Scenario of the event about the magical power of art. The magical power of art
Meeting of friends
in the music room
The magical power of art
(personality, creativity, time)
Minasyan N. G.
Novoamvrosievskaya secondary school of І-ІІІ levels
music room
Meeting friends in the music room
"The magical power of art"
(personality, creativity, time)
Target: relying on artistic experience and works of art to help identify the aesthetic value of art, its moral potential, the ability to make a person better, purer, spiritually richer; development of students' communication abilities.
Furnishings and equipment: students are located in groups at tables around the teacher, on the tables there are candlesticks with candles, bouquets of flowers; portraits of composers, sound recordings, pianos, video film “Paradise Lost”, about Chopin; sculptural portrait of Antoine Bourdelle, Beethoven, portraits of Chopin, Mozart, K. Vasiliev.
PROGRESS OF THE MEETING:
Teacher: Good evening, dear friends! We gathered in our blue living room for another meeting with beauty.
The theme of our meeting was suggested by life itself, our time with you. The time is exciting, fantastic and at the same time tough, I would even say cruel. We are surrounded by technology, high speeds, all our free time is occupied by computers, televisions, game consoles, and the pressure of all kinds of information is crushing us. And we become different: we are less surprised, the ability to sympathize and empathize has become dulled, and indifference and indifference are found among us more and more often. What is this? Did our hearts begin to beat differently? Or did the word “soul” begin to have some other meaning?
Have you ever thought about this?
(answers-reflections)
Yes, the concepts of spirit and cordiality have always been associated with our feelings, emotions, specifically with the ability to feel and experience. Afraid of indifference? Avoid insensitive people!
But imagine that the ability to feel can be developed in yourself! Develop in all ways: you can read literature and experience together with the heroes of the works, you can contemplate beautiful works of fine art and admire them. Music occupies a special place in this series. I agree with Shakespeare, who said: “There is no living thing on earth,
So cruel, cool, hellishly evil,
So that I couldn’t even for one hour
In it, music will make a revolution.”
Where does music come from?
(it is composed by a composer)
What is music for a composer?
(way to express your thoughts and feelings)
Where do these thoughts and feelings come from?
(from life)
I think you will agree with my idea that the brighter the composer’s life, the richer it is in impressions and experiences; the larger the vision, participation in various events, the brighter the content of his music.
Who does the composer write for?
(Of course, for you with us)
And this is where the question arises: do we need it? And which is needed and needed more: jazz or rock music, modern pop or classical?
Stop... Don't give me a ready-made answer, give it at the end of the meeting.
To begin with, let's dive into music that is simply time-tested, which was written 204 years ago, one might even say - overplayed. But it doesn’t turn into kitsch or a bestseller.
Friends! Light the candles! Let these lights be the reflection of our hearts, our warmth, our love for music.
I would like for you, when you enjoy it, to unobtrusively have an image of the person who wrote this music, what state was this person in who wrote about his feelings like that? What can we say about his personality? Could you also express your feelings like this, perhaps in color, in words?
(Performed by the teacher І movement of Beethoven's 14th sonata)
What did Beethoven write about?
(answers)
He called it “gvasi una fantasia” - “like a fantasy.” The name “Lunar” was given to it by the poet Relshtab. The sonata is dedicated to Giulietta Guicciardi.
The French writer Romain Rolland, having heard the sonata, said: “This is a monologue without words, a truthful, amazing confession, the like of which can only be found in music... There is not a single word here, but it is understandable to everyone.”
The beginning is a measured triplet movement. What is this? This is the pendulum of human life. Feelings and life are placed in the space between the strokes of the pendulum. What feelings and events does the author tell us about? 1801 is the year the sonata was created.
Before us is thirty-year-old Beethoven.
Student: Look at me! Yes, I am a thirty-year-old conqueror, a great virtuoso, a brilliant artist, a salon lion that youth raves about. Yes, I look down on this elegant society. Yes, I have bad manners, which Princess Likhnovskaya patiently corrects. I only pretend that I despise fashion, yes, I wear a beautiful triple-twisted tie and am pleased with the impression I make on others. Yes, I dance - and how?! I ride a horse - poor horse! Yes, I laugh at the top of my lungs, but there is a hidden grace and elegance.
Teacher: And suddenly lines from letters, as if torn from the innermost recesses of his soul.
Student: An envious demon - my poor health - is putting a spoke in my wheels, namely: for three years now, my hearing has been getting worse and worse... everything is buzzing and making noise in my ears day and night. I lead a miserable existence. For two years I have avoided all society because I am unable to tell people: “I am deaf. With my profession this is terrible...”
Teacher: This is the way of life that is placed between the measured strokes of the pendulum.
How does Beethoven feel about his work?
This is where the true strength of spirit and will lies!
This is what is called overcoming yourself!
Amazing, gigantic, intense work does not stop for a moment.
And it was at this time that fate sent him love. Beethoven writes in a letter: “My immortal beloved! I can live either by being with you entirely, or not at all. I want, having found my home with you, to send my soul, entwined with you, to the kingdom of spirits. No one else can ever take over my heart. Nowhere, never!
Teacher. What amazing dedication, what amazing power of feeling. And suddenly... betrayal... Parents marry Juliet to someone else. For Beethoven this is a blow; he is a count, although a musician, but an inferior one. This cannot be forgiven!
Here it is - fate, here it is, evil rock - resulting in the sounds of the 14th Sonata. This melody is a plea for happiness; it’s hard to talk about “this.”
If we dare to combine triplets in a chord, we will hear a funeral march. That's where the mystery lies! Why did the composer do this?
(answers, thoughts)
Do you agree with me? I think this speaks of his personal qualities: he is modest, modest to the point of secrecy, he hides true feelings from “human eyes,” and maybe he teaches us kindness, but through his own means, musical. He says: “It is kindness that can transform a person.” And, therefore, sparing the listener, he hid the ponderous, tearing, soul-crushing tread of the funeral march behind the triplets? Be that as it may, this music is beautiful in all its forms!
Now give me some light! More light! Now friends, we will meet with other music!
(candles go out, lights come on)
Let the radiant Mozart sound! You - Mozart - are a god!
(A graphic portrait of Mozart is exhibited)
(Sounds like “Turkish Rondo performed by a teacher”)
Is this music timeless?
Go to her! Listen to her! And you will find in it a source of vital energy; it will always nourish you with happiness, love, and the joy of life.
Teacher. (changing intonation) Now let's open this door... What's there?
(The video recorder turns on, against the backdrop of beautiful sketches about
Largetto from the piano concerto in F minor sounds in nature
Teacher. And this music was written by a man who would live only 39 years. This is Frederic Chopin. Don't you think that he subconsciously felt the transience of his life? And maybe this is why there is such a depth of feeling, an immense love for life and nature? Such a passionate desire to capture this in sounds and convey it to people?
How do you think?
My friends! Have you ever wondered why composers lived so short - Beethoven 57, Mozart 36, Chopin 39 (and the list goes on)?
Perhaps the period of time that was measured out for them by fate was filled with such a clot of creative life that they, without realizing it, burned in it, creating real masterpieces of art for people.
Our meeting is taking place on the eve of the Great Victory. And I would like to complete it with the poems of Yevgeny Yevtushenko, in which literature and music, art and life merged together. Listen to these sounds, think about the words. These are poems about the horrors of fascist camps and the mystery of the human spirit. Try to understand and feel the mystery of its manifestation.
Ballad of the Pianist
When the Nazis beat him
in a concentration camp
and grinned:
"Gotcha..." -
he was hiding one thing -
your bony hands,
just not on the fingers.
Then he called
turn around to yourself -
fascist pink,
"We'll give you a tool...
play for the authorities..." -
and he muttered:
"Forgot how..."
And he performed with a shovel in his hands
in the refined society of garbage.
but in his fingers -
in ten hiding places -
music was hiding
when I cut through the darkness
lunar seditious edge,
with charcoal, he roughly drew on the floor
keys, keys, keys.
Rotten beans were rumbling inside someone,
someone whispered the name of the sweetheart,
and from unplaned “fa” and “sol”
Splinters pierced my fingers.
And he played until dawn as best he could -
I broke down, suffered, tried,
although all he could get was
bouquet of barbed wire.
He was not afraid that they would kill him, -
there is no shame in death,
it was worse that the sketch was weak,
especially in the major part.
And when he returned, he did not drink, did not cry,
It's all from there,
he is a chilled piano from the canvas,
like a child, he wrapped it up.
And the old man with paper clips in his beard -
lord of the conservatory,
After listening, he asked puzzledly: “Where
Are you so well prepared?"
... Play pianist! The barracks are sailing -
the ark of your music Noah,
but, shouting,
shows through the tailcoat
invisible camp number.
What is the strength of a pianist?
(answers - reflections)
Human physical strength is limited, but spiritual strength is inexhaustible. And art, precisely, is the source of the strength of the human spirit, as we have seen today, listening to music and poetry, looking at portraits of composers.
Our meeting is coming to an end, and as we say goodbye, I wish you to have a strong creative imagination, developed feelings of kindness and mercy, and a desire to stop in front of the immortal creations of great masters. May your soul never become cold and indifferent. When you come into contact with the world of real art, let your heart beat faster with excitement and joy, let your eyes sparkle with beauty and, most importantly, let your desire to create the world around you according to the laws of beauty!
Hello, Elena Sergeevna!..
The old teacher shuddered and looked up. A short young man stood in front of her. He looked at her cheerfully and anxiously, and she, seeing this funny boyish expression in his eyes, immediately recognized him.
Dementiev,” she said joyfully. - Is that you?
It’s me,” the man said, “can I sit down?”
She nodded and he sat down next to her.
- How are you doing, Dementyev, dear?
“I work,” he said, “in the theater.” I'm an actor. An actor for everyday roles, what is called a “character”. And I work a lot! Well, what about you? How are you doing?
“I’m still,” she said cheerfully, “great!” I teach fourth grade and there are some amazing kids. Interesting, talented... So everything is great!
