Touching prose for the competition. Works to be learned by heart

Victor DRAGUNSKY
Glory to Ivan Kozlovsky

I only have A's on my report card. Only in penmanship is a B. Because of the blots. I really don't know what to do! Blots always jump off my pen. I only dip the very tip of the pen into ink, but the blots still jump off. Just some miracles! Once I wrote a whole page, pure and simple, a real five-star page that was a pleasure to look at. In the morning I showed it to Raisa Ivanovna, and there was a blot right in the middle! Where did she come from? She wasn't there yesterday! Maybe it was leaked from some other page? Don't know...
And so I only have A's. Only a C in singing. This is how it happened. We had a singing lesson. At first we all sang in chorus “There was a birch tree in the field.” It turned out very beautifully, but Boris Sergeevich kept wincing and shouting:
Pull out your vowels, friends, pull out your vowels!..
Then we began to draw out the vowels, but Boris Sergeevich clapped his hands and said:
A real cat concert! Let's deal with each one individually.
This means with each individual separately.
And Boris Sergeevich called Mishka.
Mishka went up to the piano and whispered something to Boris Sergeevich.
Then Boris Sergeevich began to play, and Mishka quietly sang:

Like on thin ice
A little white snow fell...

Well, Mishka squeaked funny! This is how our kitten Murzik squeaks. Is that really how they sing? Almost nothing can be heard. I just couldn't stand it and started laughing.
Then Boris Sergeevich gave Mishka a high five and looked at me.
He said:
Come on, laugher, come out!
I quickly ran to the piano.
Well, what will you perform? Boris Sergeevich asked politely.
I said:
Song of the Civil War "Lead us, Budyonny, boldly into battle."
Boris Sergeevich shook his head and began to play, but I immediately stopped him:
Please play louder! I said.
Boris Sergeevich said:
You won't be heard.
But I said:
Will. And how!
Boris Sergeevich began to play, and I took in more air and started drinking:

High in the clear sky
The scarlet banner flutters...

I really like this song.
I can see the blue, blue sky, it’s hot, the horses are clattering their hooves, they have beautiful purple eyes, and a scarlet banner is flying in the sky.
At this point I even closed my eyes with delight and shouted as loud as I could:

We are racing there on horseback,
Where is the enemy visible?
And in a delightful battle...
I sang well, probably even heard on the other street:

A swift avalanche! We are rushing forward!.. Hurray!..
Reds always win! Retreat, enemies! Give it!!!

I pressed my fists on my stomach, it came out even louder, and I almost burst:

We crashed into Crimea!

Then I stopped because I was all sweaty and my knees were shaking.
And although Boris Sergeevich was playing, he was somehow leaning towards the piano, and his shoulders were also shaking...
I said:
So how?
Monstrous! Boris Sergeevich praised.
Good song, right? I asked.
“Good,” said Boris Sergeevich and covered his eyes with a handkerchief.
It’s just a pity that you played very quietly, Boris Sergeevich, I said, you could have been even louder.
Okay, I’ll take it into account, said Boris Sergeevich. Didn’t you notice that I played one thing, and you sang a little differently!
No, I said, I didn't notice that! Yes, it doesn’t matter. I just needed to play louder.
Well, said Boris Sergeevich, since you didn’t notice anything, we’ll give you a C for now. For diligence.
How about a three? I was even taken aback. How can this be? Three is very little! Mishka sang quietly and then got an A... I said:
Boris Sergeevich, when I rest a little, I’ll be able to get even louder, don’t think so. I didn't have a good breakfast today. Otherwise I can sing so hard that everyone’s ears will be covered. I know one more song. When I sing it at home, all the neighbors come running and ask what happened.
Which one is this? asked Boris Sergeevich.
Compassionate, I said and started:

I loved you...
Love still, perhaps...

But Boris Sergeevich hastily said:
Okay, okay, we'll discuss all this next time.
And then the bell rang.
Mom met me in the locker room. When we were about to leave, Boris Sergeevich approached us.
Well, he said, smiling, perhaps your boy will be Lobachevsky, maybe Mendeleev. He may become Surikov or Koltsov, I would not be surprised if he becomes known to the country, as Comrade Nikolai Mamai or some boxer is known, but I can assure you absolutely firmly of one thing: he will not achieve the fame of Ivan Kozlovsky. Never!
Mom blushed terribly and said:
Well, we'll see about that later!
And when we walked home, I kept thinking:
“Does Kozlovsky really sing louder than me?”

"HE IS ALIVE AND GLOWING..."

One evening I sat in the yard, near the sand, and waited for my mother. She probably stayed late at the institute, or at the store, or maybe stood for a long time at the bus stop. Don't know. Only all the parents in our yard had already arrived, and all the kids went home with them and were probably already drinking tea with bagels and cheese, but my mother was still not there...
And now the lights began to light up in the windows, and the radio started playing music, and dark clouds moved in the sky - they looked like bearded old men...
And I wanted to eat, but my mother was still not there, and I thought that if I knew that my mother was hungry and was waiting for me somewhere at the end of the world, I would immediately run to her, and would not be late and not made her sit on the sand and get bored.
And at that time Mishka came out into the yard. He said:
- Great!
And I said:
- Great!
Mishka sat down with me and picked up the dump truck.
- Wow! - said Mishka. - Where did you get it? Does he pick up sand himself? Not yourself? Does he leave on his own? Yes? What about the pen? What is it for? Can it be rotated? Yes? A? Wow! Will you give it to me at home?
I said:
- No I will not give. Present. Dad gave it to me before he left.
The bear pouted and moved away from me. It became even darker outside.
I looked at the gate so as not to miss when my mother came. But she still didn’t come. Apparently, I met Aunt Rosa, and they stand and talk and don’t even think about me. I lay down on the sand.
Here Mishka says:
- Can you give me a dump truck?
- Get off it, Mishka.
Then Mishka says:
- I can give you one Guatemala and two Barbados for it!
I speak:
- Compared Barbados to a dump truck...
And Mishka:
- Well, do you want me to give you a swimming ring?
I speak:
- It's broken.
And Mishka:
- You will seal it!
I even got angry:
- Where to swim? In the bathroom? On Tuesdays?
And Mishka pouted again. And then he says:
- Well, it was not! Know my kindness! On the!
And he handed me a box of matches. I took it in my hands.
“You open it,” said Mishka, “then you will see!”
I opened the box and at first I didn’t see anything, and then I saw a small light green light, as if somewhere far, far away from me a tiny star was burning, and at the same time I myself was holding it in my hands.
“What is this, Mishka,” I said in a whisper, “what is this?”
“This is a firefly,” said Mishka. - What, good? He's alive, don't think about it.
“Bear,” I said, “take my dump truck, would you like it?” Take it forever, forever! Give me this star, I’ll take it home...
And Mishka grabbed my dump truck and ran home. And I stayed with my firefly, looked at it, looked and couldn’t get enough of it: how green it was, as if in a fairy tale, and how close it was, in the palm of my hand, but shining as if from afar... And I couldn’t breathe evenly , and I heard my heart beating, and there was a slight tingling in my nose, as if I wanted to cry.
And I sat like that for a long time, a very long time. And there was no one around. And I forgot about everyone in this world.
But then my mother came, and I was very happy, and we went home. And when they started drinking tea with bagels and feta cheese, my mother asked:
- Well, how's your dump truck?
And I said:
- I, mom, exchanged it.
Mom said:
- Interesting! And for what?
I answered:
- To the firefly! Here he is, living in a box. Turn out the light!
And mom turned off the light, and the room became dark, and the two of us began to look at the pale green star.
Then mom turned on the light.
“Yes,” she said, “it’s magic!” But still, how did you decide to give such a valuable thing as a dump truck for this worm?
“I’ve been waiting for you for so long,” I said, “and I was so bored, but this firefly, it turned out to be better than any dump truck in the world.”
Mom looked at me intently and asked:
- And why, why exactly is it better?
I said:
- How come you don’t understand?! After all, he is alive! And it glows!..

GREEN LEOPARDS

The teacher wrote the topic of the essay on the board: “Your comrade.”
“Do I have a REAL comrade? thought Andryusha. With whom you can climb mountains, go on reconnaissance missions, and dive to the bottom of the World Ocean. And in general, at least go to the ends of the world!..”
Andryusha thought and thought, then thought and thought again and decided: he has such a friend! And then he wrote in his notebook in capital letters:
MY COMRADE GRANDMOTHER

Her name is Klavdia Stepanovna, or simply Grandma Klava. She was born a long time ago, and when she grew up, she became a railway worker. Grandma Klava took part in various physical education parades. That's why she's so brave and dexterous
Andryusha read the essay and sighed: he didn’t like it. Is it possible to write so boringly about a grandmother?
“No way,” he thought.
And he began to dream. About real mountains that I have never been to. I wish I could climb to the very top!..

Where eternal glaciers do not melt.
Where is the snow avalanche
falls off a cliff.
Where it's cold even in July
And eagles soar in the sky

The mountain paths there are dangerous.
There is a rockfall in the gorge.
Here they appear Snow leopards –
in the snow from head to toe.

They go out onto the road
They have an excellent appetite!
And each of the leopards by the leg
tries to grab you.

A horde of leopards approached.
Belt slips out of fear
But here to the top
Grandma Klava climbed up
as agile as a deer.

The backpack is on her back,
and there are 28 cutlets in it,
piece of African cheese
and even a Chinese bracelet.

And grandma fed the leopards
maybe two minutes
and with a hardworking hand
I stroked them on the head.

Snow leopards have had their fill
and politely say this:
“Thank you, Grandma Klava,
for a delicious and satisfying lunch!..”
And then we brushed our teeth and
went to the den to take a nap.

“That’s it, grandma! - thought Andryusha. “With such a comrade, not only in the mountains, but also in reconnaissance, you’re not the least bit afraid.”
And then it occurred to him:
Night. Street. Flashlight. Pharmacy
No, it's better like this:
Night. Lake. Moon. Dubrava. And in the middle there is a ravine. In short, a typical military situation

Intelligence is nothing to sneeze at!
Do you see the ravine turning black?
The enemy is hiding there -
enemy of the Soviet people.

How will he jump out of the ditch?
when he pulls out his gun,
as he asks Grandma Klava:
“How old are you, grandma?”

But Grandma Klava will not flinch -
That's the kind of person she is!
(no, it's better like this:
She's such a person!)
That's why it won't even flinch
removing the duffel bag.

And in that duffel bag, according to the regulations
Allowed: 20 cutlets,
bottle of ghee
and even a tram ticket.

Our enemy will feed
he will sigh not our way:
“Thank you, Grandma Klava!
This is a very nutritious story
treat"
And he will immediately throw his pistol far into the sea.

Andryusha was now dreaming well: he clearly imagined how the gun was slowly sinking to the very bottom of the World Ocean. Wow, how deep!..

Washing half the world with water,
The world ocean is seething.
It's very damp at the bottom
happens at night.

There is water on both the left and the right
so I can't breathe
But dear grandmother Klava
knows how to dive bravely!

And in the deep valley
The sperm whale lies with a mustache.
He thinks a bitter thought
and quietly gnaws on a bone:

“And who is that there with fins
moves like a sawfish?
Excuse me, yes, it’s yourself
Yes, this is Grandma Kla"

The sperm whale is overjoyed
breath stifled in the goiter -
he can't say the words
but only mumbles: BU-BU-BU

And the grandmother from scuba gear
took out 12 cutlets,
cherry jam jar
and even a bouquet of daisies.

And the sperm whale mumbles: “Save-BU BU-BU-BU-shka, save-BU BU-BU-SHKA” and only blows multi-colored bubbles out of happiness.
And those bubbles rise to the surface where the edge of the water is. Or the edge of the air in general, the real edge of the world. And Anryusha rises with them. There is no land, no water, no air in sight. Continuous airless space. It's called space. And the Earth somewhere far away flickers with a dim light. And it melts, it melts

Our planet has melted,
and with it our country.
There is no white light visible here,
but Grandma Klava is visible!

She is near the starry outskirts,
flies among interplanetary worlds,
like Yuri Gagarin,
or maybe like German Titov.

In a spacesuit with Grandma Klava
8 cutlets hidden,
pot of chicken broth
and even the Dawn alarm clock.

Astronomers of the Universe are watching
for a tasty and filling lunch
into your big telescopes
and send a grateful greeting:

THANK YOU PTA
GRANDMOTHER KLAUDIA STEPANOVNA PTA
YOUR MATERNAL CARE
IN THE NAME OF THE WORLD PUBLIC
TSK

National glory thunders -
a thundering sound spreads:
“Long live Grandma Klava,
and also grandma’s grandson!”

And even the constellations in the sky
Libra, Scorpio and Sagittarius –
greeting grandmother and grandson
I'll end with this:
END

And on time! Because the bell just rang.
“Oh, it’s a pity,” Andryusha sighed, the lesson is so short.”
He remembered that he had another grandmother. Her name is Elena Gerasimovna, or simply Grandma Lena. She was also born a long time ago. And also
“Okay,” Andryusha decided. I’ll definitely write about it another time.”
And he signed the essay: Andryusha IVANOV, grandson of grandmother Klava (and grandmother Lena too)

Tatiana PETROSYAN
A NOTE

The note looked most harmless.
According to all gentleman's laws, it should have revealed an inky face and a friendly explanation: “Sidorov is a goat.”
So Sidorov, without suspecting anything bad, instantly unfolded the message and was dumbfounded.
Inside, in large, beautiful handwriting, it was written: “Sidorov, I love you!”
Sidorov felt mockery in the roundness of the handwriting. Who wrote this to him? Squinting, he looked around the class. The author of the note was bound to reveal himself. But this time, for some reason, Sidorov’s main enemies did not grin maliciously. (That’s how they usually grinned. But this time they didn’t.)
But Sidorov immediately noticed that Vorobyova was looking at him without blinking. It doesn’t just look like that, but with meaning! There was no doubt: she wrote the note. But then it turns out that Vorobyova loves him?!
And then Sidorov’s thought reached a dead end and fluttered helplessly, like a fly in a glass. WHAT DOES LOVES MEAN??? What consequences will this entail and what should Sidorov do now?..
“Let’s reason logically,” Sidorov reasoned logically. For example, what do I love? Pears! “Love means I always want to eat”
At that moment, Vorobyova turned to him again and licked her bloodthirsty lips. Sidorov went numb. What caught his eye were her long untrimmed claws, and yes, real claws! For some reason I remembered how in the buffet Vorobyova greedily gnawed at a bony chicken leg
“You need to pull yourself together, Sidorov pulled himself together. (My hands turned out to be dirty. But Sidorov ignored the little things.) I love not only pears, but also my parents. However, there is no question of eating them. Mom bakes sweet pies. Dad often carries me around his neck. And I love them for that."
Here Vorobyova turned around again, and Sidorov thought with sadness that he would now have to bake sweet pies for her all day long and carry her to school around his neck in order to justify such a sudden and crazy love. He took a closer look and discovered that Vorobyova was not thin and would probably not be easy to wear.
“All is not lost, Sidorov did not give up. I also love our dog Bobik. Especially when I train him or take him out for walks"
Then Sidorov felt stuffy at the thought that Vorobyova could force him to jump for every pie, and then take him for a walk, holding him tightly by the leash and not allowing him to deviate either to the right or to the left.
“I love the cat Murka, especially when you blow right into her ear, Sidorov thought in despair, no, it’s not that I like to catch flies and put them in a glass, but I also love toys that you can break and see what’s inside.”
The last thought made Sidorov feel unwell. There was only one salvation. He hastily tore a piece of paper out of the notebook, pursed his lips resolutely and in a firm handwriting wrote the menacing words: “Vorobyova, I love you.”
Let her be scared.

O. KOSHKIN
TIRED OF FIGHTING!

At exactly 13:13 the secret intelligence officer was declassified. He ran through the streets to escape pursuit. Two men in civilian clothes were chasing him, shooting as they went. The scout had already managed to swallow three ciphers and was now hastily chewing on the fourth. “Oh, I wish I had some soda now!” he thought. How tired he is of fighting!
Top-top-top!.. the boots of the pursuers were knocking closer and closer.
And suddenly, oh, happiness! the scout saw a hole in the fence. Without hesitation, he jumped into it and ended up in the zoo.
Boy, come back!” the usherette angrily waved her hands.
No matter how it is! Former intelligence officer Mukhin ran along the path, climbed over one grate, through another and found himself in the elephant colony.
I'll hide here with you, okay? he shouted, panting.
“Hide, I don’t mind,” the elephant answered. He stood with his ears moving and listened to the radio about events in Africa. After all, homeland!
Are you at war? he asked when last news ran out.
Yeah, I ate all the encryption! Mukhin boasted, slapping his stomach.
Child's play, the elephant sighed and sadly stomped on the spot. My great-grandfather fought, yes!
Whoa? Mukhin was surprised. Your great-grandfather was a tank, or what?
A stupid boy! the elephant was offended. My great-grandfather was Hannibal's war elephant.
Who? Mukhin didn’t understand again.
The elephant perked up. He loved to tell the story of his great-grandfather.
Sit down and listen! he said and drank water from an iron barrel. In 246 BC new era The Carthaginian commander Hamilcar Barca gave birth to a son, Hannibal. His father fought endlessly with the Romans and therefore entrusted the education of his son to a war elephant. This was my dear great-grandfather!
The elephant wiped away his tears with his trunk. The animals in the neighboring enclosures became quiet and also listened.
Oh, it was an elephant mountain! When he fanned himself with his ears on hot days, such a wind rose that the trees cracked. So, great-grandfather loved Hannibal as his own son. Without closing his eyes, he made sure that the child was not kidnapped by Roman spies. Noticing the spy, he grabbed him with his trunk and threw him across the sea back to Rome.
“Hey, the spies are flying! looking into the sky, the inhabitants of Carthage said. It must be war!
And exactly, to the First Punic War! Hamilcar Barca had already fought the Romans in Spain.
Meanwhile, the boy grew up under the care of a war elephant. Oh, how they loved each other! Hannibal recognized the elephant by its steps and fed it with choice raisins. By the way, do you have any raisins? The elephant asked Mukhin.
Nope! he shook his head.
It's a pity. So, when Hannibal became a commander, he decided to start the Second Punic War. "Maybe we should not? my great-grandfather dissuaded him. Maybe we’d better go for a swim?” But Hannibal didn’t want to listen to anything. Then the elephant trumpeted, calling the army, and the Carthaginians set off on a campaign.
Hannibal led his army across the Alps, intending to hit the Romans in the rear. Yes, it was a difficult transition! Mountain eagles carried away soldiers, and hail the size of melons fell from the sky. But the road was blocked by an abyss. Then the great-grandfather stood over her, and the army crossed over him as if across a bridge.
The appearance of Hannibal took the Romans by surprise. Before they had time to deploy the formation, the elephant was already running towards them, sweeping away everything in its path. The infantry moved behind him, the ace of the flanks the cavalry. Victory! The army rejoiced. They picked up the War Elephant and began to rock it.
“Brothers, let’s go swimming!” The elephant suggested again.
But the soldiers did not listen to him: “What else, I want to fight!”
The Romans were not going to make peace either. Consul Gaius Flaminius gathered an army and marched against the Carthaginians. Then Hannibal resorted to a new trick. He mounted the army on an elephant and led it through the swamps, bypassing the enemy. Great-grandfather was up to his neck in water. Soldiers hung from the sides like bunches of grapes. On the way, many got their feet wet, and the commander lost an eye.
And again Hannibal won! Then the Romans gathered for a council and decided to decide, the elephant’s voice trembled, he raised the barrel and, in order to calm down, poured all the water on himself, to kill his great-grandfather! That same night, a spy dressed as Hannibal crept into the Carthaginian camp. He had poisoned raisins in his pocket. Approaching the elephant, he stood on the leeward side and said in the voice of Hannibal: “Eat, father elephant!” Great-grandfather swallowed just one raisin and fell dead
The animals in the neighboring enclosures were crying. Crocodile tears flowed from the crocodile's eyes.
What about Hannibal? asked Mukhin.
For three days and three nights he mourned his elephant. Since then, his luck has changed. His army was defeated. Carthage was destroyed, and he himself died in exile in 183 BC.
The elephant finished the story.
“I thought only the horses fought,” Mukhin sighed.
We all fought here! We are all fighting!.. the animals shouted vying with each other: camels, giraffes, and even a hippopotamus that surfaced like a submarine.
And the crocodile is the loudest:
Grab the belly, twirl the tail and carry it! Like a battering ram. And bite the enemy. You'll break all your teeth!..
And they let mice under the armor, the elephant interjected accusingly. This is to tickle knights!
And us, us! frogs were torn in the terrarium. They will tie you to the front line all night, sit and croak at the scouts!..
Mukhin grabbed his head straight: what is it like, all the animals were forced to fight?..
Here he is! a voice suddenly came from behind. Gotcha! Hands up!
Mukhin turned around. His friends Volkov and Zaitsev stood at the bars, aiming their guns.
Come on, I'm tired of you! Mukhin waved him off. Let's go swimming!
That's right, the crocodile approved. Come to my pool, there’s enough room for everyone! And the water is warm
Mukhin began to unbutton his coat.
“I’ll bring you raisins tomorrow,” he said to the elephant. Good raisins, not poisoned. I'll ask my mom.
And he climbed into the water.

Tatiana PETROSYAN
MOM, BE A MOM!

Yurik did not have a father. And one day he said to his mother:
If only my dad had been there, he would have made me a hockey stick.
Mom didn't answer. But the next day, the “Young Carpenter” set appeared on her bedside table. Mom sawed something, planed something, glued it, and one day she handed Yuri a wonderful polished hockey stick.
“It’s a good stick,” Yurik sighed. Only my dad would go to football with me. The next day, my mother brought two tickets to the match in Luzhniki.
Well, I’ll go with you, Yurik sighed. You don't even know how to whistle. A week later, at all matches, my mother furiously whistled with two fingers and demanded that the referee be given up. That's when the difficulties with soap began. But Yurik sighed:
If only there was a dad, he would lift me up with his left hand and teach me tricks
The next day, mom bought a barbell and a punching bag. She achieved excellent athletic results. In the mornings she would lift the barbell and Yurika with one left hand, then hit a punching bag, then run to work, and in the evening the semi-finals of the World Cup awaited her. And when there was no football or hockey, my mother late at night I was bending over a radio circuit with a soldering iron in my hands.
Summer came, and Yurik went to the village to visit his grandmother. But mom stayed. At parting, Yurik sighed:
If only there was a dad, he would speak in a deep voice, wear a vest and smoke a pipe
When Yurik returned from his grandmother’s, his mother met him at the station. Only Yurik didn’t even recognize her at first. Mom’s biceps bulged under her vest, and the back of her head was cropped short. With a calloused hand, my mother took the pipe out of her mouth and said in a gentle bass voice:
Well, hello son!
But Yurik just sighed:
Dad would have a beard
At night Yurik woke up. The light was on in my mother's bedroom. He got up, walked to the door and saw his mother with a shaving brush in her hand. Her face was tired. She soaped her cheeks. Then she took the razor and saw Yurik in the mirror.
“I’ll try, son,” my mother said quietly. They say if you shave every day, your beard will grow.
But Yurik rushed to her and roared, burying himself in his mother’s hard press.
No, no, he sobbed. No need. Become a mother again. You won't grow your dad's beard anyway!.. You'll grow your mom's beard!
Since that night, my mother dropped the barbell. And a month later I came home with some skinny guy. He didn't smoke a pipe. And he didn't have a beard. And his ears were protruding.
He unbuttoned his coat, under which instead of a vest he discovered a cat. He unwound the muffler; it was a small boa constrictor. He took off his hat and a white mouse was scurrying around there. He handed Yurik the cake box. There was a chicken sitting in it.
Dad! Yurik beamed. And he dragged dad into the room to show him the barbell.

Alexander DUDOLADOV
BAM AND DONE!

Let everything remain the same, and I will have the Spanish name Pedro.
Bah!..
Everything remains the same. And I am a Spaniard with black eyebrows. A smile is like a photo flash.
Hello Pedro!
Smile.
Salute, Pedro!
Smile in response. I don't understand the language. A guest from a friendly country. I go, gawking at the achievements.
Oh, it’s good to be a foreign guest of Moscow! Much better than Nitkin Em. Just how to do it. You can't do this without a magic wand.
Let me be the magic wand myself! So wooden and thin. And magical!
Bang!
I'm a magic wand! I bring benefits to people. As soon as I wave, all sorts of benefits arise.
What if you become useful?
Bang!
And here I am benefit! Everyone is happy to see me. Everyone is smiling. Old people and youth. No! Bang!
I am the smile of youth!
I'm laughing! Ha ha ha ha!
Nitkin! Where are you? Why are you laughing in class? Nitkin, get up! What is the topic of the essay?
The topic of the essay, Olga Vasilievna, the essay “What do I want to become when I grow up?”
Well, what do you want to become when you grow up?
I want to become I want to become
Snegirev, don’t give Nitkin any advice!
I want to become a scientist.
That's good. Sit down and write: to scientists.
Nitkin sat down and began to write in his notebook: “I want to become a scientist cat so that I can walk around the chain.”
And Olga Vasilievna went to the table and also began to write. Report for the district: “In the third “B” a test on the topic “Who do I want to become?” Based on the results of the essay, I report the following data: one doctors, eight singers, five cooperators, scientists "
Mmm-uh!
Nitkin! Get up now! And take off this stupid chain!

Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffmann. The Nutcracker and the Mouse King

On December 24, the children of Medical Advisor Stahlbaum were not allowed to enter the passage room all day, and they were not allowed into the living room adjacent to it at all. In the bedroom, Fritz and Marie sat huddled together in a corner. It was already completely dark, and they were very scared, because no lamps were brought into the room, as was supposed to be the case on Christmas Eve. Fritz, in a mysterious whisper, told his sister (she had just turned seven years old) that since the very morning there had been rustling, noise and gentle knocking in the locked rooms. And recently a small dark man with a large box under his arm slipped through the hallway; but Fritz probably knows that this is their godfather, Drosselmeyer. Then Marie clapped her hands for joy and exclaimed:
- Oh, did the godfather make us something this time?
The senior court adviser, Drosselmeyer, was not distinguished by his beauty: he was a small, dry man with a wrinkled face, with a large black patch instead of his right eye and completely bald, which is why he wore a beautiful white wig. Every time the godfather had something entertaining in his pocket for the children: either a little man rolling his eyes and shuffling his feet, or a box from which a bird jumps out, or some other little thing. And for Christmas he always made a beautiful, intricate toy, which he worked hard on. Therefore, his parents carefully removed his gift.
- Oh, my godfather made something for us this time! - Marie exclaimed.
Fritz decided that this year it would certainly be a fortress, and in it pretty little soldiers would march and throw out articles, and then other soldiers would appear and go on an attack, but those soldiers in the fortress would bravely fire cannons at them, and they would rise noise and rumble.
“No, no,” Marie interrupted Fritz, “my godfather told me about the beautiful garden.” There big lake, wonderfully beautiful swans with golden ribbons on their necks swim along it and sing beautiful songs. Then a girl will come out of the garden, go to the lake, lure the swans and feed them sweet marzipan...
“Swans don’t eat marzipan,” Fritz interrupted her, not very politely, “and the godfather can’t make a whole garden. And what good are his toys to us?” They are immediately taken away from us. No, I like my father’s and mother’s gifts much better: they stay with us, we manage them ourselves.
And so the children began to guess what their parents would give them. Marie said that Mamzel Trudchen (her big doll) has completely deteriorated: she has become so clumsy, she keeps falling on the floor, so now she has nasty marks all over her face. And then, mom smiled when Marie admired Greta’s umbrella so much. And Fritz insisted that he just lacked a bay horse in his court stables, and not enough cavalry in his troops. Dad knows this well.
So, the children knew very well that their parents had bought them all sorts of wonderful gifts and were now placing them on the table; but at the same time, they had no doubt that the kind baby Christ shone everything with his gentle and gentle eyes and that Christmas gifts, as if touched by his gracious hand, bring more joy than all others.

TREE Zoshchenko
The children were looking forward to a fun holiday. And even through the crack of the door we could see how my mother was decorating the Christmas tree.
Sister Lela was seven years old at that time. She was a lively girl.
She once said:
Minka, mom has gone to the kitchen. Let's go to the room where the tree is and see what's going on there.
The children entered the room. And they see: a very beautiful tree. And there are gifts under the tree. And on the tree there are multi-colored beads, flags, lanterns, golden nuts, lozenges and Crimean apples.
Lelya says:
Let's not look at the gifts. Instead, let's eat one lozenge at a time.
And so she approaches the tree and instantly eats one lozenge hanging on a thread.
Lelya, if you ate a lozenge, then I’ll also eat something now.
And Minka comes up to the tree and bites off a small piece of apple.
Lelya says:
Minka, if you took a bite of the apple, then I’ll now eat another lozenge and, in addition, I’ll take this candy for myself.
And Lelya was such a tall, lanky girl. And she could reach high. She stood on her tiptoes and big mouth I started eating the second lozenge.
And Minka was surprisingly short. And he could hardly get anything except one apple that hung low.
If you, Lelishcha, ate the second lozenge, then I will bite off this apple again.
And Minka again took this apple with his hands and again bit it off a little.
Lelya says:
If you took a second bite of the apple, then I will no longer stand on ceremony and will now eat the third lozenge and, in addition, I will take a cracker and a nut as a souvenir.
Minka almost roared. Because she could reach everything, but he couldn’t.
And I, Lelishcha, how will I put a chair by the tree and how will I get myself something besides an apple.
And so he began to pull a chair towards the tree with his thin hands. But the chair fell on Minka. he wanted to lift the chair. But he fell again. And straight for gifts.
Minka, it seems you broke the doll. This is true. You took the porcelain hand from the doll.
Then mother’s steps were heard, and the children ran into another room.
Soon the guests arrived. Many children with their parents.
And then mom lit all the candles on the tree, opened the door and said:
Everyone come in.
And all the children entered the room where the Christmas tree stood.
Now let each child come to me, and I will give each one a toy and a treat.
The children began to approach their mother. And she gave everyone a toy. Then she took an apple, lozenge and candy from the tree and gave it to the child.
And all the children were very happy. Then mom picked up the apple that Minka had bitten off.
Lelya and Minka, come here. Which of you two took a bite of this apple?
This is Minka's work.
Lelka taught me this.
I’ll put Lelya in the corner with her nose, and I wanted to give you a wind-up little train. But now I will give this winding little train to the boy to whom I wanted to give the bitten apple.
And she took the train and gave it to one four-year-old boy. And he immediately began to play with him.
Minkaa got angry with this boy and hit him on the hand with a toy. And he roared so desperately that his own mother took him in her arms and said:
From now on, I will not come to visit you with my boy.
You can leave, and then the train will remain for me.
And that mother was surprised by these words and said:
Your boy will probably be a robber.
And then mom took Minka in her arms and said to that mom:
Don't you dare talk about my boy like that. Better leave with your scrofulous child and never come to us again.
I will do so. It's common for you to sit in nettles.
And then another, third mother, said:
And I will leave too. My girl didn't deserve to
· she was given a doll with a broken arm.
And Lelya shouted:
You can also leave with your scrofulous child. And then the doll with the broken arm will be left to me.
And then Minka, sitting in his mother’s arms, shouted:
In general, you can all leave, and then all the toys will remain for us.
And then all the guests began to leave. Then dad entered the room.
This kind of upbringing is ruining my children. I don't want them to fight, quarrel and kick guests out. It will be difficult for them to live in the world, and they will die alone.
And dad went to the tree and put out all the candles:
Go to bed immediately. And tomorrow I will give all the toys to the guests.
And thirty-five years have passed since then, and this tree is still not forgotten.

Bazhov Malachite box
From Stepan, you see, there are only three little kids left.
Two boys. They are timid, but this one, as they say, is neither like mother nor father. Even when Stepanova was a little girl, people marveled at this girl. Not just the girls and women, but also the men said to Stepan:
- It’s no different that this one, Stepan, fell out of your hands and into someone it just arose! She herself is black and small, and her eyes are green. It’s as if she doesn’t look like our girls at all.
Stepan used to joke:
- It’s no surprise that she’s black. My father hid in the ground from an early age. And that the eyes are green is also not surprising. You never know, I stuffed master Turchaninov with malachite. This is the reminder I still have.
So I called this girl Memo. - Come on, my reminder! - And when she happened to buy something, she would always bring something blue or green.
So that little girl grew up in people’s minds. Exactly and in fact, the horsetail fell out of the festive belt - it can be seen far away. And although she was not very fond of strangers, everyone was Tanyushka and Tanyushka. The most envious grandmothers admired it. Well, what a beauty! Everyone's nice. One mother sighed:
- Beauty is beauty, but not ours. Exactly who replaced the girl for me.
According to Stepan, this girl was killing herself. She was all clean, her face lost weight, only her eyes remained. Mother came up with the idea of ​​giving Tanya that malachite box - let him have some fun. Even if she’s small, she’s still a girl—from a young age, it’s flattering for them to make fun of themselves. Tanya started taking these things apart. And it’s a miracle - the one she tries on, she also fits it. Mother didn’t even know why, but this one knows everything. And he also says:
- Mommy, what a good gift my dad gave! The warmth from it, as if you were sitting on a warm bed, and someone was stroking you softly.
Nastasya sewed the patches herself; she remembers how her fingers would become numb, her ears would hurt, and her neck could not get warm. So he thinks: “It’s not without reason. Oh, it’s not without reason!” - Yes, hurry up and put the box back in the chest. Only Tanya has since then asked:
- Mommy, let me play with my dad’s gift!
When Nastasya gets strict, well, like a mother’s heart, she will take pity, take out the box, and only punish:
- Don't break anything!
Then, when Tanya grew up, she began to take out the box herself. The mother and the older boys will go to mowing or somewhere else, Tanya will remain behind to do housework. First, of course, he will manage that the mother punished him. Well, wash the cups and spoons, shake off the tablecloth, wave a broom in the hut, give food to the chickens, look at the stove. He’ll get everything done as quickly as possible, and for the sake of the box. By that time, only one of the upper chests remained, and even that one had become light. Tanya slides it onto a stool, takes out the box and sorts through the stones, admires it, and tries it on for herself.

War and Peace
In Mozhaisk there were troops standing and marching everywhere. Cossacks, foot and horse soldiers, wagons, boxes, guns were visible from all sides. Pierre was in a hurry to move forward as quickly as possible, and the further he drove away from Moscow and the deeper he plunged into this sea of ​​​​troops, the more he was overcome by anxiety and a new joyful feeling that he had not yet experienced. It was a feeling similar to the one he experienced in the Slobodsky Palace during the Tsar’s arrival - a feeling of the need to do something and sacrifice something. He now experienced a pleasant feeling of awareness that everything that constitutes people's happiness, the comforts of life, wealth, even life itself, is nonsense, which is pleasant to discard in comparison with something With which, Pierre could not give himself an account, and even her I tried to understand for myself for whom and why he found it especially charming to sacrifice everything. He was not interested in what he wanted to sacrifice for, but the sacrifice itself constituted a new joyful feeling for him.

On the morning of the 25th, Pierre left Mozhaisk. On the way down the huge steep mountain leading out of the city past the cathedral, Pierre got out of the carriage and started walking. Behind him came a regiment of cavalry with singers in front. A train of carts with those wounded in yesterday's case was coming towards us. The carts, on which three or four wounded soldiers lay and sat, were jumping on a steep incline. The wounded, tied with rags, pale, with pursed lips and frowning brows, holding onto the beds, jumped and pushed in the carts. Everyone looked at Pierre's white hat and green tailcoat with almost naive childish curiosity.

One cart with the wounded stopped at the edge of the road near Pierre. One wounded old soldier looked back at him.
- Well, fellow countryman, they’ll put us here, or what? Ali to Moscow?
Pierre was so lost in thought that he did not hear the question. He looked first at the cavalry regiment that had now met the train of wounded, then at the cart where he was standing and on which two wounded were sitting. One was probably wounded in the cheek. His whole head was tied with rags, and one cheek was swollen as big as a child's head. His mouth and nose were on one side. This soldier looked at the cathedral and crossed himself. Another, a young boy, a recruit, fair-haired and white, as if completely without blood in his thin face, looked at Pierre with a kind smile. The cavalrymen walked over the cart itself.
- Oh, the hedgehog’s head is gone, Yes, they are tenacious on the other side - they performed a soldier’s dance song. As if echoing them, but in a different kind of fun, the metallic sounds of ringing were interrupted in the heights. But under the slope, near the cart with the wounded, it was damp, cloudy and sad.
The soldier with a swollen cheek looked angrily at the cavalrymen.
“Today I’ve seen not only soldiers, but also peasants!” The peasants are being driven away too,” said the soldier standing behind the cart with a sad smile, addressing Pierre. - Nowadays they don’t understand. They want to attack all the people, one word - Moscow. They want to do one end. “Despite the vagueness of the soldier’s words, Pierre understood everything he wanted to say and nodded his head approvingly.

“Cavalrymen go to battle and meet the wounded, and do not think for a minute about what awaits them, but walk past and wink at the wounded. And out of all these, twenty thousand are doomed to death!” – thought Pierre, heading further.

Having driven into a small village street, Pierre saw militia men with crosses on their hats and in white shirts, who were working on something on a huge mound. Seeing these men, Pierre remembered the wounded soldiers in Mozhaisk, and he understood what the soldier wanted to express when he said that the whole people wanted to attack.

How dad studied at school

HOW DADDY WENT TO SCHOOL

When dad was little, he was sick a lot. He did not miss a single childhood illness. He suffered from measles, mumps, and whooping cough. After each illness he had complications. And when they passed, little daddy quickly fell ill with a new disease.

When he had to go to school, little daddy also lay sick. When he recovered and went to class for the first time, all the children had been studying for a long time. They had all already become acquainted, and the teacher knew them all too. But no one knew little daddy. And everyone looked at him. It was very unpleasant. Moreover, some even stuck out their tongues.

And one boy tripped him up. And little daddy fell. But he didn't cry. He stood up and pushed that boy. He also fell. Then he stood up and pushed little daddy. And little daddy fell again. He didn't cry again. And he pushed the boy again. They would probably push each other like that all day. But then the bell rang. Everyone went to class and sat down in their seats. And little daddy didn’t have his own place. And they sat him next to the girl. The whole class started laughing. And even this girl laughed.

Here little dad really wanted to cry. But suddenly he felt funny, and he laughed himself. Then the teacher laughed too.
She said:
Well done! And I was already afraid that you would cry.
“I was afraid myself,” Dad said.
And everyone laughed again.
Remember, children, the teacher said. When you feel like crying, be sure to try laughing. This is my advice to you for life! Now let's study.

Little dad found out that day that he reads better than anyone in the class. But then he found out that he wrote worse than anyone. When it turned out that he was the best speaker in class, the teacher shook her finger at him.

She was a very good teacher. She was both strict and cheerful. It was very interesting to study with her. And little dad remembered her advice for the rest of his life. After all, it was his first day of school. And then there were many of these days. And there were so many funny and sad, good and bad stories at little daddy's school!

HOW THE POPE TOOK REVENGE OF THE GERMAN LANGUAGE
Alexander Borisovich Raskin (19141971)

When dad was little and in school, he had different grades. In Russian it is “good”. According to arithmetic, “satisfactory.” In terms of penmanship, “unsatisfactory.” In terms of drawing, it’s “bad” with two minuses. And the art teacher promised dad a third minus.

But then one day a new teacher entered the class. She was very pretty. Young, beautiful, cheerful, in some very elegant dress.
My name is Elena Sergeevna, what’s your name? she said and smiled.
And everyone shouted:
Zhenya! Zina! Lisa! Misha! Kolya!
Elena Sergeevna covered her ears, and everyone fell silent. Then she said:
I will teach you German. Do you agree?
Yes! Yes! The whole class shouted.
And so little dad began to learn German. At first he really liked that the chair in German is der stul, the table is der tysh, the book is das buch, the boy is der knabe, the girl is das metchen.

It was like some kind of game, and the whole class was interested in finding out. But when declensions and conjugations began, some knaben and methen got bored. It turned out that I needed to study German seriously. It turned out that this is not a game, but a subject like arithmetic and the Russian language. I had to learn three things at once: write in German, read in German and speak in German. Elena Sergeevna tried very hard to make her lessons interesting. She brought books with funny stories to class, taught the children to sing German songs and joked in German during the lesson. And for those who studied properly, it was really interesting. And those students who did not study and did not prepare lessons did not understand anything. And, of course, they were bored. They looked into the house less and less often and were more and more silent as shit when Elena Sergeevna questioned them. And sometimes, just before the German lesson, a wild cry was heard: “Ich habe spatziren!” Which translated into Russian meant: “I have a walk!” And translated into school language it meant: “I have to play truant!”

Hearing this cry, many students echoed: “Shpaciren! Shpaciren! And poor Elena Sergeevna, coming to class, noticed that all the boys were studying the verb “shpatziren”, and only girls were sitting at their desks. And this, understandably, made her very upset. Little dad also was mainly engaged in shpatziren. He even wrote poems that began like this:
There are no more pleasant words for a child’s ear than familiar words: “We’re running from the German!”

He did not want to offend Elena Sergeevna by this. It was just a lot of fun to run away from class, hide from the principal and teachers, and hide in the school attic from Elena Sergeevna. It was much more interesting than sitting in class without learning a lesson, and when Elena Sergeevna asked: “Haben sie den Federmesser?” (“Do you have a penknife?”) answer after a long thought: “Ikh niht”... (which sounded very stupid in Russian: “I don’t...”). When little daddy answered like that, the whole class laughed at him. Then the whole school laughed. And little dad really didn’t like it when they laughed at him. He liked to laugh at others much more. If he were smarter, he would start studying German, and people would stop laughing at him. But little daddy was very offended. He was offended by the teacher. He was offended by the German language. And he took revenge on the German language. Little dad never took it seriously. Then he didn't study properly French at another school. Then he hardly studied English at the institute. And now dad doesn’t know a single foreign language. Who did he take revenge on? Now dad understands that he offended himself. He cannot read many of his favorite books in the language in which they are written. He really wants to go on a tourist trip abroad, but he is ashamed to go there without knowing how to speak any language. Sometimes dad is introduced to different people from other countries. They speak Russian poorly. But they all learn Russian, and they all ask dad:
Sprechen si deutsch? Parle vous France? Do you speak English?
And dad just throws up his hands and shakes his head. What can he answer them? Only: “Their niht.” And he is very ashamed.

HOW DADDY TOLD THE TRUTH

When dad was little, he was a very bad liar. Other children were somehow better at it. But they told little dad right away: “You’re lying!” And they always guessed right.
Little dad was very surprised. He asked: “How do you know?”
And everyone answered him: “It’s written on your nose.”

After hearing this several times, little daddy decided to check his nose. He went to the mirror and said:
I am the strongest, the smartest, the most beautiful! I am a dog! I'm a crocodile! I'm a locomotive!..
Having said all this, little dad looked at his nose in the mirror for a long time and patiently. There was still nothing written on the nose.
Then he decided that he needed to lie even harder. Continuing to look in the mirror, he said quite loudly:
I can swim! I draw very well! I have beautiful handwriting!
But even this blatant lie achieved nothing. No matter how little dad looked in the mirror, nothing was written on his nose. Then he went to his parents and said:
I lied a lot and looked at myself in the mirror, but there was nothing on my nose. Why do you say that it is written there that I am lying?

Little daddy's parents laughed a lot at their stupid child. They said:
No one can see what is written on his nose. And the mirror never shows it. It's like biting your own elbow. Haven't you tried it?
No, said little daddy. But I'll try...

And he tried to bite his elbow. He tried very hard, but nothing worked. And then he decided not to look at his nose in the mirror anymore, not to bite his elbow and not to lie.
Little dad decided to tell everyone only the truth starting Monday. He decided that from that day on, only the pure truth would be written on his nose.

And then this Monday came. As soon as little dad washed his face and sat down to drink tea, he was immediately asked:
Have you washed your ears?
And he immediately told the truth:
No.
Because all boys don't like to wash their ears. There are too many of them, these ears. First I wash one ear, and then the other. And they are still dirty in the evening.
But adults don't understand this. And they shouted:

A shame! Slob! Wash it immediately!
Please... little daddy said quietly.
He went out and returned very quickly.
Did you wash your ears? asked him.
Soaped, he replied.
And then they asked him a completely unnecessary question:
Both or one?

One...
And then he was sent to wash his second ear. Then he was asked:
Did you drink fish oil?
And little daddy answered the truth:
Drank.
A teaspoon or a tablespoon?
Until that day, little dad always answered: “Dining room,” although he drank tea. Anyone who has ever tried fish oil should understand it. And this was the only lie that was not written on the nose. Everyone here believed little daddy. Moreover, he always poured fish oil into a tablespoon first, and then poured it into a teaspoon, and poured the rest back.
Tea room... said little dad. After all, he decided to tell only the truth. And for this he received another teaspoon of fish oil.
They say that there are children who love fish oil. Have you ever seen such children? I've never met them.

Little daddy went to school. And he had a hard time there too. The teacher asked:
Who didn't do their homework today?
Everyone was silent. And only little daddy told the truth:
I did not do.
Why? asked the teacher. Of course, one could say that there was a headache, that there was a fire, and then an earthquake began, and then... In general, one could lie about something, although this usually does not help much.
But little daddy decided not to lie. And he told the honest truth:
I read Jules Verne...
And then the whole class laughed.
Very good, the teacher said, I’ll have to talk to your parents about this writer.
Everyone laughed again, but little daddy felt sad.

And in the evening one aunt came to visit. She asked little daddy:
Do you like chocolate?
I love you very much, said honest little dad.
Do you love me? asked the aunt in a sweet voice.
No, said little daddy, I don’t like it.
Why?
First of all, you have a black wart on your cheek. And then you scream a lot, and all the time it seems to me that you are swearing.
What's too long to tell? Little daddy didn't get any chocolate.
And the little dad’s parents told him this:
Lying, of course, is not good. But you shouldn’t tell only the truth all the time, on every occasion, by the way or inopportunely. After all, it’s not my aunt’s fault that she has a wart. And if she doesn’t know how to speak quietly, then it’s too late for her to learn. And if she came to visit and also brought chocolate, there would be no need to offend her.

And little daddy is completely confused, because sometimes it is very difficult to understand whether it is possible to tell the truth or whether it is better not to.
But still he decided to tell the truth.
And from then on, little dad tried his whole life to never lie to anyone. He always tried to tell only the truth. And often for this he received bitter instead of sweet. And they still tell him that when he lies, it’s written all over his nose. Well then! It's written like that! There's nothing you can do about it!

V. Golyavkin. My good dad

3. On the balcony

I go to the balcony. I see a girl with a bow. She lives in that front door. She can whistle. She will look up and see me. This is what I need. “Hello,” I’ll say, “tra-la-la, three-li-li!” She will say: "Fool!" - or something different. And it will go further. As if nothing had happened. As if I wasn't teasing her. Me too! What a bow to me! It's like I'm waiting for her! I'm waiting for dad. He will bring me gifts. He will tell me about the war. And about different old times. Dad knows so many stories! No one can tell it better. I would listen and listen!

Dad knows about everything in the world. But sometimes he doesn't want to tell. He is then sad and keeps saying: “No, I wrote the wrong music, the wrong music, but it’s you!” - He’s telling me this. “You won’t let me down, I hope?” I don't want to offend dad. He dreams of me becoming a composer. I'm silent. What is music to me? He understands. “It’s sad,” he says. “You can’t even imagine how sad it is!” Why is it sad when I'm not sad at all? After all, dad doesn’t wish me harm. Then why is that? "Who will you be?" - says he. “Commander,” I say. "War again?" - My dad is unhappy. And he fought. He rode a horse and fired a machine gun.

My dad is very kind. My brother and I once told our dad: “Buy us ice cream. But more of it. So that we can eat.” “Here’s a basin for you,” said dad, “run for some ice cream.” Mom said: “They’ll catch a cold!” “It’s summer now,” dad answered, “why would they catch a cold?” - “But the throat, the throat!” - said mom. Dad said: “Everyone has a sore throat. But everyone eats ice cream.” - “But not in such quantities!” - said mom. “Let them eat as much as they want. What does quantity have to do with it! They won’t eat more than they can!” That's what dad said. And we took the basin and went for ice cream. And they brought a whole basin. We placed the basin on the table. The sun was shining from the windows. The ice cream began to melt. Dad said: “That’s what summer means!” - He told us to take the spoons and sit down at the table. We all sat down at the table - me, dad, mom, Boba. Boba and I were delighted! Ice cream runs down your face and shirts. We have such a kind dad! He bought so much ice cream! That now we won’t soon want

Dad planted twenty trees on our street. Now they have grown up. A huge tree in front of the balcony. If I reach down, I'll get the branch.

I'm waiting for dad. He will appear now. It's hard for me to look through the branches. They are closing the street. But I bend down and see the whole street.

"Notes of an Outstanding Loser" Arthur Givargizov

TEACHERS CANNOT STAND IT

Everyone knows that teachers can’t stand each other; they only pretend that they love each other, because everyone considers their subject to be the most important. And the Russian language teacher considers her subject to be the most important. That’s why she assigned an essay on the topic “The most, most important subject.” It was enough to write just one sentence: “The most important subject is the Russian language,” even with mistakes, and get an A; and everyone did so, except Seryozha; because Seryozha did not understand what kind of objects we were talking about, he thought that the object was something solid, and wrote about a lighter.
“The most important item,” the teacher read Seryozha’s essay out loud, is a lighter. You can’t light a cigarette without a lighter.” Just think, she stopped, you won’t light a cigarette. I asked a passerby for a light, and that was it.
What if in the desert? Seryozha calmly objected.
In the desert, you can light a cigarette from the sand, the teacher calmly answered. There is hot sand in the desert.
Okay, Seryozha agreed calmly, but in the tundra, at minus 50??
In the tundra, yes, the Russian language teacher agreed.
Then why two? asked Seryozha.
“Because we are not in the tundra,” the Russian language teacher sighed calmly. And not in the tundra, she suddenly shouted, the most important subject is the great and mighty Russian language!!!

RESULTS of the All-Russian competition “Living Classics”
19th century
1. Gogol N.V. "Taras Bulba" (2), "Enchanted Place", "The Inspector General", "The Night Before Christmas" (3), "Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka".
2. Chekhov A.P. “Thick and Thin” (3), “Chameleon”, “Burbot”, “Joy”, “Summer Residents”.
3. Tolstoy L.N. “War and Peace” (excerpts “Petya Rostov”, “Before the Battle”, “The Death of Petya”, monologue by Natasha Rostova (5)), “The Lion and the Dog”
4. Turgenev I.S. Prose poem “Pigeons”, “Sparrow” (2), “Shchi”, “Russian language”.
5. Pushkin A.S. “Peasant Young Lady” (3).
Aksakov S.T. "Early summer".
Glinka F.N. "Partizan Davydov".
Dostoevsky F.M. "Netochka Nezvanova."
Korolenko V. “The Blind Musician.”
Ostrovsky N.A. "Storm".
20th century
1. Green A." Scarlet Sails" (7)
2. Paustovsky K.G. “Basket with fir cones” (3), “Old cook”, “Tenants of the old house”.
3. Platonov A.P. " Unknown flower» (2), "Flower on the ground"
4. M. Gorky (1), “Tales of Italy”
5. Kuprin A.I. (2)
Alekseevich S. “The Last Witnesses”
Aitmatov Ch.T. "The block"
Bunin I.A. "Lapti"
Zakrutkin V. “Mother of Man”
Rasputin V.G. "French lessons".
Tolstoy A. N. “Nikita’s Childhood”
Sholokhov M.A. "Nakhalenok."
Shmelev I.S. “Summer of the Lord,” excerpt from the chapter “Breaking the Fast”
Troepolsky G.N. "White Bim Black Ear"
Fadeev A. “Young Guard” excerpt “Mom”
Original work (search engines by title do not provide links)
"The Tale of Aimio, the North Wind and the Fairy of the Taka River - Tika"
Children's literature
Alexandrova T. “Traffic Light”
Gaidar A.P. "Distant Countries", "Hot Stone".
Georgiev S. “Sasha + Tanya”
Zheleznikov V.K. "Scarecrow"
Nosov N. “Fedina’s task”
Pivovarova I. “Nature Protection Day”
Black Sasha “Diary of Mickey the Pug”
Foreign literature
1. Antoine de Saint-Exupery “The Little Prince” (4).
2. Hugo V. “Les Miserables.”
3. Lindgren A. “Pippi, Long stocking».
4. Sand J. “What the flowers talk about.”
5. S.-Thompson “Lobo”.
6. Twain M. “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer”
7. Wilde O. “Boy Star”.
8. Capek Karel “A Dog’s Life.”

