What Eduard Asadov was hiding under a black mask. The tragedy of the "poet for cooks"
(lyrical story)
IN THE WARM LANE
A scream flew in, piercing, ringing
In every yard, window and attic.
He is like a blinding flash of lightning,
Broke the evening darkness.
The scream flew in and burst like a string.
The air suddenly became unusually noisy.
And in a wary alley
Silence fell like a raven...
What happened? The woman screamed.
You have to get up and go out. Shyness away!
Maybe she got into trouble.
We need to get out, get out and help!
Courage! Well, where are you hiding?
Silence in Teply Lane...
Not a single window opened.
None of the doors opened.
Cowardice, or what, in the souls golobrodit?
Is it indifference to someone else's fate?
What then: every one for himself, come out?
Everyone, then, only about himself?
No not like this! From a hard hit
The entrance door wide open: - Who's there? Hey! -
They're already running along the sidewalk,
Voices are getting closer, more and more audible.
Don't see the policeman.
If there is a problem, they are ready to help.
No, not everyone took cover behind the curtains,
No, not everyone pushed the bolts!
And it happened like this: at the Rybakovs
Varya's birthday was celebrated.
And the hostess, blushing with embarrassment,
In a red dress, in cherry shoes,
Congratulations at home.
Thirty-seven is not so little.
The woman here has the right to be cunning.
Reduce three years to start -
Let not three, let it be a year, but still reduce it.
But what year should she cross out?
After all, not the one who gave the primer into his hands,
The year when I breathed frost in my chest
Black and white commemorative January.
A mournful hall ... A steep familiar forehead ...
Scarlet cloths of kumach
And the coffin floating above the rows
Close to the guys Ilyich ...
Maybe this year has passed like a shadow?
Take - and cross it out, for example.
Only it will turn out that on a May day
Varka did not join the pioneers ...
The war left a heavy mark.
But how can she lose these years?
It will come out then that it is not her
She served in the regimental infirmary.
It will come out, not she under the whistle and thunder,
Covering the wounded
Bandaged under any fire
And carried them, groaning, from the battle.
Who, if not she, sometimes nocturnal
Through the swamp of the icy swamp
Carried out with a broken leg
Petty officer Maxim Rybakov?
Rybakov in the sanitary battalion began to feel sad
And one day he said to her, sighing:
- Without a leg, as you see, you can live,
But I don't know how to live without you...
And now, right next to the table,
He, who went through the war with her,
Fills his glass with wine
And he looks at his wife with a smile.
Let not an easy path behind
And my eyes got wrinkles
Is it only possible to cross out -
That there is a year - at least one day!
Thirty-seven is not thirty. Right. Yes.
Thirty-seven - not voiced twenty-five.
But, since the years have really lived,
That's right, they should not be reduced!
The guests were having fun at the table,
Various toasts were announced by the guests.
And the glasses rang like crystal,
Flashing with diamond sparks ...
A scream flew in, piercing, ringing,
Drowning out the table ringing and hum.
He is like a freezing cold
He breathed right into the soul of everyone.
There was silence immediately...
- Rob, - someone said timidly. -
Only our business is a party.
No one is tired of living.
But the master, standing up, answered sternly:
- What are we, people or what animals?
Climb, they say, into the mink, if there is an alarm somewhere ... -
And he went, creaking with his prosthesis, to the door.
But already, ahead of him,
Varvara rushed into the corridor.
All - one swift impulse,
Down... quick! Up the stairs to the yard...
Let her not have tarpaulin boots,
Not an overcoat. Let it be on it for a long time
A crepe dress and cherry shoes,
But the soul is the same anyway!
Two broad-shouldered shadows darted into the night...
And Varvara saw at once
A woman who, bending her knees,
Somehow strangely settled down to the ground ...
Squeezing your face with both hands,
The woman moaned muffledly, rarely,
And through the fingers of dark streams
Blood spilled onto the white jacket.
And when I lost consciousness
Shaking Varya with a chilly shiver,
For some reason I pressed everything to my chest
Light blue leather handbag.
Wounds, blood Varvara is not new.
No bandages - and it happened too.
Off your shoulders with a crimson scarf!
- Honey ... be strong ... now we will help ...
People quickly began to gather:
Locksmith, grandmother, janitor, two soldiers.
Rybakov stepped out of his machine gun:
- I called. Now the car will.
At this time, one appeared
Who has to show up first.
Strict look, cap, chest forward.
- Citizens, please do not gather!
Forgetting for a long time about the new dress,
Blood on it (yes, is it really up to the ball here!),
Varya, sitting on a stone in front of the house,
She held the wounded by the shoulders.
Here is the whistle, the stretcher, the orderlies...
- Where is she? Please step aside! -
The wounded woman lifted her eyelashes
And for a moment she caught Varvara's eye.
However, you can talk along the way.
Could you drive? Give light!
Yes, everything is clear ... Quiet ... do not shake ...
On a stretcher... so... now in a carriage!
Varya quickly turned to her husband:
- You know, something needs to be done!
I will go. Suddenly she gets worse
Maybe the children are at home or the mother...
She smiled: - Do not be angry, man,
You go to the guests, and then I. -
The car beeped loudly
And, roaring, disappeared around the corner.
The doctor entered with the chastity of a fighter
And she said, wiping her hands:
- Knife wound under the scapula,
And the second - across the face.
But now it is easier for her, and she
She fell asleep after the operation. -
Varya was oppressed by silence,
Varya quickly got up from her chair:
- You have to find someone close to you. -
Eyebrows, trembling, moved slightly.
- And what a hand went up
So strip the girl!
- This bag, - said Varvara, -
The elbow was tightly clenched,
Despite two such blows,
The woman took care of the bag.
- Bag? - The doctor took her purse,
She quickly leaned over to open
And now in the middle of the table
The ribbon unfolded blue.
Following her, like chicks from a cage,
The undershirts fluttered out together,
Cap, two cambric diapers
And funny baby baretques…
And the doctor's eyes are harsh
Somehow it suddenly became noticeably warmer:
- A whole wardrobe baby!
But how can we be, really?
Are you ready to help us?
How well do you know Moscow?
- Warm alley? Doctor what are you
I live in that alley!
But what should we do with the baby? -
The doctor smiled: - Wait,
Know everything first, and then
Call us right here
A restless soul is going.
Rushing, counting every turn!
Just let it go slowly
For no baby
Varya will not find him in that apartment.
Over Moscow canopy black and blue,
The stars twinkle in it sometimes.
Gromova Galina is feeling bad these days,
Galina Gromova is in trouble.
And the trouble came quite unexpectedly,
With an impudent grin, baring his mouth,
In the form of a stupid bully
In the alley, near the gate.
Friend reader! About the fate of Galina
We'll stop talking to you for a moment.
There is no trouble in the world without a reason.
So why can't evil be stopped?
Maybe somewhere near us,
Maybe at someone's door
People with black hearts roam
Vodka pumped up "up to the eyebrows."
Yes, Galina is in grief today.
And, reader, you would like to know:
Is it true that there was no man
Hold the bully's hand?
Many would nod their heads
And they said, "We didn't know, no."
Many would say so ... But three
Only the eyes would be hidden in response.
The engineer would look away, the same one,
That he was walking home from work that evening.
Yes, he saw how at the turn
The hooligans approached the woman.
Seeing, he was very indignant
(To myself, of course, not out loud)
And, with agility shaming the flies,
In the entrance door, as if in a slot, huddled ...
And the accountant Nikolai Ivanovich,
Who lives on the ground floor
He loved, opening the window at night,
Smoke while flipping through Beranger.
How is he? Did he sound the alarm
Seeing how two gloomy hooligans
Swearing loudly, incessantly,
Blocked the woman's way?
Nikolai Ivanovich, what are you, dear!
Are you scared tonight?
You often boasted of strength,
You've even done boxing!
If fear whispered to us that it was useless
Risk this way with your head,
Well, they would tear off a double-barreled shotgun from the wall!
Well, they would shoot into the sky once or twice!
Well, at least they would scream, in fact,
Directly from the window: “Do not touch! Away!" -
Only you did not dare to shout,
Apparently, fear is not easy to overcome ...
You lowered the curtain slowly
And quietly watched through the crack ...
Glorious, heroic soul,
You can hardly find a more valiant one!
However, there was a third rotozey -
Rotozei with the soul of a snail:
The red-haired janitor is Uncle Elisha.
He looked and closed the gate.
- Well, all of them in the swamp! - he said. -
Get in touch, then do not get even. -
Stood up, scratched the back of his head
And he went with his wife to confer ...
Here, for example, with a dexterous hand
The crook is pulling someone's wallet.
Are we interfering with you?
More often not. We look - and silence ...
Isn't it sometimes the case
That some half-drunk cattle
To a stranger girl on a tram
Smirking, rudely pesters?
He makes noise, threatens, swears,
The car shakes with laughter.
And no one will stop him
And no one will say: "Get out!"
Never meeting resistance
To his most heinous trick,
Look - this guy is at the fence
The "pigeons" are already on duty at night.
"Doves" he calls passers-by.
In fact, "pigeons" are not people.
If the guard does not disturb,
Take it easy, nothing will happen.
Our people are not flowers from the window.
Build cities in the forests
They knew the hunger, they saw the bombing,
They tore rocks, fought on the fronts.
Why sometimes at the crossroads
These people are trembling
Before the weak blade of the knife
In the five of a beardless teenager?!
We are often looking for an excuse here:
Anything, they say, will wander into his forehead,
Here he will take and move his fist
Or even slash with a razor ...
Isn't it then that he threatens,
Is it not then that he bravely waves his razor,
What perfectly sees our timidity?
Well, timid ones, who is afraid of them?
Gromova Galina is feeling bad these days.
Galina Gromova is in trouble.
My comrade! Isn't it time now
To end this misfortune forever?!
Gromov walks quickly along the carriage,
Nervously pinches stiff mustache
And more and more often he looks at his watch,
That shine in the depths of the platform.
How clumsy everything turns out, right,
The arrows are moving so fast!
That's before the departure of the composition
There are only seven minutes left.
He cannot understand: what is the reason?
What happened? After all, it can't be
So that Galina, faithful Galina,
I didn’t rush to see my husband off!
Everything has been going great so far,
He, Andrei, graduated from the institute:
- Well, wife, Galina Nikolaevna,
Here is the diploma, and here is the route.
I am a geologist. Good name!
Well, don't frown... I'll be there soon.
So, Leshka, me and Boyko Tanya
We ride under the command of Christopher.
There is a river with a funny name...
I remembered: "Kakva" ... You know, the forest ... Ural ...
There are three of us: Leshka, me and Tanya ...
However, I already said that...
We have been given three months.
- Oh, Andryushka, should I get used to it!
The one who was waiting for a loved one from the war,
Trust me, I've learned to wait.
Galina has eyelashes with wings,
And the eyes are two dark cornflowers.
Galya will smile - and the river,
Streets, trees, clouds -
Everything in the eyes laughs and crushes.
It turned out like this: suddenly someone for some reason
The route was "checked", "specified",
And leaving at the last minute
It was rescheduled a day earlier.
How to be here? Galina is not at home,
And today to go ... That's the task!
He hurriedly called his friends,
To work - failure everywhere!
Things are all packed long ago
Gentle efforts of Gali.
He will leave a letter. It's decided.
And he will wait for his wife at the station.
And now here quickly along the wagon
He walks, pulling his mustache,
Every now and then looking at the clock,
That shine in the depths of the platform.
Five minutes ... After all, this is very little ...
But Galina is still missing.
Maybe you didn't read the letter?
Stopped somewhere? What's the secret?!
Hey Andryusha, wait a little! -
And from the platform, having chewed a biscuit,
The freckled Lyoshka quickly jumped off. -
You know, there is a lucky omen:
This platform is number three.
And our third carriage... No, seriously...