They gave me a new room... In a two-room apartment... Just paradise...
How strange you said it, Elena Sergeevna,” he said, “it’s somehow sad... Is the room small, or what?” Or is it a long drive? Or no elevator? After all, there is something, I feel it. Or is someone being rude? Who? Head teacher? Building manager? Neighbours?
Neighbors, yes,” admitted Elena Sergeevna, “you understand, I live as if under the weight of an old cast-iron iron. My neighbors somehow immediately set themselves up as the owners of the new apartment. No, they don’t make trouble, they don’t shout. They act. They threw my table out of the kitchen. All the hangers and hooks in the bathroom were taken up; I had nowhere to hang a towel. The gas burners are always busy with their borscht, it happens that I wait for an hour to boil tea... Oh, honey, you’re a man, you won’t understand, these are all little things. It’s all about the atmosphere, the nuances, why don’t you go to the police? Not to court. I don't know how to deal with them...
“Everything is clear,” Dementyev said, and his eyes became unkind, “you’re right.” Rudeness in its purest form... Where do you live, what is your address? Yeah. Thank you, I remember. I'll come see you this evening. Just a request, Elena Sergeevna. Don't be surprised at anything. And completely help me in every initiative I undertake! In the theater this is called “playing along”! Is it coming? Well, see you tonight! Let's try the magical power of art on your troglodytes!
And he left.
And in the evening the phone rang. They called once.
Madame Mordatenkova, slowly moving her sides, walked along the corridor and opened it. In front of her, with his hands tucked into his trousers, stood a short man wearing a cap. A cigarette butt sat on his lower, wet, drooping lip.
Are you, perhaps, Sergeeva? - the man in the cap asked hoarsely.
No,” said Mordatenkova, shocked by his whole appearance. - Sergeeva received two calls.
Don't care. Let's see you off! - answered the cap.
Mordatenkova’s offended dignity moved deeper into the apartment.
Madame's sides began to move more quickly.
“Here,” she said and pointed to Elena Sergeevna’s door. - Here!
The stranger, without knocking, opened the door and entered. During his conversation with the teacher, the door remained unlocked. Mordatenkova, who for some reason had not gone home, heard every word of the cheeky newcomer.
So it was you who posted the paper about the exchange?
Have you seen my kennel?
Have you had a conversation with Nyurka, my wife?
Well, well... After all, I’ll say so. I’ll be honest: I wouldn’t change it myself. Judge for yourself: mine has two roots. Whenever you put your mind to it, you can always figure it out for three. After all, this is convenience? Convenience... But, you see, I need meters, damn them. Meters!
Yes, of course, I understand,” Elena Sergeevna’s voice said chokedly.
Why do I need meters, why do I need them, do you understand? No? The family, brother, Sergeev, is growing. By leaps and bounds! After all, my eldest, Albertik, is what he soaked? Do not you know? Yeah! He got married, that's what! True, I took a good one, a beautiful one. Why complain? Beautiful - small eyes, great face! Like a watermelon!!! And vocal... Straight Shulzhenko. “Lilies of the valley, lilies of the valley” all day long! Because she has a voice - she will outshine any Red Army ensemble! Well, just Shulzhenko! This means that he and Albertik can very easily forge their grandson soon, right? It's a young thing, huh? Is it a young business or not, I ask?
Of course, of course,” came the sound from the room very quietly.
That's it! - the voice in the cap wheezed. - Now reason number two: Vitka. My youngest. The seventh suited him. Oh boy, I'll report to you. Good girl! Igrun. Does he need a place? Cossack robbers? Last week he started launching a satellite to Mars, and he almost burned down the whole apartment because it was cramped! He needs space. He has nowhere to turn around. And here? Go into the corridor and burn whatever you want! Am I right? Why would he set fire to his room? Your corridors are spacious, this is a plus for me! A?
Plus, of course.
So I agree. Where ours didn’t disappear! Let's look at utilities!
And Mordatenkova heard him move into the corridor. Faster than a doe, she rushed to her room, where her husband was sitting at the table in front of a two-pack portion of dumplings.
Khariton,” madam whistled, “some bandit has come, about an exchange with a neighbor!” Go, maybe you can somehow prevent it!..
Mordatenkov jumped out into the corridor like a bullet. There, as if just waiting for him, was already standing a man in a cap, with a cigarette butt stuck to his lip.
“I’ll put the chest here,” he said, lovingly stroking the near corner, “my mother has a chest, about one and a half tons.” We'll put him here and let him sleep. I’ll write my mother from the Smolensk region. Why don’t I pour a bowl of borscht for my own mother? I'll pour it! And she will look after the children. Here her chest will fit just fine. And she is calm, and I feel good. Well, then show me.
“Here we have a small corridor, right in front of the bathroom,” Elena Sergeevna stammered, lowering her eyes.
And where? - the man in the cap perked up. - And where? Yeah, I see, I see.
He stopped, thought for a minute, and suddenly his eyes took on a naive, sentimental expression.
You know what? - he said confidentially. - I’ll tell them as if they were my own. I have a brother, you golden old woman. He's an alcoholic, you know. Every time he gets sick, he knocks on my door at night. Straight out, you know, it’s bursting. Because he doesn’t want to end up in a sobering station. Well, that means he’s pounding, and that means I don’t open the door for him. The room is small, where should he go? You can’t take it with you! And here I’ll throw some rag on the floor and let him sleep! He’ll catch his breath and be quiet again, because he’s the one who makes a row when he’s drunk. In a minute, I’ll cut you all off. And so nothing, quiet. Let him sleep here. Brother after all... Native blood, not cattle...
The Mordatenkovs looked at each other in horror.
“And here is our bathroom,” said Elena Sergeevna and opened the white door.
The man in the cap took only one quick glance into the bathroom and nodded approvingly:
Well, the bath is good and capacious. We'll pickle cucumbers in it for the winter. Nothing, not nobles. You can wash your face in the kitchen, but on the first of May you can go to the bathhouse. Come on, show me the kitchen. Where is your table?
“I don’t have my own table,” Elena Sergeevna said clearly, “the neighbors put it out.” They say two tables are cramped.
What? - the man in the cap said menacingly. - What kind of neighbors are they? These, or what?! - He casually pointed towards the Mordatenkovs. - Are two tables too small for them? Ah, the undercut bourgeoisie! Well, wait, you damn doll, let Nyurka come here, she’ll quickly scratch your eyes out if you say anything against her!
Shut up, old cockroach,” the man in the cap interrupted him, “he wanted it in the forehead, didn’t he?” So I'll spray! I can! Let me serve fifteen days for the fourth time, and I’ll spray you! But I still doubted whether to change or not. Yes, for your impudence I will change from a prince! Bauschk! - He turned to Elena Sergeevna. - Write an application for exchange quickly! My soul is burning for these scoundrels! I'll show them life! Come see me tomorrow morning. I'm waiting for you.
And he moved towards the exit. In the large corridor, without stopping, he threw over his shoulder, pointing somewhere towards the ceiling:
I'll hang the trough here. And then there's the motorcycle. Be healthy. Make sure you don't cough.
The door slammed. And there was dead silence in the apartment. And an hour later...
Fat Mordatenkov invited Elena Sergeevna into the kitchen. There was a brand new blue and yellow kitchen table there.
This is for you,” said Mordatenkov, embarrassed, “why do you need to crowd on the windowsill.” It is for you. And beautiful, and convenient, and free! And come and watch TV with us. Today is Raikin. Let's laugh together...
Zina, honey,” he shouted into the corridor, “look, tomorrow you’ll go to the dairy, so don’t forget to bring kefir for Elena Sergeevna.” You drink kefir in the morning, right?
Yes, kefir,” said Elena Sergeevna.
What kind of bread do you prefer? Round, Riga, custard?
Well, what are you talking about, - said Elena Sergeevna, - I myself!..
“Nothing,” Mordatenkov said sternly and again shouted into the corridor: “Zinulik, and bread!” Whichever Elena Sergeevna likes, that’s the one you’ll take!.. And when you come, dear, you’ll wash what she needs...
Oh, what are you talking about!.. - Elena Sergeevna waved her hands and, unable to restrain herself any longer, ran to her room. There she pulled a towel from the wall and pressed it to her mouth to muffle her laughter. Her small body shook with laughter.
The power of art! - Elena Sergeevna whispered, laughing and gasping. - Oh, the magical power of art...
“The script for the literary and musical composition “The Magic Power of Art” Music from the film “The Magic Power of Art” is played. Presenter...”
Scenario of literary and musical composition
"The magical power of art"
Music from the film “The Magic Power of Art” is playing
Presenter 1: Good afternoon!
Presenter 2: Hello, dear friends!
Presenter 1Today we, its presenters, will conduct the competition program
Presenter 2: Vikhareva Ksenia
Presenter 2: And Eldar Davletbaev Presenter 1: Look, Eldar - the hall is full! Look into each other's eyes and smile!
Presenter 2: Ksenia! Everyone is looking forward to when we start the competition.
Presenter 1: What is the topic of our competition? What we're going to talk?
Presenter 2: About the main thing! About magic! About music! About literature and love!!!
Presenter 1: Okay, where do we start?
Presenter 2: Let's start, perhaps, with a trip to the past!
Presenter 1: Why do we need to go to the past?
Presenter 2: To avoid mistakes in the future
Presenter 1: Notice this is your idea, Eldar! You go!
Presenter 2: With pleasure!
Presenter 1: So, Moscow, 19th century. (Slide room in 19th century style)
Scene "Pushkin"
Pushkin: Two wondrous feelings are so close and the heart...
Scientist: Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin?
Pushkin: Yes, and who are you?
Scientist: I'm from the future. The portal will be open for three minutes, so let's get straight to the point. Alexander Sergeevich, you are the luminary of Russian poetry, but for some reason it began to decline after you. And in our future.. In general, here it is.
Pushkin: Well, poetry is quite normal for a seven-year-old girl
Scientist: She's 32
Pushkin: But this is what she says these words to.
Scientist: This is music.
