At his left cheek a clearing began, overgrown with meadow fescue. There, among the ripe yellowness, the dry chirping of grasshoppers scattered. To the right hung wormwood bushes covered with grayish pollen.

Wormwood smelled of the steppe across the river and the warmth of late summer. Tonic liked the way she smelled. Sometimes he rubbed its leaves in his fingers, and then his palms retained a bitter and somehow sad smell for a long time...

Footsteps rustled, and Tonic saw Genka Zvyagin above him. Genka held his knife in his palm.

Looking to the side, Genka said casually:

I argued, so go ahead.

“I didn’t jump,” said Tonic. “Are you in your right mind?”

In the mind. You would have jumped anyway if Mukhin had let you in...

If only... Well, you... - Tonic turned away.

Listen,” Genka said quietly. He bent down, grabbed Tonic by the shirt and forced him to sit down. “Do you think I have no conscience?” If I misplace the knife, will I clamp it?

Well, unhook.” Tonic stood up. “I’m not messing with you.” And don't interfere.

Genka stood opposite. Thin, sinewy, as if woven from brown ropes. And every vein in him was tense. Genka considered himself a fair person and did not tolerate being prevented from showing his justice. He pursed his lips, and his wide cheekbones with sparse, sparse freckles became pale and sharp.

So you wouldn't jump? Will you admit it yourself?” Genka asked quietly.

Me?!” Tonic stuck out his lip.

Well, don't kick.

Genka quickly put the knife in his shirt pocket and walked towards the gate. Direct, fast, easy. Confident that I did everything right...

Restless thoughts most often come in the evening, when the joys and grievances of the long, noisy day are remembered.

At first, just a thought appears, the same as others, not sad, not joyful - a memory of something. But now it gets stuck in the head, doesn’t fit properly, and scratches with sharp edges. Like that iron thing in his pocket that Tonic found on the road today. Other thoughts are unhappily spinning from side to side, grumbling at the restless neighbor. Then they jump up and get into an argument. But anxiety is hard to overcome. It grows, drives away the sleep that creeps up ahead of time...

Genkin's hunting knife was pulling at his shirt pocket. Small, but so heavy... Tonic laid it out on the windowsill with a knock. He sat down on a chair and began to look out the window. After all, you can sit without moving at all, even when thoughts haunt you.

The yellow traffic light flashed beams of alarming light into the twilight every two seconds. And who came up with the idea to hang a traffic light at this intersection? Cars pass here once a year!

Flashes seem to push Tonic’s thoughts: “Would you jump? Or wouldn’t you jump?.. Jumped - didn’t jump... Jumped - didn’t jump...” It seems that someone is tearing off the wings-petals of a huge yellow daisy...

Would you jump?!

All the boys believed when he persuaded Mukhin. What if Mukhin had allowed it? Tonic shrugs his shoulders. I remember the height. The parachute from the ground seems small, like a child's Panama hat... Tonic is not afraid that the parachute will break. Nonsense! The parachutes on the towers do not break off. But it's scary to think about the jump.

About the first second!

About that short time when the lines had not yet been tightened. When a person falls into the void.

It's scary to fall in the void.

More and more often, almost every night, Tonic dreams of the same thing: he falls. It flies down, flies endlessly! I want to scream, but my chest is grabbed by something strong, like an iron hoop.

Mom once said:

You are the one growing...

It would be better not to grow up. It's easier for a little one. The little one may say: “I’m afraid.”

What if you're eleven?..

The light of the lamp sparkled on the green handle of the knife. “I’ll give it to him,” Tonic decided. “Tomorrow I’ll give it to Genka. Just think, he interferes with his arguments when they don’t ask!”

It immediately became calmer. Return the knife and that's the end of it. And it will be visible there.

Just what will “be seen”?

He, of course, will give up the knife. And Genka? He'll probably take it. He might not even say anything. He smiles wryly and puts the knife in his pocket. What to say when it’s already clear. And they will again lie in the grass and look at the parachute and the sky. And the sky is crossed out with white traces of jet planes. The planes themselves are not visible. They're high. From there, if you jump, it’s a long one. Protracted - this is not from the tower. They say that the wind in your ears roars like a beast, and the earth, turning, flies towards you, ready to flatten a person into a thin leaf...

Okay, you may be afraid of this if you're all screwed up. If you want to become an accountant, a driver, a projectionist, a gardener... You never know! But if...

Tonic laid his cheek on the windowsill. The stars were bright, white, cold. August is not like the middle of summer. It's not yet ten o'clock and it's already completely dark. Night fell, black like autumn and warm like summer. It smells like dry heated asphalt and wet boards of the piers from the river. The flashing traffic light keeps sending yellow waves into the darkness of the intersection. And the stars shrink and dim each time...

You should go to bed. - It was my mother who came in. - Every day you rush around until it gets dark, and then you fall asleep anywhere... Lay down, shaggy one.

She came up behind him and gently ran her fingers through his uncut hair. Throwing his head back, he looked into his mother's face. But now she couldn’t help either.

Tonic said:

I do not want to sleep.

He got up.

Where else?” Mom worried.

I quickly.

Where is it fast? Looking at night!

Well, to Timka. I need to be there...” he muttered, wincing from the fact that he now had to lie. And he repeated from the threshold:

I quickly!

Just wait, dad will find out...

He didn't listen to the end.

Now Tonic thought of only one thing: let Zhenya Mukhin be in his place. He must spend the night in a booth today. Tonic heard him say:

At home, Natasha is roaring, grandma is swearing. And here it’s quiet, cool. Do physics all night long.

Maybe he really is screwing?

The stadium is two blocks away. The fence is missing one board.

The hastily put together plywood booth glows in all its cracks.

The tower was hidden in darkness. Only a star covered in red matter burned high, high. This is not decoration - Tonic knew. These are aircraft decision makers.

Having absorbed the scattered light of the star, the parachute canopy floated there as a barely noticeable reddish spot. Zhenya did not take it off if he did not spend the night in a stadium and if the night was windless and clear.

Tonic walked up to the booth. The plywood door slid inside as soon as he touched it with his fingers - without a creak, quietly and unexpectedly. The light hit my eyes.

Mukhin was lying on his back, on top of the blanket covering the trestle bed. He slept. One hand dropped and the knuckles rested on the dirt floor. On each finger, except the thumb, there are blue letters: J-E-N-YA. He was wearing a black sleeveless T-shirt. The open textbook lay on his chest. The chest rose in short bursts. The fanned out pages fluttered like the wings of large white butterflies.

In another corner, with his back to the door, an unfamiliar blond guy in a silk T-shirt was sitting on a block of wood. He put his elbows on the wooden table, clasped the back of his head with his hands and stood there poised over the book.

Tonic was confused. He stood at the threshold, not knowing now what to do or what to say.

The guy suddenly let go of his head and turned around.

What kind of ghost is there? Why are you there?

Tonic, squinting from the light, stepped into the booth. He looked at Mukhin again. He asked in a whisper:

Is he... sleeping?

Do not you see?

Zhenya suddenly opened his eyes. He shook his head, ran his hand over his forehead and took the textbook off his chest. Then he stared at Tonic.

Why are you here? Guest from the night...

I thought...” Tonic began. “If you’re alone... Maybe it’s possible now.” It's dark and there's no one...

Jump?” Mukhin asked loudly.

Yes.- Tonic wasn’t worried now. It was already clear that Zhenya would not allow it. He looked at Tonic for a long time and was silent. He was probably looking for words to properly scold him for the late intrusion.

Suddenly Zhenya jumped up easily.

Something groaned and froze inside Tonic.

Mukhin's friend slowly closed the book.

Zhenya,” he said quietly and very seriously. “Don’t be a fool, my dear.”

“Okay for you,” Zhenya answered. And the Cuban march whistled.

“Okay?” the guy suddenly got angry. “Then you’ll do it again...