You have the third place, look!
The train is also the third ... Grandiose!
Stop! And three minutes to go!
You are lucky! Take a look now
From the buzzing hustle and bustle of the people
A pair of dark blue eyes will flash...
I know everything will be all right.
Galya is a spool of uranium! -
At this time I went to the site
Stately, tall Tatyana.
I calmly looked at my friends
And she said: - Citizens, in the car!
Khristofor Ivanovich is indignant.
There was a whistle, and it's not the place to stand here.
Tannin's look was something like a lord:
He did not laugh and did not suffer,
And at the meeting cold and proud
It's like giving you two fingers.
The composition rushes, raindrops beat on the glass,
A bright light sank into the night of the station ...
Oh, Galinka, dear Galinka!
Come running, but there is no train ...
However, okay. And that didn't happen...
There was a squad, and Andrei was with Galya.
But although the farewell took place,
And my heart was heavier.
Forty-first. The roar of trains,
In a brand new cap, in boots,
Andryusha Gromov stood in the crush,
Pulling a linden branch in his hands.
He saw how the foreman of someone
He scolded for a crumpled bowler hat,
As the wife of a company commander
Everyone shoved a bundle to her husband.
He did not take it: - Leave it, take it to the guys ...
Well, do not cry, Marusya ... nothing ... -
And he was embarrassed, seeing that the soldiers
They look at him from the carriages.
For ten years Andrei studied with Galya.
Galya is a friend. Are there few friends?
Why now at the station
Does he think of her longingly?
How did he say goodbye to Galya yesterday?
"Don't forget, write to me..." Oh, cudgel!..
You lie that friendship, you lie, but did not confess,
Frightened by the blue eyes of Galina.
“Don't forget, write to me…” So be it!
That's what you want, you pathetic coward!
Now take sadness on the road
Take away the undivided cargo!
But when Andrey stepped towards the carriage,
Stomping his heel on the cigarette butt,
I saw it suddenly at the end of the platform
A light familiar figure.
Galya walked, ran faster and faster,
Like being afraid to lose something
And when I saw Andrey,
Suddenly, she turned a deep blush.
Her chest was heaving,
My hands were cold as ice.
You know, I didn't mean to...
However, no ... Quite the contrary ...
Was such a ruby sunset
That at least dip a brush into it - and here
A poster will appear on the wall:
“Komsomol members, all together to the front!”
The bayonet clanged, commands were given,
Somewhere they sang to the harmonica ...
Near the train at the station
The first time they kissed.
And he took away the march of military pipes,
Galinka's blue gaze full of grief,
The taste of her dry hot lips
And the salty taste of a teardrop...
Galina did not say about love.
Look at everything answered frankly.
Well, were there not enough letters?
Two letters a week for sure.
What letter?! But if you look closely
This is, after all, love itself.
Exactly three hundred and forty-two letters.
Three hundred and forty-two particles of the heart! ..
What could happen to you?
Behind the window is midnight. Chill…
Sat Andrew. I don't want to, I can't sleep!
- Leshka, throw me a box of matches.
Tanya took matches from the table,
She threw it to Andrey, grinned:
- What, geologist, things are not easy? -
And, crunching her elbows, she stretched.
Good Tatyana, what to hide:
A strict profile, as if from under a cutter,
Soft chestnut strand
Shine of teeth and dullness of the face.
Only this is of no use to Andrei,
He looks at her calmly.
Tanya is a statue in a museum
Good, but the heart does not hurt ...
Behind the window of a black fox
The night rushes, falling to the grasses.
Eh, Andrei, why be sad, sighing ?!
Need sleep. Yes, there is no sleep.
It's bad: to wait and not wait, -
Tanya suddenly spoke sternly. -
I, too, once, I confess,
I waited in vain for my dear.
He was nice, kind, carefree,
From a half-word I understood a friend.
And even though he joked with me willingly,
But he did not notice my love.
Yes, love. But I discovered it
Too late. Yes, brothers.
It's no longer a secret,
Everything is gone and gone...
But then, I remember, it seemed
What to sigh, shy, to nothing
And what if I met with happiness,
I have to take it and I will.
By what unwritten laws
It's been that way for a long time,
What about feelings for girls in love
Is it forbidden to speak first?
A guy loves - everything is possible for a guy:
Confess, look - and they will understand ...
And the girl is a roadside buttercup:
Wait to be found and plucked.
Only I'm not a timid ten.
What did I have to wait for?!
Why play hide and seek with happiness?
He is silent, so I must say!
I remember a noisy institute evening.
The raucous peal of the radio.
I decided: today this meeting
It will not be thoughtless and fun.
He came with a girlfriend, he - with his wife.
Dancing, laughter, merry chatter...
Well I froze, as if before the fight,
Looking and soul directing to the door.
Leshka got up instantly
And he asked impatiently: - Well?
What's next? - Then everything is sad,
Then my frigate went to the bottom.
My hero has arrived. Only next to
Next to him, beaming, walked another.
Squinting blindly…
Red, plump, oblique ...
Well, how is he? Lesha exclaimed.
- He? - Tatyana twisted her lips angrily: -
He shone like a new accordion,
And the trumpets sounded in my soul!
He looked into her eyes, by God,
Like a mongrel, faithfully and faithfully.
Well, and I, I moved to the threshold.
What to hide, I was very bad ...
Immediately became insignificant, like a bug,
Our conversation. He is in love. He is with her!
Yes, Andryusha, it's hard not to wait,
Losing is twice as hard...
Tanya, come on! - Leshka said with a sigh. -
What's gone, you can't bring back.
Whether sadness, snow - everything melts little by little,
And here you are rubbing whiskey in vain.
There is a sign - you will grow old early.
And for women, it's a living hell! -
And, catching his careless glance,
The stern Tatyana smiled.
Listen, Lyoshka, - Andrey suddenly said. -
You pour signs like rain.
Do you really believe in devils?
You are a Komsomol member and an atheist.
Lyoshka chuckled: - That's because the eccentric!
The root of evil is not in me.
Just my grandmother Akulina
I didn’t live a minute without signs.
And, protecting the grandson from troubles,
Without doubts and without long thoughts
Grandmother with that tricky science
Stuffed my green mind.
I don't care about god and devils!
Will I be afraid of stupidity!
You just need to unload somehow.
Me from my grandmother's burden!
Suddenly the professor opened his eyelashes
And through his sleep he grumbled angrily:
- What do you, night owls, do not sleep?
The night is long. Finish your kagal!
He mumbled a little more
Sleepily stretched and yawned.
Flicked the switch by the window
And the car sank into darkness.
There is a sign, Khristofor Ivanovich, -
Lesha smiled. - Believe me:
Never get angry at night -
The brownie will dream in a dream ...
NEW FRIEND
- Still, it's good, Barbara,
That we are so nice friends!
The neighbor's guitar strums again.
Look, look, the phloxes have blossomed!
Galina has been excited all these days.
As soon as I got home from the hospital,
She suddenly cries for no reason,
And then, jumping up, spinning with laughter ...
The pier glass is now her enemy: carrying sorrows,
It reminds endlessly
About Gali's shorn head
And a crimson scar across the face.
Evil is evil. And yet, whenever
Now new souls have been opened to her.
- Yes, yes, Varyusha, this is excellent,
That we are so nice friends!
You know, there, in the hospital, it seemed to me
That all your visits are just a drawing.
I saw - I felt pity,
Well, come and pat on the head.
Heart look. Bouquet for a blanket…
You come every evening, as if to the service ...
Sorry, Varyusha! I didn't know then
That kindness is the first herald of friendship.
Yes, by the way, in the purse then
You stumbled upon children's gizmos.
Baby! And you came here
Help him, but did not find a trace:
And it beats under my heart.
Varvara smiled: - A funny
I was met at your apartment.
Tell me who is this Elsa Vyacheslavna
In such pajamas of the color "pull out the eye"?
- Like who? Yes, just a husband's wife.
She served somewhere in the headquarters, near the Arbat.
But when she got married, she gained in full
Everything she ever dreamed of.
Boris Ilyich, her husband, wholly
scientific work absorbed.
But Elsa has three favorite things:
Cinema, department store and stadium.
Moreover, I will add that our neighbor
Not Elsa, but Lisa's name.
But the name Elsa seems more beautiful to her,
And Lisa is boring as a collar.
Barbara chuckled: - I understand,
When I arrived here that evening,
Then this Elsa, opening the doors,
I remember being terribly scared.
"Which child?! she gasped.
What a nightmare Someone is fooling us here.
Boris, where are you, I'm so amazed!
Hospital… Galya… What does it all mean?”
Coolness… Twilight… Beyond the Moscow River
The last rays have already gone out,
Only a chilly evening stirred with a stick
Sunset dying coals ...
- Don't, Galya, turn on the lights!
So it seems to be cozier and warmer.
By the way, you wanted to tell
A little about myself and Andrew.
Then about the ringing, long-awaited miracle ...
Say: what will you call him?
- Now, Varyusha. But first about the main thing:
Andrew doesn't know yet.
But in order: on the day when Andryusha
He returned from the front, I met him
Not a schoolgirl, as she used to see off,
And a teacher. Do you believe, Varyusha,
Going to college for four years
I raved in a dream and in reality
Here on this day. But, you know, here
I stand before him like a fool and roar.
But no, wait, I'm not talking about that at all.
I'm talking about something else ... After all, you know, on this day
She left the earth, the evil shadow disappeared.
End of the war. The world is filled with bright light!
Some old woman suddenly asked:
"Who are you meeting, daughter?" And Andrey
Embracing me, he suddenly barked with all his strength:
“Wife, grandma! Husband came to her!
And suddenly, embarrassed, he looked into my eyes:
"Galina, right?" I nodded, "Yes."
The station was drowning in flowers and music,
The people were noisy, the trains were whistling...
Since then forever in my memory
Remained this sunny platform
And tanned joyful Andrey
In a cap and overcoat without shoulder straps.
Andrey said, returning: “So, Galya,
While we walked through the flames in a terrible hour,
You are all done with the institutions here
And it looks like they even overtook us.
Sitting now, broad-shouldered and mustachioed,
At lectures with notes at hand,
And next to the bright-eyed girls
And boys without fluff over the lip.
And I laugh: "Be quiet, such a destiny,
Humility uplifts the mind and soul.
Christ, there Aunt Shura claims
He endured worse humiliation!
I, Varya, are now in a fever,
I'm all talking nonsense.
Do I want to play hide and seek with you now!
You know, I always regret beauty.
Okay, maybe not beauty, but still
At least there was something in me!
And then look: grimace, disgust, mug,
A nightmare in some incomprehensible dream!
Dropping, shoulders trembled quickly,
In a tired look - a sharp winter.
- Don't, do you hear? Well, don't, Galya!
Not so bad, well, judge for yourself:
Now such scars are medicine,
Of course, he knows how to clean.
Well, it will be, it will be ... Remember about your son,
You can't worry the boy.
- Who are we waiting for? - Galina brightened up. -
I'm waiting for the earring. Surely it will be nice!
- Well, that's the same, that's another matter.
You can't mope, Galina Nikolaevna.
- Yes, yes, you can't. But don't just think
That I'm afraid to meet Andryusha.
My Andrey is not a dummy and not a coward,
And the scar will not repel him at all.
And although it has a lot of soft warmth,
But he, like me, will not cry from grief.
Our love went through the war
And that means something too!
And most importantly, there is a surprise waiting for him,
Which is rampaging already, knocking...
Here, give me your hand... Do you feel it? Like a bird
In a tight snare, it beats up and down.
Andrei once told me: “Galina,
What to be modest - we live well,
But if you and I also have a son ... "-
And he sighed and clicked his tongue.
In our work, in joy, in struggle
There are days-enemies and days-friends.
But the day when it warmed up in you
Another life, with nothing to compare!
