Nadezhda Teffi - Humorous stories (collection). Nadezhda Teffi: Humorous Stories (collection)

Nadezhda Aleksandrovna Teffi (Lokhvitskaya)

Collected works in five volumes

Volume 1. Humorous stories

N. Surazhsky. Red taffy heels

We recently devoted an essay to the very colorful figure of A. V. Rumanov.

About 30 years ago, he "shocked" the St. Petersburg salons with a "filigree Christ."

Later, in the same salons, Rumanov dropped his soft, rumbling almost baritone voice:

Teffi is meek ... She is meek, - Taffy ...

And he said to her:

Taffy, you are meek.

In the northern skies of the Neva capital, the star of a talented poetess, feuilletonist and, now this will be a revelation for many, was already shining, the author of charming, gentle and completely original songs.

Taffy herself performed them in a small but pleasant voice to the accompaniment of her own guitar.

So you see her - Taffy ...

Wrapped up in a warm, fur-trimmed cozy dressing gown, her legs comfortably tucked up, she sits with a guitar on her knees in a deep armchair by the fireplace, casting warm, quivering reflections ...

Clever gray cat's eyes look unblinkingly into the blazing flames of the fireplace and the guitar rings:

Angry cats gnaw
Evil people in their hearts
My feet are dancing
In red heels...

Taffy loved red shoes.

It has already been printed. They talked about her. She was looking for cooperation.

Again Rumanov, shorn with a beaver hedgehog.

On the Caucasian mineral waters, he created a large resort newspaper and attracted the best St. Petersburg "forces".

One of the first visits - to her, "meek Taffy."

I invite you to Essentuki for two or three months. How?

And without waiting for an answer, Rumanov somehow imperceptibly and deftly put a few brand new credit cards with portraits of Catherine the Great on the table like a fan.

It's an advance!

Take it away! I love rainbows in the sky, not on my desk, came the reply.

Romanov did not lose his head. Like a conjurer, he instantly took out a heavy suede bag from somewhere and poured a jingling, sparkling stream of gold coins onto the table.

Nadezhda Alexandrovna thoughtfully poured these coins through her fingers, like a child playing with sand.

A few days later she left for Essentuki and there immediately raised the circulation of the resort newspaper.

It was a long, long time ago, but still...

Time puts a seal - they say.

Both time and the press are extremely lenient towards Teffi. Here in Paris, she is almost the same as she was with a guitar by the fireplace in red shoes and a fur-trimmed dressing gown.

And intelligent eyes with a cat's gray yellowness and in a cat's frame are exactly the same.

Talking about current politics:

What do you say, Nadezhda Alexandrovna, about the "League of the Nation", about its acceptance into its bosom of Soviet Russia, or rather the Soviet government?

First a smile, then two dimples near the corners of the mouth. For a long time, the familiar dimples that resurrected St. Petersburg ...

What can I say? I'm not a politician, but a humorist. Only one thing: Everyone has a painfully ironic attitude towards the "League of the Nation", and therefore, what is the price of whether it recognizes someone or does not recognize it. And, really, nothing has changed and will not change from the fact that she adorned Litvinov's bald patch with her laurels with his, Litvinov's, not quite "Roman profile." A farce, albeit a tragicomic one, but a farce nonetheless...

Having done away with the League of Nations and Litvinov, we move on to the amnesty declared by the Bolsheviks.

Is it true that they announced it? - Taffy hesitated? - The Bolsheviks, at least, keep silent on this subject. I think this amnesty is like a mirage in the desert. Yes, yes, the disbelieving, exhausted emigration, perhaps, invented this amnesty itself and grabs at it... The Muslims say: "The drowning man is ready to grab hold of the snake."

What can you say about modern Germany?

And here's what I'll say: I had a story "Demonic Woman". He got lucky. A collection of my works under this general title was published in Poland. On the German"Demonic Woman" was also printed. And now I find out: some cheeky young German, take it and place this story under your own name. I was used to being reprinted without a fee, but not used to having someone else's name under my stories. Friends advised to call the young, promising plagiarist to order. They also advised to contact Prof. Luther ... It seems that at the University of Leipzig he occupies a chair ... A chair - now I'll tell you what. Yes, Slavic literature. I wrote him more in order to reassure my friends.

To great surprise, Professor Luther responded. But how! With what fervor! A whole thing has come up. Found a promising young man, lathered his head well, threatened: something else like that, and within Germany no one would ever print a single line of it. The fee for the "Demonic Woman" was awarded in my favor. The young man wrote me a letter of repentance on several pages. Not only that, but the venerable Professor Luther himself apologized to me for him. The corporation of German writers and journalists apologized. In the end, she herself felt ashamed, why did she make this mess? ...

And now, done with Germany. two words about reprints, in general. A big Russian newspaper in New York got into the habit of "decorating" its cellars with my feuilletons from Vozrozhdeniye. I applied for the protection of my copyright to the Canadian Society of Russian Journalists. Thanks to them, they took care of me, but there is no sense from this! In response to threats to sue, the newspaper in question continues to use my feuilletons and the number of reprinted stories has reached an impressive figure of 33. Alas, my likeable Canadian colleagues do not have the authority of the touching and all-powerful Professor Luther.

I knew it! No "real" interview is complete without it. What am I working on? Frankly, without concealing, I am writing an emigrant novel, where, although under pseudonyms, but very transparently, I bring out a whole phalanx of living people, pillars of emigration of a wide variety of professions and social positions. Will I spare my friends? Maybe yes, maybe no. Don't know. Something similar happened to me once with Chateaubriand. He also announced the publication of the same portrait novel. The alarmed friends immediately organized themselves into a society, the purpose of which was to create a money fund named after Chateaubriand. Something like a propitiatory sacrifice to a formidable, punishing deity ... Would have nothing against it, - Taffy adds with a smile - and I - absolutely nothing - against such a friendly fund in favor of me, a sinner. However, isn't it time to end? I'm afraid that I'll take a lot of space in the magazine "For You"!

It turns out, something good, no longer “For you”, but “For me”. So what else? Beginning authors overwhelm me. From everywhere their works are sent with a request to be printed. And in order for the request to be valid, they dedicate all their stories to me. They think that Teffi, delighted with such attention, will immediately rush to the appropriate editorial offices and, with a Browning in hand, force young authors to print, at least in anticipation of the publication of flattering dedications. I take this opportunity to inform all my ardent correspondents that I am, well, not at all conceited! True, not bad stories come across, but most often my youth writes about what they do not know. And what he knows, he is silent about it. For example, an author from Morocco sent me a story… Who would you think? About the Eskimos! In the Eskimo life, although I don’t particularly passion, however, I immediately sensed that something was wrong.

From novice writers we move on to our Parisian professionals.

Tell me, - I ask - Nadezhda Alexandrovna, how to explain such a squabble among our brother? It would seem equally destitute? Why?

Angry cats gnaw

In evil people, in the hearts ...

What a memory you have! - Taffy was amazed and sparks flared in the cat's eyes. - Why? Everyone is exhausted, there is no more strength to endure ...

But when will they stop, though?

Calm down, - Teffi nodded encouragingly, they will get tired and then they will stop.

Are you tired of living?

My feet are dancing

In red heels...

And again, sparks flared up in the cat's eyes, extinguished and dimples appeared near the corners of the mouth ...

N. Surazhsky.

Humorous stories. Book 1

... For laughter is joy, and therefore in itself is good.

Spinoza. "Ethics", part IV. Position XLV, scholia II.

Cursed

Leshka's right leg was numb for a long time, but he did not dare to change his position and listened eagerly. It was completely dark in the corridor, and through the narrow slit of the half-open door one could see only a brightly lit piece of the wall above the kitchen stove. A large dark circle surmounted by two horns hovered on the wall. Lyoshka guessed that this circle was nothing more than a shadow from his aunt's head with the ends of the scarf sticking up.

humorous stories

... For laughter is joy, and therefore in itself is good.

Spinoza. "Ethics", part IV. Proposition XLV, scholia II.

Cursed

Leshka's right leg was numb for a long time, but he did not dare to change his position and listened eagerly. It was completely dark in the corridor, and through the narrow slit of the half-open door one could see only a brightly lit piece of the wall above the kitchen stove. A large dark circle surmounted by two horns hovered on the wall. Lyoshka guessed that this circle was nothing more than a shadow from his aunt's head with the ends of the scarf sticking up.

My aunt had come to visit Lyoshka, whom she had identified only a week ago as "boys for room service," and was now in serious negotiations with the cook who had patronized her. The negotiations were of an unpleasantly disturbing nature, the aunt was very agitated, and the horns on the wall rose and fell abruptly, as if some unseen beast butted their invisible opponents.

It was assumed that Lyoshka washes galoshes in the front. But, as you know, a person proposes, but God disposes, and Lyoshka, with a rag in his hands, was eavesdropping outside the door.

“I understood from the very beginning that he was a bungler,” the cook sang in a sweet voice. - How many times I tell him: if you, guy, are not a fool, keep your eyes open. Don't do shit, but keep your eyes open. Because - Dunyashka scrubs. And he does not lead with his ear. This morning again the lady shouted - she didn’t interfere in the stove and closed it with a firebrand.

The horns on the wall are agitated, and the aunt groans like an aeolian harp:

"Where can I go with him?" Mavra Semyonovna! I bought him boots, not to eat, not to eat, I gave him five rubles. For a jacket for alteration, a tailor, not a drink, not eaten, ripped off six hryvnias ...

- No other way than to send home.

- Cute! The road, no food, no food, four roubles, dear!

Lyoshka, forgetting all the precautions, sighs outside the door. He doesn't want to go home. His father promised that he would bring down seven skins from him, and Leshka knows from experience how unpleasant it is.

“Well, it’s still too early to howl,” the cook sings again. - So far, no one is driving him. The lady only threatened... But the tenant, Pyotr Dmitritch, is very protective. Right up the mountain for Leshka. Enough of you, says Marya Vasilievna, he says he is not a fool, Leshka. He, he says, is a uniform adeot, and there is nothing to scold him. Just a mountain for Leshka.

Well, God bless him...

- And with us, what the tenant says is sacred. Because he is a well-read person, he pays carefully ...

- And Dunya is good! - the aunt twisted her horns. - I don’t understand such a people - to let a sneak on a boy ...

- True! True. This morning I say to her: “Go open the doors, Dunyasha,” affectionately, as if in a kind way. So she snorts in my face: “I, grit, you are not a doorman, open it yourself!” And I drank it all to her. How to open doors, so you, I say, are not a porter, but how to kiss a janitor on the stairs, so you are all a doorman ...

- Lord have mercy! From these years to everything, dospying. The girl is young, to live and live. One salary, not a drink, not ...

- Me, what? I told her directly: how to open the doors, so you are not a doorman. She, you see, is not a doorman! And how to accept gifts from the janitor, so she is the doorman. Yes, tenant lipstick ...

Trrrr…” the electric bell crackled.

- Leshka-a! Leshka-a! cried the cook. - Oh, you, you failed! Dunyasha was sent away, but he doesn’t even listen with his ear.

Lyoshka held his breath, pressed himself against the wall and stood quietly until an angry cook swam past him, angrily rattling starched skirts.

“No, pipes,” Leshka thought, “I won’t go to the village. I'm not a fool guy, I want to, I'll curry favor so quickly. Don't rub me, not like that."

And, after waiting for the return of the cook, he went with resolute steps into the rooms.

“Be, grit, in front of your eyes. And in what eyes will I be when no one is ever at home.

He went into the front. Hey! The coat hangs - the tenant of the house.

He rushed to the kitchen and, snatching the poker from the dumbfounded cook, rushed back into the rooms, quickly threw open the door to the lodger's quarters, and went to stir in the stove.

The tenant was not alone. With him was a young lady, in a jacket and under a veil. Both shuddered and straightened up when Lyoshka entered.

"I'm not a fool," Leshka thought, jabbing a poker at the burning firewood. “I’ll wet those eyes.” I’m not a parasite - I’m all in business, all in business! .. "

Firewood crackled, the poker rattled, sparks flew in all directions. The tenant and the lady were tensely silent. Finally, Lyoshka headed for the exit, but at the very door he stopped and began to anxiously examine the damp spot on the floor, then he turned his eyes to the guest's legs and, seeing galoshes on them, shook his head reproachfully.

“Here,” he said reproachfully, “they inherited it!” And then the hostess will scold me.

The guest blushed and looked at the tenant in bewilderment.

“All right, all right, go on,” he soothed embarrassedly.

And Lyoshka left, but not for long. He found a rag and returned to mop the floor.

He found the tenant and guest silently bent over the table and immersed in the contemplation of the tablecloth.

“Look, they stared,” Leshka thought, “they must have noticed the spot. They think I don't understand! Found the fool! I understand. I work like a horse!”

And, going up to the pensive couple, he diligently wiped the tablecloth under the very nose of the tenant.

- What are you? - he got scared.

- Like what? I can't live without my eyes. Dunyashka, slash, knows only a sneak, and she is not a janitor to look after order ... A janitor on the stairs ...

- Go away! Moron!

But the young lady, frightened, grabbed the tenant by the hand and began to whisper something.

- He will understand ... - Lyoshka heard, - servants ... gossip ...

The lady had tears of embarrassment in her eyes, and she said to Leshka in a trembling voice:

“Nothing, nothing, boy… You don’t have to close the doors when you go…”

The tenant smiled contemptuously and shrugged his shoulders.

Lyoshka left, but, having reached the front, he remembered that the lady asked not to lock the doors, and, returning, opened it.

The lodger bounced off his lady like a bullet.

“An eccentric,” Leshka thought, leaving. “It’s light in the room, and he gets scared!”

Lyoshka went into the hall, looked in the mirror, tried on the lodger's hat. Then he went into the dark dining room and scratched the cupboard door with his nails.

“Look, damn unsalted!” You're here all day, like a horse, work, and she only knows the closet locks.

I decided to go again to stir in the stove. The door to the tenant's room was closed again. Lyoshka was surprised, but he entered.

The tenant sat quietly next to the lady, but his tie was on one side, and he looked at Leshka with such a look that he only clicked his tongue:

“What are you looking at! I myself know that I am not a parasite, I do not sit idly by.”

The coals are stirred, and Lyoshka leaves, threatening that he will soon return to close the stove. A quiet half-groan-half-sigh was his answer.

Lyoshka went and got bored: you can’t think of any more work. I looked into the lady's bedroom. It was quiet there. The lamp was glowing in front of the icon. It smelled of perfume. Lyoshka climbed onto a chair, looked at the faceted pink lamp for a long time, devoutly crossed himself, then dipped his finger into it and oiled his hair over his forehead. Then he went to the dressing table and sniffed each bottle in turn.

- Eh, what's here! No matter how hard you work, if not in front of your eyes, they don’t count for anything. At least break your forehead.

He wandered sadly into the hallway. In the dim living room something squeaked under his feet, then a curtain fluttered from below, followed by another ...

"Cat! he thought. - Look, look, again to the tenant in the room, again the lady will be furious, like the other day. You're joking!.. "

Joyful and animated, he ran into the cherished room.

- I am the damned one! I'll show you how to roam! I'll turn your face on the tail! ..

There was no face on the tenant.

"You're out of your mind, you wretched idiot!" he shouted. - Who are you scolding?

“Hey, vile, just give me an indulgence, so after that you won’t survive,” Leshka tried. “You can’t let her into the rooms!” From her only a scandal! ..

The lady, with trembling hands, straightened her hat that had fallen to the back of her head.

"He's kind of crazy, this boy," she whispered, frightened and embarrassed.

- Get out, you damned one! - and Lyoshka finally, to everyone's reassurance, dragged the cat out from under the sofa.

“Lord,” the tenant pleaded, “will you leave here at last?”

- Look, damn it, it scratches! She cannot be kept in the rooms. She was yesterday in the living room under the curtain ...

And Lyoshka long and detailed, not concealing a single detail, not sparing fire and colors, described to the astonished listeners all the dishonorable behavior of a terrible cat.

His story was heard in silence. The lady bent down and kept looking for something under the table, and the tenant, somehow strangely pressing Leshkin's shoulder, forced the narrator out of the room and closed the door.

“I’m a smart guy,” Leshka whispered, releasing the cat onto the back stairs. - Smart and hard worker. I'm going to close the oven now.

This time the tenant did not hear Leshka's steps: he was kneeling in front of the lady and, bowing his head low to her legs, froze without moving. And the lady closed her eyes and her whole face cringed, as if looking at the sun ...

a wise man

Skinny, long, head narrow, bald, facial expression wise.

He speaks only on practical topics, without jokes, jokes, without smiles. If he grins, it will certainly be ironic, pulling the corners of his mouth down.

He occupies a modest position in emigration: he sells spirits and herrings. Perfumes smell like herrings, herrings smell like perfume.

Trades poorly. Persuades unconvincingly:

Bad spirits? So it's cheap. Get sixty francs for these very perfumes in the store, and I have nine. And they smell bad, so you sniff them vividly. And not to such a person gets used.

What? Does herring smell like cologne? It doesn't hurt her taste. Not much. Here the Germans, they say, eat such cheese that it smells like a dead person. But nothing. They don't get offended. Nauseous? I don't know, nobody complained. No one died from nausea either. Nobody complained about dying.

Grey, red eyebrows. Redheads and moving. He loved to talk about his life. I understand that his life is a model of meaningful and correct actions. Telling, he teaches and at the same time shows distrust of your ingenuity and susceptibility.

Our surname is Vuryugin. Not Voryugin, as many allow themselves to joke, namely Vuryugin, from a completely unknown root. We lived in Taganrog. They lived in such a way that not a single Frenchman, even in his imagination, can have such a life. Six horses, two cows. Garden, land. The father kept the shop. What? Yes, everything was. If you want a brick, get a brick. If you want vegetable oil - if you please, oil. If you want a sheepskin coat, get a sheepskin coat. There was even a finished dress. Yes, what! Not like here - he vilified for a year, everything will be shiny. We had such materials that we never dreamed of here. Strong, with pile. And the styles are dexterous, wide, any artist will put on - he will not lose. Fashionable. Here they have about fashion, I must say, rather weak. They put out brown leather boots in the summer. Ahah! in all stores, ah-ah, the latest fashion. Well, I walk, I look, but I just shake my head. I wore boots like that twenty years ago in Taganrog. Won when. Twenty years ago, and fashion has only now come to them here. Mods, nothing to say.