Then I won’t,” said Zhenya. - Calm your nerves.

I'll calm you down. I'll tell you at the club.

Yurochka, you won’t tell me anything. Are you capable of disgusting?

For your own good! Would that be disgusting?

Yes!” Mukhin said harshly and unfamiliarly. “You need to know when to show nobility.” Now - no need.

Tonic looked at him a little scared and surprised. Mukhin became something different. Now he didn’t look like his friend Zhenya, who was on an equal footing with all the guys.

Or did this light from a bright light bulb fall on his face like that? It was sharp and strict. The shadow of her hair covered her forehead right up to her eyes. In this shadow the squirrels glittered angrily.

Don't worry. Yura,” said Zhenya.

“Fool,” said Yura. And he turned to Tonic: - Listen, guy. go home. Understand...

He won't go anywhere. “He’ll come with me,” Zhenya interrupted, and pushed Tonic towards the door.

After the bright light, the night seemed completely black. The lights were hidden by the stadium fence. Only the star on the tower and the high white stars of the sky burned above the dark earth.

Tonic realized that now he would have to jump. Very soon. Skull minute. And it was as if someone had pressed his ribs with cold palms. Tonic sighed. The sigh came out intermittently, as if with a chill.

This way.” Mukhin pushed him towards the steps. “Well, come on.” March forward.

The thin iron steps shook underfoot. They seemed light and fragile. I wonder how many there are? I should have asked Zhenya, but Tonic didn’t dare.

They rose in silence. It seemed that the tower was beginning to hum quietly in the darkness from double metal steps. The tonic grabbed the cold strip of the railing tightly, until it hurt my fingers.

The higher we went, the thinner and more transparent the darkness became. The black earth went down, and the lights of the city rose from behind a high fence. There were more and more of them.

Tonic walked, trying very hard not to think that between him and the already distant land there were only thin plates of iron... There were platforms and turns at the bottom. And finally, the square of the hatch appeared dimly overhead. The stars were shining in it.

Tonic climbed out onto the platform and stood at the edge of the hatch, without letting go of the railing. The red star shone very low above him, about three meters away. It turned out to be huge. The canopy of the parachute hung in crimson folds.

Mukhin, it turns out, is far behind. His footsteps were heard deep below.

Zhenya,” Tonic called chokedly.

Don't make any noise. “I’m coming,” he answered dully from the black hole of the hatch.

Tonic was waiting. He didn't look around because he was scared. Only out of the corner of his eye did he see a large scattering of lights.

Mukhin stood up and stood silent and motionless for several seconds. Then he felt and unfastened the parachute straps that were hanging on the railing.

Come to me... Let go, you won’t fall down anywhere. And don't tremble.

Am I shaking?” Tonic said hoarsely and forced himself to unclasp his fingers.

Zhenya put canvas straps on it. He fastened the buckles on his chest, on his belt, at his feet. The straps were unexpectedly heavy. The iron carbines clicked - Mukhin attached the parachute lines. And said:

Wait...

Tonic stood in the middle of the platform. Emptiness enveloped him. She was everywhere: below, under the thin flooring, and around. She waited. The lights merged into yellow spots.

Mukhin stepped to the railing and threw back the thin iron bar, the last thing that separated Tonic from the void.

Then Zhenya either asked or ordered:

Well, off I go...

And Tonic went. I had to go. Everything froze inside him, and an electric shiver ran through his skin. I really wanted to grab onto something. Tight tight. He grabbed onto the straps: if he was going to hold on, he wanted to hold on to something that would fall with him. Step, second, third, fourth. The edge is very close, and there are so many steps. Or is he barely able to walk?

But here's the break.

No more taking even the smallest step. And you can't linger. Stop even for a second and fear will be stronger than you.

Tonic looked up. The stars were blinking. He began to lean forward.

Onward and onward.

And so he crossed the line of equilibrium. His feet were still touching the platform, but they were no longer holding him. The void swayed towards me. Let's go!

And suddenly a strong jerk threw him back onto the boards of the platform.

Tonic saw the black figure of Mukhin above him.

“You can’t,” said Zhenya. “Understand, there’s a counterweight.” You won't pull it down.

Before Tonic stood up, Mukhin unhooked the parachute. And he repeated:

You see, you can't...

Tonic understood. I realized that Zhenya was mocking me! Like over a helpless kitten! No, even worse!! For what? After all, he had almost jumped! Now, at this second, everything would be behind us!

Tonic pulled his straps off. He knew that he was about to cry loudly and passionately. You can’t hold back anything, because these tears contain more than just resentment. All the futile excitement, all the fear that he had squeezed before the jump should have poured out into them.

Dog! Snake! - he said before crying. He was not at all afraid of Mukhin. He hated him with all his might. Almost in tears, he shouted: “Rogue!” Vile deceiver!

Mukhin raised his hands. Tonic understood that Zhenya would strike now. But he didn’t close, didn’t move. Let be!

Mukhin squeezed Tonic’s shoulders with his palms. And he said quietly:

After all, I don’t feel sorry. But, honestly, it’s impossible.

The tonic has subsided.

“You would have jumped,” Zhenya said, not letting him go.

Tonic was silent. He never cried, but the tears stopped somewhere near his throat.

“You would have jumped anyway,” Zhenya repeated. “I caught you when you were already falling.” The main thing is to know that you weren’t scared. Right?

Tonic was silent. He felt ashamed of his desperate, angry cry. He moved his shoulders. Zhenya obediently removed his hands.

Tonic walked up to the railing. Now it was no longer scary. After all, he knew that there would be no jump. Among the chaotic scattering of lights, he distinguished straight lines of street lamps and colored store signs. In the east, the lights cut through a wide dark arm, along which light points moved quietly. It was a river.

“Don’t worry,” Zhenya said behind him. - You can do it if necessary.

Tonic shrugged.

Heights are scary, right? - asked Mukhin.

Yes,” Tonic said quietly.

Nothing. It will pass. It's like the fear of the dark in little ones. Passes. Were you afraid of the dark?

Yes,” Tonic whispered.

Nothing... That's not the main thing.

“And what?” asked Tonic, looking at how far, far away, at his intersection, the yellow spark of a traffic light flashes.

“When you get bigger, you’ll understand,” said Zhenya.

Tonic decided not to be offended. In the end, Mukhin may be right.

And Tonic said:

You feel good. The flying club is probably already giving you a plane...

No, really... - answered Zhenya.

He said this very slowly, with a kind of deep sigh. And it even seemed to Tonic that instead of Mukhin, someone else came up and stood in the darkness, with great melancholy in his soul.

“No,” Zhenya repeated in his usual voice. “They won’t take me.” The engine is acting up.

What? - Tonic asked alarmedly.

Well... - He abruptly took Tonic by the hand and pressed his palm to his chest. Under the T-shirt, either weakly and slowly, or strongly and briefly, Zhenya’s heart beat.

In a hoarse and angry whisper, Zhenya said:

It gurgles like a leaky kettle. It’s already in my throat.

Tonic quietly withdrew his hand.

Maybe it will pass,” he whispered, because he had to say at least something. Because it seemed to him that he was to blame before Zhenya. And the stubbornness of the guy who did not let Zhenya onto the tower became clear.

Zhenya turned away. He began to look down somewhere, leaning on the iron bar.

Tonic moved closer.

Maybe it will pass? - he repeated quietly.

Surrounded by a ring of lights, the dark stadium lay below. The smell of warm wormwood leaves wafted from the stadium.

White stars glowed in the black zenith. They burned very brightly. It was a little closer to them from here. And maybe that’s why it seemed that they, too, smelled of earthly, bitter wormwood.