Pushkin: Is this music? Yeah... Well, there really is a problem. How can I help?
Scientist: Could you raise the bar for your poetry so high that at least something would reach us? Otherwise here it is.
Pushkin: Yes, here we need to throw up a bar.
Scientist: I agree.
Left dude - Alexander, are you going to the shooting range?
Pushkin: No, I’m busy today.
Scientist: Alexander Sergeevich, my advice to you, don’t skip the training sessions, okay? Let's continue. How would they rhyme?
Pushkin: Maybe I want a son from you
Scientist: Yes, okay?
Pushkin: And I want a daughter from you, period.
Scientist: I agree, a brilliant song. So just showed you, yes. But this is terrible.
Pushkin: Excuse me, are these also Russian performers?
Scientist: No, these are Ukrainian. What I mean is that you and Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol will grind it out, let him also strain himself, okay?
Pushkin: So what happens, young people listen to all this?
Scientist: No, Alexander Sergeevich, young people listen to this. Do I turn it off?
Pushkin: No, no, no, even inspired. In scales, like the heat of grief, there are 33 heroes, and they are like that.
Scientist: Alexander Sergeevich, Alexander Sergeevich, what are you talking about, there’s really little time
Pushkin: So, so, how to continue...
Scientist: All handsome young men.. Pushkin: Exactly, exactly so
Scientist: The giants are daring, all are equal as if by choice, uncle Chernomor is with them
Pushkin: Chernomor?
Scientist: Well, yes, Chernomor.
Pushkin: Okay, I’ll write it down like this for now, then I’ll correct it. And, you know, I think I’ve figured out how to help you. What if children study my work at school? Then maybe the problem will solve itself?
Scientist: And children study Eugene Onegin. How Evgeniy writes to Tatyana, how he leads an idle life, how Tatyana marries someone else, and her whole life goes downhill.
Pushkin: What is this?
Scientist: Summary.
Pushkin: How? After all, the whole essence is inside
Scientist: Ha, a C - through the roof. Alexander Sergeevich, the portal has opened, I need to run.
Pushkin: Okay, I’ll write even better. Goodbye. Hah, Chernomor.
Scientist: Alexander Sergeevich
Pushkin: What got worse?
Scientist: No, we realized that the problem is not you at all, but the problem is that these people don’t read you. So what should we do about it?
Pushkin: What to do? Believe! Believe in the magical power of art!
Fragment from the film – Dance of girls with masks from the magical power of art
The presenters come out
Presenter 1We are holding a competition today, which is the final stage in our game “Storm the Citadel”.
Presenter 2: We are starting our competition program “The Magic Power of Art”
Presenter 1: Do you like fairy tales?
Presenter 2: You ask strange questions Ksyusha. Of course, everyone knows fairy tales.
Presenter 1: Are you sure, Eldar?
Presenter 2: Let's check! Name the fairy tales based on the pictures on the screen.
S. Mikhalkov “The Three Little Pigs”
Russian folk tale "Kolobok"
Pyotr Ershov “The Little Humpbacked Horse”
Charles Perrault "Little Red Riding Hood"
Hans Christian Andersen "The Snow Queen"
A.S. Pushkin “The Tale of Tsar Saltan”
Presenter 2: Well done!
Presenter 1: Do you know, dear viewers, what the first animated musical created by our animators was called?
Presenter 2Ksyusha, we probably need to remind our viewers what a musical is
Presenter 1: The musical is a musical and theatrical stage genre that combines musical, dramatic, choreographic and operatic arts.
Presenter 2: Guess what fairy tale we are talking about!
wandering artists,
They are agile and fast.
Their talents are known:
Singers and musicians.
Cat, rooster, donkey, dog
They never know fear.
Who is this? Guess it!
And give me the answer quickly.
Picture of the Bremen Town Musicians.
Presenter 1: Poet Yuri Entin, composer Gennady Gladkov and film director Inessa Kovalevskaya created the first animated musical for children based on the fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm.
Presenter 1: There is a Dog, a Cat, a Donkey and a Rooster (They come out in turns), - wandering musicians or, in modern terms, a musical ensemble.
Presenter 2: Well, what about without a music director?!
Presenter 1: He became the Young Man, who later became the Troubadour. (Troubadour picture)
Presenter 2: But if there is a hero Troubadour, then there must certainly be a Princess in the fairy tale! (picture)
Presenter 1: And the Princess, naturally, has a father, the King, with his royal palace and a crowd of courtiers. (picture)
Presenter 2: So, “Bremen Town Musicians!” Meet!
Performance of the Bremen Town Musicians Song. Dance
Presenter 2 Bravo, bravo!
Presenter 1 Great performance, really
Presenter 2To be honest, I really wanted to join them.
Presenter 1 There is no time for you and me to dance. We need to continue the program
Music sounds: At least check.....
(Charles Perrault “Cinderella”, pictures from a fairy tale based on the text of the poem)
Somewhere there, far away, in a near-magical kingdom, there is virtue... And there is a villain. Cinderella and the prince, who will be together...
A stepmother with an evil soul, Two sisters with cruel hearts, There is a father (trustingly simple) And half a kingdom in a fairytale frame...
Cinderella grew up, quiet, wise. She followed her stepmother's orders and worked from the very morning - She never heard kind words...
Fulfilling the whims of the sisters, As if not their sister, but a maid..., Cried from the absurd fables that the obnoxious troublemakers wove...
(Slide Cinderella's house)
Cinderella scene, stepmother of sister
Music. Cinderella sweeps the floors
Stepmother:
You sing louder than a nightingale:
Heard in distant halls.
But your song is annoying,
We're leaving for the ball.
You cleaned up like I did for you
Did you recently order?
Or do you sing a song in the morning,
Lazy girl, humming?
Cinderella:
I cleaned everyone's rooms,
I washed the dishes.
In the morning I cleaned the boilers,
I cooked lunch for you.
Anna:
Did you make the dresses?
Cinderella:
I sewed it according to fashion, according to the latest.
More beautiful than brocade dresses
You will not meet in our kingdom.
Anastasia:
Did you pick out a hat for me?
Cinderella:
Of course, sister.
A hat like this for yourself
The Empress takes it.
Cinderella gives her sister the hat.
Anastasia:
Wow, what a hat! You probably have no taste!
Anna:
Then give it to me! I'll put it on myself!
Anastasia:
What more! I'm not old enough to wear such hats, sister!
Stepmother:
Okay, enough bickering! Follow me! It's time to dress up!
Cinderella:
Oh, how I want to go to the ball
In a pearly white dress!
So that the prince dances with me!
What happiness!
Cinderella's song
The presenters come out. Carrying a shoe in his hands
Presenter 2 Look, Ksenia, what I found on the doorsteps
Presenter 1Yes, this is Cinderella’s shoe. Now the prince will not find Cinderella and the fairy tale will not end well.
Presenter 2 (Confused) What to do? Let's write an ad
Cinderella comes out
Cinderella: Excuse me, please, you didn’t find the shoe here. I was in such a hurry that I lost it
Speaker 2: Is that her?
Cinderella: Yes, thank you. (Takes the shoe and presses it to himself.) Now everything will be fine! (runs away)
Presenter 1: Another story ended well.
Presenter 2: I think that if Cinderella’s father had not married his evil stepmother, but had found her a good nanny...
Presenter 1: Then this fairy tale would not exist. But finding a good nanny is not at all easy...
Presenter 2: If only this.. Presenter 1: Stop! Well, who were you thinking about?
Presenter 2: And you?
Presenter 1: Let's say this name on the count of three
(count together): One, two, three
Together: Mary Poppins Presenter 2: Mary Poppins is the heroine of the works of the English writer Pamela Lyndon Travers Presenter 1: 80s, England, London, Cherry Street. The Banks family is concerned about finding a nanny for their children. They publish an advert in the newspaper. According to the announcement, Mary Poppins arrives, who turns out to be not an ordinary nanny.
Sketch and song by Mary Poppips (reads a poem (Mary Poppins (Viktor Ratkovsky)) The wind howls in the heights of the sky, promises rain with bad weather, He carries an umbrella with the best of the brides, And the best nanny, of all times, peoples, And carefully, planning with him, she, Comes down to put things in order, And in her bag, as then, Pajamas and strawberries smell from the garden beds. And the gray dusk, how harsh she is, But we know, if you just smile, She will invite wonderful cats, And she will spin an apple for us saucer. And adults do not dare to be rude to her, she miraculously forces her to obey, as soon as she says a word, they begin to bark, or maybe they will sing songs. But as soon as the wind changes direction, our Mary disappears somewhere, and we look at the roof in anticipation, and the cat waves his paw goodbye to her.
The presenters come out
Presenter 1: Time passes, and our viewers are looking forward to the next performance. Eldar! time
Presenter 2: The time we have is money we don’t have.
Presenter 1: Eldar! These words are not in the script. Do you have a script? Presenter 2: There are also sleeves from a vest, a donut hole and dead donkey ears
Presenter 1:. Looks at him in amazement
Presenter 2: Why are you looking at me like a soldier at a louse? What surprised you?"
Presenter 1: Familiar sayings. They vaguely remind me of someone. Well, I'll check
Presenter 1: Eldar! Maybe you should go and relax, and I will host the program myself? Presenter 2: “I will command the parade.”
Presenter 1: Everything is clear. Diagnosis made
Presenter 2: Of course, I understand. Who doesn’t know the immortal character of the famous “12 chairs”, Ilf and Petrov. Ostap Bender is a great schemer and a favorite of women.
On the slide: PHOTO. Ilf and Petrov - Soviet writers-co-authors Ilya Ilf (real name - Ilya Arnoldovich Fainzilberg; 1897-1937) and Evgeny Petrov (real name - Evgeny Petrovich Kataev; 1902-1942). Natives of the city of Odessa. Together they wrote the famous novels “The Twelve Chairs” (1928) and “The Golden Calf” (1931).