And how do the ladies dress? Did we wear such cakes on our heads? Yes, we would be ashamed to go out in front of people with such a cake. We dressed fashionably, chic. And here they have no idea about fashion.

They are boring. Terribly boring. Metro yes cinema. Would we have in Taganrog so on the subway to dangle? Several hundred thousand people travel on the Paris metro every day. And you will begin to assure me that they all travel on business? Well, you know, as they say, lie, but don't lie. Three hundred thousand people a day, and all to the point! Where are these things of theirs? How do they show themselves? In trade? In trade, excuse me, stagnation. In the works, too, excuse me, stagnation. So where, one wonders, are the cases in which three hundred thousand people, day and night, bulging their eyes, rush through the subway? I'm surprised, I'm in awe, but I don't believe it.

In a foreign land, of course, it’s hard and you don’t understand much. Especially for a lonely person. During the day, of course, you work, but in the evenings you just run wild. Sometimes you go to the washbasin in the evening, look at yourself in the mirror and say to yourself:

"Vuryugin, Vuryugin! Are you a hero and a handsome man? Are you a trading house? And are you six horses, and are you two cows? Your lonely life, and you have shrunk like a flower without a root."

And now I must tell you that I decided to somehow fall in love. As they say - decided and signed. And there lived on our stairs in our hotel "Trezor" a young mistress, very sweet and even, speaking between us, pretty. Widow. And she had a five-year-old boy, nice. The boy was very nice.

The lady was wow, she made a little money by sewing, so she didn’t really complain. And you know - our refugees - you invite her to drink tea, and she, like a thin accountant, only counts everything and counts everything: “Oh, they didn’t pay fifty, but here they underpaid sixty, and a room is two hundred a month, and three francs on the metro in a day". They count and subtract - longing takes. It is interesting with a lady that she would say something beautiful about you, and not about her scores. Well, this lady was special. Everything hums something, although it is not frivolous, but, as they say, with requests, with an approach to life. She saw that a button on a thread was hanging on my coat, and immediately, without saying a word, she brought a needle and sewed it on.

Well, I, you know, further - more. Decided to fall in love. And a nice boy. I like to take things seriously. And especially in a case like this. You have to be able to reason. I didn’t have trifles in my head, but a legal marriage. He asked, among other things, if she had her own teeth. Although young, but anything can happen. There was one teacher in Taganrog. Also young, and then it turned out - a false eye.

Well, then, I'm getting accustomed to my lady and absolutely, then, I've weighed everything.

You can get married. And one unexpected circumstance opened my eyes that I, as a decent and conscientious person, I’ll say more - a noble person, it’s impossible to marry her. After all, just think? - such an insignificant, it would seem, case, but turned my whole life into an old notch.

And that's how it was. We were sitting at her house one evening, very comfortable, remembering what soups were in Russia. Fourteen were counted, but the peas were forgotten. Well, it was funny. That is, she laughed, of course, I don’t like to laugh. I was rather annoyed at a memory defect. Here, then, we are sitting, remembering the former power, and the little boy is right there.

Give, - says, - maman, caramel.

And she replies:

No more, you've already eaten three.

And he, well, whine - give it, give it.

And I say, nobly joking:

Come here, I'll spank you.

And she tell me the fatal point:

Well, where are you! You are a soft person, you cannot spank him.

And then the abyss opened up at my feet.

To take upon myself the upbringing of a baby at just such an age when their brother is supposed to be beaten is absolutely impossible with my character. I can't take this on. Will I ever take it out? No, I won't. I can't fight. And what? To destroy a child, the son of a beloved woman.

Excuse me, - I say, - Anna Pavlovna. I'm sorry, but our marriage is a utopia in which we will all drown. Because I can’t be a real father and educator to your son. Not only that, but I won’t be able to tear it out even once.

I spoke very reservedly, and not a single fiber of my face twitched. Maybe the voice was slightly suppressed, but I vouch for the fiber.

She, of course - ah! Oh! Love and all that, and you don’t need to tear the boy, they say, he is so good.

Good, - I say, - good, but it will be bad. And please don't insist. Be firm. Remember that I can't fight. The future of the son should not be played with.

Well, she, of course, a woman, of course, screamed that I was a fool. But it all worked out, and I don't regret it. I acted nobly and for the sake of my own blindness of passion did not sacrifice the young organism of a child.

I took myself completely in hand. He gave her a day or two to calm down and came to explain sensibly.

Well, of course, a woman cannot perceive. Charged "fool yes fool." Completely unfounded.

And so this story ended. And I can say I'm proud. I forgot pretty soon, because I consider all reminiscences unnecessary. For what? Pawn them in a pawnshop, or what?

Well, and so, having considered the situation, I decided to marry. Only not in Russian, pipes, sir. You have to be able to reason. Where do we live? Directly I ask you - where? In France. And since we live in France, it means that we need to marry a Frenchwoman. Began to search.

I have a French friend here. Musyu Emelyan. Not quite a Frenchman, but he has been living here for a long time and knows all the rules.

Well, this Musyu introduced me to one young lady. Serves at the post office. Pretty. Only, you know, I look, and her figure is very pretty. Thin, long. And the dress sits like a glove.

"Hey, I think it's rubbish!"

No, I say, this one doesn't suit me. I like it, there are no words, but you need to be able to reason. Such a thin, folded girl can always buy herself a cheap dress - so for seventy-five francs. And I bought a dress - so here you can’t hold it with your teeth at home. Will go dancing. But is it good? Am I getting married in order for my wife to dance? No, I say, find me a model of another edition. Tighter. - And you can imagine - I found it alive. A small model, but a kind of, you know, short-haired rammer, and, as they say, you can’t buy fat on your back. But, in general, wow and also an employee. You do not think that some kind of sledgehammer. No, she has curls and puffs, and everything, like thin ones. Only, of course, you can’t get a ready-made dress for her.

Having discussed and pondered all this, I, therefore, opened up to her, in what it was supposed to, and the march to Mary.

And about a month later she asked for a new dress. I asked for a new dress, and I very willingly say:

Of course, ready to buy?

Here she blushed a little and answered carelessly:

I don't like ready ones. They sit badly. It’s better to buy me a blue fabric, and we’ll give it to sew.

I kiss her very willingly and go to buy. Yes, as if by mistake I buy the most inappropriate color. Like buckskin, like horses are.

She is a little confused, but thanks. It's impossible - the first gift, and it's easy to repel it. He also understands his line.

And I am very happy with everything and recommend her a Russian dressmaker. I've known her for a long time. Drala was more expensive than a Frenchwoman, and she sewed so that you just spit and whistle. She sewed a collar to the sleeve of one client, and even argued. Well, this very couture girl sewed a dress for my lady. Well, you don’t have to go straight to the theater, it’s so funny! A buckwheat heifer, and nothing more. Oh, poor thing, she tried to cry, and remade, and repainted - nothing helped. So the dress hangs on a nail, and the wife sits at home. She is French, she understands that you can’t make dresses every month. Well, we live a quiet family life. And very pleased. And why? And because you need to be able to reason.

Taught her to cook cabbage rolls.

Happiness is also not given by itself. You need to know how to take it.

And everyone, of course, would like to, but not everyone can.

Virtuoso of feeling

The most interesting thing about this man is his posture.

He is tall, thin, with a bare eagle's head on his outstretched neck. He walks in the crowd, spreading his elbows, slightly swaying at the waist and proudly looking around. And since at the same time he is usually taller than everyone else, it seems as if he is sitting on a horse.

He lives in exile on some "crumbs", but, in general, not bad and neat. He rents a room with the right to use the salon and the kitchen and likes to cook special stewed pasta himself, which greatly amazes the imagination of the women he loves.

His last name is Gutbrecht.

Liza met him at a banquet in favor of "cultural undertakings and continuations."

He, apparently, outlined it even before seating in places. She clearly saw how he, having galloped past her three times on an invisible horse, gave spurs and galloped to the steward and was explaining something to him, pointing to her, Liza. Then both of them, both the rider and the steward, for a long time looked at the tickets with the names laid out on plates, made some wisdom there, and in the end Liza turned out to be Gutbrecht's neighbor.

Gutbrecht immediately, as they say, took the bull by the horns, that is, he squeezed Lizochka's hand near the elbow and said to her with a quiet reproach:

Expensive! Well, why not? Well, why not?

At the same time, his eyes were covered from below with a cock's film, so that Liza was even frightened. But there was nothing to be afraid of. This technique, known to Gutbrecht as "number five" ("I work number five"), was called among his friends simply "rotten eyes".

Look! Gut has already used his rotten eyes!

However, he immediately released Lizochka's hand and said in the calm tone of a man of the world:

We will start, of course, with the herring.

And suddenly he again made rotten eyes and whispered in a voluptuous whisper:

God, how good she is!

And Liza did not understand to whom this referred - to her or to the herring, and from embarrassment she could not eat.

Then the conversation began.

When we go to Capri, I will show you an amazing dog cave.

Lisa trembled. Why should she go with him to Capri? What an amazing gentleman!

Across from her sat a tall, plump lady of the caryatid type. Beautiful, majestic.

To divert the conversation from the dog cave, Liza praised the lady:

Really, how interesting?

Gutbrecht turned his bare head contemptuously, turned away just as contemptuously, and said:

Wow muzzle.

This "muzzle" did not suit the majestic profile of the lady so surprisingly that Liza even laughed.

He pursed his lips with a bow and suddenly blinked like an offended child. It was called by him "to make a musenka".

Babe! You are laughing at Vovochka!

What Vovochka? Liza was surprised.

Above me! I'm Vovochka! - pouting lips, capricious eagle head.

How strange you are! Liza was surprised. - You are old, but you are gentle like a little one.

I am fifty years old! Gutbrecht said sternly and blushed. He was offended.

Well, yes, I also say that you are old! Liza was sincerely perplexed.

Gutbrecht was also perplexed. He took six years off himself and thought "fifty" sounded very young.

My dear, - he said and suddenly switched to "you". - My dear, you are deeply provincial. If I had more time, I would take care of your development.

Why are you suddenly talking ... - Liza tried to be indignant.

But he interrupted her:

Be quiet. Nobody hears us.

And he added in a whisper:

I myself will protect you from slander.

"This dinner should be over soon!" thought Liza.

But then a speaker spoke, and Gutbrecht fell silent.

I live a strange but deep life! he said when the speaker was silent. - I devoted myself to psychoanalysis female love. It is difficult and painstaking. I make experiments, classify, draw conclusions. Lots of surprises and interesting things. You know Anna Petrovna, of course? The wife of our famous figure?

Of course, I know, - answered Liza. - A very respectable lady.

Gutbrecht chuckled and, spreading his elbows, prancing around in place.

So this most respectable lady is such a devil! Devilish temperament. The other day she came to me on business. I handed her business papers and suddenly, without letting her come to her senses, grabbed her by the shoulders and dug my lips into her lips. And if you only knew what happened to her! She almost passed out! Completely beside herself, she rolled me a plop and ran out of the room. The next day I was supposed to visit her on business. She didn't accept me. You understand? She does not vouch for herself. You cannot imagine how interesting such psychological experiments are. I am not Don Juan. No. I'm thinner! More soulful. I am a virtuoso of feeling! Do you know Vera Ex? This proud, cold beauty?

Of course I know. Vidal.

So. I recently decided to wake up this marble Galatea! The opportunity soon presented itself, and I got my way.

Yes you! Liza was surprised. - Really? So why are you talking about this? Is it possible to tell!

I have no secrets from you. I didn't care for her for a single minute. It was a cold and cruel experiment. But it's so curious that I want to tell you everything. There should be no secrets between us. So. It was in the evening, at her house. I was invited to dinner for the first time. There was, among others, this big Stok or Strok, something like that. They also said about him that he had an affair with Vera Ex. Well, yes, this is gossip based on nothing. She is cold as ice and has only woken to life for a moment. I want to tell you about this moment. So, after dinner (there were six of us, all, apparently, her close friends) we moved into a dim drawing room. Of course, I am near Vera on the couch. The conversation is general, uninteresting. Faith is cold and inaccessible. She is wearing an evening dress with a huge cutout at the back. And here I am, without stopping secular conversation, quietly but authoritatively extending my hand and quickly slapping it several times on my bare back. If you only knew what happened to my Galatea! How suddenly this cold marble revived! Indeed, just think: a person is in the house for the first time, in the salon of a decent and cold lady, in the company of her friends, and suddenly, without saying a bad word, that is, I want to say, completely unexpectedly, such an intimate gesture. She jumped up like a tigress. She didn't remember herself. In it, probably for the first time in her life, a woman woke up. She squealed and with a quick movement threw me a plop. I don't know what would happen if we were alone! What the animated marble of her body would be capable of. She was rescued by that vile Stoke. Lines. He yelled:

“Young man, you are an old man, but you behave like a boy,” and he kicked me out of the house.

We haven't met since. But I know that this moment she will never forget. And I know that she will avoid meeting me. Poor thing! But have you quieted down, my dear girl? Are you afraid of me. Don't be afraid of Vovochka!

He made a "musenka", pursing his lips with a bow and blinking his eyes.

Little Vovochka.

Stop it, said Liza irritably. - They are looking at us.

It doesn't matter if we love each other. Ah, women, women. All of you are on the same page. You know what Turgenev said, that is, Dostoevsky is a famous playwright writer and connoisseur. "A woman needs to be surprised." Oh, how true that is. My latest novel... I surprised her. I threw money like Croesus and was meek like Madonna. I sent her a decent bouquet of carnations. Then a huge box of chocolates. One and a half pounds, with a bow. And so, when she, intoxicated with her power, was already prepared to look at me as a slave, I suddenly stopped pursuing her. Do you understand? How it immediately got on her nerves. All this madness, flowers, sweets, in the project an evening at the Paramount cinema and suddenly - stop. I'm waiting for a day or two. And suddenly a call. I knew it. She is. Pale, trembling enters ... "I'm just for a minute." I take her face with both hands and say authoritatively, but still - out of delicacy - inquiringly: "Mine?"

She removed me...

And rolled a puff? Liza asked matter-of-factly.

N-not really. She quickly mastered herself. As an experienced woman, she realized that suffering awaited her. She recoiled and murmured with pale lips: "Give me, please, two hundred and forty-eight francs until Tuesday."

So what? - Liza asked.

Well, nothing.

And then?

She took the money and left. I didn't see her again.

And didn't give up?

What a child you are! After all, she took the money to somehow justify her visit to me. But she coped with herself, immediately broke this fiery thread that stretched between us. And I fully understand why she avoids meeting. After all, there is a limit to her powers. Behold, my dear child, what dark abysses of voluptuousness I have opened before your frightened eyes. What an amazing woman! What an exceptional impulse!

Lisa thought.

Yes, of course, she said. - And in my opinion, you'd better plop. More practical. BUT?

..................................................
Copyright: Hope Taffy

Talent

Zoinka Milgau showed a great talent for literature while still at the institute.

Once she described the suffering of the Maid of Orleans in such vivid colors in a German transcription that the teacher got drunk from excitement and could not come to class the next day.

Then a new triumph followed, which forever strengthened the glory of the best institute poetess for Zoya. She achieved this honor by writing a magnificent poem on the arrival of the trustee, which began with the words:

Finally our time has come

And we saw your face among us...

When Zoinka graduated from the institute, her mother asked her:

What are we going to do now? A young girl must improve either in music or in drawing.

Zoinka looked at her mother with surprise and answered simply:

Why should I draw when I'm a writer.

And on the same day she sat down for a novel.

She wrote very diligently for a whole month, but after all, it was not a novel that came out, but a story, to which she herself was not a little surprised.

The theme was the most original: one young girl fell in love with one young man and married him. This thing was called "Hieroglyphs of the Sphinx".

The young girl got married on about the tenth page of a sheet of writing paper of an ordinary size, and Zoya positively did not know what to do with her next. I thought for three days and attributed the epilogue:

"In the course of time, Eliza had two children, and she seemed to be happy."

Zoinka thought for another two days, then rewrote everything clean and took it to the editor.

The editor turned out to be a poorly educated person. In the conversation it turned out that he had never even heard of Zoya's poem about the arrival of the trustee. The manuscript, however, was taken and asked to come for an answer in two weeks.

Zoinka blushed, turned pale, curtsied, and returned two weeks later.

The editor looked at her confusedly and said:

Y-yes, Mrs. Milgau!

Then he went into another room and brought Zoinkin's manuscript out. The manuscript became dirty, its corners twisted in different directions, like the ears of a lively greyhound dog, and in general it had a sad and disgraced look.

The editor handed Zoya the manuscript.

But Zoinka did not understand what was the matter.

Your little thing is not suitable for our body. Here you go see...

He unfolded the manuscript.

Here, for example, at the beginning... mmm... "... the sun gilded the tops of the trees"... mmm... You see, dear young lady, our newspaper is ideological. We are currently defending the rights of Yakut women at rural gatherings, so at present we literally have no need for the sun. Yes, sir!

But Zoinka still did not go away and looked at him with such defenseless gullibility that the editor's mouth felt bitter.

Nevertheless, you certainly have a talent,” he added, examining his own shoe with interest. - I even want to advise you to make some changes in your story, which will undoubtedly serve him well. Sometimes the whole future of a work depends on some trifle. So, for example, your story is literally asking to be given a dramatic form. Do you understand? The form of dialogue. You have, in general, a brilliant dialogue. Here, for example, umm ... "goodbye, she said" and so on. Here's my advice to you. Turn your thing into drama. And take your time, but think seriously, artistically. Do some work.

Zoinka went home, bought a bar of chocolate for inspiration, and sat down to work.

Two weeks later, she was already sitting in front of the editor, and he wiped his forehead and stammered:

You're right, you were in such a hurry. If you write slowly and think well, then the work comes out better than when you don’t think about it and write quickly. Check back in a month for an answer.

When Zoinka left, he sighed heavily and thought:

What if she gets married this month, or goes somewhere, or just throws all this rubbish. After all, miracles do happen! After all, there is happiness!

But happiness is rare, and miracles do not happen at all, and Zoinka came a month later for an answer.