Vladislav Krapivin

STARS IN THE RAIN

Little story

Imagine endless rain pouring down from the evening sky. And there is a man walking along the streets who can show you where the stars of Ursa Major, Cassiopeia and any other constellation in the northern sky are shining now. Maybe, despite the clouds covering the sky. Some people laugh at him and say that no one needs this. However, this is not at all funny. There are simply people who do not know how to dream, and there are others - those who love the stars, and the wind, and the whole world with huge mountains, oceans and secrets. There are a lot of such people, both among adults and among children.

In this book I want to tell you about boys who can dream, and about adults who understand these dreams.

It had been raining for a long time.

The reflections of the streetlights spread across the black asphalt like egg yolks in a frying pan.

The trees, houses, newsstands and plaster buglers at the entrance to the small square are accustomed to this weather. They were already as wet as they could be, and now they didn't care. And everyone continued to do their job: the trees shook their branches, the fences held damp posters about the arrival of the Moscow Circus, the houses slammed their front doors and shone with colorful windows, and the buglers held their fanfares to their lips and were preparing to blow their trumpets if anything happened.

Only the newsstands did nothing. They were already closed and looked sadly through their dark glasses.

And the trams liked the rain. The washed trailers sparkled with red sides as if they had just been released from the factory. They ran around the city especially briskly, called cheerfully and cheerfully and scattered emerald wet sparks at every junction of wires. These were not even sparks, but shreds of green flame. They fell onto the wet roofs of trams, onto the shiny asphalt and hissed.

A tram of three cars rolled up to the small square, which was guarded by plaster buglers. There were few passengers, and the conductor of the rear car was dozing, her chin resting on her chest. She was an experienced conductor and, even dozing off, she maintained a stern appearance. From the outside it seemed that she was simply looking at the bag hanging on her chest with a sparkling lock and blue rolls of tickets.

She woke up as soon as the boy entered the carriage.

Get a ticket! Well, lively!

The boy put his hand in his jacket pocket. Then he rummaged in his trouser pockets. He did not find three kopecks and silently turned to leave.

Well, wait...

The conductress had already completely driven away her drowsiness. She looked after the boy and realized that he had been walking in the rain for a long time. His hair was stuck together in long strands, and on his neck it was glued into a thin braid. Drops rolled down the pigtail and into the collar of his jacket, swollen from the rain. Of course, it was squelching in my boots.

Well, wait! - the conductress shouted. - How proud... Where are you going at night?

“To the circus,” the boy said and turned around. He didn't care. He didn’t even remember exactly whether this tram went to the circus.

The conductress, grumbling, tore off the ticket:

Take it. Otherwise the controller will come...

The boy took the ticket with wet fingers. He didn’t say thank you: he probably forgot. Or maybe he didn't want to. He stood and, squinting, watched the rain splashing outside the window. The boy was not afraid of the rain and got on the tram only to travel further from home.

Where? Anywhere. He was driven by resentment.

The carriage jerked and started moving.

The conductress lowered her chin to her chest again. And again it seemed that she was examining a bag with blue ticket rollers.

The tram lights glowed with a flickering light. When it rains, the light bulbs always shine weaker. And multi-colored spots flew across the wet glass - from green and red letters on burning store signs. This was beautiful. But the boy didn’t think at all about the colorful spots. He looked, still squinting and lowering the corners of his lips. And I was thinking about something completely different.

Then he wanted to sit down. He felt tired. A person gets tired quickly if he is offended. It pulls on your shoulders a hundred times more than a heavy, wet jacket. The jacket can eventually be taken off and wrung out. What to do with resentment?

The boy decided to go. Just sit and just ride while the tram goes by. And he himself did not know what would happen next.

There were many empty seats in the carriage, but the boy did not want to sit next to adults. They will purse their lips angrily, frown and move away from the soaking wet boy.

A girl sat on one of the benches by the window.

The boy saw light curls on the back of her head, small braids with disheveled ends and a thrown back gray hood, strewn with dark specks of rain.

The boy stepped towards the bench and glanced at the girl. She looked away from the window to also look at her uninvited wet neighbor. And out of surprise the boy almost said “hello.”

It was a girl I knew.

True, not very familiar. The boy knew her, but she probably didn’t know him.

In autumn, winter and spring he met her almost every day.

He studied at the twenty-first school, and she, apparently, at the thirty-second. And, probably, also in the sixth grade. At least their lessons always ended at the same time. The boy walked home along Sadovaya, and the girl along Chekhov. On Pervomaiskaya they came across each other.

The boy didn't pay attention at first. An ordinary girl. And he remembered her only because she had a black fur hat that looked like a curled up cat. And it was a little funny to watch how the big hat crawled over her forehead when the girl was in a hurry. And she was almost always in a hurry: she walked quickly, leaned forward slightly and looked impatiently at her friends. And where were you in a hurry? Hair came out from under the hat in small straw rings and became tangled with long black fur. In general, the most ordinary girl. The boy was just used to seeing her on the way from school. Just as I am used to seeing, for example, a policeman in a glass booth on the corner or a clock on the building of an agricultural technical school. Or maybe not so... At least, when the watch was taken off, he did not feel any anxiety, and when he did not meet this girl on Pervomaiskaya for a whole week, some kind of anxiety stirred. And when I met him again, for some reason it became fun. And then he got angry, blushed and glanced furtively at Seryoga Deryabin, who was walking nearby. And from then on I decided not to look at the girl again. It hurts him to stare at the girls he meets!

But human nature is very stupid. As soon as you decide something, you immediately want to do the opposite.

And one day at the end of March, when it was already real spring, suddenly a heavy southwest wind filled the sky with gray clouds, and sticky snow began to fall. He fell and fell, bent poplars, drew in black puddles, clung to wires. He himself asked to be held in the palms of his hands, which deftly mold squeaky snowballs.

Half-ra! - Seryoga muttered as they walked from school. - The enemy is right ahead!

The enemy in a black hat was walking towards us. He, as always, was in a hurry and had no idea about Deryabin’s insidious plans.

Seryoga bent down to pick up the snow. The boy also bent down. Take it and plant it on a furry hat! Then he’ll find out... And Deryabin was already squinting his left eye and moving his hand with the snowball back. His hand was precise, his eye was also precise. And how did it happen? The boy immediately straightened up and, as if by accident, covered the girl.

And then, turning his snow-stained face to Seryoga, he said through clenched teeth:

You have to look!

The annoyed and embarrassed Deryabin did not answer anything. Could he have guessed?..

Summer came and the boy stopped seeing her. And I forgot. But now he immediately recognized her, although there was no hat that looked like a shaggy cat.

The boy sat down next to him. He sat down carefully and nevertheless hooked his foot on the umbrella that was lying on the girl’s lap. He frowned, turned away and awkwardly smeared his wet sleeve on her cloak.

“Don’t be afraid, it’s waterproof,” the girl said, because the boy fussily pressed his elbow and moved away to the very edge.

“No one is afraid,” he muttered and began to examine the floor of the tram.

The floor was covered with a grid of thin slats. Soggy tickets stuck to the slats.

It’s bad when you don’t have an umbrella,” the girl said quietly.

There was no girlish pity in her words. There was only stingy sympathy. And the boy, after thinking, answered:

What's good...

And the rain keeps pouring down.

This was already unnecessary. Apparently she just wanted to talk. And besides, it didn't rain. He sprinkled frequent drops. The boy said this:

Oh, “whips”... Don’t make things up.

Am I making this up? - she was offended. - Well, let. There is not a cloud in the sky, it is dry outside. And you're completely dry.

Good for you,” the boy grinned angrily. - In a raincoat and under an umbrella. Like under a roof.

“I feel good,” the girl immediately agreed and for some reason sighed. Then she said: “The umbrella is not mine.” Mom's She's sitting in front, over there... Why are you without an umbrella?

“I don’t have an umbrella,” the boy said clearly. - And if he was, I would be sitting at home now. In fact of the matter.

He was pleased to see that the girl was surprised.

You walk in the rain without an umbrella, but with an umbrella... at home?

Yes, said the boy. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. - What's not clear?