Presenter 1: By the way, Ilf and Petrov initially planned to mention the schemer only in passing, and only at the very beginning of the novel. But “Ostap got carried away”... The impudent and adventurous, truly Odessa comrade Bender turned out to be stronger and more agile than his creators.
Presenter 2: By the way, here he is (leaves)
Ostap walks through the hall. A homeless man is running after him
Homeless: Uncle, give me 10 kopecks
Ostap takes out an apple and gives it to the homeless man.
Homeless: Uncle, give me 10 kopecks, give me 10 kopecks
Ostap: (stops and looks intently at the homeless man) Maybe you could also get the key to the apartment where the money is?!"
Homeless: Nope! (runs away)
Ostap: What are you saying here? I respect the criminal code" Give me a microphone!
Presenter 1: No.
Ostap: A sultry woman is a poet’s dream. Give me your word.
Presenter 1: No! No and no! Flattery won't help you!
Ostap: Well, let's act differently. (rummages in his pockets)
Ostap: (explaining): You know, now in Europe and in the best houses of Philadelphia they have resumed the old fashion of pouring tea through a strainer. Extraordinarily impressive and very elegant. (Presenter 1 was wary.) A diplomat I knew just came from Vienna and brought me a gift. Funny thing.
Presenter 1: (interested): Must be famous.
Ostap: Let's exchange. You are a microphone to me, and I am a strainer to you. Want to? (Ostap takes a strainer out of his pocket.) It makes an irresistible impression on the presenter1.)
Presenter 1: Ho-ho. (grabs the strainer and hands over the microphone, leaves)
Ostap:
I enter the town with a careless step,
He is not at all alone in his dreams.
Abroad attracts and beckons, the clinking of coins, And there are no free places for me in Russia.
I have an ebullient nature, I can’t live a day without an adventure.
To get out of this bustle
I assure you that all the means are good.
It’s better to deceive yourself than to deceive you, This strategy is so dear to me. I turn on the resourcefulness of the mind. If there is no money, there will be plenty of it. I’ll wave my hand, blow a kiss, I continue on my path. What people, they are stupid, With their help I will achieve my dreams. White suit , sail and wave,
And the city of Rio, that's my dream
Ostap: Bender lived! Bender is alive! Bender will live!
Don't believe me? Come on boy, come here! (Daniel leaves the hall) What is your life credo?
Daniel: That's it!
Ostap: (puts on his cap and scarf) The meeting continues! Leaves
Ellochka and her new robe, trimmed with “mysterious” fur.
Ostap appears, immediately understands everything, closes his eyes and takes a step back.
Ostap: Beautiful fur!
Ellochka: (gently): Just kidding! This is a Mexican jerboa.
Ostap: This cannot be. You have been deceived. They gave you much better fur. These are Shanghai leopards! Well, yes! Leopards! I recognize them by their shade. See how the fur plays in the sun!.. Emerald! Emerald!
Ellochka: You are the right guy.
Ostap: Of course, you were surprised by the early visit of an unknown man?
Ellochka: Ho-ho!
Ostap: But I’m coming to you about a delicate matter.
Ellochka: Just kidding!
Ostap: You were at the auction yesterday and made an extraordinary impression on me.
Ellochka: Be rude!
Ostap: For mercy! To be rude to such a charming woman is inhumane.
Ellochka: Horrible!
Ostap: Dear girl, sell me a chair. I really like him. Only you, with your feminine instincts, could choose such an artistic piece. Sell it, girl, and I’ll give you seven rubles.
Ellochka: (slyly): Be rude, boy.
(Ostap sits down on a chair, turns away and wipes away a tear)
Ellochka: Ostap, are you crying?
Singing a song
Ellochka: Ostap, I’ll give you the chair (they leave)
Presenters enter
Presenter 1: Why are you smiling, Eldar?
Presenter 2: Yes, I remember how you succumbed to Bender’s charm! She grabbed the strainer with both hands.
Presenter 1: You better remember yourself. “I will command the parade!”
Presenter 2: Yes! Still an interesting personality. By the way, where are you going with the strainer?
Presenter 1: I’m pouring tea! Will we continue or not? We promised that we would talk about magic! About music! About literature and love!!!
Presenter 2: Let's talk about love.
Presenter 1: Get started! But only seriously.
Presenter 2: But seriously, the theme of love has always worried writers, artists, philosophers, directors and screenwriters.
Presenter 1: We thought about eternal and boundless, noble and pure love!
Presenter 2: No, not only. About love tormented by revenge and lies.
Presenter 1: About unrequited love. And this is reflected in the whole genre of Russian romance called “cruel romance”
Cruel romance, I laugh at you
Because you are beautiful and bright,
For everything that happened to fate
You answered simply and clearly.
Presenter 2: I understood you correctly, Ksenia, that a cruel romance is a cry from the soul, heartache, pain, hopelessness.
Presenter 1: That's right. Director Eldar Ryazanov made a film based on Alexander Ostrovsky’s play “Dowry” and it was no coincidence that he called it “Cruel Romance.”
Presenter 2: “The main character of this story is Larisa. Larisa’s poetic nature seems to fly over the world on the wings of music.
Presenter 1: Dreamy and artistic, she does not notice the vulgar sides in people, she sees them through the eyes of Russian romance.
Presenter 2: Having learned about the betrayal of a loved one, she understands that life has now lost all meaning...
Presenter 1:
Oh, how murderously we love,
As in the violent blindness of passions
We are most likely to destroy,
What is dear to our hearts!
(The presenters leave)
Larisa appears on stage and sits down in a chair. Sergei Sergeevich Paratov also appears.
Presenter 2: Why did you leave us, Larisa Dmitrievna?
Larisa: I’m not feeling well.
Presenter 2: Allow me, Larisa Dmitrievna, to ask you to make us happy! Sing us some romance or song! I haven’t heard from you for a whole year, and I probably won’t hear from you again.
Larisa: Really, gentlemen, please forgive me, I’m really not feeling well.
Presenter 2: (brings up the guitar and kneels) Please!
Larisa: Okay, gentlemen. But just play along with me.
Romance performance and video.
(Larissa and presenter 2 leave and Alena comes out and reads a poem to the music)
Romance (A. Fet)
Evil song! How painfully you outraged my soul with your breath! Until dawn, my chest trembled and ached. This song is this one song.
And the singing ones surrendered to torment It was sweeter than the charm of sleep; I wanted to die with every sound, The chest seemed tight to my heart.
But with the dawn, the melodious heat went out and the soul calmed down to the bottom. In the illuminated depths of the soul, only the smile of your lips is visible.
The lights in the hall go out, A. Rybnikov’s music from the play “Juno and Avos” sounds (the beginning of the “Funeral Service” scene), on the screen there is a photo of ships with the names “Juno” and “Avos”.
Presenter 1: And now we will tell a story worthy of admiration. No novels have been written about her. This is not the author's imagination. This is a historical fact. Thanks to the composer Alexei Rybnikov and the poet Andrei Voznesensky, who created the first rock opera in Russia, “Juno and Avos,” many people know about this great love. Does the name Nikolai Rezanov mean anything to you?
Presenter 2: Nikolai Rezanov - the head of that very first trip around the world, which for some reason is often called Kruzenshtern’s trip? A soundtrack from the play “Juno and Avos” plays to the music.
(continuation of the “Funeral Service” scene)
A. Baktibaev comes out and reads the letter.
My dear sir Alexey Nikolaevich Rumyantsev!
Trusting in your most merciful patronage, I intend to ask you for support of my daring project. With God’s help, I now intend, having led the first round-the-world trip of Russians, to devote my life to the flourishing of the Russian-American campaign, in order to spread the light of our Fatherland to California and the Sandwich Islands.
May the fate of Russia be set in sails!
Your Excellency, if financial difficulties turn out to be the only obstacle on the way to the American continent, I will be ready to purchase two schooners at the St. Petersburg shipyard with my own funds and, having given them the names “Juno” and “Avos” respectively, I will be determined to set sail in the early summer of 1806 on a voyage to the shores of the New World.
Presenter 1: The ship of the Russian chamberlain Rezanov, the Juno, arrived from the North to San Francisco Bay.
Presenter 2: And there was the charming, beautiful, radiant Donna Maria della Concepcion Marcella Arguello, daughter of the commandant of the fortress in San Francisco,
Presenter 1: And there a miracle of love happened, which makes the heart beat faster.
Presenter 2: The engagement of Count Rezanov and young Kontepsia took place. The groom had to return to St. Petersburg to ask for his Emperor's petition for marriage.
Presenter 1:11 June 1806 The Juno set sail from the coast of California. Count Rezanov’s beloved stood on the shore.
The presenters leave
Kontepsiya and Rezanov “I will never forget you” come out. Farewell scene.
Conchita and Rezanov go to different scenes. On the screen are the ships "Juno" and "Avos".
Music “I will never forget you” - phonogram from the play “Juno and Avos”
The presenters come out
Presenter 1: Nikolai Rezanov died in Krasnoyarsk on his way to St. Petersburg “halfway to truth and miracle,”
Presenter 2: and she waited for him for 35 years, after which she went to a monastery under the name Maria Dominga, so that over time she would shine to people in the form of a symbol of Great Love.
Beethoven's music "Melody of Tears" is played.
Presenter 1:
Don't part with your loved ones! Don't part with your loved ones! Presenter 2:
Don’t part with your loved ones! Grow into them with all your blood, - Presenter 1:
And every time say goodbye forever! Presenter 2
And every time say goodbye forever! Presenter 1:
And every time say goodbye forever! When you leave for a moment!
Presenter 2: Yes, Ksenia, Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin is right that art has great power!
Presenter 1: The greatest! And magical! Do you remember the lines from his poem?
And for a long time I will be so kind to the people,
That I awakened good feelings with my lyre...
Presenter 2: And he's right!
Presenter 1: Of course, you’re right! But you and I completely forgot that we are having a competition.
Presenter 2: Have all the participants already spoken?
