A. S. Pushkin's story "The Shot" was written in 1830 and entered the famous Boldino cycle of the writer "Belkin's Tale". The story belongs to the literary direction of realism and tells about the history of the duel between the retired hussar Silvio and Count B ***. The story consists of two sections, in the first the narrator learns the beginning of the story from Silvio, in the second - its completion from the count.
main characters
Silvio- a man about thirty-five years old, served in the hussars, but retired, after which he settled in a poor place. His greatest passion was pistol shooting, for many years he lived with the intention of bringing the duel with the count to the end.
Narrator- a young army officer who, after the service, left for the village. On his behalf, the story is told in the work, he was familiar with all the heroes of the story.
Other characters
Count B***- "a man of about thirty-two, beautiful in appearance", Silvio's opponent in a duel.
Countess B*** (Masha)- "beauty", the wife of Count B ***.
Chapter 1
The life of army officers in the town of *** was quite monotonous and boring, the military "besides their uniforms, did not see anything."
The only one who stood out in their society was the retired hussar Silvio - a gloomy man with a tough temper and an evil tongue, about whom the officers knew practically nothing. He always generously received the military in his house, and his favorite pastime was pistol shooting, which he mastered perfectly.
One evening the officers at Silvio's sat down to play cards. As a rule, the owner was always silent during the game, without words correcting the mistakes of the players in the records. At that time, among the officers was a newcomer, who did not know about the habits of Silvio. Noticing the actions of the owner, he flared up and threw a copper candlestick at Silvio. Angry, the owner asked him to leave.
Contrary to the expectations of the officers, Silvio did not take revenge on the offender, which shook his reputation among the military, but over time this story was forgotten.
One day, Silvio received a letter, which he read with impatience, after which he announced to the officers that he urgently needed to leave, and he invites everyone to visit him "for the last time". After dinner, Silvio asked the narrator, with whom he was on friendly terms, to stay and talk. To the amazement of the interlocutor, Silvio said that he did not then challenge the officer to a duel, because he had no right to expose himself to mortal danger - “six years ago I received a slap in the face, and my enemy is still alive.”
In his youth, serving in the *** Hussars, Silvio was "the first brawler in the army", constantly participating in duels and officer revels. His comrades adored him, and the commanders looked at him as a "necessary evil". However, somehow a man of “a rich and noble family” was transferred to them. He tried to make friends with Silvio, but the man, jealous of the success, luck and status of the newcomer, hated him. Once, at a ball with a Polish landowner, Silvio quarreled with the favorite of fortune, he flared up and slapped him.
The duel was scheduled for dawn. They cast lots, the opponent was the first to shoot. He fired and hit Silvio in the cap. Silvio's turn came, however, enraged by the opponent's complete indifference to what was happening (he calmly ate cherries while waiting for the shot), the man lowered his gun and, saying that he did not want to interfere with his breakfast, ended the fight.
After what happened, Silvio retired and thought about revenge every day, and finally the time has come. The owner showed the narrator the letter that had arrived, which said that the "famous person" - the same man, was soon to be married. Silvio travels to Moscow, wanting to see "whether he [the rival] will accept death before his wedding with indifference, as he once waited for her behind the cherries."
Chapter 2
Several years have passed. Due to domestic circumstances, the narrator settled in the "poor village of N** county". He was very lonely here - neither books, nor communication with the housekeeper, nor conversations with "bitter" neighbors saved him from boredom. However, “in the second spring” of life in the village, the narrator learns that the owners, Count and Countess B ***, are coming to the neighboring rich estate.
The neighbors received the narrator very friendly. During a friendly conversation with the count and countess, the narrator noticed a picture that "was shot through with two bullets, planted one in the other" and, noting the accuracy of the shooter, remembered his old friend Silvio. Hearing this name, the hosts were excited. As it turned out, the count was the same officer whom Silvio wanted to avenge for many years for his indifference during the duel, and the picture is a “monument” to their last meeting.
Five years ago, the count married, and he and the countess spent their honeymoon here in the village. Once, upon returning from a horse ride, the count was informed that a man who did not want to introduce himself was waiting for him in the office. Recognizing Silvio in the dusty, bearded guest, the count felt "how his hair suddenly stood on end." Silvio announced that he had come to finish their duel and measured twelve paces. The count ordered no one to be let in. Drawing a pistol, Silvio, testing the patience of the enemy, hesitated for a long time, and then lowered the weapon, offering to cast lots. This time it fell to the Count to shoot first again: “You, Count, are devilishly happy,” said Silvio with a grin.
The count fired and hit the painting. At the moment when Silvio began to take aim, Masha ran into the room and threw herself on her husband's neck. The count, trying to calm his wife, said that he was joking with an old friend. Masha turned to Silvio, asking if this was really so. “He always jokes, Countess,” Silvio answered her; - once he gave me a joking slap in the face, jokingly shot me through this cap, jokingly gave me a miss now; now I have a desire to joke ... "- and wanted to shoot at the count, but the woman threw herself at the feet of Silvio. In a rage, the count shouted at her to get up, ordering the enemy to finally fire. However, Silvio said that he was already pleased with the duel, because he saw the confusion and timidity of the count. And with the words “You will remember me. I betray you to your conscience, ”he headed for the exit, but stopping at the door, almost without aiming, he shot at the picture exactly in the place where the count had previously hit. Silvio left before the Count could recover.
The narrator did not meet Silvio again, but he heard that he “during the indignation of Alexander Ypsilanti, led a detachment of etherists and was killed in the battle of Skulyany”.
Conclusion
In The Shot, as in the rest of the works of the Belkin Tales cycle, Pushkin raises the theme of the role of fate, chance in a person's life. The author reflects on whether someone can control the fate of another person and whether personal satisfaction from victory is really important if the happiness of another person is at stake. The hero of the story, Silvio, realizes at a decisive moment that the count is an ordinary person who is able to be afraid of death, therefore, in the end, he forgives his enemy, leaving the situation “on his conscience”.
A brief retelling of Pushkin's "Shot" will be useful to schoolchildren, students and anyone who is fond of classical Russian literature.
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Average rating: 4.1. Total ratings received: 1920.
Georgy Pavlovich Tushkan
First shot
Editorial
The novel "The First Shot" is the last work of the writer Georgy Pavlovich Tushkan. He brought the final chapters of the novel to the publishing house a few days before his sudden, untimely death. In his letter attached to the manuscript, he wrote:
“I wanted to show today's young generation - teenagers, boys and girls - how fifty years ago their young peers, the heroes of this book, carried away and inspired by great revolutionary ideas, stood under the banner of Lenin, how they participated in the civil war to the best of their ability, created the first Komsomol cells. Before their eyes, in the fire and storm of the civil war, the Soviet state was born, and with it the characters of the young Leninists matured and tempered.
The novel contains many autobiographical features. The author spent his childhood and youth in Yekaterinoslav and Crimea. Impressions and memories of an eyewitness and a participant in many episodes of the novel give it a special documentary credibility and artistic authenticity.
Georgy Pavlovich Tushkan is known to young readers for his novels "Dzhura", "Friends and Enemies of Anatoly Rusakov", "Black Tornado", "Fau Hunters", "Birds Fly North" and other books.
A communist writer, an artillery officer in the Great Patriotic War, a man of great soul, he was a tireless traveler, a lover of life, a passionate hunter and fisherman, passionately in love with nature, he traveled a lot around his native country and foreign countries. Along and across it came the ridges of the Pamirs, the Caucasus, the Crimea and our Russian North. The courageous romance of the feat colored all of his books, loved primarily by boys and teenagers. He wrote for them, loved and understood them, worried and ill for their fate, and devoted his entire creative life to them.
G.P. Tushkan, having finished the novel "The First Shot", conceived its continuation, a book about the Komsomol members of the twenties, but death prevented the implementation of this plan.
PART ONE
STEPPE HORIZONS
CHAPTER I THE TWELVE YEAR
Yura Sagaydak believed that he was very unlucky: after all, it is necessary that in this twelfth year, when he was only seven years old, the war with Napoleon broke out.
But all the hot battles, chases, ambushes, dashing hussar attacks took place far from the places where Yura lived. Here, in the Yekaterinoslav province, among the flat, endless Ukrainian steppe, on the territory of the agricultural school, the director of which was Yurin's father, life flowed so ordinary, so boring, as if there had never been a war. Here, no one was interested in the war.
Other boys are lucky, for example, Kolya Bersenev. Yura Sagaydak knew him very well. Last summer, he came with his father, a wealthy landowner who had business with Yuri's dad. While the adults were talking in the office, Yura took Kolya around the yard, showed the workshops and the stables of the school.
Kolya was older than Yura and wondered: he boasted that he understood horses better than grooms, and chatted with his father in French. Think! Yura himself could chat with his dad in Ukrainian. Kolya wouldn't understand either.
Otherwise, Kolya Bersenev was the most ordinary boy, with the long neck of a duck. That's the only reason he's taller than Yura.
No one would have thought that such a person could become a hero!
Yura found out about this when her grandmother began to read Kolya's long letters published in the magazine Sincere Word. Yes Yes! Kolya Bersenev's letters were published in a magazine. It was then that Yura realized that a terrible war was going on, that the French had attacked Russia and reached Moscow. And they didn’t even hear anything about it in the steppe ... And this Kolka Bersenev was lucky! Now, if Yura also lived near Moscow, and if he were not seven years old, but more, like Kolya!
Grandma, and all this was? he asked excitedly.
But how? Otherwise they wouldn't have printed it.
Printed! In Petersburg! So it's all true. Yura was so jealous of Kolya Bersenev! Yura really wanted, and he even whispered about it in the evening prayer, that the Patriotic War would come to them, to the Yekaterinoslav province, and then he ...