“Are you really like that?” she said a little offendedly.

The girl pronounced this word very indifferently. As if just out of politeness. But the boy saw that she was interested. He stopped squinting angrily.

You see... - the boy sighed and moved his soggy shoe. You see,” he repeated more decisively, “I made a discovery.”

He wanted to say "invention", but it didn't come out that way. The word "discovery" just rolled off the tongue. And maybe the boy was right.

This was truly a revelation for him. It happened three days ago. There was no rain then, but there was bright sun. The boy stood on the roof of the barn and held an umbrella above him.

Jump! - the boys shouted below.

The boy didn't jump.

“I was afraid,” said the smallest and fattest of the friends and stuck out his lip contemptuously.

The boy was silent.

From the ground, the barn seemed very ordinary: old and low. The lower edge of the flat roof is only three meters away. The boy was also ordinary. Short, thin-armed, with faded hair that was already missed by the scissors. Tanned, like all the boys in August. In a T-shirt that came out from under the belt. Of course, he didn't look much like a hero. But until now, it seems, he wasn’t even a coward.

And now he stands and doesn’t jump.

Climb and how to give it to him! - suggested a skinny, fair-haired girl, one of those girls who always participate in all dangerous activities with the boys. - They're telling you! Come on jump! Or ride down on your belly! And don't delay others.

The boy didn't answer.

Clouds were moving in the sky. Big, round, like yellow balloons. And the barn, which seemed very ordinary from the ground, floated towards the clouds, like a ship lifted into the sky.

And the courtyard resembled the surface of the planet seen from outer space. Islands of dusty grass, sprinkled with gray balls of dandelions, looked like a green archipelago, and the rainwater in a barrel near the barn, like a round lake on steep banks, glowed blue.

The boy loved to give names and names to everything in the world. They always came up right away. He called the mirror of water in the barrel the Lake of Blue Light, and the patches of grass the Archipelago of Unknown Forests...

Come on, jump! “It was the fair-haired girl who shouted with all her might.

The boy finally realized: yes, it’s time.

And he raised his umbrella.

The black umbrella looked like a circus big top, reduced hundreds of times. Only under the dome the lamps always sparkled, but here it was dark. Only a tiny hole glowed lonely. Like being pierced by a needle. A microscopic drop of the sky burned in him, like a blue star in the dark sky.

Blue Sirius,” the boy said in a whisper, and a premonition of imminent joy stirred in him.

He lowered the umbrella very low, so that the hair on the top of his head touched the rustling canvas. Now the boy saw only the earth, and instead of the sky, there was black matter everywhere, thoroughly heated by the sun and for some reason smelling of glue. Only in the star puncture the bright blue still burned. Then the sun hit him. The star flared up with blinding fire and crumbled into thin rays and rainbow rings.

Supernova explosion,” the boy whispered.

Ha, he seems to whisper “Lord, save me!” - the skinny girl below sarcastically and turned away as a sign of indignation.

What good is it if he knows the star map by heart? - the eldest and most reasonable of the boys shrugged. - He cannot jump from a height of three meters. We've seen such cosmonauts!

What? - the boy asked from the roof. He finally understood: they decided that he was afraid!

The boy slowly closed his umbrella: he now had to take care of it.

I can do that too!

He jumped without any parachute! He flew over the woodpile and fell with his hands and knees on the grass - right on the largest island of the Unknown Forest Archipelago...

Just think... - said the skinny blond girl. When there is nothing to say, girls always say “think about it.”

The fattest and smallest of the friends bit his big lip.

Do you think others can't? - he asked. And, puffing, he began to climb up the shaky woodpile to the roof.

The boy didn't answer. He opened the umbrella and again caught the sun through the hole. A star began to play in the fabric sky. The boy winked at her and laughed quietly.

Thus a discovery was born.

He couldn't tell the girl all this. It would be long and unclear. He just explained:

I wanted to make a planetarium. Small planetarium, foldable. You need to put all the constellations on the umbrella. Understand? You opened your umbrella and there were stars above you. You just need to make punctures with a needle in the place of the stars. And it will be possible during the day to find out where which stars are, even though they are not visible. You just need to figure out in advance how to install the umbrella...

Do you know all the stars? - the girl asked in surprise. - And you calculated it, right?

Yes. I checked at night.

The night smelled of herbs, river fog and cooling asphalt of the sidewalks.

The boy came off the porch. Three floors of extinguished windows glittered dimly. Warmth wafted from the walls, which had been heated during the day. The house looked like a large steamship that had sailed from hot countries and had fallen asleep at a familiar pier. And the old barn in the back of the yard jutted out like a large dark rock.

The boy crossed the yard and climbed onto the barn.

Now everything was like that. The grass patches-islands disappeared into the darkness. The rainwater in the barrel did not at all resemble a small lake. It was black, and two stars hung motionless in it. It was as if someone had dug right through the globe, and now the stars of the southern sky were looking at the boy from this round well.

Under the boy's T-shirt, the alarm clock was ringing. It beat fearfully, like the heart of a bird hidden in its bosom. He didn’t understand why he was pulled off his cozy bedside table, shoved between his T-shirt and his bare stomach, and carried to God knows where. The small indoor alarm clock had no idea that it would have to become an astronomical chronometer.

The boy pulled it out and placed it on the boards nearby. Once free, the alarm clock immediately calmed down and started knocking in a businesslike and completely homely manner.

It smelled damp. A not strong, but cool wind woke up for a minute. The boy shivered, pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around them. The luminous hands showed that there were still ten minutes until midnight.

The boy began to look at the sky.

It seemed so endless that it was scary to breathe.

The stars shone moistly in the black depths. The boy knew the map of the northern sky well. He could even draw it from memory. But, of course, he remembered only the main, bright stars, Those from which the fragile contours of the constellations are formed. And now, as if trying to help the boy, the sky showered all its reserves of starry sparkling light on him.

The longer he looked, the more stars appeared in the endless blackness. Behind the closest and hottest ones, others shone - not so bright, but there were more of them. And behind them flickered a whole scattering of distant sparks. But that's not all. Looking closer, the boy saw that the sky was completely dotted with the finest star dust. This dust condensed into the foggy strip of the Milky Way and the bright islands of other galaxies.

The boy was confused. He couldn't remember that much! It wasn't on the map!

It was impossible to draw...

But then he forced himself to calm down. He thought that he only wanted the main stars. These are the ones that make up the Ursa, Cassiopeia, and Perseus. At least for a start... It's because of them that the night sky seems familiar. They are like large trees along which they find their way in dense undergrowth; as the main islands by which sailors recognize the outlines of archipelagos.

He thought so, but continued to look for more and more sparks with his eyes. A secret shone and trembled in each of them.

The wind moved lazily, damp and chilly. It seemed that the cosmic cold seeped in heavy drops into the warm air of the Earth and dissolved in it with moist freshness. The boy shuddered. But the cold breath of the sky for him was like for a sailor the wind calling him on his way. A sharp ringing mercilessly tore through the silence. The boy shuddered and pressed the bell button with his heel. The alarm clock overturned and fell silent offended. It's midnight.

The boy found the North Star in the sky and with his gaze drew an exact line from it to the north - to the dark horizon. Then south, east and west.

The boy remembered.

Of course, he was not strong in astronomy, but he knew something and reasoned simply. The sky revolves around the North Star and makes a full revolution in twenty-four hours. This is how it appears from Earth. This means that in an hour the stars travel the twenty-fourth part of the circle. And you can determine where they are at any time of the day or night, but first you need to know where they are at midnight. Now the boy knew this too.

The constellations were in his captivity.

“I checked and calculated everything,” said the boy.

There was an umbrella. The one with whom he wanted to jump from the roof. It was lying behind the closet, because both the boy’s father and mother wore raincoats in bad weather. And the boy considered him his own.

