The ideological and artistic meaning of the title of the story by A. P.

Maria Vasilievna returns home. She walks across the front, past the positions of the Germans, who look at her lazily, not wanting to waste bullets on the life of a worthless old woman. Maria Vasilyevna lost three children. They were rolled on the ground by the caterpillar of a German tank. And now the mother goes home to visit the grave of her children. Mother's grief is immeasurable, it made her fearless. Not only Germans, but also animals, and dashing people do not touch a woman distraught with grief. She calmly continues her way home.

Maria Vasilievna comes to her native village. Her home was razed to the ground by German tanks. On the ruins of her house, she meets a neighbor - Evdokia Petrovna. Evdokia has grown old and haggard during the war years, she lost her little children during the bombing, and her husband disappeared during earthworks. Evdokia lives in an empty ruined village. The two women begin a dialogue about life and death.

Evdokia tells how the Germans came to the village, how they killed almost all the inhabitants. How the dead were buried. Lazy German soldiers threw the corpses into a shell crater, sprinkled them with earth, rolled the earth with a tank, and put the dead bodies on top again. On the site of the mass grave Evdokia put a wooden cross. A young and beautiful woman, Evdokia, in a couple of years, turned into an old woman. She lives not for something, but in spite of. Together with Mary, they do not live, but exist, because, unlike the body, their souls are already dead.

Maria Vasilyeva goes to a mass grave, she sees a cross over the ground smoothly packed by tank tracks. The mother falls to the ground and tries to hear the whispers of the dead. But they are silent. Maria Vasilievna presents a conversation with her dead daughter. She understands that her duty to the dead is to prevent this bloody, senseless and merciless massacre called the Great Patriotic War from happening again.

Maria falls into eternal sleep, hugging that piece of land under which her children are buried. An old soldier passes by a mass grave. He sees a woman lying at the cross, time and grief did not spare her. The soldier realizes that the woman is dead and covers her face with a handkerchief, which he previously used as a footcloth. He leaves, he must save the others from such a terrible fate.

Essay on literature on the topic: Summary Recovery of the dead Platos

Other writings:

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2. Sandy teacher Maria Nikiforovna spent her cloudless childhood in her parents' house. Father-teacher did everything to make little Mary happy. Soon Maria graduated from pedagogical courses and entered adulthood. According to the distribution, the young teacher ends up in the village of Khoshutovo, located on the border with Read More ......
3. Return After serving throughout the war, Guards Captain Alexei Alekseevich Ivanov leaves the army for demobilization. At the station, waiting for the train for a long time, he meets a girl, Masha, the daughter of a spaceman, who served in the dining room of their unit. They travel together for two days, and Read More ......
4. Fro The main character of the work is a twenty-year-old girl Frosya, the daughter of a railway worker. Her husband has gone away for a long time. Frosya is very sad for him, life loses all meaning for her, she even quits railway communication and signaling courses. Frosya's father, Nefed Stepanovich Read More ......
5. Intimate man "Foma Pukhov is not gifted with sensitivity: he cut boiled sausage on his wife's coffin, hungry due to the absence of the hostess." After the burial of his wife, having drunk, Pukhov goes to bed. Someone knocks loudly at him. The watchman of the head of the distance brings a ticket to the cleaning work Read More ......
6. Cow In the story "The Cow" the main character is Vasya Rubtsov. Vasya's father is a travel watchman. Vasya grew up as a good and kind boy. The boy was in fourth grade. The school was five kilometers from home. Vasya had to overcome this distance every day. Study Read More ......
7. Markun In each story of A.P. Platonov, the reader will discover a lot of new and interesting things. Here are interesting philosophical arguments and interesting forms of presentation of the material. The name of the story "Markun" came from the name of the main character. Markun is a young inventor. The guy knows the price and Read More ......
8. Pit “On the day of the thirtieth anniversary of his personal life, Voshchev was given a calculation from a small mechanical plant, where he obtained funds for his existence. In the dismissal document, they wrote to him that he was removed from production due to the growth of weakness in him and thoughtfulness amid the general pace Read More ......