Guys! Isn't Moscow behind us?
Let's die near Moscow!..
Morning came. Through the frozen window one could see the garden, behind it the bare white steppe and ... not a single soldier. How stubborn and unkind God is after all! How much Yura asked, let us have a war, but he ...
After a quick breakfast, Yura hurried to his grandmother's room to listen to Kolya Bersenev's amazing letters. After all, last night they brought a new issue of the magazine from the post office.
Grandmother, plump, portly, almost drowned in an armchair, this armchair was such a huge one, was already waiting for him with a magazine in her hands. Putting glasses on her nose, looking over the glasses every now and then, she began to read:
- “Dear aunt! I am sending this letter with a faithful person. Where I am, I can't say yet. This is a military secret. But don't worry - I'm alive and well, and I wish you the same.
When my dad and I said goodbye to you and went to the Mozhaisk estate to fetch her sick mother in order to save her and take her away from the French, we did not manage to get there. A big battle was being prepared near Mozhaisk, all the roads from Moscow were clogged with soldiers, cannons, carts. We're stuck. Papa ordered Gnedy to be straightened out of the carriage team, saddled him, took his gun and rode away. He did not take me, although I begged him very much. After all, I could ride with him on a harness Squirrel even without a saddle. "Don't be stupid, you're still a boy," he said angrily. “I alone on horseback will be able to quickly get through to my mother.” And he ordered the valet Erofeich and the coachman Ivan to go with me to the Kaluga road, to our acquaintance, the landowner Velsky, and wait there.
By evening, we hardly got in our carriage to some village and got stuck there.
For two whole days we heard the terrible noise of the battle. Then our troops again went along the road, only back to Moscow. And they say that we won the battle near the village of Borodino. And the local landowner assured that if Kutuzov won the battle, then we do not need to leave. But when we woke up in the morning, French troops were already moving on the roads to Moscow. And ours, they say, turn aside, onto the Kaluga road. Why did the French open a free path directly to Moscow? Nobody understood this. Behind the forest, a glow blazed. Villages were on fire.
In the afternoon, papa's messenger, who was looking for us, made his way to the village. He hid his horse in the forest. He handed Yerofeitch a letter. Papenka wrote that he participated in the battle with the partisans, was wounded, taken prisoner and was in the basement of the Mozhaisk church. Once more he ordered Erofeich to take me to Velsky and wait there.
Dear aunt! What was I to do? My father is in captivity, my mother is not known where ... Is it really possible for me, under the supervision of Yerofeyich, to calmly ride in a carriage to this Velsky? No, a thousand times no! After waiting for dusk, I led Belka out of the shed, fitted a carriage rug instead of a saddle, and galloped off, taking Yerofeich's gun and his hunting dagger. We have to save my father!”
Here the grandmother fell silent, took off her glasses and looked sternly at Yura.
The boy sat motionless, only his cheeks glowed. He vividly imagined his friend riding a hot horse, with a dagger in his belt. Hooray! Hooray! Forward! Oh, how Yura longed to be in Kolya Bersenev's place at that moment!
- “I rode Belka along a forest road when French hussars seized me, called me a partisan, took me to my officer, who beat me and threw me bound into a barn. Then the French left. I, as a prisoner, got to another officer. He immediately noticed that I did not have man's hands. And when he found out that I spoke French, he left it with him so that I would translate for him during interrogations of Russian peasants. And he also forced to clean his horse, he said that "the son of a Russian nobleman will clean the horse of the imperial hussar." And I cleaned, but I hated it.
Near the beer "Grotesque" Vitka Burov, nicknamed Alphonse Daudet, was walking around. Empty bottles were accepted in the courtyard of the beer house, and Vitka could see the whole line.
A tortured old man, a dwarf with glasses, put bottles into a box: dark ones for beer, light ones for vodka, yellow ones for lemonade and soda. The bottles were handed over by Shnyra, and in the line, which Shnyra blocked with his back, Van, Pate and Belka were transferring the bottles from the boxes into their bags, intending to sell them again.
“Thirty-five kopecks,” announced the dwarf Shnyre, “is that how they taught you at school?”
Shnyra took his cap out of his pocket, put it on his head, over his eyes, walked away, then imperceptibly stood behind Pate and filled his purse with bottles from the boxes.
“Get the money, take it to your mother, you are a good boy,” the dwarf concluded a bargain with Van.
All this seemed to the guys a game, risky, but exciting and profitable. They needed money for a trip to the Crimea.
Sitting on the broken pavement, they handed over the proceeds to Vitka Burov.
“Eighty-two kopecks,” said Shnyra.
- Well done, good boy! - to the pleasure of the whole company, Vitka mimicked the dwarf. - Listen to your mother!
“Fifty-eight kopecks,” Van said.
- Bad boy, lazy, get out of the classroom!
“Ninety-three,” said Squirrel.
- Raisins - white bread! Vitka exclaimed. He did not know higher than praise.
They went through the Smolensk market, a powerful company united by a mysterious goal, having a fearless leader who unceremoniously pushed everyone away: “Where you go, you don’t see - children!” - a phrase that also enthralled them.
Employees in kosovorotkas, manufacturers in business suits, in ties and without ties, with and without butterflies, greengrocers in canvas and fishermen in leather aprons, peasants in oiled boots and peasants in bast shoes, Ukrainian women in cloth scrolls, Chinese with balloons and all sorts of paper miracles, railroad workers in uniform jackets, horse dealers, milkmaids, cold shoemakers, grinders, tramps - all this crowd of people moved, made noise, argued, bargained, sang, played, cried, cursed, gathered in crowds, spread along Novinsky and Smolensky boulevards and along the lanes adjacent to the market.
The fat, unwieldy Van lingered near the saleswoman with the tray on her chest. "Mosselprom" was embroidered on her uniform cap with a gold cord.
"Butterscotch," Van reported.
- A sign on the head, a store on the belly! Alphonse Daudet answered.
The van realized there would be no taffy.
Vitka's stern heart trembled only at the sight of a tall Ukrainian woman in monists selling gingerbread in a stall under a sign: "Natalka from Kyiv."
She noticed Vitkin's fascinated look.
- All of you puff on me, not buy.
Vitka threw money on the counter - a broad, amorous nature - distributed a gingerbread to everyone, did not take it for himself, put the change in his breast pocket:
- These are Crimean.
- Did you come from the Crimea? - inquired "Natalka from Kyiv".
“It seems to be,” Victor answered vaguely.
Sharinets, a squishy man in a muffler, was walking through the bazaar with a slow urkagan gait, warily squinting his red eye.
Vitka tensed, ready for a collision.
- Squirrel! Sharinets said demandingly.
Squirrel did not answer Sharints's call, but looked inquiringly at Vitka, a strong, courageous man who was buying gingerbread.
The Sharinets walked by, smiling, as a man in the market is too important to mess with such pettiness.
But the small fry knew that Sharinets was afraid of Vitka, and this strengthened in them the consciousness of their power.
In their yard, they were also masters. The older guys didn’t touch them, being afraid of Vitka, their peers wanted to get into their company, but the company doesn’t need anyone else: they can’t take everyone to Crimea. They sat in the shadow of an eight-story building. Shnyra and Van drew high-crowned palm trees, an undulating sea, seagulls, a sun with long rays on the pavement with chalk - all this was supposed to depict the Crimea. Vitka lazily played with a Finnish knife and smoked cigarettes "Our Mark" - the only waste of Crimean money that he allowed himself. Pate also received a cigarette. Shnyra and Van were given a puff. Shnyra showed pleasure he didn't feel, Van coughed, Belka got nothing - girls shouldn't smoke.
The idyll was interrupted by the appearance of a janitor with a broom.
- The whole yard was painted, ugly!
Vitka threw up the knife, deftly caught it by the handle.
“Oh, Vitka, you’ll finish the game, you won’t get past prison. I don't feel sorry for you, I feel sorry for your mother.
Vitka smiled sympathetically, which made the finca in his hands look somewhat ominous.
A window opened on the fourth floor. Valentin Valentinovich Navrotsky ran his hand over the windowsill - is it clean? He was in a light-coloured Cheviot suit. Yura came up to the window - he was no longer teased as a scout, but he looked more arrogant than before: lanky, in a velvet sweatshirt, with a white bow.
“Vitka Burov, aka Alfons Dode, the storm of the Arbat,” Yura explained, “and his gang: Shnyra, Pate, Belka and Van. Pate and Belka are former homeless, and now neglected. What is the difference, I don't know.
- What a really fat boy Van, - agreed Valentin Valentinovich, - overfed.
- His real name is Andrey, surname Zimin, his father is an engineer at the factory.
“The son of an engineer in such a company?!” Why Alphonse Daudet?
- Maybe he is somewhat reminiscent of Tartarin from Tarascon? Hardly... Why, for example, Pate? He did not see the pate in his eyes. All potential criminals start with nicknames.
Sharinets appeared in the yard, sat down on a bench at the entrance, grinning at Vitka's company.
“And this is a real criminal, a professional pickpocket,” Yura said.
“The pickpocket is not the most prominent, but quite a worthy thieves' specialty,” Valentin Valentinovich remarked, laughing.
- Vitka's competitor for influence in the yard.
Confirming these words, Vitka, demonstrating his power, ordered:
- Van, say a verse!
- About a good person.
The van thumped itself in the chest.
erysipelas brit,
The chest is open
flared trousers,
You give - you take!
“Good verse,” Vitka praised. – Do you know yet?
- About what?
- About a good person.
"I don't know about the good man anymore," Van admitted.
- Van! Sharinets called out to him.
- Come on!
The van made an uncertain movement towards Sharinets, but Vit'kin's formidable call stopped him:
The van stopped.
- Why did you go?
So he called.
Vitka pinched Van's nose with two fingers.