It all turned out stupid. Because of this dried boredom - Veronica Pavlovna. All evenings she sat at home, and today, in such rain, she announced that she would go to her husband’s friends. She, you see, has business there. The husband left some of his papers with these friends, and she should take them. These are important materials. They relate to his unfinished dissertation.

Or maybe tomorrow, Veronica Pavlovna? - the father asked carefully.

Oh no no! - she said.

She had a small chin, gray lips and mournful eyes with blue painted around them. And even larger gypsy earrings - gilded crescents. Why she, such an intelligent person, carries this Middle Ages in her ears, the boy could not understand.

He asked his father about this.

None of your business. There is no point in giggling at your elders! - the father got angry.

Veronica Pavlovna was the wife of my father's brother. The brother died three years ago, and his wife came to visit them every year. Each time she lived as a guest for two weeks. During the day she was bored in her rooms alone, and in the evenings she started talking about her husband, who never completed his dissertation on the study of some fossil manuscripts. Did not have time. But still, he was a candidate of sciences, and Veronika Pavlovna was very proud of this.

For some reason, mom and dad were shy in front of her. Perhaps because they were not candidates of science and did not understand anything about the study of Novgorod letters written on birch bark?

Veronica Pavlovna was considered a close relative, but was called by her first name and patronymic. Only the boy didn’t call her at all.

Why don't you talk to her? - asked the father.

Just think about it! - the father threatened. - I got completely sick. I'll take care of you...

“Oh,” the boy said quietly.

This was his habit. He didn't love her himself. And the guys sometimes teased me: you squeal like a girl. But the boy couldn’t get out of the habit. He said his “oh” in different ways: now with mockery, now with surprise, now with an indifferent yawn, now in some other way. Sometimes loudly, sometimes in a whisper. And this time he said it very quietly. And my father didn’t hear.

But the boy still didn’t talk to Veronica Pavlovna. And she didn't pay attention to him.

But today she needed an umbrella.

And the boy sat by the window and pierced the umbrella with needles. The material was dense, and after each puncture there was a smooth round hole. From a thick needle - more, from a thin needle - less. After all, the stars in the sky are different.

But not everyone is interested in the stars.

“This is vandalism,” Veronika Pavlovna said dryly, “to treat antique things like that!”

The umbrella was not antique, but simply old. In addition, it was not clear what vandalism was. But the mother and father looked at the boy as if he had destroyed a whole chest of valuables.

Just think... One, two, three... He made eight holes,” Veronica Pavlovna carefully counted.

The constellation Ursa Major was just holes for her!

“Seven,” said the boy. - There was one before.

You talk! - the father jumped up. And he hurriedly turned to Veronica Pavlovna: “I have insulating tape.” I'll make patches and glue them on the inside.

Veronika Pavlovna pursed her lips in insult: the widow of a candidate of sciences was offered an umbrella with patches!

For Dmitry and my children, such an act would not go unpunished.

She had no children.

“It goes without saying,” the father assured.

Shaking her dull earrings, Veronica Pavlovna left the room.

All you know is to embarrass yourself in front of people! - the mother said with incomprehensible despair.

“In front of people...” said the boy.

He had long straight eyelashes. When the boy looked without offense, broadly and cheerfully, his eyelashes stuck up. But when he squinted, his eyes seemed to bristle.

The father, small, angry and therefore somewhat prickly, clumsily pounded his fist on the table:

Think about it! You squint at me! How dare you!

“Hush,” my mother said pleadingly.

If only you would feel sorry for an umbrella,” the boy said, feeling tears boiling. - otherwise you don’t feel sorry. You are trying for her... Are you afraid or what?

No, the boy did not shout anything in response and did not slam the door. He quietly went out onto the stairs, lay down with his stomach on the railing and began to look down into the narrow black flight. The house was old, and the staircase smelled of damp plaster and kerosene. Resentment scratched my throat, and my eyes became hot. Then the boy slowly descended and walked out into the rain.

He had nothing against catching a death cold. Well, not quite to death, but to the point of pneumonia. Then everyone would know... But the rain turned out to be kind. He didn't want to destroy the boy at all. I took him under the warm stream and tried to dissolve the resentment. The resentment did not dissolve; it left an acrid and cloudy residue. But the boy was grateful for the rain. Now they found themselves together against those who were hiding under umbrellas. True, there were few such passers-by; most preferred raincoats. But the boy thought about umbrellas and saw only them.

The boy walked for a long time along the streets glistening with water and never once hid in the entrance or under the canopy of a bookstall. And then he got on the tram to go far from home. It was here that he met the girl.

“I don’t have an umbrella,” said the boy. - Otherwise, everything would be very simple. You need to put the stars on the umbrella, like on a map of the northern sky, and everything is in order. Then you just put it in the right place, and it’s immediately clear where which constellation is!

He perked up. The resentment subsided a little, and a joyful string began to ring within him again. After all, you can take away the umbrella, but you cannot take away the opening.

“I’ll explain how to do it,” the boy said. - The main thing is to remember where the North Star is. It's easy. You just need to know where north is, and then...

Oh, wait,” the girl interrupted. - I’m completely clueless! You first draw, and then explain. As drawn.

How...draw?

“On the umbrella,” she said simply. - Here. - She took out a piece of chalk, which every girl has in her pocket, so she can draw “classes” on the asphalt. - not necessarily with a needle. You can also mark the stars with chalk. Yes? You know how useful an umbrella like this will be to me!

And how did he not guess? Chalk is even better! After all, you won’t see punctures at night, but chalk dots can be seen in the faintest glare of light. This means that even on cloudy nights he will be able to find stars in the sky!

The girl opened her umbrella.

Do you really remember all the constellations?

The boy remained condescendingly silent.

Draw,” she said.

But I didn't have to draw. The boy didn't even have time to take the chalk. The girl's mother loomed over them, tall and inexorable, in a brown cloak with a protruding hood, like an inquisitor - a formidable and terrible judge.

Tatiana! I knew it. You can't be left alone for a minute! Come on, we're leaving now. Need to go to the grocery store. She didn't look at the boy. And the girl looked. And, leaving, she deliberately said to him loudly:

Goodbye.

“Goodbye,” the boy answered sharply and turned away. He thought he was blushing again. What did he do? I wanted to teach a girl to recognize where the stars shine, even if they are not visible in the sky...

The boy moved closer to the window. Something sharp pressed his side. Wincing, he put his hand into his jacket pocket and felt for a piece of chalk.

At the final stop, near the circus, the boy got off the tram. The bright circus dome looked like a huge silver umbrella. And under its cornice, long windows, like glass ribbons, shone, and something colorful and swift flashed through them. There, under the protection of a silver umbrella, colorful fun sparkled and rang. The music splashed out, but immediately died down, as if nailed to the ground by heavy drops. There was a strong smell of damp boards. Above the entrance to the circus, the huge plywood lions of the trainer Bugrimova gaped with their red mouths. The lions were damp and were not at all scary, faded and sad, like stray cats. The boy felt sorry for them.

It was sad to stand there and listen to someone else's holiday. The boy returned to the stop and boarded the "four" going from the station to the Town of Metallurgists.

The young, good-natured conductress looked, yawned and said nothing. Let the man go. There is enough space.

The carriage was almost empty. A guy with a cap pulled down over his eyes was just snoring, leaning against the window, and the captain was sitting on the front bench.

He was a handsome captain. He sat upright, crossing his legs. He sat upright, crossing his legs. When the carriage shook, the toe of the boot swayed. and the reflection of the light bulb ran across it. It was surprising that in such weather the captain's boots remained dry and shiny. Everything else was also brilliant: the brown sword belt, buttons, the visor of his cap and even his shaved chin. And the stars on the green chase burned with yellow sparks. Together they looked like the middle part of the Orion constellation.