First, I'm talking about such joy
I wanted to tell Andrew right away.
But immediately she decided: “No, wait!
I can always say it myself."
It's too easy: take it and say it.
But no, let it be stupidity, let it be a whim,
However, I decided to watch
When he himself notices my "surprise".
Raging, spring crumbled,
And my Gromov graduated from the institute.
He came and shouted cheerfully: “Wife!
Here is my diploma, and here is the route!”
And, packing a suitcase for her husband,
I decided: now there is no need to hide.
Three months did not make my camp
As long as remarkable to look at.
But it's silly to talk about "surprise"!
Here, Varenka, an amusing task!
"Surprises" are supposed to give,
Moreover, and suddenly, not otherwise.
Well, how to be here? Ingenuity, help me out!
Stop! I will buy a dowry for the baby
And at the station at the very moment of farewell
I will open the bag, as if by chance.
Then the sad look will disappear immediately!
Look, Andrey's eyes warmed up ...
"Galinka! he will exclaim. - Really?
Will there be three of us now? How glad I am!
He will carefully take me by the shoulders
And, bending down, he will tell me, loving:
“Thank you, my dear! See you!
Now there are three of us. Take care of yourself!"
Yes, that's what I thought when
That evening I hurried to the station.
And then, like thunder, an unexpected disaster,
Deaf abuse ... Blow ... Then - failure ...
I remember only two figures in caps,
Two pairs of tightly clenched fists
Two pairs of eyes, cold, impudent, tenacious,
From under the hanging low visors.
“Well, wait! - one said gloomily. -
What kind of treasure are you carrying under your arm?
"Freeze," the second figure muttered. -
Look, do not try to rush back!”
When a big rough hand
Grabbed the bag, I suddenly instantly
Not so much with a purpose, but automatically
She pulled her purse slightly towards her.
They hit me first in the back.
Then ... Oh, really, stop remembering!
How cold it is here, I'm just getting cold.
Come on, Varyusha, have some tea.
And they had never met before.
At least they saw each other.
- So be it ... But where trouble struck,
Where more reliable and more faithful girlfriend.
"Galina"
(Lyrical story in verse)
IN A WARM LANE
A scream flew in, piercing, ringing
In every yard, window and attic.
He is like a blinding flash of lightning,
Broke the evening twilight...
The scream flew in and burst like a string.
The air suddenly became unusually noisy.
And into the wary alley
Silence fell like a raven...
What happened? The woman screamed.
You have to get up and go out. Shyness away!
Maybe she got into trouble
We need to get out, get out and help!
Courage! Well, where are you hiding?
Silence in Teply Lane.
Not a single window opened.
None of the doors opened...
Cowardice, or what, in the souls golobrodit?
Is it indifference to someone else's fate?
What then: every one for himself, come out?
Everyone, then, only about himself?
No not like this! From a hard hit
The entrance door wide open: - Who's there? Hey! -
They're already running along the sidewalk,
Voices are getting closer, more and more audible.
Don't see the policeman.
If there's a problem, they're ready to help.
No, not everyone took cover behind the curtains,
No, not everyone pushed the bolts!
And it happened like this: at the Rybakovs
Varya's birthday was celebrated.
And the hostess, blushing with embarrassment,
In a red dress, in cherry shoes
Congratulations at home.
Thirty-seven is not so little.
A woman here has the right to be deceitful,
Reduce three years to start -
Let not three, let it be a year, but still reduce ...
But what year should she cross out?
After all, not the one who gave the primer into his hands,
The year when I breathed frost in my chest
Black and white commemorative January.
Mournful hall... Steep familiar forehead...
Scarlet canvases of kumach.
And the coffin floating above the rows
Close to the guys Ilyich ...
You won't forget this year, no!
Sorrowful, solemn and strict.
Well, the one that grew up on the threshold,
When was Varka ten years old?
Maybe this year has passed like a shadow?
Take - and cross it out, for example.
Only it will turn out that on a May day
Varka did not join the pioneers ...
And no matter what the years go by,
There is no such thing as sneaking quietly!
This year - entry into the Komsomol.
And the other is in the weaver's factory.
This is youth. But there were years
Which is hard to remember?
Here is the war ... smokes to the sky,
At the threshold of a crying mother ...
The war left a heavy mark.
But how can she lose these years?
It will come out then that it is not her
She served in the regimental infirmary,
It will come out, not she under the whistle and thunder,
Covering the wounded
Bandaged under any fire
And carried them, groaning, from the battle.
Who, if not she, sometimes nocturnal
Through the swamp of the icy swamp
Carried out with a shattered leg
Sergeant Major Maxim Rybakov.
Rybakov in the sanitary battalion began to feel sad
And one day he said to her, sighing:
- Without a leg, as you see, you can live,
But I don't know how to live without you...
And now, right next to the table.
He, who went through the war with her,
Fills his glass with wine
And he looks at his wife with a smile.
Let not an easy path behind
And my eyes got wrinkles
Can you just cross out
That there is a year, at least one day!
Thirty-seven is not thirty. Right. Yes.
Thirty-seven - not voiced twenty-five.
But, since the years have really lived,
That's right, they should not be reduced!
The guests were having fun at the table,
Various toasts were announced by the guests.
And the glasses rang like crystal,
Flashing with diamond sparks...
A scream flew in, piercing, ringing,
Drowning out the table ringing and rumble,
He is like a freezing cold
He breathed right into the soul of everyone.
There was silence immediately...
- They rob, - someone said timidly, -
Only our business side.
No one is tired of living ...
But the master, standing up, answered sternly:
- What are we, people or what animals?
Climb, they say, into the mink, if there is an alarm somewhere ... -
And he went, creaking with his prosthesis, to the door.
But, already ahead of him,
Varvara rushed into the corridor.
All - one swift impulse,
Down... quick! Up the stairs to the yard...
Two broad-shouldered shadows darted into the night...
And Varvara saw at once
A woman who, bending her knees,
Strangely, it sank to the ground...
Squeezing your face with both hands,
The woman moaned muffledly, rarely,
And through the fingers of dark streams
Blood spilled onto the white jacket.
And when I lost consciousness
Shaking Varya with a chilly shiver,
For some reason I pressed everything to my chest
Light blue leather handbag.
Wounds, blood Varvara is not new.
No bandages - and it happened too.
Off your shoulders with a crimson scarf!
- Honey... be strong... now we'll help...
People quickly began to gather:
Locksmith, grandmother, janitor, two soldiers.
Rybakov stepped out of his machine gun:
- I called. Now the car will.
At this time, one appeared
Who has to show up first.
A stern look, a cap, chest forward ...
- Citizens, please do not gather!
Forgetting for a long time about the new dress,
Blood on it (yes, is it really up to the ball!)
Varya, sitting on a stone in front of the house,
She held the wounded by the shoulders.
Here's the whistle, the stretcher, the orderlies...
- Where is she? Please step aside! -
The wounded woman lifted her eyelashes
And for a moment she caught Varvara's eye.
Like I wanted to say something
But again she sank into oblivion.
The doctor asked Varya: - Are you yours?
Are you friends? How was it here?
However, you can talk along the way.
Could you drive? Give light!
Yes, everything is clear... be quiet... don't shake...
On a stretcher... well... now in a carriage!
Varya quickly turned to her husband:
- You know, something needs to be done! -
I will go. Suddenly she gets worse
Maybe the kids are at home, or the mother...
She smiled: - Do not be angry, man,
You go to the guests, and then I, -
The car beeped loudly
And, roaring, disappeared around the corner.
The doctor entered with the chastity of a fighter
And she said, wiping her hands:
- Knife wound under the scapula,
And the second - across the face.
But now it is easier for her, and she
She fell asleep after the operation. -
Varya was oppressed by silence,
Varya quickly got up from her chair:
Gotta find someone close
Eyebrows, trembling, moved slightly. -
And what a hand went up
So strip the girl!
The Doctor shook her head slightly.
- It's strange, you are a stranger to her ... but, by the way,
You are right, and it is bad that the rest
This seems strange at times.
This bag, - said Varvara, -
The elbow was tightly clenched,
Despite two such blows,
The woman took care of the bag.
It can be seen that there are no hairpins and no ribbons.
Here you go, you should read it.
That's right, there are papers, documents,
The name, the address in them, likely, is.
Bag? - The doctor took her purse,
She quickly leaned over to open
And now in the middle of the table
Ribbon turned blue...
Following her, like chicks from a cage,
The undershirts fluttered out together,
Cap, two cambric diapers
And funny baby booties...
And the doctor's eyes are harsh
Somehow it suddenly became noticeably warmer:
- A whole wardrobe baby!
But how can we really be?
This is the mother. And obviously young.
Wait, here's the passport here:
Gromova Galina Nikolaevna
Warm alley. Twenty six.
Are you ready to help us?
How well do you know Moscow?
- Warm alley? Doctor what are you
I live in that alley!
But what should we do with the baby? -
The doctor smiled: - Wait,
Know everything first, and then
Call us right here
A restless soul is going.
Rushing, counting every turn!
Just let it go slowly
For no baby
Varya won't find it in that apartment...
Over Moscow canopy black and blue,
The stars twinkle in it sometimes.
Gromova Galina is feeling bad these days,
Galina Gromova is in trouble.
And the trouble came quite unexpectedly,
With an impudent grin, baring his mouth,
In the form of a stupid bully
In the alley, near the gate.
Friend reader! About the fate of Galina
We'll stop talking to you for a moment.
There is no trouble in the world without a reason.
So why can't evil be stopped?
Maybe somewhere near us,
Maybe at someone's door
People with black hearts roam
Vodka pumped up "up to the eyebrows."
Yes, Galina is in grief today.
And, reader, you would like to know:
Is it true that there was no man
Hold the bully's hand?
Many would nod their heads
And they said: we didn't know, no.
Many would say so ... But three
Only the eyes would be hidden in response.
The engineer would look away, the same one,
That he was walking home from work that evening.
Yes, he saw how at the turn
The hooligans approached the woman.
Seeing, he was very indignant
(To myself, of course, not out loud).
And, with agility shaming the flies,
In the door of the entrance, as if in a slot, huddled.
And the accountant Nikolai Ivanovich,
Who lives on the ground floor
He loved, opening the window at night,
Smoke while flipping through Beranger.
How is he? Did he sound the alarm
Seeing as two gloomy hooligans.
Swearing vilely and drunkenly,
Blocked the woman's way?
Nikolai Ivanovich, what are you, dear!
Are you scared tonight?
You often boasted of strength,
You've even done boxing!
If fear whispered to us that it was useless
Risk this way with your head,
Well, they would tear off a double-barreled shotgun from the wall!
Well, they would shoot into the sky once or twice!
Well, at least they would scream, in fact,
Right out the window! - Do not touch! Away! -
Only you did not dare to shout,
Apparently, fear is not easy to overcome ...
You lowered the curtain slowly
And quietly watched through the crack ...
Glorious, heroic soul,
You can hardly find a more valiant one!
However, there was a third rotozey -
Rotozei with the soul of a snail:
Red-haired janitor, Uncle Elisha.
He looked and closed the gate.
Well, all of them in the swamp! - he said. -
Get in touch, then do not get even. -
Stood up, scratched the back of his head
And he went with his wife to confer ...
Friend reader! What are these three to us?
Let them disappear without a trace!
It's so ... Yes, only you and I
They are somewhat similar sometimes...
Here, for example, with a dexterous hand
The crook pulls someone's wallet.
Are we interfering with you?
More often not. We look - and silence ...
Isn't it sometimes the case
That some half-drunk cattle
To a stranger girl on a tram
Smirking, rudely pestering?
He makes noise, threatens, swears,
The car shakes with laughter.
And no one will stop him
And no one will say: - Get out!
No one seems to care.
He looks at the roofs from the window,
This one quickly unfolded the newspaper:
Here, they say, our business is a party.