- Come on, Vitka! Shnyra remarked disapprovingly.
The van shook its head, trying to break free.
“I’ll tear off my head next time,” Vitka promised and jerked his hand down hard.
The van freed itself from Vitka's iron grip, but it felt as if its nose had been torn off, and the Van could not hold back his tears.
Vitkin's power was proved by action and fenced off from the encroachments of Sharints. But when Vitka was punishing Van, Misha Polyakov appeared in the yard, still in a leather jacket, from which he had grown quite a bit; under it on the shirt could be seen the Komsomol badge of KIM.
- Why are you him?
Vitka got up lazily and played with a Finn.
- Your business?
Yura made a statement:
– Misha Polyakov, Komsomol activist… What do they call it… The cell secretary or the chairman of the academic committee – I don’t understand this well.
- Strong, apparently, the guy - said Valentin Valentinovich.
- Vitka is stronger.
- Stronger is the one who is braver.
“Misha is only bold at meetings,” Yura said.
Vitka played Finnish:
- Well? Will you call the police? Run call, otherwise you will not have time. Artsy - and the ends are in the water!
"Artsy - and the ends in the water" meant Vitka's highest degree of threat.
- Put away the knife!
- Maybe…
With an unexpected blow, Misha knocked the finka out of Vitka's hand and stepped on it with his foot. Vitka rushed at Misha, they grappled, preventing one another from reaching the knife.
The knife was raised by Sasha Pankratov, in the yard they called him Sasha Fashion, not because he was fashionable, but because he was handsome: a black-haired boy with a red pioneer tie. It was clear that he would not give up the Finn to Burov.
The men came up and dragged the fighters apart. Vitka tried to break free, but they held him tightly. Tenants looked out of the windows, a crowd gathered in the yard. Van's mother, Olga Dmitrievna Zimina, ran out, a pretty woman with a gentle face.
- Andryusha! What did he do to you? Knife! When will this finally stop?
The appearance of the policeman attracted even more spectators.
The policeman took the finca from Sasha.
- Whose knife?
Everyone was silent, obeying the laws of the court: to fight is one thing, to betray is another.
- Your? the policeman asked Vitka.
“Let the guys say it,” Vitka answered.
The squirrel pointed to Misha:
- His Finn, he wanted to cut Vitka.
- Do not lie! shouted Sasha Pankratov. - Victor's knife. Tell me, Van, tell me, Shnyra, whose knife?
Shnyra and Van were silent.
- What, however, scoundrels! - Valentin Valentinovich was indignant and got up from the windowsill.
- Don't care! Let them sort it out themselves,” Yura said.
- Well, you know ... I don't understand you!
Valentin Valentinovich hung out of the window:
- Comrade! I saw everything, I'll go down now.
A minute later he was standing in the yard, calm, inspiring confidence, and pointed to Vitka:
- His knife, he played with it, rather carelessly, by the way. And tortured the boy. And this young man,” he held out a thin finger in Misha’s direction, “interceded…” He turned to Zimina: “If I’m not mistaken, for your son.
“Yes,” said Olga Dmitrievna. - Vitya! After all, you are already big ... Is Andrey your friend?
- What do you say? the policeman asked Vitka.
Vitka was silent, looking angrily at Misha.
“It’s not good, girl, to lie, it’s ugly,” said Valentin Valentinovich to Belka.
The policeman dropped the knife into his bag.
- We'll figure it out, let's go!
And together with Vitka he went to the gate.
“Thank you,” Olga Dmitrievna said to Valentin Valentinovich.
“Madame… Citizen… I just told the truth.
Valentin Valentinovich returned to his room, to the fourth floor.
- My dear, - said Yure, - you were not up to par. Are you afraid of Alphonse Daudet? By the way, the name does not suit him.
“I’m not afraid of him,” Yura flared up, “but Misha hates me like a bourgeois; if I intervened, he would regard it as a fawn. Don't worry about him: he didn't need your protection or mine.
The truth must be defended everywhere, always and everywhere. - Valentin Valentinovich sat down in an armchair and lit a thin cigarette. - As for Alphonse, he will end up in prison. Lounging around in the yard with a Finn, an adult guy!
– Where should he go? To the Komsomol? Yawn at meetings?
You are also not a member of the Komsomol.
- And what awaits me? They will not accept the institute: not a worker, not the son of a worker.
- They accept non-workers. Your father is a doctor, go to medical school.
- Picking someone else's snotty nose?
– What attracts you? – in turn asked Valentin Valentinovich.
- Do you have abilities?
- In the cinema, first of all, appearance is needed.
Valentin Valentinovich looked at Yura with an appraising look:
- You have looks.
- One film director, my father's patient, promised to take me to the shooting.
- Wonderful! You will be the Soviet Rudolph Valentina or Douglas Fairbanks.
“He will start shooting a new picture in a year,” Yura said sadly. – What will I do after school? To the factory?
“By the way, why is your school so connected with the factory?”
- We go through industrial practice - two days a week, we get "labor" education, we even write theses, almost like in a university. We are being trained as something like statisticians. Such a bore!
- In vain you neglect this, - said Valentin Valentinovich, - after school, others go to the labor exchange or to laborers. And you immediately get a specialty.
“I need independence.
- The profession of an actor will give it to you?
- To a certain extent.
- You are mistaken. Independence is given only by these…
Valentin Valentinovich moved his fingers, as if sorting through the coins.
- But where can I get them?
Valentin Valentinovich extinguished his cigarette in an ashtray and walked around the room, clean and empty, with photographs of horses on the walls.
- You have to start small. Who am i? Commissioner of the Society "Friend of Children". Previously, I distributed lottery tickets, postcards, badges, climbed stairs, knocked on doors, irresponsible citizens slammed them in front of my nose. However, I managed to convince some people. Notice what a humane role I played: helping the unfortunate, hungry crumbs and arousing compassion in people. Now I am preparing a manufactory for our enterprises, the profit from them again goes to the aid of homeless children. I receive my interest once a month. Rockefeller has more, but I am well fed, dressed, shod. He stretched out his leg and held up a patent-leather Jimmy boot. - I make my money and think about how to make more of it.
- Lottery tickets? On the shipment of the manufactory?
- My friend! Money is made on everything. Nep! Cigarettes "Ira" are not all that is left of the old world. Move the gyrus, as they say in the magazine "Smekhach". Life on the move gives you a chance - do not miss it. Settle in at the factory. It will turn out with the director - you will go to Douglas Fairbanks. If it doesn’t work out, you will earn work experience and enter a university. By the way, what is your theme?
“Accounting at the warehouse,” Yura said with disgust.
- Great theme! exclaimed Valentin Valentinovich. - In the warehouse you will become a businessman, study fabrics. The most pressing issue! For ten years, people have worn themselves out, the market requires mats ...
- Mats? What it is? Yura asked.
“Mata is a manufactory in the language of smugglers, merchants also use this term,” explained Valentin Valentinovich. - What names! Amaranth, belfans, toile d'ete, canbera, violamacmino... Because of the names alone, I would go to work in a warehouse, honestly!
- You talk about the factory with the same enthusiasm as Misha Polyakov at school meetings about the world revolution, - Yura grinned.
- Well, of all those whom I saw today, Misha Polyakov liked me the most.
“You don’t know him very well,” Yura frowned.
The next day was a "factory" day - the guys had an internship. With a notebook and a pencil, Misha stood in the factory yard by the railway line. Loaders carried bales with textiles into the wagons.
Valentin Valentinovich came up.
What are you doing, Misha? “After yesterday’s incident, he treated him like a good friend.
Misha pointed to the notepad.
- I write down where the goods are sent.
– Does it have anything to do with your thesis?
- Yes. "Transportation of finished products".
- Fabulous! You can record my submission. - Valentin Valentinovich pointed to an empty car at a dead end. - Destination station - Batum, recipient - clothing factory of the "Friend of Children" society.
- I'll write it down when they load it, the turn will not come soon.
“All this has been going on for a terribly long time,” Valentin Valentinovich picked up, “and I’ll tell you why: they are being detained by dray cabs. Anachronism. The automobile dominates abroad.
Draft horses with shaggy legs stood at the warehouse gate. The carters put the bales on the shelves, covered them with tarpaulin, tied them with ropes, tightened them with crowbars.
The warehouse was crowded, but the workers deftly maneuvered the carts, dropping bales, where the storekeeper Panfilov showed them. At a small table, Yura wrote out invoices.
Krasavtsev, the sales manager, came in, a fat man with a swollen face, said something to Panfilov and left.
- Representative of the children's commission, citizen Navrotsky! shouted Panfilov, appearing at the warehouse gate.
Valentin Valentinovich looked around.
- They call me ... I'm coming!
He went to the warehouse and immediately returned, cheerfully informing Misha:
- Now they will be loaded!
He showed the loaders an empty wagon at a dead end:
- Come on, guys, let's move, a check on my brother!
He said something to the driver and coupler and went to the empty car, throwing Misha on the move:
Let's help, Misha!
Misha liked his cheerful dashing, and he helped the loaders push the car to the train.
The bumpers clanged, the coupler threw on the coupler, Valentin Valentinovich pulled the car door, it gently rolled on its rollers, the loaders installed the gangway, began to carry the bales.
Standing in the car, Valentin Valentinovich confidently ordered:
- Quickly, guys, step back, two steps forward, bale for bale, the goods are just on the wagon. We'll put it badly - we'll have to shift it.
He jumped off the car and went to the warehouse.
– Is the invoice ready?
“Ready,” said Yura.
- Well done!
Pressing the book with a ruler, Yura tore off the invoice and handed it to him.
Valentin Valentinovich looked at the train (the coupler was closing and sealing the car), nodded to Yura and Panfilov: “See you again!” - and through the side door went out into the street.
