AI Kuprin took the plot of the story "White Poodle" from real life. After all, wandering artists, whom he often left for lunch, repeatedly came to his own dacha in the Crimea.

Among such guests were Sergey and the organ grinder. The boy told the story of the dog. She was very interested in the writer and later formed the basis of the story.

A. I. Kuprin, "White Poodle": contentIchapters

Along the southern path, a small wandering troupe was making their way along the path. Ahead of them ran Artaud, a short-cut poodle. He was followed by Sergei, a 12-year-old boy. In one hand he carried a dirty and cramped cage with a goldfinch, who had been taught to take out fortune-telling notes, and in the other, a rolled-up rug. The procession was completed by the oldest member of the troupe - Martyn Lodyzhkin. On his back he carried a barrel organ, as ancient as himself, playing only two melodies. For five years now he took Sergei Martyn from a drinking widower-shoemaker, promising to pay him 2 rubles every month. But soon the rebel died, and Sergei remained with his grandfather forever. The troupe went with performances from one dacha village to another.

A. I. Kuprin, "White Poodle": a summaryIIchapters

It was summer. It was very hot, but the artists kept walking. Seryozha was surprised at everything: strange plants, old parks and buildings. Grandfather Martyn assured that he would see something else: ahead and further - the Turks and Ethiopians. The day was unfortunate: almost everywhere they were driven away or paid very little. And one lady, having watched the whole performance, threw a coin to the old man, which was no longer in use. Soon they reached the Druzhba dacha.

The artists approached the house along the gravel path. As soon as they prepared for the performance, a boy of 8-10 years old in a sailor's suit suddenly jumped out onto the terrace, followed by six adults. The child fell to the ground, screamed, fought back, and everyone begged him to take the potion. Martyn and Sergei first watched this scene, and then grandfather gave the command to begin. Hearing the sounds of a barrel organ, everyone fell silent. Even the boy fell silent. The artists were first chased away, they packed their things and almost left. But then the boy began to demand that they be called. They came back and started performing. At the end, Artaud, holding the cap in his teeth, approached the lady, who took out her purse. And then the boy began to scream heart-rendingly that he wanted this dog to be left to him forever. The old man refused to sell Artaud. The artists were driven out of the yard. The boy continued to yell. Leaving the park, the artists went down to the sea and stopped there to swim. Soon the old man noticed that the janitor was approaching them.

The lady sent the janitor to buy a poodle after all. Martyn does not agree to sell his friend. The janitor says that the boy's father, engineer Obolyaninov, builds railways throughout the country. The family is very rich. They have one child and there is no denial of anything. The janitor got nothing. The troupe left.

Vchapter

The travelers stopped near a mountain stream to have lunch and rest. After eating, they fell asleep. Through the slumber it seemed to Martyn that the dog was growling, but he could not get up, but only called the dog. Sergei woke up first and realized that there was no poodle. Martyn found a stub of sausage and traces of Artaud nearby. It became clear that the dog was taken away by the janitor. The grandfather is afraid to go to the judge, because he lives on someone else's passport (he lost his own), which a Greek once made for him for 25 rubles. It turns out that he is actually Ivan Dudkin, a simple peasant, and not at all Martin Lodyzhkin, a bourgeoisie from Samara. On the way to their lodging for the night, the artists deliberately walked past Druzhba, but they never saw Artaud.

Summary: Kuprin, "White Poodle",VIchapter

In Alupka, they stopped for the night in a dirty coffee shop of the Turk Ibrahim. At night, Sergei in one tights made his way to the ill-fated dacha. Artaud was tied up, and even locked up in the basement. Having recognized Sergei, he began to bark violently. The janitor went into the basement and began to beat the dog. Sergei screamed. Then the janitor ran out of the basement without closing it to catch the boy. At this time, Artaud broke away and jumped out into the street. Sergei wandered around the garden for a long time, until, completely exhausted, he realized that the fence was not so high, and it was possible to jump over it. Artaud jumped out after him, and they ran away. The janitor did not catch up with them. The fugitives returned to their grandfather, which made him incredibly happy.

A. I. Kuprin

White poodle

A small wandering troupe made its way along the southern coast of Crimea along narrow mountain paths, from one dacha village to another. Ahead, usually running, with a long pink tongue hanging to one side, was Artaud's white poodle, clipped like a lion. At the crossroads, he stopped and, wagging his tail, looked back inquiringly. By some signs he knew, he always unmistakably recognized the road and, merrily dangling his furry ears, rushed forward at a gallop. Behind the dog was a twelve-year-old boy Sergei, who held a folded carpet for acrobatic exercises under his left elbow, and in his right one carried a cramped and dirty cage with a goldfinch trained to pull out multi-colored pieces of paper with predictions for a future life from a box. Finally, the senior member of the troupe, grandfather Martyn Lodyzhkin, trudged behind him, with a barrel organ on his crooked back.

The barrel organ was old, suffering from hoarseness, coughing, and having undergone more than a dozen repairs in its lifetime. She played two things: Launer's dull German waltz and the gallop from Voyages to China, both of which were in vogue thirty or forty years ago, but are now forgotten by everyone. In addition, there were two treacherous pipes in the barrel organ. One - treble - lost her voice; she did not play at all, and therefore, when it came to her turn, all the music began, as it were, to stutter, limp and stumble. The other pipe, which made a low sound, did not immediately close the valve: once humming, she pulled the same bass note, drowning out and knocking out all other sounds, until she suddenly felt the desire to shut up. Grandfather himself was aware of these shortcomings of his car and sometimes remarked playfully, but with a tinge of secret sadness:

- What can you do? .. An ancient organ ... cold ... If you start playing, summer residents are offended: "Fu, they say, what disgusting!" But the plays were very good, fashionable, but only the present gentlemen do not adore our music at all. Give them "Geisha" now, "Under the two-headed eagle", from "The Bird Seller" - a waltz. Again, these pipes ... I carried the organ to the master - and I will not undertake to repair it. “It is necessary, he says, to install new pipes, and best of all, he says, sell your sour rubbish to a museum… sort of like some kind of monument…” Well, all right! She has been feeding you and me, Sergei, until now, God willing, and will feed us more.

Grandfather Martyn Lodyzhkin loved his hurdy-gurdy as you can love only a living, close, perhaps even kindred creature. Having become accustomed to her for many years of a difficult wandering life, he finally began to see in her something spiritualized, almost conscious. It sometimes happened that at night, during an overnight stay, somewhere in a filthy inn, a barrel organ, standing on the floor next to grandfather's headboard, suddenly made a faint sound, sad, lonely and trembling: like an old man's sigh. Then Lodyzhkin quietly stroked her carved side and whispered affectionately:

- What, brother? Complaining? .. And you bear with me ...

As much as the hurdy-gurdy, maybe even a little more, he loved his younger companions in eternal wanderings: the poodle Artaud and little Sergei. He rented the boy five years ago from a bum, a widow's shoemaker, having pledged to pay two rubles a month for this. But the shoemaker soon died, and Sergei remained forever connected with his grandfather and soul, and petty everyday interests.

The path ran along a high coastal cliff, meandering in the shade of century-old olives. The sea sometimes flashed between the trees, and then it seemed that, going into the distance, it at the same time rises upwards as a calm, mighty wall, and its color was still blue, even thicker in the patterned cuts, among the silvery-green foliage. In the grass, in the bushes of dogwood and wild rose hips, in the vineyards and in the trees, cicadas flooded everywhere; the air trembled from their ringing, monotonous, incessant screams. It was a sultry, windless day, and the hot earth burned the soles of his feet.

Sergei, walking, as usual, in front of his grandfather, stopped and waited until the old man caught up with him.

- What are you, Seryozha? The organ grinder asked.

- Heat, grandfather Lodyzhkin ... there is no patience! To swim would be ...

The old man, with the usual movement of his shoulder, straightened the organ on his back and wiped his sweaty face with his sleeve.

- What would be better! He sighed, eagerly looking down at the cool blue of the sea. - Only after bathing it will melt even more. One paramedic I know told me: this salt acts on a person ... so, they say, it relaxes ... Sea salt ...

- Lied, maybe? - Sergei remarked doubtfully.

- Well, I was lying! Why would he lie? A solid man, teetotal ... he has a house in Sevastopol. But then there is nowhere to go down to the sea. Wait, let's get to Miskhor, and there we will rinse our sinful bodies. Before dinner, it is flattering, to take a dip ... and then, then, to sleep on some crumbs ... and a great thing ...

Artaud, who heard the conversation behind him, turned and ran to the people. His kind blue eyes squinted from the heat and looked sweetly, and his protruding long tongue trembled from rapid breathing.

- What, brother doggie? Warmly? - asked the grandfather.

The dog yawned tensely, curling its tongue with a tube, shook its whole body and screamed subtly.

- Well, my brother, you can't do anything ... It is said: in the sweat of your brow, - Lodyzhkin continued instructively. - Let's say, you have, roughly speaking, not a face, but a muzzle, but all the same ... Well, he went, went ahead, there is nothing to spin under his feet ... And I, Seryozha, to admit to say, I love when this very warm. The organ is just getting in the way, otherwise, if it wasn't work, I would lie down somewhere on the grass, in the shade, belly, that means, up, and lie down for yourself. For our old bones, this very sun is the first thing.