On the captain's lap lay a cloak darkened by dampness, and on top of the cloak was an umbrella. Large black umbrella with a curved handle. The boy looked at the umbrella and could not decide to tell the captain. And he knew what to say. He could not and did not want to own his amazing invention any longer. He alone doesn't need it. Every discovery, even the smallest one, should please others - the boy felt this. But he was afraid. that he won’t be able to tell you how to do it.

Comrade captain... - said the boy. - Allow me to address you, Comrade Captain.

The captain looked up. If he was surprised, the boy didn't notice. The captain's face was calm. That's probably how it was supposed to be.

Go ahead,” he allowed. - Contact me.

Would you like me to draw stars on your umbrella? - the boy asked and sighed briefly.

What kind of stars?

“Like in heaven,” said the boy. - This is to determine...

The captain's left eyebrow twitched.

Just wait. Unclear. You report in order. In what sky, for what purpose?

Okay,” the boy agreed. - I will explain. That's the problem. If you open an umbrella and draw stars on it from the inside, just like on a sky map, you will get a small planetarium. “I came up with this myself,” he couldn’t resist.

For what? - asked the captain.

Well... I don't know... It just came up with itself. - The boy smiled awkwardly and moved his shoulders.

That’s not what I mean,” the captain explained. - What is the task of your planetarium? Every thing should have a purpose. “He spoke quietly, and every word was like a restrained yawn. And his shaved chin hardly moved.

Well... what a task. Here's what it is. You can determine during the day where the stars are. Or at night, if there are clouds, that’s also possible. You just need to hold the umbrella above you correctly... Point it at the North Star, and then...

Fine. What for?

Why go to Polyarnaya? Because she is always in one place in the sky. She's like an axle. After all, from the Earth it seems that all the stars revolve around it.

Did the captain really not know about this?

That’s not the point,” the captain winced slightly. - Why know where the stars are? For orientation? It's not serious - an umbrella. There are more accurate methods. Or for someone else? For what?

Really, for what? What's the use? The boy didn't know. He was glad about his discovery and did not think at all what benefit it would have. And in general, what is a benefit?.. Familiar stars to whom you can wink as friends - is this a benefit? Or is it just like that?

Does anyone need to know in which direction Perseus, Charioteer, Leo, Andromeda are, even if there is not a single star in the sky?

Or does no one need this?..

I don’t know...” the boy said and stopped looking at the captain. - I thought... if, for example, they launch a ship to the Moon or Mars and broadcast: today it is in this constellation, and tomorrow in another... and there are clouds in the sky, you can’t see anything, then you open the umbrella, and you can, directed as necessary, and you can immediately see where which constellations are, and you can know where the rocket is flying...

If only it could fly, - said the captain. - And the locators will track it.

The sleepy guy at the window stirred and pulled up the visor.

What, they launched a rocket or satellite again? Mm?

Just sit down! - the conductor screamed sleepily. - Don’t miss the stop.

The tram braked and the captain easily stood up. Tall, straight. He threw a green cloak over his shoulders.

You’re not supposed to paint umbrellas,” he said and stepped towards the exit. And he hid the umbrella under his cloak. Apparently, captains are not supposed to carry umbrellas, and he didn’t take it for himself, but was taking it to someone else.

“It’s not allowed,” the boy said with a grin.

Failure did not frighten him. The joy of discovery, previously muffled by resentment, again made its way through him like a warm little spring. The boy was waiting: suddenly a person would meet who would need stars.

The two climbed into the carriage and remained on the rear platform, although almost all the benches were empty.

One was young and tall, wearing a short light coat. His face seemed to consist of large glasses with thick lenses and a steep forehead, over which a shock of dark hair curled, sprinkled with rain splashes. The second one looked much older and more ordinary: the face of an elderly man who was tired during the day, black satin overalls, and a gray cap. And an umbrella, which he tucked under his arm.

If the boy didn't know anyone's names, he made up his own. I came up with it right away. It happened naturally. It happened naturally.

“Chess player,” the boy thought about the first one. And for the second one - so it seemed to the boy - the name “Master” was very suitable.

They were talking. Or rather, the Master spoke, and the Chess Player only listened politely, but, it seems, without much interest.

I practically say to him as a person: “What are you, unfortunate Archimedes, where are your eyes, in what place? What kind of clearance is allowed here? Zero-zero three! And you have zero one.” And he told me: “Go,” he says, “and complain to the head of the workshop. And I won’t allow you to find fault in vain, he says...”

In vain, then? - the bespectacled man grinned.

It’s in vain, he says... Well, now I’ve given up diplomacy. “I’m not going to the boss, I say, I’m the boss for you, and so that you practically understand this, I’ll now take this hose, fold it in half and just below your lower back, just like that...”

He slightly turned his hand with the umbrella to show how he was going to teach the malicious arguer a lesson, but he could not show it: the umbrella hit something, and a short breath was heard from behind him, or rather, not a breath, but the sound with which, in case of unexpected pain, one is drawn through teeth air.

Guilty!.. - He said this very hastily, before he had time to turn around. And turning around, I saw a boy.

The boy pressed his hand to his bruised knee.

For a whole second, the Master’s face was confused and kind. Then the Master frowned:

Underneath his anger, he wanted to hide his fear for the boy and, perhaps, embarrassment from having so hastily dropped his “guilty” message. After all, it’s not customary to apologize to boys.

The wrong person got it, - said the Chess Player too cheerfully. They didn’t see it, Viktor Semenovich.

The boy straightened up.

It’s my own fault... I’m standing here... - he said, looking into the Master’s face. And in this look there was already an unspoken request.

Okay... Himself...

The truth is... - the boy repeated almost plaintively. - I thought about it.

Thoughtfulness on a tram is a characteristic of a deep and poetic nature, the Chess Player said without a smile. On the contrary, it is emphatically serious. - And the leg will heal... Well, how did events develop further, Viktor Semenovich? You stopped at the hose...

Uncle, listen,” the boy said quietly and quickly, “let me draw the constellations on your umbrella.” Like in a planetarium. Unfold your umbrella and you can immediately see where which constellation is, even if there are clouds in the sky. Or during the day. You just need to point the handle of the umbrella to the place in the sky where the North Star is, and then turn it... - He now spoke everything at once, without waiting for questions, feeling that he had to explain his desire in the first words.

After all, he gives people constellations!

The boy deliberately said now not “stars”, but “constellations”. This saved him from unnecessary explanations. It was immediately clear. that we are talking about the sky.

And, afraid that they would not listen to the end, he hurried, swallowing the words, repeated them and again hurried to explain everything faster and more clearly.

And suddenly he fell silent. He suddenly realized that he had said everything. And he was not interrupted. He was silent and confusedly waiting for an answer.

Deeds,” said the Master. - Did you invent this yourself?

Well, yes and what? It's easy... But there will be stars. - The boy said his last words in a fallen voice. He thought that the Master would now also ask: “Why?” And, lowering his eyes, he began to look at his splashed, blunt-toed boots.

“Curious,” said the Chess Player.

The master thought and asked:

Is this almost like a celestial diagram?

Well, yes, like a map! - the boy was happy. - Only better. Like a camping planetarium. And you can find out where which constellation is in the sky, as if you can see it through the clouds...

Wait, wait. - The master rubbed his chin vigorously with a smoke-yellow finger. - Something not

Krapivin Vladislav

Krapivin Vladislav

Stories

Vladislav Krapivin

Stories

SCARLET FEATHERS OF ARROW ALPHA URSA MAJOR FLIGHT OF THE HORNED VIKINGS EIGHTH STAR NAILS DISTANT BURGERS STARS IN THE RAIN CAPTAINS DON'T LOOK BACK CAMPFIRE RED JIVER MINE PLAY INSTRUCTION ON THE FIREWALL PRESENT GHOST ISLAND STICKS FOR VASKA'S DRUM FIRST STEP LETTER FROM THE NORTHERN QUEEN TABLET WHY IS THIS NAME? TRAVELERS DO NOT PAY FLIGHT OF "ORION" RISK MITTENS THE YOUNGEST BURGER'S SIGNAL SNOW OBSERVATORY COUNTRY OF THE BLUE SEAGULL SNUFFBOX FROM PORT JACKSON BAY THREE WITH A DRUM NAVIGATION KONOPLEV I'M GOING TO MEET MY BROTHER

Vladislav Krapivin

WHY THIS NAME?