For example, Lev Kassil became famous for his book “Conduit and Schwambrania”, Nikolai Nosov for his novels about Dunno, Vitaly Bianchi for his “Forest Newspaper”, Yuri Sotnik for his story “How I Was Independent”

But Radiy Pogodin does not have such a book. Even his story “Dubravka”, the story “Turn on the Northern Lights”, the story “Chizhi”

After “Scarlet,” Yuri Koval began to write one after another his wonderful stories and novellas: “The Adventures of Vasya Kurolesov,” “The Little Napoleon III,” “Five Kidnapped Monks,” “Wormwood Tales.” The novel "Suer-Vyer".

Well, Lizaveta Grigorievna, I saw young Berestov; I've seen enough; We were together all day.
Like this? Tell me, tell me in order.
If you please, let's go, I, Anisya Egorovna, Nenila, Dunka
Okay, I know. Well then?
Let me tell you everything in order. We arrived just before lunch. The room was full of people. There were the Kolbinskys, the Zakharyevskys, the clerk with her daughters, the Khlupinskys
Well! and Berestov?
Wait, sir. So we sat down at the table, the clerk was in first place, I was next to her and my daughters were sulking, but I don’t care about them
Oh Nastya, how boring you are with your eternal details!
How impatient you are! Well, we left the table and we sat for three hours, and the dinner was glorious; blancmange cake blue, red and striped So we left the table and went into the garden to play burners, and the young master appeared here.
Well? Is it true that he is so good-looking?
Surprisingly good, handsome, one might say. Slender, tall, blush all over his cheek
Right? And I thought that his face was pale. What? What did he look like to you? Sad, thoughtful?
What do you? I've never seen such a madman in my entire life. He decided to run with us into the burners.
Run into the burners with you! Impossible!
Very possible! What else did you come up with! He'll catch you and kiss you!
It's your choice, Nastya, you're lying.
It's your choice, I'm not lying. I got rid of him by force. He spent the whole day with us like that.
Why, they say, he’s in love and doesn’t look at anyone?
I don’t know, sir, but he looked at me too much, and at Tanya, the clerk’s daughter, too; and even Pasha Kolbinskaya, it’s a shame to say, he didn’t offend anyone, he’s such a spoiler!
It is amazing! What do you hear about him in the house?
The master, they say, is wonderful: so kind, so cheerful. One thing is not good: he likes to chase girls too much. Yes, for me, this is not a problem: it will settle down over time.
How I would like to see him! Lisa said with a sigh.
What's so clever about that? Tugilovo is not far from us, only three miles: go for a walk in that direction, or ride a horse; you will surely meet him. Every day, early in the morning, he goes hunting with a gun.
No, not good. He might think I'm chasing him. Besides, our fathers are in a quarrel, so I still won’t be able to meet him. Ah, Nastya! Do you know what? I'll dress up as a peasant girl!
And indeed; put on a thick shirt, a sundress, and go boldly to Tugilovo; I guarantee you that Berestov will not miss you.
And I can speak the local language perfectly well. Oh, Nastya, dear Nastya! What a wonderful idea!

Victor Golyavkin
THAT'S WHAT'S INTERESTING!
When Goga started going to first grade, he knew only two letters: O for a circle, and T for a hammer. That's all. I didn't know any other letters. And I couldn't read. Grandma tried to teach him, but he immediately came up with a trick: “Now, now, grandma, I’ll wash the dishes for you.” And he immediately ran to the kitchen to wash the dishes. And the old grandmother forgot about studying and even bought him gifts for helping him with the housework. And Gogin’s parents were on a long business trip and relied on their grandmother. And of course, they didn’t know that their son still hadn’t learned to read. But Goga often washed the floor and dishes, went for bread, and his grandmother praised him in every possible way in letters to his parents. And I read it aloud to him. And Goga, sitting comfortably on the sofa, listened with his eyes closed. “Why should I learn to read,” he reasoned, if my grandmother reads aloud to me.” He didn't even try. And in class he dodged as best he could. The teacher tells him: “Read it here.” He pretended to read, and he himself told from memory what his grandmother read to him. The teacher stopped him. To the laughter of the class, he said: “If you want, I’d better close the window so it doesn’t blow.” Or: “I’m so dizzy that I’m probably going to fall... He pretended so skillfully that one day his teacher sent him to the doctor.” The doctor asked: - How are you? “It’s bad,” said Goga. - What hurts? - All. - Well, go to class then. - Why? - Because nothing hurts you. - How do you know? - How do you know that? - the doctor laughed. And he slightly pushed Goga towards the exit. Goga never pretended to be sick again, but continued to prevaricate. And the efforts of my classmates came to nothing. First, Masha, an excellent student, was assigned to him.
“Let’s study seriously,” Masha told him. - When? - asked Goga. - Yeah right now. “I’ll come now,” Goga said. And he left and did not return. Then Grisha, an excellent student, was assigned to him. They stayed in the classroom. But as soon as Grisha opened the primer, Goga reached under the desk. - Where are you going? - Grisha asked. “Come here,” Goga called. - For what? - And here no one will bother us. - Yah you! - Grisha, of course, was offended and left immediately. No one else was assigned to him.
As time went. He was dodging. Gogin's parents arrived and found that their son could not read a single line. The father grabbed his head, and the mother grabbed the book she had brought for her child. “Now every evening,” she said, “I will read this wonderful book aloud to my son.” Grandma said: “Yes, yes, I also read interesting books aloud to Gogochka every evening.” But the father said: “You really shouldn’t have done that.” Our Gogochka has become so lazy that he cannot read a single line. I ask everyone to leave for the meeting. And dad, along with grandmother and mom, left for a meeting. And Goga was at first worried about the meeting, and then calmed down when his mother began to read to him from a new book. And he even shook his legs with pleasure and almost spat on the carpet. But he didn't know what kind of meeting it was! What was decided there! So, mom read him a page and a half after the meeting. And he, swinging his legs, naively imagined that this would continue to happen. But when mom stopped at the most interesting place, he became worried again. And when she handed him the book, he became even more worried. “Then read for yourself,” his mother told him. He immediately suggested: “Let me wash the dishes for you, mommy.” And he ran to wash the dishes. But even after that, my mother refused to read. He ran to his father. His father sternly told him never to make such requests to him again. He thrust the book to his grandmother, but she yawned and dropped it from her hands. He picked up the book from the floor and gave it to his grandmother again. But she dropped it from her hands again. No, she had never fallen asleep so quickly in her chair before! “Is she really asleep,” thought Goga, “or was she instructed at the meeting to pretend?” Goga tugged at her, shook her, but the grandmother did not even think about waking up. And he really wanted to know what happens next in this book! In despair, he sat down on the floor and began to look at the pictures. But from the pictures it was difficult to understand what was happening there next. He brought the book to class. But his classmates refused to read to him. Not only that: Masha immediately left, and Grisha defiantly reached under the desk. Goga pestered the high school student, but he flicked him on the nose and laughed. What to do next? After all, he will never know what is written next in the book until he reads it.
All that remained was to study. Read for yourself. That's what a home meeting is all about! This is what the public means! He soon read the entire book and many other books, but out of habit he never forgot to go buy bread, wash the floor or wash the dishes. That's what's interesting!

Victor Golyavkin

TWO GIFTS
On his birthday, dad gave Alyosha a pen with a gold feather. The golden words were engraved on the handle: “On Alyosha’s birthday from dad.” The next day Alyosha went to school with his new pen. He was very proud: after all, not everyone in the class has a pen with a gold nib and gold letters! And then the teacher forgot her pen at home and asked the kids to borrow it. And Alyosha was the first to hand her his treasure. And at the same time I thought: “Maria Nikolaevna will definitely notice what a wonderful pen he has, read the inscription and say something like: “Oh, what a beautiful handwriting it’s written!” or: “What a beauty!” Then Alyosha will say: “And you look on golden feather, Maria Nikolaevna, the real gold!" But the teacher did not look at the pen and did not say anything like that. She asked Alyosha for the lesson, but he did not learn it. And then Maria Nikolaevna wrote a deuce in the magazine with a gold pen and returned the pen. Alyosha, confused looking at his golden pen, he said: “How does it happen?.. This is how it happens!..” “What are you talking about, Alyosha?” the teacher didn’t understand. “About the golden pen...” said Alyosha. golden pen?
“So today you don’t have golden knowledge,” said the teacher. - It turns out that dad gave me a pen so that they could give me two grades with it? - said Alyosha. - That's the number! What kind of gift is this?! The teacher smiled and said: “Dad gave you a pen, but today’s gift you made for yourself.”

FASTER, FASTER! (V. Golyavkin)

Heading 5 Heading 615

Texts for the “Living Classics” competition

"But what if?" Olga Tikhomirova

It has been raining since morning. Alyoshka jumped over the puddles and walked quickly - quickly. No, he wasn't late for school at all. He just noticed Tanya Shibanova’s blue cap from afar.

You can't run: you'll be out of breath. And she might think that he was running after her all the way.

It’s okay, he’ll catch up with her anyway. He’ll catch up and say... But what to say? It's been more than a week since we quarreled. Or maybe we should go ahead and say: “Tanya, let’s go to the cinema today?” Or maybe give her a smooth black pebble that he brought from the sea?...

What if Tanya says: “Take away your cobblestone, Vertisheev. What do I need it for?!”

Alyosha slowed down, but, looking at the blue cap, he hurried up again.

Tanya walked calmly and listened to the cars rustling their wheels on the wet pavement. So she looked back and saw Alyoshka, who was just jumping over a puddle.

She walked more quietly, but did not look back again. It would be nice if he caught up with her near the front garden. They would walk together, and Tanya would ask: “Do you know, Alyosha, why some maple trees have red leaves and others yellow?” Alyoshka will look and look and... Or maybe he won’t look at all, but will only mutter: “Read books, Shiba. Then you will know everything.” After all, they quarreled...

Around the corner big house there was school, and Tanya thought that Alyoshka would not have time to catch up with her.. We need to stop. But you can’t just stand in the middle of the sidewalk.

There was a Clothes store in the big house. Tanya went to the window and began looking at the mannequins.

Alyoshka came up and stood next to him... Tanya looked at him and smiled slightly... “He’ll say something now,” thought Alyoshka and, in order to get ahead of Tanya, he said:

Ahh, it's you, Shiba.. Hello...

“Hello, Vertisheev,” she said.

Shipilov Andrey Mikhailovich “True Story”

Vaska Petukhov came up with this device: you press a button, and everyone around you starts telling the truth. Vaska made this device and brought it to school. Marya Ivanovna comes into the classroom and says: “Hello guys, I’m very glad to see you!” And Vaska presses the button - once! “But to be honest,” continues Marya Ivanovna, “then I’m not happy at all, why should I be happy?” I'm tired of you worse than bitter radish in two quarters! You teach you, teach you, put your soul into you - and no gratitude. Tired of it! I won't stand on ceremony with you anymore. Anything - a couple at once!

And during recess, Kosichkina comes up to Vaska and says: “Vaska, let’s be friends with you.” “Come on,” says Vaska, and he presses the button – once! “But I’m not just going to be friends with you,” Kosichkina continues, and with specific purpose. I know your uncle works at Luzhniki; So, when “Ivanushki-International” or Philip Kirkorov perform again, then you will take me with you to the concert for free.

Vaska felt sad. He walks around school all day, pressing buttons. As long as the button is not pressed, everything is fine, but as soon as you press it, this starts happening!..

And after school it’s New Year’s Eve. Santa Claus comes into the hall and says: “Hello, guys, I’m Santa Claus!” Vaska presses the button - once! “Although,” continues Father Frost, “in fact, I’m not Father Frost at all, but the school watchman Sergei Sergeevich.” The school doesn’t have the money to hire a real artist to play Grandfather Moroz’s role, so the director asked me to advocate for time off. One performance – half a day off. Only, I think I made a mistake; I should have taken the whole day off, not just half. What do you guys think?

Vaska felt very bad at heart. He comes home sad and sad. - What happened, Vaska? - Mom asks, “You don’t have a face at all.” “Yes,” says Vaska, “nothing special, I was just disappointed in people.” “Oh, Vaska,” my mother laughed, “how funny you are; how I love you! - Is it true? - Vaska asks, - and he presses the button - One! - Is it true! - Mom laughs. - True true? - says Vaska, and he presses the button even harder. - True true! - Mom answers. “Well, then that’s it,” says Vaska, “I love you too.” Very very!

“Groom from 3B” Postnikov Valentin

Yesterday afternoon, during math class, I firmly decided that it was time for me to get married. And what? I’m already in third grade, but I still don’t have a fiancee. When, if not now? A couple more years and the train left. Dad often tells me: At your age, people already commanded a regiment. And it is true. But first I have to get married. I told my best friend Petka Amosov about this. He sits at the same desk with me.

– “You’re absolutely right,” Petka said decisively. - We will choose a bride for you at the big break. From our class.

During the break, the first thing he and I did was make a list of brides and began to think about which one I should marry.

– “Marry Svetka Fedulova,” says Petka.

– Why on Svetka? – I was surprised.

– Oddball! She’s an excellent student,” says Petka. “You’ll be copying from her for the rest of your life.”

– No, I say. – Svetka is reluctant. She was cramming. He will force me to teach lessons. He will wander around the apartment like a clockwork and whine in a nasty voice: - Learn your lessons, learn your lessons.

– Let's cross it out! – Petka said decisively.

– Or maybe I should marry Soboleva? - I ask.

– On Nastya?

– Well, yes. She lives next to the school. It’s convenient for me to see her off,” I say. – It’s not like Katka Merkulova lives behind the railway. If I marry her, why should I trudge so far all my life? My mother doesn’t allow me to walk in that area at all.

– That’s right,” Petka shook his head. “But Nastya’s dad doesn’t even have a car.” But Mashka Kruglova has it. A real Mercedes, you'll drive it to the movies.

– But Masha is fat.

– Have you ever seen Mercedes? – asks Petka. - Three Mashas will fit in there.

– “That’s not the point,” I say. - I don’t like Masha.

– Then let's marry you to Olga Bublikova. Her grandmother cooks - you'll lick your fingers. Do you remember Bublikova treated us to grandma’s pies? Oh, and delicious. You won't be lost with such a grandmother. Even in old age.

– Happiness doesn’t lie in pies, I say.

– And what? – Petka is surprised.

– “I would like to marry Varka Koroleva,” I say. - Wow!

– And what about Varka? – Petka is surprised. - No A's, no Mercedes, no grandmother. What kind of wife is this?

– That's why her eyes are beautiful.

– Well, there you go,” Petka laughed. – The most important thing in a wife is the dowry. This is what the great Russian writer Gogol said, I heard it myself. And what kind of dowry is this – eyes? Laughter, and that's all.

– “You don’t understand anything,” I waved my hand. - Eyes are a dowry. The best!

That was the end of the matter. But I haven’t changed my mind about getting married. Just know!

Victor Golyavkin. Things are not going my way

One day I come home from school. That day I just got a bad grade. I walk around the room and sing. I sing and sing so that no one thinks that I got a bad mark. Otherwise they will ask: “Why are you gloomy, why are you thoughtful?”

Father says:

- Why is he singing like that?

And mom says:

- He is probably in a cheerful mood, so he sings.

Father says:

- He probably got an A, and that’s what’s fun for the man. It's always fun when you do something good.

When I heard this, I sang even louder.

Then the father says:

- Okay, Vovka, please your father and show him the diary.

Then I immediately stopped singing.

- For what? - I ask.

- “I see,” says the father, “you really want to show me the diary.”

He takes the diary from me, sees a deuce there and says:

- Surprisingly, I got a D and is singing! What, is he crazy? Come on, Vova, come here! Do you happen to have a fever?

- “I don’t have,” I say, “no fever...

The father spread his hands and said:

- Then you need to be punished for this singing...

That's how unlucky I am!

Parable “What you do will come back to you”

At the beginning of the twentieth century, a Scottish farmer was returning home and passed a marshy area. Suddenly he heard cries for help. The farmer rushed to help and saw a boy who was being sucked into its terrible abysses by the swamp slurry. The boy tried to climb out of the terrible mass of the swamp, but his every movement condemned him to quick death. The boy screamed. out of despair and fear.

The farmer quickly cut down a thick branch, carefully

approached and extended a saving branch to the drowning man. The boy got out safe place. He was trembling, he could not stop crying for a long time, but the main thing was that he was saved!

- “Let’s go to my house,” the farmer suggested to him. - You need to calm down, dry out and warm up.

- No, no,” the boy shook his head, “my dad is waiting for me.” He's probably very worried.

Looking gratefully into the eyes of his savior, the boy ran away...

In the morning, the farmer saw a rich carriage pulled by luxurious thoroughbred horses drive up to his house. A richly dressed gentleman came out of the carriage and asked:

- Was it you who saved my son's life yesterday?

- Yes, I am,” answered the farmer.

- How much do I owe you?

- Don't offend me, sir. You don't owe me anything because I did what a normal person should have done.

The class froze. Isabella Mikhailovna bent over the magazine and finally said:
- Rogov.
Everyone sighed with relief and slammed their textbooks shut. And Rogov went to the board, scratched himself and for some reason said:
- You look good today, Isabella Mikhailovna!
Isabella Mikhailovna took off her glasses:
- Well, well, Rogov. Get started.
Rogov sniffled and began:
- Your hair is neat! Not what I have.
Isabella Mikhailovna stood up and walked over to the world map:
- Haven't you learned your lesson?
- Yes! - Rogov exclaimed passionately. - I repent! Nothing can be hidden from you! The experience of working with children is enormous!
Isabella Mikhailovna smiled and said:
- Oh, Rogov, Rogov! Show me where Africa is.
“There,” said Rogov and waved his hand outside the window.
“Well, sit down,” sighed Isabella Mikhailovna. - Three...
During recess, Rogov gave interviews to his comrades:
- The main thing is to start this kikimore about eyes...
Isabella Mikhailovna was just passing by.
“Ah,” Rogov reassured his comrades. - This deaf grouse can’t hear more than two steps.
Isabella Mikhailovna stopped and looked at Rogov so that Rogov understood: the grouse could hear further than two steps.
The next day, Isabella Mikhailovna again called Rogov to the board.
Rogov turned white as a sheet and croaked:
- You called me yesterday!
“And I want more,” said Isabella Mikhailovna and squinted.
“Oh, your smile is so dazzling,” Rogov mumbled and fell silent.
- What else? - Isabella Mikhailovna asked dryly.
“Your voice is also pleasant,” Rogov squeezed out.
“Yes,” said Isabella Mikhailovna. - You haven't learned your lesson.
“You see everything, you know everything,” Rogov said listlessly. - But for some reason you went to school, people like me will ruin your health. You should go to the sea now, write poetry, meet a good person...
Bowing her head, Isabella Mikhailovna thoughtfully ran a pencil over the paper. Then she sighed and said quietly:
- Well, sit down, Rogov. Troika.

KOTINA KINDNESS Fedor Abramov

Nikolai K., nicknamed Kotya the Glass, was quite dashing during the war. The father is at the front, the mother died, and they don’t take him to the orphanage: there is an uncle. True, my uncle is disabled, but with a good job (a tailor), why should he warm up an orphan?

The uncle, however, did not warm the orphan, and the sonfront-line soldier often fed from the trash heap. Collects potato peelings and cooks them in a canAnke on a fire pit by the river, in which sometimes you can catch some minnow, and that’s what he lived for.

After the war, Kotya served in the army, built a house, started a family, and then took in his uncle -That by that time he was completely decrepit, in his ninth decade

has passed.

Uncle Kotya did not refuse anything. What he and his family ate, he put in his uncle’s cup. And he didn’t even share a glass unless he was taking communion himself.

- Eat, drink, uncle! “I don’t forget my relatives,” Kotya said every time.

- Don't forget, don't forget, Mikolayushko.

- Did you offend me regarding food and drink?

- Didn't offend, didn't offend.

- So he gave shelter to a helpless old man?

- Sheltered, sheltered.

- But how come you didn’t give me shelter during the war? The newspapers write that other people's children were taken into care because of the war. Folk. Do you remember how they sang in the song? “There is a people’s war, a holy war...” Am I really a stranger to you?

- Oh, oh, the truth is yours, Mikolayushko.

- Don't groan! Then I should have groaned when I was rummaging in the garbage pit...

Kotya usually ended the table conversation with a tear:

- Well, uncle, uncle, thank you! The deceased father would bow at your feet if he returned from the war. After all, he thought, the son of Yevon, a miserable orphan, under his uncle’s wing, and the crow warmed me with its wing more than my uncle. Do you understand this with your old head? After all, moose protect little moose calves from wolves, but you’re not an elk. You are my dear uncle... Eh!..

And then the old man began to cry out loud. For exactly two months, Kotya raised his uncle like this, day after day, and on the third month, his uncle hanged himself.

Excerpt from the novel Mark Twain's "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn"

I closed the door behind me. Then I turned around and looked - there he was, dad! I was always afraid of him - he really beat me up. My father was about fifty years old, and looked no less. His hair is long, unkempt and dirty, hanging in clumps, and only his eyes shine through them, as if through bushes. There is not a trace of blood in the face - it is completely pale; but not as pale as other people’s, but such that it’s scary and disgusting to look at, like a fish’s belly or like a frog. And the clothes are complete trash, nothing to look at. I stood and looked at him, and he looked at me, swaying slightly in his chair. He looked me from head to toe, then said:
- Look how you dressed up - wow! You probably think that you are an important bird now, or what?
“Maybe I think so, maybe not,” I say.
- Look, don’t be too rude! - Got crazy while I was away! I’ll deal with you quickly, I’ll knock your arrogance off you! You’ve also become educated; they say you can read and write. Do you think your father is no match for you now, since he is illiterate? I'll beat all this out of you. Who told you to gain stupid nobility? Tell me, who told you to do this?
- The widow ordered.
- Widow? That's how it is! And who allowed the widow to poke her nose into something that wasn’t her own business?
- Nobody allowed it.
- Okay, I’ll show her how to meddle where they don’t ask! And you, look, quit your school. Do you hear? I'll show them! They taught the boy to turn up his nose in front of his own father, he assumed such importance! Well, if I ever see you hanging around this very school, stick with me! Your mother could neither read nor write, so she died illiterate. And all your relatives died illiterate. I can’t read or write, but he, look at what a dandy he’s dressed up as! I'm not the kind of person to put up with this, do you hear? Come on, read it, I’ll listen.
I took the book and started reading something about General Washington and the war. Not even half a minute had passed before he grabbed the book with his fist and it flew across the room.
- Right. You know how to read. But I didn’t believe you. Look at me, stop wondering, I won’t tolerate this! Follow
I'll be you, such a dandy, and if I just catch you near this very
school, I'll take all the skin off! I’ll pour it into you - before you know it! Good son, nothing to say!
He picked up a blue and yellow picture of a boy with cows and asked:
- What is this?
- They gave it to me because I am a good student. He tore the picture and said:
- I’ll give you something too: a good belt!
He muttered and grumbled something under his breath for a long time, then said:
- Just think, what a sissy! And he has a bed, and sheets, and a mirror, and a carpet on the floor - and his own father should be lying in a tannery along with the pigs! Good son, nothing to say! Well, I’ll deal with you quickly, I’ll beat all the crap out of you! Look, he assumed importance...

Previously, I didn’t really like studying, but now I decided that
I will definitely go to school, to spite my father.

SWEET JOB Sergey Stepanov

The boys sat at a table in the yard and languished from idleness. It's hot to play football, but it's a long way to go to the river. And we went like this twice today.
Dimka came up with a bag of sweets. He gave everyone a piece of candy and said:
- You’re playing the fool here, and I got a job.
- What job?
- A taster at a confectionery factory. I took the work home.
- Are you serious? - the boys got excited.
- Well, you see.
- What kind of work do you have there?
- I'm trying some sweets. How are they made? They pour a bag of granulated sugar, a bag of powdered milk into a large vat, then a bucket of cocoa, a bucket of nuts... What if someone pours in an extra kilogram of nuts? Or vice versa...
“Quite the opposite,” someone interjected.
- In the end, you have to try what happened. You need a person with good taste. And they can no longer eat it themselves. Not only that, they can’t look at these candies anymore! That's why they have automatic lines everywhere. And the result is brought to us, the tasters. Well, we try and say: everything is fine, you can take it to the store. Or: it would be nice to add raisins here and make a new variety called “Zyu-zyu”.
- Wow, great! Dimka, you ask, do they need more tasters?
- I "ll ask.
- I'd like to go to the station chocolates went. I'm good at them.
- And I agree with caramel. Dimka, do they pay wages there?
- No, they only pay with sweets.
- Dimka, let’s come up with a new type of candy now, and you’ll offer it to them tomorrow!
Petrov came up, stood next to him for a while and said:
-Who are you listening to? Didn't he deceive you enough? Dimka, admit it: you’re making a fool of yourself!
- You’re always like this, Petrov. You’ll come and ruin everything. You won't let me dream.