Never meeting resistance
To his most heinous trick,
Look - this guy is at the fence
The "pigeons" are already on duty at night.
"Doves" he calls passers-by.
In fact, "pigeons" are not people!
If the guard does not disturb.
Rob calmly, nothing will happen!
Our people are not flowers from the window.
Build cities in the forests
They knew hunger, they saw the bombing,
They tore rocks, fought on the fronts.
Why is it sometimes at the crossroads
These people are trembling
Before the weak blade of the knife
In the five of a beardless teenager?!
We are often looking for an excuse here:
Anything, they say, will climb into his forehead,
Here he will take and move his fist:
Or even slash with a razor...
Isn't it then that he threatens,
Is it not then that he bravely waves his razor,
Which perfectly sees our timidity.
Well, timid ones, who is afraid of them?
So the bully climbs out of the skin,
So he beats someone, insolently ...
And when we are silent, subdued,
It looks like a betrayal!
Gromova Galina is feeling bad these days.
Galina Gromova is in trouble.
My comrade! Isn't it time now
To end this misfortune forever?!
Exactly ninety years ago, the famous Soviet poet, Hero Soviet Union, author of poems and poems about love, friendship, war
The poems of the blind poet Eduard Asadov have never been studied at school, but they are loved and known by millions of people in the post-Soviet space. Maybe because he wrote about human feelings not pompously, but simply and accessible. Asadov's lyrics were incredibly popular among young people.
More than one generation wept over the fate of Assad's red-haired mongrel, which the owner, sitting in the express car, left at the railway station:
The owner did not know that somewhere
On the sleepers, breaking out of strength,
Behind the red flickering light
The dog is running, panting!
Stumbling, rushing again,
In the blood paws on the stones are broken,
That the heart is ready to jump out
Out of the open mouth!
The owner did not know that the forces
Suddenly they left the body
And, hitting his forehead on the railing,
The dog flew under the bridge...
The corpse of the wave was demolished under the snags ...
Old man! You don't know nature
After all, it may be the body of a mongrel,
And the heart is the purest breed!
About the difficult fate of Eduard Asadov, "FACTS" was told by his granddaughter, teacher of the Italian language at MGIMO Kristina Asadova.
“The verdict of the doctors did not leave hope: “Everything will be ahead. Everything but the light
When grandfather read "Poems about a red mongrel" from the stage, people in the hall cried, - says Kristina Asadova. - And I cried. I remember it well - I was seven years old at the time. Grandpa loved dogs as they are very devoted to their owners. In his youth, he witnessed a story similar to the one he described in "Poems about the red mongrel." The owner left the dog on the platform, and she ran with all her might after the departing train...
- Eduard Asadov is a man of difficult fate. Having been wounded during the war, he lost his sight at the age of 21.
Yes, it happened in 1944 near Sevastopol, of which grandfather was an honorary citizen and even bequeathed to bury his heart on Sapun Mountain. For the feat that he then committed, he was awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union. Carrying out a responsible task, they had to deliver shells to the artillery unit with a truck driver. The car came under fire. And the road was so badly damaged that my grandfather had to get out of the truck and go ahead, pointing the direction. A shell exploded nearby, and Eduard Asadov was seriously wounded by shrapnel. On the offer of the driver to return to the medical unit, he refused, although he was bleeding.
The shells were delivered on time. True, grandfather was already unconscious. And then - the hospital and twenty-six days of struggle between life and death. Youth won, but the verdict of the doctors did not leave hope: “Everything will be ahead. Everything but the light." Grandpa is blind. He wore a black bandage over his eyes, under which huge scars were hidden. And only at home with his family he could take it off.
* Kristina Asadova: “Grandfather was not one of those who fall into despair. He had an incredibly strong will” (photo courtesy of Kristina Asadova)
- How did Eduard Asadov write?
On a typewriter - "blindly". Grandfather was very collected, disciplined. Constantly kept himself in good shape, so as not to relax. I usually woke up very early - at five in the morning, did morning exercises, at seven we had breakfast. And then he went to his office and closed the door. He turned on the recorder and recited poetry. At two o'clock strictly according to the schedule we had lunch. After dinner I sat down at the typewriter. And my grandmother Galina Razumovskaya corrected his texts, reprinting them clean so that they could be given to the publishing house.
- It is, apparently, scary - not to be able to read what you write ...
Grandfather was not one of those who fall into despair. He had an incredibly strong will. After the war, he entered the Gorky Literary Institute and graduated with honors. As he recalled, the happiest day for him was the day when his poems were published in the Ogonyok magazine, the writing of which was inspired by Korney Chukovsky himself. Grandfather told more than once how he sent a letter to Korney Ivanovich, putting his poems in an envelope. I waited impatiently, in awe, with fear for an answer. Korney Chukovsky replied: they say, do not give up this occupation, continue, you are a true poet.
How did your family celebrate your grandfather's birthday?
Always noisy and fun. His friends came. Grandma was an amazing hostess. The table was set. Since grandfather was born in Turkmenistan, he was very fond of pilaf. Grandmother baked delicious buns, cheesecakes, pies ... Grandfather was a master of making tinctures, which he treated guests to. One of my favorites was called "pepper". In addition, he was a great connoisseur of Armenian cognac, which was often presented to him. 
After all, grandfather was an Armenian and was very proud of it. He also liked to receive books as gifts. His grandmother Galina Valentinovna read aloud to him. Every evening for hours without getting tired! It was a kind of ritual.
*Poet's wife
- Tell us how they met.
At a literary evening. Grandmother, an actress of the Mosconcert, performed poems by women poets. Grandfather joked: they say, but what about male poets? Since this all started. He loved his wife Galina Valentinovna very much, although ... he had never seen her.
Was his life difficult?
No special devices for a blind person. Grandma helped with everything. At the age of 60, she got behind the wheel so that her grandfather could comfortably drive to the country house and move around the city. There was no TV in the house. Grandmother believed that it was indecent to look at him if there was a blind person nearby. We listened to the radio. Grandfather moved around the apartment himself, clearly remembered the location of all objects. And outside the house, his grandmother accompanied him everywhere, so he did without a wand. They were always hand in hand.
“Grandfather determined the time by touch - by special watches”
I spent all my holidays and weekends with my grandfather, - continues Kristina Asadova. - I loved him very much. And he treated me with great tenderness. From each city of the Soviet Union, where he performed with creative evenings, he always sent me letters typed on a typewriter. He talked about the city, about how it was received by the public. At the same time, he was strict and loved discipline. He believed that life should be planned, clear guidelines, goals, tasks are needed. I always had to-do lists, a schedule for the day, starting with getting up. If I was suddenly late even for five minutes, I turned the clock hands - they say, they go wrong, because grandfather loved accuracy in everything.
How did he keep track of time?
Determined by touch - by special hours. To the side of the dial is a button. When pressed, the glass cover of the dial opens. And it is marked in Braille. My grandfather had several of these.
- Is there a gift from him that is especially dear to you?
Grandfather was always generous: he gave me things, toys. I brought souvenirs from every trip. Especially a lot from Sevastopol, where he took me with him more than once. But more I remember how we either read something, or listened to music, or he told something. And the grandfather was an excellent storyteller - with an amazing sense of humor.
- What was Eduard Asadov fond of, besides creativity?
He loved classical music very much. He had a lot of records. Of the performers, I liked Vertinsky. He also loved gypsy songs.
- Was he a wealthy man?
At the time, yes. When fame came and books were published in hundreds of thousands of copies, the family could afford a housekeeper, a good car, a summer house.
- Why were the works of Eduard Asadov not included in the school curriculum?
Hard to say. Critics did not seem to notice Eduard Asadov - even at the peak of his popularity. They sang praises to Rozhdestvensky, Voznesensky, Yevtushenko ... If they remembered Asadov, they said: they say, a poet for "cooks", that is, for the common people. Asadov really was not deprived of people's love: he always gathered full halls of listeners, his books were sold out at lightning speed. Grandfather was proud that he was a folk poet, like Sergei Yesenin, whom he loved very much.
Admirers of Eduard Asadov's work wrote to him from all over the country: they thanked him for his work, congratulated him on the holidays, sent his poems ... He tried to answer everyone, gave advice to novice poets. He loved his readers very much. Sometimes people wrote: they say, this poem is definitely about me! But still worried about the reviews of critics. He categorically disagreed with the need to write elite poetry "not for everyone" - for aesthetic circles.
- What did Eduard Asadov die of?
Suddenly there was a heart attack. They called an ambulance. But she arrived too late. Grandpa has been gone for ten years now. We often talk about him with my daughter - his great-granddaughter, read his poetry, look at photographs. My grandfather was a very close person to me.
At one time, working in security, I sometimes listened to the radio at night. One radio station constantly broadcast Brezhnev's speeches at night. It was already after the collapse of the USSR. I don’t know for what purpose these performances of Leni were broadcast, but they sounded simply wild in the silence of the night. At least, Lenya's speeches were perceived by me not as humor, but as something absurdly ridiculous. Why did I remember my vigils under the monotonous muttering of Lyonya? The fact is that now, being retired, I decided to read a collection of poems by Eduard Asadov. I have, in my personal library, a number of unread books. And since free time has increased, I strive to eliminate the gaps in my literary education. And so, while reading Asadov's poems, I involuntarily remembered those shifts under the monotonous mumbling, absolutely absurd speeches of Lyonya. I involuntarily thought about Soviet literature in general. After all, what is Soviet literature? In fact, this is one big lie in a beautiful package. All Soviet literature consists of certain unshakable canons, which are stencils of what is desired, but by no means vital. And while reading Asadov's poems, I involuntarily thought about how Soviet authority it broke the souls of not only readers, but first of all the souls of writers and poets, who were simply obliged to accept the rules of the game of communist propaganda. It's not even that the author has to sing eulogies of the Communist Party.
We were heading towards a huge goal.
- Lenin's strength never left us.
- In the morning they give me a membership card.
God be with them, with praises. But after all, these praises sometimes sound just like a mockery, they are so wild. After all, for example, I took these quotes from Asadov's poem "Galina". Who speaks them? Yes, a man who swelled seventeen years of hard labor in a Soviet concentration camp. The man miraculously survived. But these seventeen years of slavery and complete lack of rights did not seem to change the person and, even, did not affect his health in any way. Well, just think, seventeen years of hard labor, horrendous conditions and a constantly hungry existence. But the work of foreign psychologists, at least on the topic of adaptation former prisoner say the opposite. But our cowardly psychologists, although they have richer material, still do not publish research on this topic in the open press. Similarly, it was not Soviet press and works on hunger. Millions of people died in Soviet concentration camps precisely from exhaustion, but, for example, in Adamovich and Granin's Blockade Book, it is written that in the USSR, Soviet doctors simply never encountered symptoms of starvation before the blockade of Leningrad.