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"лБЛ ЦЕ, ДПЮЛБ, С ФЕВЕ РПНПЗХ? с УБНБ ЕМЕ ЦЙЧБ, - УЛБЪБМБ нБТЙС чБУЙМШЕЧОБ; ПОБ ЗПЧПТЙМБ УРПЛПКОП Й ЧТБЪХНЙФЕМШОП, УМПЧОП ПОБ ОБИПДЙМБУШ Ч УЧПЕН ДПНЕ, Ч РПЛПЕ, Й ЧЕМБ ВЕУЕДХ У ДЕФШНЙ, ЛБЛ ВЩЧБМП Ч ЕЕ ОЕДБЧОЕК УЮБУФМЙЧПК ЦЙЪОЙ. - with PDO OE RPDSHNKh FEVS, DPYULB; EUMY V CHEUSH OBTPD RPMAVYM FEVS, DB CHUA OERTBCHDH ABOUT ENME YURTBCHYM, FPZDB VSCH Y FEVS, Y CHUEI RTBCHEDOP HNETYI PO L TSOY RPDOSM: CHEDSH UNTCHEDOP HNETYYI PO L TSOY RPDOSM: CHEDSH UNTBFSH-FP ORB EB YU PDOB YUEN FEWE RPNPZH? UBNB FPMSHLP HNTH PF ZPTS Y VHDH FPZDB U FPVPK!"

nBFSH DPMZP ZPCHPTYMB UCHPEK DPYUETY UMPCHB TBKHNOPZP HFEYOYS, FPYuOP obfbyb Y DCHB USCHOB CH ENME CHOYNBFEMSHOP UMHYBMY EE. rPFPN FOB ЪBDTENBMB Y HUOHMB ABOUT NPZYME.

rPMOPYUOBS ЪBTS CHPKOSHCH CHPYMB CHDBMELE, Y ZHM RHYEL TBDBMUS PFFHDB; FBN OBYUBMBUSH VYFCHB. nBTYS chBUYMSHECHOB RTPUOKHMBUSH, Y RPUNPFTEMB CH UFPTPOH PZOS ABOUT OEVE, Y RTYUMHYBMBUSH L YUBUFPNKh DSCHIBOYA RHYEL. "ьФП ОБЫЙ ЙДХФ, - РПЧЕТЙМБ ПОБ. - рХУФШ УЛПТЕЕ РТЙИПДСФ, РХУФШ ПРСФШ ВХДЕФ УПЧЕФУЛБС ЧМБУФШ, ПОБ МАВЙФ ОБТПД, ПОБ МАВЙФ ТБВПФХ, ПОБ ЧУЕНХ ОБХЮБЕФ МАДЕК, ПОБ ВЕУРПЛПКОБС; НПЦЕФ - ЧЕЛ РТПКДЕФ, Й ОБТПД ОБХЮЙФУС, ЮФПВ НЕТФЧЩЕ УФБМЙ ЦЙЧЩНЙ, Y FPZDB CHADPIOEF, FPZDB PVTBDHEFUUS PUITPFEMPE UETDGE NBFETY".

nBTYS chBUYMSHECHOB CHETYMB Y RPOYNBMB, UFP CHUE FBL Y UVHDEFUS, LBL POB CEMBMB Y LBL EK VSCHMP OEVPVIPDYNP DMS HFEYOYS UCHPEK DHYY. пОБ ЧЙДЕМБ МЕФБАЭЙЕ БЬТПРМБОЩ, Б ЙИ ФПЦЕ ФТХДОП ВЩМП ЧЩДХНБФШ Й УДЕМБФШ, Й ЧУЕИ ХНЕТЫЙИ НПЦОП ЧПЪЧТБФЙФШ ЙЪ ЪЕНМЙ Л ЦЙЪОЙ ОБ УПМОЕЮОЩК УЧЕФ, ЕУМЙ В ТБЪХН МАДЕК ПВТБФЙМУС Л ОХЦДЕ НБФЕТЙ, ТПЦДБАЭЕК Й ИПТПОСЭЕК УЧПЙИ ДЕФЕК Й ХНЙТБАЭЕК ПФ ТБЪМХЛЙ У ОЙНЙ.