Ivan Yakimov “Strange Procession”

In the fall, on Nastasia the Shepherd, when they were feeding the shepherds in the yards - thanking them for saving their livestock - Mitrokha Vanyugin’s ram went missing. I searched and searched for Mitrokh, but there was no sheep anywhere, even for the life of me. He began to walk around houses and yards. He visited five hosts, and then directed his steps to Macrida and Epiphanes. He comes in, and the whole family is slurping fatty lamb soup, only the spoons flicker.

“Bread and salt,” says Mitrokha, looking sideways at the table.

Come in, Mitrofan Kuzmich, you will be a guest. “Sit down and sip some soup with us,” the owners invite.

Thank you. No way, they slaughtered a sheep?

Thank God they stabbed him to death, he'll stop accumulating fat.

“I can’t imagine where the ram could have gone,” Mitrokha sighed and, after a pause, asked: “Didn’t he come to you by chance?”

Or maybe he did, we need to look in the barn.

Or maybe he went under the knife? – the guest narrowed his eyes.

“Maybe he got under the knife,” the owner answers, not at all embarrassed.

Don't joke, Epifan Averyanovich, you're not in the dark, tea, you were slaughtering a sheep, you have to distinguish yours from someone else's.

Yes, these sheep are all gray, like wolves, so who can tell them apart, said Makrida.

Show me the skin. I recognize my sheep in no time.

The owner carries the skin.

Well, that's right, my ram! - Mitrokha rushed from the bench. - There's a black spot on the back, and on the tail, look, the fur is singed: Blind Manyokha, she set it on fire with a torch while she was giving it water. - How does this work out?, rowing in the middle of the day?

We didn’t do it on purpose, sorry, Kuzmich. He was standing right at the door, damned, who knew he was yours,” the owners shrug their shoulders. “Don’t tell anyone, for God’s sake.” Take our ram and that's the end of the matter.

No, not the end! - Mitrokha jumped up and down. “Your ram is a runt, a lamb against mine.” Turn my ram!

How can you get it back if it's half eaten? – the owners are perplexed.

Turn over everything that is left, pay money for the rest.

An hour later, from the house of Makrida and Epiphanes to the house of Mitrokha, in front of the whole village, a strange procession was moving. Epiphanes with a lamb skin under his arm walked in front, crouching on his right leg, Mitrokha walked importantly behind him with a bag of lamb on his shoulder, and Makrida brought up the rear. . She trotted along with cast iron in her outstretched arms - carrying half-eaten soup from Mitrokhin's sheep. The ram, although disassembled, returned to its owner again.

Bobik visiting Barbos N. Nosov

Bobik saw a comb on the table and asked:

What kind of saw do you have?

What a saw! This is a scallop.

What is it for?

Oh you! - said Barbos. “It’s immediately obvious that he’s lived in a kennel all his life.” Don't know what a comb is for? Comb your hair.

What's it like to comb your hair?

Barbos took a comb and began to comb the hair on his head:

Look how you should comb your hair. Go to the mirror and comb your hair.

Bobik took the comb, went to the mirror and saw his reflection in it.

Listen,” he shouted, pointing to the mirror, “there’s some kind of dog there!”

Yes, it’s you yourself in the mirror! - Barbos laughed.

Like me? I’m here, and there’s another dog there. Barbos also went to the mirror. Bobik saw his reflection and shouted:

Well, now there are two of them!

Not really! - said Barbos. “It’s not two of them, but two of us.” They are there, in the mirror, lifeless.

Like inanimate? - Bobik shouted. - They're moving!

What a weirdo! - Barbos answered. “We are the ones moving.” You see, there is one dog there that looks like me! - That's right, it looks like it! - Bobik was happy. Exactly like you!

And the other dog looks like you.

What you! - Bobik answered. “There’s some kind of nasty dog ​​there, and its paws are crooked.”

The same paws as yours.

No, you're deceiving me! You put some two dogs there and you think I’ll believe you,” Bobik said.

He began to comb his hair in front of the mirror, then suddenly laughed:

Look, that weirdo in the mirror is also combing his hair! This is hilarious!

Barbosonlysnorted and stepped aside.

Victor Dragunsky “Topsy-turvy”

One day I was sitting and sitting and out of the blue I suddenly thought of something that surprised even myself. I thought that it would be so good if everything around the world were arranged in reverse. Well, for example, for children to be in charge in all matters and adults would have to obey them in everything, in everything. In general, so that adults are like children, and children are like adults. That would be wonderful, it would be very interesting.

Firstly, I imagine how my mother would “like” such a story, that I walk around and command her as I want, and dad would probably “like” it too, but there’s nothing to say about grandma. Needless to say, I would remember everything to them! For example, my mother would be sitting at dinner, and I would tell her:

“Why did you start a fashion for eating without bread? Here's more news! Look at yourself in the mirror, who do you look like? Looks like Koschey! Eat now, they tell you! - And she would start eating with her head down, and I would just give the command: - Faster! Don't hold your cheek! Are you thinking again? Are you still solving the world's problems? Chew it properly! And don’t rock your chair!”

And then dad would come in after work, and before he even had time to undress, I would already shout:

“Yeah, he showed up! We must always wait for you! Wash your hands now! As it should be, as it should be, there is no need to smear the dirt. It's scary to look at the towel after you. Brush three times and don’t skimp on the soap. Come on, show me your nails! It's horror, not nails. It's just claws! Where are the scissors? Don't move! I don’t cut any meat, and I cut it very carefully. Don't sniffle, you're not a girl... That's it. Now sit down at the table.”

He would sit down and quietly say to his mother:

“Well, how are you?”

And she would also say quietly:

“Nothing, thank you!”

And I would immediately:

“Talkers at the table! When I eat, I am deaf and dumb! Remember this for the rest of your life. Golden Rule! Dad! Put down the newspaper now, your punishment is mine!”

And they would sit like silk, and when my grandmother came, I would squint, clasp my hands and shout:

"Dad! Mother! Take a look at our grandma! What a view! The coat is open, the hat is on the back of the head! The cheeks are red, the whole neck is wet! Good, nothing to say. Admit it, I was playing hockey again! What kind of dirty stick is this? Why did you drag her into the house? What? It's a stick! Get her out of my sight now - out the back door!”

Here I would walk around the room and say to all three of them:

“After lunch, everyone sit down for your homework, and I’ll go to the cinema!”

Of course, they would immediately whine and whine:

“And you and I! And we want to go to the cinema too!”

And I would tell them:

“Nothing, nothing! Yesterday we went to a birthday party, on Sunday I took you to the circus! Look! I liked having fun every day. Stay at home! Here’s thirty kopecks for ice cream, that’s all!”

Then the grandmother would pray:

“Take me at least! After all, each child can take one adult with them for free!”

But I would dodge, I would say:

“And people over seventy years old are not allowed to enter this picture. Stay at home, fool!”

And I would walk past them, deliberately clicking my heels loudly, as if I didn’t notice that their eyes were all wet, and I would start getting dressed, and would twirl in front of the mirror for a long time, and would hum, and this would make them even worse they were tormented, and I would open the door to the stairs and say...

But I didn’t have time to think of what I would say, because at that time my mother came in, very real, alive, and said:

- You're still sitting. Eat now, look who you look like? Looks like Koschey!

Inside out questions

Once upon a time there was a boy who spent whole days pestering everyone with questions. There is, of course, nothing wrong with this; on the contrary, curiosity is a commendable thing. But the trouble is that no one was able to answer this boy’s questions.
For example, he comes one day and asks:
- Why do the boxes have a table?
Of course, people only opened their eyes in surprise or, just in case, answered:
- Boxes are used to put something in them. Well, let's say, dinnerware.
- I know what the boxes are for. But why do the boxes have tables?
People shook their heads and hurried to leave. Another time he asked:
- Why does the tail have a fish?
Or more:
- Why does the mustache have a cat?
People shrugged their shoulders and hurried to leave, because everyone had their own things to do.
The boy was growing up, but he still remained a little boy, and not just a little boy, but a little boy inside out. Even as an adult, he walked around and pestered everyone with questions. It goes without saying that no one, not a single person, could answer them. Completely despairing, the little guy retreated inside out to the top of the mountain, built himself a hut and there, in his freedom, came up with more and more new questions. He came up with them, wrote them down in a notebook, and then racked his brains, trying to find the answer. However, never in his life did he answer any of his questions.
And how could he answer if in his notebook it was written: “Why does the shadow have a pine tree?” "Why don't clouds write letters?" "Why don't postage stamps drink beer?" He began to have headaches from the tension, but he didn’t pay attention to it and kept coming up with his endless questions. Little by little, he grew a long beard, but he didn’t even think about trimming it. Instead, he came up with a new question: "Why does a beard have a face?"
In a word, he was an eccentric like few. When he died, a scientist began to research his life and made an amazing scientific discovery. It turned out that this little guy had been accustomed to putting his stockings on inside out since childhood and had been wearing them that way all his life. He had never been able to put them on properly. That is why he could not learn to ask the right questions until his death.
And look at your stockings, are you wearing them correctly?

THE SENSITIVE COLONEL O. Henry

The sun is shining brightly and the birds are singing cheerfully on the branches. Peace and harmony are spread throughout nature. A visitor sits at the entrance to a small suburban hotel, quietly smoking a pipe, waiting for the train.

But then a tall man in boots and a hat with wide, down-turned brims comes out of the hotel with a six-shooter revolver in his hand and shoots. The man on the bench rolls off with a loud scream. The bullet grazed his ear. He jumps to his feet in amazement and rage and yells:
- Why are you shooting at me?
A tall man approaches with wide-brimmed hat in his hand, bows and says:
- I'm sorry, sir. I'm Colonel Jay, sir, it seemed to me that you were insulting me, sir, but I see that I was mistaken. Very “hell that didn’t kill you, sir.”
- I insult you - with what? - the visitor bursts out. - I didn't say a single word.
“You were knocking on the bench, sir,” as if you wanted to say that you were a woodpecker,
se", and I - p" belong to d"goy po"ode. I see now that you are just
knocked the ashes out of your "tubka, sir." I beg your pardon, sir, and also that you go and have a glass with me, sir, in order to show that you have no bitterness in your soul against the gentleman who "I apologize to you, sir."

“MONUMENT TO A SWEET CHILDHOOD” by O. Henry

He was old and weak, and the sand in the clock of his life had almost run out. He
walked with unsteady steps along one of the most fashionable streets in Houston.

He left the city twenty years ago, when it was little more than a meager village, and now, tired of wandering around the world and full of a painful desire to look once again at the places where he spent his childhood, he returned and found that a bustling business city had grown on the site of his ancestors' house.

He searched in vain for some familiar object that could remind him days gone by. Everything has changed. There,
where his father's hut stood, the walls of a slender skyscraper rose; the vacant lot where he played as a child was built up with modern buildings. On both sides there were magnificent lawns, running up to luxurious mansions.

Suddenly, with a cry of joy, he rushed forward with renewed energy. He saw in front of him - untouched by the hand of man and unchangeable by time - an old familiar object around which he had run and played as a child.

He extended his arms and rushed towards him with a deep sigh of contentment.
Later he was found sleeping with a quiet smile on his face on an old garbage heap in the middle of the street - the only monument to his sweet childhood!

Eduard Uspensky “Spring in Prostokvashino”

One day a parcel arrived for Uncle Fyodor in Prostokvashino, and in it was a letter:

“Dear Uncle Fedor! Your beloved Aunt Tamara, a former colonel of the Red Army, is writing to you. It's time for you to take up farming - both for education and for the harvest.

Carrots should be planted at attention. Cabbage - in a line through one.

Pumpkin - at the command “at ease”. Preferably near an old trash heap. The pumpkin will “suck out” the entire trash heap and become huge. The sunflower grows well away from the fence so that the neighbors do not eat it. Tomatoes should be planted leaning against sticks. Cucumbers and garlic require constant fertilization.

I read all this in the charter of the agricultural service.

I bought seeds by the glass at the market and poured everything into one bag. But you'll figure it out on the spot.

Don't get carried away by gigantism. Remember the tragic fate of Comrade Michurin, who died after falling from a cucumber.

All. We kiss you with the whole family.”

Uncle Fyodor was horrified by such a package.

He selected for himself several seeds that he knew well. He planted sunflower seeds in a sunny place. I planted pumpkin seeds near the trash heap. That's all. Soon everything he grew up was delicious, fresh, just like in a textbook.

Marina Druzhinina. CALL, THEY WILL SING FOR YOU!

On Sunday we drank tea with jam and listened to the radio. As always at this time, radio listeners live congratulated their friends, relatives, bosses on their birthday, wedding day or something else significant; They told us how wonderful they were and asked them to sing good songs for these wonderful people.

- Another call! - the announcer declared jubilantly once again. - Hello! We are listening to you! Who will we congratulate?

And then... I couldn’t believe my ears! The voice of my classmate Vladka rang out:

- This is Vladislav Nikolaevich Gusev speaking! Congratulations to Vladimir Petrovich Ruchkin, sixth grade student “B”! He got an A in math! First one this quarter! And actually the first one! Pass it on for him best song!

- Wonderful congratulations! - the announcer admired. - We join these warm words and wish dear Vladimir Petrovich that the mentioned five will not be the last in his life! And now - “Twice two is four”!

The music started playing, and I almost choked on my tea. It's no joke - they sing a song in my honor! After all, Ruchkin is me! And even Vladimir! And Petrovich too! And in general, I’m studying in the sixth “B”! Everything matches! Everything except five. I didn't get any A's. Never. But in my diary there was something exactly the opposite.

- Vovka! Did you really get an A?! “Mom jumped out from the table and rushed to hug and kiss me. - Finally! I dreamed about this so much! Why were you silent? How modest! And Vladik - a true friend! How happy he is for you! He even congratulated me on the radio! Five must be celebrated! I'll bake something delicious! - Mom immediately kneaded the dough and began to make pies, cheerfully singing: “Twice two is four, twice two is four.”

I wanted to shout that Vladik is not a friend, but a bastard! Everything is lying! There were no A's! But the tongue did not turn at all. No matter how hard I tried. Mom was very happy. I never thought that my mother’s joy has such an effect on my tongue!

- Well done, son! - Dad waved the newspaper. - Show me the five!

- They collected our diaries,” I lied. - Maybe they’ll give it away tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow...

- OK! When they hand it out, then we’ll admire it! And let's go to the circus! Now I'm off to get some ice cream for all of us! - Dad rushed off like a whirlwind, and I rushed into the room, to the phone.

Vladik picked up the phone.

- Hello! - giggles. - Did you listen to the radio?

- Have you gone completely crazy? - I hissed. - Parents here have lost their heads because of your stupid jokes! And it’s up to me to unwind! Where can I get them a five?

- How is this where? - Vladik answered seriously. - Tomorrow at school. Come to me right now to do your homework.

Gritting my teeth, I went to Vladik. What else was left for me?..

In general, we spent two whole hours solving examples, problems... And all this instead of my favorite thriller “Cannibal Watermelons”! Nightmare! Well, Vladka, wait!

The next day, in mathematics class, Alevtina Vasilievna asked:

- Who wants to review homework at the board?

Vlad poked me in the side. I groaned and raised my hand.

First time in life.

- Ruchkin? - Alevtina Vasilievna was surprised. - Well, you are welcome!

And then... Then a miracle happened. I solved everything and explained it correctly. And in my diary a proud five turned red! Honestly, I had no idea that getting A’s was so nice! Those who don't believe, let them try...

On Sunday, as always, we drank tea and listened

the program “Call, they will sing for you.” Suddenly the radio started chattering again in Vladka’s voice:

- Congratulations to Vladimir Petrovich Ruchkin from the sixth "B" with an A in Russian! Please give him the best song!

What-o-o-o?! Only the Russian language was still missing for me! I shuddered and looked at my mother with desperate hope - maybe I didn’t hear. But her eyes were shining.

- How clever you are! - Mom exclaimed, smiling happily.

Marina Druzhinina story “Horoscope”

The teacher sighed and opened the magazine.

Well, “take courage now”! Or rather, Ruchkin! Please list the birds that live on the edges of the forest, in open places.

That's the number! I never expected this! Why me? I shouldn't be called today! The horoscope promised “all Sagittarius, and therefore me, incredible luck, unbridled fun and a rapid rise up the career ladder.”

Maybe Maria Nikolaevna will change her mind, but she looked at me expectantly. I had to get up.

But what can I say - I had no idea, because I didn’t study the lessons - I believed the horoscope.

Oatmeal! – Redkin whispered into my back.

Oatmeal! – I repeated mechanically, not trusting Petka too much.

Right! – the teacher was delighted. - There is such a bird! Let's move on!

“Well done Redkin! Correctly suggested! Still, today is my lucky day! The horoscope did not disappoint!” - joyfully flashed through my head, and without any doubt, in one breath, I blurted out after Petka’s saving whisper:

Millet! Semolina! Buckwheat! Pearl barley!

An explosion of laughter drowned out the “barley.” And Maria Nikolaevna shook her head reproachfully:

Ruchkin, you probably really love porridge. But what do birds have to do with it? Sit down! "Two"!

I was literally seething with indignation. I showed

Redkin's fist and began to think about how to take revenge on him. But retribution immediately overtook the villain without my participation.

Redkin, to the board! - Maria Nikolaevna commanded. “It seems you also whispered something to Ruchkin about dumplings and okroshka.” Do you think these are also birds of open areas?

No! - Petka grinned. - I was joking.

Prompting incorrectly is mean! This is much worse than not learning a lesson! – the teacher was indignant. - I'll have to talk to your mom. Now name the birds - relatives of the crow.

There was silence. Redkin was clearly not in the know.

Vladik Gusev felt sorry for Petka, and he whispered:

Rook, jackdaw, magpie, jay...

But Redkin, apparently, decided that Vladik was taking revenge on him for his friend, that is, for me, and was giving him the wrong advice. Everyone judges for himself - I read about this in the newspaper... In general, Redkin waved his hand at Vladik: shut up, and announced:

The crow, like any other bird, has a large family. This is mom, dad, grandma - old crow - grandpa...

Here we literally howled with laughter and fell under our desks. Needless to say, the unbridled fun was a success! Even a bad mark didn't spoil the mood!

This is all?! – Maria Nikolaevna asked menacingly.

No, not everything! – Petka did not let up. “The crow also has aunts, uncles, sisters, brothers, nephews...

Enough! – the teacher shouted. “Two.” And so that all your relatives come to school tomorrow! Oh, what am I saying!... Parents!

(Martynov Alyosha)

1. Viktor Golyavkin. How I sat under my desk (Volikov Zakhar)

As soon as the teacher turned to the board, I immediately went under the desk. When the teacher notices that I have disappeared, he will probably be terribly surprised.

I wonder what he'll think? He’ll start asking everyone where I’ve gone - it’ll be a laugh! Half the lesson has already passed, and I’m still sitting. “When,” I think, “will he see that I’m not in the class?” And it’s hard to sit under the desk. My back even hurt. Try and sit like that! I coughed - no attention. I can't sit anymore. Moreover, Seryozha keeps poking me in the back with his foot. I couldn't stand it. Didn't make it to the end of the lesson. I get out and say: - Sorry, Pyotr Petrovich...

The teacher asks:

- What's the matter? Do you want to go to the board?

- No, excuse me, I was sitting under my desk...

- So, is it comfortable to sit there, under the desk? You sat very quietly today. This is how it would always be in class.

3.The story “Nakhodka” by M. Zoshchenko

One day Lelya and I took a box of chocolates and put a frog and a spider in it.

Then we wrapped this box in clean paper, tied it with a chic blue ribbon and placed this package on the panel facing our garden. It was as if someone was walking and lost their purchase.

Having placed this package near the cabinet, Lelya and I hid in the bushes of our garden and, choking with laughter, began to wait for what would happen.

And here comes a passerby.

When he sees our package, he, of course, stops, rejoices and even rubs his hands with pleasure. Of course: he found a box of chocolates - this doesn’t happen very often in this world.

With bated breath, Lelya and I watch what will happen next.

The passerby bent down, took the package, quickly untied it and, seeing the beautiful box, became even more happy.

And now the lid is open. And our frog, bored with sitting in the dark, jumps out of the box right onto the hand of a passerby.

He gasps in surprise and throws the box away from him.

Then Lelya and I began to laugh so much that we fell on the grass.

And we laughed so loudly that a passerby turned in our direction and, seeing us behind the fence, immediately understood everything.

In an instant he rushed to the fence, jumped over it in one fell swoop and rushed towards us to teach us a lesson.

Lelya and I set a streak.

We ran screaming through the garden towards the house.

But I tripped over a garden bed and sprawled out on the grass.

And then a passerby tore my ear quite hard.

I screamed loudly. But the passer-by, giving me two more slaps, calmly left the garden.

Our parents came running to the scream and noise.

Holding my red ear and sobbing, I went up to my parents and complained to them about what had happened.

My mother wanted to call the janitor so that she and the janitor could catch up with the passerby and arrest him.

And Lelya was about to rush after the janitor. But dad stopped her. And he said to her and mother:

- Don't call the janitor. And there is no need to arrest a passerby. Of course, it’s not the case that he tore Minka’s ears, but if I were a passer-by, I would probably have done the same.

Hearing these words, mom got angry with dad and said to him:

- You are a terrible egoist!

Lelya and I also got angry with dad and didn’t tell him anything. I just rubbed my ear and started crying. And Lelka also whimpered. And then my mother, taking me in her arms, said to my father:

- Instead of standing up for a passerby and making children cry, you would better explain to them what is wrong with what they did. Personally, I don’t see this and regard everything as innocent children’s fun.

And dad couldn’t find what to answer. He just said:

- The children will grow up big and someday they will find out for themselves why this is bad.

4.

BOTTLE

Just now on the street some young guy broke a bottle.

He was carrying something. I don't know. Kerosene or gasoline. Or maybe lemonade. In a word, some kind of soft drink. It's a hot time. I'm thirsty.

So, this guy was walking, gaped and knocked the bottle onto the sidewalk.

And such, you know, dullness. There is no need to kick the fragments off the sidewalk. No! He broke it, damn it, and moved on. And other passers-by, then, walk on these fragments. Very nice.

Then I deliberately sat down on the pipe at the gate to see what would happen next.

I see people walking on the glass. He curses, but walks. And such, you know, dullness. Not a single person is found to perform a public duty.

Well, what's it worth? Well, I would stop for a couple of seconds and shake off the fragments from the sidewalk with the same cap. But no, they walk by.

“No, I think, darlings! We still don’t understand social tasks. Slam on the glass."

And then I see that some guys have stopped.

- Eh, they say, it’s a pity that there are few barefoot people these days. Otherwise, they say, it would be great to run into yourself.

And suddenly a man comes.

A completely simple, proletarian-looking person.

This man stops around this broken bottle. Shakes his cute head. Groaning, he bends down and sweeps the fragments aside with a newspaper.

“I think it’s great! I was grieving in vain. The consciousness of the masses has not yet cooled down.”

And suddenly a policeman comes up to this gray, simple man and scolds him:

- What is this, he says, a chicken head? I ordered you to take away the fragments, and you are throwing them aside? Since you are the janitor of this house, you must rid your area of ​​your excess glass.

The janitor, muttering something under his breath, went into the yard and a minute later appeared again with a broom and a tin shovel. And he started cleaning up.

And for a long time, until they drove me away, I sat on the cabinet and thought about all sorts of nonsense.

And you know, perhaps the most surprising thing in this story is that the policeman ordered the glass to be removed.

I was walking down the street... I was stopped by a beggar, a decrepit old man.

Inflamed, tearful eyes, blue lips, rough rags, unclean wounds... Oh, how hideously poverty has gnawed at this unfortunate creature!

He extended his red, swollen, dirty hand to me... He moaned, he bellowed for help.

I started rummaging through all my pockets... Not a wallet, not a watch, not even a handkerchief... I didn't take anything with me.

And the beggar waited... and his outstretched hand weakly swayed and trembled.

Lost, embarrassed, I firmly shook this dirty, trembling hand...

- Don't blame me, brother; I have nothing, brother.

The beggar stared at me with his bloodshot eyes; his blue lips grinned - and he, in turn, squeezed my cold fingers.

- Well, brother,” he muttered, “thank you for that.” This is also alms, brother.

I realized that I also received alms from my brother.

12. The story “The Goat” by Tvark Man

We left early in the morning. Fofan and I were put in the back seat and we began to look out the window.

Dad drove carefully, didn’t overtake anyone, and told Fofan and me about the rules of the road. It’s not about how and where to cross the road so as not to be run over. And about how to drive so as not to run over anyone.

“You see, the tram has stopped,” dad said. - And we have to stop to let passengers through. And now that they have passed, we can move on. But this sign says that the road will narrow and instead of three lanes there will only be two. Let's look to the right, to the left, and if there is no one, we'll change lanes.

Fofan and I listened, looked out the window, and I felt my legs and arms moving on their own. As if it was me, and not dad, who was driving.

Pa! - I said. - Will you teach Fofan and me to drive a car?

Dad was silent for a while.

Actually, this is an adult matter, he said. - Once you grow up a little, then you will definitely.

We began to approach the turn.

But this yellow square gives us the right to pass first. - said dad. - Main road. There is no traffic light. Therefore, we show the turn and...

He did not have time to leave completely. There was a roar of an engine on the left and a black “ten” rushed past our car. She swerved back and forth twice, squealed her brakes, blocked our path and stopped. A young guy in a blue uniform jumped out and quickly walked towards us.

Did you break something?! - Mom was scared. -Are you going to be fined now?

“Yellow square,” dad said in confusion. - Main road. I didn't break anything! Maybe he wants to ask something?

Dad lowered the window, and the guy almost ran to the door. He leaned over and I saw that his face was angry. Or no, not even evil. He looked at us as if we were the most important enemies in his life.

What are you doing, you goat!? - he yelled so loudly that Fofan and I flinched. - You drove me into oncoming traffic! Well, goat! Who taught you to drive like that? Who, I ask? They'll fucking put assholes behind the wheel! It’s a pity, I’m not at work today, I would write it for you! What are you staring at?