Here, in this poem by Asadov, there is one continuous happiness. Well, just think, for seventeen years a person was erased from a person's life by the Soviet authorities. See how good it is. The person is even re-appointed as the director of the enterprise. Yes, a person for seventeen years has forgotten, lost all knowledge and skills. But this is not even the point, but the fact that the poet, for the sake of power, writes nonsense, depicting a happy citizen who did not even lose his health in Soviet concentration camps, who, after seventeen years, finally became a “comrade”, and not “ camp dust. Brave situation. Similarly, the profession of the daughter of this former prisoner looks crazy. After all, Galina works as a teacher and not just anywhere, but in a metropolitan school. In addition, a woman teaches not labor lessons, not technical disciplines, like mathematics, but teaches children Soviet literature. But how did the daughter of a political prisoner stay in Moscow, how did she even manage to get a higher education? But, no, it turns out that the arrest of the pope did not affect the fate of his daughter, whom the authorities not only gave the opportunity to go to college, graduate from high school, but also gave the opportunity to educate the younger generation in the communist spirit. They didn’t even take away the living space from this prisoner in Moscow, they left the family in the director’s apartment in a prestigious district of the capital. Moreover, this daughter of the “enemy of the people” even married a geologist. And what is a geologist in general and in particular in the USSR? Yes, this is a person who is admitted to state secrets. After all, the husband of this very Galina is looking for deposits of the strategic material tungsten. And in general, you had to have access to cartography, to maps. Indeed, in the USSR, even the mark of the area above sea level was classified. But in addition to maps, geologists know a lot of other things, to which it is easy ordinary person not allowed even close. But no, it turns out that Lyoshka and Galina everything turned out very “nicely”. That's how, "nice". And this nonsense is written by an officer, a person with a higher education. How do you have to break yourself in order to please the authorities to present the reader with such a sweet cranberry? But Asadov, like any other writer of the USSR, presents. Okay, you can understand a person, a disabled person who lost his sight at the front. And the poem? Well, what a poem. She describes, in the end, the situation in which many thousands of front-line officers found themselves, who had regimental wives at the front. But, now the war is over, and they are faced with a situation where to go: to the legal wife or stay with the woman with whom he met at the front. The vast majority of officers returned to their legal wives. By the way, in 1942, the USSR even passed a law exempting men from any responsibility for the child who was born by the “regimental wife”. This is even mentioned in the novel by Konstantin Simonov. And what he was deceitful about in his writings, now we can say openly. No, I do not blame Asadov. But to the Soviet authorities, when you read the poems of this poet, you experience a feeling of disgust and contempt.
So Asadov's poem "about the first tenderness" is disgusting not so much for its pretentious doxology.
- My heart already has a Komsomol ticket.
What is praise? A trifle compared to the rabid Soviet hypocrisy, which seems to be imperceptible, but still quite tangible, breaks through the lines of the poem.
For instance.
- Yours, in Polish a little crafty,
Rare blue eyes.
But the Poles in the USSR were quite officially considered people of the third or even lower grade. Yes, the Poles and in their own country waged an active underground struggle against the Soviet troops and in general against the Communist Party. An active underground struggle simply means terror against the communists. Yes, they fought there. The Poles never stopped hating their invaders, which were the USSR and, in particular, the Soviet army. At least, the Poles did not perceive the Soviet army differently. So the Poles who ended up in the USSR may have eyes, first of all, of a hunted beast. And when you look at a hunted beast, then, even if it has wonderful eyes, but somehow the tongue does not turn to compare them with heavenly purity.
Naturally, in a poem about teenagers one cannot but mention the moral purity of Soviet boys and girls. Just before writing syrupy things, we must nevertheless mention, for honesty, that the USSR was the only state in the world where, starting from the age of twelve, children could be tortured and executed on completely legal grounds. Probably, the Soviet authorities had some very specific reasons for introducing such a draconian law regarding children in the country.
I do not reject the feeling of tenderness that arises in adolescents during the period of falling in love. But I, who have worked at Soviet enterprises for almost half a century, am somewhat skeptical about words, knowing our Soviet reality.
In general, Asadov's poems can be perceived today as a kind of mockery of the Soviet regime. Take, for example, the poet's poem "Petrovna", where the rural hinterland is depicted in pink light.
Judge for yourself how otherwise you can perceive, for example, such lines from this poem.
- spoke in chorus -
Sadness is as bold as a hand, -
What will be very soon
This is their village.
What will be the hospital
And how many new houses.
The telecentre will connect.
But we could observe rural squalor not only after our nineties. After all, the peasants, when they began to issue passports in the early sixties, simply rushed en masse from "such a good village." I traveled through our villages in the seventies. Milkmaids received thirty to forty rubles a month. This is on the state farm, and on the collective farm, people in general, except for workdays in the record book, did not see anything. There were no vacations, no pensions. Beggarly salary. Peasants massively stole everything they could: crops, animal feed. Yes, the peasants in the USSR have always plundered their collective farms. It was not without reason that the law on “five spikelets” appeared in the USSR, when people were imprisoned for decades for bringing home a little grain from the field. This has never been observed anywhere in the world, for a farmer to drag a crop home from the field or to drag what was left accidentally not harvested in the field in order not to die of hunger. A farmer, a private owner who owns land, does not need to steal grain from himself. But our peasants, without theft, it was often simply impossible to survive. In general, frenzied drunkenness prevailed in the countryside, and low labor productivity was observed. In general, a complete collapse. But the author, as it were, reproaches the candidate medical sciences in the fact that he did not remain a doctor in a distant village, praising the woman of the doctor who remained in the wilderness, despite all the difficulties. I wonder how such writings were perceived by the villagers themselves, who understood their life and being very well?
And here is Asadov's poem "Back in service."
Of course, it starts with empty talk.
- You are a member of the Komsomol, and your path is known.
You follow in Lenin's footsteps.
You are a member of the Komsomol. So in the whole world
There is no task beyond your reach.
Of course, the hero wants to continue his education at the institute. How else? All of our schoolchildren simply and without exception only dreamed of getting a higher education. So the hero of the poem just dreams about it.
- Will they accept it? Must, must accept.
Only Asadov forgets to say that for many in the USSR the path to higher education was simply ordered, banned. Not because people were stupid. Fools, just, often accepted. There would be an appropriate class origin. Only after all, after the revolution, absolutely no time passed and a lot of "class alien elements" remained in the country. Prosperous peasants, former soldiers of the non-red army, merchants, bankers, nobles. Yes, such, socially inferior, was recruited in the USSR darkness-darkness.
Interestingly, Asadov depicts the moment when people learned about the beginning of the invasion. For example, there is this line in the poem:
- The nannies took the children from the boulevard.
This phrase does not mean the high welfare of the people. This phrase suggests that in the USSR all women had to work. Unlike Germany, for example. And since there were few kindergartens, rural elderly women were taken as nannies, who had fled from a hungry collective farm, but it was difficult for them to find work in the city.
And then, of course, high-flown words about communists follow.
- And on the same morning the communists got up
In the iron military ranks.
This is how the “iron rows” surrendered hundreds of thousands of people to the Germans at a time.
But, God bless them, with the "iron ranks". After all, then comes such sugary hypocrisy, which is simply disgusting. Why? Yes, because the author suddenly introduces the character of an orphan who lived in an orphanage, but, during his beggarly life, entered a technical school and, living from hand to mouth, still got a bride, and with the outbreak of war he entered military school. This is an orphanage, whose father is not clear, and there is no corresponding knowledge.
For some reason, Asadov needed to introduce a scene into the plot where this orphanage resident Nikita asks the nurse to give him a bandage. At first glance, it seems like an innocent request. You never know why the cadet needed a bandage. But let's remember. After all, bandages in the Soviet army were sorely lacking. Women from the bath and laundry battalions washed not only soldiers' clothes, soldiers' underwear, but also bandages. After all, the USSR received these same bandages from the Americans under Lend-Lease, as well as scalpels, other medical equipment, and medicines. So not a single nurse ever gave out any bandages to a soldier. Asadov then describes how main character poems, leaving the environment, buries this same Nikita in the forest. And here it is necessary to clarify. The fact is that the Soviet troops did not tear off people and time during the retreat to the funeral. Moreover, they did not make single graves. By the way, on mass graves we did not write the names of the fallen. This was probably done so that German intelligence could not use real data. Do not know. But for the Germans, such disregard for the dead was incomprehensible. The Germans themselves tried in any case to arrange a cemetery in accordance with all the rules. And they buried their fallen comrades, indicating on individual crosses both the surname and the name.
But, let's leave alone the deceased Nikita and everything that is connected with him and with the other fallen.
Asadov in the poem sentimentally depicts the sad situation of the inhabitants in the occupied regions.
- Then the enemies came in a drunken horde,
They beat, torture, put a barrel in the chest:
- Where is the husband, where is the son? Where is the brother, where are the partisans? -
And again tortured, beaten again.
Well, there was nothing like that. By the way, it was in the Soviet army that since August 1941 they began to issue vodka or alcohol to soldiers on the front line every day. V german army there was no such thing. However, in the rest of the armies of the world, military personnel were not given a daily portion of alcohol. By the way, none of the Wehrmacht tortured any of the local population. At least not necessary. Moreover, the population of the occupied regions under the Germans lived much better materially. After all, in our collective farms people literally died of hunger. Recall again the law of "five spikelets". From a good life, did people steal grain from the field? Yes, from hunger. Collective farmers stole their crops so as not to starve to death. Moreover, they dragged literally handfuls of grain from the field. In other words, there was a massive degree of poverty on Soviet collective farms. There is simply no place below.
And now let's digress a little and remember how many people were deported to the USSR. Sixty-one nationalities were deported to the USSR. What is it connected with? Yes, with the fact that the peasants under the Germans got the opportunity for free trade, and also got the opportunity for free enterprise, which was prohibited in the USSR. Let us recall, for example, the first decrees of the Soviet government, which directly state that entrepreneurial activity is now prohibited.
Yes, the Germans had a plan to supply their army with local resources. But this does not mean that they robbed the population of food. The Germans did not act at all like Soviet food detachments. The Germans did not clean up the harvest from the peasants, but bought it at fixed prices. For example, I will give Crimea and Crimean Tatars. Let's take a shepherd collective farmer as an example. How much did he earn on the collective farm? Yes, I didn't get anything. The accountant will put the stick of the workday in the accounting book, and that's it. And no money. The village in the USSR was poor. Let us recall, for example, the works of Valentin Rasputin, where he depicts the Siberian village in the war and post-war times. Collective farmers counted potatoes at the table by the piece. The children had no idea what apples were. Note, not pineapples, not kiwi, not bananas, but simple apples. The boy who lives in the city in an apartment, the owners steal potatoes, which his mother sends him. The boy walks around so hungry that he constantly feels dizzy from hunger. Collective farmers, living near a large river, do not have fish in their diet. But back to our Crimean shepherd. If on the collective farm this shepherd received only a stick in the ledger, then under the Germans he began to receive real wages. The Germans didn't care how many heads of cattle a peasant had. A man can contain a hundred heads, let him contain. And no one drove him to the collective farm. A man can keep a thousand head of cattle, let him keep it. Yes, the Germans bought meat, wool and other food from the peasants. It was bought. No one raked clean the products from the peasant. The Germans paid the peasants quite reasonable money. That is why these same peasants lived better materially than under Soviet rule. And that is why sixty-one nationalities were deported by the Soviet authorities to places unsuitable for living. The Soviet government could not leave without consequences the fact that people under the Germans lived materially better. And the Soviet government could not leave the people on the ground, who lived better under the occupiers than on the Soviet collective farm. By the way, we can see about the prosperous life of people under the occupiers in Soviet war films. Let us recall how our filmmakers portray the population of the liberated regions. Beautiful clothes, the men are wearing white trousers, they all have well-fed faces.
By the way, in the poem "Shurka" Asadov just shows the rich life in the liberated areas. Here is how Asadov portrays the situation.
Oh, how dear is an unfamiliar house,
Where could you comfortably shave,
Wash up to the waist
And eat cheesecakes with cottage cheese,
Where are the hostesses generous hearts
So they try to greet the warrior,
That that house and people are remembered
Sometimes to the very end!
I want to note that it is Asadov who describes the life and prosperity of people in a village liberated from the Germans in the Crimea. By the way, during the occupation, the local population of Crimea created security detachments in the villages that protected goods from Soviet partisans. After all, they took everything clean and never paid anything. Yes, I understand that patriotism obliged the Soviet collective farmers to supply the partisans with food. But after all, the peasants had to live on something. But the Germans did not take anything. It was beneficial for the Germans that the peasants produced as much as possible, because, in this case, they sold more. And, I repeat, for the Germans it did not matter at all how much cattle a peasant had. You can keep a thousand, keep it. You will sell more to the German army.