Stories. 1960 - 1963

WHY THIS NAME?

Tonic, Timka and Rimma were returning from the last children's film show at the shipbuilders club.

It’s a long way to the bridge,” Timka said. - Let's go ashore. Maybe someone will transport it.

“He’ll get in if they find out at home,” Tonic doubted.

Rimma pursed her lips contemptuously:

I won't get it.

He’s always afraid: “You can’t, they don’t allow it...” Petka is never afraid either,” Timka grumbled. - Will you go?

The tonic is gone. If little Petka, Tonic’s neighbor, is not afraid, then nothing can be done.

Avoiding stacks of wet wood and overturned boats, they made their way to the water. It was the beginning of summer, the river overflowed and in some places came close to houses and washed away fences. Brown with eroded sand and clay, it carried logs and scraps of rafts.

A motorboat was moving in the middle of the river.

We’re lucky,” Timka said. - Mukhin is on his way. I know him.

Which Mukhin? DOSAAF instructor? - Rimka asked.

Yeah. His brother studies in our class.

They called Mukhin in chorus several times before he waved his cap and turned towards the shore.

How's life, redheads? - Mukhin greeted the guys. - To the other side?

Only Rimka was red.

Are you handsome yourself? - she asked sarcastically.

But of course! Go.

Zhenya, let me steer a little,” Timka began to ask. - Well, give it, Zhen!

“Don’t put us on logs,” Mukhin warned.

Timka smiled and squeezed the steering wheel in his hands. All was good. A few minutes later, Timka turned the boat against the current and led it along the rafts that stretched from the right bank.

Get to the wave! - Mukhin suddenly shouted.

Throwing back steep ridges, a tug boat passed by. Timka was confused. He jerked the steering wheel, but in the wrong direction. The boat hit the raft with its bow. Tonic didn’t have time to figure anything out. He sat in front and immediately flew out onto the raft. The speed was great, and Tonic drove across the raft, as if on a huge xylophone, counting each log with his elbows and knees.

Mukhin cursed Timka, took the steering wheel and shouted to Tonic:

Did you knock, boy? Well, sit down!

Okay, we’ll get there from here,” Rimka said and jumped onto the raft. Timka silently crawled out behind her.

Tonic sat on the logs and sobbed. The pain was such that he couldn’t even hold back his tears.

“You’ve lost your mind, little boy,” Timka suddenly got angry. - Just think, I scratched my elbow.

You should do so,” Rimka interceded. - Helmsman "Hay-straw"...

And he’s worse than a girl... So-o-nechka,” Timka sang disgustingly.

Now Tonic sobbed with insult. Somehow he got up and looked straight at Timka. When Timka started teasing, he became disgusted: his eyes became small, his white eyebrows crawled onto his forehead, his lips protruded... He would have cracked him.

Tonic turned, limping, crossed to the shore, and began to climb the cliff along a path, barely noticeable among the hemp and weeds.

In the alley, at the water pump, he washed his face, and at home he quickly pulled on trousers and a long-sleeved shirt to hide the abrasions. And yet my mother immediately asked:

What happened, Tonic?

“Nothing,” he muttered.

“I know,” said dad, without looking up from the newspaper. - He got into a fight with Timofey.

Mom shook her head:

It can’t be, Tim is almost two years older. However... she sighed briefly, - a boy is growing up without a mother. Almost no supervision...

Tonic parted the ficus leaves, sat on the windowsill and dangled his legs onto the street. His throat felt sore again.

Timka never fights.

Dad put the newspaper aside and reached into his pocket for a cigarette.

So what happened?

But then... They came up with such a name that you won’t show yourself on the street. So-oh-nechka. Like a girl.

Good name. An-ton.

What good?

What's wrong? - Dad put down his unlit cigarette and said thoughtfully: - This name was not so simply invented. There's a whole story here, my friend.

“It’s not easier for me,” Tonic said, but still turned around and looked furtively through the leaves: was dad going to tell?

This is the story.

Then dad was studying at the institute, and his name was not Sergei Vasilyevich, but Sergei, Seryozha, and even Seryozha. After his second year, he and his comrades went to the Krasnoyarsk Territory to harvest grain in the virgin lands.

Dad, that is, Sergei, lived with ten comrades in an adobe hut, which stood alone and white on a gentle slope. Two thatched sheds were built next to the mud hut. All this was called: “Field camp Kara-Suk”.

There was nothing else around. Only steppe and mountains. In the morning, gray shaggy clouds lay on the mountains, and in the steppe, among the thorny grass, stone idols hot from the sun and strange blue daisies stood. Among the yellow fields, the squares of the Khakass mounds were brightly green. Kites circled in the bright sky. Their spread out shadows slid along the mountain slopes.

At night the stars burned brightly.

But one day, from behind a mountain that looked like a two-humped camel, a damp wind flew in, and the stars disappeared behind dull low clouds.

That night Sergei was returning from a neighboring camp. He went there on behalf of the foreman and could have spent the night there, but he didn’t. In the morning the first trucks with grain were supposed to arrive, and Sergei did not want to be late for the start of work.

He walked straight across the steppe. Until it got completely dark, Sergei saw the familiar outlines of the mountains and was not afraid to lose his way. But dusk deepened, and the horizon melted. And soon nothing became visible at all, not even his outstretched hand. And there were no stars. Only a barely noticeable tailed comet hung low above the ground in a small gap in the clouds. But Sergei saw the comet for the first time and could not find out its direction.

Then the comet disappeared. The dull dark night fell like heavy black cotton wool. The wind, which flew from the northwest, could not overcome this dense darkness, weakened and went to sleep in the dry grass.

Sergei walked and thought that getting lost at night in the steppe was a hundred times worse than in the forest. In the forest, even by touch you can find moss on a trunk or stumble upon an anthill and find out where north and south are. And here it is dark and empty. And silence. You can only hear the heads of some flowers clicking on the tops of your boots.

Sergei climbed a low hill and wanted to go further, but suddenly he saw a small light on the side. It burned motionless, as if a window was shining somewhere far away. Sergei turned towards the light. He thought that he would have to walk a lot more, but after a hundred meters he came to a low adobe hut. The light was not the light of a distant window, but the flame of a kerosene lamp. She stood on the flat roof of the mud hut, casting yellow diffused light around.

The door was locked. Sergei knocked on the window and a few seconds later heard the patter of bare feet. The hook clanged and the old hinges creaked. A boy of about ten or eleven, wearing a large, knee-length padded jacket, looked up at Sergei.

Lost?

“I need to go to the Kara-Suk field camp,” said Sergei.

At the Prince's Kurgan? It's to the right, about three kilometers from here. Are you not from here?

If I were here, would I get lost? - Sergei remarked irritably.

It happens... - The boy shifted from foot to foot and suddenly asked:

Do you want to eat?

The boy disappeared behind the creaking door and immediately returned with a large piece of bread and a mug of milk.

It’s completely dark there,” he explained, nodding towards the door. - It's better to eat here.

Are you alone here?

No... I'm with my grandfather. We have a flock here. State farm sheep.

So, shepherds?

My grandfather is a shepherd, and so... I came to him for the summer. From Abakan.

Sergei sat down in the grass, leaned his back against the wall of the hut and began to eat. The boy sat down next to him.

Jack, come here! - he shouted quietly and whistled. From somewhere out of the darkness a large shaggy dog ​​appeared. He sniffed Sergei's boots, lay down and began to hit the ground with his tail.

Why is your roof light on? - Sergei asked, chewing bread.