All four of us looked at him in silence, and he kept yelling and yelling, repeating “goat” every word. Then he spat on the wheel of our car and went to his “ten”. On his back, DPS was written in yellow letters.

The black "ten" squealed its wheels, took off like a rocket and sped away.

We sat in silence for a little longer.

Who is it? - Mom asked. - Why is he so nervous?

Fool Because completely - I answered. - DPS. And he was nervous because he was driving fast and almost crashed into us. It's his own fault. We were driving correctly.

My brother was also yelled at last week,” Fofan said. - And DPS is a road patrol service.

It’s his own fault and he yelled at us? - said mom. - Then this is not traffic police. This is HAM.

How is this translated? - I asked.

“No way,” my mother answered. - Boor, he is a boor.

Dad started the car and we drove on.

Got upset? - Mom asked. - No need. You were driving correctly, weren't you?

Yes, dad answered.

“Well, forget it,” said mom. - You never know there are boors in the world. Either in uniform or without uniform. Well, his parents saved money on raising him. So this is their problem. He probably yells at them too.

Yes, dad answered again.

Then he fell silent and didn’t say another word the whole way to the dacha.

13.V. Suslov "SLAPPING"

A sixth-grader stepped on an eighth-grader's foot.

Accidentally.

In the dining room, he went out of line to buy pies - and stepped on it.

And he got a slap on the head.

The sixth grader jumped back to a safe distance and said:

- Big one!

The sixth grader was upset. And I forgot about the pies. I walked away from the dining room.

I met a fifth grader in the hallway. I gave him a slap on the head and it made him feel better. Because if they give you a slap on the head, but you can’t give it to anyone, then it’s very insulting.

- Strong, right? - the fifth grader frowned. And he stomped down the corridor in the other direction.

I passed by a ninth-grader. I walked past the seventh grader. I met a boy from the fourth grade.

And gave him a slap on the head. For the same reason.

Further, as you might guess, according to ancient proverb“If you have strength, you don’t need intelligence,” the third-grader received a slap on the head. And he also didn’t keep it to himself - he gave it to a second grader.

Why does a second grader need a slap on the head? No need at all. He sniffed and ran to look for the first-grader. Who else? It’s not right to give elders slaps on the head!

I feel most sorry for the first grader. His situation is hopeless: he can’t run from school to kindergarten to fight!

The first-grader became thoughtful because of the slap on the head.

His dad met him at home.

Asks:

- Well, what did our first grader get today?

- “Well,” he replies, “he got a slap on the head.” But they didn’t put any marks.

(Krasavin)

Anton Pavlovich ChekhovSUMMER RESIDENTS
A couple of recently married spouses were walking back and forth along the dacha platform. He held her by the waist, and she clung to him, and both were happy. From behind the cloudy fragments the moon looked at them and frowned: she was probably jealous and annoyed at her boring, useless virginity. The still air was thickly saturated with the smell of lilac and bird cherry. Somewhere, on the other side of the rails, a crake was screaming...
- How good, Sasha, how good! - said the wife. - Really, you might think that all this is a dream. Look how cozy and affectionate this forest looks! How sweet are these solid, silent telegraph poles! They, Sasha, bring the landscape to life and say that there, somewhere, there are people... civilization... Don’t you like it when the wind faintly carries the noise of a running train to your ears?
- Yes... However, your hands are so hot! It's because you're worried, Varya... What did we have for dinner today?
- Okroshka and chicken... Chicken is enough for both of us. They brought you sardines and balyk from the city.
The moon, as if sniffing tobacco, hid behind a cloud. Human happiness reminded her of her loneliness, her lonely bed behind the forests and valleys...
“The train is coming!” said Varya. - How good!
Three fiery eyes appeared in the distance. The head of the station came out onto the platform. Signal lights flashed here and there on the rails.
“We’ll see off the train and go home,” said Sasha and yawned. “We’re living well with you, Varya, so good that it’s even incredible!”
The dark monster silently crawled up to the platform and stopped. Sleepy faces, hats, shoulders flashed in the dimly lit carriage windows...
- Ah! Oh! - was heard from one of the carriages. - Varya and her husband came out to meet us! Here they are! Varenka!.. Varenka! Oh!
Two girls jumped out of the carriage and hung on Varya’s neck. Behind them appeared a plump, elderly lady and a tall, skinny gentleman with gray sideburns, then two high school students laden with luggage, a governess behind the high school students, and a grandmother behind the governess.
“Here we are, here we are, my friend!” began the gentleman with sideburns, shaking Sasha’s hand. - Tea, I've been waiting for it! Probably scolded my uncle for not going! Kolya, Kostya, Nina, Fifa... children! Kiss cousin Sasha! All to you, the whole brood, and for three or four days. I hope we won't embarrass you? Please, no ceremony.
Seeing his uncle and his family, the couple were horrified. While his uncle was talking and kissing, a picture flashed through Sasha’s imagination: he and his wife were giving their three rooms, pillows, and blankets to the guests; the balyk, sardines and okroshka are eaten in one second, the cousins ​​pick flowers, spill ink, make noise, the aunt spends whole days talking about her illness (tapeworm and pain in the pit of the stomach) and the fact that she was born Baroness von Fintich...
And Sasha already looked at his young wife with hatred and whispered to her:
- They came to you... damn them!
- No, to you! - she answered, pale, also with hatred and malice. “These are not mine, but your relatives!”
And turning to the guests, she said with a friendly smile:
- Welcome!
The moon emerged from behind the cloud again. She seemed to be smiling; She seemed pleased that she had no relatives. And Sasha turned away to hide his angry, desperate face from the guests, and said, giving his voice a joyful, complacent expression: “You are welcome!” You are welcome, dear guests!

Excerpt from the story
Chapter II

My mommy

I had a mother, affectionate, kind, sweet. My mother and I lived in a small house on the banks of the Volga. The house was so clean and bright, and from the windows of our apartment we could see the wide, beautiful Volga, and huge two-story steamships, and barges, and a pier on the shore, and crowds of people walking who came out to this pier at certain hours to meet the arriving ships... And mommy and I went there, only rarely, very rarely: mommy gave lessons in our city, and she was not allowed to walk with me as often as I would like. Mommy said:

Wait, Lenusha, I’ll save up some money and take you along the Volga from our Rybinsk all the way to Astrakhan! Then we'll have a blast.
I was happy and waiting for spring.
By spring, mommy had saved up some money, and we decided to carry out our idea on the first warm days.
- As soon as the Volga is cleared of ice, you and I will go for a ride! - Mommy said, affectionately stroking my head.
But when the ice broke, she caught a cold and began to cough. The ice passed, the Volga cleared, but mommy coughed and coughed endlessly. She suddenly became thin and transparent, like wax, and kept sitting by the window, looking at the Volga and repeating:
“The cough will go away, I’ll get better a little, and you and I will ride to Astrakhan, Lenusha!”
But the cough and cold did not go away; The summer was damp and cold this year, and every day mommy became thinner, paler and more transparent.
Autumn has come. September has arrived. Long lines of cranes stretched over the Volga, flying to warm countries. Mommy no longer sat by the window in the living room, but lay on the bed and shivered all the time from the cold, while she herself was hot as fire.
Once she called me over and said:
- Listen, Lenusha. Your mother will soon leave you forever... But don’t worry, dear. I will always look at you from heaven and will rejoice at the good deeds of my girl, and...
I didn’t let her finish and cried bitterly. And mommy started crying too, and her eyes became sad, sad, just like those of the angel I saw on the big icon in our church.
Having calmed down a little, mommy spoke again:
- I feel that the Lord will soon take me to Himself, and may His holy will be done! Be smart without your mother, pray to God and remember me... You will go to live with your uncle, my brother, who lives in St. Petersburg... I wrote to him about you and asked him to shelter an orphan...
Something painfully painful when hearing the word “orphan” squeezed my throat...
I began to sob, cry and huddle by my mother’s bed. Maryushka (the cook who lived with us for nine years, from the very year I was born, and who loved mommy and me madly) came and took me to her place, saying that “mama needs peace.”
I fell asleep in tears that night on Maryushka’s bed, and in the morning... Oh, what happened in the morning!..
I woke up very early, I think around six o’clock, and wanted to run straight to mommy.
At that moment Maryushka came in and said:
- Pray to God, Lenochka: God took your mother to him. Your mom died.
- Mommy died! - I repeated like an echo.
And suddenly I felt so cold, cold! Then there was a noise in my head, and the whole room, and Maryushka, and the ceiling, and the table, and the chairs - everything turned over and began to spin before my eyes, and I no longer remember what happened to me after this. I think I fell on the floor unconscious...
I woke up when my mother was already lying in a large white box, in a white dress, with a white wreath on her head. An old, gray-haired priest read prayers, the singers sang, and Maryushka prayed at the threshold of the bedroom. Some old women came and also prayed, then looked at me with regret, shook their heads and mumbled something with their toothless mouths...
- Orphan! Orphan! - Also shaking her head and looking at me pitifully, Maryushka said and cried. The old women also cried...
On the third day, Maryushka took me to the white box in which Mommy was lying, and told me to kiss Mommy’s hand. Then the priest blessed mommy, the singers sang something very sad; some men came up, closed the white box and carried it out of our house...
I cried loudly. But then old women I already knew arrived, saying that they were going to bury my mother and that there was no need to cry, but to pray.
The white box was brought to the church, we held mass, and then some people came up again, picked up the box and carried it to the cemetery. A deep black hole had already been dug there, into which mother’s coffin was lowered. Then they covered the hole with earth, placed a white cross over it, and Maryushka led me home.
On the way, she told me that in the evening she would take me to the station, put me on a train and send me to St. Petersburg to see my uncle.
“I don’t want to go to my uncle,” I said gloomily, “I don’t know any uncle and I’m afraid to go to him!”
But Maryushka said that it was a shame to tell the big girl like that, that mommy heard it and that my words hurt her.
Then I became quiet and began to remember my uncle’s face.
I never saw my St. Petersburg uncle, but there was a portrait of him in my mother’s album. He was depicted on it in a gold embroidered uniform, with many orders and with a star on his chest. He looked very important, and I was involuntarily afraid of him.
After dinner, which I barely touched, Maryushka packed all my dresses and underwear into an old suitcase, gave me tea and took me to the station.

Lydia Charskaya
NOTES OF A LITTLE GYMNASIUM STUDENT

Excerpt from the story
Chapter XXI
To the sound of the wind and the whistle of a snowstorm

The wind whistled, screeched, groaned and hummed in different ways. Either in a plaintive thin voice, or in a rough bass rumble, he sang his battle song. The lanterns flickered barely noticeably through the huge white flakes of snow that fell abundantly on the sidewalks, on the street, on carriages, horses and passers-by. And I kept walking and walking, forward and forward...
Nyurochka told me:
“You first have to go through a long, big street, where there are such tall houses and luxurious shops, then turn right, then left, then right again and left again, and then everything is straight, straight to the very end - to our house. You will recognize it right away. It’s right next to the cemetery, there’s also a white church... so beautiful.”
I did so. I walked straight, as it seemed to me, along a long and wide street, but I didn’t see any tall houses or luxury shops. Everything was obscured from my eyes by a white, shroud-like, living, loose wall of silently falling huge flakes of snow. I turned right, then left, then right again, doing everything with precision, as Nyurochka told me - and I kept walking, walking, walking endlessly.
The wind mercilessly ruffled the flaps of my burnusik, piercing me through and through with cold. Snow flakes hit my face. Now I was no longer walking as fast as before. My legs felt like they were filled with lead from fatigue, my whole body was shaking from the cold, my hands were numb, and I could barely move my fingers. Having turned right and left almost for the fifth time, I now went along the straight path. The quiet, barely noticeable flickering lights of lanterns came across me less and less often... The noise from the riding of horse-drawn horses and carriages in the streets died down significantly, and the path along which I walked seemed dull and deserted to me.
Finally the snow began to thin out; huge flakes did not fall so often now. The distance cleared up a little, but instead there was such a thick twilight all around me that I could barely make out the road.
Now neither the noise of driving, nor voices, nor the coachman's exclamations could be heard around me.
What silence! What dead silence!..
But what is it?
My eyes, already accustomed to the semi-darkness, now discern the surroundings. Lord, where am I?
No houses, no streets, no carriages, no pedestrians. In front of me is an endless, huge expanse of snow... Some forgotten buildings along the edges of the road... Some fences, and in front of me is something black, huge. It must be a park or a forest - I don’t know.
I turned back... Lights were flashing behind me... lights... lights... There were so many of them! Without end... without counting!
- Lord, this is a city! The city, of course! - I exclaim. - And I went to the outskirts...
Nyurochka said that they live on the outskirts. Yes of course! What darkens in the distance is the cemetery! There is a church there, and, just a short distance away, their house! Everything, everything turned out just as she said. But I was scared! What a stupid thing!
And with joyful inspiration I again walked forward vigorously.
But it was not there!
My legs could hardly obey me now. I could barely move them from fatigue. The incredible cold made me tremble from head to toe, my teeth chattered, there was a noise in my head, and something hit my temples with all its might. To all this was added some strange drowsiness. I wanted to sleep so badly, I wanted to sleep so badly!
“Well, well, a little more - and you will be with your friends, you will see Nikifor Matveyevich, Nyura, their mother, Seryozha!” - I mentally encouraged myself as best I could...
But this didn’t help either.
My legs could barely move, and now I had difficulty pulling them, first one, then the other, out of the deep snow. But they move more and more slowly, more and more quietly... And the noise in my head becomes more and more audible, and something hits my temples stronger and stronger...
Finally, I can’t stand it and fall onto a snowdrift that has formed on the edge of the road.
Oh, how good! How sweet it is to relax like this! Now I don’t feel tired or pain... Some kind of pleasant warmth spreads throughout my whole body... Oh, how good! I could just sit here and never leave! And if it weren’t for the desire to find out what happened to Nikifor Matveyevich, and to visit him, healthy or sick, I would certainly fall asleep here for an hour or two... I fell asleep soundly! Moreover, the cemetery is not far away... You can see it there. A mile or two, no more...
The snow stopped falling, the blizzard subsided a little, and the month emerged from behind the clouds.
Oh, it would be better if the moon didn’t shine and at least I wouldn’t know the sad reality!
No cemetery, no church, no houses - there is nothing ahead!.. Only the forest turns black like a huge black spot there in the distance, and the white dead field spreads around me like an endless veil...
Horror overwhelmed me.
Now I just realized that I was lost.

Lev Tolstoy

Swans

The swans flew in a herd from the cold side to the warm lands. They flew across the sea. They flew day and night, and another day and another night, without resting, they flew over the water. There was a full month in the sky, and the swans saw blue water far below them. All the swans were exhausted, flapping their wings; but they did not stop and flew on. Old, strong swans flew in front, and those who were younger and weaker flew behind. One young swan flew behind everyone. His strength weakened. He flapped his wings and could not fly any further. Then he, spreading his wings, went down. He descended closer and closer to the water; and his comrades further and further became whiter in the monthly light. The swan descended onto the water and folded its wings. The sea rose beneath him and rocked him. A flock of swans was barely visible as a white line in the light sky. And in the silence you could barely hear the sound of their wings ringing. When they were completely out of sight, the swan bent its neck back and closed its eyes. He did not move, and only the sea, rising and falling in a wide strip, raised and lowered him. Before dawn, a light breeze began to sway the sea. And the water splashed into the white chest of the swan. The swan opened his eyes. The dawn reddened in the east, and the moon and stars became paler. The swan sighed, stretched out its neck and flapped its wings, rose up and flew, clinging to the water with its wings. He rose higher and higher and flew alone over the dark, rippling waves.

Paulo Coelho
Parable "The Secret of Happiness"

One merchant sent his son to learn the Secret of Happiness from the wisest of all people. The young man walked forty days through the desert and
Finally, he came to a beautiful castle that stood on the top of the mountain. There lived the sage whom he was looking for. However, instead of the expected meeting with a wise man, our hero found himself in a hall where everything was seething: merchants were coming in and out, people were talking in the corner, a small orchestra was playing sweet melodies and there was a table laden with the most exquisite dishes of the area. The sage talked with different people, and the young man had to wait about two hours for his turn.
The sage listened carefully to the young man's explanations about the purpose of his visit, but said in response that he did not have time to reveal to him the Secret of Happiness. And he invited him to take a walk around the palace and come again in two hours.
“However, I want to ask for one favor,” the sage added, handing the young man a small spoon into which he dropped two drops of oil. — Keep this spoon in your hand the entire time you walk so that the oil does not spill out.
The young man began to go up and down the palace stairs, not taking his eyes off the spoon. Two hours later he returned to the sage.
“Well,” he asked, “have you seen the Persian carpets that are in my dining room?” Have you seen the park that the head gardener took ten years to create? Have you noticed the beautiful parchments in my library?
The young man, embarrassed, had to admit that he did not see anything. His only concern was not to spill the drops of oil that the sage entrusted to him.
“Well, come back and get acquainted with the wonders of my Universe,” the sage told him. “You can’t trust a person if you don’t know the house in which he lives.”
Reassured, the young man took the spoon and again went for a walk around the palace; this time, paying attention to all the works of art hanging on the walls and ceilings of the palace. He saw gardens surrounded by mountains, the most delicate flowers, the sophistication with which each piece of art was placed exactly where it was needed.
Returning to the sage, he described in detail everything he saw.
- Where are the two drops of oil that I entrusted to you? - asked the Sage.
And the young man, looking at the spoon, discovered that all the oil had poured out.
- This is the only advice I can give you: The secret of Happiness is to look at all the wonders of the world, while never forgetting about two drops of oil in your spoon.

Leonardo da Vinci
Parable "NEVOD"

And once again the seine brought a rich catch. The fishermen's baskets were filled to the brim with chubs, carp, tench, pike, eels and a variety of other food items. Whole fish families
with their children and household members, were taken to market stalls and prepared to end their existence, writhing in agony on hot frying pans and in boiling cauldrons.
The remaining fish in the river, confused and overcome with fear, not even daring to swim, buried themselves deeper in the mud. How to live further? You can't handle the net alone. He is abandoned every day in the most unexpected places. He mercilessly destroys the fish, and eventually the entire river will be devastated.
- We must think about the fate of our children. No one but us will take care of them and deliver them from this terrible obsession,” reasoned the minnows who had gathered for a council under a large snag.
“But what can we do?” the tench asked timidly, listening to the speeches of the daredevils.
- Destroy the seine! - the minnows responded in unison. On the same day, the all-knowing nimble eels spread the news along the river
about making a bold decision. All fish, young and old, were invited to gather tomorrow at dawn in a deep, quiet pool, protected by spreading willows.
Thousands of fish of all colors and ages swam to the appointed place to declare war on the net.
- Listen carefully, everyone! - said the carp, which more than once managed to gnaw through the nets and escape from captivity. “The net is as wide as our river.” To keep it upright under water, lead weights are attached to its lower nodes. I order all the fish to split into two schools. The first should lift the sinkers from the bottom to the surface, and the second flock will firmly hold the upper nodes of the net. The pikes are tasked with chewing through the ropes with which the net is attached to both banks.
With bated breath, the fish listened to every word of the leader.
- I order the eels to immediately go on reconnaissance! - continued the carp. - They must establish where the net is thrown.
The eels went on a mission, and schools of fish huddled near the shore in agonizing anticipation. Meanwhile, the minnows tried to encourage the most timid and advised not to panic, even if someone fell into the net: after all, the fishermen would still not be able to pull him ashore.
Finally the eels returned and reported that the net had already been abandoned about a mile down the river.
And so, in a huge armada, schools of fish swam to the goal, led by the wise carp.
“Swim carefully!” the leader warned. “Keep your eyes open so that the current doesn’t drag you into the net.” Use your fins as hard as you can and brake on time!
A seine appeared ahead, gray and ominous. Seized by a fit of anger, the fish boldly rushed to attack.
Soon the seine was lifted from the bottom, the ropes holding it were cut by sharp pike teeth, and the knots were torn. But the angry fish did not calm down and continued to attack the hated enemy. Grasping the crippled, leaky net with their teeth and working hard with their fins and tails, they dragged it in different directions and tore it into small pieces. The water in the river seemed to be boiling.
The fishermen spent a long time scratching their heads about the mysterious disappearance of the net, and the fish still proudly tell this story to their children.

Leonardo da Vinci
Parable "PELICAN"
As soon as the pelican went in search of food, the viper sitting in ambush immediately crawled, stealthily, towards its nest. The fluffy chicks slept peacefully, not knowing anything. The snake crawled close to them. Her eyes sparkled with an ominous gleam - and the reprisal began.
Having received a fatal bite each, the serenely sleeping chicks never woke up.
Satisfied with what she had done, the villainess crawled into hiding to enjoy the bird’s grief to the fullest.
Soon the pelican returned from hunting. At the sight of the brutal massacre committed against the chicks, he burst into loud sobs, and all the inhabitants of the forest fell silent, shocked by the unheard-of cruelty.
“I have no life without you now!” lamented the unhappy father, looking at the dead children. “Let me die with you!”
And he began to tear his chest with his beak, right to the heart. Hot blood streams gushed from the open wound, sprinkling the lifeless chicks.
Losing his last strength, the dying pelican cast a farewell glance at the nest with the dead chicks and suddenly shuddered in surprise.
Oh miracle! His shed blood and parental love brought the dear chicks back to life, snatching them from the clutches of death. And then, happy, he gave up the ghost.

Lucky
Sergey Silin

Antoshka was running down the street, with his hands in his jacket pockets, tripped and, falling, managed to think: “I’ll break my nose!” But he didn’t have time to take his hands out of his pockets.
And suddenly, right in front of him, out of nowhere, a small, strong man the size of a cat appeared.
The man stretched out his arms and took Antoshka on them, softening the blow.
Antoshka rolled onto his side, got up on one knee and looked at the peasant in surprise:
- Who are you?
- Lucky.
-Who-who?
- Lucky. I will make sure that you are lucky.
- Does every person have a lucky person? - Antoshka asked.
“No, there aren’t that many of us,” the man answered. “We just go from one to the other.” WITH today I'll be with you.
- I'm starting to get lucky! - Antoshka was delighted.
- Exactly! - Lucky nodded.
- When will you leave me for someone else?
- When necessary. I remember I served one merchant for several years. And one pedestrian was helped for only two seconds.
- Yeah! - Antoshka thought. - So I need
anything to wish?
- No no! - The man raised his hands in protest. - I am not a wish-fulfiller! I just give a little help to the smart and hardworking. I just stay nearby and make sure the person is lucky. Where did my invisibility cap go?
He groped around with his hands, felt for the invisibility cap, put it on and disappeared.
- Are you here? - Antoshka asked, just in case.
“Here, here,” responded Lucky. - Don't mind
me attention. Antoshka put his hands in his pockets and ran home. And he was lucky: he made it to the beginning of the cartoon minute by minute!
An hour later my mother returned from work.
- And I received a prize! - she said with a smile. -
I'll go shopping!
And she went into the kitchen to get some bags.
- Mom got Lucky too? - Antoshka asked his assistant in a whisper.
- No. She's lucky because we're close.
- Mom, I'm with you! - Antoshka shouted.
Two hours later they returned home with a whole mountain of purchases.
- Just a streak of luck! - Mom was surprised, her eyes sparkling. - All my life I dreamed of such a blouse!
- And I’m talking about such a cake! - Antoshka responded cheerfully from the bathroom.
The next day at school he received three A's, two B's, found two rubles and made peace with Vasya Poteryashkin.
And when he returned home whistling, he discovered that he had lost the keys to the apartment.
- Lucky, where are you? - he called.
A tiny, scruffy woman peeked out from under the stairs. Her hair was disheveled, her nose, her dirty sleeve was torn, her shoes were asking for porridge.
- There was no need to whistle! - she smiled and added: “I’m unlucky!” What, you're upset, right?..
Don't worry, don't worry! The time will come, they will call me away from you!
“I see,” Antoshka said sadly. - A streak of bad luck begins...
- That's for sure! - Bad luck nodded joyfully and, stepping into the wall, disappeared.
In the evening, Antoshka received a scolding from his dad for losing his key, accidentally broke his mother’s favorite cup, forgot what he was assigned in Russian, and couldn’t finish reading a book of fairy tales because he left it at school.
And just in front of the window the phone rang:
- Antoshka, is that you? It's me, Lucky!
- Hello, traitor! - Antoshka muttered. - And who are you helping now?
But Lucky wasn’t the least bit offended by the “traitor.”
- To an old lady. Can you imagine, she had bad luck all her life! So my boss sent me to her.
Soon I will help her win a million rubles in the lottery, and I will return to you!
- Is it true? - Antoshka was delighted.
“True, true,” answered Lucky and hung up.
That night Antoshka had a dream. It’s as if she and Lucky are dragging four string bags of Antoshka’s favorite tangerines from the store, and from the window of the house opposite, a lonely old woman smiles at them, lucky for the first time in her life.

Charskaya Lidiya Alekseevna

Lucina's life

Princess Miguel

“Far, far away, at the very end of the world, there was a large, beautiful blue lake, similar in color to a huge sapphire. In the middle of this lake, on a green emerald island, among myrtle and wisteria, intertwined with green ivy and flexible vines, stood a high rock. On it stood a marble palace, behind which there was a wonderful garden, fragrant with aroma. It was a very special garden, which can only be found in fairy tales.

The owner of the island and the lands adjacent to it was the powerful king Ovar. And the king had a daughter, the beautiful Miguel, a princess, growing up in the palace...

A fairy tale floats and unfolds like a motley ribbon. A series of beautiful, fantastic pictures swirl before my spiritual gaze. Aunt Musya’s usually ringing voice is now reduced to a whisper. Mysterious and cozy in the green ivy gazebo. The lacy shadow of the trees and bushes surrounding her cast moving spots on the pretty face of the young storyteller. This fairy tale is my favorite. Since the day my dear nanny Fenya, who knew how to tell me so well about the girl Thumbelina, left us, I have listened with pleasure to the only fairy tale about Princess Miguel. I love my princess dearly, despite all her cruelty. Is it her fault, this green-eyed, soft pink and golden-haired princess, that when she was born, the fairies, instead of a heart, put a piece of diamond in her small childish breast? And that the direct consequence of this was the complete absence of pity in the princess’s soul. But how beautiful she was! Beautiful even in those moments when, with the movement of her tiny white hand, she sent people to a cruel death. Those people who accidentally ended up in the princess’s mysterious garden.