It was for such and such a life under the Germans that the Soviet government organized the deportation of peoples. After all, sixty-one nationalities were deported.
By the way, here are the lines I want to comment on.
Orlovshchina was tormented by foreigners.
In the square near the orphan walls
They yelled: "womb, eggs, bread!"
And they drove the youth to the west, into captivity.
I have already said in one of my essays that the word "womb", with which German soldiers addressed to local women, translated from Polish means respectful "mother". And about the hijacking of youth. The fact is that no one hijacked the first echelons with the local population. The people were hired to work in Germany under a contract. And in order to go to work in Germany, the local population literally arranged fights with each other, the contract was so attractive. After all, it is not by chance that the Soviet authorities subsequently judged such workers as traitors to the motherland.
The Germans, although they called themselves socialists, from whom even in the army everyone received the same food rations, regardless of who you were by rank, general or private, Germany was still a capitalist power. Now let's go back to the peasants and compare the Soviet collective farmer and the ordinary farmer in a country of free enterprise. The fact that our collective farmer is simply a beggar is a fact. Now let's think about what a farmer is? This is usually a millionaire. Indeed, the farmer owns the land. These are not lousy Soviet six acres, which are able to feed only one family, saving a small part for sale to the townspeople. And a farmer's farmland is worth a lot of money. The number of livestock owned by the farmer also costs a lot of money. After all, the farmer keeps not one cow, but a herd and even herds. And livestock cost a lot of money. On top of that, the farmer owns all kinds of agricultural equipment, which also costs a lot. The farmer also has agricultural equipment. That is, a farmer, even if not a millionaire, but still a very wealthy person. And what is our collective farmer compared to such a hard worker? Yes, an ordinary schmuck that drives moonshine works carelessly, so the state is forced to send people from factories to help him who don’t understand a damn thing about rural work. So, under the occupiers, our collective farmers became farmers. And if this farmer supplied the German army with meat and other products, then he received money for this, and not empty hungry workdays.
I want to draw the reader's attention to how Asadov portrays the exit from the encirclement of the remnant of the Katyusha division. To be surrounded with a new weapon for a Soviet soldier was worse than death. For the loss of a combat vehicle, especially if the equipment fell into the hands of the Germans, the calculation expected not only personal death, but also the most severe repressions of all the person's relatives. But Asadov did not portray this fear.
Depicts the Assads and captured Germans.
And from the west towards incessantly
Went under escort or just like that
Discordantly along the roadsides, like sheep,
Fascist soldiers are a beaten enemy.
But our soldiers surrendered in much greater numbers. The Germans generally fucked up from such an influx of prisoners. They even had to let a million people go home. This applied to Ukrainians, Belarusians, Balts and Muslims of Crimea. But, of course, our captured soldiers did not walk like sheep. Probably, they walked with their heads held high and with contempt in their eyes towards the contemptible enemy.
But, I will not comment on the further “blah-blah-blah” about the Komsomol, the party, Lenin. All this propaganda chatter, which, to be honest, is generally perceived as schizophrenic nonsense. So let's move on to the next poem, which is called "Shurka".
Shurka, this is a paramedic. Of course, the girl observes the purity of morals. Shurka loves the officer of the Katyusha unit with pure platonic love. I will not repeat myself about a purely Soviet craze called "regimental wife." Why are there “regimental wives”. If we talk about morality in the Soviet army, then it would be useful to recall that in our country, for a venereal disease that a serviceman picked up, they were sent to penal units. And the point is not that the tribunal looked at such soldiers as evaders from the front line, who deliberately caught the infection so as not to die in battle. But the point is also that there were no less venereal diseases in the Soviet army than during the flu epidemic. Let us recall at least the fact that Lavrushka Beria managed to get sick with syphilis. Marshal, an all-powerful minister who has only trusted people around him, falls ill with syphilis. How does this characterize the Soviet army?
But in this poem, everyone, and this is about a thousand people, is in love with the hard-to-reach Shurka. After all, maybe people have such love. I won't argue. But when you read about this paramedic Shurka, you involuntarily understand that the author portrays badly organized medical affairs in the Soviet army. In fact, let's think about why a paramedic who is capable of performing operations should personally pull the wounded from the battlefield. By the way, in all the armies of the world, the wounded were carried out from the battlefield by orderlies. They put me on a stretcher and took me to the field operating room, which was in close proximity to the front line. Take, for example, the memoirs of the German military doctor Heinrich Haape. This is how he describes the medical service in the German army. And in other armies of the world, a fragile woman did not drag one soldier to the dressing station. Here's what to think about. How many people can a woman carry by dragging, and how many wounded can two healthy orderlies carry out in the same time? But in medicine there is such a thing as "golden hour". Anything beyond this time is easily covered with mourning crepe. But, in the poem, sheer heroism. I have already quoted lines from this poem, which shows the material wealth of the peasants liberated the Soviet army from the invaders. I'll bring more.
Tablecloths were laid out near the huts
With milk and slides of food
Russian Ukrainian mothers,
To all of us, dear mothers to all of us,
Widows and centennial grandfathers.
I involuntarily recalled the story of Valentin Rasputin "French Lessons". The hero of this story, a boy, began to play for money in order to be able to buy himself a mug of milk. And here women without men have kept the economy in perfect order during the occupation and can easily treat the soldiers, putting up hills of food and milk without an account. The author probably took such hospitality for granted. Only in our rear people were swollen from hunger at this time.
But, let's leave this poem about the paramedic Shurka, who broke up with the blind officer of the division. Let us dwell on another poem called "Volzhanka". No, I will not analyze this poem. I won’t because I have only chapters from this poem in my collection. Having such a short poem, I naturally decided to read it in its entirety. First I looked on the internet. So what? Nothing in the truest sense of the word. I simply could not find the text of the poem in its entirety anywhere on the vastness of our Internet, where, allegedly, you can find anything you like. At best, these are the same scanty chapters and that's it. This poem was not in bookstores either. In all the collections of Asadov, the poem was simply absent. I don't know why this poem was so classified by our censors. Maybe Asadov praises Stalin immoderately in it, maybe someone else. Do not know. But the text of this poem is simply not available on our Russian Internet. It is not in any electronic library. Even in scientific library it is impossible to read this poem in its entirety. The page is not available. Here's how. Reminds me of Orwell's 1984. But such stupid censorship can only cause contempt for the motherland. How many of our state bosses from the screens are broadcasting to us about democracy, freedom of speech, publicity. It would be better if they thought about how all this grandiloquent chatter would be perceived by a person who is faced with a ban on a book, especially one that was recently published in millions of copies. It would not be bad for our bosses to think about how foreign states will work with our intellectuals under such censorship. But it seems that our statesmen are generally not strong intellect. After all, this case with the poem "Volzhanka" is by no means isolated.
In a dark alley
A piercing, ringing cry flew into every yard, window and attic. He, like a flash of blinding lightning, Tore apart the evening twilight…
The scream flew in and burst like a string. The air suddenly became unusually noisy. And silence fell into the watchful alley with the Raven...
What happened? The woman screamed. You have to get up and go out. Shyness away! Maybe she got into trouble, Need to get out, get out and help!
Courage! Well, where are you hiding? Silence in Teply Lane. Not a single window opened. None of the doors opened...
Cowardice, or what, in the souls golobrodit? Is it indifference to someone else's fate? What then: every one for himself, come out? Everyone, then, only about himself?
No not like this! From a strong blow Entrance door wide open: - Who's there? Hey! - They are already running along the sidewalk, Voices are getting closer, more and more audible.
Don't see the policeman. If there is trouble, they are ready to help, No, not everyone took cover behind the curtains, No, not everyone pushed the bolts!
And it happened like this: the Rybakovs celebrated Varya's birthday. And the hostess, blushing with embarrassment, In a red dress, in cherry slippers, In the house received congratulations.
Thirty-seven is not so little. A woman here has the right to be cunning, Reduce three years to begin with - Let it not be three, let it be a year, but still reduce ...
But what year should she cross out? After all, not the one that the primer gave into his hands, The year when he breathed frost in his chest Black and white memorable January.
A mournful hall... A steep, familiar forehead... Scarlet canvases of a calico. And the coffin of Ilyich, close to the guys, floating above the ranks ...
You won't forget this year, no! Sorrowful, solemn and strict. Well, what about the one that grew up on the threshold, When was Varka ten years old?
Maybe this year has passed like a shadow? Take - and cross it out, for example. Only it will turn out that on May day Varka did not join the pioneers ...
And no matter how many years go by, There is no such thing as sneaking quietly! This year - entry into the Komsomol. And the other is in the weaver's factory.
This is youth. But after all there were years, About which it is heavy to recollect?! Here is a war ... smokes up to the sky, At the threshold of a crying mother ...
The war left a heavy mark. But how can she lose these years?, It will come out then that it was not she who served in the regimental infirmary,
It will come out, not she, under the whistle and thunder, Covering the wounded with herself, Bandaged under any fire And carried them, groaning, from the battle.
Who, if not she, sometimes at night Through the swamp of the icy swamp Carried out with a crushed leg the Sergeant Major Maxim Rybakov.
Rybakov began to feel sad in the sanbat And one day he said to her, sighing: - Without a leg, as you see, you can live, But I don’t know how to live without you ...
And now, right next to the table. He, who went through the war with her, Fills his glass with wine And looks at his wife with a smile.
Let not an easy path behind your back And wrinkles have increased around your eyes, But is it possible to cross out That there is a year, at least one day!
Thirty-seven is not thirty. Right. Yes. Thirty-seven - not voiced twenty-five. But, if the years have been well lived, Right, they should not be reduced!
The guests at the table had fun, The guests proclaimed various toasts. And the glasses rang like crystal, Flashing with diamond sparks...
A piercing, ringing cry flew in, Drowning out the table ringing and rumble, It seemed to breathe a chilling cold Right into the soul of everyone.
There was silence right away… - Robbery, - someone said timidly, - Only our side is the case. No one is tired of living ...
But the owner, standing up, answered sternly: - What are we, people or what kind of animals? Climb, they say, in a mink, if there is an alarm somewhere ... - And he went, creaking with his prosthesis, to the door.
But, already ahead of him, Varvara rushed into the corridor. All - one impetuous impulse, Down ... hurry! Up the stairs to the yard...
Two broad-shouldered shadows rushed into the night... And Varvara immediately saw the Woman, bending her knees, somehow strangely sinking to the ground...
Squeezing her face with both hands, The woman moaned muffledly, rarely, And through her fingers in dark streams Blood poured onto a white jacket. And when she lost consciousness, Shaking Varya with a chilly shiver, For some reason she pressed her Handbag made of light blue leather to her chest.
Wounds, blood Varvara is not new. No bandages - and it happened too. Off your shoulders with a crimson scarf! - Honey ... be strong ... now we will help ...
People quickly began to gather: a locksmith, a grandmother, a janitor, two soldiers. Rybakov stepped out of the machine: - I called. Now the car will.
At this time, the one who is obliged to appear first appeared. A stern look, cap, chest forward ... - Citizens, please do not gather!
Having forgotten for a long time about the new dress, Blood on it (but is it really up to the ball!) Varya, sitting on a stone in front of the house, Holding the wounded by the shoulders.
Here's the beep, the stretcher, the orderlies... - Where is she? Please step aside! - The wounded woman threw up her eyelashes And caught Varvara's glance for a moment.
As if she wanted to say something, But again she sank into oblivion. The doctor asked Varya: - Are you yours? Are you friends? How was it here?
However, you can talk along the way. Could you drive? Give light! Yes, everything is clear ... quieter ... do not shake ... On a stretcher ... so ... now into the carriage!
Varya quickly turned to her husband: - You know, you need to do something! - I will go. Suddenly she will feel worse, Maybe at home the children or the mother ...
She smiled: - Do not be angry, man, You go to the guests, and then I, - the car beeped sharply And, roaring, disappeared around the corner.