Seeing her, the editor staggered, but immediately pulled himself together.

Your little thing? No, it's a lovely thing. You know what - I have one brilliant piece of advice to give you. That's what, dear young lady, put it to music without a moment's delay. BUT?

Zoinka moved her lips in an offended manner.

Why to music? I do not understand!

How do you not understand! Put it on music, so you have out of it, you kind of an eccentric, an opera will come out! Just think - opera! Then come and thank yourself. Find a good composer...

No, I don't want opera! Zoinka said decisively. I am a writer ... and you suddenly opera. I don't want!

My dove! Well, you're your own enemy. Just imagine... suddenly your piece will be sung! No, I directly refuse to understand you.

Zoya made a goat-like face and answered insistently:

No and no. I do not wish. Since you yourself ordered me to turn my thing into a drama, so now you must print it, because I adapted it to our taste.

Yes, I do not argue! Charming little thing! But you didn't understand me. As a matter of fact, I advised to remake it for the theatre, and not for the press.

Well, then give it to the theater! Zoya smiled at his stupidity.

Mmm, yes, but you see, modern theater requires a special repertoire. Hamlet has already been written. You don't need another. But our theater really needs a good farce. If you could...

In other words - you want me to remake "Hieroglyphs of the Sphinx" into a farce? That's what they would say.

She nodded her head at him, took the manuscript, and walked out with dignity.

The editor looked after her for a long time and scratched his beard with a pencil.

Well, thank God! Will not return again. But it's a pity that she was so offended. Just don't commit suicide.

Dear young lady,” he said a month later, looking at Zoya with meek blue eyes. - Sweet lady. You have done the right thing on this! I read your farce and, of course, remained a fan of your talent as before. But, unfortunately, I must tell you that such subtle and elegant farces cannot succeed with our rude public. That is why theaters only take very, how shall I put it, very indecent farces, and your work, excuse me, is not at all piquant.

Do you need indecent? - Zoinka inquired businesslike and, returning home, asked her mother:

Maman, what is considered the most indecent?

Maman thought and said that, in her opinion, naked people are the most indecent thing in the world.

Zoinka creaked for about ten minutes with her pen, and the very next day proudly handed her manuscript to the stunned editor.

You wanted indecent? Here! I redid it.

Yes, where is it? - the editor was embarrassed. - I don't see... everything seems to be as it was...

As where? Here - in the actors.

The editor turned the page and read:

"Characters: Ivan Petrovich Zhukin, justice of the peace, 53 years old - naked.

Anna Petrovna Beck, landowner, philanthropist, 48 years old - nude.

Kuskov, the zemstvo doctor - naked.

Rykova, paramedic, in love with Zhukin, 20 years old - naked.

The bailiff is naked.

Glasha, the maid is naked.

Chernov, Pyotr Gavrilych, professor, 65 years old - naked.

Now you have no excuse to reject my work,” Zoya triumphed caustically. - I think that's pretty indecent!

scary tale

When I came to the Sundukovs, they hurried to the station to see someone off, but they would never agree to let me go.

Exactly one hour later; or even less, we will be at home. Sit with the children for a while - you are such a rare guest that then you won’t call again for three years. Sit with the kids! Coconut! Totosha! Tulle! Come here! Get your aunt.

Kokosya, Totosya and Tulya came.

Kokosia is a clean little boy with a parting on his head and a starched collar.

Totosha is a clean girl with a pigtail in her front.

Tulle is a thick bubble that connects a starched collar and an apron.

They greeted me decorously, seated me on the sofa in the living room, and began to occupy me.

Our father drove the fraulein away, - said Kokosya.

Chased the fraulein, - said Totosya.

Fat Tulya sighed and whispered:

Fucked up!

She was a terrible fool! - kindly explained Kokosya.

There was a fool! - supported Totosha.

Dulishcha! the fat man sighed.

And dad bought Lianozovo shares! - continued to occupy Kokosya. - Do you think they won't fall?

And how much do I know!

Well, yes, it’s true that you don’t have Lianozovsky shares, so you don’t care. And I'm terribly afraid.

I'm afraid! Tulya sighed and shuddered.

What are you so afraid of?

Well, why don't you understand? After all, we are direct heirs. If daddy died today, everything would be ours, but when the Lianozovskys fell, then it would probably not be crowded!

Then not so much! repeated Totosha.

Yes, not thick! Tulia whispered.

Dear children, stop sad thoughts, I said. Your dad is young and healthy, and nothing will happen to him. Let's have fun. Now the holidays. Do you love scary stories?

Yes, we do not know - what are so terrible?

If you don't know, well, I'll tell you. Want to?

Well, so listen: in a certain kingdom, but not in our state, there lived a princess, a beautiful beauty. Her hands were sugar, her eyes were cornflower blue, and her hairs were honey.

Frenchwoman? Coco asked in a matter-of-fact way.

Hm ... perhaps that is not without it. Well, the princess lived, lived, suddenly she looks: the wolf is coming ...

Here I stopped, because I myself got a little scared.

Well, this wolf comes and says to her in a human voice: "Princess, princess, I'll eat you!"

The princess was frightened, fell at the wolf's feet, lies, gnaws the earth.

Release me, wolf, to freedom.

No, he says, I won't let you!

Here I stopped again, remembered the fat Tyulya - he would still be frightened, he would fall ill.

Tulle! Are you not very scared?

I then? And not a bit.

Kokosha and Totosha smiled contemptuously.

We, you know, are not afraid of wolves.

I got confused.

Okay, so I'll tell you another one. Only, chur, then at night do not be afraid. Well, listen! Once upon a time there was an old queen in the world, and this queen went for a walk in the forest. It goes, goes, goes, goes, goes, goes, suddenly, out of nowhere, a hunchbacked old woman comes out. An old woman approaches the queen and says to her in a human voice:

Hello mother!

The queen bowed to the old woman.

Who are you, - says, - grandmother, that you walk through the forest and talk with a human voice?

And the old woman suddenly laughed, her teeth creaked.

And I, - she says, - mother, the same one that no one knows, but everyone meets. - I, - says, - mother, your Death!

I took a breath, because my throat tightened with fear.

She looked at the children. They sit, they don't move. Only Totosha suddenly moved closer to me (yeah, the girl, I suppose, has thinner nerves than these idiotic guys) and asked something.

What are you saying?

I ask, how much does your clutch cost?

BUT? What? I don't know... I don't remember... You don't like this fairy tale, do you? Tyulya, maybe you were very scared? Why are you silent?

What were you afraid of? I'm not afraid of old people.

I was despondent. What would you invent to make them get a little carried away?

Maybe you don't want to listen to fairy tales?

No, we really want to, please tell us, just something terrible!

Well, well, so be it. Only, maybe it's not good to frighten Tulya, he is still quite small.

No, nothing, please tell me.

Well, so here it is! Once upon a time there lived an old count. And this count was so evil that by old age he even grew horns.

Totosha nudged Kokoshu, and both of them giggled, covering their mouths with their hands.

What are you? Well, sir, so his horns grew, and when his teeth fell out from old age, boar fangs cut through in their place. Well, here he lived, lived, shook his horns, clicked his fangs, and finally the time came for him to die. He dug himself a large grave, but not a simple one, but with an underground passage, and this underground passage led from the grave directly into the main hall, under the count's throne. And he told his children not to dare to solve any business without him and to wait three days after his funeral. And then, he says, you will see what will happen.

And as the count began to die, he called his two sons to him and ordered the eldest of the younger to cut out the heart in three days and put this heart in a glass jar. And then, - he says, - you will see what will happen.

Then I was so scared myself that I even became cold. Silly! I made up all sorts of fears here, and then I won’t dare to go through a dark room.

Children, what are you? Maybe... no more?

Is this your real chain? asked Coco.

Where is the test? Totosha asked.

But what's up with Tyulya? He closed his eyes! He is positively ill with fear!

Children! Look! Tulle! Tulle!

Yes, he fell asleep. Open your eyes, it's so impolite.

You know, dear children, I obviously can't wait for your mother. It's getting late, it's getting dark, and in the dark it'll probably be scary for me to walk after... after everything. But in parting, I will tell you one more fairy tale, short, but very scary.

Here listen:

Once upon a time there were Lianozovo actions in the world. They lived, they lived, they lived, they lived, they lived, they lived, but suddenly ... and they fell!

Ay! What's wrong with you?

God! What is it with them!

The coconut trembles like an aspen leaf. Mouth twisted ... Paralysis, or what?

Totosia is all white, her eyes are wide open, she wants to say something and cannot, only in horror she pushes away some terrible ghost with her hands.

And suddenly Tuly's desperate cry:

Ay! I'm afraid! I'm afraid! Hey, that's enough! Scary! I'm afraid! I'm afraid!

Something hit. It was Totosha who fell unconscious on the carpet.

Jonah

It was already five o'clock in the morning when Alexander Ivanovich Fokin, the judicial investigator of the city of Nesladsk, ran home from the club and, as he was, without taking off his coat, galoshes and hats, flew into his wife's bedroom.

Fokin's wife did not sleep, held the newspaper upside down, squinted at the flickering candle, and there was something inspired in her eyes: she figured out exactly how to scold her husband when he returned.

Several options came to mind. One could start like this:

You are a pig, you are a pig! Well, tell me for once in your life frankly and honestly, aren't you a pig?

But it's not bad either:

Look, do me a favor, in the mirror at your face. Well, who do you look like?

Then wait for replicas.

He will, of course, answer:

I'm not like anyone, and leave me alone.

Then you can say:

Aha! Now I want peace! And why didn't you want peace when you were carried to the club?

Dashing trouble is the beginning, and there everything will go smoothly. But what's the best way to start?

When the agony of her creativity was suddenly interrupted by the intrusion of her husband, she was completely at a loss. For three years now, that is, since he swore on his head, on the happiness of his wife and the future of his children, that his foot would not be in the club, he always returned from there quietly, through the back door and made his way on tiptoe to his office .

What happened to you? she cried, looking at his cheerful, lively, almost enthusiastic face.

And two thoughts flared up in her soul anxiously and joyfully at the same time. One: "Did you really win forty thousand?" And the other one: "It will all blow out tomorrow anyway!"

But the husband did not answer, sat down beside him on the bed and spoke slowly and solemnly:

Listen carefully! I'll start in order. Tonight, in the evening, you said: "What is that gate slamming like? That's right, they forgot to lock it." And I replied that I would lock it myself. Well, I went out into the street, locked the gate, and quite unexpectedly went to the club.

What a pig! - the wife was excited.

But he stopped her:

Stop, stop! I know I'm a scoundrel and all, but that's not the point right now. Listen further: we have a certain excise Hugenberg in our city, an elegant brunette.

Oh lord! Well, I don't know him, do I? We've known each other for five years. Speak quickly - what a manner of pulling!

But Fokin was so pleased to tell that he wanted to drag on longer.

Well, sir, this same Hugenberg was playing cards. He played and, you should notice, he won all evening. Suddenly the forester Pazukhin gets up, takes out his wallet and says:

I am crying to you, Ilya Lukich, and to you, Semyon Ivanovich, I am crying, and I am crying to Fyodor Pavlych, but I don’t cry to this gentleman because he is twitching. BUT? What is it? This is about Hugenberg.

What are you!

Understand? - the investigator triumphed. - Pe-re-twitch! Well, Hugenberg, of course, jumped up, of course, all pale, all, of course, "ah," "ah." But, however, Hugenberg was found and says:

Dear sir, if you were wearing a uniform, I would rip off your epaulettes, but what can I do with you?

And how is it so distorted? - asked the wife, shrugging with joyful excitement.

This, you see, is actually very simple. H'm...Here, for example, he rents, but he will take it and peep. I mean, no, it's not. Stop, don't break. Here's how he does it: he shuffles the cards and tries to put the ace in such a way that when dealt, it hits him. Understood?

Well, my dear, that's why he's a sharpie! However, it's very simple, I don't know what you don't understand here. Do we have maps?

The nanny has a deck.

Well, go drag it over here, I'll show you.

The wife brought a plump, dirty deck of cards, with gray, limp corners.

That's disgusting!

Nothing disgusting, Lenka sucked it.

Well, I'm starting. Here, look: I rent to you, myself and two others. Now suppose I want the ace of hearts. I look at my cards - there is no ace. I look at yours and they don't either. Only these two partners remained. Then I reason logically: one of them must have the ace of hearts. According to the theory of probability, he is sitting right here, to the right. Look. To hell with the theory of probability - there is no ace. Therefore, the ace is in this last pile. See how easy it is!

Maybe it's simple, - answered the wife, shaking her head in disbelief, - but somehow it doesn't look like anything. Well, who will let you look at your cards?

Hm... perhaps you are right. Well, in that case it's even easier. When I shuffle, I take out all the trump cards and put them in for myself.

And why do you know what trump cards will be?

Hm... y-yes...

Go to bed better, you have to get up early tomorrow.

Yes Yes. I want to go to the Bubkevichs in the morning to tell everything how it was.

And I'll go to the Khromovs.

No, let's go together. You weren't present, but I'll tell you everything myself!

Then we'll go to the doctor.

Well, of course! Let's order a cab and let's go!

Both laughed with pleasure and even, unexpectedly for themselves, kissed.

No, really, it's not so bad to live in the world!

The next morning Fokina found her husband already in the dining room. He sat all sort of gray, shaggy, bewildered, slapped cards on the table and said:

Well, sir, this is for you, this is for you, and now I'm twitching, and I have your ace! And, hell, not that again!

He looked at his wife absent-mindedly and stupidly.

Oh, is that you, Manechka? You know, I didn't go to bed at all. Not worth it. Wait, don't interfere. Here I am handing over again: this is for you, sir, this is for you...

At Bubkevich's, he talked about the club scandal and again perked up, choked and was on fire. The wife sat nearby, prompted a forgotten word or gesture, and also burned. Then he asked for maps and began to show how Hugenberg shuddered.

This is for you, sir, this is for you... This is for you, and the king, too, for yourself... Actually, it's very simple... Ah, hell! No ace, no king! Well, let's start over.

Then we went to the Khromovs. Again they told stories and burned, so that even the coffee pot was knocked over. Then Fokin again asked for cards and began to show how they distort. Went again:

This is for you, this is for you...

The young lady Khromova suddenly laughed and said:

Well, Alexander Ivanovich, it seems you will never be a cheater!

Fokine flared up, smiled caustically, and said goodbye at once.

The doctor's wife already knew the whole story, and they even knew that Fokine's twitching did not succeed. So they immediately started laughing.

Well, how do you cheat? Come on, show me? Ha ha ha!

Fokin was quite angry. Decided not to travel anymore, went home and locked himself in the office.

Well, sir, this is for you ... - his tired voice came from there.

At twelve o'clock at night he called his wife:

Well, Mania, what do you say now. Look, here I am. Well, tell me, where is the trump crown?

Don't know.

That's where she is! Oh! Crap! Wrong. So here. What's this? One king...

He's slumped over and his eyes bulged. His wife looked at him and suddenly squealed with laughter.

Oh, I can't! Oh how funny you are! Apparently, you will never be a cheater! You'll have to put an end to this career. Believe me...

She suddenly broke off, because Fokine jumped up from his seat, all pale, shook his fists and yelled:

Shut up, fool! Get out of my room! Vile!

She ran out in terror, but he still couldn't get enough. He opened the door and called after her three times:

Philistine! Philistine! Philistine!

And at dawn he came to her, quiet and miserable, sat on the edge of the bed, folded his arms:

Forgive me, Manechka! But it's so hard for me, so hard that I'm a loser! Though you pity. No-dacha-nick me!

..................................................
Copyright: Hope Taffy

taffy

Children

Teffi N.A. Stories. Comp. E. Trubilova. -- M.: Young Guard, 1990

Spring Don Juan Kishmish Katenka Preparing Brother Sula Grandfather Leonty Underground roots Trinity Day Inanimate beast Book June Somewhere in the rear

Spring

Balcony door just put up. Pieces of brown cotton wool and bits of putty lie on the floor. Liza is standing on the balcony, squinting into the sun and thinking about Katya Potapovich. Yesterday, during a geography lesson, Katya told her about her affair with cadet Veselkin. Katya kisses Veselkin, and they have something else that she can’t talk about in class, but will tell later, on Sunday, after dinner, when it’s dark. - And who are you in love with? asks Katya. "I can't tell you that now," Liza replied. - I'll tell you later, on Sunday. Katya looked at her attentively and hugged her tightly. Lisa cheated. But what was she to do? After all, it’s not possible to admit directly that they don’t have any boys in their house, and that it never occurred to her to fall in love. It would be very awkward. Maybe say that she is also in love with cadet Veselkin? But Katya knows that she has never even seen a cadet. Here is the position! But, on the other hand, when you know as much about a person as she does about Veselkin, then you have the right to fall in love with him without any personal acquaintance. Isn't it true? A light breeze sighed with the freshness of the snow that had just melted, tickled Lisa on the cheek with a strand of hair that had fallen out of her braid, and merrily rolled balls of brown cotton wool across the balcony. Liza stretched lazily and went into the room. After the balcony, the room became dark, stuffy and quiet. Liza went up to the mirror, looked at her round freckled nose, her blond pigtail - a rat's tail, and thought with proud joy: "What a beauty I am! My God, what a beauty I am! And in three years I'm sixteen years old, and I can get married! " She threw her hands behind her head, like a beauty in the painting "Odalisque", turned, bent, looked at how the blond pigtail dangled, became thoughtful and busily went into the bedroom. There, at the head of a narrow iron bed, hung a small icon in a gilded vestment on a blue ribbon. Liza glanced around, furtively crossed herself, untied the ribbon, laid the icon right on the pillow, and ran back to the mirror. There, smiling slyly, she tied her pigtail with a ribbon and bent again. The view was the same as before. Only now a dirty, crumpled blue lump dangled at the end of the rat's tail. -- Gorgeous! whispered Lisa. Are you happy that you are beautiful? A beauty with a heart, Like a breeze of fields, Who will believe her, But also a deceit. What kind strange words! But it's nothing. It's always like that in romances. Always strange words. Or maybe not? Maybe it is necessary: ​​Whoever believes her, That one is a deceit. Well, yes! Deception means being deceived. He is deceived. And suddenly a thought flashed through her mind: "But isn't Katya deceiving her?" Maybe she doesn't have an affair. After all, she assured last year that some Shura Zolotivtsev fell in love with her at the dacha and even threw himself into the water. And then they walked together from the gymnasium, they see - some little boy with a nanny is riding in a cab and bowing to Katya. -- Who is this? - Shura Zolotivtsev. -- How? The one who jumped into the water because of you? -- Well, yes. What is surprising here? "But he's really small!" Katya got angry. And he's not small at all. He seems so small in a cab. He is twelve years old, and his older brother is seventeen. Here's a little one for you. Liza vaguely felt that this was not an argument, that her elder brother might be eighteen years old, while Shura himself was still only twelve, but he looked eight. But somehow she was unable to express this, but only pouted, and the next day, during a big break, she was walking along the corridor with Zhenya Andreeva. Lisa turned back to the mirror, pulled her pigtail, put her blue bow behind her ear, and began to dance. Footsteps were heard. Liza stopped and blushed so hard that even her ears rang. A stooped student Yegorov, a comrade of his brother, entered. -- Hello! What? Are you flirting? He was languid, gray, with dull eyes and greasy, frizzy hair. Liza froze with shame and murmured softly: "No... I... tied the ribbon..." He smiled a little. - Well, it's very good, it's very beautiful. He paused, wanted to say something else, to reassure her so that she would not be offended and not embarrassed, but somehow he did not think of what, and only repeated: - It is very, very beautiful! Then he turned and went into his brother's room, hunching over and pretzeling his long, sprawling legs. Lisa covered her face with her hands and quietly laughed happily. - Beautiful! .. He said - beautiful! .. I'm beautiful! I am beautifull! And he said it! So he loves me! She ran out onto the balcony, proud, suffocating with her great happiness, and whispered to the spring sun: "I love him!" I love student Yegorov, I love him madly! I'll tell Katya everything tomorrow! All! All! All! And a rat's tail with a blue rag trembled pitifully and cheerfully behind her shoulders.