The path went down, joining a wide, rock-solid, dazzling white road. Here the old count's park began, in the dense greenery of which beautiful summer cottages, flower beds, greenhouses and fountains were scattered. Lodyzhkin knew these places well; every year he bypassed them one by one during the grape season, when the whole Crimea is filled with an elegant, rich and cheerful audience. The bright luxury of the southern nature did not touch the old man, but Sergei, who was here for the first time, admired a lot. Magnolias, with their hard and shiny leaves like varnished and white flowers as large as a plate; gazebos, completely woven with grapes hanging down heavy bunches; huge centuries-old plane trees with their light bark and mighty crowns; tobacco plantations, streams and waterfalls, and everywhere - on flower beds, on hedges, on the walls of dachas - bright, magnificent fragrant roses - all this never ceased to amaze the naive soul of the boy with its lively blooming charm. He expressed his delight out loud, every minute tugging at the old man's sleeve.

AI Kuprin White Poodle I A small wandering troupe made its way along the southern coast of Crimea along narrow mountain paths, from one dacha village to another. Ahead, usually running, with a long pink tongue hanging to one side, was Artaud's white poodle, clipped like a lion. At the crossroads, he stopped and, wagging his tail, looked back inquiringly. By some signs he knew, he always unmistakably recognized the road and, merrily dangling his furry ears, rushed forward at a gallop. Behind the dog was a twelve-year-old boy Sergei, who held a folded carpet for acrobatic exercises under his left elbow, and in his right one carried a cramped and dirty cage with a goldfinch trained to pull out multi-colored pieces of paper with predictions for a future life from a box. Finally, the senior member of the troupe, grandfather Martyn Lodyzhkin, trudged behind him, with a barrel organ on his crooked back. The barrel organ was old, suffering from hoarseness, coughing, and having undergone more than a dozen repairs in its lifetime. She played two things: Launer's dull German waltz and the gallop from Voyages to China, both of which were in vogue thirty or forty years ago, but are now forgotten by everyone. In addition, there were two treacherous pipes in the barrel organ. One - treble - lost her voice; she did not play at all, and therefore, when it came to her turn, all the music began, as it were, to stutter, limp and stumble. The other pipe, which made a low sound, did not immediately close the valve: once humming, she pulled the same bass note, drowning out and knocking out all other sounds, until she suddenly felt the desire to shut up. Grandfather himself was aware of these shortcomings of his car and sometimes noticed jokingly, but with a tinge of secret sadness: - What can you do? But the plays were very good, fashionable, but only the present gentlemen do not adore our music at all. Give them "Geisha" now, "Under the two-headed eagle", from "The Bird Seller" - a waltz. Again, these pipes ... I carried the organ to the master - and I do not undertake to fix it. “It is necessary, he says, to install new pipes, and best of all, he says, sell your sour rubbish to a museum… sort of like some kind of monument…” Well, all right! She has been feeding you and me, Sergei, until now, God willing, and will feed us more. Grandfather Martyn Lodyzhkin loved his hurdy-gurdy as you can love only a living, close, perhaps even kindred creature. Having become accustomed to her for many years of a difficult wandering life, he finally began to see in her something spiritualized, almost conscious. It sometimes happened that at night, during an overnight stay, somewhere in a filthy inn, a barrel organ, standing on the floor next to grandfather's headboard, suddenly made a faint sound, sad, lonely and trembling: like an old man's sigh. Then Lodyzhkin quietly stroked her carved side and whispered affectionately: - What, brother? Complaining? .. And you bear with it ... As much as the barrel organ, maybe even a little more, he loved his younger companions in eternal wanderings: the poodle Artaud and little Sergei. He rented the boy five years ago from a bum, a widow's shoemaker, having pledged to pay two rubles a month for this. But the shoemaker soon died, and Sergei remained forever connected with his grandfather and soul, and petty everyday interests. II The path went along a high coastal cliff, meandering in the shade of century-old olives. The sea sometimes flashed between the trees, and then it seemed that, going into the distance, it at the same time rises upwards as a calm, mighty wall, and its color was still blue, even thicker in the patterned cuts, among the silvery-green foliage. In the grass, in the bushes of dogwood and wild rose hips, in the vineyards and in the trees, cicadas flooded everywhere; the air trembled from their ringing, monotonous, incessant screams. It was a sultry, windless day, and the hot earth burned the soles of his feet. Sergei, walking, as usual, in front of his grandfather, stopped and waited until the old man caught up with him. - What are you, Seryozha? The organ grinder asked. - Heat, grandfather Lodyzhkin ... there is no patience! Would take a swim ... The old man on the move, with the usual movement of his shoulder, straightened the organ on his back and wiped his sweaty face with his sleeve. - What would be better! He sighed, eagerly looking down at the cool blue of the sea. - Only after bathing it will melt even more. One paramedic I know told me: this salt acts on a person ... so, they say, it relaxes ... Sea salt ... - Lied, maybe? - Sergei remarked doubtfully. - Well, I was lying! Why would he lie? A solid man, teetotal ... he has a house in Sevastopol. But then there is nowhere to go down to the sea. Wait, let's get to Miskhor, and there we will rinse our sinful bodies. Before dinner it is flattering, to take a dip ... and then, that means, to sleep on the cords ... and it's a great thing ... Artaud, who heard the conversation behind him, turned and ran to the people. His kind blue eyes squinted from the heat and looked sweetly, and his protruding long tongue trembled from rapid breathing. - What, brother doggie? Warmly? - asked the grandfather. The dog yawned tensely, curling its tongue with a tube, shook its whole body and screamed subtly. “Well, my brother, you can't do anything ... It is said: in the sweat of your brow,” Lodyzhkin continued instructively. - Let's say, you have, roughly speaking, not a face, but a muzzle, but all the same ... Well, he went, went ahead, there is nothing to spin under his feet ... And I, Seryozha, to admit to say, I love when this very warm. The organ is just getting in the way, otherwise, if it weren't for work, I would lie down somewhere on the grass, in the shade, belly, that means, up, and lie down for yourself. For our old bones, this very sun is the first thing. The path went down, joining a wide, rock-solid, dazzling white road. The old count's park began here, in the dense greenery of which beautiful summer cottages, flower beds, greenhouses and fountains were scattered. Lodyzhkin knew these places well; every year he bypassed them one by one during the grape season, when the whole Crimea is filled with an elegant, rich and cheerful audience. The bright luxury of the southern nature did not touch the old man, but Sergei, who was here for the first time, admired a lot. Magnolias, with their hard and shiny leaves like varnished and white flowers of a large plate size; gazebos, completely woven with grapes hanging down heavy bunches; huge centuries-old plane trees with their light bark and mighty crowns; tobacco plantations, streams and waterfalls, and everywhere - on flower beds, on hedges, on the walls of summer cottages - bright, magnificent fragrant roses - all this never ceased to amaze the naive soul of the boy with its lively blooming beauty. He expressed his delight aloud, every minute tugging at the old man's sleeve. - Grandpa Lodyzhkin, and grandfather, look, you see, there are golden fish in the fountain! - shouted the boy, pressing his face against the grate enclosing the garden with a large pool in the middle. - Grandpa, and peaches! How much Bon! On the same tree! - Go, go, you fool, why open your mouth! - the old man jokingly pushed him. - Wait, we’ll get to the city of Novorossiysk and, therefore, we’ll go south again. There really are places - there is something to see. Now, roughly say, Sochi, Adler, Tuapse will suit you, and there, my brother, Sukhum, Batum ... You will squint your eyes looking ... Let's say, roughly - a palm tree. Astonishment! Her trunk is shaggy, in the manner of felt, and each sheet is so large that you and I can both take cover. - Honest to God? - Sergey was happily surprised. - Wait, you will see for yourself. But you never know what is there? Apeltsyn, for example, or at least, say, the same lemon ... Have you seen it in the shop? - Well? - Just so-so and grows in the air. Without anything, right on a tree, like ours, it means an apple or a pear ... And the people there, brother, are completely outlandish: Turks, Persians, Circassians are different, all in dressing gowns and with daggers ... Desperate people! And then there are Ethiopians there, brother. I saw them in Batum many times. - Ethiopians? I know. These are the ones with horns, - Sergei said confidently. - Let’s say they don’t have horns, they’re not true. But black, like a boot, and even shine. Their lips are red, thick, and their eyes are white, and their hair is curly, like on a black ram. - Scary go ... these Ethiopians? - How to say to you? Out of habit it is for sure ... you are a little afraid, well, and then you see that other people are not afraid, and you yourself will become bolder ... There is a lot, my brother, of all sorts of things. Come and see for yourself. The only bad thing is the fever. Therefore, there are swamps, rot, and, moreover, it is hot. There is nothing for the inhabitants there, nothing affects them, but the newcomer has a bad time. One way it will be for you and me, Sergei, to wag our tongues. Climb through the gate. In this dacha gentlemen live very good ... You ask me: I already know everything! But the day had turned out to be unfortunate for them. From some places they were chased away, barely seeing them from afar, in others, at the very first hoarse and nasal sounds of the barrel organ, annoyed and impatiently waved their hands at them from the balconies; At two summer cottages, they were, however, paid for the show, but very little. However, grandfather did not disdain any low pay. Coming out of the fence onto the road, with a contented air he rattled the coins in his pocket and said good-naturedly: “Two and five, a total of seven kopecks ... Well, brother Serezhenka, this is money. Seven times seven, - so he and fifty dollars came running, which means that all three of us are full, and we have a place to sleep, and old man Lodyzhkin, due to his weakness, can pass a glass, for the sake of many ailments ... Oh, gentlemen do not understand this! It’s a pity to give him a two-kopeck piece, but he’s ashamed of a piglet ... well, and they tell him to go away. And you'd better give me at least three kopecks ... I'm not offended, I'm nothing ... why take offense? In general, Lodyzhkin was of a modest disposition and, even when they were driving him, did not grumble. But today he was also brought out of the usual complacent calm by a beautiful, plump, seemingly very kind lady, the owner of a beautiful dacha surrounded by a garden with flowers. She listened attentively to the music, looked even more attentively at Sergei's acrobatic exercises and at Artaud's funny "things", after that she asked the boy for a long time and in detail about how old he was and what his name was, where he learned gymnastics, who he is an old man, what they did his parents, etc .; then she ordered to wait and went into the rooms. She did not appear for ten minutes, or even a quarter of an hour, and the longer the time dragged on, the more vague but tempting hopes grew among the artists. The grandfather even whispered to the boy, covering his mouth out of caution with his palm, like a shield: - Well, Sergei, our happiness, you just listen to me: I, brother, know everything. Maybe something will come from a dress or from shoes. This is really true! .. Finally the lady went out onto the balcony, threw a small white coin from above into Sergei's hat that was presented to him, and immediately disappeared. The coin turned out to be old, worn out on both sides and, in addition, a dime with holes. Grandfather looked at her in bewilderment for a long time. He had already stepped out onto the road and walked away from the dacha, but he still held a dime in his palm, as if weighing it. - Y-yes ... Cleverly! He said, stopping suddenly. - I can say ... But we, three fools, tried. It would be better if she at least gave a button, or something. At the very least, you can sew that somewhere. What am I going to do with this stuff? The lady probably thinks: all the same, the old man will let her down for someone at night, slowly, then. No, sir, you are very mistaken, madam. Old man Lodyzhkin will not do such nasty things. Yes, sir! Here's your precious dime! Here! And with indignation and pride he threw the coin, which, with a faint clink, buried itself in the white road dust. Thus, the old man with the boy and the dog walked around the whole dacha village and were about to go to the sea. On the left side there was one more, last, dacha. She was not visible because of the high white wall, above which, on the other side, towered a dense array of thin dusty cypresses, like long black and gray spindles. Only through the wide cast-iron gates, similar in their intricate carvings to lace, could one see a corner of a fresh, like green bright silk, lawn, round flower beds and in the distance, in the background, a covered through alley, all entwined with dense grapes. A gardener