The driver blew his horn, the train started moving and stretched out of the factory gate. Misha recorded the carriage of Valentin Valentinovich.
And as soon as the gate behind the departed train closed, engineer Nikolai Lvovich Zimin entered the warehouse. He was clean-shaven, in a well-pressed suit, and held himself very straight. Behind his eyes they called him "master"
- the word at that time was no longer offensive, but mocking. It was undeserved and made Nikolai Lvovich stand still straighter, speak still more calmly.
Where is the defective batch? he asked the storekeeper Panfilov.
- What, Nikolai Lvovich? Panfilov asked.
- For the children's commission ... I ordered Krasavtsev to detain her. Did he give you my order?
- That's right, they ordered ... So after all, the transport was already loaded, it was not necessary to unload, Nikolai Lvovich.
“Interesting…” Zimin said discontentedly and left.
Misha remembered well: Krasavtsev came to the warehouse before that how the carriage of Valentin Valentinovich was loaded. Krasavtsev said something to Panfilov, and after This wagon of Valentin Valentinovich was immediately loaded and sent. What did Krasavtsev order? Delay the wagon or, on the contrary, send it out as soon as possible?
- Yura, didn't you hear what Krasavtsev said to Panfilov? Misha asked.
- Did he order to detain the car or, on the contrary, to send it?
- I do not know.
- You were there.
I don't listen to other people's conversations.
- Comrade Panfilov! Misha said. - But Krasavtsev came before that how the car of the children's commission was loaded.
Panfilov squinted at him from under his iron glasses.
- So what?
- And you told Comrade Zimin that the car had already been loaded.
- Well, he said.
- You told a lie.
From Panfilov's stern face, from his slanting glance, it could be assumed that he would send Misha to hell. However, he did not do this: he knew these young comrades, no one can get away from them, they care about everything, and it’s better not to mess with them.
“It’s easy for Comrade Zimin to give orders, only he doesn’t work for the Butikovs,” Panfilov objected bitterly.
- What does the Butikovs have to do with it? Misha was surprised.
- Moreover ... “Delay, I’ll look, I’ll take a look”! .. And for demurrage of cars, a fine is due, decent money, who will pay? Factory? State?
- Zimin wanted the worst?
- I did not say this, only he is not a commercial person. Do you want to find out marriage? Find out in the workshop, and not in the warehouse, when the goods are packed, the client is waiting, and the wagons are served.
There was logic in Panfilov's explanations, but the mention of the Butikovs, the former owners of the factory, was a hint that Zimin had served here under the factory owners, a hint of Zimin's old regime, an attempt to discredit him, to present him as a social alien. Misha felt false.
- But what did Krasavtsev order: to detain or send the car?
- Ask Krasavtsev about it! Panfilov answered with irritation. - Not Zimin, not Krasavtsev are responsible for sending, I am responsible. And I have nowhere to store the goods, you see. He waved his hand around the warehouse cluttered with bales. - The gentlemen, you understand, are fighting, and the serfs' forelocks are cracking. No, sorry, thanks.
In the evening Misha went to the Hermitage restaurant to see Slavka. The boulevards of the Garden Ring were deserted, rare lamps shone dimly on the corners of the main streets.
Slavka's mother left for another person. Slavka stayed with his father, dropped out of school, plays in the evenings in the orchestra of the Hermitage restaurant, earns a living: Konstantin Alekseevich is sick, does not work, has fallen. Misha was amazed at such weakness. If a woman left her husband, a decent and worthy person, abandoned her son, she can only be despised. Of course, love, passion, and so on, and yet duty is above all.
Misha entered the restaurant from the yard, past the kitchen, past the waiters scurrying along the narrow corridor with trays. Everyone was running, in a hurry, no one cared about Misha, and he safely reached a small room, separated from the stage by a heavy curtain.
An orchestra played nearby. Misha parted the curtain a little and saw the restaurant hall. Dressed women sat at tables covered with white tablecloths, men very important, as if engaged in a real business. And their whole business here is to drink, eat, laugh, as if they were having a lot of fun. Nepmen, speculators and embezzlers are saved from the worries and anxieties of life, they take revenge for their humiliation in that other world, where they are limited, taxed. Here they are gentlemen, realizing their wealth, throwing money, waiters bow before them warningly. Of course, the NEP is necessary for the restoration of the country, here is its reverse side, we have to put up with it, but these people are disgusting. What are they living for?
The orchestra fell silent, the musicians remained in their places. Sitting at the piano, Slavka was talking to the double bass player, an elderly man in a gray-blue suit with a bow tie.
Then tap dancers in black tailcoats, white shirt-fronts, black top hats and black patent leather shoes came out onto the stage. The orchestra struck out a bravura melody, the tap dancers beat the tap dance, the tails of their tailcoats fluttered, they thrashed their boots and sang verses ...
Two chervonets, three chervonets or five at once,
For chervonets, for chervonets you can get everything ...
The stupidest couplets about gold coins, about what exactly you can get for gold coins, an idiotic hymn to gold coins. No one pays attention to the tap dancers, although they are trying with might and main, sorry for them, and sorry for Slavka, and other musicians who are obliged to entertain this riffraff.
The tap dancers left. The musicians got up from their seats and rushed into the room behind the stage...
“I still have to play the squad,” warned Slavka.
"I'll wait," Misha replied.
He stood at the curtain and looked into the hall.
- Well, physics!
“These physics give food for some thought,” Slava said.
- Which ones?
- Could you and I think two years ago that all this would appear? .. New masters of life.
- More precisely, the owners of their money.
- But what money! Now I will show you some representatives of modern capital. Just don't stare at them too much and don't point your finger at them.
"I'll try," Misha laughed.
- On the right, at the second table, facing us, you see: a short brisket with lush hair?
“This brisket costs forty thousand.
“Like in America,” Misha chuckled. Mr Smith is worth forty million dollars.
- That's it. Puzanok earns forty thousand a year, and he is just a representative of the Kharkov State Confectionery Trust. Notice the government! Do we have so many confectionery products? They don't buy? No, they are bought, snapped up and without this pimple. But this pimple gets ten percent for the sale - that's just forty thousand - and shares it with his superiors.
“Look,” Misha said, “Krasavtsev is next to him.
- Who is Krasavtsev?
– Head of sales of the factory where we do our internship.
– Perhaps, but also, of course, a bribe taker.
Misha was upset by Slavka's bilious tone.
Are we not fighting this?
- Let's say - did not argue Slavka. - Now the next table, you see, black-moustached horseman? It costs thirty thousand, the representative of Asiaryba, advertises herring, but why advertise it? Do you know such a city Achinsk?
- In Siberia?
- Exactly. You won't find it on every map. There is a tiny shop there that sells bast shoes, tar, ropes, nails, scythes, and sickles. Where does this shop advertise itself? You won't guess. in Parisian newspapers. And paid for advertising in gold. Like this!
“I can imagine the jubilation of the Parisians,” Misha laughed. - Anecdote, perhaps?
- An anecdote? Read Crocodile. Look further: Ivan Poddubny, so he is not Ivan Poddubny, but the Cheap Dress company. Nearby are two gentlemen in breeches “Fine Dress” ... And there, in blouses and jackets, these are the so-called cooperatives, artels, of course, fake, but the signs ... The signs are the most ideological ... “His Labor” deigns to eat salmon, “Collective Labor” drinks champagne. Labor, labor, labor... A convenient word!..
“Listen,” Misha interrupted him, peering into the depths of the hall, “there, in the corner, isn’t Yura with Lyuda Zimina?
- I know the person with whom they are sitting - Valentin Valentinovich Navrotsky.
- I know him too, he has been living in our house for some time now.
“And do they come here often?”
- I see Lyuda here for the first time, Yura happens, Navrotsky is our regular guest.
- And how much does it cost?
I don't know, it's a mysterious figure.
- This is just an agent for the procurement of the children's commission.
“It doesn’t mean anything, everyone here has modest titles: agent, commissioner, owner of a store or stall, cashiers - as a rule, embezzlers - walk before boarding. There's a lot to see here. The underside of society.
A group of children donated bottles. The “tortured old man, gnome with glasses” accepted the container. The children tricked him by stealing the bottles and handing them in again. The proceeds were handed over to the ringleader Vitka Burov, nicknamed Alphonse Daudet. The company had a goal - a trip to the Crimea, for which they saved up. Under the protection of an adult leader, the children - Shnyra, Pate, Van and Belka - felt like masters not only of their yard, but also of the surrounding streets. The petty pickpocket Sharinets wanted to take Burov's place, but was afraid to get involved with him. Two of this company, Belka and Pate, were neglected. Andrey, the son of engineer Nikolai Lvovich Zimin, who lived next door to Misha Polyakov, was called the van. Shnyra, the son of the storekeeper Panfilov, also came from a prosperous family.
That day the company was sitting in the yard. Sharinets watched them from afar. Vitka, asserting power over the children, painfully grabbed Van by the nose. Polyakov, who was passing by, stood up for the boy. Vitka grabbed a finka. A policeman intervened in the fight, began to find out who owns the knife. Misha was a Komsomol activist, chairman of the academic committee, but he also grew up in this Arbat courtyard and knew its law: do not extradite your own. Belka said that it was Polyakov who wanted to cut Vitka, the rest were silent.
Witnesses of the fight were not only the gang of Alphonse Daudet, but also Valentin Valentinovich Navrotsky and his boyfriend Yura. Navrotsky intervened and restored justice. Yura, a handsome young man in a velvet jacket with a bow around his neck, the son of a famous doctor, did not intervene. He did not like Misha, and he despised him. They were classmates and worked together in a weaving factory. Yura was engaged in warehouse accounting, and Misha was in charge of shipping goods. Was associated with the factory and Navrotsky, authorized by the society "Friend of Children". He bought manufactory for the enterprises of the society.