POB UOPCHB RTYRBMB L NPZYMSHOPK NSZLPK YENME, YUFPVSH VMYCE VSHCHFSh L UCHPYN HNPMLYN USCHOPCHSHSN. й НПМЮБОЙЕ ЙИ ВЩМП ПУХЦДЕОЙЕН ЧУЕНХ НЙТХ-ЪМПДЕА, ХВЙЧЫЕНХ ЙИ, Й ЗПТЕН ДМС НБФЕТЙ, РПНОСЭЕК ЪБРБИ ЙИ ДЕФУЛПЗП ФЕМБ Й ГЧЕФ ЙИ ЦЙЧЩИ ЗМБЪ л РПМХДОА ТХУУЛЙЕ ФБОЛЙ ЧЩЫМЙ ОБ нЙФТПЖБОШЕЧУЛХА ДПТПЗХ Й ПУФБОПЧЙМЙУШ ЧПЪМЕ РПУБДБ ОБ ПУНПФТ Й ЪБРТБЧЛХ; POY FERETSHOE UFTEMSMMY CHRETED UEVS, RPFPNH UFP OENEGLYK ZBTOYYPO RPZYVYYEZP ZPTPDLB HVETEZUS PF VPS Y ЪBZPDS PFPYEM L UCHPYN ChPKULBN.

pDYO LTBUOPBTNEEG U FBOLB PFPYEM PF NBYOSCH Y RPYEM RPIPDYFSH RP ENME, OBD LPFPTPK UEKUBU UCHEFYMP NYTOPE UPMOGE. ltbuopbtneeg Vshchm Khtse OE UFPMSh NPMPD, PO Vshchm Ch MEFBI, Y PO MAVYM RPUNPFTEFSH, LBL TSYCHEF FTBCHB, Y RPTCHETYFSH - UHEEUFCHHAF MY EEE VBVYuLY Y OBUELPNSHCHE, L LPFPTSCHN PO RTYCHSHCHL.

LTBUOPBTNEEG RPYEM PVTBFOP. y ULHYUOP ENH UFBMP TSYFSH VE NETFCHSCHI. pDOBLP PO RPYUHCHUFCHPCHBM, UFP TSYFSH ENKH FERETSH UFBMP FEN VPMEE OEPVIPDYNP. OHTSOP OE FPMSHLP YUFTEVYFSH OBNETFCHP CHTBZB TSOYOY MADEK, OHTSOP EEE UHNEFSH TSYFSH RPUME RPVESHCH FPK CHSHUYEK TSYOSHA, LPFPTHA OBN VEENPMCHOP ЪBCHEEBMY NETFCHSHCHE; Y FPZDB, TBDY YI CHEYUOPK RBNSFY, OBDP YURPMOYFSH CHUE YI OBDETSDSCH ABOUT ENME, YUFPVSC YI CHPMS PUKHEEUFCHYMBUSH Y UETDGE YI, RETEUFBCH DSHCHYBFSH, OE VSCHMP PVNBOHFP. netfchshchn OELPNKh DPCHETYFUS, LTPNE TSYCHSHI, - Y OBN OBDP FBL TSYFSH FERETSH, YUFPVSH UNETFSH OBYI MADEK VSHMB PRTBCHDBOB UYBUFMYCHPK Y UCHPPVPDOK UHDSHVPK OBYEZP OBTPDB Y FEN VSCHMB CHYSHCHYVOBSHY.

prkhvm.: rMBFPOCH b. rPCHEUFY Y TBUULBSHCH. n .: iHD.MYF., 1983. (LMBUUYLY Y UPDATED.

obVPT FELUFB: pMShZB uFBTYGSCHOB

We can say that the story of A.P. Platonov's "Search for the Lost" is named in Orthodox Christian traditions - there is an icon of the Mother of God bearing the same name. Moreover, the writer chose the following lines as the epigraph to the story: “I call from the abyss.” And indeed, the whole story, in fact, comes down to a single thought - about the memory of the dead people and the duty of the living to them.