In that garden, among the roses and lilies, there were small children. Motionless pretty elves chained with silver chains to golden pegs, they guarded that garden, and at the same time they plaintively rang their bell-like voices.

Let us go free! Let go, beautiful princess Miguel! Let us go! - Their complaints sounded like music. And this music had a pleasant effect on the princess, and she often laughed at the pleas of her little captives.

But their plaintive voices touched the hearts of people passing by the garden. And they looked into the princess’s mysterious garden. Ah, it was no joy that they appeared here! With each such appearance of an uninvited guest, the guards ran out, grabbed the visitor and, on the orders of the princess, threw him into the lake from a cliff

And Princess Miguel laughed only in response to the desperate cries and groans of the drowning...

Even now I still cannot understand how my pretty, cheerful aunt came up with a fairy tale so terrible in essence, so gloomy and heavy! The heroine of this fairy tale, Princess Miguel, was, of course, an invention of the sweet, slightly flighty, but very kind Aunt Musya. Oh, it doesn’t matter, let everyone think that this fairy tale is a fiction, princess Miguel herself is a fiction, but she, my wondrous princess, is firmly entrenched in my impressionable heart... Whether she ever existed or not, what do I really care about? there was a time when I loved her, my beautiful cruel Miguel! I saw her in a dream more than once, I saw her golden hair the color of a ripe ear, her green, like a forest pool, deep eyes.

That year I turned six years old. I was already dismantling warehouses and, with the help of Aunt Musya, I wrote clumsy, lopsided letters instead of sticks. And I already understood beauty. The fabulous beauty of nature: sun, forest, flowers. And my gaze lit up with delight at the sight beautiful picture or an elegant illustration on a magazine page.

Aunt Musya, dad and grandma have been trying since I early age develop my aesthetic taste, drawing my attention to what for other children passed without a trace.

Look, Lyusenka, what a beautiful sunset! You see how wonderfully the crimson sun sinks in the pond! Look, look, now the water has turned completely scarlet. And the surrounding trees seem to be on fire.

I look and seethe with delight. Indeed, scarlet water, scarlet trees and scarlet sun. What a beauty!

Yu.Yakovlev Girls from Vasilyevsky Island

I'm Valya Zaitseva from Vasilyevsky Island.

There is a hamster living under my bed. He will stuff his cheeks full, in reserve, sit on his hind legs and look with black buttons... Yesterday I beat one boy. I gave him a good bream. We, Vasileostrovsk girls, know how to stand up for ourselves when necessary...

It’s always windy here on Vasilyevsky. The rain is falling. Wet snow is falling. Floods happen. And our island floats like a ship: on the left is the Neva, on the right is the Nevka, in front is the open sea.

I have a friend - Tanya Savicheva. We are neighbors. She is from the Second Line, building 13. Four windows on the first floor. There is a bakery nearby, a kerosene shop in the basement... Now there is no shop, but in Tanino, when I was not yet alive, there was always a smell of kerosene on the ground floor. They told me.

Tanya Savicheva was the same age as I am now. She could have grown up long ago and become a teacher, but she would forever remain a girl... When my grandmother sent Tanya to get kerosene, I was not there. And she went to the Rumyantsevsky Garden with another friend. But I know everything about her. They told me.

She was a songbird. She always sang. She wanted to recite poetry, but she stumbled over her words: she would stumble, and everyone would think that she had forgotten the right word. My friend sang because when you sing, you don't stutter. She couldn’t stutter, she was going to become a teacher, like Linda Augustovna.

She always played teacher. He will put a large grandmother's scarf on his shoulders, clasp his hands and walk from corner to corner. “Children, today we will do repetition with you...” And then he stumbles on a word, blushes and turns to the wall, although there is no one in the room.

They say there are doctors who treat stuttering. I would find one like that. We, Vasileostrovsk girls, will find anyone you want! But now the doctor is no longer needed. She stayed there... my friend Tanya Savicheva. She was transported from besieged Leningrad to Mainland, and the road, called the Road of Life, could not give Tanya life.

The girl died of hunger... Doesn't it matter whether you die from hunger or from a bullet? Maybe it hurts even more from hunger...

I decided to find the Road of Life. I went to Rzhevka, where this road begins. I walked two and a half kilometers - there the guys were building a monument to the children who died during the siege. I also wanted to build.

Some adults asked me:

- Who are you?

— I’m Valya Zaitseva from Vasilyevsky Island. I also want to build.

I was told:

- It is forbidden! Come with your area.

I didn't leave. I looked around and saw a baby, a tadpole. I grabbed it:

— Did he also come with his region?

- He came with his brother.

You can do it with your brother. With the region it is possible. But what about being alone?

I told them:

- You see, I don’t just want to build. I want to build for my friend... Tanya Savicheva.

They rolled their eyes. They didn't believe it. They asked again:

— Is Tanya Savicheva your friend?

-What's special here? We are the same age. Both are from Vasilyevsky Island.

- But she’s not there...

How stupid people are, and adults too! What does “no” mean if we are friends? I told them to understand:

- We have everything in common. Both the street and the school. We have a hamster. He'll stuff his cheeks...

I noticed that they didn't believe me. And so that they would believe, she blurted out:

“We even have the same handwriting!”

- Handwriting? - They were even more surprised.

- And what? Handwriting!

Suddenly they became cheerful because of the handwriting:

- This is very good! This is a real find. Come with us.

- I'm not going anywhere. I want to build...

- You will build! You will write for the monument in Tanya’s handwriting.

“I can,” I agreed. - Only I don’t have a pencil. Will you give it?

- You will write on concrete. You don't write on concrete with a pencil.

I've never written on concrete. I wrote on the walls, on the asphalt, but they brought me to the concrete plant and gave me Tanya’s diary - a notebook with the alphabet: a, b, c... I have the same book. For forty kopecks.

I picked up Tanya’s diary and opened the page. It was written there:

I felt cold. I wanted to give them the book and leave.

But I am Vasileostrovskaya. And if a friend’s older sister died, I should stay with her and not run away.

- Give me your concrete. I will write.

The crane lowered a huge frame of thick gray dough to my feet. I took a stick, squatted down and began to write. The concrete was cold. It was difficult to write. And they told me:

- Do not rush.

I made mistakes, smoothed the concrete with my palm and wrote again.

I didn't do well.

- Do not rush. Write calmly.

While I was writing about Zhenya, my grandmother died.

If you just want to eat, it’s not hunger - eat an hour later.

I tried fasting from morning to evening. I endured it. Hunger - when day after day your head, hands, heart - everything you have goes hungry. First he starves, then he dies.

Leka had his own corner, fenced off with cabinets, where he drew.

He earned money by drawing and studied. He was quiet and short-sighted, wore glasses, and kept creaking his pen. They told me.

Where did he die? Probably in the kitchen, where the potbelly stove smoked like a small weak locomotive, where they slept and ate bread once a day. A small piece is like a cure for death. Leka didn't have enough medicine...

“Write,” they told me quietly.

In the new frame, the concrete was liquid, it crawled onto the letters. And the word “died” disappeared. I didn't want to write it again. But they told me:

- Write, Valya Zaitseva, write.

And I wrote again - “died.”

I am very tired of writing the word “died”. I knew that with each page of Tanya Savicheva’s diary it was getting worse. She stopped singing a long time ago and did not notice that she stuttered. She no longer played teacher. But she didn’t give up - she lived. They told me... Spring has come. The trees have turned green. We have a lot of trees on Vasilyevsky. Tanya dried out, froze, became thin and light. Her hands were shaking and her eyes hurt from the sun. The Nazis killed half of Tanya Savicheva, and maybe more than half. But her mother was with her, and Tanya held on.

- Why don’t you write? - they told me quietly. - Write, Valya Zaitseva, otherwise the concrete will harden.

For a long time I did not dare to open a page with the letter “M”. On this page Tanya’s hand wrote: “Mom May 13 at 7.30 o’clock.

morning 1942." Tanya did not write the word “died”. She didn't have the strength to write the word.

I gripped the wand tightly and touched the concrete. I didn’t look in my diary, but wrote it by heart. It's good that we have the same handwriting.

I wrote with all my might. The concrete became thick, almost frozen. He no longer crawled onto the letters.

-Can you still write?

“I’ll finish writing,” I answered and turned away so that my eyes could not see. After all, Tanya Savicheva is my... friend.

Tanya and I are the same age, we, Vasileostrovsky girls, know how to stand up for ourselves when necessary. If she hadn’t been from Vasileostrovsk, from Leningrad, she wouldn’t have lasted so long. But she lived, which means she didn’t give up!

I opened page “C”. There were two words: “The Savichevs died.”

I opened the page “U” - “Everyone Died.” The last page of Tanya Savicheva’s diary began with the letter “O” - “There is only Tanya left.”

And I imagined that it was me, Valya Zaitseva, who was left alone: ​​without mom, without dad, without my sister Lyulka. Hungry. Under fire.

In an empty apartment on the Second Line. I wanted to cross out this last page, but the concrete hardened and the stick broke.

And suddenly I asked Tanya Savicheva to myself: “Why alone?

And I? You have a friend - Valya Zaitseva, your neighbor from Vasilyevsky Island. You and I will go to the Rumyantsevsky Garden, run around, and when you get tired, I’ll bring my grandmother’s scarf from home and we’ll play teacher Linda Augustovna. There is a hamster living under my bed. I'll give it to you for your birthday. Do you hear, Tanya Savicheva?”

Someone put his hand on my shoulder and said:

- Let's go, Valya Zaitseva. You did everything you needed to do. Thank you.

I didn’t understand why they were saying “thank you” to me. I said:

- I’ll come tomorrow... without my area. Can?

“Come without a district,” they told me. - Come.

My friend Tanya Savicheva did not shoot at the Nazis and was not a scout for the partisans. She just lived in hometown at the most difficult time. But perhaps the reason the Nazis did not enter Leningrad was because Tanya Savicheva lived there and there were many other girls and boys who remained forever in their time. And today’s guys are friends with them, just as I am friends with Tanya.

But they are only friends with the living.

Vladimir Zheleznyakov “Scarecrow”

A circle of their faces flashed in front of me, and I rushed around in it, like a squirrel in a wheel.

I should stop and leave.

The boys attacked me.

“For her legs! - Valka yelled. - For your legs!..”

They knocked me down and grabbed me by the legs and arms. I kicked and kicked as hard as I could, but they grabbed me and dragged me into the garden.

Iron Button and Shmakova dragged out a scarecrow mounted on a long stick. Dimka came out after them and stood to the side. The stuffed animal was in my dress, with my eyes, with my mouth from ear to ear. The legs were made of stockings stuffed with straw; instead of hair, there was tow and some feathers sticking out. On my neck, that is, the scarecrow, dangled a plaque with the words: “SCACHERY IS A TRAITOR.”

Lenka fell silent and somehow completely faded away.

Nikolai Nikolaevich realized that the limit of her story and the limit of her strength had come.

“And they were having fun around the stuffed animal,” said Lenka. - They jumped and laughed:

“Wow, our beauty-ah!”

“I waited!”

“I came up with an idea! I came up with an idea! - Shmakova jumped for joy. “Let Dimka light the fire!”

After these words from Shmakova, I completely stopped being afraid. I thought: if Dimka sets it on fire, then maybe I’ll just die.

And at this time Valka - he was the first in time everywhere - stuck the scarecrow into the ground and sprinkled brushwood around it.

“I don’t have matches,” Dimka said quietly.

“But I have it!” - Shaggy put matches in Dimka’s hand and pushed him towards the scarecrow.

Dimka stood near the scarecrow, his head bowed low.

I froze - I was waiting for the last time! Well, I thought he would look back and say: “Guys, Lenka is not to blame for anything... It’s all me!”

“Set it on fire!” - ordered the Iron Button.

I couldn’t stand it and screamed:

“Dimka! No need, Dimka-ah-ah!..”

And he was still standing near the scarecrow - I could see his back, he was hunched over and seemed somehow small. Maybe because the scarecrow was on a long stick. Only he was small and weak.

“Well, Somov! - said the Iron Button. “Finally, go to the end!”

Dimka fell to his knees and lowered his head so low that only his shoulders stuck out, and his head was not visible at all. It turned out to be some kind of headless arsonist. He struck a match and a flame of fire grew over his shoulders. Then he jumped up and hurriedly ran to the side.

They dragged me close to the fire. Without looking away, I looked at the flames of the fire. Grandfather! I felt then how this fire engulfed me, how it burned, baked and bited, although only waves of its heat reached me.

I screamed, I screamed so much that they let me out of surprise.

When they released me, I rushed to the fire and began to kick it around with my feet, grabbing the burning branches with my hands - I didn’t want the scarecrow to burn. For some reason I really didn’t want this!

Dimka was the first to come to his senses.

“Are you crazy? “He grabbed my hand and tried to pull me away from the fire. - This is a joke! Don’t you understand jokes?”

I became strong and easily defeated him. She pushed him so hard that he flew upside down - only his heels sparkled towards the sky. And she pulled the scarecrow out of the fire and began waving it over her head, stepping on everyone. The scarecrow had already caught fire, sparks were flying from it in different directions, and they all shied away in fear from these sparks.

They ran away.

And I got so dizzy, driving them away, that I couldn’t stop until I fell. There was a stuffed animal lying next to me. It was scorched, fluttering in the wind and that made it look like it was alive.

At first I lay with my eyes closed. Then she felt that she smelled something burning and opened her eyes - the scarecrow’s dress was smoking. I slammed my hand down on the smoldering hem and leaned back onto the grass.

There was a crunch of branches, retreating footsteps, and then there was silence.

"Anne of Green Gables" by Lucy Maud Montgomery

It was already quite light when Anya woke up and sat up in bed, looking confusedly out the window through which a stream of joyful sunlight was pouring and behind which something white and fluffy was swaying against the background of the bright blue sky.

At first, she couldn't remember where she was. At first she felt a delightful thrill, as if something very pleasant had happened, then a terrible memory appeared. It was Green Gables, but they didn’t want to leave her here because she was not a boy!

But it was morning, and outside the window stood a cherry tree, all in bloom. Anya jumped out of bed and in one leap found herself at the window. Then she pushed the window frame - the frame gave way with a creak, as if it had not been opened for a long time, which, however, was in fact - and sank to her knees, peering into the June morning. Her eyes sparkled with delight. Ah, isn't this wonderful? Isn't this a lovely place? If only she could stay here! She will imagine herself staying. There is room for imagination here.

A huge cherry tree grew so close to the window that its branches touched the house. It was so densely strewn with flowers that not a single leaf was visible. On both sides of the house there were large gardens, on one side an apple tree, on the other a cherry tree, all in bloom. The grass under the trees seemed yellow from the blooming dandelions. A little further away in the garden one could see lilac bushes, all in clusters of bright purple flowers, and the morning breeze carried their dizzyingly sweet aroma to Anya’s window.

Further beyond the garden, green meadows covered with lush clover descended to a valley where a stream ran and many white birch trees grew, the slender trunks of which rose above the undergrowth, suggesting a wonderful holiday among ferns, mosses and forest grasses. Beyond the valley was a hill, green and fluffy with spruce and fir trees. Among them there was a small gap, and through it one could see the gray mezzanine of the house that Anya had seen the day before from the other side of the Lake of Sparkling Waters.

To the left were large barns and other outbuildings, and beyond them one descended down to a glittering blue sea green fields.

Anya’s eyes, receptive to beauty, slowly moved from one picture to another, greedily absorbing everything that was in front of her. The poor thing has seen so many ugly places in her life. But what was revealed to her now exceeded her wildest dreams.

She knelt, forgetting about everything in the world except the beauty that surrounded her, until she shuddered, feeling someone's hand on her shoulder. The little dreamer did not hear Marilla enter.

“It’s time to get dressed,” said Marilla shortly.

Marilla simply did not know how to talk to this child, and this ignorance, which was unpleasant to her, made her harsh and decisive against her will.

Anya stood up with a deep sigh.

- Ah. isn't it wonderful? - she asked, pointing her hand at beautiful world outside the window.

“Yes, it’s a big tree,” said Marilla, “and it blooms profusely, but the cherries themselves are no good—small and wormy.”

- Oh, I'm not just talking about the tree; of course, it is beautiful... yes, it is dazzlingly beautiful... it blooms as if it were extremely important for itself... But I meant everything: the garden, and the trees, and the stream, and the forests - the whole big beautiful world. Don't you feel like you love the whole world on a morning like this? Even here I can hear the stream laughing in the distance. Have you ever noticed what joyful creatures these streams are? They always laugh. Even in winter I can hear their laughter from under the ice. I'm so glad there's a stream here near Green Gables. Maybe you think it doesn't matter to me since you don't want to leave me here? But that's not true. I will always be pleased to remember that there is a stream near Green Gables, even if I never see it again. If there had not been a stream here, I would always have been haunted by the unpleasant feeling that it should have been here. This morning I am not in the depths of grief. I am never in the depths of grief in the morning. Isn't it wonderful that there is morning? But I'm very sad. I just imagined that you still need me and that I will stay here forever, forever. It was a great comfort to imagine this. But the most unpleasant thing about imagining things is that there comes a moment when you have to stop imagining, and this is very painful.

“Better get dressed, go downstairs, and don’t think about your imaginary things,” said Marilla, as soon as she managed to get a word in edgewise. - Breakfast is waiting. Wash your face and comb your hair. Leave the window open and turn the bed around to air it out. And hurry up, please.

Anya obviously could act quickly when required, because within ten minutes she came downstairs, neatly dressed, with her hair combed and braided, her face washed; At the same time, her soul was filled with the pleasant consciousness that she had fulfilled all of Marilla’s demands. However, in fairness, it should be noted that she still forgot to open the bed for airing.

“I’m very hungry today,” she announced, slipping into the chair indicated to her by Marilla. “The world no longer seems as dark a desert as it did last night.” I'm so glad it's a sunny morning. However, I love rainy mornings too. Every morning is interesting, right? There is no telling what awaits us on this day, and there is so much left to the imagination. But I’m glad that it’s not raining today, because it’s easier not to be discouraged and to endure the vicissitudes of fate on a sunny day. I feel like I have a lot to endure today. It's very easy to read about other people's misfortunes and imagine that we too could heroically overcome them, but it's not so easy when we actually have to face them, right?

“For God's sake, hold your tongue,” said Marilla. “A little girl shouldn’t talk so much.”

After this remark, Anya fell completely silent, so obediently that her continued silence began to irritate Marilla somewhat, as if it were something not entirely natural. Matthew was also silent - but at least that was natural - so breakfast passed in complete silence.

As he neared the end, Anya became more and more distracted. She ate mechanically, and her large eyes were constantly, unseeingly looking at the sky outside the window. This irritated Marilla even more. She had an unpleasant feeling that while the body of this strange child was at the table, his spirit was soaring on the wings of fantasy in some transcendental land. Who would want to have such a child in the house?

And yet, what was most incomprehensible, Matthew wanted to leave her! Marilla felt that he wanted it this morning as much as he did last night, and that he intended to continue to want it. It was his usual way to get some whim into his head and cling to it with amazing silent tenacity - ten times more powerful and effective thanks to silence than if he talked about his desire from morning to evening.

When breakfast was over, Anya came out of her reverie and offered to wash the dishes.

— Do you know how to wash dishes properly? asked Marilla incredulously.

- Pretty good. True, I am better at babysitting children. I have a lot of experience in this matter. It's a pity that you don't have children here for me to take care of.

“But I wouldn’t want there to be any more children here than there are at the moment.” You alone are enough trouble. I can't imagine what to do with you. Matthew is so funny.

“He seemed very nice to me,” said Anya reproachfully. “He’s very friendly and didn’t mind at all, no matter how much I said it—he seemed to like it.” I felt a kindred spirit in him as soon as I saw him.

“You're both eccentrics, if that's what you mean when you talk about kindred spirits,” Marilla snorted. - Okay, you can wash the dishes. Do not be sorry hot water and dry it properly. I already have a lot of work to do this morning because I have to go to White Sands this afternoon to see Mrs. Spencer. You will come with me, and there we will decide what to do with you. When you're done with the dishes, go upstairs and make the bed.

Anya washed the dishes quite quickly and thoroughly, which did not go unnoticed by Marilla. Then she made the bed, though with less success, because she had never learned the art of fighting feather beds. But still the bed was made, and Marilla, in order to get rid of the girl for a while, said that she would allow her to go into the garden and play there until dinner.

Anya rushed to the door, with a lively face and shining eyes. But right at the threshold she suddenly stopped, turned sharply back and sat down near the table, the expression of delight disappearing from her face, as if it had been blown away by the wind.

- Well, what else happened? asked Marilla.

“I don’t dare go out,” said Anya in the tone of a martyr renouncing all earthly joys. “If I can’t stay here, I shouldn’t fall in love with Green Gables.” And if I go out and get acquainted with all these trees, flowers, and garden, and stream, I cannot help but fall in love with them. My soul is already heavy, and I don’t want it to become even heavier. I really want to go out - everything seems to be calling me: “Anya, Anya, come out to us! Anya, Anya, we want to play with you!” - but it's better not to do this. You shouldn't fall in love with something you'll be torn away from forever, right? And it’s so hard to resist and not fall in love, isn’t it? That's why I was so happy when I thought I'd stay here. I thought there was so much to love here and nothing would get in my way. But this one short nap passed. Now I have come to terms with my fate, so it’s better for me not to go out. Otherwise, I'm afraid I won't be able to reconcile with him again. What is the name of this flower in a pot on the windowsill, please tell me?

- This is a geranium.

- Oh, I don't mean that name. I mean the name you gave her. You didn't give her a name? Then can I do it? Can I call her... oh, let me think... Darling will do... can I call her Darling while I'm here? Oh, let me call her that!

- For God's sake, I don't care. But what's the point in naming geraniums?

- Oh, I like things to have names, even if it's just geraniums. This makes them more like people. How do you know you're not hurting geranium's feelings when you just call it "geranium" and nothing more? After all, you wouldn’t like it if you were always called just a woman. Yes, I will call her Darling. I gave a name to this cherry tree under my bedroom window this morning. I called her Snow Queen because she's so white. Of course, it won’t always be in bloom, but you can always imagine it, right?

“I’ve never seen or heard anything like this in my life,” Marilla muttered, fleeing to the basement for potatoes. “She's really interesting, as Matthew says.” I can already feel myself wondering what else she will say. She casts a spell on me too. And she’s already unleashed them on Matthew. That look he gave me as he left again expressed everything he had said and hinted at yesterday. It would be better if he were like other men and talked about everything openly. Then it would be possible to answer and convince him. But what can you do with a man who only watches?

When Marilla returned from her pilgrimage to the basement, she found Anne again falling into a reverie. The girl sat with her chin resting on her hands and her gaze fixed on the sky. So Marilla left her until dinner appeared on the table.

“Can I take the mare and the gig after lunch, Matthew?” asked Marilla.

Matthew nodded and looked sadly at Anya. Marilla caught this glance and said dryly:

“I’m going to go to White Sands and resolve this issue.” I'll take Anya with me so Mrs. Spencer can send her back to Nova Scotia right away. I'll leave some tea for you on the stove and come home in time for milking.

Again Matthew said nothing. Marilla felt that she was wasting her words. Nothing is more annoying than a man who doesn't answer...except a woman who doesn't answer.

In due course, Matthew harnessed the bay horse, and Marilla and Anya got into the convertible. Matthew opened the courtyard gate for them and, as they slowly drove past, he said loudly, apparently not addressing anyone:

“There was this guy here this morning, Jerry Buot from Creek, and I told him I'd hire him for the summer.

Marilla did not answer, but whipped the unfortunate bay with such force that the fat mare, unaccustomed to such treatment, broke into a gallop indignantly. When the convertible was already rolling along high road, Marilla turned around and saw that the obnoxious Matthew was standing, leaning against the gate, and sadly looking after them.

Sergey Kutsko

WOLVES

That's how it works country life, that if you don’t go out into the forest before noon, and don’t take a walk through familiar mushroom and berry places, then by evening there’s no point in running, everything will be hidden.

One girl thought so too. The sun has just risen to the tops of the fir trees, and I already have a full basket in my hands, I’ve wandered far, but what mushrooms! She looked around with gratitude and was just about to leave when the distant bushes suddenly trembled and an animal came out into the clearing, its eyes tenaciously following the girl’s figure.

- Oh, dog! - she said.

Cows were grazing somewhere nearby, and meeting a shepherd dog in the forest was not a big surprise to them. But the meeting with several more pairs of animal eyes put me in a daze...

“Wolves,” a thought flashed, “the road is not far, run...” Yes, the strength disappeared, the basket involuntarily fell out of his hands, his legs became weak and disobedient.

- Mother! - this sudden cry stopped the flock, which had already reached the middle of the clearing. - People, help! - flashed three times over the forest.

As the shepherds later said: “We heard screams, we thought the children were playing around...” This is five kilometers from the village, in the forest!

The wolves slowly approached, the she-wolf walked ahead. This happens with these animals - the she-wolf becomes the head of the pack. Only her eyes were not as fierce as they were searching. They seemed to ask: “Well, man? What will you do now, when there are no weapons in your hands, and your relatives are not nearby?

The girl fell to her knees, covered her eyes with her hands and began to cry. Suddenly the thought of prayer came to her, as if something stirred in her soul, as if the words of her grandmother, remembered from childhood, were resurrected: “Ask the Mother of God! ”

The girl did not remember the words of the prayer. Making the sign of the cross, she asked the Mother of God, as if she were her mother, in the last hope of intercession and salvation.

When she opened her eyes, the wolves, passing the bushes, went into the forest. A she-wolf walked slowly ahead, head down.

Boris Ganago

LETTER TO GOD

This happened in late XIX centuries.