Don Juan

On Friday, January 14, at exactly eight o'clock in the evening, eighth-grade schoolboy Volodya Bazyrev became a Don Juan. It happened quite simply and quite unexpectedly, like many great events. Namely, Volodya stood in front of the mirror and oiled his temporal tufts with iris lipstick. He was going to the Cheptsovs. Kolka Maslov, a comrade and like-minded person, sat right there and smoked a cigarette, for the time being turned upside down - not into himself, but out of himself; but in essence it doesn't matter who puffs on whom - a cigarette smoker, or a cigarette smoker, as long as there is mutual communication. Having buttered crests according to all the requirements of modern aesthetics, Volodya asked Kolya: - Isn't it true, I have enough today mysterious eyes ? And, screwing up his eyes, he added: No one is a prophet in his own country, and, despite all the evidence of Volodya's confession, Kolka snorted and asked contemptuously: - Is that you? - Well, yes, I am. -- Why so? -- Very simple. Because I, in fact, do not love any woman, I lure them, and I myself am looking for only my "I". However, you still don't get it. "And Katenka Cheptsova?" Volodya Bazyrev blushed. But he looked in the mirror and found his "I": - Katenka Cheptsova is the same toy for me, like all other women. Kolka turned away and pretended that he was completely indifferent to all this, but as if a small bee pricked him in the heart. He envied his friend's career. The Cheptsovs had a lot of people, young and tragic, because no one is so afraid of dropping his dignity as a schoolboy and a schoolgirl of the last classes. Volodya was about to go to Katenka, but in time he remembered that he was a Don Juan, and sat down to one side. Nearby was the owner's aunt and ham sandwiches. The aunt was silent, but the ham, Volodya's first and eternal love, called him to her, beckoned and pulled him. He had already outlined a piece more appetizing, but remembered that he was a Don Juan, and, smiling bitterly, lowered his hand. "Don Juan, eating ham sandwiches! How can I want ham? Do I want it?" No, he didn't want to at all. He drank tea with lemon, which would not have humiliated Don Juan de Maranha himself. Katenka approached him, but he barely answered her. She must understand that he was tired of women. After tea they played forfeits. But, of course, he is not. He stood at the door and smiled mysteriously, looking at the curtain. Katenka approached him again. "Why weren't you with us on Tuesday?" "I can't tell you that," he answered haughtily. “I can’t because I had a date with two women. If you want, even with three. "No, I don't want to..." Katenka muttered. She seemed to be beginning to understand who she was dealing with. They called for dinner. It smelled of hazel grouse, and someone said about ice cream. But all this was not for Volodya. Don Juan do not have dinner, they have no time, they destroy women at night. - Volodya! Katya said pleadingly. “Come tomorrow at three o’clock to the skating rink. -- Tomorrow? he blushed all over, but immediately narrowed his eyes haughtily. “Tomorrow, just at three, I will have one ... countess. Katenka looked at him with fear and devotion, and his whole soul was kindled with delight. But he was a Don Juan, he bowed and left, forgetting his galoshes. The next day, Kolka Maslov found Volodya in bed. “What are you doing, it’s already half past three. Get up! But Volodya did not turn around and covered his head with a blanket. - Are you crying at all? Volodya suddenly jumped up. Crested, red, all swollen and wet with tears. - I can't go to the skating rink! I can't-u-u! -- What are you? the friend got scared. - Who is chasing you? - Katenka asked, but I can't. Let him suffer. I must destroy her! He was sobbing and wiping his nose with a flannel blanket. - It's all over now. I didn't have dinner yesterday... and... and now it's all over. I'm looking for my... "I". Kolka did not console. It's hard, but what can you do? Once a person has found his vocation, let him sacrifice everyday trifles for him. -- Be patient!

Kishmish

great post. Moscow. The church bell hums with a distant dull rumble. Smooth blows merge into a continuous heavy sleep. Through the door, which is open to the cloudy pre-morning haze, one can see how, under quiet, cautious rustles, an obscure figure is moving. It either stands out unsteadily as a thick gray spot, then blurs again and completely merges with the muddy haze. The rustling subsides, a floorboard creaks, and another one - further away. Everything is quiet. It was the nanny who went to church in the morning. She is fasting. This is where it gets scary. The girl curls up in her bed, barely breathing. And everyone listens and looks, listens and looks. The hum becomes ominous. There is a sense of insecurity and loneliness. If you call, no one will come. What can happen? The night is ending, probably, the roosters have already sung dawn, and all the ghosts have gone home. And their “friends” are in cemeteries, in swamps, in lonely graves under a cross, at the crossroads of deaf roads near the forest edge. Now none of them will dare to touch a person, now they serve early Mass and pray for all Orthodox Christians. So what's so terrible about it? But the eight-year-old soul does not believe the arguments of reason. The soul shrinks, trembles and whimpers softly. The eight-year-old soul does not believe that this is a bell. Later, during the day, she will believe, but now, in anguish, in defenseless loneliness, she "does not know" that this is just a blessing. For her, this hum is an unknown thing. Something sinister. If longing and fear are translated into sound, then there will be this rumble. If longing and fear are translated into color, then there will be this unsteady gray haze. And the impression of this pre-dawn melancholy will remain with this creature for long years , for life. This creature will wake up at dawn from an incomprehensible longing and fear. Doctors will prescribe sedatives for her, advise her on evening walks, open the window at night, stop smoking, sleep with a heating pad on her liver, sleep in an unheated room, and much, much more will advise her. But nothing will erase from the soul the stamp of pre-dawn despair that has long been imposed on it. The girl was given the nickname "Kishmish". Kishmish is a small Caucasian raisin. They called her that, probably for her small stature, small nose, small hands. Generally, a trifle, a small fry. By the age of thirteen, she will quickly stretch, her legs will become long, and everyone will forget that she was once a sultana. But, being a small sultana, she suffered greatly from this offensive nickname. She was proud and dreamed of advancing somehow and, most importantly, grandiosely, extraordinary. To become, for example, a famous strongman, to bend horseshoes, to stop a madly racing troika on the move. It also beckoned to be a robber, or, perhaps, even better - an executioner. The executioner is more powerful than the robber, because he will prevail in the end. And could any of the adults, looking at a thin, blond, short-haired girl, quietly knitting a beaded ring, could it have occurred to anyone what terrible and imperious dreams were wandering in her head? By the way, there was another dream - it was to be a terrible ugly woman, not just ugly, but such that people were frightened. She went to the mirror, squinted her eyes, stretched her mouth and stuck out her tongue to one side. At the same time, she first pronounced in a bass, on behalf of an unknown gentleman, who does not see her face, but speaks in the back of her head: - Allow me to invite you, madam, to a quadrille. Then a face was made, a full turn, and the answer to the gentleman followed: - Okay. Just kiss my crooked cheek first. The cavalier was supposed to run away in terror. And then after him: - Ha! Ha! Ha! Don't you dare! Kishmish was taught the sciences. At first, only the Law of God and calligraphy. They taught that every work must begin with prayer. Kishmish liked it. But referring, by the way, to the career of a robber, Kishmish became alarmed. “And the robbers,” Kishmish asked, “when they go to rob, should they also pray?” She was vaguely answered. They replied: "Don't talk nonsense." And Kishmish did not understand - did this mean that the robbers do not need to pray, or that they absolutely need to, and this is so clear that it is stupid to ask about it. When Kishmish grew up and went to confession for the first time, a fracture occurred in her soul. Terrible and domineering dreams went out. They sang very well with the fasting of the trio "May my prayer be corrected." Three boys went out into the middle of the church, stopped at the very altar and sang with angelic voices. And under these blissful sounds the soul was humbled, touched. I wanted to be white, light, airy, transparent, to fly away in the sounds and incense smoke there, under the very dome, where the white dove of the Holy Spirit spread its wings. There was no place for a robber here. And the executioner and even the strongman did not fit here at all. The ugly monster would have stood somewhere outside the door and would have covered her face. It would be inappropriate to scare people here. Ah, if only one could become a saint! How wonderful it would be! Being a saint is so beautiful, so tender. And this is above all and above all. This is more important than all teachers and bosses and all governors. But how do you become a saint? We'll have to do miracles, but Kishmish didn't know how to do miracles. But that's not where they start. Start with a holy life. You need to become meek, kind, distribute everything to the poor, indulge in fasting and abstinence. Now, how to give everything to the poor? She has a new spring coat. Here it, first of all, and to give. But why would mom be angry? It will be such a scandal and such a beating that it is scary to think. And mom will be upset, and the saint should not upset or upset anyone. Maybe give it to the poor, and tell your mother that the coat was just stolen? But a saint is not supposed to lie. Terrible position. Here is a robber - it is easy for him to live. Lie as much as you like, and still laugh with insidious laughter. So how were they made, these saints? It's just that they were old - all at least sixteen years old, and even just old people. They didn't have to listen to their mother. They just took all their good and immediately distributed it. So you can't start with this. This will come to an end. We must begin with meekness and obedience. And also with abstinence. You only need to eat black bread with salt, drink only water straight from the tap. And here again the trouble. The cook gossips that she drank raw water, and she will get it. There is typhus in the city, and my mother does not allow drinking raw water. But maybe when mom realizes that Kishmish is a saint, she won't make any obstacles? And how wonderful it is to be a saint. Now this is such a rarity. All acquaintances will be surprised: - Why is this radiance over Kishmish? - How, don't you know? Yes, she's been a saint for a long time. -- Ah! Oh! It can not be. - Yes, see for yourself. And Kishmish sits and smiles meekly and eats black bread with salt. The guests are envious. They don't have holy children. "Maybe she's faking it?" What fools! And the radiance! I wonder - will the radiance begin soon? Probably in a few months. By autumn it will be. My God, my God! How wonderful it all is! I'm going to confession next year. Batiushka will ask sternly: - What are your sins? Repent. And I answered him: - Absolutely none, I am a saint. He is ah! Oh! It can not be! - Ask your mother, ask our guests - everyone knows. Batiushka will begin to inquire, maybe there is some, the smallest, sin? And Kishmish answered: - Not a single one! At least roll a ball. And interestingly - will it still be necessary to prepare lessons? Trouble if needed. Because a saint cannot be lazy. And you can't disobey. They tell you to learn. If only we could do miracles right away. To make a miracle - the teacher immediately gets scared, falls to her knees and does not ask for a lesson. Then she imagined Kishmish, what kind of face she would have. She went to the mirror, sucked in her cheeks, flared her nostrils, rolled her eyes. Kishmish really liked this face. Truly a holy face. A little nauseating, but absolutely holy. Nobody has this. Now, then, go to the kitchen for black bread. The cook, as always before breakfast, angry and preoccupied, was unpleasantly surprised by the raisin visit. Why should young ladies go to the kitchen? Mom will be taken away. Kishmish involuntarily pulled her nose. There was a smell of delicious meatless food - mushrooms, fish, onions. She wanted to answer the cook, "It's none of your business," but remembered that she was a saint, and answered with restraint: "Please, Varvara, cut me a piece of black bread." She thought for a moment and added: "A big piece." The cook cut it off. - And be so kind as to salt, - Kishmish asked and turned her eyes to the sky. The bread had to be eaten right there, otherwise, perhaps, they would not understand in the rooms what was the matter, and nothing but trouble would come out. The bread turned out to be delicious, and Kishmish regretted not asking for two pieces at once. Then she poured water from the tap into a ladle and began to drink. The maid came in and gasped: “But I’ll tell my mother that you drink raw water.” “So she is Eva, what a piece of bread and salt she ate,” said the cook. - Well, it is drunk. Appetite for growth. They called for breakfast. You can't not go. Decided to go, but eat nothing and be meek. There was an ear with pies. Kishmish sat and looked blankly at the pie put to her. - Why don't you eat? She smiled meekly in return and for the third time made a holy face - that which she had prepared in front of the mirror. "God, what's wrong with her?" Auntie was surprised. - What kind of grimaces? “They ate a piece of black bread just before breakfast,” the maid reported, “and drank water from the tap. "Who let you go into the kitchen and eat bread?" cried the mother angrily. “And you drank raw water?” Kishmish rolled her eyes and fashioned a completely holy face, with flared nostrils. - What's wrong with her? "She's teasing me!" screamed the aunt, and sobbed. "Get out, you bad girl!" said the mother angrily. “Go to the nursery and sit alone all day. “If only they could send her to college as soon as possible!” sobbed the aunt. - Literally all the nerves. All nerves. Poor Kishmish! She remained a sinner.

Katya

The dacha was tiny - two rooms and a kitchen. The mother grumbled in the rooms, the cook in the kitchen, and since Katenka served as the object of grumbling for both, there was no way for this Katya to stay at home, and she sat all day in the garden on a rocking bench. Katenka's mother, a poor but ignoble widow, sewed ladies' clothes all winter and even entrance doors nailed the tablet "Madame Parascove, fashion and dresses." In the summer, she rested and raised her daughter, a schoolgirl, by means of accusations of ingratitude. Darya the cook had been arrogant for a long time, about ten years ago, and in all of nature there has not yet been found a creature that could put her in her place. Katenka sits on her rocking chair and dreams "about him." In a year she will be sixteen years old, then it will be possible to get married without the permission of the metropolitan. But who to marry, that's the question? From the house comes the quiet mumbling of the mother: - And nothing, not the slightest gratitude! I bought a pink brocard for a dress, forty-five ... - A girl of marriageable age, - buzzes from the kitchen, - spoiled since childhood. No, if you are a mother, then you would take a good twig ... - You yourself would be a twig! - Katenka shouts and dreams further. You can get married with anyone, this is nonsense - if only there was a brilliant party. For example, there are engineers who steal. This is a very brilliant party. Then you can still marry the general. But you never know for whom! But that's not what's interesting at all. I wonder with whom you will cheat on your husband. "Countess General Katerina Ivanovna at home?" And “he” enters in a white tunic, like Seredenkin, only, of course, much more beautiful, and does not snort his nose. "Sorry, I'm at home, but I can't accept you, because I'm given to another and I'll be faithful to him for a century." He turned as pale as marble, only his eyes sparkle wonderfully ... Barely breathing, he takes her hand and says ... - Katya! And Katya! Did you take the prunes off the plate? The mother stuck her head out the window, and her angry face was visible. From another window, further away, a head in a warrior sticks out and answers: - Of course, she is. I immediately saw: there were ten prunes for the compote, and as she approached, there were nine. And aren't you ashamed - huh? - You ate it yourself, but blame me! Katya snapped. “I really need your prunes!” It smells of kerosene. "Kerosi-inom?" And how do you know that kerosene, if you have not tried - huh? - Kerosene? the cook is horrified. - To pronounce such words! To take anything to eat, but to unfasten it, so I suppose ... - Whip yourself! Get off! “Yes ... it means that he takes your hand and says: “Give yourself to me!” I am already ready to give in to his arguments, when suddenly the door swings open and my husband enters. “Madame, I heard everything. I give you my title, rank and all the fortune, and we will get divorced ... "- Katya! Striped fool! Nosy cat! - a voice came from behind the bench. Katya turned around. The neighbor Mishka leaned over the fence and, jerking, for balance, with his foot held high, he picked green currants from the bushes that grew near the bench. "Get out, you filthy boy!" Katya squealed. - Pogan, but not gypsies! And you are like Volodya. -- Mother! Mom, he's tearing currants! - Oh, Lord, have mercy! Two heads popped out. - Hour by hour is not easier! Oh you cheeky one! Oh you vile! - Take a good twig ... - It’s not enough for you, apparently, at school they flog you, that you ask for a rod during the holidays. Get out, so that your spirit! .. The boy hid, having previously shown for self-satisfaction, to everyone in turn, his long tongue, with a currant leaf stuck to it. Katenka sat down more comfortably and tried to dream further. But nothing came out. The rotten boy completely knocked her out of her mood. Why suddenly "nosy cat"? Firstly, cats have no noses - they breathe through holes - and, secondly, she, Katenka, has a completely Greek nose, like the ancient Romans. And then, what does it mean, "like Volodya"? Volodya are different. Terribly stupid. You shouldn't pay attention. But it was hard to ignore. From resentment, the corners of his mouth dropped by themselves and a thin pigtail trembled under the back of his head. Katenka went to her mother and said: "I don't understand you!" How can you let street kids bully you. Is it really only the military who should understand what the honor of the uniform means? Then she went to her corner, took out an envelope decorated with a golden forget-me-not with a pink glow around each petal, and began to pour out her soul in a letter to Mana Kokina: “My dear! I am in a terrible state. All my nerve endings were completely upset. The fact is that "my romance is rapidly approaching a fatal denouement. Our neighbor on the estate, the young Count Mikhail, does not give me peace. It is enough for me to go out into the garden to hear his passionate whisper behind me. To my shame, I fell in love with him selflessly. This morning at our an unusual event happened on the estate: a mass of fruits, prunes and other valuables disappeared. All the servants unanimously accused a gang of neighboring robbers. I was silent, because I knew that their leader was Count Mikhail. That same evening, he climbed over the fence with danger to his life and whispered in a passionate whisper: “You must be mine.” Awakened by this whisper, I ran out into the garden in a hood of silver brocade, covered like a cloak by my loose hair (my braid had grown very long for this time, by God), and the Count took me into his arms. I said nothing, but turned pale as marble; only my eyes sparkled marvelously..." Katenka suddenly paused and shouted into the next room: "Mom! Give me a seven-kopeck mark, please. I am writing to Mana Kokina. - What-oh? Ma-arch? Everything is just to write letters to Kokin and Mokin! No, my dear, your mother is also not a horse to work for the Mokins. Mokins will sit without letters! - All you can hear is that the stamp, let's go, - buzzed from the kitchen. - I would take a good twig, but whatever it is ... Katenka waited a minute, listened, and when it became clear that she could not get a stamp, she sighed and added: "Dear Manechka! I pasted the stamp very crookedly, and I'm afraid that it will peel off, as in the last letter. I kiss you 100,000,000 times. Your Katya Motkova."