In the center of the story is the image of an old woman - the mother of Maria Vasilievna, who lost three children in the war: “How old was Matthew? The twenty-third was on, and Vasily was the twenty-eighth. And my daughter was eighteen…” The heroine traveled thousands of kilometers in order to return to her home, to the place where her children died.

Grief made Maria Vasilievna fearless and unharmed. Even animals and enemies did not touch this woman - they felt that she no longer belonged to this world, although physically she still remained alive. The soul of the heroine died: she was where her children lay - dead, rammed down by cruel tanks: "Now I myself am as dead."

That is why Marya Vasilievna's connection with her children was not lost - the writer cites a mental conversation between a woman and her daughter Natalya: “How, daughter, can I help you? I myself am barely alive ... if all the people loved you, but corrected all the untruth on earth, then he would raise you and all the righteous dead to life: after all, death is the first untruth!

In these words, in my opinion, lies the meaning of Platonov's story - the duty of the living is to prevent more of that great grief and injustice that the war brought. No wonder the writer introduces into the story the image of another mother who lost her children - the image of Evdokia Petrovna. This young and once beautiful, full of life woman has now become "weakened, quiet and indifferent." The woman's two young children were killed by a bomb, and her husband went missing in earthworks, "and she came back to bury the children and live out her time in the dead."

It is Evdokia Petrovna who tells about how their loved ones were buried: “Then they drove through the grave over the dead in a tank, the dead died, the place became, and they put those who remained there. They have no desire to dig, they save their strength.

It seems that this blasphemy does not touch women at all - the tone of the whole story is Platonic measured and calm. However, we understand that behind this calmness lies the most terrible devastating grief, the broken lives of millions of people who have lost their loved ones. Physically, the heroines still continue to live - to do something, to talk about something. But all this is just an appearance: all their thoughts are with their relatives dead.

Not only millions of souls of mothers died, the whole earth turned into one charred piece. However, in spite of everything, there are some higher powers in the world that can help and support hope in a person: enticing that, out of pity and painful affection, no one can take their eyes off her.

It seems that God sympathizes with his unreasonable children, strives with all his might to guide them on the true path, to somehow help. But people still bear the main responsibility for their actions - only they can change something, never again allow such grief and atrocities. And people, according to the whole story of Platonov, are simply obliged to do this - in the name of the memory of loved ones who died unjustly, taking the lives and souls of their relatives with them.

In the story, the writer connects these changes for the better with the Soviet government - it’s not without reason that Marya Vasilievna thinks: “... let there be Soviet power again, she loves the people, she loves work, she teaches people everything, she is restless; maybe a century will pass, and the people will learn how to make the dead become alive. And at the end of the story, in continuation of this thought, it is the Soviet soldier who is entrusted with the mission to destroy evil, to improve life, to fulfill the covenant of the dead: justified by the happy and free fate of our people, and thus their death was exacted.

Thus, the meaning of the title of Platonov's story "Recovery of the Lost" lies in the thought of the duty of the living to the dead, primarily in the Great Patriotic War. According to the author, the memory of the dead should be confirmed by the deeds of the living, their desire to build a new happy life for their children. Only then will the recovery of the dead be exhaustive.

Andrey Platonov

Recovery of the dead

From the abyss I call the dead again

The mother returned to her home. She was a refugee from the Germans, but she could not live anywhere except her native place, and returned home.