The next day was "factory" for the guys. Then a story happened that made Misha think. Navrotsky's goods were not shipped for a long time. In the meantime, Krasavtsev approached the storekeeper Panfilov, who was checking Yura's work. After a brief conversation, Panfilov ordered to ship the products purchased by Navrotsky. Immediately after the departure of Valentin Valentinovich's carriage, engineer Zimin entered the warehouse and asked why the carriage of defective fabric was sent, while he ordered Krasavtsev to detain it for inspection. Zavsbytom came to the warehouse before the start of loading, but the car did not delay. On the contrary, loading accelerated sharply. Misha decided that some kind of scam was hiding here.
In the evening, Misha went to the Hermitage restaurant for his old friend Slava, who worked there as a pianist. His wife left Slava's father, he went down, left his job, and the guy was forced to earn a living. While waiting for a friend, Misha watched with hostility the Nepmen walking in the restaurant. At one of the tables he noticed Navrotsky. He dined with Yura and Lyuda Zimina, the daughter of an engineer. Krasavtsev was also in the hall. When Yura and Lyuda went to dance, Navrotsky sat down next to Krasavtsev and handed him an envelope with money. The sales manager said that he could no longer register Valentine's goods as defective - Zimin suspected something and demanded documents. This did not frighten Navrotsky. Documents for the goods were in order, and the goods themselves had long gone. Valentin ordered his accomplice to arrange for Zimin to take the documents home for the weekend.
Valentin decided to influence Zimin through his daughter. Luda, a beautiful girl, was considered a coquette at school, they were not friends with her, because her father was a “bourgeois specialist” who graduated from an English college and worked for the capitalists before the revolution. Navrotsky, a handsome man of about twenty-five, hoped to charm Luda. Both Valentin and Yura were indifferent to her. The girl liked Misha Polyakov, who did not notice her.
Misha and Slava returned home late in the evening. Vitka Burov was waiting in Polyakov's yard. He did not like Misha's interference in the "educational process", and he decided to threaten Polyakov. The Komsomol activist also knew how to fight and was not going to give in. Navrotsky intervened again in the quarrel. For a moment, he turned from a businessman into a very dangerous person and forced Vitka to retreat. Sharinets watched everything from the darkness.
Having robbed the buffet of the cinema, Vitka and the company settled on the roof. The attic of the house was also the patrimony of the gang. There, in a small cell, Burov spent the night from time to time. “Crimean” savings were also stored there. Their stolen feast was seen by Misha and Genka, who went up to the roof to make an antenna for a makeshift radio. Navrotsky met the radio amateurs in the yard, offered them to use a real Italian radio, but the guys refused his obsessive friendship. Vitka Burov did not like the Komsomol invasion of his territory. The attic replaced his home, where he escaped from his alcoholic father and maternal reproaches. Being already an adult guy, Vitka did not work anywhere. The profession of a baker or shoemaker did not suit him. After traveling to the Crimea, Burov was going to become an elevator master. He was attracted by the power that he would receive over the tenants of the house.
Navrotsky prepared for Russia's capitalist future, which he had no doubts about. The "merchant's" scam was simple. At the factory, he registered quality goods as defective or third-rate, and then sold them to private traders at exorbitant prices. Now Valentin Valentinovich was going to steal five carriages of the manufactory and lay low. But engineer Zimin stood in his way with his meticulous checks. Misha Polyakov also spoiled Navrotsky's mood with his intransigence.
Inviting Yura to the Eclair cafe, Navrotsky asked for a friendly service: to get the keys to the Zimins' apartment from Lyuda's briefcase and hand it over to him for a few hours. Valentin explained this strange request by the desire to give Olga Dmitrievna, Lyuda's mother, a small surprise: to leave a beautiful manicure set in the apartment. Yura believed this explanation. He overcame his cowardice, and during the lesson he stole the keys and handed them to Navrotsky. Their meeting was seen by the duty officer Sasha Pankratov. Frightened, Yura lied that he had to hand over the keys to his father. Navrotsky returned the keys at a big break. Yura put them back and calmed down.
After the lessons, there was a study committee at which they discussed the behavior of Vitka Burov. Going to see him somehow, Misha saw how Vitka was protecting his mother from his drunken father, and began to perceive him differently. In the evening, after the school committee, Polyakov went to Belka's. The girl lived in the basement with an old woman who took her in for her upbringing. Misha decided to get Belka to work at the factory. The next day, Misha spoke about this with Zimin, and the boy was hurt by his indifference to Belka's fate. It was the end of the shift, and the engineer was about to leave, but then Krasavtsev approached him with papers for marriage. Zimin had to take them home.
On the same evening, the Zimin family went to the theater - they were invited by Navrotsky. Only Andrei-Van remained at home. In the morning, Nikolai Lvovich discovered that the marriage documents had disappeared without a trace, along with a briefcase decorated with a personal monogram. Zimin was afraid to turn to the police: Andrei, who was friends with the son of a storekeeper, could be accused of missing documents. The engineer understood: the documents were stolen to hide the scam. He ordered Krasavtsev to collect more documents. Navrotsky decided that Zimin was trying to hide the loss.
Vitka was dissatisfied with his wards: Shnyra saw Belka talking to Sharints. Burov did not want to lose influence on the children and kept a watchful eye on them. He did not know that Misha invited Shnyra and Pate to the circus, where his old friend Elena Frolova performed under the pseudonym Helen Bush. She turned into a very beautiful girl, and Misha was secretly in love with her. In the circus, Polyakov met Navrotsky. Tom also liked Helen Bush.
Meanwhile, the Zimins were going to the dacha. Nikolai Lvovich decided to leave the new documents at home, hoping that they would also be stolen. Having put his wife and daughter on the train, Zimin returned to the apartment to wait for the thieves.
Misha and Navrotsky returned home late in the evening. Already in the yard they heard a shot coming from the entrance where the Zimins lived. Having run into the entrance, Misha and Valentin heard a clatter: someone was running up the stairs. Soon the footsteps died down - the unknown person left through the attic. Having risen to the floor, Misha saw a half-dressed Andrei on the threshold of the Zimins' apartment. Behind him, in the hallway, lay the corpse of Nikolai Lvovich. Misha escorted the militiamen who soon arrived to the attic. Having searched the premises, the police found Zimin's stolen briefcase. A suspect was also arrested there - Vitka Burov, who was sleeping peacefully in his cell. The witnesses were released only in the morning. Misha was very tired, but nevertheless noticed "on the face of Navrotsky an expression of poorly concealed anxiety, tension, readiness for any surprises."
Misha knew Vitka Burov from childhood and was convinced that he was not capable of killing a person. Polyakov believed that the crime was committed on the orders of Navrotsky. He told his friends Genk and Slava about everything, hoping that together they would reveal a new secret. However, this time Misha's friends did not support him. Genka considered Borka a bandit capable of anything. Slava suggested that “Zimin got entangled in ties with some businessmen unknown to us, and he was killed,” and the murder has nothing to do with the marriage documents, which the attacker did not touch.
Nobody wanted to help Misha get Borka out of trouble, but Polyakov was not used to giving up. First of all, he asked Andrei Zimin and found out that the boy told his company, including Vitka, about the trip to the dacha. Misha learned from Shnyra that Belka had been talking to the pickpocket Sharints, who was often in the attic looking for "Crimean" savings. He made his way to the attic along the roof from the neighboring entrance. Misha decided to check it out and ran into Sharints. He was too talkative, and "Misha felt the excitement of a person involved in something." The next day, Polyakov instructed Shnyra to keep an eye on Sharinets and Belka.
Navrotsky considered himself not involved in the crime, but felt that his time was coming to an end. He was in a hurry to pull off the scam and hurried the frightened Krasavtsev. Sharinets was a frequenter of the beer "Grotesk", located in one of the green back streets of the Arbat. Watching him, Shnyra and Pate saw how Valentin Valentinovich visited the same pub. Soon Sharinets left the pub together with a stranger, and the guys followed.
Misha's suspicions of the culpability of the pickpocket strengthened. They turned into confidence after the words of Belka: the girl told Shnyra and Pate that Vitka was in jail because of Sharints. Soon Polyakov was summoned by his old acquaintance, the investigator Sviridov. Misha told him about Navrotsky's scam and what he learned from Shnyra. Unfortunately, Misha was late: Sharinets was killed that evening, when the children were following him. Apparently, the pickpocket was killed by a stranger who came out of the pub with him. At the same time, the caliber of the bullet that killed him and the size of the weapon from which Zimin was killed coincided. The documents stolen from Nikolai Lvovich were thrown into the Zimins' mailbox. Trying to find out who did this, Misha asked Sasha Pankratov, who lived in the same entrance, and found out about the meeting between Yura and Navrotsky during the lessons. Later, meeting Yura and Lyuda Zimina on the school stairs, Polyakov began to ask him about Navrotsky. The guy refused to answer Misha, but Lyuda could not lie and told her about Valentin Valentinovich's surprise. Upon learning that Lyudin's mother had not received any manicure set, Yura realized that Navrotsky had dragged him into a dirty business, and was frightened.
He went to Valentin, hoping that he would convince him and reassure him, but Navrotsky's explanations made the guy doubt even more. Choosing the lesser of all evils, Yura told about the scam at Slava's factory, considering him the most intelligent of the three friends. For graduation, Navrotsky prepared a gift for Yura - a luxurious cruise on the Black Sea. The guy decided that Valentine wanted to lure him away from home and kill him. Meanwhile, Slava decided that he was too immersed in his own troubles and pulled away from other people's misfortunes. He gathered friends to tell them about Yura's visit, but he came to them himself and demanded a meeting with the investigator.