Presenter 1: Yes. The jury can sum up the results of the competition based on nominations. And we will hold the audience’s attention for a little while longer. Consider that we are reading the testament of great people, left to their descendants, that is, to you and me
Presenter 2 “Love the book, it will make your life easier, it will friendly help you sort out the colorful and stormy confusion of thoughts, feelings, events, it will teach you to respect people and yourself, it inspires your mind and heart with a feeling of love for the world, for people” Maxim Gorky:
Presenter 1: Listen to music, sing songs and your inner world will become richer As Plato wrote: “Music inspires the whole world, supplies the soul with wings, promotes the flight of imagination; music gives life and joy to everything that exists... It can be called the embodiment of everything beautiful and everything sublime.”
Presenter 2: Love music and literature! Join the beauty!
Presenter 1: Believe in the magical power of art
Final final song (Music is a wonderful country).
Borisov Anatoly
The magical power of art.
"THE MAGICAL POWER OF ART"
“The Russian literature lesson was coming to an end. The students wrote intently, and the thirty-year-old teacher Mikhail Vasilyevich slowly walked between the rows of desks, occasionally looking at the notebooks. The topics of the essay, quite standard, were written in chalk on the blackboard:
“Who would Eugene Onegin be in our time?”
“Modern Anna Karenina - who is she?”
Free theme - “Hero of our time.”
The school bell, always unexpected and always long-awaited, put an end to the torment of the graduates.
That's it, hand over your notebooks! - the teacher went to his desk. On the way, he caught several questioning glances and became cheerful.
Writing an essay, young people, is a creative process. And it’s very gratifying that not everyone is in a hurry to get rid of this act, uh... formally. Remember Griboyedov’s “Signed and off your shoulders?” Therefore, everyone who did not have time to finish has the opportunity to do so. Whoever finishes it last will be taken to the teachers' room. - Mikhail went out into the corridor with a stack of handed-in notebooks. There, a pretty, long-legged student, Vika Kutuzova, caught up with him and took him confidentially by the hand.
What do you want, Kutuzova? You handed in your notebook, didn't you? - Mikhail gently pulled away.
Oh, I think I wrote such nonsense. Literature doesn't suit me, it's better to kill me! And for me, Michal Vasilich, without an A in the certificate, I’m in trouble. For the rest I have...
Kutuzov, understand, they are not asking for grades! You'll get what you deserve... so far, alas, around a C grade. There is still a whole quarter until graduation - try your best! -
Mikhail turned, but Vika grabbed his sleeve tenaciously. She was a completely modern girl.
Well, maybe you need it somehow... financially? My old people will have it.
Lost her mind? - Mikhail Vasilyevich was old-fashioned in terms of bribes.
Vika flushed with indignation, licked her dry lips with her tongue, and slowly unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse.
You understand, this is so important to me... -
Mikhail was amazed at first, then laughed. He took Vika by the shoulders, turned her back and gently pushed her.
Go home, temptress... You won’t get anything other than a slap in the neck. Wait a minute! - Mikhail stopped Vika by the shoulder.
You'll have a chance. - Vika again reached for the button. What an infection!
Victoria Kutuzova, although you don’t know this from your childhood, you involuntarily insult your teacher by admitting that he is prone to perversions like, uh... pedophilia. Better yet, read something from the classics... -
Vika wrinkled her nose, Mikhail sighed.
Okay, let it be short. At least “Anna Karenina” or Pushkin. “Little tragedies,” for example, but take, perhaps, “The Captain’s Daughter.” -
Oh, Michal Va... - Kutuzova was delighted.
Then tell me what you understand. And if this understanding suits me, I’ll take it upon myself regarding the assessment. -
The high contracting parties were satisfied with the concluded deal. Mikhail turned and walked into the teacher’s room, and the cheerful Vika pulled her blouse around her, where the lascivious gazes, all student-pimply, were already drawn.
Then Mikhail was almost carried away by a crowd of young athletes in sports uniforms pouring out of the gym. The writer was saved from a cruel death by a physical education teacher, like a boulder against which a mountain stream breaks. However, the flow dried up quite quickly, and the teachers were left alone.
Misha, help me! - the physical education teacher greeted and rubbed his thumb on his index finger.
Do you think I get paid before you? - Mikhail greeted the physical education teacher. - It would be better to pay back old debts - I need to change my mobile phone. -
Misha, I really need... Five hundred rubles... okay, four hundred. You don't drink, but your wife works. I’ll pay you back right away, along with those...
No, well, I’m not Abramovich, in fact... - Mikhail gave up. - And in general, they are waiting for me in the staff room. - He reluctantly reached into his pocket and counted out two hundred.
There was no special wait for Mikhail in the staff room.
Everyone was doing their usual things - some were writing at the table, others were hastily leafing through notebooks. The sexy “French woman” Olga Robertovna did not check the notebooks, but very intelligently flirted with her next suitor on the landline phone.
Mikhail, who was expecting to call, realized that this would take a long time. He took out his mobile phone and saw a flashing sign on the screen: “discharged.” Mikhail put the phone in his pocket and looked questioningly at Olga.
No, today, excuse me, this is unacceptable... Because I hardly know you, and it’s getting dark early now... No, only to the theater... and in the afternoon, on Saturday. - Olga habitually pretended to be a naive and completely unkissed person.
Mikhail put his hand on her warm shoulder and gestured that he also wanted to call.
Why? Because my parents are very strict. Eskuse mua, the professor urgently needs a phone. - Olga drew attention to Mikhail’s hand.
Well, Olka, you are an artist! Look, you'll scare off the gentleman. - Mikhail took possession of the phone, and Olga took out a cigarette and squinted her eyes sarcastically.
You can also teach me how to shoot men, Dostoevsky! I plan to drag this monsieur to the registry office, and not into bed. - Her voice sounded inviting and enticing. And she was all like that - inviting and enticing.
Mikhail grinned and dialed his home number. Olga, without thinking twice, immediately pressed her ear to the back of the receiver.
Allah, hello! It's me, darling. Am I heading out now to buy something?
Mishenka, everyone is at home,” Alla, Mikhail’s young and cheerful wife, responded from the phone, “but I’m running away - I was urgently called to work...
Yes! - Olga was inspired.
Who is it that is rejoicing there, your Olenka? - Alla reacted. - Look at me! I'll be there at ten o'clock. If you want, buy yourself a beer. Come on, kiss me, and be smart. - Alla hung up. Apparently, she was not particularly afraid of rivalry with the Frenchwoman.
Oh, the boy was allowed beer. That's what, since you are free today, I invite you...
To the Philharmonic! - Mikhail realized long ago that you can’t stand on ceremony with Olga, otherwise you’ll be lost. - Don’t fool a married man. Bye everyone! -
Olga, without being offended, stuck her tongue out at him. Mikhail stuffed the notebooks into the table and went to the door. However, having encountered a powerful bust of the head teacher, Maria Olegovna, entering the teachers' room, he retreated to his previously occupied positions.
Misha, aren't you leaving early?
No, Maria Olegovna, just right,” Mikhail looked at his watch. - Moreover, I was on duty yesterday. And, if you remember, this was my last duty, until September.
“Thank God, I don’t have sclerosis,” the head teacher was offended.
Olga, unable to resist, snorted, expressing her dissenting opinion. Maria Olegovna threw a reproachful look at her, but cleared the way for Mikhail.
Okay, Misha, go. And about duty...
A bargain is a bargain! - Mikhail went on the attack. - I stayed the longest anyway.
At the supermarket, Mikhail took two cans of beer, a bag of squid, and joined the short line at the checkout. Suddenly he was pushed hard from behind. It was a bearded, long-haired guy in jeans and a rough sweater who crashed into him with a cart.
Can't you be more careful?
Sorry brother, I didn't notice. - The bearded man was quite friendly. - You know, I’m happy... Mishka, is that you, or what?
Y... yes, who are you? - Mikhail was taken aback. - Christmas trees, Vadka!
It was indeed Vadim, Mikhail’s classmate.
They hugged and began clapping each other on the shoulders.
Well, you, with a pigtail! Kiss on the street, and then there's the cash register. We've completely lost our shame. - an old woman with a cart approached from the rear.
Don't be mischievous, grandma - we haven't seen each other for ten years. Let's go outside, Mishka. -
On the street it turned out that the ignorant and hooligan Vadim had become, surprisingly, a writer, and the package with six bottles of vodka and a bun was directly related to literature.
This is an advance, understand? My story was accepted for publication and they even gave me money.
Great! - Mikhail rejoiced.
They'll publish it in Moscow - it's not bullshit. I also have a lot of scripts written... Now we will wash this matter.
Vadik, my wife is waiting for me. Although... she will be late today. To ten.
Until ten is a whole life!
The atmosphere in Vadim's apartment was creative. Posters and some abstract drawings hung at random on the walls, and empty bottles and scraps were piled on the table.
The company matched the apartment, quite bohemian. The guitarist, with dilated pupils on his pale face, tormented the strings and sang “with tears” about the star over his future grave. He was already pretty drunk and was sitting on the floor. A cute dog lay next to him and accompanied the particularly heart-warming chords with howls. The guitarist, as a sign of gratitude, scratched her behind the ear with his foot in a holey sock, and the dog dropped its head on its paws again.
On the sofa, the gray-haired master hugged two girls by the shoulders at once, and tried to reach the third.
Everyone stared at Vadim and Mikhail. The guitar fell silent. The master turned his clouded gaze from Vadim himself to the package in his hand.
Finally... Let's go, dear, don't be tormented!
The table was set in the blink of an eye. Vodka was quickly and generously poured into the glasses, and a lonely bun was placed on the saucer.
The toast was as short as a shot. The master raised his glass and poked Vadim in the chest with it: “For your talent, Vadka!”
Mikhail hesitantly took a sip of vodka and wanted to put the glass down. However, everyone, including the dog, stared at him with surprised eyes, and he felt embarrassed. Wrinkling his face, Mikhail drank to the bottom and reached for the bun. The people around were surprised again. It seems that Vadka’s classmate came here with a specific purpose - to devour. He's probably malnourished.
And now - for the magical power of art!
Vodka poured into the glasses and the evening continued.