She twice passed through the intermediate fields past the German fortifications, because the front here was uneven, and she walked on a straight short road. She had no fear and was not afraid of anyone, and her enemies did not hurt her. She walked through the fields, melancholy, bare-haired, with a vague, as if blind, face. And she didn’t care what is now in the world and what is happening in it, and nothing in the world could either disturb her or make her happy, because her grief was eternal and her sadness was unquenchable - the mother had lost all her children dead. She was now so weak and indifferent to the whole world that she walked along the road like a withered blade of grass carried by the wind, and everything that she met also remained indifferent to her. And it became even more difficult for her, because she felt that she did not need anyone, and for that no one needed her anyway. It's enough for a man to die, but she didn't die; she needed to see her home, where she lived her life, and the place where her children died in battle and execution.

On her way she met the Germans, but they did not touch this old woman; it was strange for them to see such a sorrowful old woman, they were horrified by the look of humanity on her face, and they left her unattended so that she died of herself. In life there is this vague alienated light on the faces of people, frightening the beast and the hostile person, and it is beyond the power of anyone to destroy such people, and it is impossible to approach them. Beast and man are more willing to fight with those like themselves, but he leaves the unlike ones aside, fearing to be frightened of them and be defeated by an unknown force.

After going through the war, the old mother returned home. But her home was now empty. A small poor house for one family, smeared with clay, painted with yellow paint, with a brick chimney resembling a man's thoughtful head, burned down long ago from German fire and left coals behind, already overgrown with the grass of the grave burial. And all the neighboring residential places, this whole old city, also died, and everything around it became light and sad, and you can see far away across the silent earth. A little more time will pass, and the place of life of people will be overgrown with free grass, it will be blown out by winds, rain streams will level it, and then there will be no trace of a person, and there will be no one to understand and inherit all the torment of his existence on earth for good and teaching for the future, because no one will be alive. And the mother sighed from this last thought of hers and from the pain in her heart for the forgetful perishing life. But her heart was kind, and out of love for the dead, she wanted to live for all the dead, in order to fulfill their will, which they took with them to the grave.

She sat down in the middle of the cooled conflagration and began to touch the ashes of her dwelling with her hands. She knew her fate, that it was time for her to die, but her soul did not reconcile herself to this fate, because if she died, then where would the memory of her children be kept and who would save them in her love when her heart also stopped breathing?

The mother did not know that, and she thought alone. A neighbor, Evdokia Petrovna, a young woman, formerly pretty and stout, but now weakened, quiet and indifferent, came up to her; her two young children were killed by a bomb when she left the city with them, and her husband went missing in earthworks, and she returned back to bury her children and live out her time in a dead place.

Hello, Maria Vasilievna, - said Evdokia Petrovna.

It's you, Dunya, - Maria Vasilievna told her. - Pdis with me, let's talk to you. Look in my head, I haven't washed in a long time.

Dunya meekly sat down next to her: Maria Vasilievna laid her head on her knees, and the neighbor began to search in her head. It was easier for both of them to do this now; one diligently worked, and the other clung to her and dozed off in peace from the proximity of a familiar person.

Have you all died? asked Maria Vasilievna.

Everything, but how! Dunya answered. - And all yours?

Everything, there is no one. - said Maria Vasilievna.

You and I have no one equally, ”Dunya said, satisfied that her grief was not the greatest in the world: other people have the same.

I’ll have more grief than yours: I used to live as a widow,” said Maria Vasilievna. - And two of my sons lay down here at the settlement. They entered the working battalion when the Germans from Petropavlovka came out to the Mitrofanevsky tract And my daughter took me from here wherever they look, she loved me, she was my daughter, then she left me, she fell in love with others, she fell in love with everyone, she regretted one - she was a kind girl, she is my daughter, - she leaned towards him, he was sick, he was wounded, he became as if lifeless, and then they killed her too, they killed her from above from the airplane. And I returned, what is it to me! What do I need now! I don't care! I myself am dead now

And what are you supposed to do: live like a dead woman, I live like that too, said Dunya. - Mine lie, and yours lay down. I know where yours lie - they are there, where they dragged and buried everyone, I was here, I saw it with my own eyes. First they counted all the dead dead, they made up the paper, put their own separately, and dragged ours away further away. Then we were all stripped naked and all the income from things was written down on paper. They took such care for a long time, and then they began to carry the burial.