Sviridov decided that Navrotsky made copies of the keys and handed them over to Sharints. It was still unclear why, because the documents could not harm Navrotsky. The investigator invited Shnyra and Pate, who identified the man who had left the pub with Sharinets from the photo. It turned out to be the thief Serenky. He was a "six" under the hardened recidivist thief Vasily Ivanovich, who escaped from prison and went into hiding. After raiding the Grotesque, Sviridov arrested both. Vasily Ivanovich said that Sharinets really stole papers for Navrotsky, but then he got scared and asked the “prince” for protection. This testimony was enough to arrest Valentin Valentinovich. In fact, Sharinets violated the thieves' law - he returned to a rich apartment, ran into Zimin and killed him. Navrotsky told Vasily Ivanovich about the murder, and he ordered the execution of the culprit.
Navrotsky felt that the circle was closing. He went to the factory to hurry Krasavtsev, saw the investigator there and realized that it was time to run. He sent his last car, went out the gate and disappeared.
A few days later, while seeing Helen on tour, Misha found out that she was marrying her circus partner. “Childhood is over ... Ellen is also his childhood, a little circus performer who once struck his imagination so much.” Going into his yard, Poles saw Vitka Bury, thinner, shorn, but free.
Near the beer "Grotesque" Vitka Burov, nicknamed Alphonse Daudet, was walking around. Empty bottles were accepted in the courtyard of the beer house, and Vitka could see the whole line.
A tortured old man, a dwarf with glasses, put bottles into a box: dark ones for beer, light ones for vodka, yellow ones for lemonade and soda. The bottles were handed over by Shnyra, and in the line, which Shnyra blocked with his back, Van, Pate and Belka were transferring the bottles from the boxes into their bags, intending to sell them again.
“Thirty-five kopecks,” announced the dwarf Shnyre, “is that how they taught you at school?”
Shnyra took his cap out of his pocket, put it on his head, over his eyes, walked away, then imperceptibly stood behind Pate and filled his purse with bottles from the boxes.
“Get the money, take it to your mother, you are a good boy,” the dwarf concluded a bargain with Van.
All this seemed to the guys a game, risky, but exciting and profitable. They needed money for a trip to the Crimea.
Sitting on the broken pavement, they handed over the proceeds to Vitka Burov.
“Eighty-two kopecks,” said Shnyra.
- Well done, good boy! - to the pleasure of the whole company, Vitka mimicked the dwarf. - Listen to your mother!
“Fifty-eight kopecks,” Van said.
- Bad boy, lazy, get out of the classroom!
“Ninety-three,” said Squirrel.
- Raisins - white bread! Vitka exclaimed. He did not know higher than praise.
They went through the Smolensk market, a powerful company united by a mysterious goal, having a fearless leader who unceremoniously pushed everyone away: “Where you go, you don’t see - children!” - a phrase that also enthralled them.
Employees in kosovorotkas, manufacturers in business suits, in ties and without ties, with and without butterflies, greengrocers in canvas and fishermen in leather aprons, peasants in oiled boots and peasants in bast shoes, Ukrainian women in cloth scrolls, Chinese with balloons and all sorts of paper miracles, railroad workers in uniform jackets, horse dealers, milkmaids, cold shoemakers, grinders, tramps - all this crowd of people moved, made noise, argued, bargained, sang, played, cried, cursed, gathered in crowds, spread along Novinsky and Smolensky boulevards and along the lanes adjacent to the market.
The fat, unwieldy Van lingered near the saleswoman with the tray on her chest. "Mosselprom" was embroidered on her uniform cap with a gold cord.
"Butterscotch," Van reported.
- A sign on the head, a store on the belly! Alphonse Daudet answered.
The van realized there would be no taffy.
Vitka's stern heart trembled only at the sight of a tall Ukrainian woman in monists selling gingerbread in a stall under a sign: "Natalka from Kyiv."
She noticed Vitkin's fascinated look.
- All of you puff on me, not buy.
Vitka threw money on the counter - a broad, amorous nature - distributed a gingerbread to everyone, did not take it for himself, put the change in his breast pocket:
- These are Crimean.
- Did you come from the Crimea? - inquired "Natalka from Kyiv".
“It seems to be,” Victor answered vaguely.
Sharinets, a squishy man in a muffler, was walking through the bazaar with a slow urkagan gait, warily squinting his red eye.
Vitka tensed, ready for a collision.
- Squirrel! Sharinets said demandingly.
Squirrel did not answer Sharints's call, but looked inquiringly at Vitka, a strong, courageous man who was buying gingerbread.
The Sharinets walked by, smiling, as a man in the market is too important to mess with such pettiness.
But the small fry knew that Sharinets was afraid of Vitka, and this strengthened in them the consciousness of their power.
In their yard, they were also masters. The older guys didn’t touch them, being afraid of Vitka, their peers wanted to get into their company, but the company doesn’t need anyone else: they can’t take everyone to Crimea. They sat in the shadow of an eight-story building. Shnyra and Van drew high-crowned palm trees, an undulating sea, seagulls, a sun with long rays on the pavement with chalk - all this was supposed to depict the Crimea. Vitka lazily played with a Finnish knife and smoked cigarettes "Our Mark" - the only waste of Crimean money that he allowed himself. Pate also received a cigarette. Shnyra and Van were given a puff. Shnyra showed pleasure he didn't feel, Van coughed, Belka got nothing - girls shouldn't smoke.
The idyll was interrupted by the appearance of a janitor with a broom.
- The whole yard was painted, ugly!
Vitka threw up the knife, deftly caught it by the handle.
“Oh, Vitka, you’ll finish the game, you won’t get past prison. I don't feel sorry for you, I feel sorry for your mother.
Vitka smiled sympathetically, which made the finca in his hands look somewhat ominous.
A window opened on the fourth floor. Valentin Valentinovich Navrotsky ran his hand over the windowsill - is it clean? He was in a light-coloured Cheviot suit. Yura came up to the window - he was no longer teased as a scout, but he looked more arrogant than before: lanky, in a velvet sweatshirt, with a white bow.
“Vitka Burov, aka Alfons Dode, the storm of the Arbat,” Yura explained, “and his gang: Shnyra, Pate, Belka and Van. Pate and Belka are former homeless, and now neglected. What is the difference, I don't know.
- What a really fat boy Van, - agreed Valentin Valentinovich, - overfed.
- His real name is Andrey, surname Zimin, his father is an engineer at the factory.
“The son of an engineer in such a company?!” Why Alphonse Daudet?
- Maybe he is somewhat reminiscent of Tartarin from Tarascon? Hardly... Why, for example, Pate? He did not see the pate in his eyes. All potential criminals start with nicknames.
Sharinets appeared in the yard, sat down on a bench at the entrance, grinning at Vitka's company.
“And this is a real criminal, a professional pickpocket,” Yura said.
“The pickpocket is not the most prominent, but quite a worthy thieves' specialty,” Valentin Valentinovich remarked, laughing.
- Vitka's competitor for influence in the yard.
Confirming these words, Vitka, demonstrating his power, ordered:
- Van, say a verse!
- About a good person.
The van thumped itself in the chest.
erysipelas brit,
The chest is open
flared trousers,
You give - you take!
“Good verse,” Vitka praised. – Do you know yet?
- About what?
- About a good person.
"I don't know about the good man anymore," Van admitted.
- Van! Sharinets called out to him.
- Come on!
The van made an uncertain movement towards Sharinets, but Vit'kin's formidable call stopped him:
The van stopped.
- Why did you go?
So he called.
Vitka pinched Van's nose with two fingers.
- Come on, Vitka! Shnyra remarked disapprovingly.
The van shook its head, trying to break free.
“I’ll tear off my head next time,” Vitka promised and jerked his hand down hard.
The van freed itself from Vitka's iron grip, but it felt as if its nose had been torn off, and the Van could not hold back his tears.
Vitkin's power was proved by action and fenced off from the encroachments of Sharints. But when Vitka was punishing Van, Misha Polyakov appeared in the yard, still in a leather jacket, from which he had grown quite a bit; under it on the shirt could be seen the Komsomol badge of KIM.
- Why are you him?
Vitka got up lazily and played with a Finn.
- Your business?
Yura made a statement:
– Misha Polyakov, Komsomol activist… What do they call it… The cell secretary or the chairman of the academic committee – I don’t understand this well.
- Strong, apparently, the guy - said Valentin Valentinovich.
- Vitka is stronger.
- Stronger is the one who is braver.
“Misha is only bold at meetings,” Yura said.
Vitka played Finnish:
- Well? Will you call the police? Run call, otherwise you will not have time. Artsy - and the ends are in the water!
"Artsy - and the ends in the water" meant Vitka's highest degree of threat.
- Put away the knife!
- Maybe…
With an unexpected blow, Misha knocked the finka out of Vitka's hand and stepped on it with his foot. Vitka rushed at Misha, they grappled, preventing one another from reaching the knife.
The knife was raised by Sasha Pankratov, in the yard they called him Sasha Fashion, not because he was fashionable, but because he was handsome: a black-haired boy with a red pioneer tie. It was clear that he would not give up the Finn to Burov.
The men came up and dragged the fighters apart. Vitka tried to break free, but they held him tightly. Tenants looked out of the windows, a crowd gathered in the yard. Van's mother, Olga Dmitrievna Zimina, ran out, a pretty woman with a gentle face.
- Andryusha! What did he do to you? Knife! When will this finally stop?
The appearance of the policeman attracted even more spectators.
The policeman took the finca from Sasha.
- Whose knife?
Everyone was silent, obeying the laws of the court: to fight is one thing, to betray is another.
- Your? the policeman asked Vitka.
“Let the guys say it,” Vitka answered.