Yes, just in case. What if someone gets lost... But there is not a light in the steppe.

“Thank you,” said Sergei, holding out the mug.

Maybe you want more?

No need...

Sergei did not explain that he said thank you not for the food, but for the light that saved him from wandering at night.

The boy called Sergei into the mud hut, but he did not go. The night was warm, and I didn’t want to sleep. The boy took the mug and returned.

They sat in silence for a long time. The lamp cast a ring of diffused light around the mud hut, but the boy and Sergei remained in the shadows, under the wall.

Do you light your beacon every night? - asked Sergei.

Every... Only my grandfather is angry that I burn kerosene in vain. I now began to get up early and early in order to have time to pay it off. Grandfather will wake up, and the lamp is already on the bench...

The boy laughed quietly, and Sergei smiled too.

Angry grandfather?

No, he’s good... He fought with the White Guards, he was a horseman. He has the Order of the Red Banner.

Why does he regret kerosene?

The boy did not hear, and silence fell again.

This is a story about the relationships between children, about children's friendship, about schoolchildren.

Mote. Author: V. P. Krapivin

The wind lived in the drainpipe of an old two-story house. He settled there a long time ago, when the pipe was not yet covered with rust and there was a small village around it, not a big city.

All that was left of the village was this one house with a brick bottom and a log top. Among the village huts it was the largest, but in the city it turned out to be the smallest, except for the newsstands.

The wind living in the pipe was also small. Compared to the winds that fly over the entire earth and bend large trees, it was just a street draft. Alka called him Shurshun, because when this wind flew out into the street, it immediately began rustling dry leaves on the asphalt.

Shurshun had a very bad character. Probably out of envy. Shurshun was jealous of the big winds. He was angry at his powerlessness and, in order to get attention, tried to harm people. He tore newspapers out of his hands, slammed windows, raised dust in the alleys. But he only had enough strength for a few minutes.

Sometimes, in cold weather, Shurshun howled in the chimney with melancholy and anger. The pipe was full of holes, rusty, and Shurshun was freezing in it.

Alka pressed his cheek to the pipe and listened to the howling of the nasty wind.

The neighbor girl Zhenya came and also listened.

They both didn't like this wind. One day, Shurshun flew into an open window, slammed the shutter and knocked over a bottle of ink onto a drawing of Alka’s elder sister Marina, which lay on the windowsill. Of course, it hit Alka. And last summer, Shurshun snatched from Zhenya’s hands a blue ball with a yellow chicken drawn on it. It wouldn't be a shame if the ball flew to the very sky. But Shurshun did not want to give it to the winds, which moved mountains of white clouds high, high. He hit the blue ball with the yellow chicken on the wires, and the ball burst.

- Why is he so harmful? - Zhenya said. - It’s just terribly harmful!

“He’s like a little dog,” Alka decided. “Big dogs are always kind, but small dogs just want to nip your leg.”

Alka and Zhenya, in order to anger their enemy, took turns shouting into the trumpet:

- Hey, you unfortunate draft!

Shurshun fell silent upon hearing such insulting words, and then howled even louder in indignation...

One winter, Alka, Zhenka and Valerka were walking home from school. Or rather, only Valerka and Alka were walking. They pulled the sled's rope. Zhenya was sitting on the sled and holding three briefcases: hers and the boys’. They were returning from physical education class. The first-graders had a fun lesson: they competed in the park to see who could slide down the mountain the furthest.

- And Valerka drove and drove, and his head fell into a snowdrift! - Alka suddenly remembered.

Valerka immediately laughed. He loved to laugh. And Zhenya laughed so hard that she scattered her briefcases and fell on her side.

Shurshun couldn't stand it when anyone laughed merrily. In addition, he had long wanted to take revenge on Alka and Zhenya for their ridicule. He flew to the boiler room, picked up several tiny sharp coals from the ground, mixed them with snow dust and carried them towards the guys.

Valerka, still laughing, turned his face to the snow cloud. It was very pleasant when snowflakes melted on hot cheeks. But Zhenya did not dare to expose her face to the snow and covered herself with a hat with a fluffy pompom.

Then they looked at Alka and saw that he was not laughing at all. He stood with his head down and rubbed his eye with his fist.

- What are you doing? — Zhenya was surprised.

“The speck got in,” Alka said, wincing.

- Hurt? — Valerka asked sympathetically.

Alka did not answer. He was in so much pain, it was as if his eyes

pierced with a needle. Tears ran down their cheeks of their own accord.

“Don’t hit me with your fist,” said Zhenya. - Let me pull out the speck with my tongue. I can.

She was just crazy! Alka was afraid to even think that someone might touch his sore eye. He couldn’t even open it, and his hand pressed itself to his face.

“Well, show me,” Zhenya ordered.

- Get out! - Alka shouted. - I'll give it to you!

Zhenya pursed her lips and said:

- Touchy! Scared!

Alka looked at the sled with one eye, grabbed his briefcase and fucked Zhenya. But if you look with one eye, and even through tears, everything seems somehow distorted. And Alka missed. He cracked his briefcase not at Zhenya, but at his own leg. And Zhenya jumped back and sang:

- No-do-tro-ga... Alka-karalka!

“You again...” Valerka said plaintively. - Well, that's enough for you!

He hated nothing more than anything when someone quarreled. He himself never took offense and quarreled very rarely. Valerka was cheerful and smiled almost every minute. And when someone started swearing, Valerka’s face became sad, as if he was about to cry.

- What do you care? - Zhenya told him. - Don't interfere.

Alka again rubbed his eye with his fist, but with the other eye he watched Zhenka. And I thought whether I should chase after her or not.

Valerka took Zhenya’s briefcase and placed it on the snow-covered sidewalk. Alka saw Valerka leave. He pulled the sled as if it were heavy. And on the sled there was only Valerka’s briefcase.

At home, Alka washed his eye with water for a long time, and the speck finally popped out. But the mood was still bad. He sat down to prepare his homework and even solved two examples, but then threw down his pen. He was not used to doing homework alone.

Alka remembered how Valerka dragged his briefcase on a sled, and he felt completely sad. Even the anger towards Zhenya disappeared. He walked around the room, then pulled on his coat and hat and ran out into the street.

On the street he immediately saw Zhenya. She walked in the direction where Valerka’s house stood.

Alka went too.

They walked on opposite sides of the sidewalk and pretended that they did not know each other at all. Then Zhenya drawled out, as if talking to herself:

- And I went to Valerik, from...

- He needs you badly! - Alka said without turning around.

“I forgot his problem book,” Zhenya said, looking at the sky with its ragged clouds as she walked.

- And I... I forgot too... - But Alka still couldn’t figure out what he forgot at Valerka’s. And I decided not to talk to Zhenya anymore.

Only somehow it turned out that they were no longer walking along different edges of the sidewalk, but in the middle, very close to each other.

- Is the speck still in your eye? - Zhenya asked quietly.

“She jumped out,” Alka sighed and for some reason rubbed his eye with his fist.

“Don’t use a mitten,” Zhenya said sternly. - If you rub it, it will hurt even more.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” said Alka. - That's me.

They reached an old house, and Alka slammed his fist on a rusty pipe.

- It's all because of him.

— Because of Shurshun?

“Of course,” Alka said embarrassedly. “He was the one who threw a speck in my eye.”

- What a bad guy! — Zhenya sympathized. - I should lock him here.

Both looked at the pipe.

- How will you lock it? - Alka said. - It's still the wind.

“Make a wooden plug,” Zhenya cheered. - Make a second one. Plug the pipe at the bottom and at the top...

“And there are so many holes on the sides of the pipe.”

“Well, well,” Alka waved his mitten. - Anyway, the speck is gone. Nothing worked out for him.

The rustler in the pipe quietly howled with frustration. And they walked quickly, quickly, to quickly come to Valerka, who was probably completely sad alone.