Cooking

Lisa, who had a short haircut, was taken in by her aunt from the boarding house for Shrovetide. The aunt was distant, unfamiliar, but even then, thank God. Liza's parents went abroad for the whole winter, so there was no need to really understand the aunts. My aunt lived in an old mansion, long since demolished, with large rooms in which everything shook and rang every time a cart passed along the street. “This house has been trembling for its existence for a long time!” said the aunt. And Lisa, trembling with fear and pity, listened to him trembling. My aunt's life was boring. Only old ladies came to her and talked about some Sergei Erastych, who had a wife from his left hand. At the same time, Liza was sent out of the room. - Liza, my soul, close the door, and stay on the other side yourself. And sometimes directly: - Well, young girl, you absolutely do not need to listen to what the big ones are talking about. "Big" is a magical and mysterious word, the torment and envy of the little ones. And then, when the little ones grow up, they look around in surprise: - Where are these "big ones", these powerful and wise ones, who know and protect some great secret? Where are they, conspiring and rallying against the little ones? And where is their secret in this simple, ordinary and clear life? My aunt was bored. - Aunt, do you have children? - I have a son Kolya. He will come in the evening. Liza wandered through the rooms, listened to the old house trembling for its existence, and waited for her son Kolya. When the ladies stayed too long at their aunt's, Liza went up the stairs to the girls' room. The maid Masha ruled there, the seamstress Claudius quietly moped, and the canary jumped in a cage over geraniums propped up with splinters. Masha didn't like it when Lisa came to the girls' room. “It’s not good for a young lady to sit with servants. Aunty will be offended. Masha's face is swollen, flabby, her ears are pulled back by huge pomegranate earrings that fall almost to her shoulders. What beautiful earrings you have! said Liza, to change the unpleasant conversation. “This was given to me by the late master. Lisa looks at the earrings with slight disgust. "And how she is not afraid to take from the dead!" She's a little creepy. “Tell me, Masha, did he bring you this last night?” Masha suddenly blushes unpleasantly and starts shaking her head. -- At night? The seamstress Claudia snaps her fingernail over the stretched thread and says, pursing her lips: “Young ladies are ashamed to talk nonsense. Here Marya Petrovna will go and take pity on the aunt. Lisa cringes all over and goes to the last window where the canary lives. The canary lives well and has fun. Either he pecks at hemp seeds, or splashes with water, or scratches his nose on a piece of lime. Life is in full swing. "And why are they all angry with me?" Liza thinks, looking at the canary. If she were at home, she would cry, but here it is impossible. Therefore, she tries to think of something pleasant. The most pleasant thought in all three days that she has been living with her aunt is how she will tell Katya Ivanova and Ole Lemert at the boarding house about pineapple ice cream, which was served for dinner on Sunday. "I'll tell you every evening. Let them burst with envy." I also thought about the fact that in the evening the "son of Kolya" would arrive and would have someone to play with. The canary dropped a hemp seed from its cage, Liza crawled under a chair, took it out and ate it. The seed turned out to be very tasty. Then she pulled out a side drawer in the cage and, taking a pinch of hemp, ran downstairs. The ladies were again sitting at the aunt's, but Lisa was not driven away. It's true, we've already talked about the left wife. Then a bald, bearded gentleman came and kissed my aunt's hand. “Aunt,” Lisa asked in a whisper, “what kind of old monkey is this? Auntie pursed her lips in resentment: "This, Liza, is not an old monkey." This is my son Kolya. At first Liza thought that her aunt was joking, and although the joke did not seem cheerful to her, she nevertheless laughed out of politeness. But the aunt looked at her very sternly, and she cringed all over. I made my way quietly into the girl's room, to the canary. But in the girl's room it was quiet and twilight. Masha is gone. Behind the stove, with her arms folded, all straight and flat, the seamstress Claudia was quietly moping. The cage was quiet too. The canary curled up into a ball, became gray and invisible. In the corner, by the icon with a pink flower, a green lamp was flickering slightly. Lisa remembered the dead man who carries gifts at night, and she was anxiously melancholy. The seamstress, without moving, said in a nasal voice: "Have you come to twilight, young lady?" BUT? Twilight? BUT? Lisa left the room without answering. "Did the seamstress kill the canary for being so quiet?" "Kolya's son" was sitting at dinner, and everything was tasteless, and compote was served for the cake, as in a boarding house, so there would be nothing to tease her friends with. After dinner, Masha took Lisa to the boarding house. They rode in a carriage that smelled of leather and aunt's perfume. The windows rattled anxiously and sadly. Liza huddled in a corner, thinking about the canary, how well it lives during the day over the curly geranium, propped up with splintered splintered geraniums. Thought she'd tell her cool lady, the witch Marya Antonovna, thought that she had not copied the assigned lesson, and her lips became bitter from anguish and fear. "Maybe it's not good that I took her grains from the canary? Maybe she went to bed without supper?" I didn't want to think about it. “I’ll grow up big, get married and tell my husband: “Please, husband, give me a lot of money.” The husband will give money, I’ll immediately buy a whole load of grains and take the canary to her old age.” The carriage turned into a familiar gate. Lisa whimpered softly, her heart contracted so uneasily. The cooks were already going to bed, and Liza was sent straight to the dormitory. It was forbidden to talk in the dormitory, and Liza silently began to undress. The blanket on the next bed moved quietly, and a dark cropped head with a topknot turned around. - Katya Ivanova! Liza was all excited. - Katya Ivanova. She even blushed, it became so fun. Now Katya Ivanova will be surprised and envious. - Katya Ivanova! My aunt had pineapple ice cream! Wonderful! Katya was silent, only her eyes shone like two buttons. - You know, pineapple. You never ate! From a real pineapple! The cropped head rose, sharp teeth flashed and the crest ruffled. "You're lying, you fool!" And she turned her back on Lisa. Lisa quietly undressed, huddled under the covers, kissed her hand, and wept softly.

Brother Sul

A thin lady in a pale green dress embroidered with mother-of-pearl sequins was sitting in the dimly lit living room, and she was saying to my mother: “Your Petersburg climate is absolutely unbearable. Today this fog, heavy, dark, quite London. I must drop everything as soon as possible and go to the south of France. The husband will remain in the village - he will run for leader this year. I left Shura with him. I sent Petya to a German school and will leave her here with my grandmother. Think how much trouble I have! And she herself until spring in Menton. I can't imagine how I'm going to deal with all of this. And I'm so weak, so weak after this shock. After all, fifteen years ago I lost a lovely child, my first-born, a handsome man, a real Corregion bambino, to whom I was madly attached. He lived only two hours, they didn't even show him to me. Since then, I never take off my black dress and never smile. She hesitated for a moment and added, as if to explain her toilet: - I'll go straight from you to Lily, and from there to the opera. Then she noticed me. "And this...is this Lisa?" she asked. “Well, of course, Lisa. I recognized her right away. But how she has grown! "This is Nadia," said Mom. But where is Lisa? We never had Lisa. -- Really? said the lady indifferently. So this is Nadia. Nadia, do you remember me? I am Aunt Nelly. Shura! She turned towards the back of the room. “Shura, if it’s not difficult for you, please take your elbows off the table. And in general, come here. Here is your cousin Nadia. You can take care of her. From a dark corner came a blond-haired boy in a school cloth blouse, belted with a lacquered belt with a copper buckle. - This is Petya. Petya, if you don't mind, say hello to your cousin. This is the same Lisa that I often told myself about. “Nadia,” my mother corrected. Petya shuffled his foot. I, not knowing what to do, curtsied. “Is she a little underdeveloped, your Liza?” inquired Aunt Nellie with a charming smile. -- This is good. Nothing ages parents like overly intelligent children. I liked Aunt Nelly very much. She had wonderful blue eyes, a porcelain face, and fluffy golden hair. And she spoke so quickly and cheerfully, not at all like my other aunts, strict and ugly. And everything came out so nicely. For example, she does not take off her black dress all her life, but she has a green one. And this does not make anyone sad, but everyone is pleased. And so she found me stupid, but immediately proved that it was very good. And others, when they say that I am stupid, they certainly bring it up as an insult. No, Aunt Nelly is really lovely. I didn't see her again. She left earlier than she thought. The shock of fifteen years ago must have made itself felt. And then so much trouble - a husband in the village, a son with his grandmother. In a word, she drove away until spring, and on Sunday her son Petya came to us, alone. -- How old are you? I asked. “It will soon be thirteen,” he replied. -- Very soon. Eleven months later. He didn't look like his mother. He was pointed-nosed, freckled, with small gray eyes. “And my younger brother Shura is eleven,” he suddenly perked up terribly. - My younger brother Shura, he stayed in the village to write a novel. - And your mother said that he was early in school. Petya did not seem to like this remark. He even blushed a little. - Yes, he ... he still prefers to study at home. And he loves winter in the countryside. And he will have a lot of trouble - dad will run. Then I noticed that my interlocutor was a little lisping, instead of "Shura" he almost "Sula" came out. I remembered just passed in Ilovaisky "Mariy and Sulla". In general, he somehow incorrectly spoke Russian. Then it turned out that since childhood he had spoken English with his governess, French with his mother, and now German at school. He never spoke to his father - never had to - but it was believed that this was happening in Russian. Silent in Russian. - And here is the younger brother Shura, he speaks very well. He talked to the coachman in such a way that he even went to his father to complain. He can do anything, my younger brother Shura. He is writing a French novel. Wonderful. I have a start. Do you want me to read to you? He stepped aside and began to fumble in his pocket. He rummaged around, pulled out a piece of pencil, a piece of chocolate, a piece of soft rubber that was forbidden to click in class, took out a penny with candy stuck to it, and finally, a folded sheet of lined paper, clearly torn from a school notebook. -- Here. This is the beginning of the novel. My younger brother Shura composed it, and I wrote it down. Here. He cleared his throat, looked at us carefully, in turn - my sister and I were the listeners - apparently checked whether we were serious enough, and began: - "Do you know what love is, which tears all your insides, makes you to roll on the floor and curse your fate." That's all. This is just the beginning of the novel. Further will go even more interesting. My younger brother Shura will come up with names for the heroine and hero in the winter. This is the hardest thing. It soon became clear that Petya was writing the novel himself, but in Russian. In a German school, he vividly comprehended the intricacies of the Russian language and even wrote several poems dedicated to school life. Now, of course, it would be difficult for me to quote them, but I carried some especially vivid lines in my memory through my whole life: The bell rings, The lesson ends, And the students go downstairs in joy. Then I remember there was caustic satire on some teacher Kizeritsky. The poem ended with lines of very high tones: Oh, unfortunate Kizeritsky, Remember fate How the students are afraid of you And they are always afraid. Petit's novel was not yet finished, and he read us only two passages. In my opinion, the novel was written under the strong influence of Tolstoy, partly War and Peace, partly Anna Karenina. It began like this: "Nanny, gather Mitya's diapers as soon as possible. Tomorrow we are going to war," said Prince Ardalion. To my shame, I must confess that I completely forgot further development this chapter. But I remember the content of another passage. Prince Ardalion, having left his nanny and Mitya with diapers in the war, unexpectedly returned home and found Prince Hippolyte with his wife. “- You, scoundrel, are cheating on me!” Prince Ardalion exclaimed and pointed the end of his sword at him. Somewhere in the pipe a damper rattled. I remember that this last enigmatic phrase made a very strong impression on me. Why did the damper suddenly rattle in the pipe? Was it some kind of occult phenomenon that marked the bloody drama? Or did Prince Ardalion swing his sword so that he damaged the stove? I don’t understand and didn’t understand anything, but I felt the breath of talent and it was creepy. - Does your younger brother Shura write a lot? No, he has no time. He thinks more. And in general, he has a lot of plans. How does he treat women? We had a lady visiting us, a very luxurious woman. So Shura invited her to take a walk in the forest and led her into a swamp. She screams, calls for help. And he says to her: "Well, I will save you, but for this you must be mine." Well, of course she agreed. He pulled her out. Otherwise, death. The swamp sucks. A cow fell through last year. "But why didn't he pull the cow out?" asked my younger sister, looking at Petya with frightened round eyes. "Could he take the cow later, too?" "I don't know," replied Petya. “There must have been no time. My brother Shura can do anything. He swims the best in the world. More likely than any snake, and a snake can swim more than two hundred miles per hour, if you count for kilometers. - Can he jump? -- Jump? asked Petya, with an air as if such a question would even make him laugh. -- Well, of course! And it is so light that it can last several minutes in the air. Jump - and stop, and then fall. Of course, not particularly high, and so, approximately to my right temple. He will come next year, so he will show you everything. - Is he tall? I asked, trying to imagine this hero. -- Very tall. He is three-quarters of a head taller than me and two inches taller. Or maybe even a little lower. "But he's younger than you, isn't he?" Petya put his hands behind the belt of his belt, turned around and silently looked out the window. He always turned away like that and went to the window when we had some tactless question. - And tell me, will Shura also take an exam in your gymnasium? Well, he's not afraid of the exam. In two minutes he will fail all the teachers himself, my younger brother Shura! All these stories touched us deeply. Often in the evening, after preparing our lessons, my sister and I would sit on the sofa in the dark living room and talk about Shura. We called him "brother Sula", because Petya lisped a little and it came out something like this. That it was an eleven-year-old boy, we somehow completely forgot. I remember seeing huge hunting boots lined with leather in the shop window. “Here,” we say, “probably, “brother Sula” wears such things. Of course, we laughed a little at the fact that brother Sula could stay in the air, but some kind of trembling in the soul from this story still remained. - Fakirs, however, hold on to the air. That Sula will slay all the examiners is also suspicious. But in the "Childhood of famous people" it is said that Pascal defended some kind of dissertation at the age of twelve. In general, all this was very interesting and even scary. And now we learn the news - brother Sula will come for Christmas. "Does he still want to come to us?" They began to prepare for the meeting of the distinguished guest. I had a blue ribbon that you can tie around your head. My sister didn’t have anything so spectacular and elegant, but since she will be standing next to me, the ribbon will decorate her a little. At the table, adults hear our talk about Shura and are surprised. They don't know anything about this phenomenon. "Well," I think, "we know everything." And here we are back from a walk. “Go ahead,” Mom says. The boys are waiting for you. "Brother Sula!" whispers the sister excitedly. - Rather, your tape! We run to the bedroom. Hands tremble, the tape slips from the head. - Something will happen! Something will! Petya is waiting for us in the living room. He's kind of quiet. “But where is ...” I begin and see a frail little boy in a sailor jacket and short pants with buttons. He looks like a sparrow, he has a freckled nose and a red crest on his head. The boy ran up to us and squealed excitedly, as if taunting, and already quite lisping: - I am Sula, I am Petin blat, Sula ... We froze with our mouths open. We didn't expect anything like this. We even got scared. If we saw some kind of monster, Viy, an elephant with a lion's mane, we would be less confused. We were internally prepared for the monster. But this red-haired little sparrow in short pants ... We looked at him in horror, as if he were a werewolf. Petya silently, thrusting his hands into his belt, turned and went to look out the window.