Petersburg. Christmas Eve. A cold, piercing wind blows from the bay. Fine prickly snow is falling. Horses' hooves clatter on the cobblestones, shop doors slam - things are done latest purchases before the holiday. Everyone is in a hurry to get home quickly.

Only a little boy slowly wanders along a snowy street. Every now and then he takes his cold, red hands out of the pockets of his old coat and tries to warm them with his breath. Then he stuffs them deeper into his pockets again and moves on. Here he stops at the bakery window and looks at the pretzels and bagels displayed behind the glass.

The store door swung open, letting out another customer, and the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted out. The boy swallowed his saliva convulsively, stomped on the spot and wandered on.

Dusk is falling imperceptibly. There are fewer and fewer passers-by. The boy pauses near a building with lights burning in the windows, and, rising on tiptoe, tries to look inside. After a moment's hesitation, he opens the door.

The old clerk was late at work today. He's in no hurry. He has been living alone for a long time and on holidays he feels his loneliness especially acutely. The clerk sat and thought with bitterness that he had no one to celebrate Christmas with, no one to give gifts to. At this time the door opened. The old man looked up and saw the boy.

- Uncle, uncle, I need to write a letter! - the boy said quickly.

- Do you have money? - the clerk asked sternly.

The boy, fiddling with his hat in his hands, took a step back. And then the lonely clerk remembered that today was Christmas Eve and that he really wanted to give someone a gift. He took out a blank sheet of paper, dipped his pen in ink and wrote: “Petersburg. 6th January. Mr...”

- What is the gentleman's last name?

“This is not sir,” muttered the boy, not yet fully believing his luck.

- Oh, is this a lady? — the clerk asked, smiling.

No no! - the boy said quickly.

So who do you want to write a letter to? - the old man was surprised,

- To Jesus.

“How dare you make fun of an elderly man?” — the clerk was indignant and wanted to show the boy to the door. But then I saw tears in the child’s eyes and remembered that today was Christmas Eve. He felt ashamed of his anger, and in a warmer voice he asked:

-What do you want to write to Jesus?

— My mother always taught me to ask God for help when it’s difficult. She said God's name is Jesus Christ. “The boy came closer to the clerk and continued: “And yesterday she fell asleep, and I can’t wake her up.” There’s not even bread at home, I’m so hungry,” he wiped the tears that had come to his eyes with his palm.

- How did you wake her up? - asked the old man, rising from his table.

- I kissed her.

- Is she breathing?

- What are you saying, uncle, do people breathe in their sleep?

“Jesus Christ has already received your letter,” said the old man, hugging the boy by the shoulders. “He told me to take care of you, and took your mother to Himself.”

The old clerk thought: “My mother, when you left for another world, you told me to be a good person and a pious Christian. I forgot your order, but now you won’t be ashamed of me.”

Boris Ganago

THE SPOKEN WORD

On the outskirts of a big city stood an old house with a garden. They were guarded by a reliable guard - the smart dog Uranus. He never barked at anyone in vain, kept a vigilant eye on strangers, and rejoiced at his owners.

But this house was demolished. Its inhabitants were offered a comfortable apartment, and then the question arose - what to do with the shepherd? As a watchman, Uranus was no longer needed by them, becoming only a burden. For several days there were fierce disputes about dog's fate. IN open window From the house to the guard kennel one could often hear the plaintive sobs of the grandson and the menacing shouts of the grandfather.

What did Uranus understand from the words he heard? Who knows...

Only his daughter-in-law and grandson, who were bringing him food, noticed that the dog’s bowl remained untouched for more than a day. Uranus did not eat in the following days, no matter how much he was persuaded. He no longer wagged his tail when people approached him, and even looked away to the side, as if no longer wanting to look at the people who had betrayed him.

The daughter-in-law, who was expecting an heir or heiress, suggested:

— Isn’t Uranus sick? The owner said in anger:

“It would be better if the dog died on its own.” There would be no need to shoot then.

The daughter-in-law shuddered.

Uranus looked at the speaker with a look that the owner could not forget for a long time.

The grandson persuaded the neighbor's veterinarian to look at his pet. But the veterinarian did not find any disease, he only said thoughtfully:

- Maybe he was sad about something... Uranus soon died, until his death he barely moved his tail only to his daughter-in-law and grandson, who visited him.

And at night the owner often remembered the look of Uranus, who had faithfully served him for so many years. The old man already regretted the cruel words that killed the dog.

But is it possible to return what was said?

And who knows how the voiced evil hurt the grandson, attached to his four-legged friend?

And who knows how it, scattering around the world like a radio wave, will affect the souls of unborn children, future generations?

Words live, words never die...

An old book told the story: one girl’s father died. The girl missed him. He was always kind to her. She missed this warmth.

One day her dad dreamed of her and said: now be kind to people. Every kind word serves Eternity.

Boris Ganago

MASHENKA

Yule story

Once, many years ago, a girl Masha was mistaken for an Angel. It happened like this.

One poor family had three children. Their dad died, their mom worked where she could, and then got sick. There wasn’t a crumb left in the house, but I was so hungry. What to do?

Mom went out into the street and began to beg, but people passed by without noticing her. Christmas night was approaching, and the woman’s words: “I’m not asking for myself, but for my children... For Christ’s sake! “were drowning in the pre-holiday bustle.

In desperation, she entered the church and began to ask Christ Himself for help. Who else was left to ask?

It was here, at the icon of the Savior, that Masha saw a woman kneeling. Her face was flooded with tears. The girl had never seen such suffering before.

Masha had an amazing heart. When people were happy nearby, and she wanted to jump with happiness. But if someone was in pain, she could not pass by and asked:

What happened to you? Why are you crying? And someone else's pain penetrated her heart. And now she leaned towards the woman:

Are you in grief?

And when she shared her misfortune with her, Masha, who had never felt hungry in her life, imagined three lonely children who had not seen food for a long time. Without thinking, she handed the woman five rubles. It was all her money.

At that time, this was a significant amount, and the woman’s face lit up.

Where is your home? - Masha asked goodbye. She was surprised to learn that she was living poor family in the next basement. The girl did not understand how she could live in a basement, but she knew exactly what she needed to do on this Christmas evening.

The happy mother, as if on wings, flew home. She bought food at a nearby store, and the children greeted her joyfully.

Soon the stove was blazing and the samovar was boiling. The children warmed up, satiated and became quiet. The table laden with food was an unexpected holiday for them, almost a miracle.

But then Nadya, the smallest one, asked:

Mom, is it true that at Christmas time God sends an Angel to children, and he brings them many, many gifts?

Mom knew very well that they had no one to expect gifts from. Glory to God for what He has already given them: everyone is fed and warm. But kids are kids. They so wanted to have a Christmas tree, the same as all the other children. What could she, poor thing, tell them? Destroy a child's faith?

The children looked at her warily, waiting for an answer. And my mother confirmed:

This is true. But the Angel comes only to those who believe in God with all their hearts and pray to Him with all their souls.

“But I believe in God with all my heart and pray to Him with all my heart,” Nadya did not back down. - Let him send us His Angel.

Mom didn't know what to say. There was silence in the room, only the logs crackled in the stove. And suddenly there was a knock. The children shuddered, and the mother crossed herself and opened the door with a trembling hand.

On the threshold stood a little fair-haired girl Masha, and behind her was a bearded man with a Christmas tree in his hands.

Merry Christmas! - Mashenka joyfully congratulated the owners. The children froze.

While the bearded man was setting up the Christmas tree, Nanny Machine entered the room with a large basket, from which gifts immediately began to appear. The kids couldn't believe their eyes. But neither they nor the mother suspected that the girl had given them her Christmas tree and her gifts.

And when the unexpected guests left, Nadya asked:

Was this girl an Angel?

Boris Ganago

BACK TO LIFE

Based on the story “Seryozha” by A. Dobrovolsky

Usually the brothers' beds were next to each other. But when Seryozha fell ill with pneumonia, Sasha was moved to another room and was forbidden to disturb the baby. They just asked me to pray for my brother, who was getting worse and worse.

One evening Sasha looked into the patient’s room. Seryozha lay with his eyes open, seeing nothing, and barely breathing. Frightened, the boy rushed to the office, from which the voices of his parents could be heard. The door was ajar, and Sasha heard mom, crying, say that Seryozha was dying. Dad answered with pain in his voice:

- Why cry now? There's no way to save him...

In horror, Sasha rushed to his sister’s room. There was no one there, and he fell to his knees, sobbing, in front of the icon of the Mother of God hanging on the wall. Through the sobs the words broke through:

- Lord, Lord, make sure that Seryozha doesn’t die!

Sasha's face was flooded with tears. Everything around blurred as if in a fog. The boy saw in front of him only the face of the Mother of God. The sense of time disappeared.

- Lord, You can do anything, save Seryozha!

It was already completely dark. Exhausted, Sasha stood up with the corpse and lit the table lamp. The Gospel lay before her. The boy turned over a few pages, and suddenly his gaze fell on the line: “Go, and as you have believed, so be it for you...”

As if he had heard an order, he went to Seryozha. Mom sat silently at the bedside of her beloved brother. She gave a sign: “Don’t make noise, Seryozha fell asleep.”

Words were not spoken, but this sign was like a ray of hope. He fell asleep - that means he’s alive, that means he will live!

Three days later, Seryozha could already sit in bed, and the children were allowed to visit him. They brought their brother’s favorite toys, a fortress and houses that he had cut out and glued before his illness - everything that could please the baby. The little sister with the big doll stood next to Seryozha, and Sasha, jubilantly, took a photograph of them.

These were moments of real happiness.

Boris Ganago

YOUR CHICK

A chick fell out of the nest - very small, helpless, even its wings had not yet grown. He can’t do anything, he just squeaks and opens his beak - asking for food.

The guys took him and brought him into the house. They built him a nest from grass and twigs. Vova fed the baby, and Ira gave him water and took him out into the sun.

Soon the chick grew stronger, and feathers began to grow instead of fluff. The guys found an old birdcage in the attic and, to be safe, they put their pet in it - the cat began to look at him very expressively. All day long he was on duty at the door, waiting for the right moment. And no matter how much his children chased him, he did not take his eyes off the chick.

Summer flew by unnoticed. The chick grew up in front of the children and began to fly around the cage. And soon he felt cramped in it. When the cage was taken outside, he hit the bars and asked to be released. So the guys decided to release their pet. Of course, they were sorry to part with him, but they could not deprive the freedom of someone who was created for flight.

One sunny morning the children said goodbye to their pet, took the cage out into the yard and opened it. The chick jumped onto the grass and looked back at his friends.

At that moment the cat appeared. Hiding in the bushes, he prepared to jump, rushed, but... The chick flew high, high...

The holy elder John of Kronstadt compared our soul to a bird. The enemy is hunting for every soul and wants to catch it. After all, at first the human soul, just like a fledgling chick, is helpless and does not know how to fly. How can we preserve it, how can we grow it so that it does not break on sharp stones or fall into the net of a fisherman?

The Lord created a saving fence behind which our soul grows and strengthens - the house of God, the Holy Church. In it the soul learns to fly high, high, to the very sky. And she will know such a bright joy there that no earthly nets are afraid of her.

Boris Ganago

MIRROR

Dot, dot, comma,

Minus, the face is crooked.

Stick, stick, cucumber -

So the little man came out.

With this poem Nadya finished the drawing. Then, fearing that she would not be understood, she signed under it: “It’s me.” She carefully examined her creation and decided that it was missing something.

The young artist went to the mirror and began to look at herself: what else needs to be completed so that anyone can understand who is depicted in the portrait?

Nadya loved to dress up and twirl in front of a large mirror, and tried different hairstyles. This time the girl tried on her mother’s hat with a veil.

She wanted to look mysterious and romantic, like the long-legged girls showing fashion on TV. Nadya imagined herself as an adult, cast a languid glance in the mirror and tried to walk with the gait of a fashion model. It didn't turn out very nicely, and when she stopped abruptly, the hat slid down onto her nose.

It’s good that no one saw her at that moment. If only we could laugh! In general, she didn’t like being a fashion model at all.

The girl took off her hat, and then her gaze fell on her grandmother’s hat. Unable to resist, she tried it on. And she froze, making an amazing discovery: she looked exactly like her grandmother. She just didn't have any wrinkles yet. Bye.

Now Nadya knew what she would become in many years. True, this future seemed very distant to her...

It became clear to Nadya why her grandmother loves her so much, why she watches her pranks with tender sadness and secretly sighs.

There were footsteps. Nadya hastily put her hat back in place and ran to the door. On the threshold she met... herself, only not so frisky. But the eyes were exactly the same: childishly surprised and joyful.

Nadya hugged her future self and quietly asked:

Grandma, is it true that you were me as a child?

Grandmother paused, then smiled mysteriously and took out an old album from the shelf. After flipping through a few pages, she showed a photograph of a little girl who looked very much like Nadya.

That's what I was like.

Oh, really, you look like me! - the granddaughter exclaimed in delight.

Or maybe you are like me? - Grandma asked, squinting slyly.

It doesn't matter who looks like whom. The main thing is that they are similar,” the little girl insisted.

Isn't it important? And look who I looked like...

And the grandmother began to leaf through the album. There were all sorts of faces there. And what faces! And each was beautiful in its own way. The peace, dignity and warmth that radiated from them attracted the eye. Nadya noticed that all of them - small children and gray-haired old men, young ladies and fit military men - were somehow similar to each other... And to her.

Tell me about them,” the girl asked.

The grandmother hugged her little blood to herself, and a story flowed about their family, going back from ancient centuries.

The time for cartoons had already come, but the girl didn’t want to watch them. She was discovering something amazing, something that had been there for a long time, but living inside her.

Do you know the history of your grandfathers, great-grandfathers, the history of your family? Maybe this story is your mirror?

Boris Ganago

PARROT

Petya was wandering around the house. I'm tired of all the games. Then my mother gave instructions to go to the store and also suggested:

Our neighbor, Maria Nikolaevna, broke her leg. There is no one to buy her bread. He can barely move around the room. Come on, I'll call and find out if she needs to buy anything.

Aunt Masha was happy about the call. And when the boy brought her a whole bag of groceries, she didn’t know how to thank him. For some reason, she showed Petya the empty cage in which the parrot had recently lived. It was her friend. Aunt Masha looked after him, shared her thoughts, and he took off and flew away. Now she has no one to say a word to, no one to care about. What kind of life is this if there is no one to take care of?

Petya looked at the empty cage, at the crutches, imagined Aunt Mania hobbling around the empty apartment, and an unexpected thought came to his mind. The fact is that he had long been saving the money that he was given for toys. I still couldn't find anything suitable. And now this strange thought is to buy a parrot for Aunt Masha.

Having said goodbye, Petya ran out into the street. He wanted to go to a pet store, where he had once seen various parrots. But now he looked at them through the eyes of Aunt Masha. Which one of them could she become friends with? Maybe this one will suit her, maybe this one?

Petya decided to ask his neighbor about the fugitive. The next day he told his mother:

Call Aunt Masha... Maybe she needs something?

Mom even froze, then hugged her son to her and whispered:

So you become a man... Petya was offended:

Wasn’t I a human before?

There was, of course there was,” my mother smiled. - Only now your soul has also awakened... Thank God!

What is the soul? — the boy became wary.

This is the ability to love.

The mother looked searchingly at her son:

Maybe you can call yourself?

Petya was embarrassed. Mom answered the phone: Maria Nikolaevna, excuse me, Petya has a question for you. I'll give him the phone now.

There was nowhere to go, and Petya muttered embarrassedly:

Aunt Masha, maybe I should buy you something?

Petya didn’t understand what happened on the other end of the line, only the neighbor answered in some unusual voice. She thanked him and asked him to bring milk if he went to the store. She doesn't need anything else. She thanked me again.

When Petya called her apartment, he heard the hasty clatter of crutches. Aunt Masha didn’t want to make him wait extra seconds.

While the neighbor was looking for money, the boy, as if by chance, began to ask her about the missing parrot. Aunt Masha willingly told us about the color and behavior...

There were several parrots of this color in the pet store. Petya took a long time to choose. When he brought his gift to Aunt Masha, then... I don’t undertake to describe what happened next.

Scenario of a traditional prose competition

"Living Classic"

Goal: To show reader interest in the works of various authors

Development of interest in literature as a subject studied;

Development of students’ creative potential, identification of gifted children;

Development and development of skills between students of different ages.

In the literature classroom, sitting at a desk, two boys argue loudly, proving to each other which work is more interesting. The situation is heating up. At this time, the literature teacher enters the class.

Teacher:- Good afternoon, boys, I accidentally overheard your conversation, can I help you with something?

Boys: - Of course, Tatyana Nikolaevna, judge us, do foreign writers or Russians write more interestingly?

Teacher: - Well, well, I’ll try to help you. Every person must have a favorite work, and more than one. Today I will introduce you to the guys who already have favorite books; they are participating in the “Living Classics” competition for young prose readers. Let's listen to how the guys read excerpts from their favorite books. Maybe your opinion will change.

(Address to the public and jury)

Teacher: - Good afternoon, dear children and respected teachers. We are pleased to welcome you to our literary living room. So we begin our speech, during which you and I will have to resolve the dispute between my students.

Ved: Today 5 young readers from the 6th grade of the Cheryomushkin school will compete. The winner of the competition will be the one who shows his skill, knowledge of the text, and feels the hero of the work.

Teacher: Our participants will be evaluated by a distinguished jury consisting of:

1. Marina Aleksandrovna Malikova, teacher of Russian language and literature – chairman of the jury.

Jury members:

2. Elena Yuganovna Kivistik, teacher of history and social studies.

3. Daria Chernova, 10th grade student

Ved: Performances are judged based on the following parameters:

Selecting the text of the work;
competent speech, knowledge of the text;
artistry of performance;

Teacher: Our competition program opens with the work of the great Russian writer Mikhail Aleksandrovich Sholokhov “The Foal” - this is a story about a beautiful, defenseless animal that is trying to survive in difficult times of war.

Ved.: Mikhail Sholokhov reads “The Foal” Kuliev Danil , 6th grade student. Mikhail Sholokhov "Foal"

The foal neighed less and less, and the short, cutting cry became muffled. AND

This cry was coldly and terribly similar to the cry of a child. Nechepurepko, abandoning the mare, easily swam to the left bank. Trembling, Trofim grabbed the rifle, fired, aiming below the head that had been sucked in by the whirlwind, tore his boots off his feet and, with a dull grunt, stretching out his arms, plopped into the water.

On the right bank, an officer in a canvas shirt barked:

Stop shooting!..

Five minutes later, Trofim was near the foal, with his left hand he grabbed it under his cold belly, choking, hiccupping convulsively, and moved to the left bank... Not a single shot was fired from the right bank.

The sky, the forest, the sand - everything is bright green, ghostly... The last monstrous

effort - and Trofim’s feet scrape the ground. He dragged the slimy body of the foal onto the sand, sobbing, vomiting green water, groping in the sand with his hands...

The voices of the squadrons that had swum across the forest buzzed, and somewhere behind the spit gun shots rattled. The red mare stood next to Trofim, shaking herself and licking the foal. A rainbow stream fell from her drooping tail, sticking into the sand...

Trofim swayed to his feet, walked two steps along the sand and, jumping,

fell on his side. It was as if a hot prick penetrated my chest; falling, I heard a shot.

A single shot at a spypa - from the right bank. On the right bank an officer in

wearing a torn canvas shirt, he indifferently moved the bolt of his carbine, throwing out a smoking cartridge case, and on the sand, two steps from the foal, Trofim was writhing, and his hard, blue lips, which had not kissed children for five years, smiled and foamed with blood.

Teacher: Hans Christian Andersen was born in Denmark, into the family of a poor shoemaker. From early childhood we are fascinated by his charming fairy tales.

Ved.: Hans Christian Andersen "Grandmother", read Medvedeva Ira , 6th grade student.

Grandma is so old, her face is all wrinkled, her hair is white, but her eyes are like your stars - so bright, beautiful and affectionate! And what wonderful stories she knows! And the dress she’s wearing is made of thick silk material with large flowers - it’s rustling! Grandma knows a lot, a lot; She has been living in the world for a long time, much longer than mom and dad - really! Grandmother has a psalter - a thick book bound with silver clasps - and she reads it often. Between the sheets of the book lies a flattened, dried rose. She is not at all as beautiful as those roses that stand in grandma’s glass of water, but grandma still smiles most tenderly at this particular rose and looks at it with tears in her eyes. Why does grandma look at the dried rose like that? You know?

Every time the grandmother’s tears fall on a flower, its colors are revived again, it again becomes a lush rose, the whole room is filled with fragrance, the walls melt like fog, and the grandmother is in a green, sun-drenched forest! The grandmother herself is no longer a decrepit old woman, but a young, charming girl with golden curls and rosy round cheeks that rival the roses themselves. Her eyes... Yes, you can recognize her by her sweet, gentle eyes! A handsome, courageous young man sits next to her. He gives the girl a rose and she smiles at him... Well, grandma never smiles like that! Oh no, here he is smiling! He left. Other memories flash by, many images flash by; young man no longer there, the rose lies in an old book, and the grandmother herself... sits again in her chair, just as old, and looks at the dried rose.

Teacher: Yuri Koval is a Russian writer. A professional artist who published more than 30 books during his lifetime. His works have been translated into European languages.

Ved: An excerpt from the story “Potato Meaning” reads Novoselov Igor.

Yes, whatever you say, father, I love potatoes. Because potatoes have a lot of meaning.

What's the special meaning there? Potatoes and potatoes.
- Uh... don't talk, father, don't talk. Once you make half a bucket, life seems to become more fun. That's the meaning... potato.
We sat with Uncle Zui on the river bank by the fire and ate baked potatoes. They just went to the river to watch the fish melt, and they built a fire, dug up some potatoes, and baked them. And Uncle Zuya ended up with salt in his pocket.
- What about without salt? Salt, father, I always carry with me. For example, you come to visit, and the hostess has unsalted soup. Here it would be awkward to say: your soup is unsalted. And here I’ll slowly take the salt out of my pocket and... add some salt.
- What else do you carry in your pockets? And it’s true - they stick out for you all the time.
- What else am I wearing? I carry everything that fits in my pockets. Look - shag... salt in a bundle... a string, if you need to tie something up, a good string. Well, a knife, of course! Pocket flashlight! It’s not without reason that it’s said – pocket-sized. You have a flashlight, so put it in your pocket. And these are candies, if I meet any of the guys.
- And what's that? Bread, or what?
- Cracker, father. I’ve been wearing it for a long time, I want to give it to one of the horses, but I forget everything. Let's look now in another pocket. Come on now, show me what's in your pockets? Interesting.
- Yes, I don’t seem to have anything.
- How can that be? Nothing. A knife, I suppose you have a knife?
- I forgot my knife, I left it at home.
- How so? Are you going to the river but left your knife at home? .
“Well, I didn’t know that we were going to the river, but the salt ended up in my pocket.” And without salt, potatoes lose their meaning. Although, perhaps, potatoes make a lot of sense even without salt.
I raked a new crooked potato out of the ashes. He broke her black-baked sides. The potatoes turned out to be white under the coal skin and pink. But the center was not baked, it crunched when I took a bite. It was a September, completely ripe potato. It’s not too big, but it’s about the size of a fist.
“Give me some salt,” I said to Uncle Zuyu. - The meaning needs to be salted.
Uncle Zui stuck his fingers into the chintz knot and sprinkled salt on the potato.
“The point is,” he said, “you can add some salt.” And it adds salt to the meaning.
Far away, on the other side of the river, figures were moving in the field - a village across the river was digging potatoes. Here and there, closer to the shore, potato smoke rose above the alder forest.
And from our shore voices were heard in the field, smoke rose. The whole world

I was digging potatoes that day.

Teacher : Lyubov Voronkova - her books that have become classics of children's literature speak about the main thing: love for the Motherland, respect for work, human kindness and responsiveness.

Ved: An excerpt from her story “Girl from the City” reads Dolgosheeva Marina.

Valentine came up with an idea: here on a round leaf of a water lily sits a tiny girl - Thumbelina. But it’s not Thumbelina, it’s Valentine herself sitting on a piece of paper and talking to the fish...
Or - this is a hut. Valentine comes to the door. Who lives in this hut? She opens the low door, enters... and there a beautiful fairy sits and spins golden yarn. The fairy stands up to meet Valentine: “Hello, girl! And I’ve been waiting for you for a long time!”
But this game ended immediately as soon as one of the guys came home. Then she silently put away her pictures.
One day before evening, Valentinka couldn’t stand it and went to the plates.
- Oh, it has risen! - she exclaimed. - It has risen! Leaves!.. Romanok, look!
Romanok approached the plates:
- It’s true!
But it seemed to Valentinka that Romanok was little surprised and little happy. Where is Taiska? She's gone. One Grusha sits in the upper room.
- Pear, come here and look!
But Grusha was knitting a stocking and just at that time she was counting the stitches. She waved it off angrily:
- Just think, there is something to see there! What a curiosity!
Valentinka was surprised: how come no one is happy? I need to tell my grandfather, because he sowed this!
And, forgetting her usual fear, she ran to her grandfather.
Grandfather cut a ditch in the yard to prevent spring water from spilling across the yard.
- Grandpa, let's go! Look what you have in your plates: leaves and grass!
Grandfather raised his shaggy eyebrows, looked at her, and Valentine saw his eyes for the first time. They were light, blue and cheerful. And the grandfather turned out to be not at all angry, and not at all scary!
- Why are you happy? - he asked.
“I don’t know,” Valentinka answered. – So simple, very interesting!
Grandfather put the crowbar aside:
- Well, let's go have a look.
Grandfather counted the seedlings. The peas were good. The oats also sprouted well. But the wheat turned out to be rare: the seeds are not good, you need to get fresh ones.
And it was like they gave Valentine a gift. And the grandfather became not scary. And the green on the windows grew thicker and brighter every day.
How joyful it is when there is still snow outside, but the window is sunny and green! It’s as if a piece of spring has bloomed here!