Mikhail saw what happened next in fragments and as if from the outside. Here Vadim is trying to hug the girl. She moves away, sways to the beat of some unknown music, she is “on her own wavelength.”
Here Mater is sitting on the sofa, absently squeezing girl-2. She lazily answers him, kisses him on the forehead, and examines the lipstick mark. Girl-3 lies face down on Mater's lap. His gaze, initially indifferent and detached, becomes somewhat animated.
Confused, Mikhail staggers out onto the balcony. He feels bad, he looks at the evening city, trying to focus his eyes. The picture is still blurry. Mikhail drunkenly waves his hand and lights a cigarette on the second try. The door slams and one of the girls appears in the doorway. She takes the cigarette from Mikhail’s lips and lets him take a drag from his cigarette. Mikhail's eyes widen and he begins to cough. The girl blurs into a foggy blur, from which Vadim emerges, he hands Mikhail a glass.
In short, the evening ended quite predictably.
Already in the morning, rumpled and sleepy, Vadim saw Mikhail sleeping on the sofa, in a suit and boots. Vadim looked longingly at the empty bottles on the table, thoughtfully took the dried bun, held it in his hands and put it back in its place. The young writer did not feel like eating at all, but improving his health was vital.
The problem was resolved by accident. One of the bottles rolled under the table, and, in full accordance with its shape and the law of universal gravitation, there was a quarter of vodka left in it.
Having exhaled, Vadim took a decent sip, shuddered, grunted and nudged Mikhail with his foot in a friendly manner. After the second push, the literature teacher groaned weakly and opened one eye.
Allah, take away this muck... what time is it? - Mikhail pushed the bottle away and rose from the sofa with difficulty. He staggered, peered myopically at Vadim, then turned his gaze to the wall.
The electronic Chinese clock showed 06:14, which meant disaster. In horror, Mikhail collapsed back onto the sofa and clasped his head in his hands.
Lord, it's six o'clock in the morning! Alka... she's probably going crazy!
Mikhail’s wife was indeed close to losing her mind. She sat, sobbing, on a government police chair, and the duty officer, accustomed to everything, conducted a psychotherapy session with her.
Citizen, I tell you in Russian - the unidentified corpses of teachers were not detained! There were two fights and one theft with an attempted rape - the night was completely calm. Your husband is sitting somewhere, and this is an everyday matter.
He couldn’t, understand! - Alla sincerely believed that she knew better the high moral qualities of her husband - his mobile was turned off, something happened, and you ... “stayed too long.”
In any case, we accept the missing person report within three days,” the duty officer was adamant, because he felt the support of the law. However, in order to please the young woman, he decided to meet her halfway - regarding the timing.
It could be sooner, but if the body is discovered...
What? - Alla jumped up. The duty officer was somewhat embarrassed.
That’s not what I meant... listen, maybe, on the contrary, something like that happened to him... - The duty officer vaguely twirled his hand in the air and leaned confidentially towards Alla.
How about you - go left?
Alla took a deep breath, preparing to scream. The attendant tiredly sank into a chair, and the psychotherapy session returned to the starting point.
At this time, Mikhail was tormenting the buttons of his mobile phone with criminal fingers.
Yesterday it was discharged. Lord, what will happen? Give me your phone!
Don’t rush, you need to think about everything... - Vadim assessed the situation not as a catastrophe, but as a simple problem that required resolution. - Now… -
After rummaging through a pile of computer printouts, he pulled out a brochure - about a dozen sheets of paper stapled with staples.
Here it is, "Amnesia".
Who? - Mikhail didn’t understand.
My short film. The man has lost his memory, you know? And this is already an accident!
And there’s no need to lie,” Vadim insisted. - It’s meanness to lie to your wife if you are endowed with a literary gift. Art, brother, is a magical power! Sit down and read. -
"Amnesia". Boris walks slowly through the dark park. In the black sky, strewn with bright stars, an elliptical foggy spot appears..."
Vadim still wrote well, and gradually Mikhail began to imagine scenes of what it would look like on the screen.
Vadim (Mikhail saw him as the hero of the script) looks up in amazement. In the black sky, strewn with bright stars, a foggy spot hangs, transforming into a flying saucer. A blue pillar stretches from the plate towards Vadim. Vadim is pulled in there, he flies inside the tunnel towards a bright light.
Vadim is sitting on the floor of the flying saucer, leaning against the wall. Two aliens in tight, thin overalls, very pretty and sexy, approach him. Vadim waves his hand at them, then hurriedly and ineptly makes the sign of the cross. The aliens laugh.
Don't be afraid, earthling! We won't harm you. We need your help, and then you will return to Earth.
And... how can I help? - Vadim asks timidly. The aliens are smiling.
We have a female crew, and sometimes we need men, you understand... -
The aliens take off their overalls, they are in subminiature swimsuits. Alien 1 snaps her fingers and a huge bed emerges from the wall. Vadim looks at the bed in amazement, then at the Aliens. One of them unfastens the clasp of the swimsuit on the back of the other. An interested smile appears on Vadim's face.
To hell with you! Mikhail threw the script into the corner of the room and hit the snoring guitarist. - “Unearthly and beautiful, she slowly unbuttons...” Nonsense. What does amnesia have to do with it?
Mikhail hesitantly picked up the script. The turning point was that Vadim was lying on his back with his eyes closed. A naked alien sat astride it and bounced rhythmically. Sometimes, indeed, she turned a little to the right and left.
Vadim, I ask you, don’t invent anything. If we lie, it will be worse. Give me your phone!
For what? - Mikhail didn’t understand.
Then! - Vadim was triumphant. - He is not guilty, he, that is, you, is innocent, okay?
It's clear that I'm a pig.
At this time, Alla was persuaded by another employee - a middle-aged, calm captain who had seen everyone in the service.
Madam, this happens all the time. 99 out of a hundred just went on a spree. Either he got drunk, or he was with a woman. Soon he will sleep off and crawl on his knees.
My advice is to immediately hit him in the face with something.
“He teaches literature,” Alla was indignant, “he...
Then not heavy. - The opera knew recipes for all occasions. - By the way, he will lie to you like three boxes. He's probably thinking about lying right now.
The employee was experienced, so he told Alla the honest truth. At this time, Mikhail was actually listening to his school friend’s instructions.
Remember. You visited me yesterday and drank a little to your success. Will you give me my phone number and I’ll confirm? Confirm... duh?
Zhu, that's your mother! - the literature teacher could not stand it.
At nine, no later, you went home. “Vadim didn’t even think about being offended, he was walking through the park, look, he’s behind that house.” -
Vadim dragged Mikhail by the collar to the window.
And then the Martians arrived?
No Martians! The hooligans hit you in the head from behind, and you lay in the bushes all night. I woke up this morning and you had amnesia. You crawl into the cops and write a statement. You don't remember anything except your name. Everyone feels sorry for you, but little by little, over a week or two, you seem to gradually remember everything. And you are no longer a drunk or a pig, but a completely respected patient.
So the lump should be... - Mikhail began to doubt. Vadim was not afraid of such trifles.
Look there! “Vadim pointed his finger somewhere in the corner, then took a tablespoon from the windowsill and, without a shadow of a doubt, slapped his classmate on the back of the head with it.
Here's a bump for you! -
Rising from the floor, Mikhail clenched his fists.
Quietly, quietly, quietly... - Vadim backed towards the door.
To hell with everything! I go home, and no amnesia. Give it to me! - Mikhail grabbed the bottle, finished off the rest of the vodka in two gulps, and resolutely headed towards the door. On the way, he was about to grab a bun from the table, but the guitarist and the dog grumbled disapprovingly. The bun had to be divided among four people, and with this quarter in his pocket, Mikhail went to surrender to his wife.
He walked with an unsteady gait, seemingly towards the house, not intending, of course, to contact any police. However, punitive authorities at all times have had the ability to disregard the wishes of workers. Behind Mikhail, the brakes of a patrol UAZ creaked, and a simple spell was heard: “Citizen, wait!”
Mikhail turned around and, by inertia, blurted out to the patrol sergeant what he was muttering under his breath, continuing an argument with his childhood friend, and now writer Vadim:
And I’m used to telling my wife the truth, like this!
The patrolman was surprised, but not much, because he had seen and seen a lot of tipsy citizens, and even more.
Well, let’s say you can’t lie to me either. The documents, citizen, were presented.
I... I have... - Mikhail hesitated.
He reached into his pocket, took out a quarter of a bun, and handed it to the sergeant. The patrolman moved away and waved his palm in front of him, clearing the air.
Phew... What's your name, where do you live?
It's clear.
The sergeant quickly and deftly turned Mikhail with his back to him, pushed him lightly onto the car and searched him, not forgetting to spread the victim’s legs wider with a heavy boot.
The patrolman's loot was the notorious quartered bun, a passport and several banknotes.
And you say there are no documents. Not good. Has your memory faded?
Yes, it sucked! - Mikhail grabbed at a straw, thereby cutting off his path to retreat. The claw is stuck, the claw is stuck, and the hobbled bird is doomed, and it will no longer fly in the blue sky, no longer sing songs, no longer build nests, woe to it, woe to it...
“They hit me on the back of the head in the park,” Mikhail continued to plunge into the abyss of sin. - Here, there is a lump. I... I lost my memory. -
Exhausted, unkempt, Alla sat on a chair at home, hypnotizing her gloomy telephone. The phone remained adamantly silent, but in the yard the brakes squealed and a car door slammed.
Taking into account Mikhail's solvency and the presence of a passport, the police provided him with transport services at police rates - as much as you have, you will pay as much. The patrolman looked at Mikhail's passport, then looked at the house number.
Here, Michal Vasilich, is your house, apartment 23. Blow to your wife and fill her with whatever you want. -
The sergeant wondered if everything had been done correctly. No, not all! The citizen must have some money left, then he will not be able to claim that he was robbed. It’s the hooligans and gopniks who can afford to clean things up, and the police, comrades, must act within the framework of the law.
Here, take the change.