The doctor came in with the precision of a fighter And she said, wiping her hands: - Under the scapula, a knife wound, And the second - across the face.
But now it is easier for her, and she fell asleep after the operation. - Varya was oppressed by silence, Varya quickly got up from her chair:
It is necessary to somehow find relatives - Eyebrows, trembling, moved slightly. - And what a hand went up So slash the girl!
The doctor slightly shook her head: - It's strange, you're a stranger to her ... but by the way, you're right, and it's bad that the rest It seems strange at times.
This bag, - said Varvara, - Was tightly squeezed by the elbow, Despite two such blows, the Woman took care of the bag.
It can be seen that there are no hairpins and no ribbons. Here you go, you should read it. That's right, there are papers, documents, Name, address in them, probably.
Bag? - The doctor took her purse, Quickly bent down, opening it, And immediately in the middle of the table, a blue ribbon unfolded ...
Following her, like chicks from a cage, Fluttered together undershirts, A bonnet, two cambric diapers And funny children's barettes ...
And the eyes of the stern doctor Somehow suddenly warmed noticeably: - A whole little wardrobe! But how can we really be?
This is the mother. And obviously young. Wait, here is the passport here: Gromova Galina Nikolaevna ... Warm Lane. Twenty six.
Are you ready to help us? How well do you know Moscow? - Warm alley? Doctor, what are you, I live in that lane!
But what should we do with the baby? - The doctor smiled: - Wait a minute, find out everything first, and then call us here immediately,
A restless soul is going. Rushing, counting every turn! Only let him go slowly, For Varya will not find any baby In that apartment ...
Over Moscow the canopy is black and blue, Stars sometimes flash in it. Galina Gromova is in trouble these days, Galina Gromova is in trouble.
And the trouble came quite unexpectedly, With an impudent grin, baring his mouth, In the form of a stupid hooligan In the alley, near the gate.
Friend reader! About the fate of Galina We will interrupt our speech with you for a moment. There is no trouble in the world without a reason. So why can't evil be stopped?
Maybe, somewhere near us, Maybe at someone's door People with black hearts are wandering around, Pumped up with vodka "to the eyebrows."
Yes, Galina is in grief today. And, reader, you would like to know: Is it true that no man was found to hold the hand of a bully?
Many would nod their heads And say: we didn't know, no. Many would say so ... But three would only hide their eyes in response.
The engineer would look away, the same one, That he was coming home from work that evening. Yes, he saw how hooligans stuck to the woman at the turn.
Seeing, he was very indignant (To himself, of course, and not aloud). And, agility shaming the flies, In the door of the entrance, as if in a slot, he huddled.
And the accountant Nikolai Ivanovich, Who lives on the first floor, He loved, opening the window at night, To smoke, leafing through Beranger.
How is he? Did he sound the alarm, Seeing how two gloomy hooligans. Cursing vilely and drunkenly, Blocked the woman's way?
Nikolai Ivanovich, what are you, dear! Are you scared tonight? Well, you often boasted of your strength, you even did boxing!
If fear whispered to us that it was useless To risk your head like that, Well, they would tear off a double-barreled shotgun from the wall! Well, they would shoot into the sky once or twice!
Well, at least they would scream, in fact, Directly from the window! - Do not touch! Away! - Only you didn’t dare to shout, Apparently, fear is not easy to overcome ...
You lowered the curtain slowly And quietly watched through the crack ... Glorious, heroic soul, You can hardly find a more valiant one!
However, there was also a third rotozey - a rotozey with the soul of a snail: The red-haired janitor, Uncle Elisha. He looked and closed the gate.
Well, all of them in the swamp! - he said. - Get in touch, then do not get even. - He stood, scratched the back of his head And went to confer with his wife ...
Friend reader! What are these three to us? Let them disappear without a trace! It’s so… Yes, only you and I are somewhat similar to them sometimes…
Here, for example, with a deft hand Rogue pulls someone's wallet. Are we interfering with you? More often not. We look - and silence ...
Doesn't it sometimes happen that some kind of half-drunk cattle To an unfamiliar girl in a tram, Grinning, rudely sticks?
He makes noise, threatens, swears, Shakes the car with laughter. And no one will stop him, And no one will say: - Get out!
No one seems to care. He looks at the roofs from the window, This one quickly unfolded the newspaper: Here, they say, our business is a party.
Never meeting a rebuff To his most heinous trick, You look - this guy at the fence Already on duty at night "pigeons".
"Doves" he calls passers-by. In fact, "pigeons" are not people! If the guard does not disturb. Rob calmly, nothing will happen!
Our people are not flowers from the window. They erected cities in the forests, They knew hunger, they saw the bombing, They tore rocks, they fought at the fronts.
Why do sometimes at the crossroads These people back away, trembling Before the weak blade of a knife In the five of a beardless teenager?!
We are often looking for an excuse here: Anything, they say, will wander into his forehead, Here he will take it and move his fist: Or even slash with a razor ...
But is it not then that he threatens, Is it not then that he bravely waves his razor, Which perfectly sees our timidity. Well, timid ones, who is afraid of them?
So a hooligan climbs out of the skin, Here he beats someone, becoming insolent ... And when we are silent, subdued, Well, it looks like a betrayal!
Gromova Galina is feeling bad these days. Galina Gromova is in trouble. My comrade! Isn't it time now to put an end to that misfortune forever?!
Gromov walks quickly along the carriage, Nervously nibbles at his stiff mustache, And looks more and more often at the clock That shines in the depths of the platform.
How clumsy everything turns out, right, the Arrows are running so fast .. That's before the departure of the train There are only seven minutes left.
He cannot understand: what is the reason? What happened? After all, it cannot be that Galina, faithful Galina, Would not rush to see her husband off!
So far, everything has been going nicely: He. Andrew graduated from the institute. - Well, wife, Galina Nikolaevna, Here is the diploma, and here is the route.
I am a geologist! Good name! Well, don't frown... I'll be there soon. So, Lyoshka, me and Boyko Tanya We are going under the command of Christopher.
There is a river with a funny name... I remembered: "Kakva"... You know: the forest... Ural... There are three of us: Lyoshka, me and Tanya. However, I already said that...
We have been given three months for the whole. - Oh, Andryusha, should I get used to it! The one who has been waiting for a loved one since the war, Believe me, he has learned to wait.
Galina has eyelashes with wings, And her eyes are two dark cornflowers. Galya will smile - and the river, Streets, trees, clouds - Everything in the eyes laughs and crushes ...
It turned out like this: suddenly, for some reason, the route was “checked”, “specified”, And the departure at the last minute was rescheduled a day earlier.
How to be here? Galinka is not at home, And today to go ... That's the task! He hurriedly called his friends, To work - failure everywhere!
Things are all packed long ago Gentle efforts of Gali. He will leave a letter. It's decided. And he will wait for his wife at the station.
And now, quickly along the carriage He walks, pulling his mustache, Every now and then looking at the clock That shine in the depths of the platform.
Five minutes... After all, this is very little... But Galina is still not there. Maybe you didn't read the letter? Stopped somewhere? What's the secret?
Hey Andryusha, wait a little! - And from the platform, having chewed a biscuit, Freckled Lyoshka quickly jumped off - You know, there is a happy omen:
This platform is number three. And our third carriage... No, seriously... You have the third place, look! The train is also the third ... Grandiose!
Stop! And three minutes to go! You are lucky! Look, now From the buzzing hustle of the people A pair of dark blue eyes will flash...
I know everything will be all right. Galya is a spool of uranium! - At this time, Tatiana, stately, entered the site.
She calmly looked at her friends And said: - Citizens, get into the car! Khristofor Ivanovich is indignant. There was a whistle, and it's not the place to stand here.
The look is often similar to people: That one will blur in a kind smile, This one is strict and important, like a museum, That one is angry, and this one laughs ...
Tanya's gaze was something like a lord: He did not laugh and did not suffer, But at the meeting, coldly and proudly, As if he would give you two fingers.
The train rushes by, raindrops beat on the windows, A bright light has sunk into the night of the station ... Oh, Galinka, dear Galinka! Come running, but there is no train ...
However, okay. And it didn’t happen like that - There was a line-up, and Andrei was with Galya. But although the farewell took place, And the heart was heavier.
Forty-first. The roar of trains. In a brand new forage cap, in boots, Andryusha Gromov stood in the hustle, Pulling a linden branch in his hands.
He saw how the foreman scolded someone for a crumpled bowler hat, How the wife of the company commander kept putting a bundle on her husband.
He did not take it: - Leave it, take it to the guys ... Well, don't cry, Marusya ... nothing ... - And he was embarrassed, seeing that the soldiers from the cars were looking at him.
For ten years Andrei studied with Galya. Galya is a friend. Are there few friends? Why is he thinking about her with longing at the station today?
How did he say goodbye to Galya yesterday? “Don't forget… Write to me…” Oh, cudgel! You lie that friendship, you lie, but did not confess, Frightened by the blue eyes of Galina.
“Don't forget, write to me…” So be it! That's what you want, you pathetic coward! Now take sadness on the road, Take away the undivided load!
But when Andrey stepped towards the carriage, stamping his cigarette butt with his heel, He suddenly saw at the end of the platform A light, familiar figure. Galya walked, ran faster and faster, As if she was afraid to lose something, And when she saw Andrei, Suddenly she burst into a thick blush.
Her breasts heaved violently, Her hands were cold as ice. - You know, I just didn’t intend to .., However, no ... Quite the contrary ...
There was such a ruby sunset, That at least a brush was dipped into it, and now a poster would have flared on the wall: “Komsomol members, all together to the front!”
The bayonet clanged, the commands were distributed, Somewhere they sang to the accordion ... Near the echelon at the station For the first time they kissed.
And he took away the march of military trumpets, Galinka's blue gaze full of grief, The taste of her dry hot lips And the salty taste of a tear ...
Galina did not say about love. Look at everything answered frankly. Well, were there not enough letters? Two letters a week for sure.
What letter?! But if you look closely, Well, after all, there is love itself. Exactly three hundred and forty-two letters. Three hundred and forty-two particles of the heart! ..
It was ten years ago... And it seems that quite recently... Eh, wife, Galina Nikolaevna, Where was your blue look now?
What could happen to you? Behind the window is midnight. Chill ... Andrey sat down. I don't want to, I can't sleep! - Leshka, throw me a box of matches.
Tanya took matches from the table, threw it to Andrey, grinned: - What, geologist, is it not easy? And, cracking her elbows, she stretched.
Tatyana is good, what to hide: A strict profile, as if from under a cutter, A soft chestnut strand, Shine of teeth and a dull face.
Only this is of no use to Andrei, He calmly looks at her. Tanya is a statue in a museum. Good, but the heart does not hurt ...
Behind the window, like a black fox, Night rushes, falling to the grasses. Eh, Andrei, why be sad, sighing ?! Need sleep. Yes, there is no sleep.
It's bad: to wait and not wait, - Tanya suddenly uttered sternly. - I, too, once, to confess, waited in vain for Mily.
First year… girl… stupid fool. And it occurred to me then, That with my face, with my figure, I will conquer the guy without difficulty.
He was nice, kind, carefree, He understood his friend at a half-word. And although he joked with me willingly, But he did not notice my love,
Yes, love, but I discovered it Too late. Yes, brothers. This is no longer a secret, Everything is gone and flew past ...
But then, I remember, it seemed to me, That there was no need to sigh, shy, And that, since I met with happiness, I must take it and I will take it.
According to what unwritten laws For a long time it has been so established, What is it forbidden to talk about feelings for girls in love with the First?!
A guy loves - everything is possible for a guy! Confess, you look - and they will understand ... And the girl is a roadside buttercup: Wait until they find and pluck.
Only I'm not a timid ten. What did I have to wait for? Why play hide and seek with happiness? He is silent, so I must say!