stood in the middle of the lawn, watering roses from his long sleeve. He covered the opening of the pipe with his finger, and from this in the fountain of countless splashes, the sun played with all the colors of the rainbow. Grandfather was about to pass by, but, looking through the gate, he stopped in bewilderment. - Wait a little, Sergei, - he called out to the boy. - No, people are moving there? That's the story. How many years I have been walking here - and never a soul. Come on, come on, brother Sergei! - "Dacha Druzhba", outsiders are strictly prohibited from entering, - Sergei read the inscription, skillfully carved on one of the pillars that supported the gate. - Friendship? .. - asked the illiterate grandfather. - In-in! This is the truest word - friendship. We have starved all day, and here we will take it. I smell it with my nose, like a hunting dog. Artaud, isi, son of a dog! Vali bravely, Seryozha. You always ask me: I already know everything! III The paths of the garden were strewn with even coarse gravel crunching underfoot, and on the sides were furnished with large pink shells. In the flower beds, over a motley carpet of multi-colored herbs, rose outlandish bright flowers, from which the air smelled sweetly. In the reservoirs, clear water gurgled and splashed; from beautiful vases that hung in the air between the trees, climbing plants descended in garlands, and in front of the house, on marble pillars, stood two shiny mirror balls, in which the wandering troupe was reflected upside down, in a funny, bent and stretched form. There was a large trampled platform in front of the balcony. Sergei spread his rug on it, and grandfather, setting the organ on a stick, was already preparing to turn the handle, when suddenly an unexpected and strange sight attracted their attention. A boy of eight or ten years old jumped out of the inner rooms on the terrace like a bomb, uttering shrill screams. He was in a light sailor suit, with bare arms and bare knees. Blond hair, all in large curls, tousled carelessly over his shoulders. Six more people ran after the boy: two women in aprons; an old fat footman in a tailcoat, no mustache and no beard, but with long gray sideburns; a lean, red-haired, red-nosed girl in a blue checkered dress; a young, sickly-looking, but very beautiful lady in a lacy blue bonnet and, finally, a fat bald gentleman in a pair of chesnuts and gold glasses. They were all very alarmed, waving their hands, talking loudly and even pushing each other. It was immediately possible to guess that the cause of their concern was a boy in a sailor's suit, who suddenly flew out onto the terrace. Meanwhile, the culprit of this commotion, without stopping his screeching for a second, fell with a running belly on the stone floor, quickly rolled onto his back and with strong fierceness began to jerk his arms and legs in all directions. The adults fussed around him. An old footman in a tailcoat pressed both hands to his starched shirt with a pleading look, shook his long sideburns and said plaintively: “Father, master! .. Nikolai Apollonovich! The mixture is very sweet, one surop sir. Please, get up ... The women in aprons threw up their hands and chirped soon-soon in obsequious and frightened voices. The red-nosed girl was shouting with tragic gestures something very impressive, but completely incomprehensible, obviously in a foreign language. The gentleman in gold spectacles was persuading the boy in a reasonable bass; while he tilted his head first to one side, then to the other, and gravely shrugged his arms. And the beautiful lady moaned languidly, pressing a thin lace handkerchief to her eyes: - Ah, Trilli, ah, my God! .. My angel, I beg you. Listen, Mom begs you. Well, take it, take your medicine; you will see, it will immediately become easier for you: both the tummy and the head will pass. Well, do it for me, my joy! Well, do you want, Trilli, mom will kneel in front of you? Well, look, I'm on my knees in front of you. Do you want me to give you a gold one? Two gold pieces? Five gold coins, Trillie? Do you want a live donkey? Do you want a live horse? .. Tell him something, doctor! .. - Listen, Trilli, be a man, - the fat gentleman with glasses hummed. - Ay-ay-ay-ah-ah-ah! - yelled the boy, wriggling around the balcony and desperately swinging his legs. Despite his extreme excitement, he nevertheless strove to get his heels in the stomachs and legs of the people who were busy around him, who, however, quite cleverly avoided this. Sergei, who had been looking at this scene with curiosity and surprise for a long time, quietly pushed the old man in the side. - Grandpa Lodyzhkin, what is it with him? He asked in a whisper. - No way, will they tear him? - Well, to fight ... Such himself will cut anyone. Just a blissful boy. Sick, it must be. - Shamashed? - Sergey guessed. - And how do I know. Hush! .. - Ay-ay-ah! Rubbish! Fools! .. - the boy struggled louder and louder. - Get started, Sergei. I know! - suddenly ordered Lodyzhkin and with a resolute look turned the handle of the organ. The nasal, husky, phony sounds of an old gallop raced through the garden. Everyone on the balcony started up at once, even the boy was silent for a few seconds. "Oh my god, they'll upset poor Trillie even more!" The lady in the blue bonnet exclaimed mournfully. - Oh, but drive them away, drive them out quickly! And this dirty dog ​​is with them. Dogs always have such terrible diseases. Why are you standing, Ivan, like a monument? With a tired look and with disgust she waved her handkerchief at the artists, a lean red-nosed girl made terrible eyes, someone hissed threateningly ... A man in a tailcoat quickly and gently rolled down from the balcony and with an expression of horror on his face, spreading his arms wide apart, ran up to the organ grinder ... - This is what a disgrace! - he wheezed in a strangled, frightened and at the same time overbearingly angry whisper. - Who allowed? Who missed it? March! Get out! .. The barrel organ, squeaking dejectedly, fell silent. “Good gentleman, let me explain to you…” Grandfather began delicately. - None! March! - the tailcoat man shouted with a sort of whistle in his throat. His fat face instantly turned purple, and his eyes opened incredibly wide, as if they suddenly crawled out and went in a wheel. It was so scary that my grandfather involuntarily took two steps back. - Get ready, Sergei, - he said, hastily throwing the organ on his back. - Let's go! But before they had time to make even ten steps, new shrill cries rushed from the balcony: - Ay-yay-yay! To me! I want it! A-ah-ah! Yes-ay! Call! To me! - But, Trillie! .. Oh, my God, Trillie! Oh, turn them back, ”groaned the nervous lady. - Fu, how stupid you are! .. Ivan, do you hear what they say to you? Call these beggars now! .. - Listen! You! Hey, how are you? Organ grinders! Come back! - several voices shouted from the balcony. A fat footman with whiskers flying in both directions, bouncing like a big rubber ball, ran at a run after the departing artists. - No! .. Musicians! Listen! Back! .. Back! .. - he shouted, panting and waving both hands. - Old man respectable, - he finally grabbed grandfather by the sleeve, - wrap the shafts! Gentlemen will watch your pantomine. Alive! .. - W-well, business! - sighed, shaking his head, grandfather, however, approached the balcony, took off the organ, secured it in front of him on a stick and began to gallop from the very place where he had just been interrupted. The bustle on the balcony has subsided. The lady with the boy and the gentleman in gold spectacles approached the very railing; the rest remained respectfully in the background. From the depths of the garden came a gardener in an apron and stood not far from grandfather. A janitor who had come out from somewhere was placed behind the gardener. He was a huge bearded man with a grim, narrow-minded, pockmarked face. He was dressed in a new pink shirt, on which large black peas ran in oblique rows. To the husky, stuttering sounds of a gallop, Sergey spread a rug on the ground, quickly threw off his canvas trousers (they were sewn from an old bag and at the back, at the widest point, were decorated with a four-cornered factory hallmark), threw off his old jacket and remained in an old cotton leotard , which, despite numerous patches, deftly embraced his slender but strong and lithe figure. He has already developed, by imitating adults, the techniques of a real acrobat. Running onto the rug, he put his hands to his lips as he walked, and then in a wide theatrical movement swung them to the sides, as if sending the audience two swift kisses. With one hand, the grandfather continually turned the handle of the organ, extracting a rattling, coughing motif from it, and with the other he threw various objects to the boy, which he skillfully picked up on the fly. Sergei's repertoire was small, but he worked well, “cleanly,” as acrobats say, and eagerly. He tossed up an empty beer bottle so that it turned over several times in the air, and suddenly, catching it with its neck on the edge of the plate, kept it in balance for several seconds; juggled with four bone balls, as well as two candles, which he simultaneously caught in candlesticks; then he played with three different objects at once - a fan, a wooden cigar and a rain umbrella. All of them flew through the air without touching the ground, and suddenly the umbrella was immediately above his head, the cigar was in his mouth, and the fan coquettishly fanned his face. In conclusion, Sergei himself rolled several times on the carpet, made a "frog", showed an "American knot" and looked like his hands. Having exhausted the entire stock of his "tricks", he again threw two kisses into the audience and, breathing heavily, went up to his grandfather to replace him at the organ. Now it was Artaud's turn. The dog knew this very well, and for a long time already galloped in excitement with all four paws at the grandfather, who was crawling out of the strap sideways, and barked at him with abrupt, nervous barking. Who knows, maybe the clever poodle wanted to say by this that, in his opinion, it is reckless to engage in acrobatic exercises when Reaumur shows twenty-two degrees in the shade? But grandfather Lodyzhkin with a sly look pulled out a thin dogwood whip from behind his back. "I knew it!" - barked in annoyance for the last time Artaud and lazily, disobediently got up on his hind legs, not taking his blinking eyes from the owner. - Serve, Artaud! So, so, so ... - said the old man, holding a whip over the poodle's head. - Roll over. So. Roll over ... More, more ... Dance, dog, dance! .. Sit down! What about? Do not want? Sit down, they tell you. Ah ... that's it! Look! Now say hello to the most respectable audience! Well! Artaud! - Lodyzhkin raised his voice menacingly. "Woof!" - the poodle laughed with disgust. Then he looked, blinking piteously, at the owner and added two more times: "Woof, woof!" "No, my old man does not understand me!" - was heard in this displeased barking. - This is another matter. Politeness comes first. Well, now let's jump a little, '' the old man continued, holding out a whip not high above the ground. - Alla! There is no need to stick your tongue out, brother. Alla! .. Gop! Perfectly! Come on, noh ein mal ... Alla! .. Gop! Alla! Gop! Wonderful, doggy. Come home, I'll give you carrots. Do you eat carrots? I completely forgot. Then take my top and ask the gentlemen. Maybe they are serving you something tastier. The old man lifted the dog on its hind legs and thrust into its mouth his ancient, greasy cap, which he called with such subtle humor "chilindroi". Holding the cap in his teeth and cunningly stepping over his squatting legs, Artaud went to the terrace. In the hands of the sickly lady, a small mother-of-pearl purse appeared. Everyone around him smiled sympathetically. - What? Didn't I tell you? - Grandpa whispered fervently, bending over to Sergei. - You ask me: I, brother, know everything. Not less than a ruble. At that time, such a desperate, sharp, almost inhuman scream was heard from the terrace that the confused Artaud dropped his cap from his mouth and jumped, with his tail between his legs, fearfully looking back, rushed to the feet of his master. - I want-ah-ah! - rolled up, stamping his feet, curly-haired boy. - To me! Want! Dog-ooh! Trilli wants soba-a-aku-u ... - Oh, my God! Oh! Nikolai Apollonich! .. Father sir! .. Calm down, Trilli, I beg you! - again the people on the balcony began to fuss. - The dog! Give me a dog! Want! Trash, devils, fools! - the boy lost his temper. - But, my angel, do not upset yourself! - a lady in a blue hood whispered over him. - Do you want to pet the dog? Well, well, well, my joy, now. Doctor, do you think Trilli can pet this dog? - Generally speaking, I would not advise, - he threw up his hands, - but if there is reliable disinfection, for example, with boric acid or a weak solution of carbolic acid, then oh ... in general ... - Soba-a-aku! - Now, my darling, now. So, Doctor, we will order to wash it with boric acid and then ... But, Trillie, don't worry like that! Old man, please bring your dog here. Don't be afraid, you will get paid. Listen, is she sick? I want to ask, is she mad? Or maybe she has echinococcus? - I don’t want to stroke, I don’t want to! Trilli bellowed, blowing bubbles through his mouth and nose. - I want it at all! Fools, devils! Just me! I want to play myself ... Forever! - Listen, old man, come here, - the lady tried to shout down to him. “Ah, Trillie, you’ll kill your mom with your scream.” And why did they let these musicians in! Come closer, even closer ... still, they tell you! .. That's it ... Oh, don't be upset, Trillie, mom will do whatever you want. I beg you. Miss, but finally calm down the child ... Doctor, please ... How much do you want, old man? Grandpa took off his cap. His face assumed a courteous, orphaned expression. - As much as your grace will please, lady, your Excellency ... We are small people, every donation is a blessing for us ... Tea, don't offend the old man yourself ... - Oh, how stupid you are! Trillie, you have a sore throat. After all, understand that the dog is yours, not mine. Well, how much? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty? - A-ah-ah! I want it! Give me a dog, give me a dog, ”the boy squealed, pushing the footman into the round belly with his foot. - That is ... sorry, your Excellency, - Lodyzhkin hesitated. “I’m an old, stupid man… I don’t understand right away… besides, I’m a little deaf… that is, how do you say this? .. For a dog? ..” “Oh, my God! .. You seem to be deliberately pretending to be an idiot? - the lady boiled. - Nanny, give Trilli some water as soon as possible! I ask you in Russian, how much do you want to sell your dog for? You see, your dog, your dog ... - Dog! Soba aku! The boy burst out louder than ever. Lodyzhkin was offended and put a cap on his head. “I don’t trade dogs, lady,” he said coldly and with dignity. - And this forest, madam, one might say, there are two of us, - he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at Sergei, - we two are fed, watered and dressed. And this is in no way possible, which, for example, can be sold. Trilli, meanwhile, was shouting with the shrillness of a locomotive whistle. A glass of water was handed to him, but he violently threw it in the governess's face. - Yes, listen, you crazy old man! .. There is no thing that would not be sold, - the lady insisted, squeezing her temples with her palms. - Miss, wipe your face quickly and give me my migraine. Maybe your dog is worth a hundred rubles? Well, two hundred? Three hundred? Yes, answer, idol! Doctor, tell him something, for God's sake! - Get ready, Sergei, - Lodyzhkin grumbled grimly. - Istu-ka-n ... Artaud, come here! .. - Uh, wait a minute, my dear, - the fat gentleman in golden glasses drawled in an imperious bass voice. - You better not break, my dear, I'll tell you what. Your dog is ten rubles a red price, and even together with you for the bargain ... Just think, donkey, how much they give you! - I humbly thank you, sir, but only ... - Lodyzhkin, groaning, threw the organ over his shoulders. - Only this business does not come out to, therefore, sell. You'd better look for another dog somewhere ... Happy stay ... Sergei, go ahead! - Do you have a passport? The doctor suddenly roared menacingly. - I know you, canals! - Street cleaner! Semyon! Drive them away! - cried the lady with a distorted face with anger. A gloomy janitor in a pink shirt approached the performers with an ominous look. A terrible, discordant din arose on the terrace: Trillie was roaring with good obscenities, his mother moaned, the nurse was moaning rapidly with a rise, in a thick bass, like an angry bumblebee, the doctor was humming. But grandfather and Sergei did not have time to see how it all ended. Preceded by a fairly shy poodle, they almost ran to the gate. And behind them was the janitor, pushing from behind, into the barrel organ, and saying in a threatening voice: - Hang around here, Labardans! Thank God that the neck, old horse-radish, didn't work. And next time you come, just know, I will not be ashamed of you, I’ll get the scruff of my neck and pull off the unlikely one to the gentleman. Shantrapa! For a long time the old man and the boy walked in silence, but suddenly, as if by agreement, they looked at each other and burst out laughing: at first Sergei burst out laughing, and then, looking at him, but with some embarrassment, Lodyzhkin also smiled. - What, grandfather Lodyzhkin? You know everything? - Sergei teased him slyly. - Yes, brother. You and I have cheated, ”the old organ grinder shook his head. - Sardonic, however, a little boy ... How, such, was raised, take him a fool? Say goodbye: twenty-five people are dancing around him. Well, if I were in my power, I would have registered him-al-Izhu. Serve, he says, a dog? So what? He wants the moon from the sky, so give him the moon? Come here, Artaud, come, my little dog. Well, the day has turned out well today. Marvelous! - What is better! - Sergey continued to snide. - One lady gave a dress, another gave a ruble. You, grandfather Lodyzhkin, know everything in advance. - And you shut up, stub, - the old man snapped good-naturedly. - How did you run away from the janitor, remember? I thought, and I will not catch up with you. A serious man is this janitor. Leaving the park, the wandering troupe descended a steep, loose path to the sea. Here the mountains, stepping back a little, gave place to a narrow, flat strip covered with even stones, cut by the surf, against which the sea was now gently splashing gently with a quiet rustle. Two hundred yards from the shore dolphins tumbled in the water, showing their fat, round backs from it for a moment. In the distance on the horizon, where the blue satin of the sea was bordered by a dark blue velvet ribbon, the slender sails of fishing boats, a little pink in the sun, stood motionless. - Here we will take a bath, grandfather Lodyzhkin, - Sergei said resolutely. On the way, he had already managed, jumping on one leg or the other, to pull off his trousers. - Let me help you remove the organ. He quickly undressed, loudly slapped his palms on his naked, tanned body and threw himself into the water, raising mounds of boiling foam around him. Grandpa took his time to undress. Shielding his eyes from the sun with his palm and squinting, he looked at Sergei with a loving smile. "Wow, the boy is growing," thought Lodyzhkin, "even though he is bony - you can see all the ribs, but still there will be a strong guy." - Hey, Earring! Don't swim too far away. The porpoise will take you away. - And I'm her tail! - Sergey shouted from a distance. Grandpa stood for a long time in the sun, feeling under his arms. He descended into the water very carefully and, before plunging, diligently wet his red bald crown and sunken sides. His body was yellow, flabby and powerless, his legs were strikingly thin, and his back, with protruding sharp shoulder blades, was hunched over from years of dragging the organ. - Grandpa Lodyzhkin, look! - Sergey shouted. He rolled over in the water, throwing his legs over his head. Grandfather, who had already climbed into the water up to his waist and squatted in it with a blissful grunt, shouted anxiously: - Well, don't play around, little pig. Look! I t-you! Artaud barked furiously and galloped along the shore. It worried him that the boy had swum so far. “Why show your courage? - the poodle was worried. - There is land - and walk on the ground. Much calmer. " He himself climbed into the water up to his belly and lacquered it with his tongue two or three times. But he didn't like the salt water, and the light waves rustling against the coastal gravel frightened him. He jumped ashore and again began barking at Sergei. “What are these stupid tricks for? I would sit by the shore, next to the old man. Oh, what anxiety there is with this boy! " - Hey, Seryozha, get out, or something, in fact, it will be for you! - called the old man. - Now, grandfather Lodyzhkin, I'm sailing by steamer. Ooh-ooh-ooh! He finally swam to the shore, but before getting dressed, he grabbed Artaud in his arms and, returning with him to the sea, threw him far into the water. The dog immediately swam back, putting out only one muzzle with ears floating up, snorting loudly and resentfully. Jumping out onto land, she shook her whole body, and clouds of spray flew at the old man and at Sergei. - Wait, Seryozha, no way, is it for us? - said Lodyzhkin, staring up at the mountain. The same gloomy janitor in a pink shirt with black peas, who had driven the wandering troupe from the dacha a quarter of an hour ago, was quickly descending along the path, indistinctly shouting and waving his arms. - What does he want? - asked the grandfather in bewilderment. IV The janitor continued to shout, running down at an awkward trot, the sleeves of his shirt fluttering in the wind, and his bosom swelling like a sail. - Oh-ho! .. Wait for a trosh! .. - And so that you do not get wet but not dry, - Lodyzhkin grumbled angrily. - It's him again about Artoshka. - Come on, grandfather, let's put it on him! - Sergey offered bravely. - Come on, get off ... And what kind of people are these, God forgive me! .. - That's what you ... - began a breathless janitor from a distance. - Sell, perhaps, a dog? Well, nothing is delicious with panic. Roars like a body. "Give and give a dog ..." The lady sent, buy, says, whatever the cost. - It’s even rather stupid on the part of your lady! - Lodyzhkin suddenly got angry, who here, on the shore, felt much more confident than at someone else's dacha. - And again, what kind of lady is she to me? You may be a lady, but I don't give a damn about my cousin. And please ... I beg you ... leave us, for Christ's sake ... and that ... and do not bother. But the janitor did not stop. He sat down on the stones, next to the old man, and said, clumsily jabbing his fingers in front of him: - You must understand, you fool-man ... - I hear from a fool, - said my grandfather calmly. - But wait ... that's not what I'm talking about ... Here, really, what a burr ... Think: well, what do you want a dog? Picked up another puppy, learned to stand on his feet, here you have a dog again. Well? Am I not telling the truth? A? Grandpa was carefully tying the belt around his pants. On the persistent questions of the janitor, he answered with pretended indifference: - Gaps further ... I will immediately answer you later. - And here, my brother, right away - a figure! - the janitor was excited. - Two hundred, or three hundred rubles at once! Well, usually, I have something for the work ... Just think: three hundredths! After all, you can immediately open the grocery ... Speaking in this way, the janitor pulled a piece of sausage out of his pocket and tossed it to the poodle. Artaud caught it on the fly, swallowed it in one go and wagged its tail searchingly. - Finished? Lodyzhkin asked shortly. - Yes, here is a long time and there is nothing to end. Give the dog - and hand over it. - Ta-ak-s, - said grandfather mockingly. - Sell the dog, then? - Usually - to sell. What more do you want? The main thing is that we have such a spoken daddy. Whatever they wanted, the whole house will go overboard. Serve - and that's it. This is still without a father, but under the father ... you are our saints! ... everyone is walking upside down. Our master is an engineer, maybe you heard, Mr. Obolyaninov? Railways are being built throughout Russia. Meloner! And we have only one boy. And it makes you mischievous. I want a live pony - you have a pony on. I want a boat - a real boat on you. As there is nothing, nothing to refuse ... - And the moon? - That is, in what sense? - I say, he never wanted the moon from the sky? - Well ... you also say - the moon! - the janitor was embarrassed. - So how, dear man, are we okay, or what? Grandfather, who had already at that time put on a brown jacket that turned green at the seams, proudly straightened up, as far as his ever bent back would allow. “I'll tell you one thing, lad,” he began, not without solemnity. - Approximately, if you had a brother or, say, a friend, who, therefore, from the very childhood. Wait, friend, you don’t play sausage for nothing on the dog ... you better eat it yourself ... this, brother, you won’t bribe her. I say, if you had the most faithful friend ... who is from childhood ... How much would you roughly sell him for? - Equated, too! .. - These are the ones I equated. You just tell your master, who is building the railway, - raised his voice grandfather. - So tell me: not everything, they say, is for sale, that is bought. Yes! You better not pet the dog, it's useless. Artaud, come here, son of a dog, I y-you! Sergei, get ready. - You old fool, - the janitor could not bear it at last. “You’re a fool, but you’re so old, and you are a boor, Judas, a corrupt soul,” Lodyzhkin swore. - You will see your general, bow to her, say: from ours, they say, with your love, a low bow. Roll up the carpet, Sergei! Eh, my back, back! Let's go to. - So, so-ak! .. - the janitor pointedly drawled. - So take it! - the old man cheerfully answered. The artists trudged along the seashore, up again, along the same road. Looking back by chance, Sergei saw that the janitor was watching them. He looked pensive and sullen. He was intently scratching his shaggy red nape under the hat that had slipped over his eyes with all his five fingers. V Grandfather Lodyzhkin had noticed a long time ago one corner between Miskhor and Alupka, down from the lower road, where one could have excellent breakfast. There he led his companions. Not far from the bridge, thrown over a turbulent and muddy mountain stream, a talkative, cold trickle of water ran out from under the ground, in the shade of crooked oaks and thick hazel trees. She made a round, shallow body of water in the soil, from which she ran down into the stream like a thin snake that glittered in the grass like living silver. Near this spring in the morning and in the evenings one could always find pious Turks drinking water and performing their sacred ablutions. “Our sins are grave, and our supplies are scarce,” said grandfather, sitting down in the cool under the hazel tree. - Well, Seryozha, God bless! From a canvas bag he took out bread, a dozen red tomatoes, a piece of Bessarabian cheese, and a bottle of Provencal oil. The salt was tied in a knot of a cloth of dubious purity. Before eating, the old man crossed himself for a long time and whispered something. Then he broke the crumb of bread into three uneven parts: one, the largest, he handed to Sergei (the small one grows - he needs to eat), the other, smaller, he left for the poodle, he took the smallest one for himself. - In the name of father and son. All eyes are on thee, Lord, they hope, ”he whispered, fidgeting about distributing portions and pouring oil from the bottle. - Taste it, Seryozha! Slowly, slowly, in silence, as real workers eat, the three began their modest dinner. One could