The squirrel pointed to Misha:
- His Finn, he wanted to cut Vitka.
- Do not lie! shouted Sasha Pankratov. - Victor's knife. Tell me, Van, tell me, Shnyra, whose knife?
Shnyra and Van were silent.
- What, however, scoundrels! - Valentin Valentinovich was indignant and got up from the windowsill.
- Don't care! Let them sort it out themselves,” Yura said.
- Well, you know ... I don't understand you!
Valentin Valentinovich hung out of the window:
- Comrade! I saw everything, I'll go down now.
A minute later he was standing in the yard, calm, inspiring confidence, and pointed to Vitka:
- His knife, he played with it, rather carelessly, by the way. And tortured the boy. And this young man,” he held out a thin finger in Misha’s direction, “interceded…” He turned to Zimina: “If I’m not mistaken, for your son.
“Yes,” said Olga Dmitrievna. - Vitya! After all, you are already big ... Is Andrey your friend?
- What do you say? the policeman asked Vitka.
Vitka was silent, looking angrily at Misha.
“It’s not good, girl, to lie, it’s ugly,” said Valentin Valentinovich to Belka.
The policeman dropped the knife into his bag.
- We'll figure it out, let's go!
And together with Vitka he went to the gate.
“Thank you,” Olga Dmitrievna said to Valentin Valentinovich.
“Madame… Citizen… I just told the truth.
Valentin Valentinovich returned to his room, to the fourth floor.
- My dear, - said Yure, - you were not up to par. Are you afraid of Alphonse Daudet? By the way, the name does not suit him.
“I’m not afraid of him,” Yura flared up, “but Misha hates me like a bourgeois; if I intervened, he would regard it as a fawn. Don't worry about him: he didn't need your protection or mine.
The truth must be defended everywhere, always and everywhere. - Valentin Valentinovich sat down in an armchair and lit a thin cigarette. - As for Alphonse, he will end up in prison. Lounging around in the yard with a Finn, an adult guy!
– Where should he go? To the Komsomol? Yawn at meetings?
You are also not a member of the Komsomol.
- And what awaits me? They will not accept the institute: not a worker, not the son of a worker.
- They accept non-workers. Your father is a doctor, go to medical school.
- Picking someone else's snotty nose?
– What attracts you? – in turn asked Valentin Valentinovich.
- Do you have abilities?
- In the cinema, first of all, appearance is needed.
Valentin Valentinovich looked at Yura with an appraising look:
- You have looks.
- One film director, my father's patient, promised to take me to the shooting.
- Wonderful! You will be the Soviet Rudolph Valentina or Douglas Fairbanks.
“He will start shooting a new picture in a year,” Yura said sadly. – What will I do after school? To the factory?
“By the way, why is your school so connected with the factory?”
- We go through industrial practice - two days a week, we get "labor" education, we even write theses, almost like in a university. We are being trained as something like statisticians. Such a bore!
- In vain you neglect this, - said Valentin Valentinovich, - after school, others go to the labor exchange or to laborers. And you immediately get a specialty.
“I need independence.
- The profession of an actor will give it to you?
- To a certain extent.
- You are mistaken. Independence is given only by these…
Valentin Valentinovich moved his fingers, as if sorting through the coins.
- But where can I get them?
Valentin Valentinovich extinguished his cigarette in an ashtray and walked around the room, clean and empty, with photographs of horses on the walls.
- You have to start small. Who am i? Commissioner of the Society "Friend of Children". Previously, I distributed lottery tickets, postcards, badges, climbed stairs, knocked on doors, irresponsible citizens slammed them in front of my nose. However, I managed to convince some people. Notice what a humane role I played: helping the unfortunate, hungry crumbs and arousing compassion in people. Now I am preparing a manufactory for our enterprises, the profit from them again goes to the aid of homeless children. I receive my interest once a month. Rockefeller has more, but I am well fed, dressed, shod. He stretched out his leg and held up a patent-leather Jimmy boot. - I make my money and think about how to make more of it.
- Lottery tickets? On the shipment of the manufactory?
- My friend! Money is made on everything. Nep! Cigarettes "Ira" are not all that is left of the old world. Move the gyrus, as they say in the magazine "Smekhach". Life on the move gives you a chance - do not miss it. Settle in at the factory. It will turn out with the director - you will go to Douglas Fairbanks. If it doesn’t work out, you will earn work experience and enter a university. By the way, what is your theme?
“Accounting at the warehouse,” Yura said with disgust.
- Great theme! exclaimed Valentin Valentinovich. - In the warehouse you will become a businessman, study fabrics. The most pressing issue! For ten years, people have worn themselves out, the market requires mats ...
- Mats? What it is? Yura asked.
“Mata is a manufactory in the language of smugglers, merchants also use this term,” explained Valentin Valentinovich. - What names! Amaranth, belfans, toile d'ete, canbera, violamacmino... Because of the names alone, I would go to work in a warehouse, honestly!
- You talk about the factory with the same enthusiasm as Misha Polyakov at school meetings about the world revolution, - Yura grinned.
- Well, of all those whom I saw today, Misha Polyakov liked me the most.
“You don’t know him very well,” Yura frowned.
The next day was a "factory" day - the guys had an internship. With a notebook and a pencil, Misha stood in the factory yard by the railway line. Loaders carried bales with textiles into the wagons.
Valentin Valentinovich came up.
What are you doing, Misha? “After yesterday’s incident, he treated him like a good friend.
Misha pointed to the notepad.
- I write down where the goods are sent.
– Does it have anything to do with your thesis?
- Yes. "Transportation of finished products".
- Fabulous! You can record my submission. - Valentin Valentinovich pointed to an empty car at a dead end. - Destination station - Batum, recipient - clothing factory of the "Friend of Children" society.
- I'll write it down when they load it, the turn will not come soon.
“All this has been going on for a terribly long time,” Valentin Valentinovich picked up, “and I’ll tell you why: they are being detained by dray cabs. Anachronism. The automobile dominates abroad.
Draft horses with shaggy legs stood at the warehouse gate. The carters put the bales on the shelves, covered them with tarpaulin, tied them with ropes, tightened them with crowbars.
The warehouse was crowded, but the workers deftly maneuvered the carts, dropping bales, where the storekeeper Panfilov showed them. At a small table, Yura wrote out invoices.
Krasavtsev, the sales manager, came in, a fat man with a swollen face, said something to Panfilov and left.
- Representative of the children's commission, citizen Navrotsky! shouted Panfilov, appearing at the warehouse gate.
Valentin Valentinovich looked around.
- They call me ... I'm coming!
He went to the warehouse and immediately returned, cheerfully informing Misha:
- Now they will be loaded!
He showed the loaders an empty wagon at a dead end:
- Come on, guys, let's move, a check on my brother!
He said something to the driver and coupler and went to the empty car, throwing Misha on the move:
Let's help, Misha!
Misha liked his cheerful dashing, and he helped the loaders push the car to the train.
The bumpers clanged, the coupler threw on the coupler, Valentin Valentinovich pulled the car door, it gently rolled on its rollers, the loaders installed the gangway, began to carry the bales.
Standing in the car, Valentin Valentinovich confidently ordered:
- Quickly, guys, step back, two steps forward, bale for bale, the goods are just on the wagon. We'll put it badly - we'll have to shift it.
He jumped off the car and went to the warehouse.
– Is the invoice ready?
“Ready,” said Yura.
- Well done!
Pressing the book with a ruler, Yura tore off the invoice and handed it to him.
Valentin Valentinovich looked at the train (the coupler was closing and sealing the car), nodded to Yura and Panfilov: “See you again!” - and through the side door went out into the street.
The driver blew his horn, the train started moving and stretched out of the factory gate. Misha recorded the carriage of Valentin Valentinovich.
And as soon as the gate behind the departed train closed, engineer Nikolai Lvovich Zimin entered the warehouse. He was clean-shaven, in a well-pressed suit, and held himself very straight. Behind his eyes they called him "master"
- the word at that time was no longer offensive, but mocking. It was undeserved and made Nikolai Lvovich stand still straighter, speak still more calmly.
Where is the defective batch? he asked the storekeeper Panfilov.
- What, Nikolai Lvovich? Panfilov asked.
- For the children's commission ... I ordered Krasavtsev to detain her. Did he give you my order?
- That's right, they ordered ... So after all, the transport was already loaded, it was not necessary to unload, Nikolai Lvovich.
“Interesting…” Zimin said discontentedly and left.
Misha remembered well: Krasavtsev came to the warehouse before that how the carriage of Valentin Valentinovich was loaded. Krasavtsev said something to Panfilov, and after This wagon of Valentin Valentinovich was immediately loaded and sent. What did Krasavtsev order? Delay the wagon or, on the contrary, send it out as soon as possible?
- Yura, didn't you hear what Krasavtsev said to Panfilov? Misha asked.
- Did he order to detain the car or, on the contrary, to send it?
- I do not know.
- You were there.
I don't listen to other people's conversations.
- Comrade Panfilov! Misha said. - But Krasavtsev came before that how the car of the children's commission was loaded.
Panfilov squinted at him from under his iron glasses.
- So what?
- And you told Comrade Zimin that the car had already been loaded.
- Well, he said.
- You told a lie.
From Panfilov's stern face, from his slanting glance, it could be assumed that he would send Misha to hell. However, he did not do this: he knew these young comrades, no one can get away from them, they care about everything, and it’s better not to mess with them.
“It’s easy for Comrade Zimin to give orders, only he doesn’t work for the Butikovs,” Panfilov objected bitterly.
- What does the Butikovs have to do with it? Misha was surprised.
- Moreover ... “Delay, I’ll look, I’ll take a look”! .. And for demurrage of cars, a fine is due, decent money, who will pay? Factory? State?