Grandfather Leonty

Before dinner, the children looked on the terrace - and immediately back: someone was sitting on the terrace. He sat small, grey, gray-haired, furry, twirling his pointed nose and shivering. -- Who it? "Let's ask Elvirkarna." Elvira Karlovna was busy with the jars in the pantry, angry at the pear jam, that it was sour and sizzled. -- Who it? Your grandfather! Grandfather Leonty, your grandfather's brother. Why is he sitting? asked Valka. It seemed strange that grandfather wasn’t walking around the hall like other guests, didn’t ask how anyone was doing, didn’t laugh “he-he-he, merci”, but simply sat down and was sitting alone at the dinner table, where dirty dishes put. “He came through the garden, and here he sits,” answered Elvira Karlovna. - Where are the horses? asked Valka. And little Gulya repeated in a bass voice: "Where are the horses?" - Came on foot. Let's go, look through the crack at the grandfather, who came to visit on foot. And he kept sitting and looking like a sparrow. On his knees he had an oilcloth bundle, black, whitened at the folds - old, much tattered, and tied crosswise with a rope. Grandpa squinted at the crack. The children got scared. -- Looks! -- Looks! Moved away. Fenka slapped with her bare feet, dishes rattled, Elvira Karlovna screamed. -- Served! Submitted! And in response, heels on the stairs clattered - father was going down to dinner. - Papa, there is grandfather ... there is grandfather Leonty ... he came and sits. -- I know I know. The father is dissatisfied. Went to the terrace for lunch. Grandfather got up, fussed in one place, and when his father greeted him, he began to shake his hand for a long and ridiculous time. Then he went back to his chair at the table. - Sit down with us, why are you! said the father. Grandfather blushed, hurried off, sat down on the corner of the table and slipped his oilcloth bundle under the chair. "I've got some things here... traveling like an old man!" he explained, as if old men always walked around with such oilcloth bundles. Everyone was silent over the soup. Only when Grandfather had eaten his portion did Father say to Elvira Karlovna: "Give him another drink..." Grandfather blushed and became agitated. - I'm full! I'm already completely full! But he set to work again on the soup, occasionally glancing only casually at the host. - Where are you from now? he finally asked. - From Kryshkina, from Marya Ivanovna. It's not far, only thirteen versts. She certainly wanted to give a britzka, she certainly wanted to, but I refused. The weather is good and exercise is useful. We old people have to exercise. And Marya Ivanovna is building a new mill. Wonderful. I stayed with them for three weeks. She definitely wanted me to live. Certainly. Well, I'd better wrap it up later. He spoke quickly, so much so that he even blushed, and looked at everyone timidly and quickly, as if inquiring whether he liked what he was saying. “And what does she need a mill for?” said the father. - Just extra trouble ... - Yes, yes, - hurried grandfather. - Exactly what... exactly... troubles... - In good hands, of course, profitable, but here ... - Yes, yes, in good hands, profitable ... exactly profitable. Then they fell silent again for the whole dinner. After dinner, my father muttered something under his breath and went upstairs. Grandpa also disappeared. - Elvircarna! Will he live with us? Elvira Karlovna was still dissatisfied with something and was silent. Is he grandfather's brother? -- Not brother. From another mother. You still don't understand anything. - Where is his house? - I don’t have a house, my son-in-law took it away. Grandpa was weird. And his mother was somehow different and the house was taken away ... Let's go see what he's doing. Found it on the porch. He sat on the ladder and said something long and sensible to the little dog Belka, but he couldn’t make out what. - This is our Squirrel. She's a stray hulk, doesn't let her sleep at night,' said Valka. "The cook scalded her with boiling water," added Gulka. Both stood side by side on thick, well-fed legs, looked with round eyes, and the wind stirred their blond tufts. Grandpa was very interested in the conversation. He asked about Belka when she came, but from where, and what she feeds on. Then he told me about the dogs he knew, what their names are, where they live, which landlords live with, and about their various things, everything is very interesting. The squirrel listened too, occasionally only running back to bark, pricking its ear to the high road. Was empty. The conversation turned from dogs to children. Grandfather Leonty saw so many of them that he could talk for three days. I remembered all the names, and which girl had which dress, and how someone was naughty. Then he showed how the boy Kotya danced a Chinese dance at the landowner Kornitsky. He jumped up, small, gray-haired, furry, spun around, sat down, immediately wrinkled his face and coughed. “Sorry, old man. an old man . Try it yourself, you'll get better. The three of us spun, Gulka flopped, the empty squirrel barked. It became fun. And before dinner, grandfather shrank back again, calmed down, sat down near the dinner table and turned his head like a sparrow until he was called to the table. And at the table he again looked everyone in the eye, as if he was afraid that he had not pleased. The next day, grandfather became completely friends, so that Valka even told him about her cherished desire to buy a belt with a buckle and a skipping rope. Gulka still had no separate desires, and she joined the Valkins: she also had a belt and a skipping rope. Then grandfather told about his secret: he had no money at all, but the landowner Kryshkina promised to donate ten rubles for the holiday. She is terribly kind, and she will have a wonderful mill - the first in the world. Ten rubles! That's when they'll live. First of all, they will buy tobacco. Grandfather has not smoked for two weeks, but he wants to die. They will buy a lot of wonderful tobacco to smoke and to last for a long time. It would be nice to have some kind of contraband at some customs, foreign means. But what kind of customs are there when there are no borders here. Well, they’ll just buy simple, but wonderful tobacco. And they will buy belts with huge buckles and jump ropes. What about the rest of the money? For two days they dreamed, thought out what to buy with the rest of the money. Then we decided to buy sardines. It's very tasty. If only Kryshkina would not change her mind. No, he doesn't think. Kind and rich. She offered to take the britzka to Grandfather - by God! On the fourth day at dinner, grandfather, stammering and looking at each other, said that tomorrow he should look at the landowner Kryshkina. She begged me to visit her. He will spend the night, and in the morning he will return. Father reacted to this plan with complete indifference and began to talk about something with Elvira Karlovna in German. Grandpa didn’t really understand or what he was afraid of. He somehow cringed, squinted timidly, and the spoon trembled a little in his hand. Left early the next morning. The children dreamed alone. Instead of sardines, we decided to buy several houses and live in turn, now in one, then in another. And by the evening they forgot both grandfather and plans, because a new game was invented: sticking blades of grass into the cracks of the porch, it turned out to be a garden for flies to play. The next day, after dinner, grandfather arrived in a Kryshka britzka. So cheerful, he jumped off the footboard and fussed around the britzka for a long time. I was very glad that they brought it. - I came in a carriage. They took me in a britzka, - he told everyone, although everyone already saw where he got out. His eyes became small with pleasure, and radiant wrinkles all around him, funny and merry. He ran out onto the porch and whispered to the children: "Just be quiet, we have everything... I gave ten roubles." Here you are, look! Valka could not stand it, squealed, broke loose and went straight to the rooms. -- Dad! Elvircarna! Kryshkina gave ten rubles to her grandfather! Grandfather will buy us belts, give us a skipping rope. Father craned his neck, as a goose about to hiss, looked at Elvira Karlovna. She pursed her lips and parted her nostrils. Father jumped up and went to the porch. There he squealed for a long time that grandfather was a hooker and that grandfather would shame his family and disgrace the house, begging for handouts from strangers, and that he was obliged to immediately return this vile money. - Nikifor! Saddle your horse! Take the package to Kryshkina. Grandfather was silent and shivering and was completely guilty, so guilty that it was a shame to stay with him, and the children went into the rooms. The father squealed for a long time about the hanger-on and the disgrace, then he squealed and went to his room. It became interesting to see what grandfather was doing. Grandfather sat on the porch, as then, on the first day, tying up his oilcloth bundle with a rope and talking to himself. The stray hollow-lake stood right there and listened attentively. “Everyone is angry and angry,” Grandfather repeated in fright. - Is it so good? I'm very old. Why so? I saw the children, I was embarrassed, I hurried. - I'll go now. I have to go. I was called to the same place! He did not make eye contact and kept fussing. - Some landowners called ... to stay. They are wonderful there. Maybe they were wonderful, but grandfather's face was upset and his head was shaking somehow to the side, as if negatively, as if he did not believe himself. "Grandfather," Valka asked. - Are you a stalker? What is a host? “You are a summoner,” repeated Gulka in a bass voice. - A hundred such ... Grandfather cringed and walked up the stairs. -- Goodbye! Goodbye! They are waiting for me there ... Apparently, they did not hear. Went. turned around. The girls both stood side by side, on well-fed, thick legs, looked straight at him with round eyes, and the wind stirred their blond tufts. Went. The squirrel, hooking its tail, followed it to the gate. There he turned around again. The girls were no longer around. They were anxiously sticking green blades of grass into the cracks of the porch and were briskly arguing about something. Grandfather waited a minute, turned and went. The squirrel pricked up its ear and barked at him several times. Was stray, empty.

underground roots

Liza was sitting at the tea table in the wrong place. "My place" was for her on a chair with three volumes of old telephone books. These books were put under her because she was too small for her six years, and one nose stuck out above the table. And in these three phone books was her secret torment, insult and shame. She wanted to be big and mature. The whole house is full of large, sitting on ordinary human chairs. She is a small one. And unless there was no one in the dining room, she, as if by mistake, sat in the wrong chair. Perhaps, from these three telephone books, she left for the rest of her life the consciousness of being bypassed, undeserved humiliation, the eternal desire to somehow rise, exalt, remove resentment. “She spilled her milk again,” an old woman’s voice grumbled over her. “And why didn’t you sit in your place?” I'll tell my mom, she'll ask you. What "will ask" is true. This is without error. She only does what she asks. And he will always find something. She doesn't need to complain. Either why disheveled, then why elbows on the table, then dirty nails, then you twitch your nose, then you hunch over, then the fork is wrong, then you champed. All day, all day! For this, they say, she must be loved. How to love? What does it mean to love? She loves a small cardboard elephant, a simple Christmas one. It contained sweets. She loves him to death. She swaddles him. His trunk comes out of his white cap, so pitiful, poor, trusting that she wants to cry from tenderness. She hides the elephant. Instinct tells. If they see, they will laugh, offend. Grisha is even capable of breaking an elephant on purpose. Grisha is now quite big. He Eleven years old. He goes to the gymnasium, and on holidays his comrades visit him - plump Tulzin and black-haired Fischer with a tuft. They place soldiers on the table, jump over chairs and fight. They are powerful and strong men. They never laugh or joke. They have furrowed brows, staccato voices. They are cruel. Particularly plump Tulzin, whose cheeks tremble when he gets angry. But the worst of all is brother Grisha. Those strangers do not dare, for example, to pinch her. Grisha can do anything. He is a brother. It seems to her that he is ashamed of her in front of his comrades. It is humiliating for him that he has such a sister who sits on three phone books. Here, Fisher, they say, has a sister so sister, - old, she is seventeen years old. There is no shame in this. Today is just a holiday, and both of them - Tulzin and Fischer will come. My God, my God! Will there be something? In the morning they took me to church. Mom, aunt Zhenya (this one is the worst of all), nanny Varvara. Grisha - he is doing well, he is now in the gymnasium and went with the students. And she was bullied. Aunt Zhenya whistles in her ear: "If you don't know how to pray, then at least be baptized." She is very good at praying. "Send, Lord, health to dad, mom, brother Grisha, aunt Zhenya and me, baby Lizaveta." Knows "Our Lady of the Virgin rejoice." The church is dark. Formidable basses are buzzing incomprehensible and formidable words "like, if, ahu ...". It is remembered that God sees everything and knows everything and will punish for everything. Mom doesn't know everything, and even then it's sickening. And God must be loved! Here Varvara bows at the waist, makes the sign of the cross, throwing her head back, and then touches the floor with a clenched handful. Aunt Zhenya, she rolls her eyes and shakes her head, as if reproachfully. This is how love should be. She turns to see how others love. And again a whistling whisper near the ear: - Stay still! The punishment of the Lord is with you! She crossed herself earnestly, throwing her head back like Varvara, sighed, rolled her eyes, and knelt down. She stood a little. Painful knees. She sat down on her heels. And again near the ear, but no longer a whistling whisper, but a grumbling patter: “Get up right now and behave decently.” This is mom. And the angry basses are humming menacing words. That's all, right, that God will punish her. Just in front of her was a huge chandelier. Candles crackle on it, wax drips. There, even down near the floor, wax had stuck to it. She crawled quietly on her knees to break off a piece. A heavy paw caught her by the shoulder and lifted her off the floor. "Pamper, pamper," barked Varvara. - When you get home, your mother will ask you. Mom will ask. God also sees everything and will also punish. Why can't she do the same as everyone else? Then, twenty years later, she will say in a terrible, decisive moment of her life: "Why can't I do it like others? Why can't I ever pretend to be anything?" After breakfast, Tulzin and Fischer came. Tulzin had a wonderful handkerchief - huge and terribly thick. Like a sheet. He blew his pocket with a drum. Tulzin rubbed his round nose with it, not opening it, but holding it like a bag of rags. The nose was soft, and the bag of rags was hard and unrelenting. The nose turned purple. The one whom Liza will love in nineteen years will wear thin, small, almost feminine handkerchiefs, with a large silky monogram. A clear sum of lies consists of so many terms... What do we know? Fischer, dark-haired, with a crest, a bully, like a young cockerel, bustles around the table in the dining room. He brought a whole box of tin soldiers and hurries Grisha to get his own as soon as possible in order to deploy the battlefield. Tulzin has only one cannon. He keeps it in his pocket and dumps it every time he takes out his handkerchief. Grisha brings his boxes and suddenly notices his sister. Lisa sits on a high armchair and, feeling superfluous, looks frowningly at the military preparations. -- Barbara! Grisha screams furiously. "Get that fool out of here, she's in the way." Varvara comes from the kitchen with her sleeves rolled up. “What are you making a fuss about, brat? she says angrily. Liza shrinks all over, clings tightly to the arms of the armchair. It remains to be seen - maybe they will drag her by the legs ... - I want and I will make a fuss, - Grisha snaps. - And you don't dare to make comments to me, I'm studying now. Lisa perfectly understands the meaning of these words. "I'm studying" means that now it has passed into the jurisdiction of another authorities - and has full right not to listen and not to recognize Baba Varvara. The nursery and the nannies are over. Obviously, Varvara understands all this very well, because she answers less menacingly: - And if you study, then behave like a scientist. Why are you chasing Lizutka? Where should I take her? Aunt Zhenya is resting there, and a strange lady is in the living room. Where do I take it. Well? She is sitting quietly. She doesn't bother anyone. - No, you're lying! It's in the way, Grisha shouts. “We can't place the soldiers properly while she's watching. “But if you can’t, then don’t. An important meal! - Stupid woman! Grisha is all red. He is embarrassed in front of his comrades that some dirty old woman is commanding him. Liza drew her head into her shoulders and quickly shifted her eyes from Varvara to Grisha, from Grisha to Varvara. She is beautiful lady, in front of which two knights are fighting. Barbara protects her colors. “Anyway, she can’t sit here! shouts Grisha and grabs Liza by the legs. But she clung so tightly that Grisha pulled her along with the chair. Tulzin and Fischer do not pay the slightest attention to all these turbulent events. They calmly shake the soldiers out of round bast boxes and arrange them on the table. You won't surprise them with such a fight. At home, things are no better. Aunt, babysitter, younger brothers, older sisters, old girls, sixteen years old. In a word, you will not surprise them. "Well, Grishka Vagulov, are you coming soon?" - Tulzin busily manages and drags out his wonderful handkerchief. The cannon falls to the floor. “Oh yes,” he says. "Here's the artillery." Where to put it? Grisha lets go of Lisa's legs, impressively raises his fist to her very nose and says: "Well, it doesn't matter. Sit. Just don't you dare look at the soldiers and don't you dare breathe, otherwise you'll ruin everything for me here. Do you hear? Don't you dare breathe! Wow, cows! "Korovishcha" sighs with a deep, trembling sigh, gaining air for a long time. It is not known when she will be allowed to breathe again. The boys get to work. Fisher takes out his soldiers. They do not fit the Grishins at all. They are twice as big. They are brightly colored. “These are the grenadiers,” Fischer says proudly. Grisha is unpleasant that they are better than his soldiers. “But there are too few of them. We'll have to arrange them along the edges of the table, like sentries. Then at least it will be clear why they are so huge. -- And why? Tulzin is perplexed. - Well, of course. Sentinels are always chosen by giants. Dangerous service. Everyone is asleep, but he is cheerful ... burda ... waking. Fischer is pleased. “Still,” he says. - These are the heroes! Lisa is insanely curious to look at the characters. She understands that now is not up to her. She quietly slides down from her chair, walks up to the table, stretches her neck and looks closely, as if sniffing. Fuck! Grisha hit her right on the nose with his fist. -- Blood! Blood! someone shouts. First blood splashed on the battlefield. Lisa hears her own sharp squeal. Her eyes are closed. Someone yells. Barbara? Lisa is being carried. After many years she will say: - No, I will never love you. You are a hero. The very word "hero" evokes in me, I don't know why, such melancholy, such despair. I'm telling you I don't know why. Quiet people are close to me. I am at peace with them. Ah, I don't know, I don't know why.