only hear three pairs of jaws chewing. Artaud ate his share on the sidelines, stretched out on his stomach and placing both front paws on the bread. Grandfather and Sergei alternately dipped ripe tomatoes in salt, from which the juice, red like blood, flowed down their lips and hands, and seized them with cheese and bread. When they were full, they drank water, substituting a tin mug under the stream of the source. The water was clear, tasted great, and so cold that it made the mug fog up on the outside. The heat of the day and a long journey have worn out the artists, who got up today a little light. Grandfather's eyes were drooping. Sergei yawned and stretched. - What, brother, do we go to sleep for a minute? - asked the grandfather. - Let me drink some water for the last time. Wow, good! He grunted, taking his mouth away from the mug and taking a deep breath, while light drops ran from his mustache and beard. - If I were a king, everyone would drink this water ... from morning till night! Artaud, isi, here! Well, God has nourished, no one has seen, and whoever saw, he did not offend ... Oh-oh-honyushki-and! The old man and the boy lay down on the grass side by side, their old jackets under their heads. The dark foliage of gnarled, spreading oak trees rustled overhead. The clear blue sky shone through her. The brook, which ran from stone to stone, gurgled so monotonously and so insinuatingly, as if it bewitched someone with its sleepy babble. Grandfather tossed and turned for a while, groaned and said something, but it seemed to Sergei that his voice was coming from some soft and sleepy distance, and the words were incomprehensible, like in a fairy tale. - First thing - I'll buy you a suit: pink leotards with gold ... shoes are also pink, satin ... In Kiev, in Kharkov or, for example, in the city of Odessa - there, brother, in what circuses! .. the electricity is on ... There might be five thousand people, or even more ... why do I know? We will certainly compose your surname Italian. What is this surname Estifeev or, say, Lodyzhkin? It's just nonsense - there is no imagination in it. And we will launch you on the poster - Antonio, or, for example, it's also good - Enrico or Alfonzo ... Then the boy did not hear anything. A gentle and sweet slumber took possession of him, fettering and weakening his body. Grandpa also fell asleep, suddenly losing the thread of his favorite afternoon thoughts about Sergei's brilliant circus future. Once in a dream it seemed to him that Artaud was growling at someone. For a moment a half-conscious and disturbing memory of the previous janitor in a pink shirt slipped into his foggy head, but, melted by sleep, fatigue and heat, he could not get up, but only lazily, with closed eyes, called out to the dog: - Artaud ... where? I t-you vagabond! But his thoughts immediately got confused and blurred into heavy and formless visions. The voice of Sergei woke up the grandfather. The boy ran back and forth on the other side of the stream, whistled shrilly and shouted loudly, with concern and fright: - Artaud, ishi! Back! Whew, whew, whew! Artaud, back! - What are you, Sergei, yelling? Lodyzhkin asked discontentedly, straightening his stiff arm with difficulty. - We overslept the dog, that's what! The boy answered roughly in an irritated voice. - The dog is gone. He whistled sharply and once again shouted in a drawn-out: - Artaud-o-o! - You are inventing nonsense! .. He will return, - said the grandfather. However, he quickly got to his feet and began to shout to the dog in an angry, sleepy, senile falsetto: - Artaud, here, son of a dog! He hurriedly, with small, confused steps, ran across the bridge and climbed up the highway, without ceasing to call the dog. Before him lay an even, bright white roadway, visible to the eye for half a mile, but on it there was not a single figure, not a single shadow. - Artaud! Ar-then-shen-ka! - the old man howled plaintively. But suddenly he stopped, bent low to the road and squatted down. - Yes, here it is! - said the old man in a fallen voice. - Sergey! Seryozha, come here. - Well, what else is there? - the boy responded rudely, going up to Lodyzhkin. - Did you find yesterday? - Seryozha ... what is it? .. This is it, what is it? You understand? The old man asked barely audibly. He looked at the boy with pitiful, bewildered eyes, and his hand, pointing straight at the ground, went in all directions. On the road, in the white dust, lay a rather large, half-eaten sausage stub, and next to it, in all directions, the prints of dog paws were imprinted. - I brought the dog, you scoundrel! - Grandpa whispered in fright, still squatting. - No one like him - it's clear ... Do you remember, just now by the sea, he fed everything with sausage. “It's clear,” Sergei repeated gloomily and angrily. Grandfather's wide eyes were suddenly filled with large tears and blinked quickly. He covered them with his hands. - What are we going to do now, Seryozhenka? A? What are we to do now? The old man asked, rocking back and forth and sobbing helplessly. - What to do, what to do! - Sergei mimicked him angrily. - Get up, grandfather Lodyzhkin, let's go! .. - Let's go, - the old man repeated dejectedly and obediently, getting up from the ground. - Well, let's go, Seryozhenka! Having got out of patience, Sergei shouted at the old man as if he were a little one: “You’ll play the fool, old man. Where has it ever been seen to lure other people's dogs? Why are you blinking at me with your eyes? Am I not telling the truth? We will come straight and say: "Give the dog back!" But no - to the world, that's the whole story. - To the world ... yes ... of course ... That's right, to the world ... - Lodyzhkin repeated with a senseless, bitter smile. But his eyes darted awkwardly and embarrassedly. - To the world ... yes ... Only this, Serezhenka ... this business does not come out ... so that to the world ... - How does it not come out? The law is the same for everyone. Why should they look in the teeth? The boy interrupted impatiently. - And you, Seryozha, are not that ... do not be angry with me. The dog will not be returned to you and me. - Grandpa mysteriously lowered his voice. “I’m worried about the patchport. Did you hear what the gentleman said just now? Asks: "Do you have a patchport?" Here it is, what a story. And with me, - the grandfather made a frightened face and whispered barely audibly, - I, Seryozha, have a stranger's patchport. - How is a stranger? - That's just a stranger. I lost mine in Taganrog, or maybe they stole it from me. For two years later I was spinning: hiding, giving bribes, writing petitions ... Finally, I see that there is no way for me, I live like a hare - I am afraid of everyone. There was no peace at all. And here in Odessa, in a shelter, one Greek turned up. “This, he says, is sheer nonsense. Put twenty-five rubles on the table, he says, the old man, and I'll provide you with a patchport forever. " I spread my mind back and forth. Eh, I think my head is gone. Come on, I say. And since then, my dear, here I live according to someone else's patchport. - Ah, grandfather, grandfather! - Sergey sighed deeply, with tears in his chest. - I really feel sorry for the dog ... The dog is very good ... - Seryozhenka, my dear! - the old man held out to him trembling hands. - Yes, if only I had a real patchport, would I have looked that they are generals? I would take it by the throat! .. “How so? Allow me! What right do you have to steal other people's dogs? What kind of law is there? " And now we have a cover, Seryozha. When I come to the police, the first thing is: “Give me a patchport! Are you the Samara bourgeoisie Martyn Lodyzhkin? " - "I, yours fertility." And I, brother, and not Lodyzhkin at all and not a bourgeoisie, but a peasant, Ivan Dudkin. And who this Lodyzhkin is - God alone knows. How do I know, maybe some kind of thief or an escaped convict? Or maybe even a killer? No, Seryozha, we won't do anything here ... Nothing, Seryozha ... Grandfather's voice broke off and choked. Tears ran down the deep, tan lines again. Sergei, who was listening to the weakened old man in silence, with tightly compressed armor, pale with excitement, suddenly took him under his arms and began to raise him. “Come on, grandfather,” he said commandingly and affectionately at the same time. - To hell with the patchport, let's go! We do not spend the night on the high road. - My dear, dear, - the old man said, shaking his whole body. - The dog is already very intricate ... Artoshenka is ours ... We won't have another one like that ... - Okay, okay ... Get up, - ordered Sergei. - Let me clean you of the dust. You are completely limp, grandfather. On this day, the artists no longer worked. Despite his young age, Sergei well understood all the fatal meaning of this terrible word "patchport". Therefore, he no longer insisted on further searches for Artaud, or on the world, or on other decisive measures. But while he walked next to his grandfather until the night, a new, stubborn and concentrated expression did not leave his face, as if he were thinking about something extremely serious and large. Without saying a word, but obviously for the same secret motive, they deliberately made a significant detour in order to once again pass Druzhba. In front of the gate, they lingered a little, in the vague hope of seeing Artaud, or at least hearing him barking from afar. But the carved gates of the magnificent dacha were tightly closed, and in the shady garden under the slender sad cypresses there was an important, unperturbed, fragrant silence. - Gosh, yes! - the old man said in a hissing voice, putting into this word all the caustic bitterness that overflowed his heart. - It will be for you, let's go, - the boy ordered sternly and tugged at his companion by the sleeve. - Seryozhenka, maybe even Artoshka will run away from them? - suddenly sobbed grandfather again. - A? What do you think, honey? But the boy did not answer the old man. He walked ahead with large, firm steps. His eyes stared down at the road, and his thin eyebrows moved angrily towards the bridge. VI Silently they reached Alupka. Grandpa groaned and sighed all the way, while Sergei kept an angry, resolute expression on his face. They stopped for the night in a dirty Turkish coffee house, which bore the brilliant name "Yldiz", which means "star" in Turkish. Together with them, the Greeks - stonecutters, excavators - the Turks, several people of Russian workers who were interrupted by day labor, as well as several dark, suspicious vagabonds, of whom so many stagger around the south of Russia, spent the night. All of them, as soon as the coffee shop closed at a certain hour, lay down on benches along the walls and right on the floor, and those that were more experienced, put, out of superfluous precaution, under their heads everything that they had the most valuable of things and out of the dress. It was well after midnight when Sergei, who was lying on the floor next to his grandfather, carefully got up and began to dress quietly. The pale moonlight poured into the room through the wide windows, spread in a slanting, trembling binding on the floor and, falling on the people sleeping side by side, gave their faces a suffering and dead expression. - Where are you going, Maltsuk? - the owner of the coffee house, a young Turk Ibrahim, called out to Sergey sleepily at the door. - Skip it. Necessary! - Sergei answered sternly, in a businesslike tone. - Yes, get up, or something, Turkish scapula! Yawning, scratching himself and smacking his tongue reproachfully, Ibrahim unlocked the doors. The narrow streets of the Tatar bazaar were immersed in a thick dark blue shadow that covered the entire pavement with a jagged pattern and touched the foot of the houses on the other, illuminated side, which sharply whitened in the moonlight with its low walls. On the far outskirts of the town, dogs barked. From somewhere, from the upper highway, came the ringing and clatter of a horse ambled. Passing a white mosque with a green dome in the shape of an onion, surrounded by a silent crowd of dark cypress trees, the boy went down a narrow, crooked alley onto the main road. For ease, Sergei did not take outerwear with him, remaining in one tights. The moon was shining on his back, and the boy's shadow ran ahead of him in a strange, black, cropped silhouette. Dark, curly bushes lurked on either side of the highway. Some bird shouted in him monotonously, at regular intervals, in a thin, gentle voice: "I am sleeping! .. I am sleeping! .." fatigue, and quietly, without hope, complains to someone: "I am sleeping, I am sleeping! .." as if it had been cut from a giant piece of silver cardboard. Sergei was a little creepy in the midst of this stately silence, in which his footsteps were heard so clearly and boldly, but at the same time a tickling, dizzying courage was spreading in his heart. At one turn, the sea suddenly opened up. Huge, calm, it quietly and solemnly rippled. A narrow, trembling silver path stretched from the horizon to the shore; in the middle of the sea it disappeared - only in some places its sparkles flashed from time to time - and suddenly at the very ground it was widely splashed with living, sparkling metal, encircling the coast. Sergei slipped silently into the wooden gate leading to the park. There, under the dense trees, it was completely dark. From a distance one could hear the noise of a restless stream and one could feel its damp, cold breath. The wooden flooring of the bridge knocked distinctly underfoot. The water beneath him was black and terrible. Finally, there is a high cast-iron gate, patterned like lace, and entwined with creeping wisteria stems. Moonlight, cutting through the thicket of trees, glided along the carvings of the gate in faint phosphoric spots. On the other side there was darkness and a sensitive, fearful silence. There were several moments during which Sergei felt hesitation in his soul, almost fear. But he overcame these tormenting feelings in himself and whispered: - But I will climb all the same! Does not matter! It was not difficult for him to climb. The graceful cast-iron curls that formed the design of the gate served as a sure fulcrum for tenacious hands and small, muscular legs. Above the gate, at a great height, a wide stone arch spread from pillar to pillar. Sergei groped his way onto her, then, lying on his stomach, lowered his legs down to the other side, and began to push the whole body into the same direction, without ceasing to look for some kind of protrusion with his feet. Thus, he had already completely leaned over the arch, holding on to its edge only with the fingers of outstretched hands, but his legs still did not meet the support. He could not understand then that the arch above the gate protruded much further inward than outward, and as his hands began to feel numb and as his exhausted body hung down heavier, horror penetrated his soul more and more. Finally he broke down. His fingers, clinging to a sharp corner, unclenched, and he quickly flew down. He heard coarse gravel scratching beneath him and felt a sharp pain in his knees. For several seconds he was on all fours, stunned by the fall. It seemed to him that now all the inhabitants of the dacha would wake up, a gloomy janitor in a pink shirt would come running, a scream would rise, a commotion ... But, as before, there was a deep, important silence in the garden. Only a low, monotonous, buzzing sound echoed throughout the garden: “I… I… I… I…” “Oh, this is buzzing in my ears!” - Sergey guessed. He got to his feet; everything was scary, mysterious, fabulously beautiful in the garden, as if filled with fragrant dreams. They quietly staggered in the flower beds, bending towards each other with vague anxiety, as if whispering and peeping at the flowers, barely visible in the dark. The slender, dark, odorous cypress trees slowly nodded their pointed tops with a pensive and reproachful expression. And beyond the stream, in the thicket of bushes, a small tired bird fought with sleep and repeated with a submissive complaint: "I am sleeping! .. I am sleeping! .. I am sleeping! .." At night, among the shadows entangled on the paths, Sergei did not recognize the place. He wandered for a long time on squeaky gravel until he came out to the house. Never in his life has the boy experienced such a painful feeling of complete helplessness, abandonment and loneliness as he does now. The huge house seemed to him filled with merciless lurking enemies, who secretly, with a malicious smile, watched from the dark windows every movement of the small, weak boy. Silently and impatiently, the enemies were waiting for some signal, waiting for someone's angry, deafeningly formidable order. - Only not in the house ... in the house it cannot be! - whispered, as if in a dream, the boy. - In the house she will howl, get tired ... He walked around the dacha. On the back side, in a wide courtyard, there were several buildings, simpler and more unpretentious in appearance, obviously intended for servants. Here, as well as in the big house, no fire was visible in any window; only the month was reflected in the dark glasses with a dead uneven shine. "I can't leave here, never leave! .." - Sergei thought longingly. For a moment he remembered his grandfather, the old hurdy-gurdy, overnight stays in coffee shops, breakfasts by cool springs. "Nothing, nothing of this will happen anymore!" - Sergei repeated to himself sadly. But the more hopeless his thoughts became, the more fear gave way in his soul to some kind of dull and calmly evil despair. A thin, moaning screech suddenly touched his ears. The boy stopped breathing, his muscles tense, stretched out on tiptoe. The sound was repeated. It seemed to come from a stone basement, near which Sergei stood and which communicated with the outside air near rough, small rectangular openings without glass. Stepping on some kind of flower curtain, the boy went up to the wall, put his face to one of the vents and whistled. A quiet, watchful noise was heard somewhere below, but immediately died down. - Artaud! Artoshka! - Sergei called in a trembling whisper. Furious, breaking barks immediately filled the entire garden, echoing in all its corners. In this barking, along with a joyful greeting, there was a mixture of complaint, anger, and a feeling of physical pain. You could hear the dog struggling to get free in the dark basement with all his might. - Artaud! Dog! .. Artoshenka! .. - the boy echoed her in a crying voice. - Hell, cursed! - came a brutal, bass cry from below. - O, convict! Something banged in the basement. The dog burst into a long, intermittent howl. - Don't you dare hit! Don't you dare hit the dog, damn it! - Sergei shouted in a frenzy, scratching the stone wall with his nails. Everything that happened next, Sergei remembered vaguely, as if in some violent feverish delirium. The basement door opened wide with a crash, and a janitor ran out of it. In only his underwear, barefooted, bearded, pale from the bright light of the moon shining right in his face, he seemed to Sergei a giant, an angry fabulous monster. - Who is wandering around here? I'll shoot you! - rumbled like thunder, his voice in the garden. - The thieves! Robbing! But at the same moment Artaud jumped out of the darkness of the open door like a white jumping ball with a bark. A piece of rope dangled around his neck. However, the boy had no time for the dog. The menacing look of the janitor seized him with supernatural fear, tied his legs, paralyzed his entire small thin body. Fortunately, this tetanus did not last long. Almost unconsciously, Sergei let out a piercing, long, desperate cry and at random, not seeing the road, not remembering himself from fright, began to run away from the basement. He rushed like a bird, striking the ground hard and often with his feet, which suddenly became strong, like two steel springs. Beside him galloped, bursting with joyful barking, Artaud. Behind, the janitor rumbled heavily on the sand, furiously growling some kind of curses. With a bang, Sergei ran into the gate, but did not immediately think, but rather instinctively felt that there was no road here. There was a narrow dark loophole between the stone wall and the cypress trees growing along it. Without hesitation, submitting to one feeling of fear, Sergei, bending over, ducked into it and ran along the wall. The sharp needles of cypress trees, which smelled thick and pungent of tar, whipped him across his face. He stumbled over the roots, fell, breaking his hands in blood, but immediately got up, not even noticing the pain, and again ran forward, bending almost twice, not hearing his cry. Artaud dashed after him. So he ran along a narrow corridor formed on one side by a high wall and on the other by a tight formation of cypresses, running like a small animal mad with terror trapped in an endless trap. His mouth was dry, and every breath pricked in his chest with a thousand needles. The stomp of the janitor was heard now from the right, now to the left, and the boy, who had lost his head, rushed now forward, now backward, several times running past the gate and again diving into a dark, tight loophole. Finally Sergei was exhausted. Through wild horror, a cold, sluggish melancholy, a dull indifference to any danger, began to seize gradually. He sat down under a tree, pressed his body, exhausted from fatigue, against its trunk, and closed his eyes. Closer and closer the sand crunched under the heavy footsteps of the enemy. Artaud squealed softly, burying his muzzle in Sergei's knees. Two steps away from the boy, branches rustled, spreading their hands. Sergei unconsciously raised his eyes up and suddenly, seized with incredible joy, jumped to his feet with one push. He only now noticed that the wall opposite the place where he was sitting was very low, no more than one and a half arshins. True, the top of it was studded with bottle shards embedded in lime, but Sergei did not think about it. In an instant, he grabbed Artaud's body and set him with his front paws on the wall. The clever dog understood him perfectly. He quickly climbed the wall, wagged his tail and barked triumphantly. Behind him appeared on the wall and Sergei, just at the time when a large dark figure peeped out of the parted branches of cypress trees. Two lithe, agile bodies - a dog and a boy - quickly and gently jumped down onto the road. After them, like a dirty stream, foul, ferocious abuse rushed. Whether the janitor was less agile than the two friends, tired of spinning around the garden, or simply not hoping to catch up with the fugitives, he did not pursue them anymore. Nevertheless, they ran for a long time without rest - both strong, dexterous, as if inspired by the joy of deliverance. The poodle soon returned to its usual frivolity. Sergei was still looking back fearfully, and Artaud was already galloping at him, enthusiastically dangling his ears and a piece of rope, and still contrived to lick him with a running start to his very lips. The boy came to his senses only at the spring, at the very one where he and his grandfather had breakfast the day before. Having clung together with their mouths to the cold reservoir, the dog and the man gulped the fresh, tasty water for a long time and greedily. They pushed each other away, lifted their heads up for a minute to catch their breath, and water was dripping loudly from their lips, and again with renewed thirst they clung to the reservoir, unable to tear themselves away from it. And when they finally fell away from the source and went on, the water splashed and gurgled in their overflowing bellies. The danger had passed, all the horrors of that night had passed without a trace, and it was fun and easy for both of them to walk along the white road, brightly lit by the moon, between the dark bushes, which were already drawn by the morning dampness and the sweet smell of a refreshed leaf. In the Yldyz coffee shop, Ibrahim met the boy with a reproachful whisper: - And why don't you swear, Maltsuk? Are you fucking worth it? Wai-wai-wai, not good ... Sergei did not want to wake up grandfather, but Artaud did it for him. In an instant, he found the old man among the pile of bodies lying on the floor and, before he had time to recover, licked his cheeks, eyes, nose and mouth with a joyful squeal. Grandfather woke up, saw a rope on the poodle's neck, saw a boy lying next to him, covered with dust, and understood everything. He turned to Sergei for an explanation, but could not achieve anything. The boy was already asleep, his arms out to the sides and his mouth wide open. A small wandering troupe made its way along the southern coast of Crimea along narrow mountain paths, from one dacha village to another. Ahead, usually running, with a long pink tongue hanging to one side, was Artaud's white poodle, clipped like a lion. At the crossroads, he stopped and, wagging his tail, looked back inquiringly. By some signs he knew, he always unmistakably recognized the road and, merrily dangling his furry ears, rushed forward at a gallop. Behind the dog was a twelve-year-old boy Sergei, who held a rolled-up carpet for acrobatic exercises under his left elbow, and in his right one carried a cramped and dirty cage with a goldfinch trained to pull out multi-colored pieces of paper with predictions for a future life from a box. Finally, the senior member of the troupe, grandfather Martyn Lodyzhkin, trudged behind him, with a barrel organ on his crooked back. The barrel organ was old, suffering from hoarseness, coughing, and having undergone more than a dozen repairs in its lifetime. She played two things: Launer's dull German waltz and the gallop from Travel to China, both in vogue thirty or forty years ago, but now forgotten by everyone. In addition, there were two treacherous pipes in the barrel organ. One - treble - lost her voice; she did not play at all, and therefore, when it came to her turn, all the music began, as it were, to stutter, limp and stumble. The other pipe, which made a low sound, did not immediately open the valve: once humming, she pulled the same bass note, drowning out and knocking out all other sounds, until she suddenly felt the desire to shut up. Grandfather himself was aware of these shortcomings of his car and sometimes remarked playfully, but with a tinge of secret sadness: - What can you do? .. An ancient organ ... a cold ... If you play, summer residents are offended: "Fu, they say, what disgusting!" But the plays were very good, fashionable, but only the present gentlemen do not adore our music at all. Give them "Geisha" now, "Under the two-headed eagle", from "The Bird Seller" - a waltz. Again, these pipes ... I carried the organ to the master - and I will not undertake to repair it. "It is necessary, he says, to install new pipes, and best of all, he says, sell your sour rubbish to a museum ... sort of like some kind of monument ..." Well, all right! She has been feeding you and me, Sergei, until now, God willing, and will feed us more. Grandfather Martyn Lodyzhkin loved his hurdy-gurdy as you can love only a living, close, perhaps even related creature. Having become accustomed to her for many years of a difficult wandering life, he finally began to see in her something spiritualized, almost conscious. It sometimes happened that at night, while spending the night somewhere in a filthy inn, the organ, which stood on the floor next to grandfather's headboard, suddenly made a faint sound, sad, lonely and trembling, like an old man's sigh. Then Lodyzhkin quietly stroked her carved side and whispered affectionately: - What, brother? Complaining? .. And you bear with me ... As much as a barrel organ, maybe even a little more, he loved his younger companions in eternal wanderings: the poodle Artaud and little Sergei. He rented the boy five years ago from a bum, a widow's shoemaker, under the obligation to pay two rubles a month for this. But the shoemaker soon died, and Sergei remained forever connected with his grandfather and soul and petty everyday interests.