- Zimin wanted the worst?
- I did not say this, only he is not a commercial person. Do you want to find out marriage? Find out in the workshop, and not in the warehouse, when the goods are packed, the client is waiting, and the wagons are served.
There was logic in Panfilov's explanations, but the mention of the Butikovs, the former owners of the factory, was a hint that Zimin had served here under the factory owners, a hint of Zimin's old regime, an attempt to discredit him, to present him as a social alien. Misha felt false.
- But what did Krasavtsev order: to detain or send the car?
- Ask Krasavtsev about it! Panfilov answered with irritation. - Not Zimin, not Krasavtsev are responsible for sending, I am responsible. And I have nowhere to store the goods, you see. He waved his hand around the warehouse cluttered with bales. - The gentlemen, you understand, are fighting, and the serfs' forelocks are cracking. No, sorry, thanks.
In the evening Misha went to the Hermitage restaurant to see Slavka. The boulevards of the Garden Ring were deserted, rare lamps shone dimly on the corners of the main streets.
Slavka's mother left for another person. Slavka stayed with his father, dropped out of school, plays in the evenings in the orchestra of the Hermitage restaurant, earns a living: Konstantin Alekseevich is sick, does not work, has fallen. Misha was amazed at such weakness. If a woman left her husband, a decent and worthy person, abandoned her son, she can only be despised. Of course, love, passion, and so on, and yet duty is above all.
Misha entered the restaurant from the yard, past the kitchen, past the waiters scurrying along the narrow corridor with trays. Everyone was running, in a hurry, no one cared about Misha, and he safely reached a small room, separated from the stage by a heavy curtain.
An orchestra played nearby. Misha parted the curtain a little and saw the restaurant hall. Dressed women sat at tables covered with white tablecloths, men very important, as if engaged in a real business. And their whole business here is to drink, eat, laugh, as if they were having a lot of fun. Nepmen, speculators and embezzlers are saved from the worries and anxieties of life, they take revenge for their humiliation in that other world, where they are limited, taxed. Here they are gentlemen, realizing their wealth, throwing money, waiters bow before them warningly. Of course, the NEP is necessary for the restoration of the country, here is its reverse side, we have to put up with it, but these people are disgusting. What are they living for?
The orchestra fell silent, the musicians remained in their places. Sitting at the piano, Slavka was talking to the double bass player, an elderly man in a gray-blue suit with a bow tie.
Then tap dancers in black tailcoats, white shirt-fronts, black top hats and black patent leather shoes came out onto the stage. The orchestra struck out a bravura melody, the tap dancers beat the tap dance, the tails of their tailcoats fluttered, they thrashed their boots and sang verses ...
Two chervonets, three chervonets or five at once,
For chervonets, for chervonets you can get everything ...
The stupidest couplets about gold coins, about what exactly you can get for gold coins, an idiotic hymn to gold coins. No one pays attention to the tap dancers, although they are trying with might and main, sorry for them, and sorry for Slavka, and other musicians who are obliged to entertain this riffraff.
The tap dancers left. The musicians got up from their seats and rushed into the room behind the stage...
“I still have to play the squad,” warned Slavka.
"I'll wait," Misha replied.
He stood at the curtain and looked into the hall.
- Well, physics!
“These physics give food for some thought,” Slava said.
- Which ones?
- Could you and I think two years ago that all this would appear? .. New masters of life.
- More precisely, the owners of their money.
- But what money! Now I will show you some representatives of modern capital. Just don't stare at them too much and don't point your finger at them.
"I'll try," Misha laughed.
- On the right, at the second table, facing us, you see: a short brisket with lush hair?
“This brisket costs forty thousand.
“Like in America,” Misha chuckled. Mr Smith is worth forty million dollars.
- That's it. Puzanok earns forty thousand a year, and he is just a representative of the Kharkov State Confectionery Trust. Notice the government! Do we have so many confectionery products? They don't buy? No, they are bought, snapped up and without this pimple. But this pimple gets ten percent for the sale - that's just forty thousand - and shares it with his superiors.
“Look,” Misha said, “Krasavtsev is next to him.
- Who is Krasavtsev?
– Head of sales of the factory where we do our internship.
– Perhaps, but also, of course, a bribe taker.
Misha was upset by Slavka's bilious tone.
Are we not fighting this?
- Let's say - did not argue Slavka. - Now the next table, you see, black-moustached horseman? It costs thirty thousand, the representative of Asiaryba, advertises herring, but why advertise it? Do you know such a city Achinsk?
- In Siberia?
- Exactly. You won't find it on every map. There is a tiny shop there that sells bast shoes, tar, ropes, nails, scythes, and sickles. Where does this shop advertise itself? You won't guess. in Parisian newspapers. And paid for advertising in gold. Like this!
“I can imagine the jubilation of the Parisians,” Misha laughed. - Anecdote, perhaps?
- An anecdote? Read Crocodile. Look further: Ivan Poddubny, so he is not Ivan Poddubny, but the Cheap Dress company. Nearby are two gentlemen in breeches “Fine Dress” ... And there, in blouses and jackets, these are the so-called cooperatives, artels, of course, fake, but the signs ... The signs are the most ideological ... “His Labor” deigns to eat salmon, “Collective Labor” drinks champagne. Labor, labor, labor... A convenient word!..
“Listen,” Misha interrupted him, peering into the depths of the hall, “there, in the corner, isn’t Yura with Lyuda Zimina?
- I know the person with whom they are sitting - Valentin Valentinovich Navrotsky.
- I know him too, he has been living in our house for some time now.
“And do they come here often?”
- I see Lyuda here for the first time, Yura happens, Navrotsky is our regular guest.
- And how much does it cost?
I don't know, it's a mysterious figure.
- This is just an agent for the procurement of the children's commission.
“It doesn’t mean anything, everyone here has modest titles: agent, commissioner, owner of a store or stall, cashiers - as a rule, embezzlers - walk before boarding. There's a lot to see here. The underside of society.
- Not the wrong side, but the dregs.
- You can say so, - again Slavka did not argue.
- Went! - said the cellist, rising to the stage.
– Will you wait? asked Slava.
"I'll wait," Misha replied.
The orchestra played.
Yura and Luda got up and mingled with the crowd of dancers.
Navrotsky took an envelope out of his jacket pocket, put it on the table, covered it with a menu card, clicked the shutter of his cigarette case, kneaded his cigarette, lit a cigarette, threw a match into the ashtray, leaned back in his chair, inhaled deeply and did not even turn his head when Krasavtsev sat down at the table.
Navrotsky pushed his cigarette case towards him and held up the menu card. Krasavtsev took out a cigarette, pulled out an envelope from under the menu, put it in his pocket.
Is this the whole amount?
- You can't count. When will I receive the next batch?
On Krasavtsev's rumpled, red from vodka face, an expression of impregnability, usual for a bribe-taker, appeared.
“In a week, not earlier, and no discount on marriage and third grade.
- Why?
- Zimin is going to personally check the marriage and variety, he is worried that there are too many of them.
- Can't get along with him?
- From the old specialists, a coward. I wanted to delay your shipment, but I managed to send it.
“I managed to send it,” Navrotsky objected coolly.
Krasavtsev squinted at him.
- If I had not warned Panfilov ...
Navrotsky interrupted him:
- If I had not had time to dive in half an hour, you would have been caught in a fictitious marriage and went to court.
Krasavtsev squinted at him again - the dude should be besieged.
- Zimin requires documents for your shipment.
- Please, the documents are in order, - answered Valentin Valentinovich.
- If you don’t particularly poke around in them.
“The documents are in perfect order,” repeated Valentin Valentinovich. - You can easily pass them on. Let him study. Even at home. That's it, let him take it home and carefully read it.
The orchestra is silent.
- So, agreed? - Navrotsky made it clear that Krasavtsev could retire.
Rising, Krasavtsev grinned:
- Are you here with Zimin's daughter, if I'm not mistaken?
- Don't be mistaken. You can safely transfer the documents to Zimin for personal use.
Yura and Lyuda returned. Luda sat down, straightened her dress, looked around.
- Well, how? asked Valentin Valentinovich.
- Wonderful!
Luda is in a restaurant for the first time. When she walked here, she was worried, embarrassed, it seemed to her that she would touch the dangerous, forbidden, but tempting side of life. Dad and mom will be upset to know that she was here, but she wanted to see, wanted to know what it is, found out, looked and maybe she won't come here anymore. Nothing special - drinking, eating, dancing. They drink and eat very tasty, tastier than at home, and quite differently. She will honestly say: she wanted to look - she looked; it is always important for dad and mom to understand the motives, she will explain the motives to them: it was interesting to see. True, she is pleased that they look at her. There was this theme at home - Luda is a coquette, she was ridiculed for this, dad often said: "Luda looks into the samovar again." In the end, everyone has and should have flaws. In general, Luda mentally agreed with herself, mentally agreed with her parents.
Do you have friends in the orchestra? asked Valentin Valentinovich.
- A boy from our house, Slavka Eldarov. Very talented.
“Not without talent,” Yura condescendingly agreed.
No, very talented! Luda objected. “But they are in trouble at home, their parents are separated, and he is forced to play in a restaurant.
“It will do him good,” said Valentin Valentinovich.
- Yes? Why? Luda asked.
- It's hard to explain... Banal words come to mind: adversity hardens, character is developed in the crucible of trials, and the like. But these erased expressions contain never aging truths.
So, long live the difficulties! Yura announced. - And if they are not?
“They cannot be absent,” replied Valentin Valentinovich.
Why don't you dance? Luda asked.
- I do not know how.
Foxtrot is very simple.
- It's too late for me to study.
- To you? Do you consider yourself an old man?
Valentin Valentinovich smiled:
- Tell me better, how do you work at the factory?