trinity day

In the evening the coachman Tryphon brought several armfuls of freshly cut fragrant reeds and scattered them around the rooms. The girls squealed and jumped, and the boy Grisha followed Tryphon, serious and quiet, and leveled the reeds so that they lay smoothly. In the evening, the girls ran to make bouquets for tomorrow: on Trinity Day it is supposed to go to church with flowers. Grisha also went to fetch his sisters. - What are you doing! Varya shouted. “You are a man, you don’t need any bouquet. - You yourself are a bouquet! ' teased Katya the younger. She was always so teasing. Repeat the spoken word and add: "you yourself." And Grisha never figured out how to answer this, and he was offended. He was the smallest, ugliest, and also funny, because he always had a large piece of cotton sticking out of one ear. His ears often hurt, and the aunt, who was in charge of all illnesses in the house, strictly ordered that at least one ear be plugged. - So that it doesn’t blow through your head. The girls picked flowers, tied bouquets and hid them under a large jasmine bush, in thick grass, so that they would not wither until tomorrow. Grisha did not dare to come up and looked from a distance. When they left, he set to work himself. He twisted for a long time, and everything seemed to him that it would not be strong. Each stem was tied to another with a blade of grass and wrapped in a leaf. The bouquet came out all clumsy and wrong. But Grisha, as though he wanted it, looked him over in a businesslike manner and hid it under the same bush. Great preparations were going on at home. A birch tree was attached to each door, and mother and aunt were talking about some landowner Katomilov, who would come to visit for the first time tomorrow. The unusual greenery in the rooms and the landowner Katomilov, for whom they decided to slaughter chickens, alarmed Grisha's soul terribly. He felt that a new scary life with unknown dangers. He looked around, listened, and, pulling the trigger from an old broken pistol out of his pocket, decided to hide it away. The thing was very valuable; the girls had owned it since Easter itself, went hunting with it in the front garden, chiseled the rotten boards on the balcony with it, smoked it like a pipe—and you never know what else—until they got tired of it and went over to Grisha. Now, in anticipation of disturbing events, Grisha hid the precious little thing in the hallway, under the spittoon. In the evening, before going to bed, he suddenly became worried about his bouquet and ran to visit him. So late, and one more, he had never been in the garden. Everything was - not that terrible, but not as it should be. The white pole in the middle flower bed (it was also convenient to hit it with a trigger) came quite close to the house and swayed a little. Across the road, a small pebble jumped on its paws. Under the jasmine bush it was also not right; at night, instead of green, gray grass grew there, and when Grisha stretched out his hand to feel his bouquet, something rustled in the depths of the bush, and nearby, by the very path, a small match lit up with a light. Grisha thought: "Look, someone has already settled in ..." And he went home on tiptoe. “Someone has settled there,” he said to the sisters. “You yourself settled in!” Katya teased. In the nursery, nanny Agashka tied a small birch to each bed. Grisha considered for a long time whether all the birch trees were the same. - No, my smallest. So I will die. Falling asleep, he remembered his trigger and was afraid that he had not put it under his pillow at night and that the trigger was now suffering alone under the spittoon. I cried a little and fell asleep. In the morning they woke up early, combed everyone smoothly and starched with might and main. Grisha's new shirt was bubbling and living on its own: Grisha could turn freely in it, and she would not have gone mad. The girls rattled their cotton dresses, as hard and sharp as paper. Because the Trinity, and it is necessary that everything be new and beautiful. Grisha looked under the spittoon. The trigger lay quietly, but it was smaller and thinner than ever. - In one night I became a stranger! Grisha reproached him and left him in the same place for the time being. On the way to church, the mother looked at Grisha's bouquet, whispered something to her aunt, and both of them laughed. Grisha spent the whole mass thinking about what to laugh about. Looking at his bouquet and did not understand. The bouquet was strong, it did not fall apart until the end of the service, and when the stems from Grisha's hand became completely warm and disgusting, he began to hold his bouquet right by the head of a large tulip. The bouquet was strong. Mother and aunt made the sign of the cross, rolling their eyes, and whispered about the landowner Katomilov, that he should leave the chicken for dinner too, otherwise he would stay too long and have nothing to eat. They also whispered that the village girls had stolen flowers from the master's garden and Tryphon had to be driven away, why wasn't he looking. Grisha looked at the girls, at their clumsy, red hands holding the stolen gillyflowers, and thought how God would punish them in the next world. "Sneaky, will say how dare you steal!" At home, there is again talk of the landowner Katomilov and magnificent preparations for the reception. They covered the front tablecloth, put a vase of flowers and a box of sardines in the middle of the table. The aunt cleaned the strawberries and garnished the dish with green leaves. Grisha asked if he could take the cotton out of his ear. It seemed indecent to have cotton wool sticking out under the landowner Katomilov. But my aunt wouldn't let me. Finally, the guest drove up to the porch. So quietly and simply that Grisha was even surprised. He was expecting a hell of a lot of noise. They took me to the table. Grisha stood in a corner and watched the guest, in order to experience with him the joyful surprise of the front tablecloth, flowers and sardines. But the guest was a clever thing. He didn't show how it affected him. He sat down, drank a glass of vodka and ate one sardine, but he didn’t even want more, although his mother begged. "Probably never asks me like that." The landowner did not even look at the flowers. Grisha suddenly realized: it's clear that the landowner is pretending! At a party, everyone pretends and plays that they don’t want anything. But, in general, the landowner Katomilov was a good man. He praised everyone, laughed and talked cheerfully even with his aunt. The aunt was embarrassed and bent her fingers so that it would not be visible how the berry juice had eaten into her nails. During dinner, a nasal sing-song voice was heard under the window. - The beggar has come! said the nurse Agashka, who waited at the table. "Give him a piece of the pie!" said the mother. Agashka carried a piece on a plate, and the landowner Katomilov wrapped the nickel in a piece of paper (he was a neat man) and gave it to Grisha. “Here, young man, give it to the beggar.” Grisha went out onto the porch. There, on the steps, an old man sat and raked the cabbage out of the pie with his finger: he broke off the crust and hid it in a bag. The old man was all dry and dirty, a special rustic, earthy mud, dry and unobtrusive. He ate with his tongue and gums, and his lips only got in the way, climbing into his mouth there. Seeing Grisha, the old man began to cross himself and mumbled something about God and benefactors and widows and orphans. It seemed to Grisha that the old man called himself an orphan. He blushed a little, sniffled, and said in a bass voice: “We are orphans too. Our little aunt died. The beggar mumbled again, blinked. Sit next to him and cry. "We're kind!" thought Grisha. "It's good that we're so kind! They gave him everything! They gave him a pie, five kopecks of money!" He wanted so much to cry with quiet, sweet anguish. And did not know how to be. The whole soul expanded and waited. He turned, went into the hall, tore off a piece of old newspaper that covered the table, pulled out his trigger, wrapped it in paper, and ran to the beggar. "Here, this is for you too!" he said, trembling and out of breath. Then he went into the garden and sat alone for a long time, pale, with round, fixed eyes. In the evening, the servants and children gathered in their usual place near the cellar, where the swings were. The girls shouted loudly and played the landowner Katomilov. Varya was a landowner, Katya was the rest of mankind. The landowner rode on a swing-board, his thin legs in checkered stockings resting on the ground, and yelled wildly, waving a linden branch over his head. A line was drawn on the ground, and as soon as the landowner crossed it with checkered feet, humanity rushed at him and, with a triumphant cry, pushed the board back. Grisha was sitting by the cellar on a bench with the cook, Trifon, and the nanny Agashka. On the occasion of the dampness, he had a cap on his head, which made his face cozy and sad. The conversation was about the landowner Katomilov. - He really needs it! said the cook. - You will crumble it with our berries! “I used to buy Shardins in the city,” Agashka put in. - He really needs it! Ate and was like that! Baba is in his thirties, and you should bring it there! Agashka bent down to Grisha. “Well, why are you sitting there, old man? I would go and play with my sisters. Sitting, sitting like a kuksa! “He needs it very much,” the cook pulled out a skein of her thought, long and all the same. - He didn't even think... - Nanny, Agasha! Grisha was suddenly all worried. - Who gives everything to the poor, the unfortunate, that saint? That saint? “Holy, holy,” Agashka answered quickly. - And I did not think to sit in the evening. Ate, drank, and goodbye! - Landowner Katomilov! Katya squeals, pushing the swing. Grisha sits all quiet and pale. Puffy cheeks hang down slightly, tied with a bonnet ribbon. Round eyes are intensely and openly looking directly into the sky.

inanimate beast

The tree was fun. There were many guests, both big and small. There was even one boy about whom the nanny whispered to Katya that he had been flogged today. It was so interesting that Katya did not leave his side for almost the whole evening; she kept waiting for him to say something special, and looked at him with respect and fear. But the whipped boy behaved like the most ordinary, begging for gingerbread, blew the trumpet and clapped crackers, so that Katya, bitterly enough, had to be disappointed and move away from him. The evening was already coming to an end, and the smallest, loudly roaring guys began to equip for departure, when Katya received her main gift - a large woolen ram. He was all soft, with a long meek muzzle and human eyes, smelled of sour fur, and, if you pull his head down, mumbled affectionately and insistently: me-e! The ram struck Katya with his sight, smell, and voice, so that she even, to clear her conscience, asked her mother: - He's not alive, is he? The mother turned away her birdlike face and said nothing; she had not answered anything to Katya for a long time, she had no time for everything. Katya sighed and went into the dining room to give the ram milk to drink. She stuck his muzzle right into the milk jug, so that he was wet up to his eyes. A strange young lady came up, shook her head: - Ay-ay, what are you doing! Is it possible to feed an inanimate animal with living milk! He will fall from it. He needs empty milk to give. Like this. She scooped up an empty cup in the air, raised the cup to the ram and smacked her lips. -- Understood? -- Understood. Why is the cat real? - So it is necessary. Each animal has its own custom. For the living - living, for the inanimate - empty. The woolen ram lived in the nursery, in the corner, behind the nurse's chest. Katya loved him, and from this love he became dirtier and crested every day, and he spoke gentle me-e ever more quietly. And because he became dirty, my mother did not allow me to put him with me at dinner. Dinner was not fun at all. Father was silent, mother was silent. No one even turned around when Katya, after the cake, curtsied and said in the thin voice of an intelligent girl: "Merci, papa!" Mercy, Mom! One day they sat down to dinner without their mother at all. She returned home after the soup and shouted loudly from the hall that there were a lot of people on the rink. And when she came up to the table, dad looked at her and suddenly the decanter cracked on the floor. -- What's wrong with you? Mom shouted. - And the fact that you have a blouse on your back unbuttoned. He shouted something else, but the nurse grabbed Katya from her chair and dragged her into the nursery. After that, for many days Katya did not see either her father or mother, and her whole life went somehow fake. Dinner was brought in from the servants' kitchen, the cook would come and whisper to the nanny: "And he to her... and she to him... Yes, you, she says... Out!" And she told him ... and he told her ... They whispered, rustled. Some women with fox muzzles began to come from the kitchen, blinking at Katya, asking the nanny, whispering, rustling: - And he to her ... W-out! And she told him ... The nanny often left the yard. Then the fox women climbed into the nursery, rummaged in the corners and threatened Katya with a clumsy finger. And without women it was even worse. Scary. It was impossible to walk into large rooms: empty, noisy. The curtains on the doors were blowing, the clock on the mantel was ticking sternly. And everywhere there was "this": "And he to her... And she to him..." In the nursery before dinner, the corners became darker, as if they were moving. And in the corner a fire pit crackled - the stove's daughter, clicked the shutter, bared her red teeth and ate firewood. It was impossible to approach her: she was furious, she bit Katya once on the finger. Won't beckon anymore. Everything was restless, not the same as before. It was quiet only behind the chest, where a woolen ram, an inanimate animal, settled. He ate pencils, an old ribbon, nanny's glasses - whatever God would send, looked at Katya meekly and kindly, did not contradict her in anything and understood everything. Once, somehow, she got naughty, and he went there too, - at least he turned his face away, but it was clear that he was laughing. And when Katya tied up his throat with a rag, he fell ill so pitifully that she herself began to cry on the sly. It was very bad at night. All over the house there was a fuss, squeaking. Katya woke up, called the nanny. -- Kush! Sleep! Rats run around, now they'll bite your nose off! Katya pulled the blanket over her head, thought about the woolen ram, and when she felt him, dear, inanimate, close, she fell asleep peacefully. And once in the morning they looked out the window with a ram. Suddenly they see: someone brown, shabby, like a cat, only with a long tail, is running through the yard at a shallow jog. - Nanny, Nanny! Look what a filthy cat! The nanny came up, craned her neck. - It's a rat, not a cat! Rat. Look healthy! A sort of any cat will bite! Rat! She pronounces this word so disgustingly, stretching her mouth, and, as old cat , she gnashed her teeth, which made Katya ache in the stomach from disgust and fear. And the rat, waddling its belly, busily and economically trotted to the neighboring barn and, crouching, crawled under the cellar shutter. The cook came and said that there were so many rats that they would soon eat their heads off. - In the pantry near the master's suitcase, all the corners were gnawed off. Such cheeky! I enter, and she sits and does not cry! In the evening, fox women came, brought a bottle and smelly fish. We ate, treated the nanny and then everyone laughed at something. - Are you all with a ram? said the fatter woman to Katya. “It’s time for him to be slaughtered.” There's a leg dangling, and the fur has peeled off. Kaput to him soon, your ram. “Well, stop teasing,” the nurse stopped. - Why are you rushing to the orphan. - I'm not teasing, I'm talking. The bast will come out of it, and kaput. A living body eats and drinks, and therefore lives, but a rag, no matter how wort, will still fall apart. And she is not an orphan at all, but her mother, perhaps, she rides past the house and laughs into her fist. Huh-huh-huh! The women were completely steamed with laughter, and the nanny, dipping a piece of sugar into her glass, gave Katya a suck. Katya's nanny scratched her throat with sugar, her ears rang, and she pulled the ram's head. - He is not simple: he, you hear, mumbles! -- Hugh! Oh you stupid! - the fat woman grunted again. Pull the door and it will creak. If it was real, he would have squealed. The women drank some more and began to whisper the old words: “And he to her… Out there… And she to him…” And Katya went behind the chest with the ram and began to suffer. Lifeless sheep. Will perish. Bast will come out, and kaput. At least I could eat a little! She took a biscuit from the windowsill, put it right under the muzzle of the ram, and turned away herself so as not to embarrass him. Maybe he will bite off a little... She waited, turned around, - no, the cracker was not touched. “But I’ll take a bite myself, otherwise he might be ashamed to start.” She bit off the tip, again slipped it to the ram, turned away, waited. And again the ram did not touch the cracker. -- What? Can not? You're not alive, you can't! And the woolen ram, an inanimate animal, answered meek and sad with its whole muzzle: - I can't! I'm not a living animal, I can't! - Well, call me yourself! Say: meh! Well, meh! Can not? Can not! And from pity and love for the poor inanimate, the soul tormented and yearned so sweetly. Katya fell asleep on a pillow wet with tears and immediately went for a walk along the green path, and the ram ran beside him, nibbling grass, shouting himself, himself shouting me-e and laughing. Wow, how healthy he was, he will outlive everyone! The morning was dull, dark, restless, and suddenly dad showed up. He came all grey, angry, with a shaggy beard, looked from under his brows, like a goat. He poked Katya's hand for kissing and ordered the nanny to clean everything up, because the teacher would come. Gone. The next day there was a tinkle in the front door. The nanny ran out, returned, fussed. - Your teacher has come, her muzzle is like that of a dog, you will have it already! The teacher tapped her heels and held out her hand to Katya. She really looked like an old smart watch dog, even around her eyes she had some kind of yellow marks, and she turned her head quickly and snapped her teeth at the same time, as if she was catching a fly. She examined the nursery and said to the nanny: "Are you a nanny?" So, please, take all these toys away and go somewhere far away so that the child does not see them. All these donkeys, rams - get out! Toys must be approached consistently and rationally, otherwise - the morbidity of fantasy and the resulting harm. Katya, come to me! She took out a rubber ball from her pocket and, clicking her teeth, began to twirl the ball and sing: “Jump, jump, back and forth, from above, from below, sideways, straight ahead. Repeat after me: jump, jump ... Ah, what an undeveloped child !" Katya was silent and smiled pitifully so as not to cry. The nanny was taking away the toys, and the ram dipped at the door. -- Pay attention to the surface of this ball. What do you see? You can see that it is two-tone. One side is blue, the other is white. Show me blue. Try to focus. She left, holding out her hand to Katya again. - Tomorrow we will weave baskets! Katya was trembling all evening and could not eat anything. I kept thinking about the ram, but I was afraid to ask about it. "It's bad for the inanimate! She can't do anything. She can't say, she can't call. And she said: get out!" From this terrible word, the whole soul ached and went cold. In the evening the women came, helped themselves, whispered: - And he is hers, and she is his ... And again: - Out! Out! Katya woke up at dawn from a terrible, unprecedented fear and longing. It was like someone had called her. Sat down and listened. - Meh! Meh! So plaintively, persistently the ram calls! An undead animal screams. She jumped out of bed all cold, her fists pressed tightly to her chest, listening. Here it is again: - Meh! Meh! From somewhere in the hallway. He means there... She opened the door. - Meh! From the closet. Pushed there. Not locked. The dawn is cloudy, dim, but everything is already visible. Some boxes, knots. - Meh! Meh! At the very window, dark spots were swarming, and there was a ram. Here jumped dark, grabbed him by the head, pulling. - Meh! Meh! And here are two more, tearing the sides, cracking the skin. -- Rats! Rats! Katya recalled Nyanka's bared teeth. She trembled all over, pressed her fists tighter. And he didn't scream anymore. He was no more. Silently a fat rat dragged gray shreds, soft pieces, ruffled a washcloth. Katya crawled into bed, covered herself with her head, was silent and did not cry. She was afraid that the nanny would wake up, snarl like a cat and laugh with fox women over the woolen death of an inanimate beast. All quieted down, shrank into a ball. He will live quietly, quietly, so that no one will know anything.