And who dug the grave? Maria Vasilievna was worried. Did you dug deep? After all, naked, chilly people were buried, a deep grave would be warmer!

No, how deep it is! Dunya said. - A pit from a shell, here's your grave. They piled on there in addition, but there was not enough space for others. Then they drove through the grave in a tank over the dead, the dead were numb, the place became, and they put there whoever was left. They have no desire to dig, they save their strength. And from above they threw a little bit of earth, the dead lie there, they are getting cold now; only the dead can endure such torment - to lie naked in the cold for a century

And mine, too, were mutilated by a tank, or were they put whole on top? asked Maria Vasilievna.

Yours? Dunya replied. - Yes, I didn’t see it. There, behind the settlement, by the very road, everyone is lying, if you go, you will see. I tied them a cross of two branches and put it, but it’s useless: the cross will fall, even if you make it iron, and people will forget the dead Maria Vasilievna got up from Dunya’s knees, put her head to her and herself began to search in her head hair . And the work made her feel better; manual work heals a sick yearning soul.

Then, when it was already light, Maria Vasilievna got up; she was an old woman, she is tired now; she said goodbye to Dunya and went into the dusk, where her children lay - two sons in the near land and a daughter in the distance.

Maria Vasilievna went out to the suburb, which was adjacent to the city. Gardeners and gardeners used to live in the suburb in wooden houses; they fed from the land adjacent to their dwellings, and thus existed here from time immemorial. Today there is nothing left here, and the earth above was baked from the fire, and the inhabitants either died, or went into wandering, or they were taken prisoner and taken to work and death.

The Mitrofanevsky tract went out of the settlement into the plain. Willows used to grow along the side of the highway, now their war had gnawed them to the very stumps, and now the deserted road was boring, as if the end of the world was already close and rarely anyone came here.

Maria Vasilievna came to the place of the grave, where stood a cross made of two mournful, trembling branches tied across. Mother sat down at this cross; beneath him lay her naked children, slaughtered, abused and thrown into the dust by the hands of others.

Evening came and turned into night. The autumn stars shone in the sky, as if, after weeping, surprised and kind eyes opened there, peering motionlessly at the dark earth, so sad and alluring that out of pity and painful affection no one can take their eyes off it.

If you were alive, - the mother whispered to the ground to her dead sons, - if you were alive, how much work you have done, how much fate you have experienced! And now, well, now you are dead - where is your life, what you have not lived, who will live it for you? .. How old was Matvey? The twenty-third was on, and Vasily was the twenty-eighth. And my daughter was eighteen, now she would have gone nineteenth, yesterday she was a birthday girl. I only spent my heart on you, how much of my blood was gone, but it means that it was not enough, my heart and my blood were not enough, since you died, since I I didn’t keep my children alive and didn’t save them from death. Well, they are my children, they didn’t ask to live in the world. And I gave birth to them - I did not think; I gave birth to them, let them live. But it’s obviously impossible to live on earth yet, nothing is ready for the children here: they only cooked, but they didn’t manage it! .. They can’t live here, and they had nowhere else to do, - why should we, mothers, do something, and we gave birth to children. How else? To live alone, I suppose, and to nothing She touched the grave earth and lay down to her face. The ground was quiet, nothing could be heard.

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Andrey Platonov
Recovery of the dead

I call from the abyss.

words of the dead

The mother returned to her home. She was a refugee from the Germans, but she could not live anywhere except her native place, and returned home. She twice passed through the intermediate fields past the German fortifications, because the front here was uneven, and she walked on a straight short road. She had no fear and was not afraid of anyone, and her enemies did not hurt her. She walked through the fields, melancholy, bare-haired, with a vague, as if blind, face. And she didn’t care what is now in the world and what is happening in it, and nothing in the world could either disturb her or make her happy, because her grief was eternal and her sadness was inexhaustible - the mother had lost all her children dead. She was now so weak and indifferent to the whole world that she walked along the road like a withered blade of grass carried by the wind, and everything that she met also remained indifferent to her. And it became even more difficult for her, because she felt that she did not need anyone, and for that no one needed her anyway. It's enough for a man to die, but she didn't die; she needed to see her home, where she lived her life, and the place where her children died in battle and execution.