A small wandering troupe made its way along the southern coast of Crimea along narrow mountain paths, from one dacha village to another. Ahead, usually running, with a long pink tongue hanging to one side, was Artaud's white poodle, clipped like a lion. At the crossroads, he stopped and, wagging his tail, looked back inquiringly. By some signs he knew, he always unmistakably recognized the road and, merrily dangling his furry ears, rushed forward at a gallop. Behind the dog was a twelve-year-old boy Sergei, who held a folded carpet for acrobatic exercises under his left elbow, and in his right one carried a cramped and dirty cage with a goldfinch trained to pull out multi-colored pieces of paper with predictions for a future life from a box. Finally, the senior member of the troupe, grandfather Martyn Lodyzhkin, trudged behind him, with a barrel organ on his crooked back.

The barrel organ was old, suffering from hoarseness, coughing, and having undergone more than a dozen repairs in its lifetime. She played two things: Launer's dull German waltz and the gallop from Voyages to China, both of which were in vogue thirty or forty years ago, but are now forgotten by everyone. In addition, there were two treacherous pipes in the barrel organ. One - treble - lost her voice; she did not play at all, and therefore, when it came to her turn, all the music began, as it were, to stutter, limp and stumble. The other pipe, which made a low sound, did not immediately close the valve: once humming, she pulled the same bass note, drowning out and knocking out all other sounds, until she suddenly felt the desire to shut up. Grandfather himself was aware of these shortcomings of his car and sometimes remarked playfully, but with a tinge of secret sadness:

- What can you do? .. An ancient organ ... cold ... If you start playing, summer residents are offended: "Fu, they say, what disgusting!" But the plays were very good, fashionable, but only the present gentlemen do not adore our music at all. Give them "Geisha" now, "Under the two-headed eagle", from "The Bird Seller" - a waltz. Again, these pipes ... I carried the organ to the master - and I will not undertake to repair it. “It is necessary, he says, to install new pipes, and best of all, he says, sell your sour rubbish to a museum… sort of like some kind of monument…” Well, all right! She has been feeding you and me, Sergei, until now, God willing, and will feed us more.

Grandfather Martyn Lodyzhkin loved his hurdy-gurdy as you can love only a living, close, perhaps even kindred creature. Having become accustomed to her for many years of a difficult wandering life, he finally began to see in her something spiritualized, almost conscious. It sometimes happened that at night, during an overnight stay, somewhere in a filthy inn, a barrel organ, standing on the floor next to grandfather's headboard, suddenly made a faint sound, sad, lonely and trembling: like an old man's sigh. Then Lodyzhkin quietly stroked her carved side and whispered affectionately:

- What, brother? Complaining? .. And you bear with me ...

As much as the hurdy-gurdy, maybe even a little more, he loved his younger companions in eternal wanderings: the poodle Artaud and little Sergei. He rented the boy five years ago from a bum, a widow's shoemaker, having pledged to pay two rubles a month for this. But the shoemaker soon died, and Sergei remained forever connected with his grandfather and soul, and petty everyday interests.

II

The path ran along a high coastal cliff, meandering in the shade of century-old olives. The sea sometimes flashed between the trees, and then it seemed that, going into the distance, it at the same time rises upwards as a calm, mighty wall, and its color was still blue, even thicker in the patterned cuts, among the silvery-green foliage. In the grass, in the bushes of dogwood and wild rose hips, in the vineyards and in the trees, cicadas flooded everywhere; the air trembled from their ringing, monotonous, incessant screams. It was a sultry, windless day, and the hot earth burned the soles of his feet.

Sergei, walking, as usual, in front of his grandfather, stopped and waited until the old man caught up with him.

- What are you, Seryozha? The organ grinder asked.

- Heat, grandfather Lodyzhkin ... there is no patience! To swim would be ...

The old man, with the usual movement of his shoulder, straightened the organ on his back and wiped his sweaty face with his sleeve.

- What would be better! He sighed, eagerly looking down at the cool blue of the sea. - Only after bathing it will melt even more. One paramedic I know told me: this salt acts on a person ... so, they say, it relaxes ... Sea salt ...

- Lied, maybe? - Sergei remarked doubtfully.

- Well, I was lying! Why would he lie? A solid man, teetotal ... he has a house in Sevastopol. But then there is nowhere to go down to the sea. Wait, let's get to Miskhor, and there we will rinse our sinful bodies. Before dinner, it is flattering, to take a dip ... and then, then, to sleep on some crumbs ... and a great thing ...

Artaud, who heard the conversation behind him, turned and ran to the people. His kind blue eyes squinted from the heat and looked sweetly, and his protruding long tongue trembled from rapid breathing.

- What, brother doggie? Warmly? - asked the grandfather.

The dog yawned tensely, curling its tongue with a tube, shook its whole body and screamed subtly.

- Well, my brother, you can't do anything ... It is said: in the sweat of your brow, - Lodyzhkin continued instructively. - Let's say, you have, roughly speaking, not a face, but a muzzle, but all the same ... Well, he went, went ahead, there is nothing to spin under his feet ... And I, Seryozha, to admit to say, I love when this very warm. The organ is just getting in the way, otherwise, if it wasn't work, I would lie down somewhere on the grass, in the shade, belly, that means, up, and lie down for yourself. For our old bones, this very sun is the first thing.