Book June

The huge landowner's house, the large family, the expanse of light, strong air, after the quiet St. Petersburg apartment stuffed with carpets and furniture, immediately tired Katya, who had come to recover after a long illness. The hostess herself, Katya's aunt, was deaf, and therefore the whole house screamed. The high rooms hummed, the dogs barked, the cats mewed, the village servants rattled their cymbals, the children roared and quarreled. There were four children: Vasya, a fifteen-year-old schoolboy, a bully and a bully, and two girls taken from the institute for the summer. The eldest son, Grisha, Katya's age, was not at home. He was visiting a friend in Novgorod and was supposed to arrive soon. They often talked about Grisha, and, apparently, he was a hero and a favorite in the house. The head of the family, Uncle Tema, who was round with a gray mustache and looked like a huge cat, squinted, squinted, and made fun of Katya. - What, turkey, are you bored? Just wait, Grishenka will come, he will twist your head. -- Think! shouted the aunt (like all the deaf, she shouted the loudest). -- Think! Katenka is from St. Petersburg, the Novgorod gymnasium students will surprise her. Katenka, you are probably being looked after by a lot of gentlemen? Come on, admit it! Auntie winked at everyone, and Katya, realizing that they were laughing at her, smiled with trembling lips. Cousins ​​Manya and Lyubochka greeted her cordially and reverently inspected her wardrobe: a blue sailor suit, a ceremonial pique dress, and white blouses. -- Ahah! - mechanically repeated the eleven-year-old Lyubochka. “I love Petersburg toilets,” Manya said. Everything shines like silk! - picked up Lyubochka. They took Katya for a walk. Behind the garden they showed a swampy river densely overgrown with forget-me-nots, where a calf had drowned. - The underwater swamp sucked him in and did not throw out the bones. We are not allowed to swim there. Rocked Katya on a swing. But then, when Katya ceased to be "new", the attitude quickly changed, and the girls even began to giggle at her on the sly. Vasya, too, seemed to be making fun of her, inventing some nonsense. Suddenly he comes up, bows his head and asks: “Madmazelle Catherine, would you be kind enough to explain to me exactly how the gully is in French?” Everything was boring, unpleasant and tiring. "How ugly they are," thought Katya. They ate carp in sour cream, pies with burbot, pigs. All this is not like the delicate dry wings of a hazel grouse, there, at home. The maids went to milk the cows. The call was answered "faq". The huge girl with a black mustache who served at the table looked like a soldier wearing a woman's jacket. Katya was surprised to learn that this monster was only eighteen years old. .. It was a joy to go into the front garden with a book by A. Tolstoy in embossed binding. And read aloud: You do not see perfection in him, And he could not seduce you with himself, Only secret thoughts, torments and bliss He is a found excuse for you. And each time the words "torment and bliss" took my breath away and made me want to cry sweetly. - Ah! shouted from the house. - Katya-u! Drink tea! And at home again the cry, ringing, rumble. Cheerful dogs beat on the knees with hard tails, the cat jumps on the table and, turning back, smears his face with his tail. All tails and muzzles ... Shortly before Ivanov's day, Grisha returned. Katya was not at home when he arrived. Passing through the dining room, she saw Vasya through the window, who was talking to a tall, long-nosed boy in a white tunic. “Aunt Zhenya brought her cousin here,” Vasya said. "Well, what is she?" the boy asked. - So... The fool is bluish. Katya quickly moved away from the window. - Bluish. Maybe "stupid"? Bluish ... how strange ... She went out into the yard. The long-nosed Grisha greeted him merrily, went up the porch, looked at her through the window pane, screwed up his eyes and pretended to twist his mustache. "Fool!" Katya thought. She sighed and went into the garden. At dinner, Grisha behaved noisily. All the time he attacked Varvara, the mustachioed girl, that she did not know how to serve. "You should shut up," Uncle Tema said. “Look, your nose has grown even more. And the bully Vasya recited in a singsong voice: - The nose is huge, the nose is terrible, You have placed in your ends And suburbs, and villages, And posters, and palaces. “Such big guys, and everyone quarrels,” shouted the aunt. And, turning to Aunt Zhenya, she said: “Two years ago I took them with me to Pskov. Let, I think, the boys look at the ancient city. Early in the morning I went on business and I told them: you call, order coffee to be served, and then run, look around the city. I'll be back for lunch. Returned at two o'clock. What? The curtains, as they were, are drawn down, and both are in bed. What do I say to you? What are you lying about? Did you drink coffee? "Not". What are you? "Yes, this idiot does not want to call." "Why don't you call yourself?" "Yes, here's another! Why on earth? He will lie, and I'll run around like an errand boy." - "And why should I be obliged to try for him?" So after all, the two blockheads lay until the very dinner. The days went by just as noisy. With the arrival of Grisha, there was, perhaps, even more shouting and arguing. Vasya always considered himself offended by something and taunted everyone. Once at dinner, Uncle Theme, who adored Alexander II in his youth, showed Katya his huge gold watch, under the lid of which was inserted a miniature of the emperor and empress. And he told how he had purposely traveled to Petersburg in order to see the sovereign somehow. “I suppose you wouldn’t have gone to look at me,” Vasya grumbled offendedly. Grisha became more and more indignant at the mustachioed Varvara. “When she knocks on my door with her cheeks in the morning, my nerves are upset all day afterwards. -- Ha-ha! Vasya screamed. - Lanites! He means to say with his hands. - This is not a maid, but a man. I declare once and for all: I do not want to wake up when she wakes me up. And bass. “He is angry that Pasha was refused,” Vasya shouted. - Pasha was pretty. Grisha jumped up, red as a beetroot. - Excuse me, - he turned to his parents, pointing to Vasya. “But I cannot sit at the same table with this relative of yours. He paid no attention to Katya. Only once, meeting her at the gate with a book in her hands, he asked: - What would you like to read? And without waiting for an answer, he left. And Varvara, who was passing by, baring her teeth like an evil cat, said, looking into Katya's face with her whitened eyes: Katya did not understand these words, but Varvara's eyes were frightened. That evening, after sitting for a long time with Aunt Zhenya, who was preparing cookies for Artemyev's Day, for Uncle Theme's name day, Katya went out into the yard to look at the moon. Downstairs, by the lighted window of the wing, she saw Varvara. Varvara stood on a log, obviously brought on purpose by her, and looked out the window. Hearing Katya's footsteps, she waved her hand and whispered: "Come here." She grabbed her arm and helped her to stand on the log. - Wow, look. Katya saw Vasya on the couch. He slept. Grisha was lying on the floor, on the sennik, and, hanging his head low, he was reading a book, slipping it under the candle. - What are you watching? Katya wondered. “Shhh…” Barbara yelled. Her face was dull, tense, her mouth half-open attentively and as if bewildered. The eyes are fixed motionless. Katya released her hand and left. How strange she is! On Artemiev Day, guests, merchants, and a landowner came. The abbot arrived, huge, broad-browed, similar to the Vasnetsov hero. He arrived in a racing droshky and at dinner he talked all about the crops, and about hayfields, and Uncle Tema praised him for what a wonderful host he was. - What weather are worth! - said the abbot. - What meadows! What fields! June. I'm driving, I'm looking, and as if a book of unspeakable secrets is opening before me... June. Katya liked the words about the book. She looked at the abbot for a long time and waited. But he was talking only about buying a grove and fodder grasses. In the evening, Katya sat in front of the mirror in a cotton dressing gown, lit a candle, examined her thin, freckled face. "I'm boring," she thought. "I'm bored, everything is boring." I remembered the offending word. "Bluish. The truth is bluish." She sighed. "Tomorrow is Midsummer's Day. We'll go to the monastery." Haven't slept in the house yet. Grisha could be heard rolling balls behind the wall in the billiard room. Suddenly the door flew open and Varvara flew in like a whirlwind, red-faced, bared, excited. - Aren't you sleeping? What are you waiting for... What is this? BUT? Here I'll put you down. I'll take you alive. She grabbed Katya in an armful and, quickly running her fingers over her thin ribs, tickled and laughed and kept saying: Do you sleep like this? Katya gasped, squealed, fought back, but strong hands held her, fingered her, turned her around. - Let go! I will die. Let me go... My heart was pounding, my breath caught, my whole body was screaming, beating and writhing. And suddenly, seeing Varvara's bared teeth, her whitened eyes, she realized that she was not joking, and not playing, but torturing, killing and could not stop. - Grisha! Grisha! she screamed in despair. And immediately Varvara let her go. Grisha stood at the door. "Get out, you fool." What are you, crazy? "Well, you can't even play..." Varvara drawled listlessly, and seemed to sink all over - her face, her hands - and, staggering, went out of the room. - Grisha! Grisha! Katya screamed again. She didn't know why she was screaming. Some kind of tangle pressed down on his throat and made him scream with a screech, with a wheeze, all this last word: "Grisha!" And, screeching and twitching her legs, she reached out to him, seeking protection, put her arms around his neck and, pressing her face against his cheek, kept repeating: "Grisha, Grisha!" He seated her on the sofa, knelt beside her, gently stroking her shoulders in a chintz dressing gown. She looked into his face, saw embarrassed, bewildered eyes, and began to cry even harder. “You are kind, Grisha. You are kind. Grisha turned his head and, finding with his lips that thin hand tightly embracing him, kissed him timidly on the bend at the elbow. Katya quieted down. The strange warmth of Grisha's lips... She froze and listened to how this warmth floated under her skin, rang in her ears like a sweet ringing, and, filling her eyelids heavily, closed her eyes. Then she herself put her hand to his lips, that same place on the fold, and he kissed her again. And again Katya heard a sweet ringing and warmth and blissful heavy weakness that closed her eyes. "Don't be afraid, Katenka," Grisha said in a broken voice. She dare not return. If you like, I'll sit in the billiard room... lock the door. His face was kind and guilty. And a vein bulged across his forehead. And for some reason it became scary from his guilty eyes. - Go, Grisha, go! He looked at her fearfully and stood up. - Go! She pushed him towards the door. Clicked the latch. -- My God! My God! How terrible it all is... She raised her hand and gently touched her lips to the place where Grisha kissed. Silky, vanilla, warm taste... And she froze, trembled, groaned. -- Ltd! How to live now? God help me! The candle on the table swam, burned out, swaying black fire. -- God help me! I'm wrong. Katya stood facing the dark square of the image and folded her arms. “Our Father, who art thou... Those are not the right words... She didn’t know the words by which one could say to God what you don’t understand, and ask for what you don’t know... Closing her eyes tightly, she made the sign of the cross: Lord, forgive me... And again it seemed that the wrong words... The candle went out, but this made the room seem brighter. The white night was approaching dawn. "Lord, Lord," repeated Katya, and she pushed the door into the garden. I didn't dare to move. She was afraid to tap her heel, to rustle her dress - such an indescribable blue silvery silence was on the ground. Thus the immovable, lush clumps of trees fell silent and so silent, as only living beings, who feel, can remain silent and calm down. "What's going on here? What's going on here?" Katya thought in a sort of horror. "I didn't know any of that." Everything seemed to be exhausted - and these magnificent clouds, and the invisible light, and the motionless air, everything was overflowing with some kind of excess, powerful and irresistible and unknowable, for which there is no organ in the senses and a word in human language. A quiet and yet too unexpectedly loud trill in the air made her flinch. Large, small, poured from nowhere, poured, bounced off like silver peas ... It broke off ... - Nightingale? And even quieter and more intense became after this "their" voices. Yes, "they" were all together, all at the same time. Only the little human being, admiring to the point of horror, was completely alien. All "they" knew something. This little human being was only thinking. - June, - the book of unspeakable secrets came to mind... - June... And the little soul tossed about in anguish. -- God! God! Terrible in your light. How can I be? And what is it, this, all this? And she kept looking for words, and kept thinking that words would solve and calm her. She clasped her thin shoulders with her hands, as if not herself, as if she wanted to save, preserve the fragile body entrusted to her, and take her bestial and divine secrets from the chaos that had washed over him. And, lowering her head, she said in submissive despair those only words that are the only ones for all souls, both great and small, both blind and wise. .. - Lord, - she said, - Thy name be hallowed... And Thy will be done...

Somewhere in the rear

Before starting hostilities, the boys herded fat Buba into the front hall and locked the door behind her. Buba roared with a squeal. She will roar and listen to see if her roar reached her mother. But mother sat quietly in her room and did not respond to Bubin's roar. She passed through the front bonnet and said reproachfully: - Oh, how embarrassing! Such a big girl and crying. "Leave me alone, please," Buba cut her off angrily. - I'm not crying for you, but I'm crying for my mother. As the saying goes, a drop will gouge a stone. In the end, my mother showed up at the front door. -- What happened? she asked, blinking her eyes. “Your screeching will give me a migraine again. Why are you crying? - Ma-alchiki don't want to play with me. Boo-u-u! Mom pulled the door handle. - Locked up? Now open! How dare you lock yourself up? Do you hear? Door opened. Two gloomy types, eight and five years old, both snub-nosed, both crested, silently snuffled their noses. "Why don't you want to play with Buba?" How are you not ashamed to offend your sister? "We're at war," said the older guy. “Women are not allowed to go to war. “They won’t let you in,” the younger repeated in a bass voice. “Well, what a trifle,” my mother reasoned, “play like she’s a general.” After all, this is not a real war, this is a game, an area of ​​\u200b\u200bfantasy. My God, how you bored me! The older guy looked at Buba frowningly. What kind of general is she? She is in a skirt and roars all the time. "But the Scots wear skirts, don't they?" So they don't roar. - How do you know? The older guy was confused. “You better go take fish oil,” Mom called. “Listen, Kitty! And then you screw up again. Kitty shook his head. - No way! I don't agree with the current price. Kotka did not like fish oil. For each reception he was supposed to ten centimes. Kotka was greedy, he had a piggy bank, he often shook it and listened to his capital rattle. He did not even suspect that his older brother, a proud lyceum student, had long adapted to picking out some profit through the crack of a piggy bank with his mother's nail file. But this work was dangerous and difficult, painstaking, and it was not often possible to earn extra money in this way for an illegal syusetka. Kotka did not suspect this scam. He was not capable of it. He was just an honest businessman, he did not miss his own and conducted open trade with his mother. For a spoonful of fish oil he took ten centimes. For allowing his ears to be washed, he demanded five centimes, for cleaning his nails - ten, at the rate of a centime per finger; to bathe with soap - tore an inhuman price: twenty centimes, and he reserved the right to squeal when his head was washed, and the foam got into his eyes. Recently, his commercial genius has developed so much that he demanded another ten centimes for getting out of the bath, otherwise, he would sit and get cold, weaken, catch a cold and die. -- Aha! Don't want to die? Well, so drive ten centimes and none. Even once, when he wanted to buy a pencil with a cap, he thought of a loan and decided to take it in advance for two baths and for separate ears, which are washed in the morning without a bath. But things somehow did not work out: my mother did not like it. Then he decided to recoup on fish oil, which, everyone knows, is a terrible muck, and there are even those who cannot take it in their mouths at all. One boy said that as if he swallowed a spoon, this fat would now come out of him through his nose, through his ears and through his eyes, and that one could even go blind from this. Just think - such a risk, and all for ten centimes. "I don't agree with the previous price," repeated Kotka firmly. - Life has become so expensive, it is impossible to take fish oil for ten centimes. I do not want! Look for yourself another fool to drink your fat, but I do not agree. -- You are crazy! Mom was horrified. - How do you answer? What is that tone? “Well, ask whoever you want,” Kotka did not give up, “it’s impossible, for such a price. - Well, just wait, dad will come, he will give it to you. See if he talks to you for a long time. Kotka did not particularly like this prospect. Papa was something like an ancient battering ram, which was brought to the fortress, which for a long time did not want to give up. The battering ram beat on the gates of the fortress, and dad went into the bedroom and took out the rubber belt that he wore on the beach from the chest of drawers and whistled with this belt through the air - bang-g! live-g! The fortress, as a rule, surrendered before the ram was set in motion. But in this case, it meant a lot to delay. Will dad come for dinner yet. Or maybe he will bring someone else with him. Or maybe he will be busy with something or upset and say to his mother: - My God! Can't you even eat in peace? Mom took Buba away. "Come on, Bubochka, I don't want you to play with those bad boys." You're a good girl, play with your doll. But Buba, although it was pleasant to hear that she was a good girl, did not at all want to play with the doll when the boys would butcher the war and beat each other with sofa cushions. Therefore, although she went with her mother, she pulled her head into her shoulders and wept thinly. Fat Buba had the soul of Joan of Arc, and then suddenly, if you please, turn the doll! And, most importantly, it’s a shame that Petya, nicknamed Pichuga, is younger than her, and suddenly has the right to play war, but she doesn’t. Pichuga is despicable, lisping, illiterate, a coward and a toady. It is absolutely impossible to endure humiliation from him. And suddenly Pichuga, together with Kotka, drive her out and lock the doors behind her. In the morning, when she went to look at their new cannon and stuck her finger in its mouth, this short man, a fawn, a year younger than her, squealed in a piggy voice and deliberately squealed loudly so that Kotka could hear from the dining room. And here she sits alone in the nursery and bitterly ponders her unsuccessful life. And in the living room there is a war. - Who will be the aggressor? “I am,” Pichuga declares in a bass voice. -- You? Good, - Kotka agrees suspiciously quickly. - So, lie down on the sofa, and I will tear you up. -- Why? - Pichuga is scared. “Because the aggressor is a scoundrel, everyone scolds him, and hates him, and exterminates him. -- I don't want! Pichuga is weakly defending himself. "It's too late now, you said it yourself." Pichuga thinks. -- Good! he decides. "And then you'll be the aggressor." -- Okay. Lie down. Pichuga lays down on the sofa with a sigh. The cat whoops at him and, first of all, rubs his ears and shakes his shoulders. Pichuga sniffles, endures and thinks: "Okay. But then I'll show you." The cat grabs the corner sofa cushion and hits Pichug on the back with it from all over. Dust is flying from the pillow. The pichuga is croaking. -- It is for you! It is for you! Don't be aggressive next time! - Kotka says and gallops, red, crested. "Okay! - Pichuga thinks. - That's all I tell you too." Finally Kotka got tired. “Well, that’s enough,” he says, “get up!” Game over. Pichuga gets off the couch, blinks, puffs out. Well, now you're the aggressor. Lie down, now I'll blow you up. But Kotka calmly goes to the window and says: - No, I'm tired, the game is over. - How tired? yells Pichuga. The whole plan of revenge collapsed. Pichuga, silently groaning under the blows of the enemy, in the name of enjoying the coming retribution, now helplessly opens his lips and is about to roar. - What are you crying about? - Kotka asks coldly. - Do you really want to play? Well, if you want to play, let's start the game over. You will again be the aggressor. Get down! Since the game begins with the fact that you are the aggressor. Well! Understood? - And then you? - Pichuga blossoms. - Well, of course. Well, lie down soon, I'll blow you up. "Well, you wait," thinks Pichuga, and with a sigh, he lies down busily. And again Kotka rubs his ears and beats him with a pillow. - Well, it will be with you, get up! Game over. I'm tired. I can't beat you from morning to night, I'm tired. - So go to bed soon! - Pichuga is worried, rolling head over heels from the sofa. “Now you are the aggressor. “The game is over,” Kotka says calmly. -- I'm tired. Pichuga silently opens his mouth, shakes his head, and large tears run down his cheeks. - Why are you crying? asks Kotka contemptuously. - Do you want to start again? “I want you to ag-re-quarrel,” sobs Pichuga. The cat thought for a moment. - Then there will be such a game that the aggressor himself beats. He is vicious and attacks everyone without warning. Go ask your mom if you don't believe me. Aha! If you want to play, then lie down. And I will attack you without warning. Well, live! And then I'll think about it. But Pichuga was already roaring at the top of his lungs. He realized that he would never succeed in triumphing over the enemy. Some mighty laws always turn against him. One consolation remained for him - to notify the whole world of his despair. And he roared, squealed and even stamped his feet. -- My God! What are they doing here? Mom ran into the room. Why did you tear the pillow? Who let you fight with pillows? Kotka, did you beat him again? Why can't you play like a human, but certainly like runaway convicts? Kitty, go, old fool, to the dining room and don't you dare touch Pichuga. Pichuga, vile type, howler, go to the nursery. In the nursery, Pichuga, still sobbing, sat down next to Buba and carefully touched her doll's leg. In this gesture there was remorse, there was humility and a consciousness of hopelessness. The gesture said: "I surrender, take me with you." But Buba quickly pushed the doll's leg away and even wiped it off with her sleeve, in order to emphasize her disgust for Pichuga. "Don't you dare touch it, please!" she said contemptuously. "You don't understand the puppet." You are a man. Here. So there is nothing!