The patrolman gave Mikhail a bill, but then, however, he took it away and gave him a smaller bill.
And forget about the statement. - The sergeant confidently applied the final strokes to the almost completed picture - “providing assistance to a citizen by the police.”
You have your passport, phone, watch and money with you - which means robbery is out of the question. But we’ll start a drunken fight, if anything.
The entrance door slammed, and a tearful Alla rushed to Mikhail’s neck.
Misha, alive!
Wait, citizen,” the patrolman complained that he didn’t have time to leave in time.
You... - he looked at Mikhail’s passport, - Ivanova Alla Yuryevna? -
Happy Alla nodded silently.
And this means your husband... - the patrolman looked at the passport again, - Mikhail Vasilyevich Ivanov. Do you admit it?
Certainly!
Do you, Michal Vasilich, recognize your wife?
Mikhail looked at the sergeant in confusion. He meaningfully drummed his fingers on the baton, stroking the handcuffs fastened to his belt with his other hand.
Actually... I... don't remember anything. I Misha!
The patrolman considered continuation of the conversation unnecessary and even potentially dangerous:
So. There is a passport, there is an address, there is Misha. The rest is for specialized medicine. -
Specialized medicine was represented in the district clinic by an old psychiatrist. Having completed all the necessary manipulations in such cases, including the obligatory tapping of the knee with a hammer, he issued the following conclusion:
Well, here you go, my dear. In general, there are no concussions. Delirium tremens is also not diagnosed.
Delhi... what is this?
Delirium tremens,” the old man clarified kindly. - And post-traumatic amnesia is a common phenomenon. A few days, weeks at most, and everything will be restored.
What medications are needed? - Alla was ready to start fighting for her loved one. The medications turned out to be simple.
A glass of brine. Valerian for you. Let my husband go to work tomorrow. You need to return to your old way of life, and everything will return to normal. Thank you. And don't drink! -
The doctor hid the bill he received from Alla in his pocket. Medicine has had its say.
“You see, Mishenka, everything will be fine,” Alla chattered, dragging her husband along the corridor. - I’ll call your head teacher and explain everything to her. Misha, what is this classmate of yours writing?
Vadim? Don’t think so, he is a real writer and screenwriter, he also has a website on the Internet. In my opinion, “Screenwriter. RU".
In the evening, Mikhail came out of the bathroom with wet hair.
You see, the robe fits you. - Alla continued to restore her husband’s memory. It wouldn't fit - it was his favorite robe.
“I think so,” Mikhail agreed. - And for some reason I immediately went into the cabinet to get the razor, and it was there.
You’ll remember everything little by little, my dear,” Alla blossomed and went into the shower.
Mikhail crawled under the blanket. Soon the wife appeared from the bathroom, looking refreshed and very seductive. Alla was wearing a translucent nightgown, loose and short, it did not hide almost anything. Mikhail instantly felt like a man, but still the role of a man who had lost his memory had to be played to the end.
Shall we... lie down together? - Mikhail cleared his throat, without taking his eyes off his wife’s elastic thighs. - Do you know for sure that we are husband and wife? -
Alla shuddered and quickly covered herself with her robe. Of course, she knew for sure that they were husband and wife, but he didn’t remember that! It turns out that now it’s as if he’s seeing her naked for the first time. From this novelty, a fire also began to flare up in her, and Alla squeezed her thighs, trying to calm down the sweet languor. She moved her shoulders decisively, freed herself from the straps of her shirt, and stepped over the fallen clothes.
Do you recognize me like this? - Alla turned pink.
Mikhail shook his head. The night was a great success.
Contrary to expectations, the school treated the colleague who allegedly lost his memory tactfully. Nobody asked anything, and Mikhail immediately went to teach the lesson. Apparently the head teacher had a conversation with the students, so the lesson went well. Just in case, Mikhail called the students to the board, holding his finger on the victim’s name in the magazine, and looking around the class questioningly. He only made a mistake on Kutuzova, immediately looking at her. She raised her eyes in amazement and immediately looked away.
There was no one in the teachers' room, only Maria Olegovna was poring over papers.
Well, how was the lesson? We are all so worried about you...
“I didn’t forget the material,” Mikhail boasted. - And, you know, I’ve already remembered a couple of students what their names are. Victoria, Kutuzov, and also Yura...
Well, thank God! - the head teacher was delighted. - Let me remind you that you have three more duties this quarter.
Like this? - Mikhail was taken aback. - What, I wasn’t on duty?
You just don’t remember, but you were on duty the least.
It was blatant impudence! Taking advantage of his misfortune in order to close the gaps in the duty schedule in this way is, you know... Mikhail was already ready to yell that he remembered everything perfectly, but the physical education teacher looked in the door.
Mikhail, are you going home? I'm with you, we're having a conversation.
Maria Olegovna saw off her subordinates with a luscious smile. Then she sighed with relief and entered “Ivanov M.V.” into the duty schedule three times.
The physical education teacher, like the entire physical education tribe, was not distinguished by delicacy. He immediately took the bull, that is, Mikhail, by the horns.
Listen, I hate to remind you, but I really need the money.
I do not have.
Mish, you asked until payday, and it’s already been two... For me, two hundred dollars is a lot of money. -
Mikhail understood the horror of the situation. Now everyone can make up whatever they want, because he supposedly doesn’t remember anything!
You... you mean I borrowed from you?
The physical education teacher looked at Mikhail with an honest, soulful gaze. The situation was hopeless.
Why would I borrow?
The physical education teacher looked behind Mikhail, who also turned around. At the end of the corridor stood the “French woman” Olga.
Most often - there, Olka - a physical education teacher was found. - For flowers, perfume... Please, pay tomorrow. -
The physical education teacher hurriedly left, and Olga threw herself on Mikhail’s neck and pressed her wet cheek to his chest.
Misha, how worried I was... Well, now it will be easier for you to tell your wife everything.
What... tell me?
Poor thing, you don't remember anything. You promised to get a divorce so that we would always be together. There’s nowhere left to hold on, darling. Olga pulled away slightly and stroked her stomach with a hint of pregnancy. Mikhail broke free from the tenacious embrace and ran to the exit in horror. Life had cracked, and this crack was getting wider.
Meanwhile, Alla had some difficulty finding a script site on the Internet. And on it are the scripts of Vadim Kolesnichenko. There were three incorruptible creations:
- “A goat ran across the bridge.”
- “Sex through tears.”
- “Amnesia.”
Alla highlighted “Amnesia” and opened the file.
"Amnesia".
“Boris walks slowly through the dark park. In the black sky, strewn with bright stars, an elliptical foggy spot appears..."
Alla immediately began to imagine a living picture. Here is Mikhail (Alla saw him as the hero of the script) looking up in amazement. In the black sky, strewn with bright stars, a foggy spot hangs, transforming into a flying saucer. A column of blue light extends from the plate. Mikhail is pulled in there, he flies up inside the tunnel, towards a bright light at the end.
In fact, Mikhail was not being pulled anywhere at that moment. On the contrary, he jumped out, as if scalded, into the school yard. The result of his cowardice was three unscheduled shifts, two hundred dollars in debt and a demand to marry a pregnant coquette. And this was not the end, because on the way out of the yard, Mikhail came across Kutuzova, who was waiting for him. Mikhail stopped and looked at Vika doomedly.
Apparently I owe you something too?
“You promised, Mikhail Vasilyevich,” Kutuzova raised her eyes.
What exactly? An A in your certificate and patronage at Moscow State University? Lord God, what a world you have created!
You promised to listen to what I understood from Pushkin.
Ah... well, sorry. - Mikhail felt better. - I thought...
“I understand,” Vika nodded. - Now everyone is loading you up, to the fullest.
In general... yes.
When I found out that you had lost your memory... at first I felt so sorry for you, and then I thought - I’ll say that I promised an A, but he doesn’t remember anything.
So why don't you say so?
I thought... I just read... - Vika became serious. “Donna Anna probably wouldn’t use it.” There were some different people back then. More noble, or what? -
Mikhail was very surprised. He never expected such judgments from the eccentric and flighty Kutuzova. Now it’s clear how to understand your true attitude towards yourself. Put yourself in a dependent position, give the person the opportunity to receive a small unjust benefit from you with impunity. And then you will find out whether you can go on reconnaissance with him. With Vika, it turns out, it’s possible.
Forgive me, Victoria, I thought badly of you. And you, it turns out, are a good person. -
By that time, Alla had read the script to the turning point, and saw a very interesting scene. The aliens slowly take off their overalls, they are in subminiature swimsuits. Alien-1 (Alla saw Olga in her) snaps her fingers and a huge bed comes out of the wall. Mikhail slowly looks at the bed, then at the Aliens. One of them unfastens the clasp of Olga's swimsuit on the back.
An interested smile appears on Mikhail's face.
Mikhail actually smiled. He just told Vika what really happened to him, as he would tell a friend. Kutuzova wasn’t even surprised.
Even in class, when you looked at me, I realized that there was no amnesia. We women immediately feel this. You were ashamed to admit it, so you came up with it. -
Mikhail was embarrassed and looked at his feet.
Do you think your wife feels it too?
Certainly. She's probably thinking about how to help you right now. -
Alla didn’t think about how to help Mikhail, because he coped perfectly well on his own. According to the scenario, it turned out that her husband was lying on his back, with his eyes closed, and naked Olga was sitting astride him. They, as expected, made rhythmic body movements, let’s not go into details.
Tears streamed down Alla's face. She didn’t wonder how her husband ended up inside the alien ship, and where Olga came from there. In matters of marital fidelity, women do not resort to logic, and Vadim was indeed talented, so Mikhail returned home at not the best time. He was inspired by the idea of cutting the Gordian knot in one fell swoop, but his wife pointed him to the suitcase standing by the door.
Here! Get away to your magical powers, to your writers, to your aliens, to your Olga!
Allah, I want to tell...
I know! - Alla was furious. - You will say that you got drunk with this Vadim and slept until the morning.
And so it was!
Why, why did you lie about amnesia?