On her way she met the Germans, but they did not touch this old woman; it was strange for them to see such a sorrowful old woman, they were horrified by the look of humanity on her face, and they left her unattended so that she died of herself. In life there is this vague alienated light on the faces of people, frightening the beast and the hostile person, and it is beyond the power of anyone to destroy such people, and it is impossible to approach them. Beast and man are more willing to fight with those like themselves, but he leaves the unlike ones aside, fearing to be frightened of them and be defeated by an unknown force.

After going through the war, the old mother returned home. But her home was now empty. A small poor house for one family, smeared with clay, painted with yellow paint, with a brick chimney resembling a man's thoughtful head, burned down long ago from German fire and left coals behind, already overgrown with the grass of the grave burial. And all the neighboring residential areas, this entire old city, also died, and everything around it became light and sad, and you can see far away across the silent earth. A little more time will pass, and the place of life of people will be overgrown with free grass, it will be blown out by winds, rain streams will level it, and then there will be no trace of a person, and there will be no one to understand and inherit all the torment of his existence on earth for good and teaching for the future, because no one will be alive. And the mother sighed from this last thought of hers and from the pain in her heart for the forgetful perishing life. But her heart was kind, and out of love for the dead, she wanted to live for all the dead, in order to fulfill their will, which they took with them to the grave.

She sat down in the middle of the cooled conflagration and began to touch the ashes of her dwelling with her hands. She knew her fate, that it was time for her to die, but her soul did not reconcile herself to this fate, because if she died, then where would the memory of her children be kept and who would save them in her love when her heart also stopped breathing?

The mother did not know that, and she thought alone. A neighbor, Evdokia Petrovna, a young woman, formerly pretty and stout, but now weakened, quiet and indifferent, came up to her; her two young children were killed by a bomb when she left the city with them, and her husband went missing in earthworks, and she returned back to bury her children and live out her time in a dead place.

“Hello, Maria Vasilievna,” Evdokia Petrovna said.

"It's you, Dunya," Maria Vasilievna told her. - Sit down with me, let's talk to you. Look in my head, I haven't washed in a long time.

Dunya meekly sat down beside him; Maria Vasilievna laid her head on her knees, and the neighbor began to search in her head. It was easier for both of them to do this now; one diligently worked, and the other clung to her and dozed off in peace from the proximity of a familiar person.

Are all of yours dead? asked Maria Vasilievna.

- Everything, but how! Dunya answered. - And all of yours?

“That’s it, there’s no one,” said Maria Vasilievna.

“You and I have no one equally,” Dunya said, satisfied that her grief was not the greatest in the world: other people have the same.

“I’ll have more grief than yours: I used to live as a widow,” said Maria Vasilievna. - And two of my sons lay down here at the settlement. They entered the working battalion when the Germans came from Petropavlovka to the Mitrofanevsky tract ... And my daughter took me from here wherever they look, she loved me, she was my daughter, then she moved away from me, she loved others, she loved everyone, she regretted one thing - she was a kind girl, she is my daughter - she leaned towards him, he was sick, he was wounded, he became as if lifeless, and then they killed her too, they killed her from above from the airplane ... But I returned, what is it to me! What do I need now! I don't care! I myself am dead now...

“But what should you do: live like a dead woman, I live like that too,” said Dunya. - Mine are lying, and yours are lying down ... I know where yours are lying - they are there, where they dragged everyone and buried them, I was here, I saw it with my own eyes. First, they counted all the dead dead, compiled a paper, put their own separately, and dragged ours away further away. Then we were all stripped naked and all the income from things was written down on paper. They took such care for a long time, and then they began to carry the burial ...

Who dug the grave? Maria Vasilievna was worried. Did you dug deep? After all, naked, chilly people were buried, a deep grave would be warmer!

- No, what is it like there

end of introduction

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