I remember a noisy institute evening. The raucous peal of the radio. I decided: today this meeting will not be thoughtless and fun.
Let it not take place in the park, But here, under the copper howls. Well, that's even easier to explain; Though there will be no heavy silence.
He came with a girlfriend, the one with his wife, Dancing, laughter, merry chattering... Well, I froze, as if before a fight, Looking and soul directed to the door.
Lyoshka got up instantly And asked impatiently: - Well? What's next? - Then everything is sad, Then my frigate went to the bottom.
My hero appeared, only next to him, Next to him, beaming, walked another, Squinting with a half-blinded look ... Red-haired, plump, slanting ...
Well, how is he? Lesha exclaimed. - He? - Tatyana twisted her lips angrily, - He shone like a new harmonica, And in my soul, pipes rattled!
He looked into her eyes, by God, Like a mongrel, faithfully and faithfully. Well, I, I moved to the threshold. What to hide, I was very bad.
Immediately became insignificant, like a bug, Our conversation. He is in love. He is with her! Yes, Andryusha, it’s hard not to wait, To lose is twice as hard ...
Tanya, come on! - Leshka said with a sigh. - What's gone can't be brought back. Whether sadness, snow - everything melts little by little. And you're wasting your whiskey in vain.
There is a sign - you will grow old early. And for women, this is a living hell! - And, catching his careless glance, Smiled strict Tatyana.
Listen, Lyoshka, - Andrey suddenly said. - You are pouring omens like rain. Do you really believe in devils? You are a Komsomol member and an atheist.
Lyoshka chuckled: - That's because the eccentric! The root of evil is not in me. It’s just that my grandmother Akulina Didn’t live a minute without signs.
And, protecting her grandson from troubles, Without doubts and without long thoughts, Grandmother stuffed my green mind with that tricky science.
I don't care about god and devils! Will I be afraid of stupidity! Only I need to somehow unload Me from the burden of my grandmother!
Suddenly the professor opened his eyelashes And muttered angrily through his sleep: - What do you, night owls, can't sleep? The night is long. Finish your kagal!
He muttered a little more, Sleepily stretched and yawned. The switch at the window clicked, And the car sank into darkness.
There is a sign, Khristofor Ivanovich, - Leshka smiled. - Believe me: You can never be angry at night - Brownie will dream in a dream ... Chapter III
NEW FRIEND
And yet it's good, Barbara, That we are so nice friends! The neighbor's guitar strums again. Look, look, the phloxes have blossomed!
Galina has been excited all these days. As soon as she returns home from the hospital, She will suddenly cry for no reason, And then, jumping up, she will spin with laughter ... The dressing table is now her enemy: carrying sorrows, It reminds endlessly About Gali's shorn head And a crimson scar across her face.
Evil is evil. And yet, if you like, Now new souls have been opened to her. - Yes, yes, Varyusha, it's excellent, That we are so nice friends!
You know, there, in the hospital, it seemed to me That all your visits were just a show. I saw - I felt sorry, Well, you come to stroke the head.
A look from the heart... A bouquet on a blanket... You come every evening, as if you were at work... Forgive me, Varyusha! I didn't know then that kindness is the first herald of friendship.
Yes, by the way, in your purse then you stumbled upon children's gizmos. Baby! And you came here To help him, but did not find a trace: And he is knocking under my heart.
Varvara smiled: - And it's funny I was met in your apartment. Tell me, who is this Elsa Vyacheslavna In such pajamas of the color "pluck out the eye"?
Like who? Yes, just a husband's wife. She served somewhere in the headquarters, near the Arbat. But, having married, she found in full Everything that she once dreamed of.
Boris Ilyich, her husband, is completely absorbed in scientific work. But Elsa has three favorite things: cinema, department store and stadium.
Moreover, I will add that our neighbor's name is not Elsa, but Lisa. But the name Elsa seems more beautiful to her, And Lisa is boring as a collar.
Barbara chuckled: - I understand. When I rushed here that evening, This Elsa, opening the doors, I remember, was terribly frightened.
"Which child? she gasped. “What a nightmare? Someone is fooling us! Boris, where are you, I'm so amazed! Hospital… Galya… What does it all mean?”
Coolness... Twilight... Beyond the Moscow River The last rays have already gone out, Only a chilly evening stirs up the dying coals with a stick of Sunset...
No need, Galya, turn on the lights! So it seems to be cozier and warmer. By the way, you wanted to tell a little bit about yourself and Andrey.
Then about a ringing, long-awaited miracle... Tell me: what will you call it? - Now, Varyusha, but first about the main thing: Andrei does not know anything yet.
But in order: on the day when Andryusha returned from the front, I met him Not as a schoolgirl, as I had seen off before, But as a teacher. Do you believe, Varyusha,
Going to college for four years, I was delirious in my sleep and in reality This afternoon. But, you know, here I stand in front of him like a fool, and roar.
But no, wait, I'm not talking about that at all. I'm talking about something else ... You know, on that day The evil shadow left the earth, disappeared. End of the war. The world is filled with bright light!
Some old woman suddenly asked: “Who are you meeting, daughter?” And Andrei, embracing me, suddenly barked with all his strength: “Wife, grandmother! Husband came to her!
And suddenly, embarrassed, he looked into my eyes: “Galnka, really?” I nodded, "Yes." The station was drowning in flowers and music, the people were noisy, the trains were whistling...
Since then, this sunny platform has remained forever in my memory And tanned joyful Andrey In a cap and overcoat without shoulder straps!
Andrey said, returning: “So, Galya, While we were walking through the flames in a terrible hour, You finished all the institutes here And it seems that they even overtook us!
You sit now, broad-shouldered and mustachioed. At lectures with notes at hand, And next to them are bright-eyed girls And boys without fluff over their lip.
And I laugh: “Be quiet, such a fate. Humility uplifts the mind and soul. Christ, Aunt Shura says, He endured worse humiliation!
I, Varya, are now as if in a fever, I'm spinning all sorts of nonsense. Do I want to play hide and seek with you now! You know, I always regret beauty.
Well, okay, if not beauty, but still At least there was something in me! And then look: a grimace, disgust, mug, Nightmare in some incomprehensible dream!
Having drooped, the shoulders quickly trembled, In a tired look - a sharp winter. - Don't, do you hear? Well, don't, Galya! Not so bad, well, judge for yourself:
Now medicine, of course, knows how to remove such scars. Well, it will be, it will be... Remember about your son, You can't worry the boy.
Who are we waiting for? - Galina brightened up. - I'm waiting for an earring. Surely it will be nice! - Well, that's the same, that's another matter. You can't mope, Galina Nikolaevna.
Yes, yes, you can't. But don't just think, That I'm afraid to meet Andryusha, Andrey is neither a dummy nor a coward, And his scar won't repel him at all.
And although there is a lot of soft warmth in him, But he, like me, will not cry from grief. Our love has gone through the war, And that also means something!
And most importantly, there is a surprise waiting for him, Which is rampaging already, knocking... Here, give me your hand... Do you feel it? Like a bird In a tight snare, it beats up and down.
Andrei once told me: “Galina, What to be modest - we live well. But if you and I also have a son ... ”- And he, sighing, clicked his tongue.
In our work, in joy, in struggle, there are days-enemies and days-friends. But the day when another life lit up in you cannot be compared with anything!
At first, I wanted to tell Andrey right away about such joy. But immediately she decided: “No, wait! I can always say it myself."
It's too easy: take it and say it. But no, let it be stupidity, let it be a whim, However, I decided to watch, When he himself notices my “surprise”.
Raging, spring crumbled. And my Gromov graduated from the institute. He came and shouted cheerfully: “Wife! Here is my diploma, and here is the route!”
And, packing my husband's suitcase, I decided: now there is no need to hide. Three months have not made my camp As long as remarkable to look at.
But it's silly to talk about "surprise"! Here, Varenka, an amusing task! "Surprises" are supposed to give, Moreover, and suddenly, not otherwise.
Well, how to be here? Ingenuity, help me out! Stop. I will buy a dowry for the baby And at the station at the very moment of farewell I will open the bag, as if by chance.
Then the sad look will disappear immediately! You look, Andrei's eyes warmed up ... “Galinka! - he will exclaim. - Really? Will there be three of us now? How glad I am!
He will carefully take me by the shoulders And, bending down, will tell me, loving: “Thank you, my glorious! See you! Now there are three of us. Take care of yourself!"
Yes, that's what I thought as I hurried to the station that evening. And then, like thunder, an unexpected misfortune, Deaf abuse ... Blow ... Then - failure ...
I remember only two figures in caps, Two pairs of tightly clenched fists, Two pairs of eyes, cold, impudent, tenacious. From under the hanging low visors.
“Well, wait! - one said gloomily. “What kind of treasure are you carrying under your arm?” "Freeze," the second figure muttered. “Look, don’t you dare rush back!”
When a large, rough hand Grabbed the bag, I suddenly instantly, not so much with a goal as mechanically To myself pulled the bag lightly.
They hit me first in the back. Then ... Oh, really, stop remembering! How cold it is here, I'm just getting cold! Come on tea, Varyusha, drink!
Evening flashed through the window with a lantern And a ray stretched out to the fragrant bun. - How strange, Galya, you and I live Right here, in the same lane.
And they had never met before. At least they saw each other. - So be it ... But where trouble struck, Where is more reliable and faithful girlfriend. PART II
Rain whips on leaves and branches, Beats, buzzes, resilient and straight, The far shore is hidden behind a dense mesh, Smoky, cold, mica.
Dancing rain merry, barefoot, Muddy whipping bubbles. Dancing along the country road, Beats the tap dance from the dawn.
A little knock - he will hit with hail. The forest is noisy from the ice shrapnel... And they stand motionless side by side Under the cloak of a tall stately spruce.
The rain caught them on a deaf dirt road, On the way to the camp. And here is the third hour prickly needles They are saved from adversity in the forest.
On four sides - a wall of water ... It seems that neither people nor animals can find them even in the footsteps. However, in the rain, what are the traces?!
In the backpack is a bag with samples Yes, wet matches boxes, A small bag of crackers, Six potatoes, salt and a bowler hat.
A damp wind, roaring around, With a prickly cold pestering And chilled travelers to each other Moves closer and closer.
How strange the involuntary embrace. Everything is clearer at his chest A maiden's breast under a wet dress Feels the excited Andrey.
You need to straighten up somehow. Joking carelessly, step back. Only he, just the opposite, Not leaned back, but forward.
What is to blame here: the quiet whistle of a bird? Is it a heady sip of wind? Are long eyelashes tannins? He himself could not answer.
And Tatyana? What is the matter with her now? Where is the ice of her calm eyes? Why is a girl suddenly clinging to Andrey so affectionately now?
Who can figure this out? Really, it's silly to argue and guess! It is easier to count the stars in the sky, Than to master the secret of the heart!
Everything is now more eloquent than words: A quiet sigh, a handshake ... What is it: a new love Or a minute flash of lights?
From above, through the thick gray clouds, a merry warm beam glided down. And behind him, as if in a sea of bread, A piece of sky flared up like a cornflower.
He was wet, he was blue-blue, - As if a look familiar from childhood, And it seemed that he exclaimed: "No!" He shouted with pain in the voice of Galina.
Yes, of course, it just seemed. So what is the real voice? Only joy seemed to break suddenly And rushed into the thick of old fir trees.
What then? After all, so much genuine flour will gush from your beloved eyes! The light curled up and went out ... Lips tightened, and hands weakened ...
We, - said Andrei, - go a little, Our camp is over there, behind that hillock. Well, let's go while the road is visible. We'll be there in an hour, I think.
Here is the hill. And instantly two froze; The camp is like a storm boldly, And below blackened a small village Not familiar at all.
Lost! gasped Tatyana. - Well, geologist, fight you and
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