I was afraid to offend you. Because I love you very much...
I saw who you love. This one, in overalls, is the spitting image of Olka, your French girl. And you were with her, you were in bed!
Alla, dear, you can’t see what didn’t exist. There's only text, it's a script. This is the magical power of art! -
Alla silently pointed to the door. It was all over.
Mikhail was sitting in the yard on a suitcase, leaning his back against the wall of the children's gazebo, and quietly dozed off. He dreamed that a thunderstorm was gathering, a black cloud was creeping onto the lunar disk, and the first rumbles of thunder could be heard. Mikhail jumped up and stretched out his hands to the sky.
Lord, if you exist! - he shouted in despair. - I ask you, punish all writers and screenwriters, take away this magical power from them! -
As if in response to his request, the sky lit up with a flash of lightning, and the first large drops fell.
The entrance door slammed, and his wife’s warm hands lay on Mikhail’s back.
Is it true... that you lied?
Of course, he lied... - the question was absurd, but Mikhail did not notice it.
And you weren't with Olga on their ship?
Mikhail shook his head negatively, hugged his wife tightly, and pressed her to him. Wet and happy, they kissed selflessly until Mikhail lost his breath. He opened his eyes slightly and saw in the sky... a blue foggy spot turning into a flying saucer. A beam of blue light stretched out and covered Mikhail and Alla. A door opened on board the alien ship, and three aliens appeared in the opening. One of them was a physical education teacher! He beckoned Alla with his finger, and she obediently moved forward, then paused and turned to Mikhail.
Don't worry, Mishenka! Nothing bad will happen to me - it's just a scenario. The magical power of art! -
Mikhail imagined a disgustingly muscular naked physical education teacher lying on his back, and Alla in a transparent nightie on top of him... He screamed and rushed forward. Mikhail, of course, would have torn the aliens to shreds and sent them, as they say, through the back streets, if he had not woken up.
And in fact, a thunderstorm was gathering, a black cloud was creeping onto the lunar disk, and the first rumbles of thunder were heard. The dream turned out to be prophetic, and what Mikhail dreamed happened - his wife came out, and they made peace, and kissed for a long time in the rain. No flying saucers appeared, and they went home, wet and happy."
I wrote this story in just over a day. A friend lent me the keys to a country house, pointed at the refrigerator and left. The adventures of Mikhail and Alla captivated me so much that I forgot about food and, alas, about time. Now I’m walking home through the deserted morning streets, and I’m tormented by the question - how to explain my absence to my wife? Wives never believe the truth - so you need to come up with something simple and convincing. About Martians, perhaps?
Hello, Elena Sergeevna!..
The old teacher shuddered and looked up. A short young man stood in front of her. He looked at her cheerfully and anxiously, and she, seeing this funny boyish expression in his eyes, immediately recognized him.
Dementiev,” she said joyfully. - Is that you?
It’s me,” the man said, “can I sit down?”
She nodded and he sat down next to her.
How are you doing, Dementyev, dear?
“I work,” he said, “in the theater.” I'm an actor. An actor for everyday roles, what is called a “character”. And I work a lot! Well, what about you? How are you doing?
“I’m still,” she said cheerfully, “great!” I teach fourth grade and there are some amazing kids. Interesting, talented... So everything is great!
They gave me a new room... In a two-room apartment... Just paradise...
“How strange you said it, Elena Sergeevna,” he said, somehow sadly... Is the room small, or what? Or is it a long drive? Or no elevator? After all, there is something, I feel it. Or is someone being rude? Who? Head teacher? Building manager? Neighbours?
Neighbors, yes,” admitted Elena Sergeevna, “you understand, I live as if under the weight of an old cast-iron iron. My neighbors somehow immediately set themselves up as the owners of the new apartment. No, they don’t make trouble, they don’t shout. They act. They threw my table out of the kitchen. All the hangers and hooks in the bathroom were taken up; I had nowhere to hang a towel. The gas burners are always busy with their borscht, it happens that I wait for an hour to boil tea... Oh, dear, you are a man, you won’t understand, these are all little things. It’s all about the atmosphere, the nuances, why don’t you go to the police? Not to court. I don't know how to deal with them...
“Everything is clear,” Dementyev said, and his eyes became unkind, “you’re right.” Rudeness in its purest form... Where do you live, what is your address? Yeah. Thank you, I remember. I'll come see you this evening. Just a request, Elena Sergeevna. Don't be surprised at anything. And completely help me in every initiative I undertake! In the theater it's called "playing along"! Is it coming? Well, see you tonight! Let's try the magical power of art on your troglodytes!
And he left.
And in the evening the phone rang. They called once.
Madame Mordatenkova, slowly moving her sides, walked along the corridor and opened it. In front of her, with his hands tucked into his trousers, stood a short man wearing a cap. A cigarette butt sat on his lower, wet, drooping lip.
Are you, perhaps, Sergeeva? - the man in the cap asked hoarsely.
No,” said Mordatenkova, shocked by his whole appearance. - Sergeeva received two calls.
Don't care. Let's see you off! - answered the cap.
Mordatenkova’s offended dignity moved deeper into the apartment.
Madame's sides began to move more quickly.
“Here,” she said and pointed to Elena Sergeevna’s door. - Here!
The stranger, without knocking, opened the door and entered. During his conversation with the teacher, the door remained unlocked. Mordatenkova, who for some reason had not gone home, heard every word of the cheeky newcomer.
So it was you who posted the paper about the exchange?
Have you seen my kennel?
Have you had a conversation with Nyurka, my wife?
Well, well... After all, I’ll say so. I’ll be honest: I wouldn’t change it myself. Judge for yourself: mine has two roots. Whenever you put your mind to it, you can always figure it out for three. After all, this is convenience? Convenience... But, you see, I need meters, damn them. Meters!
Yes, of course, I understand,” Elena Sergeevna’s voice said chokedly.
Why do I need meters, why do I need them, do you understand? No? The family, brother, Sergeev, is growing. By leaps and bounds! After all, my eldest, Albertik, did he get wet? Do not you know? Yeah! He got married, that's what! True, I took a good one, a beautiful one. Why complain? Beautiful - small eyes, big muzzle! Like a watermelon!!! And vocal... Straight Shulzhenko. “Lilies of the valley, lilies of the valley” all day long! Because she has a voice - she will outshine any Red Army ensemble! Well, just Shulzhenko! This means that he and Albertik can very easily forge their grandson soon, right? It's a young thing, huh? Is it a young business or not, I ask?
Of course, of course,” came the sound from the room very quietly.
That's it! - the voice in the cap wheezed. - Now reason number two: Vitka. My youngest. The seventh suited him. Oh boy, I'll report to you. Good girl! Igrun. Does he need a place? Cossack robbers? Last week he started launching a satellite to Mars, and he almost burned down the whole apartment because it was cramped! He needs space. He has nowhere to turn around. And here? Go into the corridor and burn whatever you want! Am I right? Why would he set fire to his room? Your corridors are spacious, this is a plus for me! A?
Plus, of course.
So I agree. Where ours didn’t disappear! Aida utilities look!
And Mordatenkova heard him move into the corridor. Faster than a doe, she rushed to her room, where her husband was sitting at the table in front of a two-pack portion of dumplings.
Khariton,” madam whistled, “some bandit has come, about an exchange with a neighbor!” Go, maybe you can somehow prevent it!..
Mordatenkov jumped out into the corridor like a bullet. There, as if just waiting for him, was already standing a man in a cap, with a cigarette butt stuck to his lip.
“I’ll put the chest here,” he said, lovingly stroking the near corner, “my mother has a chest, about one and a half tons.” We'll put him here and let him sleep. I’ll write my mother from the Smolensk region. Why don’t I pour a bowl of borscht for my own mother? I'll pour it! And she will look after the children. Here her chest will fit just fine. And she is calm, and I feel good. Well, then show me.
Here we still have a small corridor, right in front of the bathroom, Elena Sergeevna babbled with her eyes down.
And where? - the man in the cap perked up. - And where? Yeah, I see, I see.
He stopped, thought for a minute, and suddenly his eyes took on a naive, sentimental expression.
You know what? - he said confidentially. - I’ll tell them as if they were my own. I have a brother, you golden old woman. He's an alcoholic, you know. Every time he gets sick, he knocks on my door at night. Straight out, you know, it’s bursting. Because he doesn’t want to end up in a sobering station. Well, that means he’s pounding, and that means I don’t open the door for him. The room is small, where should he go? You can’t take it with you! And here I’ll throw some rag on the floor and let him sleep! He’ll catch his breath and be quiet again, because he’s the one who makes a row when he’s drunk. In a minute, I’ll cut you all off. And so nothing, quiet. Let him sleep here. Brother after all... Native blood, not cattle...
The Mordatenkovs looked at each other in horror.
“And here is our bathroom,” said Elena Sergeevna and opened the white door.
The man in the cap took only one quick glance into the bathroom and nodded approvingly:
Well, the bath is good and capacious. We'll pickle cucumbers in it for the winter. Nothing, not nobles. You can wash your face in the kitchen, but on the first of May you can go to the bathhouse. Come on, show me the kitchen. Where is your table?
“I don’t have my own table,” Elena Sergeevna said clearly, “the neighbors put it out.” They say two tables are cramped.
What? - the man in the cap said menacingly. - What kind of neighbors are they? These, or what?! - He casually pointed towards the Mordatenkovs. - Are two tables too small for them? Ah, the undercut bourgeoisie! Well, wait, you damn doll, let Nyurka come here, she’ll quickly scratch your eyes out if you say anything against her!
Shut up, old cockroach,” the man in the cap interrupted him, “he wanted it in the forehead, didn’t he?” So I'll spray! I can! Let me serve fifteen days for the fourth time, and I’ll spray you! But I still doubted whether to change or not. Yes, for your impudence I will change from a prince! Bauschk! - He turned to Elena Sergeevna. - Write an application for exchange quickly! My soul is burning for these scoundrels! I'll show them life! Come see me tomorrow morning. I'm waiting for you.