Teacher: Lyubov Voronkova reached for the pen to express her love for the land and working people in poetry and prose.
As an adult, she returned to Moscow and became a journalist. She traveled a lot around the country and wrote about life in the countryside: this topic was close to her.

Ved: “Girl from the city” will continue to read to us Vera Nepomniachtchi

Everything surprised Valentinka, everything lured her: the lemon butterfly that flew to the lungwort, and the red cones that slightly sprouted at the ends of the spruce paws, and the forest stream in the ravine, and the birds flying from peak to peak...

Grandfather chose a tree for the shaft and began to chop it. Romanok and Taiska called back loudly; they were already heading back. Valentine remembered the mushrooms. So, she will never find one? Valentinka wanted to run towards Taiska. Not far from the edge of the ravine, she saw something blue. She came closer. Among the light greenery, bright flowers bloomed profusely, blue as the spring sky and as pure as it. They seemed to glow and shine in the darkness of the forest. Valentine stood over them, full of admiration.
- Snowdrops!
Real, alive! And they can be torn. After all, no one planted or sowed them. You can pick as much as you want, even a whole armful, a whole sheaf, even collect every single one and take it home!
But... Valentine will tear off all the blue, and the clearing will become empty, crumpled and dark. No, let them bloom! They are much more beautiful here in the forest. She will take just a little, a small bouquet from here. It will be completely unnoticeable!
When they returned from the forest, the mother was already at home. She had just washed her face, the towel was still hanging on her hand.
- Mommy! – Taiska screamed from a distance. - Mommy, look at the morels we picked!
- Mom, let's have lunch! – echoed Romanok.
And Valentine came up and handed her a handful of fresh blue flowers, still shiny, still smelling of the forest:
- I brought this to you... mom!

Teacher: Our competition performance has come to an end. Well, how did you guys like it?

Boys: Of course, Tatyana Nikolaevna. We now understand that it’s not interesting to read books just like that. You need to broaden your horizons and read different authors.

Ved: We want the high jury to appreciate our efforts, and we ask them to sum up the results.

Teacher: In the meantime, the jury is summing up the results... We invite you to play a literary quiz.

Questions from the works:
1. The bird that Thumbelina saved? (Martin)
2. The little dancer from the fairy tale “Three Fat Men”? (Suok)
3. Who wrote the poem “Uncle Styopa”? (Mikhalkov)
4. On what street did the absent-minded man live? (Baseina)
5. Gena's crocodile friend? (Cheburashka)
6. What did Munchausen fly to the moon on? (On a cannonball)
7. Who speaks all languages? (Echo)
8. Who is the author of the fairy tale “Ryaba Hen”? (People)
9. Which of the heroes of a children's fairy tale considered himself the best ghost expert in the world? (Carlson)
10. Hero of Russian folk puppet shows? (Parsley)
11. Russian folk tale about a hostel? (Teremok)
12. Nickname of the calf from the cartoon “Vacation in Prostokvashino”? (Gavryusha)
13. What would you ask from Pinocchio? (Golden Key)
14. Who is the author of the lines “A golden cloud spent the night on the chest of a giant cliff”? (M.Yu. Lermontov)

15. What was the name of the main character of the story “Scarlet Sails” (Assol)

16. How many labors did Hercules perform (12)

Ved: To sum up the results and present diplomas to the winners of the school competition for young prose readers “Living Classics”, the floor is given to the chairman of the competition jury, Marina Aleksandrovna. (graduations)

Teacher: Our competition is over, but our favorite writers and their works will never end! We say to you: - Thank you, until new meetings and achievable victories!

V. Rozov “Wild Duck” from the series “Touching War”)

The food was bad, I was always hungry. Sometimes food was given once a day, and then in the evening. Oh, how I wanted to eat! And so on one of these days, when dusk was already approaching, and there was not yet a crumb in our mouths, we, about eight soldiers, sat on the high grassy bank of a quiet river and almost whined. Suddenly we see him without his gymnast. Holding something in his hands. Another of our comrades is running towards us. He ran up. Radiant face. The package is his tunic, and something is wrapped in it.

Look! – Boris exclaims triumphantly. He unfolds the tunic, and in it... is a live wild duck.

I see: sitting, hiding behind a bush. I took off my shirt and - hop! Have food! Let's fry it.

The duck was weak and young. Turning her head from side to side, she looked at us with amazed beady eyes. She simply could not understand what kind of strange, cute creatures surrounded her and looked at her with such admiration. She did not struggle, did not quack, did not strain her neck to slip out of the hands that held her. No, she looked around gracefully and curiously. Beautiful duck! And we are rough, uncleanly shaven, hungry. Everyone admired the beauty. And a miracle happened, like in a good fairy tale. Somehow he simply said:

Let's go!

Several logical remarks were thrown, like: “What’s the point, there are eight of us, and she’s so small,” “More messing around!”, “Borya, bring her back.” And, no longer covering it with anything, Boris carefully carried the duck back. Returning, he said:

I let her into the water. She dove. I didn’t see where she surfaced. I waited and waited to look, but I didn’t see it. It's getting dark.

When life gets me down, when you start cursing everyone and everything, you lose faith in people and you want to scream, like I once heard the cry of one very famous person: “I don’t want to be with people, I want with dogs!” - in these moments of disbelief and despair, I remember the wild duck and think: no, no, you can believe in people. This will all pass, everything will be fine.

They may tell me; “Well, yes, it was you, intellectuals, artists, everything can be expected about you.” No, during the war everything got mixed up and turned into one whole - single and invisible. In any case, the one where I served. There were two thieves in our group who had just been released from prison. One proudly told how he managed to steal a crane. Apparently he was talented. But he also said: “Let go!”

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Parable about life - Life values

Once, one sage, standing in front of his students, did the following. He took a large glass vessel and filled it to the brim with large stones. Having done this, he asked the disciples if the vessel was full. Everyone confirmed that it was full.

Then the sage took a box of small pebbles, poured it into a vessel and gently shook it several times. The pebbles rolled into the gaps between the large stones and filled them. After this, he again asked the disciples if the vessel was now full. They again confirmed the fact - it is full.

And finally, the sage took a box of sand from the table and poured it into the vessel. Sand, of course, filled the last gaps in the vessel.

Now,” the sage addressed the students, “I would like you to be able to recognize your life in this vessel!”

Large stones represent important things in life: your family, your loved one, your health, your children - those things that, even without everything else, can still fill your life. Small pebbles represent less important things, such as your job, your apartment, your house or your car. Sand symbolizes the little things in life, the hustle and bustle of everyday life. If you fill your vessel with sand first, there will be no room left for larger stones.

It’s the same in life - if you spend all your energy on small things, then there will be nothing left for big things.

Therefore, pay attention first of all to important things - find time for your children and loved ones, take care of your health. You will still have enough time for work, for home, for celebrations and everything else. Watch your big stones - only they have a price, everything else is just sand.

A. Green. Scarlet Sails

She sat with her legs tucked up and her arms around her knees. Attentively leaning towards the sea, she looked at the horizon with large eyes in which there was nothing adult left - the eyes of a child. Everything she had been waiting for so long and passionately was happening there - at the end of the world. She saw an underwater hill in the land of distant abysses; climbing plants flowed upward from its surface; among them round leaves pierced by the stem at the edge, fanciful flowers shone. The upper leaves glittered on the surface of the ocean; those who knew nothing, as Assol knew, saw only awe and brilliance.

A ship rose from the thicket; he surfaced and stopped in the very middle of dawn. From this distance he was visible as clear as clouds. Scattering joy, he burned like wine, rose, blood, lips, scarlet velvet and crimson fire. The ship went straight to Assol. The wings of foam fluttered under the powerful pressure of its keel; Already, having stood up, the girl pressed her hands to her chest, when a wonderful play of light turned into a swell; the sun rose, and the bright fullness of the morning tore the covers off everything that was still basking, stretching on the sleepy earth.

The girl sighed and looked around. The music fell silent, but Assol was still in the power of its sonorous choir. This impression gradually weakened, then became a memory and, finally, just fatigue. She lay down on the grass, yawned and, blissfully closing her eyes, fell asleep - truly, soundly, like a young nut, sleep, without worries and dreams.

She was awakened by a fly wandering over her bare foot. Restlessly turning her leg, Assol woke up; sitting, she pinned up her disheveled hair, so Gray's ring reminded her of herself, but considering it nothing more than a stalk stuck between her fingers, she straightened them; Since the obstacle did not disappear, she impatiently raised her hand to her eyes and straightened up, instantly jumping up with the force of a spraying fountain.

Gray's radiant ring shone on her finger, as if on someone else's - she could not recognize it as hers at that moment, she did not feel her finger. - “Whose thing is this? Whose joke? - she quickly cried. - Am I dreaming? Maybe I found it and forgot?” Grasping the right hand with her left hand, on which there was a ring, she looked around in amazement, torturing the sea and green thickets with her gaze; but no one moved, no one hid in the bushes, and in the blue, far-illuminated sea there was no sign, and a blush covered Assol, and the voices of the heart said a prophetic “yes.” There were no explanations for what had happened, but without words or thoughts she found them in her strange feeling, and the ring already became close to her. Trembling, she pulled it off her finger; holding it in a handful like water, she examined it - with all her soul, with all her heart, with all the jubilation and clear superstition of youth, then, hiding it behind her bodice, Assol buried her face in her palms, from under which a smile burst uncontrollably, and, lowering her head, slowly I went the opposite way.

So, by chance, as people who can read and write say, Gray and Assol found each other on the morning of a summer day full of inevitability.

"A note". Tatyana Petrosyan

The note looked most harmless.

According to all gentlemanly laws, it should have revealed an inky face and a friendly explanation: “Sidorov is a goat.”

So Sidorov, without suspecting anything bad, instantly unfolded the message... and was dumbfounded.

Inside, in large, beautiful handwriting, it was written: “Sidorov, I love you!”

Sidorov felt mockery in the roundness of the handwriting. Who wrote this to him?

(As usual they grinned. But this time they didn’t.)

But Sidorov immediately noticed that Vorobyova was looking at him without blinking. It doesn’t just look like that, but with meaning!

There was no doubt: she wrote the note. But then it turns out that Vorobyova loves him?!

And then Sidorov’s thought reached a dead end and fluttered helplessly, like a fly in a glass. WHAT DOES LOVES MEAN??? What consequences will this entail and what should Sidorov do now?..

“Let’s think logically,” Sidorov reasoned logically. “What, for example, do I love? Pears! I love it, which means I always want to eat it...”

At that moment, Vorobyova turned to him again and licked her bloodthirsty lips. Sidorov went numb. What caught his eye were her long uncut... well, yes, real claws! For some reason I remembered how in the buffet Vorobyov greedily gnawed at a bony chicken leg...

“You need to pull yourself together,” Sidorov pulled himself together. (My hands turned out to be dirty. But Sidorov ignored the little things.) “I love not only pears, but also my parents. However, there is no question of eating them. Mom bakes sweet pies. Dad often carries me around his neck. And I love them for that..."

Here Vorobyova turned around again, and Sidorov thought with sadness that he would now have to bake sweet pies for her all day long and carry her to school around his neck in order to justify such a sudden and crazy love. He took a closer look and discovered that Vorobyova was not thin and would probably not be easy to wear.

“All is not lost yet,” Sidorov did not give up. “I also love our dog Bobik. Especially when I train him or take him out for a walk...” Then Sidorov felt stuffy at the thought that Vorobyov could make him jump for every pie, and then he will take you for a walk, holding the leash tightly and not allowing you to deviate either to the right or to the left...

“...I love the cat Murka, especially when you blow right into her ear...” Sidorov thought in despair, “no, that’s not it... I like to catch flies and put them in a glass... but this is too much... I love toys that you can break and see what's inside..."

The last thought made Sidorov feel unwell. There was only one salvation. He hastily tore a piece of paper out of the notebook, pursed his lips resolutely and in firm handwriting wrote the menacing words: “Vorobyova, I love you too.” Let her be scared.

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The candle was burning. Mike Gelprin

The bell rang when Andrei Petrovich had already lost all hope.

Hello, I'm following an ad. Do you give literature lessons?

Andrei Petrovich peered at the videophone screen. A man in his late thirties. Strictly dressed - suit, tie. He smiles, but his eyes are serious. Andrei Petrovich’s heart sank; he posted the ad online only out of habit. There were six calls in ten years. Three got the wrong number, two more turned out to be insurance agents working the old fashioned way, and one confused literature with a ligature.

“I give lessons,” Andrei Petrovich said, stuttering with excitement. - N-at home. Are you interested in literature?

“Interested,” the interlocutor nodded. - My name is Max. Let me know what the conditions are.

“For nothing!” - Andrei Petrovich almost burst out.

“Pay is hourly,” he forced himself to say. - By agreement. When would you like to start?

I, actually... - the interlocutor hesitated.

Let’s do it tomorrow,” Maxim said decisively. - Will ten in the morning suit you? I take the kids to school by nine and then I'm free until two.

“It will work,” Andrei Petrovich was delighted. - Write down the address.

Tell me, I'll remember.

That night Andrei Petrovich did not sleep, walked around the tiny room, almost a cell, not knowing what to do with his hands shaking from anxiety. For twelve years now he had been living on a beggar's allowance. From the very day he was fired.

“You are too narrow a specialist,” said the director of the lyceum for children with humanitarian inclinations, hiding his eyes. - We value you as an experienced teacher, but unfortunately this is your subject. Tell me, do you want to retrain? The lyceum could partially pay the cost of training. Virtual ethics, the basics of virtual law, the history of robotics - you could very well teach this. Even cinema is still quite popular. Of course, he doesn’t have much time left, but for your lifetime... What do you think?

Andrei Petrovich refused, which he later regretted. It was not possible to find a new job, literature remained in a few educational institutions, the last libraries were closed, philologists, one after another, retrained in all sorts of different ways. For a couple of years he visited the thresholds of gymnasiums, lyceums and special schools. Then he stopped. I spent six months taking retraining courses. When his wife left, he left them too.

The savings quickly ran out, and Andrei Petrovich had to tighten his belt. Then sell the aircar, old but reliable. An antique set left over from my mother, with things behind it. And then... Andrei Petrovich felt sick every time he remembered this - then it was the turn of the books. Ancient, thick, paper ones, also from my mother. Collectors gave good money for rarities, so Count Tolstoy fed him for a whole month. Dostoevsky - two weeks. Bunin - one and a half.

As a result, Andrei Petrovich was left with fifty books - his favorite ones, re-read a dozen times, those that he could not part with. Remarque, Hemingway, Marquez, Bulgakov, Brodsky, Pasternak... The books stood on a bookcase, occupying four shelves, Andrei Petrovich wiped dust from the spines every day.

“If this guy, Maxim,” Andrei Petrovich thought randomly, nervously pacing from wall to wall, “if he... Then, perhaps, it will be possible to buy Balmont back. Or Murakami. Or Amadou."

It’s nothing, Andrei Petrovich suddenly realized. It doesn't matter whether you can buy it back. He can convey, this is it, this is the only important thing. Hand over! To convey to others what he knows, what he has.

Maxim rang the doorbell at exactly ten o'clock, every minute.

Come in,” Andrei Petrovich began to fuss. - Take a seat. Here, actually... Where would you like to start?

Maxim hesitated and carefully sat down on the edge of the chair.

Whatever you think is necessary. You see, I'm a layman. Full. They didn't teach me anything.

Yes, yes, of course,” Andrei Petrovich nodded. - Like everyone else. Literature has not been taught in secondary schools for almost a hundred years. And now they no longer teach in special schools.

Nowhere? - Maxim asked quietly.

I'm afraid not anywhere anymore. You see, at the end of the twentieth century a crisis began. There was no time to read. First for children, then the children grew up, and their children no longer had time to read. Even more time than parents. Other pleasures have appeared - mostly virtual. Games. All sorts of tests, quests... - Andrei Petrovich waved his hand. - Well, and of course, technology. Technical disciplines began to supplant the humanities. Cybernetics, quantum mechanics and electrodynamics, high energy physics. And literature, history, geography faded into the background. Especially literature. Are you following, Maxim?

Yes, please continue.

In the twenty-first century, books were no longer printed; paper was replaced by electronics. But also in electronic version The demand for literature fell rapidly, several times in each new generation compared to the previous one. As a result, the number of writers decreased, then there were none at all - people stopped writing. Philologists lasted a hundred years longer - due to what was written in the previous twenty centuries.

Andrei Petrovich fell silent and wiped his suddenly sweaty forehead with his hand.

It’s not easy for me to talk about this,” he finally said. - I realize that the process is natural. Literature died because it did not get along with progress. But here are the children, you understand... Children! Literature was what shaped minds. Especially poetry. That which determined a person’s inner world, his spirituality. Children grow up soulless, that’s what’s scary, that’s what’s terrible, Maxim!

I came to this conclusion myself, Andrei Petrovich. And that is why I turned to you.

Do you have children?

Yes,” Maxim hesitated. - Two. Pavlik and Anechka are the same age. Andrey Petrovich, I just need the basics. I will find literature on the Internet and read it. I just need to know what. And what to focus on. You learn me?

Yes,” Andrei Petrovich said firmly. - I’ll teach you.

He stood up, crossed his arms over his chest, and concentrated.

Pasternak,” he said solemnly. - Chalk, chalk all over the earth, to all limits. The candle was burning on the table, the candle was burning...

Will you come tomorrow, Maxim? - Andrei Petrovich asked, trying to calm the trembling in his voice.

Definitely. Only now... You know, I work as a manager for a wealthy married couple. I manage the household, business, and balance the bills. My salary is low. But I,” Maxim looked around the room, “can bring food.” Some things, perhaps household appliances. On account of payment. Will it suit you?

Andrei Petrovich involuntarily blushed. He would be happy with it for nothing.

Of course, Maxim,” he said. - Thank you. I'm waiting for you tomorrow.

“Literature is not only what is written about,” said Andrei Petrovich, walking around the room. - This is also how it is written. Language, Maxim, is the very tool that great writers and poets used. Listen here.

Maxim listened intently. It seemed that he was trying to remember, to learn the teacher’s speech by heart.

Pushkin,” said Andrei Petrovich and began to recite.

"Tavrida", "Anchar", "Eugene Onegin".

Lermontov "Mtsyri".

Baratynsky, Yesenin, Mayakovsky, Blok, Balmont, Akhmatova, Gumilyov, Mandelstam, Vysotsky...

Maxim listened.

Aren't you tired? - asked Andrei Petrovich.

No, no, what are you talking about? Please continue.

The day gave way to a new one. Andrei Petrovich perked up, awakened to life, in which meaning suddenly appeared. Poetry was replaced by prose, which took much more time, but Maxim turned out to be a grateful student. He caught it on the fly. Andrei Petrovich never ceased to be amazed at how Maxim, who at first was deaf to the word, not perceiving, not feeling the harmony embedded in the language, comprehended it every day and knew it better, deeper than the previous one.

Balzac, Hugo, Maupassant, Dostoevsky, Turgenev, Bunin, Kuprin.

Bulgakov, Hemingway, Babel, Remarque, Marquez, Nabokov.

Eighteenth century, nineteenth, twentieth.

Classics, fiction, fantasy, detective.

Stevenson, Twain, Conan Doyle, Sheckley, Strugatsky, Weiner, Japrizo.

One day, on Wednesday, Maxim did not come. Andrei Petrovich spent the whole morning waiting, convincing himself that he could get sick. I couldn’t, whispered an inner voice, persistent and absurd. Scrupulous, pedantic Maxim could not. He has never been a minute late in a year and a half. And then he didn’t even call. By evening, Andrei Petrovich could no longer find a place for himself, and at night he never slept a wink. By ten in the morning he was completely exhausted, and when it became clear that Maxim would not come again, he wandered to the videophone.

The number has been disconnected from service,” said a mechanical voice.

The next few days passed like one bad dream. Even my favorite books did not save me from acute melancholy and a newly emerging feeling of worthlessness, which Andrei Petrovich did not remember for a year and a half. To call hospitals, morgues, there was an obsessive buzzing in my temple. So what should I ask? Or about whom? Didn’t a certain Maxim, about thirty years old, excuse me, I don’t know his last name?

Andrei Petrovich got out of the house when it became unbearable to be within four walls anymore.

Ah, Petrovich! - old man Nefyodov, a neighbor from below, greeted. - Long time no see. Why don’t you go out? Are you ashamed or something? So it seems like you have nothing to do with it.

In what sense am I ashamed? - Andrei Petrovich was dumbfounded.

Well, what is this, yours,” Nefyodov ran the edge of his hand across his throat. - Who came to see you. I kept wondering why Petrovich, in his old age, got involved with this public.

What are you about? - Andrei Petrovich felt cold inside. - With what audience?

It is known which one. I see these little darlings right away. I think I worked with them for thirty years.

With whom with them? - Andrei Petrovich begged. -What are you even talking about?

Don't you really know? - Nefyodov was alarmed. - Look at the news, they are talking about it everywhere.

Andrei Petrovich did not remember how he got to the elevator. He went up to the fourteenth and with shaking hands fumbled for the key in his pocket. On the fifth attempt, I opened it, trotted over to the computer, connected to the network, and scrolled through the news feed. My heart suddenly sank with pain. Maxim looked from the photo, the lines of italics under the photo blurred before his eyes.

“Caught by the owners,” Andrei Petrovich read from the screen with difficulty focusing his vision, “of stealing food, clothing and household appliances. Home robot tutor, DRG-439K series. Control program defect. He stated that he independently came to the conclusion about childhood lack of spirituality, which he decided to fight. Unauthorizedly taught children subjects outside the school curriculum. He hid his activities from his owners. Withdrawn from circulation... In fact, disposed of.... The public is concerned about the manifestation... The issuing company is ready to bear... A specially created committee decided...".

Andrei Petrovich stood up. On stiff legs he walked to the kitchen. He opened the cupboard and on the bottom shelf stood an open bottle of cognac that Maxim had brought as payment for his tuition fees. Andrei Petrovich tore off the cork and looked around in search of a glass. I couldn’t find it and tore it out of my throat. He coughed, dropped the bottle, and staggered back against the wall. His knees gave way and Andrei Petrovich sank heavily to the floor.

Down the drain, came the final thought. Everything is down the drain. All this time he trained the robot.

A soulless, defective piece of hardware. I put everything I have into it. Everything that makes life worth living. Everything he lived for.

Andrei Petrovich, overcoming the pain that grabbed his heart, stood up. He dragged himself to the window and closed the transom tightly. Now a gas stove. Open the burners and wait half an hour. That's all.

The doorbell rang and caught him halfway to the stove. Andrei Petrovich, gritting his teeth, moved to open it. Two children stood on the threshold. A boy of about ten years old. And the girl is a year or two younger.

Do you give literature lessons? - the girl asked, looking from under her bangs falling into her eyes.

What? - Andrei Petrovich was taken aback. - Who are you?

“I’m Pavlik,” the boy took a step forward. - This is Anya, my sister. We are from Max.

From... From whom?!

From Max,” the boy repeated stubbornly. - He told me to convey it. Before he... what's his name...

Chalk, chalk all over the earth to all limits! - the girl suddenly shouted loudly.

Andrei Petrovich grabbed his heart, swallowing convulsively, stuffed it, pushed it back into his chest.

Are you kidding? - he said quietly, barely audible.

The candle was burning on the table, the candle was burning,” the boy said firmly. - He told me to convey this, Max. Will you teach us?

Andrei Petrovich, clinging to the door frame, stepped back.

“Oh my God,” he said. - Come in. Come in, children.

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Leonid Kaminsky

Composition

Lena sat at the table and did her homework. It was getting dark, but from the snow that lay in drifts in the yard, it was still light in the room.
In front of Lena lay an open notebook, in which only two phrases were written:
How I help my mother.
Composition.
There was no further work. Somewhere at the neighbors' house a tape recorder was playing. Alla Pugacheva could be heard persistently repeating: “I really want summer not to end!..”.
“But it’s true,” Lena thought dreamily, “it would be good if summer didn’t end!.. Sunbathe yourself, swim, and no essays for you!”
She read the headline again: How I Help Mom. “How can I help? And when to help here, if they ask so much for the house!
The light came on in the room: my mother entered.
“Sit, sit, I won’t bother you, I’ll just tidy up the room a little.” “She began wiping the bookshelves with a rag.
Lena began to write:
“I help my mother with the housework. I clean the apartment, wipe the dust off the furniture with a rag.”
- Why did you throw your clothes all over the room? - Mom asked. The question was, of course, rhetorical, because my mother did not expect an answer. She began putting things in the closet.
“I’m putting things in their places,” Lena wrote.
“By the way, your apron needs to be washed,” mom continued talking to herself.
“Washing clothes,” Lena wrote, then thought and added: “And ironing.”
“Mom, a button on my dress came off,” Lena reminded and wrote: “I sew buttons on if necessary.”
Mom sewed on a button, then went out to the kitchen and returned with a bucket and mop.
Pushing the chairs aside, she began to wipe the floor.
“Well, raise your legs,” said mom, deftly wielding a rag.
- Mom, you're bothering me! – Lena grumbled and, without lowering her feet, wrote: “Washing the floors.”
There was something burning coming from the kitchen.
- Oh, I have potatoes on the stove! – Mom shouted and rushed to the kitchen.
“I’m peeling potatoes and cooking dinner,” Lena wrote.
- Lena, have dinner! – Mom called from the kitchen.
- Now! – Lena leaned back in her chair and stretched.
A bell rang in the hallway.
- Lena, this is for you! - Mom shouted.
Olya, Lena’s classmate, entered the room, blushing from the frost.
- I do not for a long time. Mom sent for bread, and I decided to go to you on the way.
Lena took a pen and wrote: “I’m going to the store for bread and other products.”
- Are you writing an essay? – Olya asked. - Let me see.
Olya looked at the notebook and burst out laughing:
- Wow! Yes, this is all not true! You made it all up!
– Who said you can’t compose? – Lena was offended. - That’s why it’s called so-chi-ne-nie!

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Texts for learning by heart for the competition “Living Classics-2017”